Rumplestiltskin had played his fair share of venues over the years, but Irving Plaza in New York Fucking City was a fresh experience.
He'd been to the city before. He didn't much care for it. Everything was too closed in, too tall; and as he leaned forward to eye the venue through the window of the tour bus; shoved between two other buildings—it didn't make an immediately positive impression.
Someone elbowed him roughly in the ribs, jostling to get a better view of the place, and he snarled. Not that it did him any good, now or ever.
"Plenty a' goddamn windows on this side of the bloody bus, Emma." He growled, which only earned him a playful smack to the side of his head.
"Easy, old man." The blonde chided, ignoring his frustration as she leaned over and studied the outside of the venue, whistling lowly. "So, this is Irving Plaza in the big apple, is it? Looks fancy."
"Hope the bloody acoustics are better than Toronto." Came an accented complaint from somewhere over his shoulder, and he turned his head towards the sound to see his fellow guitarist leaning down at the window to his right, resting his forehead on his arm over the glass. "Last place was complete shit."
He gestured towards the cramped space around him, where Emma was taking up most of the window and seat meant for one. "What's wrong, Killian? Too good to join the crowd in my lap?"
An overly-manicured eyebrow quirked at him in response. "Don't count on it, mate."
He grunted when the painful weight of their drummer crashed down on his lap, the wild-haired youth grabbing Emma by the shoulders and effectively ripping her from the window.
"I want to see!"
"Fuckitall, Jefferson, I just said there are plenty of goddamn—"
A manic giggle cut off his protests, so he simply shoved the younger man into the window, cursing as fought his way out from under Jefferson and away from Emma, giving up the spot he'd claimed sixteen bloody hours ago in favor of keeping the feeling in his legs. They'd all been stuck in the bus with Jefferson since the last stop, and the lad had the nasty habit of becoming a handful after a while.
Two hours was a handful. Sixteen was just fucking torture.
It was best to just let the kid have what he wanted, but relenting to his whims put Rumplestiltskin in an even nastier mood, and he growled when Killian slapped him on the shoulder.
"Someone needs to let Jefferson out." Killian chuckled, scrubbing at his perpetually immaculate facial hair. The man spent entirely too much time on his appearance. After a full day on the road, he still looked as if he'd just climbed out of the shower. Knowing Killian, he likely had.
His temper snapped when Emma managed to dislodge herself from the tangle with Jefferson and stumbled into him, sending them both crashing to the floor.
"That's it!" He howled. "The next bloody person who gets between me and the door—"
"Someone needs to let Gold out," Jefferson sniggered conspiratorially to Killian.
"—is getting my boot in their teeth." Gold finished with a snarl, pushing Emma off of him and advancing on Jefferson, pulling up short only when Emma grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him backwards towards the door.
"I think we could all use some fresh air," Emma replied evenly, walking the ten steps it took to reach their destination and kicking at the steel door when it didn't budge. She threw her head back. "Let us out!"
"Waiting for security," Came the confident drawl of their manager, looking unruffled when four pairs of eyes regarded her in frustration. "I'll unlock the door the door when they get here. You four don't need any more attention brought to yourselves in this city."
"We've been on this bus for almost twenty four hours, Regina." Complained Emma, still holding a fistful of Gold's shirt. "It's sunrise. No one is out. Can't we just—"
Her argument was cut short when Regina stalked over, going toe to toe with the blonde as she spoke with venomous sweetness. "No. Besides, you've been on this bus for almost twenty four hours, Emma. What's another five minutes?"
Emma may have been deterred but Gold wasn't, and after shimmying from Emma's grasp and a moment of analyzing the door his boot connected with the far edge of it and it swung open.
"Gold!" Regina snarled, but he waved her off, hopping down off the behemoth of a vehicle. "Get back here!"
"Fuck off, Regina." He called, his hand already sliding into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a clear-wrapped pack, tapping it against his palm before opening it and catching a cigarette between his lips as he paced the deserted street like a caged animal. Security. Really.
