Most call me Gold. (
amicustenebris) wrote2023-05-17 09:49 pm
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PSL - For Archie, Set After 4a
With a kind of numbness that he hadn't felt since he cast Belle out of his castle and destroyed half his collection, Rumpelstiltskin made his way to civilization the very same night he was sent away. Once he hit the interstate it was not long before someone pulled over to offer help to the hobbling man, who looked like he'd wandered from a wreck. The stranger said they'd seen an abandoned car down the way a bit and offered to get him into town to call a tow truck.
He took advantage of his good fortune and was quickly able to access food, an ATM, a cane, and finally a place to collapse and eventually rent a car the following morning. He had thoughts of what he would have to do to figure out a way back over the town line. He understood the magic at work there, knew he could only go back in if summoned back in. But already the scheming began. Belle didn't understand his motivations, and he'd been incapable of correctly explaining. That was all there was to it. Part of him believed if he could say it right, if he could make sense of it all himself -- if he could just convince her that all she'd seen never meant he didn't love her? Then he could fix everything. Then he could be home with his wife, able to visit his son, able to walk and use magic.
He tried to call her from the phone in the motel. No answer. He tried a few times. There was an answer once. He couldn't speak.
Gold haunted that little hamlet outside of Ogunquit for a few days, with limited access to the internet or contact, just hoping he'd find some loophole that'd let him back in, afraid to wander out too far lest he lose his chance.
As far as he knew, Belle never caught on that he was calling. If she did, then she was patient. She stayed on the line longer than she needed. Spoke, and waited. Spoke. Then said goodbye. He couldn't work out why he could never say anything back, or even beg forgiveness. He kept doing it, knowing he couldn't stop himself crying afterward, knowing it was going to hurt every time, because he'd gotten so used to hearing her in the morning when she woke. And now when he called just to hear her it came with apprehension, certainty he'd hear that litany of accusations all over again, but he needed to. Maybe if he did speak, if he did let her know it was him, and he allowed it to happen, she might see he was sincere. She would forgive him. Remember she loved him. He would hand her the dagger and be her slave, be everything Zelena wanted him to be for her if that was what it took.
But he couldn't even bring himself to do that. It took him days to figure out why. That was when he headed south.
His rental car died just inside of Vermont. There were questions about his license. He switched to travel by bus from there -- crowded (good that he was traveling light), slow as sin -- he saw far more of the state than he really ever cared to. It felt ridiculously long for where he was headed, given how short a trip it had been by plane, but he didn't know if he could handle flying again. Not alone.
In Manhattan, the first place that he tried was Neal's old apartment, of course, and he did not expect to find it occupied -- by the Queen's married beau and his family, no less. They offered to leave it to him, which he declined. After a cursory search of the place, he found one or two familiar baubles, things his son held onto from his childhood all these years, somehow, things from their world, and he pocketed those, feeling an uncomfortable tightness that told him to get away, and he left as quickly as his legs could carry him.
Marion seemed especially keen to convince him to stay, at least until he found better accommodations.
He didn't trust it. He got away.
Crossing out into the evening air, he felt a rush of pent emotion and memory. Unkind words said in this very place. Hook's attack and his near death.
Then his actual death.
Then Neal's.
He went numb.
He took advantage of his good fortune and was quickly able to access food, an ATM, a cane, and finally a place to collapse and eventually rent a car the following morning. He had thoughts of what he would have to do to figure out a way back over the town line. He understood the magic at work there, knew he could only go back in if summoned back in. But already the scheming began. Belle didn't understand his motivations, and he'd been incapable of correctly explaining. That was all there was to it. Part of him believed if he could say it right, if he could make sense of it all himself -- if he could just convince her that all she'd seen never meant he didn't love her? Then he could fix everything. Then he could be home with his wife, able to visit his son, able to walk and use magic.
He tried to call her from the phone in the motel. No answer. He tried a few times. There was an answer once. He couldn't speak.
Gold haunted that little hamlet outside of Ogunquit for a few days, with limited access to the internet or contact, just hoping he'd find some loophole that'd let him back in, afraid to wander out too far lest he lose his chance.
As far as he knew, Belle never caught on that he was calling. If she did, then she was patient. She stayed on the line longer than she needed. Spoke, and waited. Spoke. Then said goodbye. He couldn't work out why he could never say anything back, or even beg forgiveness. He kept doing it, knowing he couldn't stop himself crying afterward, knowing it was going to hurt every time, because he'd gotten so used to hearing her in the morning when she woke. And now when he called just to hear her it came with apprehension, certainty he'd hear that litany of accusations all over again, but he needed to. Maybe if he did speak, if he did let her know it was him, and he allowed it to happen, she might see he was sincere. She would forgive him. Remember she loved him. He would hand her the dagger and be her slave, be everything Zelena wanted him to be for her if that was what it took.
