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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Rumplestiltskin (Mr. Gold): No, no dear. Keep your baubles. What I want is something you don't yet possess, but something I know is coming. (The Price of Gold)
Startled, Mr. Gold took a step back. "Your baby? I have no interest in taking your baby." Though if your husband chooses this moment to come looking for you, who's he going to believe? That the Dark One had cornered Cinderella in the basement by accident, that his only desire had been a moment of solitude—that was as iffy of an excuse as he'd ever heard.
Cinderella's daughter, cuddled against her neck, let out a dreamy sigh. The princess's plaid shirt, buttoned one buttonhole off, confirmed that her sweet little thing had just nursed a bellyful of contentment. But while the child was the picture of serenity, the mother was so frightened, she was nearly hyperventilating. In a moment, she'd shriek.
Disturbingly aware of the throngs of guests milling about above his head, Mr. Gold sucked in his breath. The prospect of trying to outrun a mob while hobbling with his cane had never been more real. He saw two options: plead his helplessness and beg Cinderella not to trumpet her silly fear to the horde upstairs or persuade her that his indomitable power held her happiness at his whim, so cross him at her peril.
From long experience, Mr. Gold knew which course was the more reliable.
Pivoting away on his cane, he gave an airy wave of his hand. "You're forgetting, dearie, that deal was renegotiated at the eleventh hour. Emma Swan took on your debt. If there's anyone you owe, it's her." Gnawing his lip, he counted to three. When he turned back, a generous smile wreathed his face. "With me, your account is square."
"But—but what about the—the second deal. The one where..." Cinderella's voice trailed off in a whimper. Her little girl stirred in her sleep.
Hmm, the second deal. "The one where you lied to trick me into touching a quill that would jinx me with a freezing spell?" Mr. Gold performed an elaborate shrug. "That deal is moot, dearie. After all, I never held up my end—restoring fertility to your kingdom's fields—though I plead mitigating circumstances. At the time, I'd been imprisoned without a trial in a fetid, icy dungeon, denied contact with any sapient creature, left, quite frankly, to go a little mad."
Mr. Gold grimaced. Was that too much? Repeating the tale, he could hear the bitterness in his own voice. How had Belle withstood three decades of incarceration as stoically as she did? Six months of it, and he'd been crawling the walls like a lizard.
Unable to help himself, he pushed on, "But what became of the imp once Prince Charming's knights carted him away didn't matter, did it? How was it you royals liked to put it? Lock 'em up and throw away the key?"
Cinderella swayed. Her grip on her daughter slackened, and she began to slide off her shoulder.
Ach, definitely too much. Mr. Gold reached out, thought better of it then hastily summoned a half-painted rocking chair. Cinderella collapsed on it, sniveling. Then she clasped her daughter to her chest and began rocking and crying in earnest.
