A/N. For a-monthly-rumbelling, may I present a three-story series of fluff, sentiment and comedy. His parents are planning to renew their wedding vows; Gideon is determined the day will go perfectly. Rated K.

"What's that circle represent?"

"Hmm?" Concentrating on the bell pepper she was slicing, Belle didn't dare look up, lest her knife slip. She'd had too many kitchen accidents to allow distractions to interfere with safety.

"That one." Gideon pointed at a red, otherwise unidentified, circle drawn around a date on the calendar. "May 11." From the corner of his eye, Gid noticed a shy but satisfied smile appear on his father's lips. He'd come to recognize that smile, over the ten months he'd lived in peace and quiet and steadily growing affection in his parents' house. Gid had come to call that embarrassed little smile of his father's "the Belle Grin," because it popped up whenever Rumple was thinking romantic thoughts (there was another smile, a crooked one that was accompanied by red in the cheeks, that Gid had learned meant it was best to give his parents privacy). Whenever the Belle Grin appeared, Gid could easily prod a story from his father, one that made the three-hundred-year old sorcerer sound like a teenager besotted with his first crush.

"May 11," his parents said simultaneously, then they flashed quick grins at each other before Belle returned her attention to the pepper and Rumple returned his to the tomato he was chopping.

Gid suggested, "Okay, let's have it."

Rumple submerged the Belle Grin long enough to put on the Father Face. "First, did you finish setting the table?"

Gid gave him the Put Upon Son Face. "Yes, Dad."

"And squeezed the oranges?"

"Yes, Dad." He held up a hand in a stop sign. "And buttered the toast and cracked the eggs. So: the May 11 story."

Satisfied that his son's chores were finished, Rumple began the tale. "May 11 was the day your mother and I married. Ten p.m., Sunday, May 11, 2014, to be precise."

"Ohhh." This was going to be a good one. Gid settled onto a barstool and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Why ten p.m.? Don't most people get married in the daytime?"

Belle shrugged. "We're not most people."

Gid lifted his shoulders in a shrug that mirrored hers. "That goes without saying."

"I wanted a moonlight ceremony, in the woods. It seemed more romantic. More mysterious."

"Of course." Gid had figured that out about his mother, early on: she adored a mystery, whether it was something as trivial as a riddle or as complex as her husband.

"At the well," Rumple added.

"Yes. We married at the well." Belle didn't have to explain what "the well" was: she'd referred to it often enough in other stories. "Archie officiated."

"Your grandfather walked your mom down the aisle. So to speak." Rumple tried to be generous whenever he referred or spoke to Moe; Gid had been told enough of their history to understand that it took major effort for either man to express kindness toward the other, and he appreciated the fact that the men were trying, for Gid's sake.

"We wrote our own vows. I remember every word." Belle set her knife down and recited her own vows, leaving it to Rumple to recite his.

"Wow." Gid had to clear his throat. "Wish I could've been there to see it."

"Maybe you could," Belle said thoughtfully, and Rumple caught on right away: "That's a good idea, Belle." He lowered his head, busying himself with scooping tomato bits into a bowl. He was ashamed, Gid realized; he was remembering all the wrongs he'd done, before and after the wedding. Though his family had forgiven him a dozen times over, he was still struggling to put the past behind him. "I'd like to do that," Rumple said softly. "Give you the wedding you deserve."

"I wouldn't change a thing," Belle insisted. "We wouldn't be who we are now." Gid understood that her reassurance wasn't about just the wedding; she meant her entire past with Rumple.

They'd come to this same resolution when they'd discussed the possibility of reversing Gid's age. Though he would have loved to experience a childhood with his parents, Gid had come to the conclusion that he liked the man he'd become, despite the torment the Black Fairy had put him through. Though he could see some disappointment in his mother's face, and he regretted denying her the chance to hold her newborn, as Nature had granted her the right to, Gid had made the difficult decision to decline his father's offer to magically regress him to infancy.

"Well, perhaps this time you'd like a cake and punch and a few guests," Rumple suggested.

Belle considered. "A little music and dancing would be nice. But still, at ten o'clock, at the well." She waggled her finger at her son. "The pan's hot enough. Bring the eggs over, Giddy. It's omelet time." She cocked her head at Rumple. "You know, I would like to have a maid of honor this time."

"And a best man." Rumple winked at Gid. "You look sharp in Armani, my boy."

"Sure thing, Dad. I'd be honored." As Gid poured the eggs into the skillet, he made a silent vow to himself and his parents: as best man, he'd made certain their re-wedding day would be perfect. Even if he had to put every troublemaker in town under a sleeping curse.

Though it had been nearly a year, the town remembered the Hooded One full well. They'd come to know him since then as a playful and naive young man, with his mother's inquisitiveness and his father's persistence, and whenever he appeared in Granny's for a hamburger, or the park for a ride on the swing, they'd greet him warmly and ask "How's it going" as if he'd lived in Storybrooke all his life. But they did remember. . . .

So when he popped into the sheriff's office, his hands folded before him, peering steadily at Emma and Hook, and he spoke their names in a quiet but firm tone, Emma shuddered, remembering the Hooded One had once threatened to kill her, and Hook murmured, "By Poseidon's beard, lad, when you do that you look just like your father. Give or take two feet in height."

Gid ignored the implied insult. "May 11."

"What's May 11?" Emma asked.

"My parents have a celebration planned, a very special celebration. I don't want it interrupted. So whatever car-upending giants or ice-casting sorceresses or heart-stealing witches appear, you deal with them. You have magic enough, Ms. Jones, to dispatch whatever threats come along, and you know your way around the library well enough to research your own questions, Captain Jones. And if you and your parents can't handle it alone, call Regina. Leave my parents out of it."

