Author's Note: Don't ask me where this came from. I began this piece some time ago and conveniently managed to finish it late last night, on Jared Gilmore's (Henry Mill's) Birthday. It's a Charming Family Fic, heavily Rumple-centric, because that's just the way I roll. And it taught me one thing. I CANNOT WRITE FLUFF. This started out as a sweet fluff piece but than DRAGGED ME DOWN INTO THE ETERNAL PIT OF ANGST. I CAN ONLY WRITE ANGST. I NEED A DOCTOR. :)

An Act of Love

The wind rattled along the castle windows, undaunted by the bright autumn sunshine that streamed down through every colored pane of glass. Golden beams lit up rich red carpets and many-hued tapestries that covered the walls of the corridors. The light was only broken every so often by the swift darting shadow of a leaf, hurried through the sky outside by the breeze.

It was a fall morning and, as far as Belle was concerned, a hungry morning. There was a gentle gnawing feeling in her stomach and she smiled as her blue slippers padded softly down the hall towards the kitchen. Rumplestiltskin was up early…his side of the bed was cold when she reached for it, first thing after waking.

It slightly angered her, this habit of early rising. Besides the fact that it made her feel lazy, she didn't like to think of what her husband did during these brand new hours, wandering a sunlit house all alone. She knew him better than just about anyone else but he could still find a million and ten ways to make her fret over him.

Even as she pushed the heavy wooden door open that led to the antechamber of the main hall, she heard the steady creaking of the spinning wheel. It meant her Beast could be lost in thought again, something that wasn't always good for him.

She came up softly behind him, smiling at his brown head, tinged with silver. He wasn't really as old as he looked…before he became the Dark One, a difficult life and tragic losses had dragged their cruel hands across his face, furrowing it with lines, whitening his hair, shading his eyes. They had tried to ruin the beauty in his face, a beauty very few could now see.

Unless you loved him, that is. Then, you realized he had only become more beautiful. Darkness had once flooded that face, making the lines look like cunning, greedy echoes of a thousand grimaces, squints, and sneers. Now, there was a light in her husband's eyes, a light that was timid and delicate but amazingly powerful, bright enough to make those lines look like what they were: the shades of a face that had worried and wept and fought and suffered for those he loved. It was a father's sacrifice, frozen in time and made a mockery of but finally unfrozen and ready to join life again in all its wonders and trials.

Belle kissed the back of that head, rubbing his shoulders a moment. She felt rather than saw the huge smile that lit up his face. "Morning, Belle."

"Morning, Rumple…" she cast her glance over his wheel, meanwhile wrapping her arms about his shoulders and letting her chin rest there. "What'd you do this morning?"

"Nothing, really. Just thinking."

She straightened, letting him wheel around in the stool to face her. She could tell from the look in his brown eyes that he wanted her opinion. "What about?"

He paused, "Henry's birthday, next month."

Ah. The little Prince, the Happy Prince, as everyone was calling him. Relieved it was such a light matter, Belle pursed her lips in brief thought. "Well, are you going to get him something?"

"Of course," Rumplestiltskin sounded hurt, "he's our grandson, remember?" His voice took on a note of sarcasm.

"Alright," Belle smiled slightly at his irascibility, "What were you thinking of?"

"Well that's just the problem, Belle. When my Bae was a boy, we were poor." A shadow appeared under his eyes, far away with the memory and worry of another, much harder life where every day was a struggle to provide for his precious child, let alone himself. "He would have given anything for a good ball, a new set of clothes, a puppy, even a firework to set off in the fields nearby, just for the sake of seeing it glow. But Henry has everything he could ever want…toys, clothes, pets, and I'm told that Regina's planning a firework show to blind all lesser beings." His tone slipped into a sneer; he had never gotten quite used to seeing Regina without snarking at her.

"Rumple," Belle said quietly, sobered by the memory of the impoverished life Rumplestiltskin had once shared with his beloved little boy, "it sounds like you need to give him something money can't buy."

"Like?" Rumplestiltskin prodded, poking her lightly in the ribs, "Bae hates magic like the plague, and Henry's followed suit, not that I can blame either of them." Magic, after all, had very nearly torn both their families apart and left them abandoned at one time or another.

"Maybe," Belle continued, not realizing how unhelpful she was being since the answer was obvious to anyone but Rumplestiltskin, "maybe you shouldn't give him something magical."

Rumplestiltskin's mouth twisted. "Oh, what then? Shall I make my way into the woods and capture and tame a pony with my bare hands? Yes, I can give him a pony. That's good. Have you even listened to Charming, Jefferson, or the others? There's so much of that going around that Henry will have his own stables before long. And he'll be able to give us ponies for our birthdays."

Belle laughed shortly, twining her fingers through his and sliding easily into his lap, her sky-blue nightdress dragging smoothly over his trouser legs. A smile graced his features and he encircled her waist with one arm, keeping her safe and secure. Belle lifted up one of his hands in hers: long, strong fingers, well shaped with firm yet sensitive points, dulled by many centuries of spinning, weaving, and sewing. The hand was brown and rough against her pinky-white one, but beautiful in its homeliness.

"What about…" she stretched her arm higher. Amused, Rumplestiltskin let her hold their hands out to the morning sun as it peeked in, white and hot, through the kitchen window. "What about something you can do with these, something you can do so well, with or without magic?"

Rumplestiltskin looked at their hands, so different, yet fitting together so perfectly as if they'd been created with each other in mind. He looked at Belle, her face so close to his, her blue eyes shining with her faith in him, her forgiving love for him and the way she did and always had valued the craftsman behind the wizard. The spinster behind the trickster. The man behind the monster. Something he could do well, with or without magic?

He smiled, and in Belle's estimation, it put the morning sunshine to shame. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed his forehead, grabbing his shoulder to hold herself steady. When she pulled back, his eyes widened as he only just then seemed to realize she was sitting in his lap. "Ready for breakfast?" She asked quickly, starting to stand up.

Rumplestiltskin pulled her gently down again and returned the kiss to her sweet lips. "Starving," he growled lovingly.

The loom was huge; at least a head taller than Rumplestiltskin and wider than his arms could ever stretch. The warp and shuttle were smooth and freshly carved, still smelling heavily of the sawmill. Nowadays, Rumplestiltskin ordered almost everything he needed from the nearby craftsmen. He told himself and let Belle believe it was because he wanted to help the economy of the Enchanted Forest as it struggled back onto its feet; in reality, he wanted to spare his magic, especially since the Dark Curse had been lifted from him.

He was still powerful, but now he had to work a whole lot harder for that power. A small price to pay for the happiness, safety, and purpose he'd found with Belle…but he still found it as annoying as Emma Swan found life without electronics.

A long, pale sheet of vellum was spread out on the wall of his laboratory. A little wooden stool stood by it for him to rest on when his knee grew too painful. Using mostly thick, black charcoal sticks but also a quill pen for the finer details, he drew a long, wide, scrawling panorama. It would be his model.

Rumplestiltskin was an artist.

He'd never thought so at first: he spun sheep's' wool into long, smooth strands, wrapped around wooden sticks, just as the spinster women who raised him had done for generations before. He made wool for others' hands to grasp, to weave and sew and let it change under their hands into something whole, useful…even beautiful. Rumplestiltskin merely took their coins, bought the bread he needed to survive, and did it again the next day.

But things changed when Baelfire came, when Milah…left.

Blinded by his own misery, he hadn't noticed little Bae's clothes getting shabbier and shabbier, stains and patches spreading from the frayed sleeves and leggings. The child's hair grew quickly until it graced his shoulders and hung over his face, making him look like a shaggy little urchin.

Then Rumplestiltskin realized that barely scraping by every week to afford dinner for them both on coward's fare was simply not enough. He took some of the wool, wool he knew he'd never be able to sell anyway, not in this town. He spun it, wove it, cut it and, this time, it was under his hands that it changed into something whole, useful and…maybe not beautiful, but it looked all right.

To see Bae's face light up! His brown eyes dancing beneath the unkempt locks as the boy sang in praise of his Papa's skill and quickly, clumsily pulled the homespun clothes on, nestling his chin in the rough fabric, breathing in the heavy, sheep-and-soap scent and proclaiming it good.

Rumplestiltskin had looked at his hands, coward's hands, and wondered how anything good could ever come from them.

But Bae had no such worries. He ran out, yelping, to play with the neighbor's sheepdog, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone in the dim cottage. Alone, stunned, and happy, as he always seemed to feel when he actually did something right.

It was Bae, too, who'd taught him his other skill.

A father who knew he was losing his boy, even before he actually let him fall through a portal to another world…who could see the sudden chasm between them in every glance, every word they spoke to each other. He saw the growing distance but also the growing desperation in his boy's eyes as Baelfire tried to reach through the Dark One, tried to bring back the good man, the father he'd once known and loved.

One day, the Dark One coaxed his boy to sit down on a stump by their new cottage in the forest. He stood before him nervously, fingers twitching, feeling like someone on trial, under scrutiny. Baelfire gazed up at him with those sad, stern brown eyes.

Then the Dark One blinked and Rumplestiltskin took his place, smiling through the blackened teeth. He revealed a piece of parchment and a bit of charcoal from under his robe. "Anyway, Bae, I was thinking I'd like to draw a picture of you."

"Why?" There's no trust in his boy's voice. That's not right. His boy should grin like a fool and strike a ridiculous pose, daring to poke fun at his father yet enjoying the whole thing immensely, flattered and excited about the finished work.

Not just staring at him, watching, waiting for him to commit some sin, say something wrong.

Rumplestiltskin did his best to ignore the feeling. He sat back on a rock and crossed his legs, something he never failed to do, reveling in the freedom of a knee healed by magic. If only he could heal the scars in his soul as well.

"Why?" Bae asked again, his voice floating into the empty, awkward silence.

Rumplestiltskin's mouth tightened. "Because…" he paused, trying to control his irritation. His voice melted into something entirely different: kind and thoughtful, warm and husky. "Because you're growing, Bae. You'll be a man soon. And I want something to remember my brave boy by."

And then, something wonderful happened. Baelfire didn't roll his eyes or heave a deep chested sigh. He gazed searchingly into his Papa's face and, after a moment, seemed to find what he was looking for. He smiled, ever so slightly. "Alright, Papa."

Rumplestiltskin glowed with happiness. Bae had not called him Papa for a long time. As he busily began to draw the rough, round outline of his son's face, he began to whistle, one foot tapping. Bae held still and, although he didn't grin like a fool, there was a reflective, fond look in his eyes that was almost forgiving in its serenity.

It was that face, that kind, forgiving face on a piece of parchment that kept the Dark One sane for 300 years.

