amicustenebris | PSL - For Archie, Set After 4a

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

"Very little reaction from the face muscles," Archie reported, hearing more keys clicking. "You can stop that. Can you lift your arms for me?"

His left arm, the one free and on the table came up. The other, holding the handle of his cane and the leash, not so much. Gold glanced down. "Feels heavier than it should. But mostly just asleep."

"I heard that," the 911 operator said in his ear, tapping away on the keyboard again. "The ambulance is about five minutes away. You should start to hear the sirens. What's the patient's name?"

"You can put your arms back down," Archie told Gold as the sound of an emergency siren started to cut through the noise of the city. To the operator, he answered, "Malcolm Gold."

"And your name, sir?"

"Archie Hopper. I'm a friend of his."

The ambulance pulled up, honking at a cab driver who cut it off.

"The paramedics are here," Archie said.

"Okay, I'm going to hang up now. Your friend is in good hands."

"Thank you."

Archie ended the call as two paramedics exited the ambulance and headed in their direction.

The way he visibly bristled when Archie said his full cursed name. The sound of the sirens kicked up something tense inside him, and he was looking on the ground again. His hand on the cane suddenly tightened -- an anchor when things began to turn round again, otherwise he might have toppled out of the chair just then.

At this point he couldn't tell if he felt numb because of what was coming over him, or purely from it sinking in that what was about to happen was just going to happen.

"You're going to be okay, sir."

Archie watched with Pongo as the paramedics loaded up Gold, one of them kindly telling him where the hospital was so that Archie could get there in his car. (There was no way Pongo would be allowed in the back of an ambulance, after all.)

When Archie reached his car at the parking garage he'd paid way too much money at, he had to lean his forehead against the steering wheel as he took slow, steadying breaths.

Crisis wasn't entirely averted, but Gold was in safe hands. He was now free to have a minor meltdown.

Pongo placed his head in Archie's lap, Archie blindly reaching down to pet him.

"Thanks. I'll be okay in a minute."

----------

It took a little while to first calm down and then navigate New York City's confusing traffic patterns to reach the hospital. Technically, Pongo's papers as a therapy dog were forged, but the dog still had the training due to his own Cursed memories. (Another thing that Archie could easily obtain authentic papers for if he ever chose to leave Storybrooke for good.) Unfortunately, Pongo's gear flagging him as a therapy dog was buried under a thick layer of dust at home since he normally had no need for it: The people of Storybrooke all knew Pongo was his four-legged partner in his practice. (After his Enchanted Forest memories had returned, Archie had been tempted to change the sign on his door to make it official.)

So Pongo had to wait in the car while Archie checked in on Gold and hopefully found a way to get them to bend the rules just a little to let Pongo inside. The Dalmatian might be able to help with any anxiety Gold was experiencing at the moment.

The hospital was a number of ordeals all wrapped into one. Though Malcolm Gold as a patient recovered faster than expected, for the first night it looked a lot more like he was going to come out of it with a lot more damage. 'Miraculous' would be a word that might get thrown around, as within a couple days he had most of his dexterity and speech back.

Doctors said that it must have been caught quickly. But for the fact that Malcolm Gold was cagey at best and uncooperative at worst, it was a success story for that wing that might not be forgotten.

He seemed surprised that Hopper had followed along. But the visitor he had before he managed to get up there probably shocked him more. The most he had let on was that yes, something had happened, and he left it at that.

He needed his magic back. Because as much as doctors who did not understand what they were seeing attributed all this to stress, he knew it was more because what made him the Dark One was still inside him. But without the means to control it or let it thrive, it was just sitting in his body like a disease.

Preparing for discharge and quite glad to be shot of this place, Gold was very much almost exactly as he had been left before the incident. Perhaps the limp was a little more pronounced, but that could have been agitation over anything else.

"Did you give any thought at all to how you're getting back over the town line before following me, Doctor?"

Hotels that were pet-friendly in New York City and close to the hospital were expensive, and Archie's wallet had taken a serious hit, but it'd been worth it. Even if the hospital let him stay past regular visiting hours, they wouldn't allow in Pongo, and he couldn't just keep the dog in the car. It was unnecessarily cruel for starters.