"Lad's inherited his father's bossiness," Hook muttered.

As the Joneses' eyebrows drew down, Gid backpedaled, calling to mind the manners Belle had so carefully been teaching him. "Let me start over again. On May 11, my folks are having a special celebration. It would mean a lot to them, and I'd take it as a personal favor, if you'd help me to make sure we're not interrupted that day. Please."

The Joneses visibly relaxed. "I'd be glad to help out," Emma said. "Keeping the peace is what we do. But it just so happens we're going to be gone for the first two weeks in May."

"A second honeymoon. We're going to sail up to Nantucket." Hook slipped his arm around Emma's waist. "Just the two of us. Away from the car-upending giants and whatnot."

"My father will be acting sheriff," Emma said. "I'll pass along your request to him."

"And the-?" Gid waved his hand in the air.

"Oh. If any magic problems pop up-"

"Aren't they all magic problems?" Hook mused. "When was the last time we issued a traffic ticket or picked up a pickpocket?"

"Regina's going to take care of it." Emma finished. "With Zelena as backup. Kinda. Sorta."

"I see." Gid caught his breath. He'd known all along he'd have to make his request to the mayor too, but he dreaded it nonetheless. "Thank you for speaking to your father for me." He decided to work up to Regina by starting with less scary folk. "Bon voyage." He snapped his fingers and vanished.

Blue had always felt a guilty about her failure to protect him from the Black Fairy, so when he arrived at the convent she ushered him into the kitchen, served him cookies and milk (he refrained from reminding her he was old enough for canapes and scotch) and eagerly asked what she could do for him. But her small smile wavered when he explained the situation. After three centuries of enmity, she was still struggling with the information that Rumplestiltskin had been fated to become a Savior, and it still made her uncomfortable to think of the kind and caring Belle married to the—well, she wasn't sure whether to call him the "Dark One" any more. But Gideon made the request personal, and she could see nothing wrong in it, nor could she deny him anything. "Of course. The sisters and I will make certain the town is protected and your parents' wedding is uninterrupted." She pushed the platter of warm cookies closer to him. "Now, have another cookie, child."

Granny, though she was quite fond of him personally, never had warmed up to Rumple, so she gave him attitude: "Boy, I wouldn't trust your father farther than I can throw Tiny, so his 'special celebration' is safe from me. If my diner was on fire, I wouldn't ask him to spit on it to put it out."

Leroy, likewise, gave him pushback: "Me, ask him for help? There's always a price with him, even with stuff that doesn't belong to him. He still won't give back our beer steins."

Gideon ignored the snide remarks. He knew what his father had once been, and he knew what his father was now. Most of the town, having learned of Rumple's past and having observed the changes that he had struggled to make, were willing to give the no-longer-Dark One a second chance—especially when they'd discovered that his light magic was just as potent as the dark had been and that the price for his favors had been marked down.

He decided to meet Regina in her office, where she would feel a little more obligated to accept a citizen's request. He dressed in one of the (too many) tailored suits his father had bought him and he waited in the lobby as the mayor's assistant announced him. Belle would have been proud of him, had she known the lengths he'd taken this week to be polite and patient, but he refrained from telling her; protecting the sanctity of her wedding day was part of his gift to her.

"Gideon." Regina lifted her gaze from a stack of paperwork, but she continued to hold her pen as a signal to him that she wanted this meeting to be kept short. He remained standing as a sign that he would get right to the point. "What can I do for you?"

"Madame Mayor," he dipped his head in greeting. "Good afternoon. I came to ask-" he almost said favor, but she would take that as his father's word, and enough stiffness remained between her and Rumple that he'd best steer clear of such reminders. "I came to ask your assistance. As not just the mayor but as one of the most powerful magic wielders in this land. Please."

The corners of her mouth lifted; she liked being in the power position. "Let's hear it."

"On May 11, my parents are going to have a celebration."

"And they want me to come." She flipped through the pages of her desk calendar. "What time?"

"Yes, we'd be honored if you could come, but there's a little more to it. You see, it seems to always happen that just when my parents most need some peace and quiet, that's when some jerk raises cain, and it's always some magic user, so the town comes running to Dad and Mom for help."

Regina nibbled on the top of her pen. "I suppose we have, on occasion, in an emergency. . . ."

"Well, I'm asking, please, on May 11, if some magic havoc kicks up, would you take care of it? Let my parents have the day to themselves?"

She huffed. "I'll have you know, Master Gold, we've never disturbed your parents' peace unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Oh, I understand, and I'm sure they're grateful for that. It's just that on this particular day, I was really hoping it wouldn't be absolutely necessary. You see, they're reaffirming their wedding vows. It would be the best gift anyone could give them, to have that day go perfect. I may be worried for nothing; we haven't had a magic invasion here in months. But just in case, would you—keep an eye on things? Nip trouble in the bud? I've asked Blue to help too, but I think you're more alert to everything going on in town."

"Nothing happens in this town that I don't know about," she assured him. "Even a wedding." As his mouth fell open, she explained, "Nothing magic about that. I overheard Belle ask Ruby to be her maid of honor."

Gid closed his mouth. It was to the Golds' advantage that Regina knew all the goings-on.

"As mayor of this town, the safety of our citizens is my first concern, so I'd protect Storybrooke without your asking." She gave him a genuine smile. "But I'll do everything I can to make sure your parents' ceremony goes smoothly. And Gideon, I think it's considerate of you to look out for them."

"Thank you, Madame Mayor."

Buoyed, he visited several other potential rabble-rousers in town. For those who had granted Rumple their forgiveness, Gid offered a deal: "Let my parents have peace and quiet on May 11, and I'll owe you a favor." It was a deal too good to pass up, the townsfolk said.

But foresight had never been a talent in this town. . . .