Henry's birthday was in three months. Not much time at all to skillfully and smoothly put a tapestry together, but Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not determined. Once he decided something was worth fighting, he would never give up. Bae had taught him that. Belle had taught him that. Which is why he'd fruitlessly searched out a path between worlds for three hundred years and eternally cherished a chipped cup for the memory of his True Love. Given a goal, he could wait and he could work forever.

Only now, instead of yanking at the strings of peoples' lives and criss-crossing them, forcing them to fit in the time-worn grooves he had designed long before, pushing the first domino and thereby creating the perfect chain of events that would lead to the completion of his great plan…now, he threaded long, long strands of silk and wool and cotton, producing different textures and colors, twining them together in just the right way before weaving them into the tapestry. He moved from one side to the other, ignoring the warm sunshine that rested on his shoulders and lit up his creation. He worked all day; mouth tight with concentration, deep brown eyes rarely blinking, his spinner's hands always moving.

He'd worked like this long ago, all day, far into the night, in order to clothe and feed his boy. Now, he did the same for his grandson, letting his thoughts wander as his body labored endlessly on. Long, long ago, he'd become content with his particular lot in life, the shame, the loneliness, and the poverty. Milah had never been able to reconcile herself towards that life, not even for love of Baelfire. But Rumplestiltskin, when he had still had his family, was fine with being poor. In fact, until they tried to take his child away, he would have been content to remain poor forever, as long as Bae was happy.

The days grew longer. Belle tried to entice him out of the room to eat and sleep and walk around the garden with her a little but he sweetly yet stubbornly refused her, although it took a great deal of willpower when she leaned against him and put on that beautiful pout and pursed her lips, inviting him to kiss it away. As the deadline grew closer, however, she instead began to bring her books with her and read aloud to him, or she'd haul in big baskets of material and spools of thread, just as in the old days, except now it wasn't straw.

When he didn't need her help and the books were finished she sat in a corner, resting her chin on her hands and watching his magic unfold.

Feeling confident and happy, with her beautiful blue eyes gazing at him, he let himself drift away, let his mind freely grasp at the intangible memories of the past and his oh so confusing emotions of the present. He took his heart and his mind and gazed through them, weaving what he saw. And he saw Regina.

Regina should not, in a million years, be the first person he thinks of. But she is. Regina is the little girl that should have been his. She was ruined by her mother, broken by Cora's ambition and selfishness and he, Rumplestiltskin, took advantage of that. He used Regina's losses and loneliness to build a black, thick, cold wall of stone around her heart, to make her the most perfect dark and desperate soul to cast his curse, a curse she was as much the victim of as anyone else.

He remembers that battle, that battle between himself and Cora when he tried to claim Regina for his own, just one more time. Vibrant strands of apple-red string spark and burn between his fingers as he pulls it through the fabric, pushing the shuttle up as he twines shimmering black and blue threads together.

She is beautiful, tall, proud, courageous, so powerful and yet so sensitive. When faced with pure physical pain, she is stronger than any woman he knows. When faced with the pain of her heart…she's weak. Weak like he is. She needed someone to protect her, to love her. She could have been his little girl once…and yet, when she most needed his help, needed a hand to pull her out of that dark pit, he did nothing. And he lost her forever. He knew that now. She could never be his child, never love him. Tolerate him, yes. Accept him, perhaps. But through his own greed and desperation, he had turned her into himself…and you cannot love yourself, no matter how much you pretend to. You loathe yourself. You are ashamed of yourself and all the evil things you've done.

He still remembered how soft and tiny she was in his arms, how she cried when he held the little vial to her baby-brown eyes to catch her tears, how he jostled her in his arms to soothe her when Cora wasn't looking and gingerly ran a black nail down her smooth, soft forehead, so free from all the pain and sorrow that would someday sit there. He held her in his arms and whispered for her to hush, to be safe, to be happy. Because that's what you're supposed to do with babies, whether they're yours or not.

Moving to white, then apple-red, and then the shimmering black again. But there's blue there too…a soft blue that gets lighter and lighter, like a night sky glowing with stars just before the pink dawn spills over the horizon.

Regina was the Black Queen on his chessboard, not the baby that was almost his. Now she is Henry's adopted mother, the woman Henry visits on weekends and sleeps over with, the woman who teaches him secrets and takes him out on magical trips deep into the Enchanted Forest. She is the one who dresses fabulously and says bitter, biting things at family gatherings and yet everyone forgives her for it, because they know she's trying.

And Rumplestiltskin is proud of her. Proud because she fought all the odds and sacrificed and suffered to find her son again and, when the time finally came…she never let him go.

Rumplestiltskin irritates her on purpose. They snap at each other like tired old dragons, magic burning dangerously beneath their fingertips, but she smiles at Henry and kisses his head and the magic simmers away. Yes, he is proud of his Queen. She has become good in a way he can never see himself becoming. She held onto her son and she will be there for him when he begins to turn into a man. And that makes Rumplestiltskin happy as much as it hurts.

He snips the thread and takes another spool out of the basket, swallowing. He hopes Belle doesn't notice how silent he's become, although it's an absurd fear since he hasn't said a word for hours. In fact, everything has become so still and silent…he doesn't even know if she's still here. But his eyes hurt, and he doesn't trust himself to turn around and check.

This time, ebony black, satin white, and blood red, lined with gold and soft purple colors…warm tan and sky blue, he skillfully slips the colors in and out through the pattern.

