In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
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Mr. Gold (Rumplestiltskin): And yet, still closed. (The Crocodile)
Mr. Gold smiled at Ruby, taking in her details about Belle's new life without him. When her introduction to hot dogs, French fries, malts, and chocolate sundaes had led her to lament that her skirt felt tight, Ruby had introduced her to Zumba classes, jogging, and racquetball.
"She has yet to try a burger, though. She won't say why."
As Mr. Gold had imagined, Belle was devouring the books in the library, learning about their new world. Travel was her favorite—from earth's great cities to the astounding contrasts of its deserts, seas, forests, and jungles... all the places Mr. Gold was planning to visit with her on his quest to find his son—before he'd learned that crossing the border would erase his memories of Baelfire and before her doubts about their relationship had become certainties.
"She's reading a lot of psychology books, too."
And Belle—hidden away in an asylum throughout the repetitious years of the curse—was meeting the residents of Storybrooke for the first time.
"Everyone loves her."
Mr. Gold remembered the chagrin on Gaston's face when Belle had scolded him. "She can even make bullies—"
His jangling doorbell interrupted them. What now? Gripping his cane, Mr. Gold hoisted himself to his feet. "Let me see to that. You keep searching."
As he made his way across his office, he let new visions of Belle form in his mind. They made his steps feel almost light. Then he passed into his shop and saw a man he never wanted to see again squatting before a showcase. Even worse, Mr. Smee had jimmied it open to poke around the knives, cutlasses, and swords inside.
Without a second thought, Mr. Gold raised his left hand and sent a lightning bolt of what the hell do you think you're doing across the room to slam the cabinet door against him.
Mr. Smee squealed like a pig, fell on his butt, and clasped his bruised wrist. No longer blocked, the door shut, and the lock clicked.
"I'm closed for inventory. Until further notice, people enter my shop by appointment only. You don't have an appointment."
Mr. Smee scrambled to his feet. "Moe sent me to fetch something."
"Tell him to bring his pledge slip and final payment, and he can have whatever it is back."
"Not something he pawned—" Mr. Smee adjusted his red cap.
Giving himself time to lie, thought Mr. Gold.
"—something from back home. A ceremonial iron dagger."
Mr. Gold sighed. How many times do I have to repeat this? "For something he owned in the Enchanted Forest, he needs to submit a detailed description. I have three days to turn it over or explain why I can't. If he isn't satisfied, then he can petition the acting sheriff to arbitrate and, if needs be, conduct the search himself. That's the deal."
