Christmas Eve - Storybrooke
Although the calendar in his shop and the one in his study indicated that it was December 24th, it was just another business day for Mr. Gold. Well, in terms of business, it was actually a better-than-average day at his pawn and antiquities shop. Even though the shop was free of the gaudy displays or bright signs promising "Christmas Specials!" that adorned every other business on Main Street, last-minute shoppers still braved the domain of Storybrooke's most-feared citizen in hopes of finding just the right gift for a loved one. He had even sold a brooch to the Mayor's young son, who had cheerfully and sincerely wished him a Merry Christmas.
After locking up the shop at its usual closing time of 6:00 pm, Gold was ready for the predictable peace of his home and a glass of scotch. The busy day at the shop had left him feeling a bit out of sorts, probably from being around so much second-hand holiday cheer. It wasn't that he was lonely, of course…but he looked forward to taking refuge from Christmas Eve in the comfort of his home.
As soon as he entered his front door, he sensed that something was slightly off somehow. He cautiously walked through the house, and didn't see anything obviously missing or disrupted. Satisfied that everything seemed to be in place, he removed his coat and jacket and made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. He closed his eyes as the liquor warmed its way down his throat.
"MAAAAOOWWW!"
Gold choked and coughed, startled to see that a small black cat had materialized on the kitchen floor, looking up at him with wide green eyes. Where had that thing come from? He didn't own any pets. He eyed the creature warily. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, as if it was capable of answering him in any satisfactory manner.
"Mrrrraaaaaooow!" The little thing sniffed and cautiously stepped closer to him. Still frozen in shock, Gold was further surprised when the cat started to wind a path through and around his legs, favoring him with a swish of its tail as it circled him. Wasn't that a bit…familiar?
Gold set his glass on the counter and awkwardly bent down to inspect the furry beast more closely. He tentatively held his hand out, and the cat sniffed at it. Cautiously, he petted the little thing between its ears and it started to purr, closing its eyes and leaning into his touch. The cat looked clean and healthy, obviously well-cared for. As he looked closer, he could see that it was wearing a blue collar and a heart-shaped gold tag. He brought his hand around so that he could inspect the tag more closely. "MIRANDA" was engraved on the small heart, and a phone number in smaller characters underneath.
He made his way to the telephone and Miranda trotted after him. "Well, Miranda, let's see who is missing you." He dialed the number on Miranda's tag, and someone answered on the second ring. Even though all he heard was a frantic-sounding "Hello?", Gold's heart skipped. He would recognize that voice or accent anywhere.
Annabelle French was frantic. Since the Mayor insisted that the library remain open its regular hours (even though it was Christmas Eve), Annabelle came home at her usual time of around 5:15. She still had to wrap some presents. She had also promised to bake cookies for a Christmas party being held tomorrow at the orphanage and was anxious to get started. As she started to lay things out for baking, she glanced over at Miranda's bowl in the corner of the kitchen. The food looked mostly untouched.
Concerned, she'd called out to the cat, but received no answer—which wasn't necessarily unusual. She walked through the apartment and looked through all of Miranda's favorite napping locations, but there was no sign of her anywhere. Annabelle spent the next half hour doing an exhaustive search of the small apartment: under furniture, inside drawers, on top of cupboards. Still, her little black cat was nowhere to be found.
She checked with her neighbors, none of whom had seen Miranda. She called Leroy, since she knew that the handyman had been over earlier to fix the heater. He said that he thought the cat had been there when he was over, but couldn't be sure. What if he'd accidentally left the door open while doing the repairs? Annabelle wondered if Miranda had sneaked out while Leroy was over. She'd never done anything like that before, but there was a first time for everything.
Annabelle collapsed onto the sofa and tried to stop herself from crying. It was so cold out and her poor baby could be anywhere. She was an indoor cat and would probably be so scared. It was supposed to snow heavily tonight, and it was Christmas Eve. It was going to be near impossible to enlist any help to find Miranda before she froze.
Wiping her eyes, Annabelle sat up and retrieved her coat and scarf from the closet. Sitting here crying wasn't going to save Miranda. If no one else could help search, she would search the neighborhood herself. She was just about to head out when the phone rang. "Hello?"