The Charmings. Snow White and her Prince. They were necessary, to Henry happiness, to Emma's happiness, to Bae's happiness, and therefore to Rumplestiltskin. He searched far, far back, through the dark, tangled skein of his life and found he could not tear them out…they were part of him. He'd worked so long and so hard to bring them together, breathlessly daring to separate them at will and send them off through terrible dangers, each to accomplish their parts in the great play he'd written…and yet always, they found their way back to each other. He pushed these toys hard, and they did not break. So he felt no shame in rewarding them, in reuniting them forever, in ensuring they would meet again when the Curse was broken. They were one of the few good things he'd ever done in his life, for all the wrong reasons. He might even trouble himself if the Charmings were in danger…of course he would.

He smiled to himself, outlining ebony black with silver half circle, iron-grey beam in a battle-reddened fist. Courage red as blood, love strong and rosy.

Once, long, long ago, he'd hated them. Wanted them dead, even, because they had what he would never have, because Belle was gone. But he learned to forget and even forgive them for something they'd had no part in, something they would, he was sure, be very sorry for if he told them about it. Lost in the Infinite Forest, Charming had seen the faintest flicker of light in the Imp's eyes, had listened to Rumplestiltskin's story of his True Love, had actually believed him. He'd seen the Imp's weakness and didn't pry, didn't try to wound him even deeper. He'd been sorry for him. Lost, hunted, abandoned …and he'd felt pity for the Imp's torment. And sweet Snow White had saved him, had shown him no fear in the prison cell. She'd let him reach for her vulnerable stomach and the baby within, merely watching him with wise, earnest eyes. She'd saved his life. She'd kept her promise and given him the name of the savior…Emma.

Sweet, pale gold thread, strings of sharp, tangy pink and strong jean-blue. Glowing with light, and yet dark with cynical, lonely pain.

Emma. Emma. Emma. He'd said her name a thousand times, predicted her life down to the smallest second, waited for her for years and years…yet she was like nothing he'd ever expected. She was better. Stronger. More powerful. More loving, more resourceful, more snappish, more determined. More…broken. Whatever raised orphans in the world without magic…it had been every bit as bad as being raised by spinsters who didn't care if they even remembered your name. No, whatever Emma had gone through had been worse, because she had tasted love, tasted family, and then been abandoned, sent back to the iron cage they called a foster system…because they didn't want her anymore. Because they found something they liked better.

No child should ever have to bear that.

Luminescent green, chocolate swirls, grey bars and the spider-web pattern of a dream net.

But Emma was a princess; she was the savior. She was tough and beautiful and even before they'd grown to know each other so well, he'd admired her from afar. He still admired her. She was strong and good and soldiered on despite all the hardships and heartbreak life had thrown at her. She was cynical, but her faith was awakened by the cry of her child, by the needs of her loved ones. She hadn't even believed in fairytales, and yet her faith was greater than any Rumplestiltskin had ever had, because he believed in nothing but power.

He smiled again at the memory, when she threatened to punch him in the face. And then he felt a cold hand squeeze his heart when he saw her hug Henry…the grandson he'd been about to murder…and cry into his shoulders because Bae was gone. Bae.

With shaking hands, he pressed a green spool of thread to his lips, inhaling deeply, ignoring the scent of fabric and dye. He only thought of his son, being sucked into that portal twice over, wearing ridiculous blue scarves as a man and scarlet and russet colored cloaks as a boy.

For all those years, first as a poor spinster, than an abandoned widower, and then a Dark One intoxicated with power, Baelfire was the heart that beat within Rumplestiltskin's chest and gave him strength. It beat so strongly that he forgot he could love anyone else, that he even had a heart of his own. Baelfire was his whole world.

He stood, hands pushing and pulling, soaring slowly yet steadily over the tapestry, viciously cutting knots and splicing lost threads together, almost blinded by the dark, glittering pain in his eyes that kept forcing him to blink. He forgot to breathe for many long minutes, afraid to stop, afraid of what he'd see if he dared to stop working…dared to stop spinning, dared to stop giggling, dared to stop testing spells and potions, dared to look in the mirror and see his true face again.

Because he would see his failure and his loss and his black, filthy soul and all the evil things he had done to those he loved, because he was too much of a coward to even dare.

The thread began to burn his fingertips and tiny, crimson drops of blood welled up along his abused thumb. But he pulled the shuttle and pushed the loom and wove and wove and wove, because he didn't dare to stop.

And then he lost him. And he raged and broke people and wove a web of darkness…until a beauty touched his forgotten heart and made it beat again. And Rumplestiltskin found his son and, slowly, learned to love Bae as his child, the flesh of his flesh, not his heart. He didn't need another heart anymore. His own worked just fine, and he loved Belle and he loved Bae and for Bae's sake he learned to love Henry as well. And now, he has a whole family. A family his boy led him to, a family that welcome him.

His leg gives out…or maybe he gives out on his leg. Either way, he collapses into the stool, clutching the shuttle, staring at the tapestry. His back bends, and he feels like the weight of the world settles on his shoulders and he can't breathe. He can only sob.

Baelfire is his beautiful boy who forgives him for everything, and Rumplestiltskin still has no idea why. Even now, he sometimes hurts Bae with sharp, angry words…and Bae always forgives him. Regina asks him how he is and even quizzes him on certain spells she wants to learn… just like she used to. She even took his hand once, to say goodbye at the ball when he stood with her in the chilly, frosted garden for an hour and talked with her about her mother. His voice grew low and gruff and he wouldn't look at her as he tried to mention her as a baby…to tell her how beautiful she had been without really saying it. And when he told her how her mother ripped her own heart out rather than be with him…then, her black-gloved hand took his. And he stared at her. Without a word, face unreadable, she disappeared.

Prince Charming has a special chair carved for him at their family table, a chair no one else is allowed to use. He presented it to Rumplestiltskin for Christmas and made a ridiculously big thing about the fact that they managed to spell his name correctly. No matter whom they meet, he makes a point of introducing Rumplestiltskin as part of the family and, try as hard as he might, Rumplestiltskin can never detect the faintest trace of shame in the Prince's face when he does so.

Snow White comes over to chat with Belle and, when he's forced to pass through the room and interrupt their girlish chatter, she always tries to say something kind and compassionate to him, even if he bites her head off for it…she tries to smooth the ways between them all. She has an innate ability to tell when he's snapping because he's feeling irritable and when he's snapping because he's really in pain.

Emma sometimes hangs back to walk with him while the rest of the family is far ahead. Sometimes, the effervescent nature of her family is too much for her as well. Used to loneliness, used to friendlessness, she finds his serious, acerbic nature refreshing and even absurdly comfortable. She takes his sarcasm and turns it back on him playfully, without any of the venom he launches at her so freely. She talks with him about Bae and, somehow knowing how much it means to him, she sends Henry over all the time to visit.

Henry, the smart, beautiful boy with Bae's eyes and Emma's sass and Charming's devotion…Henry sees right through Rumplestiltskin, sees something inside him that is somehow worth loving and latches onto that like Belle did, forcibly tearing a way into Rumplestiltskin's heart because he is there to stay, no matter what the Dark One says, because he forgives him.

He forgives him. All of them, they always, always forgive him. He knows he doesn't deserve it. He hurt them all. He nearly destroyed their souls and, just as he let Bae fall, let Regina fall…he didn't help them in their time of need. He doesn't deserve forgiveness, he's not worth forgiving. But they forgive him and they're kind to him…they're kind…and he has no idea why…

Belle's hands broke him out of his reverie; his shoulders shuddered beneath her palms as he took in a deep breath, trying to ward off his emotions, the tears he felt trembling beneath his lashes, the dull ache behind his eyes. "Belle," he whispered, almost collapsing into her grip, the grip of the person he deserved least of all, "I don't deserve it…" his voice broke into a sob, "I don't deserve it."

"Oh, Rumple," was all she said, holding him tightly, holding off the pain and confusion that threatened to drag her Beast into darkness. One of his hands, the one with the ring on it, reached up and wrapped around her arm, as if he needed to touch her to remind himself she was real and alive and loved him, as if even the sound of her voice and the warmth of her arms around him wasn't enough.

He had ripped open and searched through his heart and found so much good there…but guilt as well, and pain, flooding his soul like a black, cold ocean of despair. Yet, through this torture, he had produced beauty…he had embraced love. She stared at what he had created, rocking him back and forth with her, overcome with both compassion and awe as she sniffed back tears, burying her nose in his hair. "Oh, Rumple."

Henry's birthday feast was celebrated with as much pomp and ceremony as the newly reformed kingdom would allow. Flocks of people crowded in, as much for the free food and ale as to see the Happy Prince and cheer for him. Henry made a sweet, endearing speech, and then Charming made a noble, rousing speech, which Snow lovingly cut short before giving permission for the festivities to start.

Then, as the people enjoyed the games, entertainment, and refreshments, the royal family moved inside for what Henry was really looking forward to: the private party. Rumplestiltskin withdrew to his usual position, the corner. Belle stood with him but a little farther out, almost as if she was trying to lead him back into society with her silent influence, to be the bridge between him and his family. And she was good at it.

Regina strode towards the center-table where a large pile of gifts was arranged. With a careful, almost arrogant wave of her hand, she transported several more from her castle, all of them lavishly wrapped and sparkling. Nothing was too good for the boy she adored.

Rumplestiltskin waved his hand quietly, causing the heavy wooden doors to shut with a muffled boom. Once they were all safely separated from the huge, electric, seething crowd of people, Emma sank heavily and suddenly into a seat, her shoes creaking. "I have never been so nervous in my life…and it wasn't even my birthday! Not sure I'm cut out to be a princess."

Snow leaned over her and smiled mischievously, her ebony hair tickling her daughter's forehead, "oh, you just wait till you see what we've got planned for the savior's birthday."

"What?" Emma sat up straight as her mother, ignoring the threatening tone, kissed her on the head fondly. "You'd better not…"

"Well, that's a year away," Neal interrupted, loosening his scarf as he moved towards Henry, running a hand through his son's hair fondly, "and its Henry's birthday right now, ladies."

Henry grinned at Emma. "Yeah, Mom…so, what did you get me?"

Emma made the keep-at-it-smart-mouth face. Henry's grin merely widened.

"Wait, wait, wait…" Charming interrupted, holding up one commanding hand as Snow put a glass in the other. "Let's do this right. Henry, allow us all to wish you a happy thirteenth birthday."

Clapping her hands together like a schoolteacher leading a choir of children, Snow White intoned eagerly, her sweet voice carrying perfect pitch. "Happy Birthday to you."

"Happy Birthday to you," Emma, Charming, Neal, and Belle joined in. Belle leaned forward and expelled the notes with all the strength in her lungs. Rumplestiltskin nearly, nearly smiled in amusement as he took her hand to keep her steady.

Regina kept her pensive gaze on the presents a moment as if, like Rumplestiltskin, she was trying to figure out just where she fit it in all this. As if determined to tell her, Henry took her hand and she turned to him, flashing him one of her brilliant, warm, white smiles. Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow as the Evil Queen actually contributed her beautiful alto, "Happy Birthday, dear Henry…"

He was jostled out of his thoughts when Belle suddenly shoved him in the side. Startled, his throaty, accented voice soared out, "Happy Birthday to you!"

Regina glanced sharply at him across the room as the song ended. He kept his face completely neutral and emotionless. Maybe she wouldn't know.

Henry gave Regina a quick squeeze around the waist, effectively distracting her. Emma sat up straight on the couch and pointed to the table. "We gonna do this, Dad, or do you have another speech?"

Charming just smiled at her as he leaned down to hand her a drink. "I'm saving it for your birthday."

Emma choked on her drink and Neal rushed over, eager to thump her on the back. She was saved, however, by Henry's commanding cry, "who's this from?"

Everyone turned to look. Henry held a large, rectangular box wrapped in green. "Uh, that's from me," Charming said, crossing his arms eagerly and smiling mysteriously. His blue eyes twinkled like a grandfather's would. Henry shared that mysterious smile with him before taking a knife and slicing through the wrapping. It was more like silk than paper. Then, dropping the knife on the table with an impetuous thump, he lifted the lid.

And gasped in delight. He reached into the box and pulled out a beautiful short sword with a golden handle. Dumping the box of his lap he sat up quickly and waved it about.

Emma's mouth dropped open. Regina turned to Charming and flung her hands down exasperatedly. "Excuse me?!" she hissed, "he's thirteen!"

Charming shrugged, trying to hide behind his drink as he took a big gulp. Neal got up and went towards Henry, flinching and grabbing the blade before it hit him in the face. "Wow, that is so cool…" he whispered. Henry's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Emma frowned, still not about to let it go. "Yeah, Dad…sheesh, I know in Medieval days they gave you kids swords at like, ten, but Henry's from Earth!"

Snow White snorted with laughter at her daughter, who was too angry to say, 'world without magic'. Emma ignored her, still giving her father the look. "Would have liked a little head's up!"

"As would I!" Regina barked.

"It's alright," every head turned to stare at Rumplestiltskin, "just enchant the blade so it will never touch your son."

"Dad!" Neal protested, "you know magic's not gonna keep him safe!"

Charming joined in for a completely different reason, "common, how's he gonna learn that way?"

Regina, surprisingly, defended the Imp. She crossed her arms, "I'm sure impalement will teach Henry to grow up into a fine swordsman."

Snow White moved forward and took the sword away from Henry and Neal before the latter, who was handling it with all the care of a toddler with butter-fingers, took an eye out. She sheathed it expertly and put it back in the box. "This can be discussed later, over dinner. Next present, Henry!" Ignoring protests, she carried it away and stored it somewhere out of sight with that mysterious talent mothers have. Emma blinked, trying to find it, but inexplicably couldn't.

Next was a beautiful pair of riding boots from Regina. Everyone knew what that meant: Regina wanted to teach him to ride. And not just how to stay on a horse without falling off as he did now, but to cut through the wind and whisper in the horse's ear and know what every chuff of breath meant, where every hoof was going to land as you flew over the horizon. She leaned over, "I've got the perfect horse waiting for you."

"Um," Charming interrupted, hesitantly, "I also…got a horse for you. And Jefferson's getting you one from the world of Moonacre, only we don't know when he'll be back yet."

Rumplestiltskin smiled smugly from his corner. Emma laughed. Regina stared at Charming with disapproval. "You knew Jefferson was getting him a horse, and yet you're still getting him one too?"

"It's a nice horse," Charming defended himself.

Henry shrugged. "That's okay. I can ride a different one each day."

"No, Henry," Regina corrected him, "one of them has to become your special friend, the one who obeys your slightest command and knickers when he hears your voice. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about." She straightened up and smiled coolly at Charming. "And I think I know which one it will be."

Charming's mouth tightened. Neal exhaled loudly, drawing everybody's attention. "Let's keep in mind there's more kids around here than Henry. Grace, for one, and a couple on the way. There's gonna be plenty of people to share with." He turned to Henry, "let's hurry this up, I'm hungry."

There was a puppy from Emma. Henry loved it, almost as much as Charming did. Regina stared down at it as it wriggled against her legs. She looked like she smelled something awful and couldn't say a word about it because she was in public. Emma was happy: she'd thought a long time about the perfect gift that could belong to both worlds, regardless of the time period. Henry couldn't decide on a name for it, however.

Rumplestiltskin remembered a sheepdog he'd once had, one that used to curl up on the floor around Bae when he was a toddler and keep him warm during winter nights. Bae would pillow his cheek on the dog's shaggy back, small fingers twined through the dirty white fur. Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to suggest the name, "Alef".

"Hey, how 'bout Alef?" Neal said suddenly. Rumplestiltskin's mouth stayed open slightly as he watched for Henry's reaction.

Henry tried the name on his tongue. He smiled, not caring that it was a peasant word. "I like it."

Looking like a pleased cat, Neal proudly stuffed the newly christened puppy into his jacket and ordered the ceremony to continue.

The next box was heavy and, when Henry tilted it, you could hear the low rumbling as several things slid from one side to the other. It was a set of metal knights in armor, wonderfully smithied by the dwarfs. They had movable joints and swords you could sheathe and a large, bronze colored dragon to fight. As Henry turned the pieces over in his hand, Charming eagerly said, "Those are from me, too."