But he couldn't even bring himself to do that. It took him days to figure out why. That was when he headed south.
His rental car died just inside of Vermont. There were questions about his license. He switched to travel by bus from there -- crowded (good that he was traveling light), slow as sin -- he saw far more of the state than he really ever cared to. It felt ridiculously long for where he was headed, given how short a trip it had been by plane, but he didn't know if he could handle flying again. Not alone.
In Manhattan, the first place that he tried was Neal's old apartment, of course, and he did not expect to find it occupied -- by the Queen's married beau and his family, no less. They offered to leave it to him, which he declined. After a cursory search of the place, he found one or two familiar baubles, things his son held onto from his childhood all these years, somehow, things from their world, and he pocketed those, feeling an uncomfortable tightness that told him to get away, and he left as quickly as his legs could carry him.
Marion seemed especially keen to convince him to stay, at least until he found better accommodations.
He didn't trust it. He got away.
Crossing out into the evening air, he felt a rush of pent emotion and memory. Unkind words said in this very place. Hook's attack and his near death.
Then his actual death.
Then Neal's.
He went numb.
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It was because of this that he was able to piece together the full sad tale regarding Gold's fate and find what was done to be completely reprehensible. Gold was a man in pain who had just lost the son that he'd gambled so much for. Was it right that Gold had manipulated events for decades all in the selfish desire of wishing to reunite with his son? No, but exiling the man wasn't the right answer. Gold needed empathy right now, not condemnation.
So Archie contacted his patients to cancel their appointments for the next few weeks, asked Emma where Gold had gone to before, packed his bags and Pongo up into the car, and crossed the town line.
It was nerve-wracking in its own way. Yes, he had memories of having driven out this way to get to Storybrooke to begin with, but those were false Curse memories. This was truly the first time he'd ventured out into the World Without Magic. As he drove and passed by various shipping trucks, it struck him how he'd never seen any of the big semis in Storybrooke. There'd never been food deliveries or any other supplies from the outside, yet no one had starved nor did they realize that they should have long ago.
The Curse had been very, very good at protecting itself, it seemed.
The only times he stopped were to give Pongo and himself brief breaks when filling up the gas tank. By the time night had fallen, the big city lights were in view.
"Well, Pongo, here's hoping we can find him."
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They didn't want things from him. They didn't grill him for information. Or name their children after his. (Though again, Marion was a little too friendly. Her willingness to accommodate him had unsettled even Robin, though he was quiet about it.)
So why did he feel so short of breath, now?
A bark down the way a bit induced him to glance up.
Dalmatians were a rare enough breed to be immediately noticeable.
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"I see him. I'm not that blind." Archie reached into his pocket and offered the dog a Vanilla Wafer. "You earned it."
Pongo wolfed it down as Archie looked at Gold. "I was getting worried we wouldn't find you."
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"What in blazes are you doing here?" he demanded.
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Did Belle send him?
...Did something happen to her?
"...Why."
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Pongo sat down beside Gold, patiently waiting for Gold to decide if he wanted to pet the dog to help calm himself.
"You've been through a lot, and I wanted to help you."
A rather simple desire, probably foolish, and likely a drive birthed by his own traumas and guilt (though he made it a point not to psychoanalyze himself lest he drive himself mad in the process), but it was what he wanted to do. He had to at least try and offer assistance in any way he could.
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"Mister Gold?"
Marion stood venturingly at the door. Likely come to ask one more time if there is more that can be done, or even to let the man know he had either forgotten or that she had found something.
The world felt like it was spinning, and all it really did for Gold's demeanor was look as though he was about to unhinge his jaw and swallow the woman whole.
That tingling feeling had spread down to the tips of his toes.
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Pongo's ancestors had been war dogs, guardians of the land where they'd been originally bred. Right now, those ancient instincts kicked in as he moved to stand between Marian and the two humans he was with. He didn't growl but he was on high alert in case of trouble.
It had taken Archie a moment to realize that it wasn't just surprise that was affecting Gold: The man was going into shock. He almost asked Marian if it'd be all right if they came inside for a moment to let Gold rest and get something warm in him, but seeing Pongo's stiff, protective posture made Archie pause. For not the first time, he wished he could talk with the intelligent dog (clearly another storybook creature who'd been pulled to the cursed little town).