Although they only knew one another from business-type interactions (him checking out books, her paying the rent or browsing the old books at his shop), she immediately recognized Mr. Gold's rich voice over the phone. "Er…yes. To whom am I speaking?" he asked.
"This is Annabelle French. Is this Mr. Gold?"
"It is. How—um…Miss French, would you happen to be missing a cat called Miranda?"
"Is she with you? Is she OK?"
"She appears to be perfectly fine. Gave me a bit of a fright in the kitchen when I got home. I don't know how she got in here."
Annabelle giggled, relieved that Miranda was safe. "Oh, I'm so relieved. Thank you for keeping her safe, Mr. Gold. I'm so grateful."
"It's no matter."
"Well, it is to me." There was a silence on the line.
Even though she, like everyone in town, knew where Mr. Gold lived, she still asked next, "Where do you live? I can come get her right now."
The Enchanted Forest – 30 Years Ago
Belle hummed a tune to herself as she began to take the laundry off the line. She didn't particularly love doing laundry, but she loved that taking it off the line meant that she was almost done with it for today. Taking down the last of Rumplestiltskin's nightshirts, she walked back to her basket and was surprised to see a tiny black kitten next to the pile of white linens.
"MEEEEEEEEEE!" The kitten was tiny, but it certainly had some lungs on it.
Belle loved animals. She'd grown up loving the cats, dogs, and horses at her father's castle. She knelt down on the ground to get closer to the kitten.
"Where did you come from? Where's your mama?"
"MEEEEEEE!" was apparently the only word in the kitten's vocabulary.
Belle looked around the area, but saw no sign of any other cats or kittens. The poor little thing must have been orphaned. It teetered awkwardly towards Belle and looked up at her with blue-green eyes that seemed to take up half her face.
"Meeeeeeeee?"
Her heart melting even more than it already had, Belle lifted the kitten up held it to her chest. The little furball started to purr immediately.
"Let's get you warmed up and find you something to eat. How does that sound?"
"Meeeeeeee!" agreed Belle's new friend.
A few hours later…
"What is that, Dearie?"
Belle glanced down and saw that her new companion had followed her to the great room. Belle poured Rumple's tea into the chipped cup, which he strangely favored above the others in the set. "Surely the great and powerful Dark One has seen a cat before."
"Yes, but what is it doing here? In my castle?"
"I found her outside while I was outside doing the laundry. I couldn't bear to leave her alone."
"And you didn't think that perhaps it might not be a cat at all? It could be another trick of Cruella's. Or another malcontent of her ilk."
Belle bit her lip. She hadn't thought of that, and probably should have been more cautious. "Well, if she was some kind of trick or glamour, wouldn't she have revealed herself by now? I've had her with me in the kitchen all afternoon."
The kitten took that opportunity to toddle over to Rumple to defend her honor. "Meeeeeee!"
"Hmph. Indeeed." The sorcerer waved a hand over the tiny cat, apparently trying to sense any magic in the thing.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Well? I'm right, aren't I? She's just a cat. Nothing nefarious or mysterious involved."
"Just because she's not magical doesn't mean that she's not nefarious. How am I supposed to do business or spin in peace with this…ball of fur hanging about?" He sipped his tea.
"Please, Rumple? I can keep her with me. I promise she won't get into your things."
"She should be with her family."
"I looked around and couldn't find her family. I think she was abandoned. Poor thing."
She saw Rumple's cheek twitch ever-so-slightly.
"Alright. Just for a day or two. Then we'll have to find her a home in the village."
Belle clapped her hands in happiness. "Thank you, Rumple! I'll keep her with me. You won't even know she's around." She scooped up the kitten, put it in her apron pocket, and started to leave the room.
"Remember—just a day or two."
Belle just turned around and smiled, her blue eyes warmly catching his gaze. "Thank you."
The furball piped up from her haven in Belle's pocket, "MEEEEEEEEE!"
He could hear Belle cooing over the creature as the two of them left the room and continued down the hallway. Rumple sipped his tea.
"Just a day or two."
Eight months later….
"What is that? Your familiar?"