He may as well have pulled a gun on the bus, and he could feel four pairs of eyes watching from the doorway as he languidly cupped a hand before his face, lighter flashing. He could be enjoyable company, but he could only be pushed and confined and cramped for so long. They all had their triggers; their subtle little signs that they'd taken enough shit from one another for one day, and the nasty habit Gold had picked up as a lad in Scotland and had never completely kicked was his. He didn't smoke often, but when he needed a cigarette, it was time for everyone to shut the hell up and go away.
Shit, he kept the habit partly from the enjoyment he got out of seeing such a trained response from the others alone.
He took a slow, grateful inhale off the cheap cigarette, closing his eyes peacefully at the rush of nicotine that calmed his frayed nerves. They'd been in the bus since the previous morning, and it had been complete hell, but by the time he snuffed the cigarette between the pavement and the bottom of his leather boot five minutes later, he was breathing a sigh of contentment.
Emma was standing a few yards away, leaning against the side of the building with her arms crossed and watching him when he turned around.
"Feeling better?" She asked, and he spared a glance towards the empty bus and sidewalk. Aside from two men hanging back by the door of the venue, dressed in all black with SECURITY written on their shirts, he and Emma were alone. "You got pretty wound up back there. It's not like you to threaten to kick Jefferson's teeth in."
"Yah," He replied, meaning it for the first time since the previous day. "Much better. Where is everyone?"
"Inside," The blonde said in amusement. "You're going to get in trouble one day with that ability to block out the whole world when you smoke, you know."
He snorted. "If I didn't, you'd all probably be dead by now. Besides, no one'd dare to interrupt the legendary Rumplestiltskin's meditation time. No bastard that wanted to live, that is."
The younger woman just shook her head, sticking her thumb towards where the two men were standing.
"Come on, Regina wants sound check before we get to finally settle into the hotel. If we hurry, you might even have enough time to shower before she drags us back here for the show."
"The woman sure does love being early," He grumbled.
They'd all been through the ropes hundreds of times before, but the day still passed by with agonizing slowness, measured by the tension building as each hour passed. It was a well-known dance; they did an early sound check the morning of the show, partly to ensure the equipment worked, and partly because doing it as early as possible gave them more time apart to not kill one another.
Despite Emma's grumpy concern over their lack of time, sound check passed by with relieving ease and it was only a few hours later when they found themselves settling in at the Waldorf-Astoria, an elegant hotel that met the caliber of their fame.
"Too many bloody frills and old furniture," He complained, bouncing on Emma's bed not ten minutes after Regina had pressed key cards for their own individual suites into their palms with threats to stay clear of one another and prepare for the event that night. "I don't like it here."
"Well, according to Regina it's famous." Emma told him, glancing at him in the mirror from across the room where she sat applying a thin layer of makeup. "And you know how much she likes elegant old things. Are you surprised that this was her choice?"
"No." He sighed, laying back and kicking a throw pillow off the bed sullenly, quiet for a minute before he turned his head to look at her.
Emma was one of his oldest friends; the total of which he could count on a single hand, and he knew the lass hadn't had the easiest upbringing. They didn't speak of their past to one another, only their shared history-it was one of the things he liked about the younger woman who he considered family-but they'd been in similar, dead-end situations when they'd met in Boston years before.
"You ever been here, Em? Without the band, I mean."
It was a safe topic; Emma was a self-proclaimed wanderer, and every time Fable had been to Manhattan before now they'd arrived just in time to do a show and stayed only long enough to get some sleep before departing again. The younger woman would enjoy having the ability to sightsee.
Emma just shook her head. "Never. Always wanted to, though. You?"
"Not in years and years, since I got off the boat from Scotland. Was a wee, broke lad back then. Little younger than you, actually. Early twenty-something. I forget."
"Well," The blonde turned to look at him. "Now you've got three days to look the place over, and I bet you never thought you'd be staying in a ritzy place like this the first time you were here."
It had been a long time-almost a decade-since he'd had any non-band time in New York Fucking City last, and at the time he'd been grateful for a shitty hole in the wall motel in the slums. He merely shrugged.
"I'm not interested in the sights, lass. I'll probably spend my time catching up on sleep and reruns, yeah?"
She laughed. "You're going to spend your time in New York holed up in the hotel? This is the big apple, Gold. Anything could happen here."
