In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
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Regina (The Evil Queen): Give me the book. (We Are Both)
Leaning on his cane, Mr. Gold stared at the bastion of crates—three-hundred-and-thirty-six stacked seven high, two deep, and twenty-four long across two walls. To unpack all the books they held, he'd have to knock out the ceiling and incorporate the attic, make his back office as tall as the tower library in his Enchanted Forest estate. Wouldn't that be grand?
He waggled his head. But not appropriate for Storybrooke. Come morning, he had to at least sort out the volumes pertaining to the subjects of current interest—realm jumping, transformation, and forgetfulness.
The second floor of the public library has room to unpack my collection. That Belle didn't want him there—apparently, couldn't clear out his belongings fast enough—left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The bleakest moment of the brief weeks they'd shared in Storybrooke hung in Mr. Gold's memory, Belle's last words before rejecting him: You're too cowardly to be honest with me. That word, coward, had been pinned on him over two-hundred-and-fifty years before, and it had clung to him ever since. But wasn't discretion the better part of valor? If he knew that opening the secrets of his dark past would destroy her love, wasn't avoiding revelations just common sense?
Despite himself, Mr. Gold felt his attention drawn to the rustic basket tipped upside down on the top shelf. Did the bottle he'd hidden beneath it still shine? Or had its delicate flame died out at last?
The night he'd broached the possibility of bottling their true love, Belle had been cuddling in his arms. He'd tried to make it sound like a casual, playful lark. Naturally, she'd seen right through him.
You'd consider it a test, wouldn't you? Well, I refuse to indulge your fears. The only way we can find happiness is if we have faith in our love. I trust that you want me. You have to trust I want you, too.
The next day Belle was gone.
That evening Mr. Gold had retrieved one auburn hair from Belle's pillow and one brown hair from his own. His hand had trembled so badly, he'd barely managed to drop them in the bottle. But when they touched the medium, they'd turned to gold. Then they'd danced. A purple light had suffused the liquid as iridescent bubbles began to swirl. The potion was so beautiful, he'd gazed at it for hours.
In the weeks since, he'd taken to hiding the bottle from himself—just so he could get some work done. Finally, he'd set a strict limit of one viewing per day. So far, every time he'd looked, he'd found their true love magic burning bright.
Mr. Gold gripped his cane as he stared at the top shelf. Was today the day he'd find a cold, brown sludge?
Setting his jaw, he jerked his hand as if tearing a bandage from a wound. The basket spun across the ceiling, smashing against the opposite wall. He focused on the bottle. Then he closed his eyes. Purple, sparkling, effervescent—their potion looked magnificent.