Miranda had made her way up to Rumplestiltskin's laboratory, where he was meeting with The Hatter. She wound her way around Rumple's legs and brushed her tail against his boots, demanding his attention.
"She is Belle's cat. Shall we continue?" Belle had named the cat after the daughter of a sorcerer in one of the stories she'd read.
"Belle? Who is Belle?"
"My maid. She came to me in a deal a while back."
"Your maid. That you call by her first name. Whose cat has free reign over your castle." Jefferson tried to keep the smile off his face, but couldn't completely hide the amusement from his voice.
"Do you have a problem with that, dearie?" Miranda jumped up to the work table and butted her head against Rumplestiltskin's hand. He petted her absent-mindedly and she purred.
Jefferson bowed his head. "Not at all. Now: where were we?"
Storybrooke – Christmas Eve
Gold told Miss French his address and she said that she'd be over soon. He couldn't believe that, of all the lost cats to appear in his house on a snowy Christmas Eve, it was Annabelle French's cat that managed the feat.
His interactions with Miss French were limited to short conversations at the circulation desk or those about shipments of old books at his shop. At first, there had been some wariness on her part, which wasn't surprising, given his reputation. Still, he found himself drawn to her intellect and kindness. Unlike almost everyone else in Storybrooke (save from perhaps the Mills boy), she came to look at him with something other than outright disdain or fear. They didn't know one another well enough to exactly be considered friends, but she always gave him a shy smile on the occasions when they passed one another in town. And he thought her blue eyes were the most beautiful he'd ever seen.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he returned to the situation at hand. Miss French wasn't coming over for a date; she was coming to retrieve her cat.
The cat in question started to meow loudly and wind her way around his legs again. He wondered how long it had been since the little thing had eaten. He found a can of tuna in the cupboard and put it onto one of his china plates, next to a bowl of water. For himself, he put some water on for tea and waited for Miss French to arrive.
The snow was starting to fall more heavily. Annabelle rang the doorbell of Mr. Gold's big pink house, cat carrier in her gloved hand. She couldn't wait to see for herself that Miranda was safe and sound. And she was a bit curious to see the home of one of the most mysterious men in town.
The man himself answered the door. "Good evening, Miss French." She had never seen him without his suit jacket on before. He looked very nice in his shirtsleeves.
"Mr. Gold. I can't thank you enough for calling me and for taking care of Miranda. How is she?"
"Please. Come in and see for yourself."
Annabelle wasn't sure what she expected the interior of Mr. Gold's house to look like, but it was much…warmer than she imagined. A bit cluttered here and there, just like his shop, but somehow more inviting. She was surprised to see a tastefully-decorated Christmas tree in the living room. Judging by the distinct lack of decorations in his shop, she hadn't expected that.
"May I take your coat, Miss French?"
"Yes, thank you. And you don't have to be so formal. Please: call me Annabelle." She set the carrier down and handed her coat and gloves to Mr. Gold.
"Of course. May I offer you a cup of tea?"
"That sounds great. It's so cold outside! But first, I'd love to see Miranda."
"I just fed her some tuna. She should be in the kitchen."
Miranda was no longer in the kitchen, however. Annabelle called out to her, and heard a tiny "Maaaooow?" in response from somewhere in the living room. Following the sound of the meows, they found the cat huddled far back under a curio cabinet. Belle got down on the floor to try to lure her out from her hiding place. Unfortunately, she couldn't reach Miranda under the shallow clearance between the cabinet and the floor.
"Come on, baby. It's mama. I've come to take you home." All Annabelle could see were two big eyes staring at her. Miranda didn't move. Annabelle tried coaxing her for several more minutes, but to no avail.
"I assure you, Miss-Annabelle. She was fine earlier. I don't know why she's hiding."
"She does this sometimes. And she can be pretty stubborn when she doesn't want to move." She started to push herself off the floor, and Mr. Gold offered his hand to help her up. He had nice hands—large and warm. "I'm sorry to take up so much of your time. She usually works herself out of this kind of mood in a bit."
"Not at all. I imagine she's had quite a trying day for a little cat. Why don't we have some tea while we wait for her to sort things out?"
Gold and Annabelle were seated on the sofa as he prepared their tea on the coffee table.
"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything," she said. "I know it's Christmas Eve."
"You're not keeping me from anything. It was going to be a pretty quiet evening on my own." He looked down at the tea service and gave a bashful little half-smile.
"Same here. Well, the alone part, at least. I had some wrapping and baking to do." He offered her a cup of tea, and she gave a happy little hum as she started to sip from the warm cup. Somehow he'd fixed it just as she liked it. Odd, she didn't remember him asking how she took her tea.
She gazed at his Christmas tree. "It's a lovely tree. Please don't take this the wrong way, but…I had you figured for the "no tree" type."
He laughed. "You had me figured correctly, then. The tree was Mrs. Potts' idea."
"Mrs. Potts?"
"My housekeeper. I gave her a few days off to be with her family."
"Well, Mrs. Potts picked a beautiful tree."
Mr. Gold looked at the tree lights, reflected in Annabelle's bright eyes as she stared at the tree. He agreed. He'd have to thank Mrs. Potts when she returned.
After awhile, Miranda decided to emerge from her hiding place. Unfortunately, the weather outside had deteriorated rapidly since Annabelle arrived at the house. They could hear the wind blowing more fiercely, and the snow was falling much more heavily than it had been earlier. Annabelle bit her lip, not looking forward to attempting to make it home in the storm. Mr. Gold stood next to her, looking out the window.
"Please forgive me, Miss French—"
"Annabelle."
"Annabelle. But I don't know if it would be safe for you to drive in this weather."
"I was just thinking the same thing."
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but you are welcome to stay here until it clears up."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Gold, but are you sure? It's Christmas Eve—"
"As I said, I don't exactly have callers and carolers knocking down my door. I wouldn't mind at all. And I'd be more at ease knowing you weren't out in that storm."
She smiled, relieved. "I have to admit, I'd appreciate it. Only if it's not putting you out, though."
"It's not. I know you mentioned plans of your own…"
"Well, only wrapping presents and baking. I promised to bring cookies to the children's Christmas party at the orphanage tomorrow. But I can always do that in the morning, if I can get back early enough."
"If you'd like, you can use my kitchen for your baking. Mrs. Potts usually keeps things pretty well-stocked. And I'd be happy to help."
Annabelle's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. They laughed.
"I can make a quick dinner for us, then we can start on your baking. How does that sound?"
"Sounds great."
Mr. Gold was an excellent cook. The quick pasta dish he made them was delicious. Even though the circumstances were unexpected, Annabelle was really enjoying herself. Over dinner, they laughed over their shared disdain for the Mayor, gossiped about the town, and discussed a new book that she had thought no one else in Storybrooke would have read.
Now the kitchen was laid out for a cookie-baking extravaganza. True to his word, did indeed keep Mr. Gold's kitchen well-stocked with everything they needed to make cookies. As Gold spooned chocolate chip cookie dough onto one of his expensive-looking cookie sheets, Annabelle began preparing the dough for her favorite cinnamon cookies.
"I didn't know you baked."
"What can I say? I'm a man of hidden talents."
"Well, I appreciate you helping me with this. I heard some rumors than you aren't the biggest fan of the nuns."
"I'm not. I can't stand the Mother Superior." The matter-of-fact way he said it made Annabelle laugh. She had to confess that she had never felt completely at ease around the Mother Superior. She was, however, good friends with Sister Astrid, which was why she volunteered to help.
After a pause, Mr. Gold continued. "I do, however, care about the children at the orphanage. I know what it's like to lose your parents at a young age." She glanced over at him, and he even looked a little surprised that he let that piece of information slip out.
Annabelle stopped mixing and gently rested her hand over one of his. "I'm sorry. My mother died when I was fifteen. These cinnamon cookies…this was her favorite recipe. We used to make them together every Christmas. Whenever I make them, I feel like a little bit of her is still here with me."
He lifted his brown eyes—wider and more vulnerable than she'd ever seen them-to meet her watery ones. He turned his hand so that his fingers could give hers a grateful squeeze. They smiled at one another and got back to work.
