Mr. Gold came into the Storybrooke Post Office every other Friday. Rain, wind, blizzard or some unexpected catastrophe of mysterious magical forces never kept him from always arriving at the same time. 10 am.

Some citizens found it a bit strange that he always arrived at the same time, on that same day. Why go to all that trouble just to check your P.O box? Others simply dismissed it as a routine thing. Nothing special.

Turning the key slowly, Mr. Gold brightened when he noticed a neat envelope tucked inside the long mailbox. The curvy, feminine handwriting and small stickers were the telltale signs that she had written him another letter. Closing the mailbox slowly, he looked around at the other patrons, not wanting to make it obvious that he was indeed excited about getting her letter again. So much so, that he ended up opening it right then and there.

The letter read:

Dear R.G,

It is a Saturday night and while most people would rather go outside and drink with friends, I'm currently sitting here with a cup of that tea you suggested I buy in your last letter. I never gave much thought to having green tea before, even though it's become so popular now. Tea goes especially well with the chill we've gotten here recently. I'll spare you my boring talk of the lack of snow in November. Disappointed I may be, but what more can I do? I cannot control the weather!

Anyway, as always I am well. My father's much more stressed than usual due to the holiday season, though, making me want to go out on more walks to get away from it all. Ah, that's quite selfish of me, isn't it? I do care for him immensely, after all. But no matter. I don't want to trouble you with my family drama. How are you? Do you have a family celebrating with you on the holidays? I wish them all well if so!

Our next topic of discussion I've chosen to be...things we would give as a stocking stuffer. Lend me all your wise ideas!

Until next time.

Lace

Mr. Gold read the last bit of writing with a small grin, folding the letter back up and placing it in his inner coat pocket. 'Things I would give as a stocking stuffer?' he thought, his grin now turning sober as he reminded himself that he had never owned any Christmas stockings in his life. Where does she come up with these silly questions? He then remembered the rest of her letter, feeling a ridiculous and overwhelming amount of pride that she had tried his tea suggestion.

Not wanting to get too distracted, he peered at the small clock on the post office wall. 'Almost eleven.' He needed to get back and see to his shop.

–

Christmas season in Storybrooke was always an ordeal, technically beginning just after Thanksgiving. Despite Mr. Gold's quiet indifference, his only shopkeeper employee took it quite seriously every year. After she got the job, she wanted to put a small Christmas tree in the corner of the shop but he refused, saying it was a waste of space. She hadn't tried again since, but she did manage to convince him to hang up a small wreath on the door.

Something else was different about his shop this time when he finally arrived. Mr. Gold's eyes scanned nearly every inch of the outside front, squinting before he eventually saw it. Decals on the windows. Christmas decals.

He strode through the front door, calling out."Belle what did I tell you about window stickers?"

Belle turned around from her work of dusting a large lamp. Her blue and white apron was dirty, her long brown hair tied up in a loose bun and held together with a bandanna. Despite that, she still looked as striking as ever, although Mr. Gold would certainly never admit that to himself.

"Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Gold. I thought they were charming and welcoming. Don't you think so?" She asked.

"No. I don't. Take them down."

He heard her long sigh. "You're no fun, Mr. Scrooge," she stressed the name. "It's just a snowman and some snowflakes." Belle gave him an encouraging, pointed look and nodded, scrambling to come up with a good argument to keep them up. "They can just...symbolize the winter solstice?"

Mr. Gold gave her a long stare. Seeing her hopeful eyes not only irritated him, but also made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't define. At last, he grunted about how they could stay up until the end of the week before hobbling over toward the front counter and ignoring Belle's wide smile of triumph.

Belle French was never one for subtlety or submissiveness. She had begun working for him about eight months ago and has been driving him a bit mad ever since, and not in the good way either. He didn't remember what compelled him to say yes to her inquiry of employment, as he was perfectly capable of managing things himself. But, he supposed someone being around to dust and answer the work phone from time to time (and especially to open on Fridays) wasn't too much trouble as long as she stayed out of his way (which she tended to do unsuccessfully).

