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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Pongo watched the soap opera playing out onscreen, huffing to himself. As if he didn't have enough soap opera interactions to watch in real life.

His head lifted up as the doorhandle moved, sniffing the air and wagging his tail. He glanced at Gold before jumping down, trotting over to the door as Archie entered.

"Hey, boy. Thanks for keeping an eye on things," Archie said quietly.

The door shut behind him, automatically locking, as he set the bag of sandwiches down. He glanced at Gold as the other man came around.

"Sorry I woke you up."

"Wasn't sleeping."

Gold sat up carefully. There was no hiding any laborious movement. But if he let himself sleep now, even with need for rest he would be awake at odd hours. Best not to test himself.

"...Thank you. By the way. I haven't said that since this began. I don't fully understand every part of it. But I would be a fool to suggest it is unneeded."

There was a momentary, very surprised pause at the gratitude. For a brief moment, he wondered if perhaps Gold had some form of mindreading ability and had "heard" those raging malicious thoughts from earlier.

Regardless, perhaps he should see about how to learn techniques to keep his thoughts under tighter control. It was Storybrooke. There could be people walking around with that power, and the least he could do was give them a brief respite.

He softly smiled. "You're welcome. There's the ham and cheese sandwich in there with some spinach, lettuce, and tomato. The other's a turkey club if you'd rather have that. The little containers have ranch and mustard since I didn't want the bread to get soggy while I walked back."

He picked up Pongo's leash, the Dalmatian obediently standing still while he put it on.

"I'll just take him for a short walk right now. Shouldn't be longer than fifteen minutes."

"It should be more than fine," he said when the doctor suggested he could trade out his food if he did not care for it.

The cursed Mister Gold had been given to preferring finer things to a degree, but most of his own food he made himself. Sandwiches were hardly outside of his realm of knowledge, but there was something about him that had been too "good" for some simple things. Which in itself was rich, as he had a very strange fashion sense that felt very nouvre-rich-meets-country-bumpkin, forever trapped in an era of the 80s were country style and music was far more mainstream. If people around town had been paying attention and looking for clues, the sudden disappearance of bolo ties and gingham from his wardrobe would have been a dead giveaway that the Dark One had awakened.

Not to mention the introduction of color.

Rumpelstiltskin himself liked finer things but did not turn his nose up at the simple; he knew where he came from -- he just rarely indulged save for when Belle wanted to try things.

By the time Archie returned with Pongo, he had finished half his sandwich, and was in the process of wrapping it and tucking the rest away with the small refrigerator that was part of the suite.

Archie released Pongo from the leash who immediately went to sit next to his own bowl, giving a very pointed look at the human he lived with.

It made Archie laugh. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'm sorry."

He glanced at Gold tucking away the other half of the sandwich. "Not hungry enough to finish it yet?"

"Satisfied for the moment."

Going from needing food to no longer needing it and then back again had messed with some of his hunger signals, to be sure. Add that onto the old habit that he was never one to turn to food when he was feeling stressed, and it was no wonder he had been so thin before Storybrooke. Before becoming the Dark One, even. (He was much more concerned with making certain his son was fed before he was, though things were rarely dire enough that he had to go without.)

He also felt strange about eating in front of people, now. Some holdover of being the Dark One to be sure. Like the singsongy lilt he adopted back in the Enchanted Forest, it was all pantomime to seem less human, more detached from his dealings. Eating felt a little too much like a person. Like someone who was vulnerable.

"I'll have the rest a little later."

Archie nodded, not pressuring the man. So long as Gold was eating, there was no reason to fight him on the amount. Some people ate fewer, larger meals while others ate a lot of very small meals. (Though if that sandwich was still there tomorrow and Gold hadn't eaten anything else, then he'd bring it up.)

"If you need the lights out, it's not a problem." He gave a wry smile. "The Kindle Henry gave me for Christmas has been getting a workout since coming here." He started mixing wet dog food with dry kibble in one of the two bowls he'd brought to New York, Pongo licking his chops and fidgeting eagerly. "Honestly, I prefer the real thing."

"Likewise, though I appreciate the convenience when away from home."

He did not use his phone to text or anything like that, never saw the point in getting one that didn't fold. It was for calling people. Having something for a quick reference was not terrible, however, when your library was far away.