Instead, he gave a pleasant smile to Marian, grip on Pongo's leash tight in case the dog decided to take matters into his own paws. He gave a subtle little tug on the leash.
Pongo glanced back in his direction before focusing on Marian again, the dog understanding that he was only allowed to lunge if Archie dropped the leash. It was a signal they'd worked out after the whole Cora affair.
"Hi, Marian," Archie greeted her. "Was there something you needed? Gold and I were about to find a place to get coffee."
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"Go. Away." The Dark One didn't have much room to be polite anymore. Another face was just another thing whirling around him at breakneck speed that he hadn't the presence of mind to deal with.
His vision swam, and he felt himself lean into the light pole he was next to. An effort to catch himself, but he lost hold of any certainty where his equilibrium was supposed to be.
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Before Marian could say anything else, Archie started guiding the other man.
In his head, he was going through the basic treatment steps for shock and scratching out the ones that didn't apply or marking them as a "check when I've got Gold somewhere to rest".
Pongo followed, initially staying poised to attack if Marian tried to pursue and Archie gave the signal. However, once they were a significant distance away, he moved to be closer to Gold, swapping back into "therapy dog" mode.
Archie's eyes darted about the various bodegas and other shops lining the streets. Honestly, being in New York made him extremely uncomfortable and not simply because this was a strange new world. No, his Cursed memories had changed him living in a wagon with his parents to living in an RV with them as they drove around stealing from people. What he was doing now was basically "casing" the area, swiftly assessing each storefront to see if it fit the bill. The tips of his fingers buzzed with memory as he noted everyone was too busy focused on their own agendas or their phones to pay much mind to the trio passing them by. It'd be so easy to lift a few wallets and disappear into the crowd long before their owners even realized they were missing.
He hated cities and Enchanted Forest towns. They were target-rich environments that his bad blood was always eager to take advantage of. His Cursed memories of his time at Stanforth had him at times shivering with the itch to make his life just a little easier by "borrowing" from the more well-off students or city residents. He wasn't a kleptomaniac (he didn't fit the criteria for it), but when you were raised since childhood to be a thief, some of the old habits would creep back in. Like an alcoholic being sober for years but having the sudden urge for a drink after a particularly stressful day.
Days like this when he needed to use even one of those old skills while stressed always brought the itch back.
He took a calming breath as he finally spied a little cafe with outdoor seating. That would work. He guided Gold into a seat and gave him Pongo's leash.
"Hold onto him for me. Don't think they'll like it if we bring him inside. Besides, don't want to tempt fate with all the goodies in there."
Pongo huffed indignantly as he put his head in Gold's lap. As if he'd do something like that! The nerve!
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The dog's leash was shifted into the hand on his cane, as the other one gave him something to brace himself on and block out the light from the cafe. His forehead had begun to bead with sweat.
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Well, at least it was Archie who'd found him in such a state. The medical training his psychiatry degree required (even if it was technically forged, he could still pass the exams to get a real one if he ever left Storybrooke for good) allowed him to come up with some basic treatment which should help. If things got worse, their next stop was the ER.
He spent a few minutes inside, ordering a few items and asking for something that Gold could use if he needed to be sick. The girl at the counter had been very sympathetic to the situation and had gone to the back to retrieve a grocery bag from some shopping they'd had to do earlier.
He returned to the table with the bag, a small bottle of orange juice, and a promise that she'd bring the rest of their order out to them. He sat down across from Gold, glad the table wasn't that big, and opened the orange juice bottle, setting it down within easy reach for the man.
"I know you're feeling rough right now, but I've got something I want you to drink slowly, all right? It should help. You don't need to open your eyes. I'll hand you what you need."
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Back in Storybrooke
It also wouldn't have been missed some of the more concerning tics. The doctor might have come in on him closing his phone on more than one occasion -- never talking on it. At best dialing and listening and fast to stop as soon as he knew he had an audience. Once or twice, the man disappeared into a rest stop restroom for a little too long, and the doctor caught him nursing bleeding knuckles, and dents in some of the apparatus inside.
He still did not seem to believe that Archie was really just taking him back until they crossed the town line. With Sheriff Swan prepared with a lecture and warning, of course, with her pet idiot lurking in the background to try to look intimidating. Once the Dark One knew they would be expected he had very specific demands. Namely that he would listen to her terms if and only if she brought him the dagger. (And if she bothered with a false one or any tricks she might as well not allow him over the town line at all.)
Belle was not to be there. If she were for any reason, he would go back over the town line and stay there until assured she had gone.
