Thunder rumbled in the distance as Gold locked up his shop. Storybrooke had been plagued by torrential downpours all day, and he'd hurried out the moment the rain stopped. With any luck, he'd make it to his destination before the next storm hit.
He'd had to leave a bit earlier than he expected to arrive at his appointment in time, but he didn't mind. His bad leg had become stiff from sitting inside all day, and he had decided to take the reprieve from the rain to stretch his legs. Besides, being early gave the edge in a deal; and in this case he'd be able to take one last look around the property he'd decided to buy before the seller arrived. This was his life; business. Getting the upper hand was something he excelled in;had always excelled in, in this world and the last.
He didn't care about the money. It hadn't been about fortunes for him for a long, long time, but it helped to pass the time. Time, fortune and power were the three things he had in abundance; two he had unlimited quantities of and he used them to pursue obtaining as much of the third as he could.
He walked for several quiet blocks without passing a single soul, his cane clicking in step with his footfalls on the cobblestones. He glanced at it idly as he walked. He didn't mind the cane in this world; here, it was a sign of status. People saw him walking with a cane and almost didn't notice the limp he'd carried for most of his adult life. It fit in with the appearance he'd so carefully manicured; the cane matched the suits and the ties and the nice shoes that, he noted sourly, were slowly becoming muddy during his journey. He'd have to clean them before he arrived at his destination because, after all, appearances were the first line of intimidation. Not that he needed intimidation to scare the townspeople of Storybrooke anymore. After all, he owned most of their homes and livelihoods. He didn't need magic or frightening appearances in this world to get respect; he was a shrewd businessman and had cultivated a reputation for being ruthless and uncompromising when it came to people attempting to break deals with him. Those who weren't already under his carefully managed web stayed away from him, afraid of finding themselves in his debt.
He passed from one street to the next, glancing up at Storybrooke's one and only grocery store. It was small but well stocked, and the items came at a premium because of that. He'd seen to that much, and it was a source of good steady revenue. He made a mental note to bother the owner on his way home; the last thing any of the employees wanted was their owner stuck inside with them during a rainstorm, and their nervousness would give him pleasure.
A woman hurried out of the doors as he was appraising the building, and he idly noticed two things about her. One, he wasn't familiar with her, which meant that she was one of the few in town that had managed to not yet become in his debt. The second was that she turned away from the small parking lot beside the store and began briskly walking down the street in the opposite direction he was going, trying to push her wavy brown hair from her eyes as she went.
No car, grocery shopping in this weather? He wondered to himself, mildly curious.
She moved with a clumsy gait; but that may have been the two overflowing bags of groceries in her arms. It didn't seem likely that she could see very well around them. She was, at least, an intelligent woman for choosing this small break in the weather to run home. He hoped for her sake that she lived nearby; the air was already becoming heavy with the electricity from the oncoming storm.
It wasn't ten steps later that Gold's reverie was broken by the sound of the young woman's shriek. He spun around just in time to see her foot slip from the curb of the road, sending her unceremoniously into the gutter amid a shower of broken glass and ripped paper bags. He checked his watch and stifled a sigh of frustration as he habitually turned on his heel to cross the street. No matter how late he was going to be, he was a gentleman first.
If someone was in need, he had a responsibility to help them. After all, some of his best deals bad been struck with those who had thought he was a good-hearted man. While few and far between, there were still some in Storybrooke who had yet to know of his less than citizen of the year reputation, and this woman was one of them.
He analyzed her as he trudged across the wet street towards her, idly registering her long chestnut colored hair and navy colored dress as she sat with her back to him, apparently in shock in the wet gutter of the road. She was gazing down at herself as if she couldn't believe how she had come to end up there. The mud and water was soaking into the fabric of her dress which was a shame because, he thought idly, it was a beautiful color he'd been fond of for as long as he cared to remember. She was trying unsuccessfully to remove her wet curls from her eyes when he reached her, but her hands were streaked with mud and she didn't seem to be accomplishing much. A daffodil petal had stuck itself to the back of her hand. It was a nearly comedic sight.
"Dearie," He called out pleasantly, so as not to frighten her when he placed his hand on her arm a moment later and offered to help her stand. "That was quite the tumble, are you alright?" He noted that her groceries were utterly ruined; a cheap paperback book floated sullenly in the murky water amid a few bruised apples.
That was when she clumsily stood with his aid and turned to face him, and his stomach twisted in a way it hadn't in centuries.
He no longer registered the mud and water that clung to her sodden dress and dripped in rivulets onto his shoes as she leaned against his offered hand for support. He didn't hear her words of thanks or her embarrassed, self-aware murmurs at her own clumsiness. The world took on a strange hue. His ears filled with white noise. His mind shut out his errand, the rain, the aching protest from his leg as he dropped his cane in the muddy water of the street. He only registered one thing.
It was her. She was alive.