"I did, actually," Archie said. He glanced to see if the nurse was coming back with word that Gold was a free man. Once satisfied, he opened his jacket to reveal a rolled-up piece of parchment in his pocket. "Emma did more than tell me where to start looking for you."

The man didn't know whether to feel impressed or irritated at that. He finished knotting his tie before he set to closing his vest. He didn't have but the suit he came in with, and while it appeared to be a little frayed in places, he had been especially meticulous about keeping it clean.

The nurse had been adamant that he wouldn't be given a razor or nail clippers or anything sharp while up on the rehab floor. Gold would appear more put together if he didn't have the beginnings of a beard on his face, and its presence leaves him more on edge than anything.

"So you can come back and resume your job once you're certain I haven't hung myself from some dingy hotel rafter somewhere, yes?"

"The idea was I bring you back with me," Archie said dryly.

He had a travel shaving kit in the car that Gold could use if he wanted to. Once out from under the scrutiny of the nurses, he'd probably at least somewhat appreciate it...in his own way. (Archie knew he hated when a beard had enough time to start coming in. It always itched like crazy.)

In his cage in the farmhouse, it grew on him like a threat. Even when he was too crazy to do anything but spin and fill as many hours as he could. Self-soothing, if you could call it that when you were juggling two minds at once. If it was growing it meant she was coming soon.

And now. Well that hung on him even more, didn't it?

"Many people back in Storybrooke aware that this is your intention?"

"Emma is. She asked me why I'd do something as crazy as crossing the town line, so I told her the truth. She agreed with me, so I told my patients I was taking a little vacation, packed the car, and left."

Just never specified where he'd been planning to go, obviously.

"I won't lie and say everyone will be happy you're back, but forcing you out was the wrong thing to do. You didn't deserve that."

"Well, who am I to argue with one fool from a town of many?" He very nearly killed Hook, after all. And all the fairies. Kidnapped his grandson and left the lot of them to kill each other under the Snow Queen's pall. Lied to Belle. But if one person was willing to let him back in, he could have his magic back. He could be near where his son was laid to rest. Convince her she had been wrong.

Look, Archie never said he was happy with what Gold did, just that he thought that the punishment went too far. (Though some sick part of him hadn't been too torn up about Hook. Getting tortured for information in a ship's hold for days on end with no hope of rescue since everyone thinks you're dead doesn't sweeten one's temper towards the one doing the torture.)

"You're welcome," Archie said with a small chuckle, closing his jacket back up as the nurse entered to finally give Gold the okay to leave.

"Finally." And despite the clear frustration in his voice, the man does spare a moment to thank her before grasping his cane and brushing past.

Coming to New York had been a mistake. He told himself that, though -- he did reclaim a few things of Neal's. A consolation at best, if you could call it that. Now it felt even more important not to leave those things in that apartment.

To Archie, when they were finally outside: "This city isn't exactly for the thrifty; where have you been staying?"

"There's a Homewood Suites about four blocks that way." Archie pointed in the direction as they walked towards his car. "First place I found that didn't tell me that Pongo would have to sleep in the car."

It'd been a serious hit to his wallet but the in-suite kitchen had allowed him to stop by a corner shop to pick something up to cook himself instead of having to eat out all the time. It seemed like everything in this city was priced to keep anyone middle class and below out.

"Well, I suppose there are worse priorities."

All in all, the man was being more conversational than could have been expected. It might be just that having a way back points him toward a goal, so he feels less untethered. There is now an established way forward, that he doesn't have to be underhanded about finding.

Because those silent phonecalls to Belle might have turned into something else eventually.

As soon as the open air hit him, part of him worried he would start to feel the same sickness overtake him. But the doctor had left him with medication and a routine to maintain. It wouldn't hurt to keep to something like it until he was back in Storybrooke. The rest was just anxiety at this point.

"Did you walk or drive?"

"To get to the hospital the past several days? Walk. The traffic here is insane. But since you were getting discharged today, I brought the car."

No need to explain why, really.

As they approached Archie's car, Pongo got up and yipped in greeting, tail wagging.