Regina glanced at him, eyebrows raised. Without further ado, Charming pointed towards her barely diminished pile of gifts. Snow laughed aloud and leaned into her husband. "This is why I didn't get you anything, Henry: between your grandfather and Regina you'll be richer than Rumplestiltskin."

"Is that a challenge?" Rumplestiltskin found himself joking aloud.

Henry turned and met his gaze squarely for the first time since the presents-ceremony had begun. He grinned and sneered playfully at his grandfather, the reclusive one he'd grown so close to recently. "Yes!"

"Bold words, young prince. I'll hold you to it," Rumplestiltskin poured menace into his voice. Henry laughed and looked away, distracted again by all the people around him. But Emma gave Rumplestiltskin a look, as if she saw something that both puzzled and pleased her, and she was trying to read it out.

Belle had written her first book. Not really a book, she protested modestly, just a compilation of all the local legends and fairytales going back to 'forever' as Neal jokingly suggested. She gave it to Henry, stating that since he was already living his own fairytale, perhaps he'd like to finally read someone else's. Henry clasped the book with shining eyes and flipped through the pages eagerly until Regina gently took it away.

Rumplestiltskin could have sworn her fingers lingered over the cover as she placed it safely on the table. Regina, too, had always loved to read. Until her mother decided it was unladylike and a waste of time unless it directly contributed somehow to her education.

Henry picked up a squarish box that rattled. Neal looked up from the puppy he was nosing, "from me, buddy."

Holding it to his ear, Henry squinted suspiciously at him. "Sounds like a bomb or something."

"Yeah?" Neal laughed as Emma lightly slapped his leg before stealing the puppy for herself, "then hurry up and open it before it goes off, I want you to see it first."

It was a small cage of carved wood, brightly painted. Inside, what seemed to be an egg-shaped lump of twigs and mud lay on its side. Henry stuck a cautious finger in between the bars and poked it.

A small, fuzzy little orange head peeked out, blinking its wide, golden eyes lazily. It looked a little like a monkey or a lizard. It gurgled and began ticking in its throat. Henry's eyes widened. Charming leaned over and poked it, his face entranced.

"It's a Dana grub," Neal explained, "guy in the marketplace says if you wedge the nest into a tree or somethin', it'll grow up and fly away…but it always comes back home."

"Why?" Henry's mouth twitched into a smile as the little thing bit him gently.

"Add onto the old nest, bring a mate, have babies." Neal answered.

Regina leaned gracefully onto the table, raising an eyebrow as she stared cautiously down at the little thing. "Just don't put it in my apple tree," she warned.

"Or you'll never see your next birthday," Neal joked. Regina rolled her eyes and turned to take up another present to give her son, one she was sure would outshine Neal's in value, if not in originality.

Some minutes later, the table was finally cleared. Emma suggested picking a number to decide who would clean up. Neal, however, suddenly sat up straight, remembering something. He turned to look at his father. Rumplestiltskin was moving to sit on one of the chairs and relax, still holding hands with his wife. Belle, who understood people so well, caught Neal's look and smiled mischievously, gesturing with her head at the pile of luggage by the door.

She knew, and Neal knew, that Rumplestiltskin would hide his gift, that he would be embarrassed about it, doubtful whether Henry would want or like it, that he would wait until he could leave it in Henry's room and, hopefully, be far away when his grandson discovered the awful thing that really wasn't worth anybody's time. And both Belle and Neal weren't going to let it happen.

Neal smiled back at her…gods, sometimes he loved his mother…and, following her directions, saw a roll of something sticking out of his father's magic satchel. He stood up and went over to it, proclaiming loudly to get everybody's attention, "Hey, Henry, let's see what Grandpa got for you!"

Comfortably seated, Rumplestiltskin's head twisted sharply to look at his loud son with irritated, annoyed curiosity. However, his face quickly took on a shocked, horrified look. He half stood up, crying, "Bae, no!"

Even as he said it, however, Neal had already grabbed the roll with one hand and pulled it out.

With a whoosh, Neal felt something thick and soft fill his arms and then thwack into his face, bowling him over backwards as his shoes slipped on the stuff, which seemed to have also materialized all over the floor. He must have broken some magical containment spell that kept the thing compacted. The back of his head cracked against the floor and he yelped, ineffectively trying to bat the stuff away from himself.

There was a collective gasp from the family. Charming, Emma, and Snow all rushed over to pull the thing off him. Even Regina strode over to see whatever it was that had silenced the unsilenceable Neal. It seemed to be made up of folds and folds of stiff material.

Rumplestiltskin rushed over as they unearthed his son. Neal sat up squinting, rubbing at his head ruefully. Rumplestiltskin looked at the Charmings and held out his hand imploringly, "you're crumpling it…!"

"Well gee, thanks, I'm great!" Neal grumbled. Henry gave him his hand and helped pull him up. Belle came forward and fussed over Neal's head, running her hand gently through his hair. She had spent a long time fantasizing about taking care of little Baelfire once her master had found him again and, although it never came true, she still liked to show Neal little acts of care and attention. He knew this, and smiled at her to show he was fine.

Rumplestiltskin limped forward agitatedly, trying to take the whole tapestry away from them. "Not like that…let go, let it go!"

"Wait!" Snow White had been peering closely at the portion she held, and suddenly her mouth dropped. She looked up at them all. "Spread it out."

Regina took over. With a snap of her wrist, the thing gently tugged out of the family's grasp and floated towards the wall with a rustle of fabric. It stretched itself out from corner to corner and everybody suddenly realized what it was. A tapestry.

