[center][img=http://i33.photobucket.com/albums/d94/Malfoys_one_and_only_girl/Signatures/500x240RumpelxGold.gif?t=1407730156][/center] Turning the key to the right, Mr. Gold took careful measures to make sure that his pawn shop was locked up tight before depositing the key ring into his suit jacket pocket and began the short walk back home. The stone stairs leading up to his porch seemed just a bit more difficult to climb that night, having to rely heavily on his cane to do most of the work his right leg was unable to do, but eventually made it to the colorful stain-glass double doors of his estate, unlocked them, and walked inside. Once in the comfort of his home, he limped heavily past the entryway and into the living room where he leaned his cane up against one of the end tables and shrugged himself out of his suit jacket, placing it neatly on the arm of the couch before taking a seat in an old, victorian-styled chair. The decor of his home was not all that different in style as he had a couch and tables to match, each table filled with what one could call 'useless junk' ranging from things between standing globes and maps to antique china and an old, radio collecting dust in the corner. Pulling the tie loose from the collar of his deep red shirt, Mr. Gold bent forward to reach for the glass bottle of scotch on the coffee table in front of him, managing to keep a steady hand as he poured the liquid into a crystal glass held in his other hand. He filled the glass to the brim, and carefully brought it to his lips and slammed the drink back, taking it all down with no more than two gulps. Setting down the now empty glass on the table in front of him, he grit his teeth as a shooting pain crossed his back for the fourth time that day, causing him to grit his teeth in pain but refusing to utter a sound. He bent forward once more to refill his glass, however this time he left the glass on the table as his now free hand moved over to pluck a double-wide cigarette from a pack lying just to the right of the glass cullender that held the scotch. Putting the cigarette between his lips, he lit it before finally reaching for his second glass, and eased into resting his back against the chair. He took a few drags of the stick a few times before taking a drink from the crystal glass, though this time being more conservative about his intake. He lulled in the silence for a few moments, ignoring the pain that was now crossing into his chest and took another drink each time he felt his airway starting to constrict. Although he was alone in his home, there was that feeling of something staring at him that he was unable to shake, although he knew exactly what it was. Finally succumbing to it, Mr. Gold turned his head to look at the small display of china on the end table next to the couch not seven feet away from him, and stared back at the chipped teacup. With a progressively, unexplainable up-rise in anger, the crystal glass in his hand suddenly shattered under the pressure of his firm grip, however the glass was practically empty and therefore only a few droplets of the liquid splashed down onto his shirt. His attention was quickly pulled from the teacup and to his hand where the half-broken glass still remained, a small drizzle of crimson running down his palm and dripping off of his wrist. With a more tired than agitated sigh, Mr. Gold set the bloodied glass back down on the coffee table and got up from his chair, keeping the still lit cigarette clenched tightly between his teeth and grabbed his cane. He couldn't be here...not right now, it was a mistake to close the shop early and come home. Leaving his suit jacket on the arm of the couch and his tie hanging loosely around his neck; even ignoring the fact that his hand was still bleeding, Mr. Gold headed back to the front doors and made his way outside, heavily breathing in the cool night air of Storybrooke. Hopefully, a walk was all he needed; to clear his head and think of only why he was here. ------------------------- [b]Many, many years ago...[/b] [i]The front door of the small cottage opened wide and Rumpelstiltskin limped in, aided by his walking stick in his right hand while carrying a basket of fresh fruits and vegetables in the other. "Milah? Bae?" He called out, alerting his family to his arrival back home from the market. "I'm home." He quickly shut the door behind him and walked to the center of the small room, finding his four year old daughter sitting alone in a wooden chair beside the table. "Papa?" She called out quietly. Rumpelstiltskin made his way over to her, albeit slowly. "Where's mum?" He asked the child. She said nothing however, and instead sniffed back a tiny, frightened tear. Rumpelstiltskin frowned and swallowed hard, she had done it again; she had left their child home alone so that she could be free to have fun and shun her responsibilities. "Well, she probably just uh, lost track of time." Rumpelstiltskin said to his daughter, keeping his voice full of hope not for his behalf, but for Bae's. "Grab your cloak." The small child got up from the wooden chair and did as she was instructed, walking over to her papa so that he could help put the cloak on her while they walked out of the cottage together. "We'll find her." Rumpelstiltskin promised. Upon reaching a bar, Rumpelstiltskin instructed Baelfire to wait outside while he checked for her mother. The moment he walked in, his ears were greeted harshly by the sound of laughing men and tankards being slammed