"Sorry it took so long. The nurses didn't want to let him go without a fight."

There was a momentary look, a reaction. Did you leave a dog locked in a car? But Gold held his tongue. Not really doing much of anything once he was seated and re-oriented, until the doctor started the vehicle.

"...Tell me what you think happens from here."

Archie saw that look but didn't jump to his own defense. Instead, he let the soft hum of the solar-powered fan he had set up in the backseat and the large dish of water tucked behind the driver's seat on the floorboard make his own defense case. All four windows were open about an inch at the top to further ventilate the car so he rolled them up.

"Usually I leave the windows rolled down since I know he won't jump out if I leave him in the car for a few minutes. Or if he does, it's usually for a reason and he'll come back if I call," Archie said as he started the engine. "But after someone tried to cut his leash and snatch him when I was taking him for a walk a couple of days ago, I didn't want anybody else to get any ideas. When I came over to visit you, I left him in the hotel room with the TV on. He's incredibly smart, but when he gets bored, things get destroyed. Besides, in the hotel room he could walk around if he wanted to. If he was cooped up in the car all the time, he wouldn't even be able to do that."

The hotel maids had adored Pongo if the crumbs from treats Archie certainly hadn't been giving him were any indicator. (Particularly since one would've expected such things to have been vacuumed up.)

He didn't start driving, simply allowing them to sit in the car as Pongo leaned in-between the front seats to get a good scratch behind the ears from Archie.

In response to Gold's statement, Archie said, "That's up to you. I don't think it's right you were thrown out, but I'm not going to drag you kicking and screaming back to Storybrooke if you don't want to go. If you'd rather stay out here, I just want to make sure you'll be all right."

So much of this right now was about weighing what should and should not be said. When you are the secretive sort by virtue of survival, it can be unavoidable how many additional checks and balances are always in the back of your mind. How much was pertinent for him to know, and regardless of what else played out, were sympathies something that could or should be used at this juncture?

"I must look like I'm having a grand old time," he muttered sourly.

Archie sat quietly, allowing Gold to take his time in figuring out what he wanted to say. He was certainly in no rush to go anywhere for the moment. He'd already paid for the week and hadn't canceled his hotel room yet. After all, he hadn't known how long Gold would be in the hospital. He'd at least be able to get a partial refund if they decided to leave right away. For now, he kept scratching Pongo's ears.

The dog huffed contentedly and periodically poked Gold's shoulder with his nose to try and remind Gold that, hey, his head is great for scratching when you needed to think.

"Allow that I have little reason to bear ill will toward you in particular. We'll even concede that some good will has been bought. But not enough that you need lie to yourself in thinking you have secured my soul." One of Gold's hands agitatedly passed over his chin. "I have reason enough to want to go back even without need for my magic. Are you willing to abet that with the understanding that I am making no promises that would be foolish of anyone to accept as true in order to see that happen?"

Under the Spell of Shattered Sight, Archie could've torn people emotionally to shreds with just a hint of their own secrets, leveraging their own behaviors against them. One of the skills his parents had taught him was how to read people; they'd intended that skill to be used for thievery, of course, but he'd turned it into something that could help people. With the Spell of Shattered Sight, he would've turned that skill into a weapon that would leave wounds no surgeon could heal. The only reason he hadn't was because the Spell hadn't affected animals and Pongo had had the sense to keep him corralled away from potential victims.

However, that didn't mean Archie couldn't turn that potential weapon into a tool to get straight to the heart of things so Gold could figure out how he wanted to move forward.

"Before I answer that, let me ask you a question: Will you accept my answer as the truth or will you try to argue that I'm lying regardless of my answer? And don't tell me what you think I want to hear. We're both way too old for that."

"The way to prevent that would be to not lie to me, Doctor." Simple, as far as he was concerned. Leave alone that he had a serious problem with doubting good intentions when they were aimed at him, but Archie Hopper was one of the very small few that set that off in him too easily.

"That's not the question, Gold. My question was will you accept what I say is the truth or will you automatically assume I'm lying? Because I fully intend to tell you the absolute truth, but that won't mean anything if you decide I'm lying."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject