Author's Notes: Well, here is my attempt at a one shot looking at the softer, but not romantic side of Rumpelstiltskin/Mr. Gold, featuring Mr. Gold and Henry having a conversation. Purely general, friendship, family feelings. I do not own Once Upon a Time. If I did, this story would be on , and not on . (EDITS: I fixed a couple spelling/grammar errors. Reworded a couple lines so they flowed a little more. 3/3/12)
Nobody knew it, but Mr. Gold always kept a bit of candy nearby. There was a small bowl of candy near the front door of his home, one behind the counter of his shop, and when he was at neither location, a butterscotch or lollipop was always nestled discreetly in his breast pocket. But no one would have guessed it, or even thought to ask.
This was, after all, Mr. Gold. Anyone, young and old, would tell you that he was the single best person in Storybrooke to avoid, whenever possible. Dealing with him was dangerous. You could lose your money, your home, or worse. These were the things that the people of Storybrooke knew. Mr. Gold himself did little to change this perception.
It was, or course, to his advantage. When people fear you, you have all the power. That is was real power is. Fear. It was true for all magic wielders, both good and evil. No magic in the world can grant true power—only the courage and ability to grasp it. He'd been naïve enough, once upon a time, to believe that magic was all one needed, but the years had taught him otherwise. Magic may come with a price, but fear...fear was free. And for Mr. Gold, free was good for business.
And so, because he embraced his power by fear, no one in town knew about the toffees, licorice, and Apollo bars he kept stashed away in his pocket, in his home, or in his shop.
It was a Thursday, when it would first be discovered.
Mr. Gold was sitting in the back room of his shop, polishing some antique silverware, when he heard the door chime, once, then twice, followed by the sound of shoes on the wooden floor. One could tell much from the sound of footsteps. Every person's was different. Mr. Gold's own gait was punctuated with the sound of his cane on every other carefully placed step. His lame leg made quick movements difficult, but the cool, steady demeanor of his walk served to make him more intimidating. Right now, Mr. Gold noted the moderate and confident pacing of Sheriff Swan, and with her, a shorter, quieter and much less focused set of feet. Henry, he guessed.
"Mr. Gold?" Emma's voice called out from the display room.
"One moment Sheriff," he called back to her. He set down his work and wiped his hands clean, before taking hold of his walking stick and pulling himself up from his chair. When he emerged, Emma was leaning on the counter with one hand, her other placed sharply on her hip. "What can I do for you?" he asked with a trace of a smile. "Something for the boy, perhaps?" Henry, who had indeed entered with his biological mother, and was now examining the magic lamp on the shelf. "I'm surprised Regina let him out of her sight, must be a special occasion, for her to be so generous."
Emma didn't bother to return the smirk, not even for he sake of pleasantries. That was one of the reasons he liked Ms. Swan. Despite the air of healthy distrust, she didn't live in fear of him, like everyone else. It was refreshing, even exciting, to have someone other than the Mayor to contend with. Of course, Sheriff Swan wasn't the greatest of challenges. She was too easily manipulated. If there was any hope for the residents of Storybrooke, their 'savior' had better learn a thing or two about deception. But that would only be a matter of time.
"I'm here on business," Emma said pointedly. "I'm looking for information on a man named Herbert Duffin. No one's seen him in two days. His wife filed a report. Seems like he was in a tight spot, financially. Which, of course, brings me to you," she explained, "You tend to attract guys like him."
"Herbert Duffin?" he replied, "Yes, I know him. Clumsy, dumpy little fellow. No, can't say where he is, but I don't doubt he'll be in a fix when you find him. Always is, that one...and constantly relying on others to pick up the pieces of his last misfortune."
"Sounds like he'd be your perfect customer. Desperate."
"Oh no, Sheriff," Mr. Gold insisted, "That man's got a bout of bad luck that spreads even to the most shrewd of businessmen, like myself. I wouldn't touch him with my cane. Last I saw him was a week ago, at the pharmacy. He was buying glue. God only knows why he needed so much."
Emma's cell phone buzzed then, interrupting her from questioning Mr. Gold any further.
"Just great," she said, checking the message. "Hey kid."
Henry looked up from examining a pair of wooden dolls. "Yeah?"
"Mary Margret just messaged me, she saw your mom downtown. Seems like she finished her meeting early."
"More like she's hoping to catch us together," said Henry. "It's ok, we can talk about more Cobra stuff later."
"C'mon, we should get going."
"No. I'll stay here." Henry stated it as a fact, not a request or suggestion. "She'll be expecting you to bring me home. Besides, she thinks I'm at the arcade again...it's just down the street." Clever boy, Mr. Gold observed. "And she won't think to look for me here."
"Kid, catching you with me will make your mom angry enough. Leaving you here with Mr. Gold..."
"...will make her positively livid." Mr. Gold offered.
Emma nodded between the two emphatically. "Yeah. That."