And the people of Storybrooke did have terms. Half of which he ignored. He made his own very clear: If they had questions regarding the Sorcerer's Hat, he didn't care to hear them. The subject, as far as he was concerned, had been closed. His shop would be locked and warded and no one was permitted to enter. Anyone who attempted would do so at their own risk. He wished to claim a few belongings from the house, but his wife was free to remain there if she wished -- he would not. In fact, he blew through when the time came so suddenly that no one was sure when it had happened. A few personal mementos were gone, but three notable things stayed in his wake: 1) a certain chipped teacup, 2) his wedding ring, and 3) divorce papers.
No one was to bother him. He didn't care what mess they were presently cleaning up. Whatever knowledge they lacked that they hoped to glean from him, consider that door closed. He had no deals to offer and would be making none. He will pay the same legal tender everyone else pays for basic services. Beyond that, if he was seen in town: no, he wasn't.
Most were uncertain where the Dark One had vanished to, but those in the know were already aware of the cabin out in the woods, and it was a fair guess that he had chosen that as his place to haunt.
The farmhouse also mysteriously caught fire a few nights after his return. Much of the property had been destroyed by the time anyone took notice.
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He'd warned Gold that he'd have to contact Emma to meet with them. He had to hand over the scroll, after all. She'd stuck her neck out for the both of them. It was only fair that she be given the item back so she could ensure it was kept safe.
Things had gone further south after they'd gotten back to Storybrooke.
Belle had immediately set up an appointment with Archie to let out her feelings on the matter, begging Archie to tell her about what Gold might have shared with him during their meandering trip back to Storybrooke. Even if Gold had opened up, Archie couldn't in good conscience tell his wife any of it. Unfortunately, this meant that he'd ended smack dab in the middle of the duo's marital issues, particularly since Gold had simply left divorce papers in the couple's home without a word.
It was all such a mess.
The farmhouse burning down didn't surprise him in the least bit. (Honestly, he felt a bit jealous of that. Some days he really, really wanted to burn down Hook's ship to rid himself of the reminder of being imprisoned and tortured while everyone thought he was dead.) However, it was just one more indicator that things weren't right.
So he'd gone shopping, getting some basic ingredients for one of the dishes Gold had made in their original hotel room. Then he'd headed out to the woods, Pongo trotting alongside him without the leash.
Once they'd arrived, he'd knocked on the cottage door.
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He didn't spin. There was no wheel left in the house but Belle might have pointed out that she hadn't seen one since before Neverland.
Anyone picking the charred remains of the farm might find what was left of one in the cellar there.
He had been very clear that he wished to be left alone, but that had more to do with people who knew him as the Dark One only and would be pestering him for business-related reasons first. If for some reason, someone like Henry had chosen to see him, he would not have turned him away. But he didn't exactly announce where he was.
Archie was not necessarily expected, but then he hadn't been at any turn so far. That alone should have led to some anticipation.
Gold was also not unaware that he might be seen as a safe neutral party if someone in town wanted something. "Doctor."
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The kitchen was small but outfitted. There was also an outdoor oven and grill if he wanted to get especially creative, but even without, he could manage. While everything was freshly cleaned, however, the pantry and refrigerator were empty. Beyond that, the interior was warmly decorated. Lived in. Cozy, even.
"I suspect that is not the only reason you decided to call on me."
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Pongo laid down on the floor just outside the kitchen area. He watched the humans carefully, ready to get up and vacuum up anything they dropped.
"I'm guessing what happened to the farmhouse was you?"
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Just, completely ignoring any other possible reason he might have. Also the notion of him seeking medical help here, especially considering who ran the hospital here? Was a touch laughable.
"And that depends entirely upon what you are referring to, specifically."
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He set the groceries down on the counter.
"The farmhouse burned down. Now, it's not impossible that it might've gotten struck by lightning and it burned down since nobody was out there to call the fire department, but I think it's unlikely." He held up a hand. "Not that I'd blame you for it. Honestly, given what Zelena did to you there, it makes perfect sense." He paused, then decided that perhaps it'd help Gold if he heard this next part. "To be fair, some days I think about doing the same to Hook's ship."
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Though, truth be told, he would have been a terrible character witness to vouch for him, since Jones would be more likely to blame the Dark One over anyone else.
"When your quarry goes to ground, leave none to go to," he muttered. "If she ever does find a way back it would be the first place she would choose to lie low." At least in the hopes of finding any bits of her magic she left behind.
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Because most people would find it incredibly difficult to believe that Archie would do such a thing.
He looked curiously at Gold. "Why would Marian go to the farmhouse?"
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Somehow I'm not quite dead...
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