Disclaimer: Don't own anyone.
No matter how old Rumplestiltskin got, there was always something amusing to laugh at. And no matter how powerful he became, the workings of the worlds never ceased to throw him a curveball.
Ergo, his morning stroll through Storybrooke. Sure it was a little chilly, but it was February in Maine, and he was a man of ritual and routine. He honestly wasn't paying too much attention until a flyer was thrust in front of him. The logo was familiar, but he didn't immediately grab one.
"Valentine's Day special. Get one dozen roses, get the second dozen half off. This sale won't last forever," The pitch was given in a bored monotone, the monotone of a spiel given a thousand times.
Mr. Gold looked up and almost forgot where he was. Standing in front of him was a giant rose. A giant flannel rose that was too big and bulky to be taken seriously, petals swaying with each upper body movement. Even with the size of the costume, it seemed small on its wearer, who could've qualified for high school basketball due to his height alone. There were cut-outs for his arms, legs, and face, a face that fit his voice. When he recognized the limbed flower, he was hit with the same amusement he felt every time he came toe-to-toe with the "heroic" Gaston.
In another world, it was a sword he would thrust at Rumplestiltskin, the beast who had dared to take his fiancé. In this world, however, he was thrusting a sheet of paper at the man Mr. Gold. It was too much for him, and he grinned, barely suppressing a giggle at the odd twist of fate. He had promised that her family and friends would live…he just changed the definition a bit the last time the boy got on his nerves.
"Hey, it's a job," The fabric-ed flora said defensively, "There aren't that many openings in Storybrooke, and the owner's an old family friend."
"You don't say," Mr. Gold murmured, "No passion for botany?"
"My passion…is somewhere else," he said, his voice dropping off.
If he was alluding to whatever remnants of Belle were in this world, he swore he'd beat the punk until he was bleeding blood and stuffing.
Instead, Mr. Gold held up his free hand in a gesture of "no thanks".
"I have no one to give flowers to," he remarked off-handedly, leaving the boy dumbstruck. Besides, two dozen roses seemed like overkill, or something Charming would do.
The smile would not leave his lips and the laugh would not fade from his chest, as though he had been righted of some wrong. The boy had done nothing, but Mr. Gold still felt justified.
"See, Belle?" He mumbled under his breath, taking a left towards his shop, "You always could've been stuck with him."
End
I swear, I was reading comments one day on some theorizing and people were asking about if and how Gaston would show up in Storybrooke, and this popped into my head. I had to share it with the world.