He rolled to his feet and patted her on the shoulder good-naturedly as he headed for the door and his respective suite. "Well let's hope nothing does, yeah? I'll see you at the show."
He spent the rest of the afternoon in solitude; resuming the well-known routine and conjuring from within himself an entirely new being; the facade that he used on stage. He didn't know what the others methods were, but he smoked and paced in his room, embracing the pre-show nerves that built up and channeling them inward until he became Rumplestiltskin; a flashy, arrogant, predatory animal whose forte was taking on reporters and fans and screaming crowds with aggressive grace and fluid charm.
By the time the four of them arrived back at the venue that evening, they were able to put all squabbles and disagreements aside; the tension like a sweet inebriation that took each of them differently, and they were so deep into their stage persona's that they were able to become, finally, a coherent team.
On a good day, Gold considered Emma, Jefferson, and Killian friends. On a bad, they were just assholes he'd spent, in varying degrees, too much of his life with. But on stage Rumplestiltskin, Swan, Mad Hatter, and Captain Hook were a force; a band whose flawless performances and legendary shows had people desperate to be lucky enough to acquire a ticket to.
Tickets to their exclusive shows; held only at small venues despite their ability to easily sell out grandiose stadiums, went for however much they wanted them to and always sold for easily triple or quadruple the sale price on the street despite the already extravagant price tag. Through blood, sweat, tears, and an incredible amount of work they'd painstakingly cultivated the idea that seeing a Fable show was an event, and they all played their part in its success.
It was in that mindset that they found themselves that evening; completely consumed by their stage personas, each in the throes of their own personal signs of anxiety. Hook, head to foot in black clothing reminiscent of a smarmy albeit seductive pirate, was pacing the stage before the empty venue, grumbling to himself as he played soundless chords on his unplugged guitar. He passed by Hatter sitting stock still save for the fingers that stroked the rim of the large top hat clutched in his hands, perched on one of the enormous speakers that littered the place with a distant, disturbed look in his eye. Swan, the only one fully composed, was watching Rumplestiltskin with a wary eye as he pulled on a pair of baggy, unflattering jeans to cover up the knee-high boots and suffocatingly tight leather pants.
"Rum, please tell me you aren't going to do it again." The blonde singer complained at him, playing with the sleeve of her red leather jacket, her skinny jeans tucked neatly into her soft, plaint brown boots. "The doors are in less than half an hour. People are like animals out there right now."
He pulled a soft, plain black shirt over his bare chest before rolling his eyes at her. The younger woman was like a sister to him, and she could be so damned worrisome sometimes. "It'll be fine, Swan."
"You've made a habit of it," She warned. "People are going to notice you one of these days, and then you're going to get yourself killed. You can't just go out there with no security in the hopes that no one will recognize you."
He tucked his hair into a black military style cap, making sure the premature tufts of grey above his ears that he'd had for as long as he could remember were covered before putting on a pair of black aviator glasses. Wearing regular clothes, even over his stage attire, brought back the pre-show anxiety that came when he wasn't wearing his Rumplestiltskin mask, and he switched back to her proper name as he looked at her. "I'm just going to walk out along the line, Em. Just up and down the street once, and then I'll be right back in and ready to do the show. No one is going to notice me. No one ever has, yeah?"
"Sounds like a good way to get murdered," Jefferson responded quietly, his eyes never leaving the over-large hat in his hands, and Killian stopped his pacing just long enough to shoot Gold a hard look before resuming.
"Let the old man do what he wants."
He raised his eyebrows at Emma, gesturing to himself with a smirk when she didn't look convinced.
"People are looking for fucking knee-high boots and leather trousers, not some bloody jackass in baggy old pants having a smoke. Not in New York Fucking City. Don't worry so much."
He patted her heavily on the shoulder as he sauntered past, and he could feel the eyes of the other two men on his back, watching silently as he leapt down off the stage and headed to the door.
"If you get mauled, you better hope they kill you, because otherwise I'm going to come out there and finish the job myself!" Emma called at his back.
Grumpy Rockstar!Gold is so much fun to write.
Please let me know what you think! :)