Shining strands of golden thread, like molten metal, looped around the border of the image. Red roses sprawled along it, crawling towards the top and blooming all along the edges. But the picture itself wasn't set in the Enchanted Forest…it was Storybrooke. A part of home away from home. In what should have been a prison to destroy their happy endings, they had been brought together and changed into a family. Enemies became friends, dark magicians became grandfathers and evil queens became mothers while orphans found their parents and true loves. The greatest evil curse had, in a way, become their greatest blessing.

In the tapestry, Rumplestiltskin was the farthest to the left in his Armani suit complete with gold-handled cane. His chocolate brown eyes gazed pensively outwards, open and vulnerable, exposing a heart you'd never see unless you were looking for it. Fresh, excited, dressed snappily, Belle the librarian hung onto his arm. Her chestnut curls bouncing on her shoulders, she held one of her precious books up like a sword as she beamed at them.

Then came Neal, standing with one hand in his pocket, his face scrunched up as he winked mischievously at the beholders, laughter sparkling in his eyes. His dark blue scarf was ridiculously long, hanging down almost to his knees. On the far right, Snow White and Charming embraced each other. They were united, whole, and full of love and fulfillment as they smiled towards the center of the picture. Emma was next, her smile a solemnly proud one, happy like a fighter who'd finally found peace.

Between them both, in the background, was Regina. Her hair was loose and simple, hanging down to her shoulders. She wore a sharp looking dress of pearl grey as she gazed out at the canvas. Her cheeks were warm, however, and her eyes were bright and dry. She was smiling. Regina's smile was rarely seen and hard to capture but, once taken, it was precious. She was in middle, not really belonging to either group and yet standing at the heart of the panorama all the same.

And, in the very center, with Neal and Emma's hands on his arms and Regina's hands on his shoulders, was Henry. He was grinning, with Baelfire's eyes and Emma's sass and Charming's devotion, clutching the Book in his arms.

Above their heads, in the carefully woven sky, was the family's coat of arms. The dragon meeting the lion, with Emma's tree between them.

Silence.

Emma, who'd never had a family yet always yearned for one all her young life, stared at the tapestry with a wonder like Henry's own. She slung her arm around his shoulder and stared. Regina stared. They all did. Rumplestiltskin's hand tightened on his cane and he leaned into Belle, silently begging her to help him out, to lend him some of her limitless strength. She'd already seen the tapestry. She looked at him with shining eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, approving of what he'd done.

But he couldn't feel it. He was glancing nervously from one head to another. He'd never meant to expose his gift like this, suddenly, explosively, in front of them all. He was just waiting for one of them, probably Regina, to tear it down and set in on fire.

Neal cleared his throat slowly, backing up to stand by Rumplestiltskin without looking away from the tapestry. "Papa…"

"No," Rumplestiltskin found himself saying hurriedly, "It's not magical. Nothing but loom and my hands, so you can sleep easy." He winced inwardly. Why had he done that? Rushed to the defensive like that, brought up a sore subject? Was it to stir up their disapproval and disgust and be done with it? Or was he afraid, afraid to even consider that they might possibly…like it?

"No." Neal scolded, glancing at him before his face softened. "That's not it. It's fantastic."

"It's beautiful," Snow White added. She went up to the tapestry and reached for it. Noticing how carefully, skillfully, how lovingly it was woven, she gently drew her fingers along the silken strands.

There was a new aura in the room. Regina's mouth hung partly open, her eyes bright and shining with moisture as she saw where she'd been placed, a place she'd never believed she'd ever be considered worthy of. They saw Granny's Diner and the Pawnshop and even the old wooden castle in the background. Their throats grew thick. Wonder swelled up and soared from the family, directed at the tapestry…and at Rumplestiltskin. They wondered at this change in him, at this sudden discovery. He'd created something simple yet beautiful, humble and yet full of heart and love and even surprising insight. Every thread told a story and every woven face showed the spirit of the person it represented.

They all seemed to realize yet again how human the Dark One really had become. He was a father, a grandfather, family.

Belle squeezed his hand in excitement, a silent, I-told-you-so. He squeezed back and smiled, but his eyes remained wide and vulnerable, staring at the back of Henry's head. The boy was close enough to the tapestry to breathe on it, but he hadn't said a word, hadn't moved a muscle.

Charming, of all people, noticed. "Henry," he prompted, "what do you think?"

Henry turned around. He grinned, his face glowing, his eyes bright with far off memories. He looked right at Rumplestiltskin. "It's awesome."

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky huff. "How very eloquent of you…uff!"

Henry had rushed forward and slammed into his stomach, nearly knocking him over as he wrapped his arms around his grandfather in a huge hug. Rumplestiltskin stared down in dumfounded shock. Then, swallowing, he returned the hug, stroking the boy's back with his free hand, patting firmly in a silent invitation to release him as his blood pressure settled down and breathing became easier. "You're very welcome, Henry. Happy Birthday."

Henry abruptly let go and drew back. "It's going in my room!"

"You have a wall that big?" Rumplestiltskin sneered.

Regina smirked in a friendly way. Belle and Neal and literally everyone else in the room just smiled knowingly.

Rumplestiltskin glared at them all in silent challenge, daring them to say something. He had his courage back; he could pull his shields up again. He could pretend not to care now that everyone was once again reminded that he really, truly did.

His gift had been approved.

His act of love had been accepted.

FINIS