The cookies were done, but the storm wasn't. The wind still howled and snow continued to fall on Storybrooke, and it became clear that Annabelle wouldn't be able to make it back to her place tonight. Mr. Gold graciously offered her the use of one of his spare bedrooms and, while she hated to impose upon him any further, she gratefully accepted. He had even loaned her a pair of his pajamas so that she wouldn't have to sleep in her clothes.
Annabelle washed her face and changed into the pajamas. Even though Mr. Gold was a small man, his pajamas were big on her. She rolled the cuffs on the sleeves and the pants, enjoying the feel of being cocooned in the warm fabric.
She made her way back downstairs to say goodnight to Mr. Gold. The only lights on now were those in the living room and the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights. He hadn't heard her approach, so she was able to watch him, unguarded, for a moment. He had a glass of what looked like scotch in his hand, and was petting Miranda, who had snuggled up next to him on the sofa, as he stared at the tree. It was funny how quickly Miranda has taken to Mr. Gold. She was usually wary of strangers.
"I just came down to say goodnight."
"Can I get you anything else? A glass of scotch?" He lifted his glass. "Cup of tea?"
"Thanks, but I'm OK. I'm about to fall asleep standing up."
"I put out some water for Miranda."
"Thank you."
Upon hearing her name, the cat had stood up and jumped down from the soft. She stretched and padded over to the curio cabinet where she had hidden earlier, and let out a "Maaaaaoooowww!", which sounded even louder in the still of the evening.
Annabelle chuckled and walked over to her cat and leaned down to scratch between her ears. As she stood up, she stopped to admire the items in the cabinet. There were some lovely pieces in there: vases, candlesticks, some beautiful crystal. The light of the tree reflected off one piece in particular, though: a simple teacup, accented in gold and painted with a delicate blue pattern. Transfixed, she carefully lifted the cup and held it before her.
"It's lovely."
Mr. Gold stepped closer to see what piece she was looking at. "It's chipped."
She shrugged. "You can hardly see it."
Images flashed before her eyes: a large room, red curtains, a spinning wheel, a tea set, and a man with strange, hypnotic eyes. She heard an echo of a soft voice.
"It's just a cup," the voice of Mr. Gold said behind her, bringing her back to reality.
"That doesn't make it any less beautiful." She gently returned the cup to its place on the cabinet shelf.
She turned to look up at Mr. Gold. Everyone knew him as the most feared man in town, but she had always felt like there was something more there. Tonight she had seen it, and was glad for it. This day hadn't gone as expected, and yet it was the nicest Christmas Eve she could remember in a long time.
"Mr. Gold—"
"Rumford. My name is Rumford. I don't think I've ever told anyone that. You can call me that…if you like."
Her lips turned upward, her gaze warm. "I like it. Rumford…Rum."
His eyes were warm and intense. "Merry Christmas, Belle."
"Belle. No one has ever called me that. Most people call me Anna."
"I'm sorry."
"No, I like it. Thank you for everything you've done tonight. Truly." On some strange impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Rum." She gave him a shy little smile, then ducked her head as she turned to go upstairs.
"Goodnight, Belle."
She looked over her shoulder from the staircase. "Goodnight."
As Miranda dozed in front of the cabinet, Gold briefly touched his fingers to where Belle's lips had been and smiled.
Jefferson stood up from his telescope, satisfied that his little plan had worked. It was a long curse—he had to create his amusement when he had the chance.
Lucky for him that Leroy had left Belle's front door open, so that Jefferson could coax her cat outside. Interestingly, the cat had come to him pretty easily—maybe she remembered meeting him in their life in the other land, too. From there, it was nothing to break into Rumplestiltskin's pink palace and leave the cat there to reunite her master and mistress.
As long as Regina's curse was in place, Rumplestiltskin and Belle wouldn't remember their old lives. True Love was powerful, though. Now that they had found their way to one another in this world, that love could build something new here, maybe something close to a Happy Ending. Jefferson knew how much Regina hated Happy Endings. If bringing two separated souls together brought her any frustration, so much the better.
He looked over to his own Christmas tree, which was surrounded by presents for a little girl that he wouldn't see this Christmas. He hoped that someday, somehow, the curse would break and all the Happy Endings would be possible again. Then he could be with his Grace again. For now, though, he waited. And watched the snow fall.