down on the wooden tables. Rumpelstiltskin made his way through the thrall of people, pushing past until he spotted a table in the far corner that was surrounded by pirates, and among them, rolling dice and taking shots was his wife, Milah. "Milah!" Rumpelstiltskin called out to her, drawing the attention of the pirates surrounding the table as well as his wife's. "Milah...it's time to go." "Good." Milah said picking up a pitcher of ale and poured herself another drink. "So go." "Who's this?" One of the pirates asked, causing Rumpelstiltskin to divert his attention to him. He was a young pirate, no older than he or Milah with a thick head of black hair and matching black eyeliner that really brought out the intensity of his eyes. "Ah it's no one." Milah responded to the pirate. "It's just my husband." "Oh!" The pirate said thoughtfully. "Well he's a tad taller than you described." The surrounding pirates uproared in laughter, all taking a second look at Rumpelstiltskin. "Please..." Rumpelstiltskin said doing his best to keep his skin tough, not wanting these men to get to him. "...you have responsibilities..." "You mean like being a man?" Milah challenged. "Fighting in the Ogre wars? Other wives became honored widows while I became lashed to the village coward. I need a break. Run home Rumpel! It's what you're good at." Rumpelstiltskin gripped his walking stick tightly, doing his best to keep a straight face as he became utterly humiliated in front of these men, but it wasn't he who spoke next. "Mamma?" Baelfire poked her head from behind Rumpelstiltskin, causing Rumpelstiltskin to turn to face his daughter in surprise. "Bae! You're supposed to be outside girl..." Rumpelstiltskin said softly. Milah sighed heavily and got up from the bench, setting her drink down and approached her husband and child. She took hold of Bae and walked her out of the pub, not even bothering to see if Rumpelstiltskin followed them out or not. "You don't...[b]really[/b] wish I'd died...during the Ogre Wars...do you?" Rumpelstiltskin found himself asking. They three had made it home from the pub, and Milah rested herself in their bed while Rumpelstiltskin boiled up some tea to help with her growing headache. Milah remained silent for a while, keeping her gaze off of her husband while she thought over her words. "I wish you would have fought." She admitted. "Don't you?" "I-w-well I'm-I'm alive..." Rumpelstiltskin stammered. Using his walking stick, he pushed himself up from the wooden stool and carried over the small cup of tea to his wife. "And I'm here with you...with Bae..." Upon reaching the bedside, he sat down by Milah's feet and offered her the cup. Milah just shook her head. "This isn't a life." She said quietly. "Not for me. Why can't we just leave?" "We talked about that-" "You don't have to be the village coward! We can start again!" Milah pleaded. "Go somewhere no one knows us; see the whole world beyond this village!" Rumpelstiltskin stood up from the bed and walked away from Milah a few feet, placing the rejected cup of tea on the wooden table in the center of the room. "I know this isn't the life you wanted." He said shaking his head lightly. "But we can be happy...here..." He took a seat in the wooden chair once more between the table and the fire place. "At least try...if not for me...then for Bae..." Milah sighed irritably and held her head. "Okay..." She gave in. "I'll try..." "Papa?" Rumpelstiltskin turned to see Baelfire whom had crept out of bed and holding fast to a tattered stuffed bear. Rumpelstiltskin turned his head to the side, giving his daughter a very soft, yet scolding look. "I couldn't sleep...will you sing to me?" Baelfire asked. The once firm look on Rumpelstiltskin's face immediately melted as he pushed himself up and led Baelfire back to her bed. He tucked her in gently, making sure that she would be warm throughout the night with what poor blankets they had and bent over to kiss her softly on the forehead. "Please papa, I want you to sing, the song you made for me when I was a baby..." Rumpelstiltskin smiled softly and put his hand over his daughter's forehead, using it to sweep away her beautiful long, brown locks of hair. [center]Sleep my Baby, Rest my loved one Softly slumber Now with me Clasped in Papa's Arms so tender Warm in Papa's Love for thee Naught shall ever Come to harm thee While my loving Watch I'll keep, Thou my pretty One shall slumber While I sing thy Lullaby Sleep my baby Rest my loved one While the evening Shadows creep Why, my Baelfire Art thou smiling, Smiling sweetly In thy sleep? Can it be That baby angels In God's Heaven Smile on thee? Rest my darling Smile and slumber While I sing thy Lullaby[/center][/i] --------------------------- [b]Presently...