For an eternity Gold drifts between consciousness and a drugged stupor. When he finally opens his eyes, his first thought is that the poisons have finally run their course.

His second thought is denim.

That's all he can see—denim pressed close to his face, and beyond it the expanse of his living room. The denim rises and dips into the form of a pair of thighs, disappearing over the edge of what he assumes is his couch when they reach the knees.

Still sluggish, though he's sure he's sober, it takes him a moment to put it all together: he is in his living room, on his couch, with his head in somebody's lap.

This is not how he recalled falling asleep.

A thick comforter has been draped over him; he doesn't notice it until he tries to sit up and it slides down the shoulders of his rumpled suit (How long has he been wearing these clothes?). As he shifts his weight, the owner of the lap murmurs softly. Even though he can't make out words, the voice sends chills down his spine.

Belle.

He turns his head and looks at her—really looks at her. She's had a recent bath (he can smell soap like lilacs and shampoo like spring apples) and her hair hangs in loose curls around her face. He recognizes the clothes she wears (he's seen them on Emma before) but they're baggy and loose. Too big for someone as fragile and tiny as her, not her style at all (he'll make sure she's dressed like a queen from now on). Her chin tips against her chest, her face serene in sleep.

He lifts himself quietly, careful not to disturb her. She shouldn't be sleeping on a couch like this (nor should he, but that's beside the point) but he doesn't dare move her to a more comfortable position. A part of him still fears what she'll say when she sees him. What she'll do.

A part of him still fears what he'll do.

The old floorboards announce another presence behind him. Emma, looking tough and grim as usual, even in tousled hair and an old set of sweats.

"You're up early," she says, just loud enough for the sound to carry to his ears. A quick glance tells him that Belle hasn't woken.

"Not here." He mouths it, barely voicing the command. Emma gives a weary shrug and nods for him to join her in the kitchen, as though it's her house. Gold stifles his agitation and sets his face into a hard mask. He doesn't fully grasp the situation yet. Best not to make any moves until he understands the terms of this deal.

Emma leans against the counter, her arms crossed, her face set. Gold busies himself preparing tea (his mouth is parched and his throat is dry and seeing Belle didn't help either). Only when the water waits to boil does he turn to face her.

"So."

"So," she returns. She's still got a lot to learn if she's going to play this game.

"Would you care to tell me how long it's been?"

"Since you attacked the hospital?" Emma tilts her chin at him. "Two days, in a few hours."

He glances at the microwave, which glints at him with an angry 4:31. Outside the world is a sleepy gray.

"Regina wants you behind bars," she continues. "She's threatening to call in the FBI."

"She won't. And even if she does, they won't come." Gold stands as straight as his aching leg will allow, leaning on the counter for support. Vaguely he wonders what became of his cane.

"You sure about that?" Her glance strays to his hands, checking to make sure he won't reach for a weapon. There's nothing like a kitchen for a desperate soul, with all its knives and flames. But even if he wanted to play that game, he's still disoriented and tired, and Emma's clearly waiting for him to make such a move. No, he'll stay still. "I'm not the only stranger who's come to town. Apparently whatever's keeping people out is running out of juice."

"Call it what it is, dearie."

"So it is a curse?" She looks quite skeptical for a believer.

"I assume I'm not under arrest?" he asks. The water has boiled, and he pours himself a steaming cup. Tendrils of color weep out of the bag of Earl Gray inside.

"Oh, you're definitely under arrest," she says. "You're in police custody until I say otherwise."

He pauses. Considers. Takes a sip of his tea and lets it scald his mouth. "And Belle?"

She meets his pause with a hesitation of her own. "Archie's talking to her. Making sure she's adjusting."

Gold doesn't turn his head—only his eyes, a slow, steady flick of displeasure.

"I've already told her to keep quiet on the fairy tale stuff," Emma continues.

So Belle remembers. Gold isn't sure whether to be happy or horrified.

"Archie's trying to track down the doctor who originally diagnosed her." Emma's voice fills the silence. "Nobody at the hospital's heard of him."

"Of course not." Because it wasn't a doctor who had her committed. Regina wouldn't leave such matters to any soul with a conscience. "Madam Mayor has been asking about me, has she?" A cold, serpentine smile crosses his face. "Perhaps she and I can have a chat."

"She hasn't come by in person," Emma says flatly. Clearly she knows where his mind is going.

"No. Of course not." Likely reinforcing her fortifications. He'll be surprised if she hasn't added a machine gun turret to the roof of her house. She knows what's coming.

And he'll be thrilled to exceed her expectations.

He leans back against the counter, mirroring Emma's pose except for the broad, impish smile.

"A word to the wise, Sheriff Swan. You'll want to be the one to pick Henry up from school today." His smile shows teeth. "Before you make it known that I've woken up, perhaps."

Emma's eyes narrow and her hackles rise, but apart from that her mask stays in place. "And why's that?"

"Because, dearie. You're about to have a war on your hands."

AN: On my Tumblr I ended this chapter with a question: should I continue from this point forward, or should I leave it off here and leave the rest to your imagination? The result was an almost unanimous "Finish it", not unlike the command you hear at the end of a Mortal Combat match. The second half of the question, though, I leave to you:

Do you have any ideas for how this war will go? If I use anything you submit, I'll definitely credit you. But I'm interested to see which threads you think need to be tied to make this story a cohesive whole.