So. I hadn't meant to continue. Dream is over, new day begun, and all that. And then Rumpel came knocking and demanded some more head time, which turned into muse time, and my muse is so darn susceptible to dangerous, sexy baddies with a heartbreaking past that she opened the door and threw out the red carpet. Hence the next installment, and a plot line that's evolving so fast I might have to call in sick just to get time to finish it. (Not that I'd ever do that, boss, don't worry...) Just a short little blurb, but I think it fits in well with the canon so far - it'll go AU soon enough I'm sure, but for now, I'll work with all the tantalizing clues the show has given us.

Awakening is set just after the pilot. Emma's decided to stay for a week, Mr. Gold has met her at Granny's, and she's still mostly at sixes and sevens. Mr. Gold's confusion springs pretty much directly from natural-blue-26's prompt, which was so deliciously evocative that I had to include it. Thanks to blue, nicksmom3612, NorthernLights25, and Miss. SunFlower for your reviews - y'all kickstarted the muse and made this story possible. :)


"Belle…" The name played around in Gold's head all morning. By noon, its significance had faded, just a syllable dancing through his mind. By closing time, the name was gone, only a vague flash of chimes every now and again, and the pawnbroker wondered why he felt like he'd come from a carillon concert.

Mr. Gold wandered over to Granny's diner for supper, looking at the new girl, Emma, with a vague, appraising eye. Not bad looking, really, though he preferred his girls softer, more feminine. Still, she was ripe for a deal. He'd always had a talent for knowing when someone was desperate for something, desperate enough to sell off even their most prized possessions. He'd had a look at her car on the way in. Nothing much in there that was of interest to him; then again, the valuable trinkets were almost always small, and almost always carried on one's person.

He frowned at that thought. No, that wasn't strictly true. After all, his most treasured possession was… was…

He was frowning with fierce concentration when Ruby dropped his plate down in front of him, setting his cup of hot chocolate down at his elbow. Thought disrupted, Mr. Gold tucked into his meal, sipping at his drink with a sigh that came very close to satisfaction. Granny always did make the best chocolate in town. He loved the stuff. It was the only concession he made to his perfect businessman persona, his single indulgence. The steam wafted about his nose as he inhaled the thick, rich scent that spoke of other lands, the smooth confection scalding his tongue, a river of magma down his throat as he sipped and swallowed, wiping a trace of froth from his upper lip with a napkin before setting the mug down and attending to his food. It was all right, but the chocolate… if Granny's hot chocolate was a sin, it was one he would gladly be damned for.

Funny. He couldn't remember ever being so moved by hot chocolate before.

Finishing up his meal, Gold paid his bill - he was scrupulous about that; it wasn't like he wouldn't be getting the money back shortly anyhow - and went home. Tugging the knot in his tie loose as he came through the door, he clicked the deadbolt home and sighed. Home at last.

His eyes lit on his mantle, on the small, chipped cup that sat so incongruously in a space much too large for it.

And lurched, his memories hitting him hard, so that he felt as if he'd been sucker-punched.

Belle. He'd forgotten again. He'd forgotten. He'd forgotten her. How could he have forgotten?

The curse. Even when he knew it was there, it worked on him, dulled his mind, filled his head with cotton balls and lint fluff.

I am Rumpelstiltskin, he reminded himself. Belle was stolen from me. Killed. And I can't prove it, but I know the queen was behind it. Regina. You will pay for my lost love.

How?

Gold - Rumpelstiltskin - twitched his lip and harrumphed. He didn't know the exact mechanism his revenge would take, but he was nothing if not patient. He would watch for his chance. He could wait. Information was better coin than cash, and there were always those willing to deal. And to Deal.

Emma might be coerced into one of the latter, if he could find some way to arrange it. She would be a valuable player in this little chess game of his and Regina's. The mayor already hated her with a passion, though heaven knew why, she seemed harmless enough. Outwardly, anyway. Who knew what secrets lurked beneath those blonde curls? Yes, anyone who irked Regina as much as Miss Swan did was worth keeping around, if only for the entertainment value. She would make a wonderful knight. Perhaps even, with the right incentives, a queen. And Gold would eat his own boots if a man with his instincts and talents couldn't find the proper incentives to encourage desired behavior in one drifting bounty hunter.

That decided, Gold nodded firmly and went upstairs to his bedroom.

Thirty seconds later, he was back in his living room, fetching his cup from the mantelpiece. He carried it with him, cradled against his chest like a child, thumb caressing the still-sharp edge of the chip.

Somehow, this cup kept him anchored, centered. Reminded him that he was not just a small businessman in a nearly insignificant small town along the coast of a rather neglected state. He was Rumpelstiltskin.

He had a higher goal now. No more would he seek a deal for the sake of the deal. Now he had a purpose.

A smile crossed his face, one with a hint of incisor and a touch of cruelty. Oh, Regina. Twenty-eight years, was it? You've had your way long enough. Time for me to turn your little world on its axis. You'll regret ever having messed with me.

But that night, settling in for sleep, Gold allowed his gaze to rest on his cup, glowing in the moonlight on his bedside table. The set of his face softened. "Belle. I miss you. My love."

He fell asleep that night, one hand curled protectively about the porcelain cup which, in the end, he couldn't leave on the nightstand. It rested on the pillow beside him, his thumb pressed lightly to the chip.

He would learn to remember. He would never forget.

I am Rumpelstiltskin. And I am coming for you, Regina.