[/b] Mr. Gold spent the next hour or so walking a carefully mapped out route that kept him in alleys and dark places through the small city; a course he had created long ago to keep himself away from the citizens of Storybrooke so that he might enjoy his walks in peace. His cigarette had burned out long ago, and on more than one occasion he nearly stopped his walk to return directly home to grab another one. Each time, however, he pressed on and was nearing the end of his walk when suddenly, another wave of pain overtook him, loosing all control over his right arm causing his cane to drop with an echoing 'clink' on the black pavement below him. Mr. Gold was soon to follow; with the pain came the shortness of breath and the tight knots forming in his chest. There was an irritating ringing in his ears followed immediately by his vision beginning to blacken where as the small window of his surroundings that he was still able to see had his head spinning in circles. ------------------------- [i]There was an urgent knock on Rumpelstiltskin's cottage door, and he soon answered it to find a village woman with a rather distressed look on her face. "Rumpelstiltskin, you need to get to the docks now!" She informed him hastily. "The docks? Why-" "The men who came into port last week...they've taken Milah! They're setting sail, you must hurry!" It took a great amount of effort on Rumpelstiltskin's part to reach the docks; it was a fair distance away and the hinderence of his right leg slowed him down greatly but he finally found the ship belonging to the pirates he had met in the pub a week ago and stepped aboard. Upon stepping on the deck itself, Rumpelstiltskin's right leg gave out completely, causing him to tumble over and to fall onto his chest. He picked himself up quickly though, reaching the point of being on his knees when he saw a pair of boots level with his eyesight, the man of which the boots belonged to standing on top of the ledge just above where he was. "On your feet for the Captain!" A sailor shouted out to Rumpelstiltskin, and suddenly he found himself being hoisted hostily to his feet by two other sailors, one of them harshly shoving his walking stick into his chest to ensure he stayed on his feet. The man to which the sailor was referring to as the Captain was the very same man that had been talking with Milah in the bar, the man with the black hair and matching eyeliner. "I-I-I remember you..." Rumpelstiltskin observed, pointing at him. "F-from the bar..." "It's always nice to make an impression." The Captain said with a smirk, causing the nearby pirates to laugh out loud. "Where are my manners? We haven't been formally introduced..." The Captain uncrossed his arms from his chest and walked closer to Rumpelstiltskin. "Killian Jones. Now...what are you doing aboard my ship?" Rumpelstiltskin looked around, seeing the multitude of eyes preying upon him like a flock of buzzards waiting for an injured animal to die. He was certainly out of his element here; and he was more than eager to just get this over and done with and return to the safety of his home. "Oh, well, uh, I, uh...y-you have my wife..." He stammered. "I've had many a man's wife." Killian replied, again getting a good laugh out of his comrades. "D-do-uh, you see...we have a daughter..." Rumpelstiltskin tried explaining, hoping that this pirate had an shred of morality in him...somewhere..."...and she needs her mother..." "You see, I have a ship full of men who need...companionship..." Was Killian's reply, earning hoots and hollers from the other pirates. "I-I'm begging you...[b]please[/b] let her go..." "I'm not much for bargaining. That said...I do consider myself an honorable man; a man with a code...so if you truly want your wife back-" Killian took the sword of on one of the nearby pirates and dropped it in front of Rumpelstiltskin at his feet and then withdrew his own sword. "-all you have to do is take her." Killian pointed the end of his sword towards Rumpelstiltskin's chest, causing his breathing to increase rapidly and his body to shake. "Never been in a duel before I take it?" Killian observed, pressing the tip of the sword into Rumpelstiltskin's chest; not hard enough to impale...not just yet. "Well it's quite simple really, the pointy end goes in the other guy." Rumpelstiltskin looked down at the sword by his feet, his body trembling so bad that it was difficult to even keep hold of his walking stick. "Go on, pick it up." Killian goaded him, but Rumpelstiltskin couldn't budge; frozen with fear. Humiliation came over him quickly and he could feel hot tears beginning to well up in his eyes as he quickly began to realize that there was no fight to be won here, and that he would be lucky to escape with his own life. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants...deserves what he gets..." Killian said simply and withdrew his sword, sheathing it and turning his back to Rumpelstiltskin, harshly indicating that he wasn't worth his time. "Please sir..." Rumpelstiltskin dared to try once more. "At least let me speak with my girl, she was with Milah this morning...I have to see her..." "And why would she want to see you?" Killian asked, turning only just slightly to face Rumpelstiltskin. "Her father's a coward."[/i] -------------------- Mr. Gold stumbled forward, refusing to go down altogether and finding a brick wall to brace his hands against to keep from succumbing to his blackouts. Sweat practically rolled off his forehead and down his neck, his teeth grinding and gnashing together in his best attempt to push his will forward and fight back. It was a battle he was quickly losing as his legs outright gave up on him, forcing him down onto his knees and still clutching desperately at the brick wall for some sort of anchor. Unable to control his tolerance for pain any longer, a quiet cry came from his throat, echoing into the still night, seeming to mock him; screaming his weaknesses back at him in a cruel taunt that caused him to cry out once more in anger rather than pain before finally giving in and resting his sweat-soaked forehead against the cool brick wall and sobbed silently to himself, whimpering repeatedly and in between strenuous coughing fits, "I'm sorry Bae! I'm so sorry!"