amicustenebris | PSL - For Archie, Set After 4a

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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.

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"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."

Gold bristled a little but mostly remained composed. "You haven't yet. For now I trust you to do that much." Unsaid: But it only took once for that to be ruined. And that was with many people, not just imps who had a tendency toward doling out hard knocks once people had chosen to put their worst foot forward.

"That's fair."

He stopped scratching Pongo.

"I don't think I can secure your soul or save it or anything like else that. I can try to help you make better decisions to hopefully improve your satisfaction with your life and your relationships, but that's all up to you in the end. Fairies, gods, and who knows what else know my own soul's pretty much forfeit at this point. All I can do is just try to help however I can until Geppetto decides he doesn't need me anymore and Blue's spell ends.

"All I'm offering you the ability to go back to Storybrooke. That's it. No promises on anything else from either one of us. And if you don't want to go back, that's fine. I just want to make sure you'll be okay out here before I go back. Again, it's all up to you."

"I have already said I mean to go back." He sat back. "I don't know if there is much that can be done to make matters better. I don't even know if I care. But there's nothing out here that I want." And everything he didn't.

It might not be missed that he was scanning the area around them.

"You never know until you try," Archie pointed out. He paused as he saw Gold's eyes scanning. "Something wrong?"

Now the question: how crazy would he look if he explained Marion? Was he crazy?

Gold sighed. "Does anyone know where you're staying?"

An odd question to ask.

"Just you. Why?"

"And what of the queen's beau and his wife?" As far as he knew they hadn't come around since the first night. Not noticeably anyway.

"Haven't seen or heard from them since that first day you were admitted. And if they'd asked me then, I didn't have anything in place at the time to give them an answer. I wasn't sure if I'd be staying or, if I did, for how long. That and I must've gone to ten different hotels before I finally got a room that would let me keep Pongo in there long after midnight."

However, the fact that Gold had asked particularly about Robin and Marian tickled something in his brain that had been pushed onto the backburner when Gold had his stroke. He looked at Pongo for a moment before looking back to Gold.

"When you started having your stroke, Pongo moved between us and Marian on the stoop and stayed between us until we'd left the apartment complex behind. He was pretty wound up, so I had to give him the signal that I'd drop the leash if I felt threatened. Does this have something to do with that?"

Gold glanced at him. That...he didn't know if it was a relief to hear someone else noticed, or confirmation that he should be guarded. "Do you think I am insane? Specifically that I should doubt my faculties?"

"No," Archie stated bluntly.

True, Gold had done some things that were rather extreme, but he certainly didn't fit the medical definition of insanity.

"That wasn't Marian." And he didn't know if she would pop up again. But he didn't believe she wouldn't. And now part of him worried that if they stuck out this minute they might be followed.

...Well, Archie didn't know what he'd expected Gold to say, but it certainly wasn't that.

"A spell? Like the one Cora used to look like Regina?"

Without thinking, he started rubbing one of his wrists at the memory of the ropes, the sounds of the ocean and the hidden ship echoing in his ears.

"I don't know, but it's possible." After a fashion. After you get past the fact that if she's who she said she was, then Gold killed her. "...She let herself into my room, the first night."

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