"There is that. If I brought all the books I'd read through during this trip, I'd have to have a whole other suitcase just for them."

His phone was app-enabled, but honestly he didn't really use that much outside of authentication functionality for when he went to logging into academic resource websites which he typically read on his phone anyway. (He preferred to stay analog as much as possible due to bad memories of using technical skills specifically geared towards swindling others.)

He paused for a moment after adding some ranch to his sandwich, looking up at Gold. "I want to apologize again for my earlier behavior. I was out of line."

A slow blink. "And I continue to register my confusion. We are not under any manner of contract. Your services were not requested. Why do you believe as though I or anyone else is entitled to professional behavior? Precisely which line do you believe you have crossed?"

"I just do."

Archie folded his arms on the tabletop, looking down at the sandwich.

"If nothing else, there's the implicit social contract of basic interaction. I allowed my own issues to override my better judgement to do things like insulting you. That was wrong even without adding any layer of professionalism to the mix."

Gold thought back to their exchange a moment. Short of Hopper implying it would be idiotic not to hear Emma and company out, he could not grasp when exactly the man thought he insulted him. And he was rather good about flying off the handle when he believed he was being attacked. Call it one of his talents.

"You likely came close to that, but I imagine that would be why you excused yourself."

Though he explained well enough why he had to leave: Gold was not the only one with something personal going on. Something he himself did not wish to discuss. And he imagined Archie felt the same.

Archie was caught in a weird dichotomy of wanting to talk out his problems yet feeling obligated to keep them to himself. An incredibly unhealthy mindset, but there were no other psychologists for him to talk to in Storybrooke and prescribing himself medication would be immediately noticed when getting filled by Tom Clark, and the rumor mill would have it all over Storybrooke before the day was out.

"I called you the biggest idiot in the Enchanted Forest," Archie said dryly. "In a hypothetical, sure, but it was still insulting you."

Gold rolled his eyes. "Doctor, I came up in an environment where people were physically attacked for the crime of being lame or mistreated by their family; you are going to have to do better than implying what you think I might be under a set of as yet unfulfilled circumstances."

Archie could definitely relate to the "mistreated by their family" part. Unfortunately.

He gave a wry chuckle. "Well, I still feel like I should apologize. That wasn't fair to you."

"But no less than expected, in a general sense." He wasn't about to start an argument by pointing out that fair is generally what he does, and nobody is especially fond of it.

"If you expect that from me, then I'm doing an even worse job than I thought," he muttered.

He really wasn't hungry, but he knew he needed to eat. He began slowly eating the sandwich. It probably tasted great, but it was ash in his mouth as his brain stewed over everything.

A sigh as he propped up the pillows on his bed and sat back. "...Doctor, I can make no assumptions about what personal demons all of this is bashing up against for you. That hardly stops any of them from existing. But it's also not going to change my answer to any of this."

Archie sighed. "Sorry." He gave his head a shake, refocusing on the matter at hand. "While I was out, did you give any thought to what's the next step?"

"No. I wish I had a more satisfying answer, for my own edification, but no. I am not at all accustomed to not having a clear path in front of me." And he doesn't like that the only one currently, possibly open to him feels like danger to be avoided.

"That's normal. Not knowing what the future will hold and being uncertain about it, I mean."

Welcome to the club, Gold.

Gold glowered. "I think after a year in a cage and everything since, I have experience enough to decide I'd rather opt out."

"And unlike Zelena's cage, you have the option to," Archie pointed out. "If you go back to Storybrooke and hear out Emma and the others, you're under no obligation to take any deal you might make. In fact, there's even the possibility of you being able to negotiate, compromise."

"There is also the possibility that if I do not consent to their terms, I will be cast out again, if that doesn't happen outright. Out where, as you have seen, I am very likely to die." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "But then, if I'm lucky I might get a few years completely debilitated if what's in me is feeling especially resentful. What a great bookend to being forced back to life if I don't opt to sacrifice a little more."

Wait a minute.

"Gold, you're overlooking the third option: The deal might not be to accept limitations to be able to stay in Storybrooke or be thrown out again but about any rules regarding contact with Belle and maybe Henry."

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