He settled himself behind the glass counter, taking out the log book and began writing. He wasn't focused for very long. He heard her quiet footfalls, saw her elbows resting in front of him out of the corner of his eye.

"That didn't take long to convince you," she noted in surprise.

Mr. Gold heaved a sigh but did not look up from his work. "I may be in a good mood today. Don't get used to it."

Belle raised her eyebrows in curiosity, but said nothing as she finally sauntered away to continue her routine dusting. Mr. Gold's focus, however, came back to the letter he still had stashed. He wanted to write back to Lace as soon as he could, which was unusual for him. He naturally didn't have many companions there in Storybrooke aside from the Charmings who really only visited him for a favor or two. No matter. He didn't need close friendships and was perfectly content alone, with his shop and sizable house where no one would bother him.

That was until he connected with the woman, nicknamed Lace. She was also a citizen of Storybrooke, and they'd been writing each other for about a year, but to Mr. Gold it felt much longer than that. In truth, he felt a bit fascinated by her, by the way she talked about the latest book she'd been reading, the way she wrote in cursive, by the –.

"Mr. Gold?"

"What?" He jumped slightly, glaring at her again. "What are you still doing here!"

Belle scoffed."I was just going to tell you that your tea is finished in the back! Don't wait until it gets cold."

"I don't need you telling me that."

Belle only rolled her eyes. "When you're done being moody, I'll be back with more supplies." He only just realized that she had on her coat and gloves.

"Hm. Good you'll be out of my way," he snipped.

At the sound of the bell ringing and Belle's movements, he faintly heard a muttered "so rude," under her breath before the door slammed shut.

–

Dear Lace,

I'm delighted you're trying the tea. Let me know how you like it. While it's not my personal favorite, I had a feeling you'd want to try something new and different. You said it yourself once that curiosity is a good thing. I'm still trying to see that point of view.

To answer your question, I don't remember much of my family. It's always just been me and my work. I don't mind it. It keeps me sharp and busy, and I enjoy the lack of potential family drama. By the way, I'm sorry you're having problems with your father. Walking it off really does do the trick sometimes. If I was where you are, I'd join you.

Your discussion topic certainly threw me because I don't celebrate the Christmas holiday. It would depend entirely on the person, of course. For someone I know, like you for instance, I'd give the latest bestseller, those orange mints you said you liked, and something else all women like. Hair accessories perhaps? For everyone else I'd just give money.

Best wishes,

R.G.

It was nine o'clock in the evening on a Thursday. With a small flourish of his ink pen, Mr. Gold finished off his letter feeling suddenly warm all over. The thought of giving Lace something for Christmas after so many letters made him feel surprisingly anxious.

Her response came back a few days later.

Dear R.G.

Did you just tell me what you're getting me for Christmas? That's supposed to be kept secret, you know? Haha. I don't think I'll tell you what I would give you as a stocking stuffer, but you'd like it. Trust me.

Lace

PS. Blue ribbons are my favorite.

The first week of December came with a force of strong winds and snow drizzles. Storybrooke woke up one morning with a thin sheet of ice on the streets and sidewalks. Mr. Gold's normal walk to his shop took slower than usual with his cane slipping occasionally, making it a miracle he hadn't tumbled over already. Offers of help from innocent young people were met with a glare and a sharp no.

As his shop came into view, he noticed that Belle was lingering near the side of the building. When she spotted him, she smiled a bright and hesitant smile.

"Ready for today, Mr. Gold?" Her eyes traveled over his slightly winded form, and for a split second he actually felt self-conscious. In front of her? Nonsense.

Why is she so cheery this early in the morning? He thought wearily, eyeing her suspiciously.

"What are you doing milling around out here?" he asked, trying to sound annoyed.

"I was just scraping frost off the windows for you," she replied without hesitating. He noticed her eyes were uncommonly bright this morning, soft and...

Shaking himself out of his traveling thoughts -because where in the hell did those come from?- he moved forward as swiftly as he could, completely ignored her expectantly standing there, and went inside.

He pretended he didn't hear her grumbling on the other side of the glass door. "You could have at least said 'Thank you'! Honestly..."