"Well, anything that infuriates Regina is welcome in my shop," Mr. Gold said, nodding his invitation to Henry.
"See? He gets it," the boy said , smugly.
Something was definitely up. Emma pulled Henry aside. "You told me not to get involved with this guy...what's your game here?"
"Calm down, I've got it covered. I'll explain later."
Emma sighed. Once he'd gotten an idea in his head, there was no getting it out, and there was no stopping him. It was his most endearing and irritating trait.
"Alright, but you radio me the minute you're done here."
"Yes Emma."
Emma turned her attention to Mr. Gold on her way out the door. "Gold. He comes home, undamaged. Capisce?"
"What do you think I'm going to do, sell him?"
Emma gave him a glare at the barb, sighed, then vigorously shut the door behind her, the little bell clanged in protest of the harsh treatment.
Mr. Gold let out the tiniest laugh, "Something I said?"
Henry smiled. It was an odd sort of smile, one that held a hint of true amusement, but displayed a level of scheming. This child was intelligent. His mind was quick to plan, and even quicker to lie to meet his ends. He was young, and as such, his plots were often rough, and his lies were more often transparent, but given time, Mr. Gold had a feeling that, one day, Henry could become a truly dangerous man. Residents of Storybrooke, be thankful this child is on your side.
"You sure have a lot of stuff here." The boy commented, lazily walking by the shelves, gently running his hands across the surfaces, gently caressing points of interests, how children always do when looking at something new-with their hands, for their eyes alone were never good enough to 'see'.
"Well, I've been collecting for a long time now."
"And just how long has that been?" Henry asked. It was a double question, Mr. Gold knew. He'd play his game.
"Oh, longer than I'd like to believe," he evaded, hobbling to find a chair. Henry frowned. He'd obviously hoped for a more telling answer. The boy then found his own seat—on the counter, by the cash register. "Careful there, laddie."
The kid really did need to work on his manners. That might be a fine thing to tell Regina. With great amusement, Mr. Gold found himself imagining the following scenario: 'Madam Mayor, I'm sorry to report that your child was sitting on counters in my establishment. If you would be so kind as to remind him that this isn't appropriate, please.'
"What's the most important thing you've collected?" Henry asked, pulled Mr. Gold from his very brief daydream.
"Depends. Sentimentally? Well, I got myself locked up for that one. I'm sure your mom told you all about that."
"Yeah. She reminded me to not touch any of your dishes."
"Smart of her," Mr. Gold snicked. "Well, if you must know...I'd say that the most important thing I've collected was an obscure historical text about our town. Fascinating history, Storybrooke." He could see a look of surprise on Henry's face. "I suppose you thought I'd say something more along the lines of buried treasure? No, I've found that information is far more valuable than any diamond or ruby."
Henry seemed to be considering something. After a moment, he asked: "What did it say about Storybrooke?"
"Oh, this and that. Most of it was simply things that you could find in the local library."
"So...it didn't have any...secrets or something?"
"History is full of secrets. It just depends on where and when you look," Mr. Gold explained. "You ought to do some research."
Henry sighed. These obviously weren't the answers he was searching for. There was another moment of pause. "Do you still have it?"
"Sorry, Henry. I sold it long ago."
"Who did you sell it to?"
"I can't go around telling everyone who bought what from my shop," Mr. Gold told him. "That's between my customers and me. Besides, I don't know what's become of it."
That was a lie. He knew where it was, and who had it, but he couldn't tell the child. Absolutely not. It was dangerous for Henry to have any such detailed information. Anything he learns about the curse, Mr. Gold knew, had to be discovered on his own. The most he could to, and the least he must do, is give the child a little push in the right direction.
"If it was so important, why did you sell it?" Henry asked. He sounded disappointed. If he only knew.
Mr. Gold smiled. "I didn't need it anymore. It's all here," he pointed to his head. Another push. "I remember what I read. So, I sold it. I almost didn't. Mind you it WAS rare. One of a kind, in fact. But I think I ended up with the better end of the bargain."
"What did you get for it?"
"Well, I took cash, and the promise that the buyer would pass it on to one who truly needed it the most."
"Did he keep his word?"
"I'd like to think so," he said, loftily, "I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."
"My mom doesn't trust you," Henry said changing the subject, suddenly. "Neither of them."
"And why do you suppose that is?"
Henry truly thought about his answer before replying. "Well...everyone says you're..well...not a good person. A lot of people are afraid of you, because they owe you money. Emma said you set fire to town hall. And you beat up Mr. French..."
"Sounds like the townsfolk have quite the case against me." Mr. Gold said it lightheartedly. "But really, I can't help it if people make deals and aren't prepared for the consequences. As for the fire—whether or not I did set it, I think all three of us are pleased with the end result there." He whispered that part to Henry, conspiratorially.
"Mr. Gold?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you want Ashley's baby?"
"My, full of questions today, aren't we? What have I done to warrant such a thorough interrogation?"
