Chapter Text
Breathe in. Breathe out.
His head was spinning. Too much information flowing inside his brain at the same moment. Two, no, three lives smashing together as Mr. Gold remembered who he really was. He muttered something to Granny, taking the bundle of money she handed him - not bothering to check because no one would ever try to cheat him, in this world or in the other.
The short walk home was full of shadows, and he concentrated on putting one foot before the other, hoping not to stumble, not here on the streets where anyone could see. Climbing the steps, finding the keys and opening the door of his pink house was never so strange and so familiar.
As soon as he was inside, he began trembling violently. He looked around his home to see where he had lived for twenty-eight years, and knew immediately that he'd done the wrong thing. There was a picture framed near the phone. Two people in it, one old and one young. The older had an impeccable suit on, he looked imposing in it even though he was not very tall; and while he was not smiling, he didn’t look displeased and there was a sort of calm pride surrounding him. The younger was grinning at someone out of the picture. A diploma in one hand and a football in the other. Ready to go away and party all day with his friends. Tall and broad, with dark hair and dark eyes. Too dark: black, not chocolate brown.
Father and son, but you can see there is something wrong. They didn’t look alike. And the eyes of the boy are all wrong.
He wondered for an instant if it was Regina, the caster, or himself, the creator, who gave a wicked sense of humour to this curse. Wasn’t it ironic, Gold thought ruefully, that the second he came to this world to find his lost son, after centuries of struggling and plotting and twisting other people's lives, the very second he put a foot on this world without magic, the curse gave him one.
A wave of nausea assaulted him, and Gold reached the bathroom as fast as possible, abandoning the cane on the floor, to empty his stomach in the sink. He was hungry before collecting the rent but now he just wanted to sleep, knowing all too well he would not close his eyes all night. There are too many things he needed to think about...plans he must form.
At 6:30 in the morning, Gold was waiting outside the little house where Gregory lived. And there he was, a tall man climbing out from his car, unkempt and a little bit staggering, not bothering to close the car ‘cause who the hell would steal that old piece of rust? And no one would dare to steal it, too afraid of Gold’s wrath. Disinherited as he may be, he and his father still talked to each other sometimes, and so it was better be careful around him, too.
After a few seconds, while trying to stay upright, he noticed Gold approaching.
“Dad”, Gregory said looking at him like he was not sure if what he saw was real or he was dreaming.
“Good morning, son.”
“Are you here for the rent?”
“No”, Gold breathed slowly, taking in this fake son of his. “Your check came two days ago, like always. I just needed to talk to you and, knowing your schedule, I thought the morning was the best time to find you both home.”
“Two days ago?”, Greg furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Oh yes, the rent was due yesterday. Good thing she keeps track of all the bills”. He yawned before adding “Come inside if you wanna talk. I need my breakfast and then I have to go to bed”. Greg walked away from the car and stumbled a little reaching the door, walking over a little bush of violets bordering the path.
Gold knew everything about the man, before and after the curse. Before he had spent years enchanted in his castle, Rumpelstiltskin had never thought about him, not before or after her death. And now, now that the curse had named him Gregory Gold and tied his life to Rumpelstiltskin for 28 years of lies, in this world the man worked in a pub he also partially owned. The Pub’s books were mostly in order - Gold had his ways of knowing those kinds of things - but he doubted this Gregory brought home more than a few dollars a week. This man loved alcohol and gambling and had a few barflies he indulged in and a mistress he spent most of his time with, day and night - in fact, Gold was pretty sure the man was coming home from her house, not the pub. So Gregoy was just a bit annoyed when he asked, “Did you drink a lot?” which followed the normal path of hidden irritation Gold had always shown toward his son's many indulgences.
“A lot? It takes more than a few beers to make me drunk, dad. And owning a pub, how can I say no to my customers if they want to cheer with me?” Greg grinned.
They entered the little house, Mr. Gold looking around avidly. It had been years since he last came here, or, better, he never came but the curse thinks he did. Usually his son came to the shop if he needed something, or he dropped by the pub. It wasn't a frequent occurrence, but they needed to talk sometimes, mostly about business. The curse created an estranged relationship for them, full of shouting and with little love, and the only link for them is tmoney.
The house was sparkling clean, and it just accentuated the emptiness of the little sitting room. It had a couch, a little coffee table and a giant TV screen that Gold would bet was the only luxury item in the house. No pictures, no books, no knick knacks around. The kitchen was slightly more comfortable, the table ready for breakfast, and Gold could smell the coffee steaming from the coffee maker on the counter. Sandwiches and scrambled eggs were ready in their plates, as well as bread and jam, a glass with orange juice next to them. You could almost think that it was enchanted the way the meals would appear, hot and ready, the moment the master came home.
But Gold knew better.
There was a white simple vase near the sink, with little yellow daisies, the same Gold could see outside in the little garden.
Greg and Gold didn’t talk. His son didn’t offer him anything, knowing he would refuse the coffee and not bothering to make tea - Gold's drink of choice. And Gold just waited for the man to finish, looking around, searching for something other than the flowers that could give the feeling of being in a home. He found nothing.
They heard a little noise in the corridor, like someone had just climbed down the stairs silently and tried to go to the door, hoping to get out and not disturb anyone or be heard at all. Mr. Gold suddenly felt like he was tasting something bad in his mouth. Hoping we forget her very existence.
“Sarah”, his son shouted towards the corridor, “come here and fetch me the cereal. And since you're here, would you fix a cup of coffee or something for my dad?"
Gold heard steps coming toward the kitchen, and then a voice. “Of course, Gregory. Good morning, Mr. Gold, I didn’t realise you were here. If it's all right with you I’ll make a pot of Earl Grey. I', afraid it’s the only tea we have”.
Mr. Gold turned around and looked at Sarah. In his cursed memories Mr. Gold could see her as a young girl going to school with Greg and tutoring him in math, science and literature. He saw her petite frame trembling and her eyes glittering with tears that were not of joy on the steps of Town Hall, while he vented out all his rage. He remembered her walking around town, came rain or came shine, cleaning houses and shops, while he resolutely watched the other way to avoid seeing his daughter-in-law. He remembered Greg’s visit to the shop, saying he would be a granddad soon because he and Sarah were expecting a baby.
Gold here had played these moments in his head all night and he had thought he'd be ready to face it and would not falter.
He was wrong.
His breath left his lungs in a rush and the pain he felt in his chest was almost unbearable. Clenching his hands on his cane and gritting his teeth he tried to find composure while his Belle, looking pale and tired, walked into the little kitchen wearing a simple dress that looked too old, too worn out and already a little too tight on the belly for a woman who is only four months pregnant.