–

The ending of December was finally upon the town of Storybrooke. Christmas Eve cheer lit up the streets with strolling families and carolers. Mr. Gold's shop was normally closed on this day as well as Christmas Day since "nobody would come in anyway."

For once, however, Mr. Gold didn't mind it so much, as the day found him sitting in his back room at the small desk, fretting over yet another letter he will send to his penpal, Lace. They'd exchanged a few more letters during December, her excitement growing more as the snow began to fall, as she told him tales of her Christmas memories and traditions, and as she wistfully confessed to him that she wished she'd have someone special to celebrate it all with.

How should he respond? There was no doubt he'd become pretty attached to her letters and small bit of existence in his life, even indirectly. He'd always been content spending Christmas holiday by himself, treated it as if it were any other day (aside from the store being closed). Now he was beginning to feel that being alone would be rather sad. He at least hoped she liked the gift he'd sent her (a week ago, so she'd receive it in time for Christmas). A rush of anxiety overtook him at the thought that she'd absolutely hate it, but he managed to calm himself when he focused again on his still blank letter. It was there he wrote one line, quickly and automatically as if he's known her his whole life.

Dear Lace,

I would very much like to spend Christmas with you.

Yours,

R.G

Folding the letter swiftly, as if he were in a hurry, he stuffed it inside the small already addressed envelope and gathered up his cane. The post office was obviously closed on this day, but he didn't seem to care when he hurried out the front door at a pace he was sure would make him fall if the adrenaline rush didn't keep him upright and moving.

The cold wind beat against him the entire five minute walk, and he was relieved when the small building came into view, as well as the outside blue mailbox. What was he even doing getting all worked up? His letter wouldn't even go out until the next day at the earliest. But, he knew that if he didn't put the letter inside, he'd completely lose his nerve.

Almost there. With one hand reaching for the box opener, he became completely startled when another hand was reaching also. He peered up and sure enough a figured stood right across from him, bundled up with a long yellow scarf and a matching overcoat. Wait.

He knew that coat.

"Belle?"

There was a moment of strained silence. She quickly averted her eyes to the ground, as if ashamed she'd been caught trying to send a letter on Christmas day with a closed post office. He squinted at her, waiting and a little puzzled.

She finally looked up. "Oh hi, Mr. Gold!" She pushed down her scarf to uncover her mouth and once again, there was that same irritating, frustrating, comforting smile. She let out a nervous laugh. "What are the odds, a-are you trying to send a letter as well?" Her hands motioned toward the letterbox, the letter in a steel grip against the cold. He remained stiff, his own letter flapping in the wind preciously.

A flash of repressed anger crossed his eyes and he frowned. "What are you doing here, Belle?" he bit out, as if she was interrupting a monumental, private moment.

Belle was, of course, unfazed by his tone. "Obviously I'm sending a letter. I shouldn't have waited so long to send it but-"

Suddenly, a heavy gust of wind swirled around them and knocked Belle's hood off and nearly toppling poor Mr. Gold off his feet. He barely was able to catch himself, but at that moment the wind didn't matter, especially when he saw her face and head fully. Dread filled the pit of his stomach.

She was wearing blue ribbons in her hair.

Without thinking, he demanded, "Where did you get those?"

Belle blinked, her smile dissipating. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Don't play games. Where did you get those?" He jabbed a finger at her hair, the ribbons. But that can't be right. It must be a coincidence that she'd have the ribbons of the same color he sent off to Lace. There was no way.

Belle reached up and touched her hair gingerly. "Oh these?" she said with a lilt, her smile returning, this time dreamy and warm. "They were a gift from someone."

A gift. His gift.

"Are you alright, Mr. Gold?"

No. It's not possible. The realization was too much. Maybe he was just overthinking things. That had to be it. Belle, his ordinary, aggravating, yet beautiful and soft shopkeeper couldn't possibly be Lace! Absurd.

But when Belle came closer to him, her eyes wide and noticing the letter in his hand, his world crashed.

"Wait, what are you doing with my letter?"

It was going to be a very long Christmas day.