"Could you please just answer?" The request came with a bit of a whine. Henry gave Mr. Gold a hard and steady look, one that was all too similar to the one Emma had leveled me him on her way out. Amazing thing, genetics.
Mr. Gold realized then, that there was something greater on this child's mind than just the Dark Curse. Not wanting to upset Henry any further, he answered. "She made a deal."
"But why did you want it? After she said she wanted it back...You didn't stop until my mom said she'd do you a favor. Why couldn't you just tear up the contract?"
How could he answer that? There were many answers, all true, and none easy. In his mind, a part of Mr. Gold wondered if his own curse bound him more tightly to his contracts than the poor souls who signed them. Or perhaps the people in this world, and the last, were right. He was evil. A beast. A demon. Mr. Gold would never deny any of those labels.
Fear, was another reason. It was ironic that although fear was the driving force behind Mr. Gold's rise to glory, it was also the reason he couldn't break a deal. Mr. Gold was afraid to relinquish the power that fear had granted him. If people thought they could break deals with him, then what power did he have? Ah, there.
"I can't let anyone break a deal. If word got out that I've gone soft, people would just keep trying to undermine me and then it would be nothing but work, work, work all the time. Inconsistency is bad for business."
Mr. Gold continued. "Henry, I can't help but feel like this conversation isn't about Ashley's baby. Or the items in my shop. And I didn't get where I am today by beating around the bush. So, tell me: What is on your mind?" His last sentence was hard and commanding.
"The favor you want from my mom." The words spilled out in a rush.
"What about it?"
"It's not gonna get her in trouble...it won't hurt her...will it?"
The question was sincere, innocent, and filled with concern. Damn. Henry looked just like Baelfire—scared for the well-being of his parent. It was a shame really, that the same fear that held so much power for Mr. Gold, also extended to the young ones. Children were precious. They were to be protected in all things. Shady deal, though it may have been, Mr. Gold did have every intention of finding a good home for Ashley's baby, had he obtained her. Now, here was Henry, imploring Mr. Gold for his mother's safety. He couldn't just leave that.
"Henry," Mr. Gold said most carefully, "I assure you, that, when the time comes, the favor I will ask of your mother will be nothing that she can't handle. Nothing I deal for is impossible."
As he said this, Mr. Gold has risen to his feet. He gracefully hobbled behind the counter where Henry still sat, mulling over what the man had said to him. Lost in his thought, Henry barely noticed when Mr. Gold's hand appeared by his left shoulder, offering him a lollipop.
He looked back at the pawnbroker, his mind still catching up.
"Go on, take it," Mr. Gold prompted. "It's not poisoned."
"Why are you giving me candy?" Henry asked skeptically, taking the sweet.
"Because, you look like you could use it."
Henry leaned back and looked behind the register where Mr. Gold was now standing. He saw a bowl of sweets tucked into a corner.
"You don't just give things away. Everything you give comes with a price."
"Who says?"
Henry raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms rather comically.
"Everyone."
Mr. Gold chuckled. "True. But who's to say the price?" He leaned in closer on his cane. "Perhaps I just don't like crying children."
"I'm not crying!" Henry exclaimed.
"Oh no?" Mr. Gold mock gasped. "Well. I guess I can just take that back..." he began reaching for the candy.
"Hey, I didn't say I didn't want it!" Henry yelled pulling it away again.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Mr. Gold apologized sarcastically. "But if you want it that badly, I suppose a deal will have to be struck."
Henry groaned.
"I will let you have that lollipop, on the condition that you promise to go to the library, and brush up on your town history."
Henry's mouth was agape. The deal was unexpected. But that was what made it interesting.
"Remember," the pawnbroker reminded him, "Information is far more valuable than gold. "
Henry turned it over in his mind. There had to be a catch. "Why do you really want me to go to the library?"
"I want you to go to the library because, for some unfathomable reason, you've decided it's better to make a deal with me than to just accept a blasted lollipop, and maybe some study will teach you the foolishness in that." The way Mr. Gold said it made Henry laugh.
"Alright, I'll go to the library."
"Good."
"But right now I need to head home." Henry dropped down from the counter and picked up his backpack which he'd left on the floor. "Mr. Gold?" He asked, as he opened the door, the bell jingling slightly.
"Yes?"
"What is all the candy for?"
"It's for the kids. Especially the crying ones."
Henry huffed, rolling his eyes and let the door slam behind him on his way out.
Mr. Gold let out one more small chuckle of amusement at Henry's tantrum. He looked just like Emma when she stormed out earlier. Now, he'd wait and see what Henry found in those dusty old books at the town library. He knew that Henry would make good on his word, and when he did, it would be one step closer to the final battle.
He looked down and grabbed himself a butterscotch from the still very full bowl.
It really was for the kids.
It was just that no kids ever visited.
Especially the crying ones.
(Reviews = love! Points to anyone who gets the fairytale reference I made. Extra points to anyone who gets the Princess Bride ref.)