Mr. Gold has never considered himself to be a kind man. He can be generous when it suits him, yes, but kindness has never exactly been his forte. So when he's walking home from work one evening, admiring the sharp contrast of the blushing clouds against the gloomy, blue-grey backdrop of the twilight, and he hears the petrified mewl of a kitten that cannot possibly be larger than his hand - well, when he hears that, his first thought is hardly to rescue the poor thing.
He does, however, look around for the source of the sound. The kitten is, in accordance with his earlier assumption, tiny. It is also orange, and blue-eyed, and trembling. A little something within him wants to cuddle it to his chest and murmur tender things against its fur.
The darker side of him would very much like to string it up by its paws and wait to see how long it takes for the poor thing to stop mewling.
And while the softer side of him doesn't exactly take over, seeing as he has yet to clutch the poor thing to himself and rub his nose against the little brute's belly, he does stop for a moment and stare to assess the situation.
Yes, the little beast has got itself into quite a pickle.
The tree is bare of any climbable branches until at least ten feet up, and Gold is not nearly tall enough to reach the lowest hanging branch. Ahem, that is to say, if he were to be the sort of man to even try to rescue a kitten. Which he is most definitely not.
"How in seven hells did you get up there anyway?" Gold is surprised to find himself saying. Talking to cats is not an odd thing for him to do. Good old Chesh, for example, did offer the most enticing riddles. Talking to cats that cannot talk back, however, does worry him a bit.
The pathetic thing mewls again, and Gold's face twists into an expression of mingled amusement and pity. It's too human for him, however, and he quickly sweeps it aside. It wouldn't do for one of the townsfolk to see him fawning over a kitten, of all things.
He turns and continues on his way, or he starts to at least, but then the kitten mewls again, and Gold stops short, grinds his teeth, tells himself Don't be stupid, don't be stupid, it's just a cat, don't be stupid, and turns on his heel.
"I hope you're not so pea-brained that you won't appreciate what I'm about to do for you," he growls, and rests his cane against the tree. Gold hates himself for what he's about to do next.
His leg hates him even more.
He retreats several feet, crouches a bit, mentally prepares himself, curses under his breath, realizes his mental preparation has done nothing in the way of readying him for the task he's about to accomplish, closes his eyes, and curses again. Then he starts running.
His leg positively screams in agony, but he does his best to ignore it because he's already started running and to stop would be so pointless and to fail would be such a letdown so he keeps running, and just before he passes under the lowest branch he jumps and pretends he's a kangaroo, of all the ridiculous things to be doing at a time like this, and his palms smack into the branch with such force that he's almost tempted to let go, but no, he's come this far and he's not stopping now.
The reality of the situation suddenly hits him.
Mr. Gold, the most feared man in town, is hanging onto a tree branch, dangling a few feet above the ground, just so he can rescue a kitten.
He grits his teeth and tightens his hold on the branch. He's considering letting go when the kitten mewls again and he's already made a fool of himself and he is most definitely not stopping now. To pull himself, inch by agonizing inch, high enough to clamber onto the branch, takes either decades or mere seconds, depending on who's telling the story - Gold, or the kitten.
In any case, once he's uncomfortably straddling the branch, more than a little bit satisfied with himself for having accomplished such a task even with a mostly-useless leg, he chances a glance up at the kitten, who's looking down at him with those enormous blue eyes, fretfully hooking and unhooking its claws into the bark of the tree. A little part of Gold melts. When he realizes just how many more branches he has to climb to reach the cat, however, that little part of him freezes over once again.
The next few curses he mutters are far too vulgar to acquaint the young masses with.
"Six branches to go," he hisses, and rises unsteadily to his feet, clinging to the tree trunk for support. "Six branches."
Climbing the six branches gives him far more trouble than Mr. Gold ever expected he'd go through for a kitten. But he's come so far already, and though his leg is screaming and his jaw hurts from how hard he's been grinding his teeth, he refuses to give up now.
The kitten purrs when he reaches it, rubs its little orange head against his leg, and as much as he hates the brute, he passes a hand over the little beast's back and he almost smiles at the touch of the soft fur against his own calloused palm. Almost.
"All right," he says with a sigh, hoisting the pitiful creature up onto his shoulder, where it buries its claws into Gold's rather expensive suit. He tries not to mind, he is rather wealthier than he leads Regina to believe, after all.
It is during his descent of one of the lower of the tree that the Sheriff comes across him. Of course. She had to find him clambering down a tree with a terrified mewling kitten attached to his shoulder. She couldn't have come across him before, of course, when he was merely considering whether or not to rescue the cat. No, no. Sheriff Swan has to find him at his most indisposed.
A rather awkward pause hangs in the air between them for a moment.
"Good evening, Sheriff."
"Um..." says Emma.
Gold detaches the kitten from his suit and holds it out to the Sheriff. "If you wouldn't mind..." He lets the question hang in the air.
"Oh, um - oh! Of course, right, yeah, sure." She reaches up and Mr. Gold deposits the mewling beast into her hands almost tenderly. Almost.
"Much obliged." He clambers down the last bough and dangles precariously for a moment before the Sheriff tactfully turns away to appreciate the kitten and all its feline wiles, and Gold allows himself to drop to the ground with a graceless thud. He hisses at the damage it does to his knee and leans against the tree, grateful for its support.
Another awkward pause somersaults almost gleefully between the pair.
"Well," says Gold, extending his hands for the kitten. The Sheriff hands the horrid thing over almost regretfully.
"Is this, um, your cat?" Emma asks him, looking like she's biting back a giggle or two. Gold very seriously considers throwing the cat in her face.
"Not exactly," he replies, grabbing his cane and standing upright.
"Oh," says Emma. "Would you - do you want me to take her to the shelter for you, or...?"
Gold looks down at the kitten, who is peering up at him with those enormous blue eyes. It mewls again, and the sound is not so aggravating as it used to be. "No, I don't think that'll be necessary, Sheriff Swan." He grants her a close-lipped smile.
She looks alarmed for a moment, as though she's afraid he's planning on skinning the beast alive and grinding its wee little bones to make his bread. He nearly laughs at her shock, but instead settles for another, hopefully disturbing smile.
"Well," he says at last, trying to ignore how pleasant the kitten's soft rumbling purrs sound, "I suppose I'll be on my way, then."
"Right," said Emma.
Gold and Emma have respectively limped and walked past one another some few feet when Gold turns around and calls, "Oh Sheriff."
"Yeah?"
"I'd appreciate if you kept this to yourself, if you catch my meaning."
The smile she gives him is far too mirthful for Gold's liking, but he supposes threats will do him little good. After all, she's the one with the power here, and it wouldn't do for the whole town to know that Gold is, in fact, a kitten rescuer.
"Of course," she assures him, and Gold feels anything but assured. He turns around and is hobbling on his way home, the kitten pressing itself deeper into his side in an effort to keep warm, when Emma speaks again. "What are you gonna name her?"
He stops. Thinks it over. Frowns. Turns to Emma with a smirk. "I'll have to get back to you on that."
A/N: Halloa! I might come back to this, you know, just write about Mr. Gold and his little adventures with this kitten, so just, you know, keep your eyes out for it, I guess? (Wow, lotsa commas.)
Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated