A/N: Here is the second part of my little Golden Swan Christmas story. It won't turn out to be a very long story (I'm almost done writing it, actually) but I'm glad so many people are enjoying it for the holidays. If only they had a special Christmas episode for Once, complete with candy canes.
This chapter is a bit of fun.
Emma's stomach was filled to the brim with pancakes, eggs, and cocoa by the time she began the journey back to the station. She mentally groaned at the reminder of the stack of paperwork waiting on her desk. She dragged her feet slower on the slippery sidewalk.
It had been crowded at the diner, what with everyone craving the warmth of Granny's cocoa. Not to mention how Henry rattled her ear off about fairy tales again, though it had been delivered with decreasing amounts of enthusiasm since Graham died. The kid was taking it hard.
It was going to be their first Christmas together; she had three days left to find him a good gift. What did ten years old usually enjoy? Never had she stayed long enough in a foster home around that age to receive any special gifts.
As it turned out, she was in for her own surprise as she neared the entrance to the station. Her boots nearly slipped on the pavement as she halted in place.
"What are you doing?"
Her eyes flew from Gold standing on the sidewalk in front of her cruiser to Leroy, who happened to be on the roof and stringing up bright Christmas lights over the station. Folding his gloved hands over the gold-tipped head of his cane, Gold merely supervised.
"Is your eyesight failing you this morning, Emma?" There was an arrogant, ambiguous note in his voice. It hinted at something deeper than the task of decorating.
If he was talking about his presence in the diner this morning, how could she have not noticed? As still as Gold was, there was no denying he attracted moths to the flame. She simply chose not to mince words with the shady pawnbroker. Knowing the size of Gold's ego, it was more than likely bruised due to her lack of acknowledgment.
"I figured the station could use a little decorating for the holidays," he explained patiently, flashing his teeth from underneath his lips. No doubt he had paid Leroy generously for his efforts. There was even a figure of a reindeer on top of the roof, encrusted in white bulbs.
"Gold, it's the station. It's not supposed to look like Santa's toy shop!"
Her mouth hung open unattractively in protest. There was a strange fizzle, a sharp popping noise, and then the blinking lights ceased glowing. On top of the roof, Leroy cursed under his breath as he wrestled with the wires.
"No-good lights! One goes out, they all go out!"
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose anxiously. She sincerely doubted Graham ever had to put up with this during his time as Sheriff. If this was what the outside looked like, she only hoped Gold hadn't yet laid his sticky fingers on the inside. Not my desk. Please, in the name of all things holy, not my desk.
"Just for the record, this doesn't mean I owe you another favor," she grumbled. Gold's shoulders rolled languidly under the fabric of his expensive suit. And he was boasting about Christmas spirit? The man could use a Christmas tie if he claimed to be festive.
"Nonsense. Consider this a gift, purely out of the goodness of my heart," he insisted, pressing a hand to his chest. Emma snorted in response. That was a good one. Someone should inform Gold that April Fools' Day wasn't for a handful of months yet.
And why was he leering so intently? Was he expecting a gift in return? As if there were anything in the limits of this town that a man like Gold didn't already contain in the palm of his hand. Even she was trapped under his thumb with that favor.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
Leroy must have gotten tangled in the coil of lights. The next thing Emma knew, he was toppling off the roof and plunging into the pile of snow below. There was hardly any movement as he landed, a flume of snowflakes bursting into the air. She hurried over to his side, though Gold barely moved a leg to help. Typical.
"Leroy? Leroy, are you alright?" Emma knelt over him, brushing a layer of snow off his body.
Leroy's head lolled back and forth, his arms and legs flailing in his discomfort. To any passersby, it would seem like he was making a snow-angel. Eyes wild and unfocused, one of his grubby hands reached up to stroke the red leather of her jacket.
"Santa?"
Oh, yeah. She was definitely calling Whale on this one.
It'd be a miracle in itself if Leroy didn't have a concussion from the impact of falling off a roof. How would she explain this one? Mr. Gold decided to be generous in hiring Leroy to string lights up on the station of the roof and then Leroy fell off the roof? She'd be laughed out of the ER and diagnosed with a head injury herself.
Frowning, Emma picked herself up and ignored the damp patches on her knees as she started for the station's door.
"Allow me," Gold quickly intercepted, swiftly jostling over to hold the door open. He gestured a hand for her to step through and he smiled, his gold tooth glinting in the sun.
For any other male in Storybrooke, it would be charming and polite. For Gold, it was downright suspicious.
"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Mr. Gold?" Emma folded her hands over her chest and tapped her boot on the pavement. His face crumbled into disbelief and he feigned hurt. Was she expected to believe this was out of the goodness of his heart, too? "What do you want?"
"Can't a gentleman open the door for our lovely Sheriff on a typically icy day?" This coming from the man with the limp and a third leg. If anyone was ending up on their butt, it wouldn't be her.
"Yes…except you're not a gentleman," she argued, daring to poke him in the chest. He stared down at her finger with the seriousness of having a sword aimed at his beating heart. The mesmerized gleam in his eyes was an open book: She just touched me. Emma just touched me. "You are an opportunist, Gold. Gentlemen don't pilfer newborns or pick people's pockets of rent three days before Christmas."
As if she just realized the ludicrousness of her finger poking his chest, she dropped it to her side. He habitually fixed his tie, averting his gaze from her stern, seeking one.
"I'm only here to help." Over his shoulder, she could see Leroy sprawled on the ground, still groaning in pain.
"Tell that to Leroy," she snapped before rushing through the station's door and away from Mr. Gold. He released the handle, allowing the door to bang back into place. That hadn't gone as well as he hoped. A string of lights swung back and forth off the roof, the bulbs flickering on and off.
Curiously, Gold glanced over at the fallen dwarf among the snow. Shoes crunching over the white frost, he approached Leroy's side and gazed down at him. He nudged his foot against his stomach, drawing out a moan.
"Rudolph? Is that you, buddy?"
Well, it could have been worse. He could have been the one to fall off the roof and end up imagining that Santa was paying him an early visit. Time for Plan B.
…
"I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is yo-o-ou!"
For a town drunk that just took a flying leap off a roof, Leroy sure had lungs. A peaceful smile glued to his face, Leroy sank his head back into the pillow and gave a bunch of thank you's to his audience.
"So, how much longer will he act like this?" Emma glanced at Whale for confirmation, but he was busy scribbling something on a clipboard. The weight of her question must have settled over him as he awkwardly met her expectant gaze.
"Miss Swan, according to your story, he fell off the roof of the station. That is a pretty substantial fall. He's lucky only to have bruises and a minor concussion. The confusion should subside…sometime."
Sometime. Huh. She never knew 'sometime' was a professional medical term. Right up there with stat and code blue.
Leroy's head fell back and his mouth split open, a grunting snore issuing from it. Emma looked to Whale, but he wasn't paying the least bit attention. Some doctor he was. The only good one Storybrooke was equipped with, supposedly.
"Should he be asleep with a minor concussion?"
If Leroy succumbed to a coma, she'd have to start a search for his apparent true love in order to wake him up. It would give Henry a chance to be distracted from the loss of Graham, but she didn't know if she could handle the excitement.
"Please, I am a doctor. I'm pretty sure everything's fine," Whale assured her. It didn't sound very convincing. She gripped the bedrails of Leroy's hospital bed and leaned over it until Whale had no choice but to look her in the eye.
"Pretty sure? You mean you're not damn sure?" Whale's brow creased with uncertainty and he studied Leroy, debating whether to shove him awake or not. Finally, he sighed deeply and nudged Leroy's arm.
"Leroy?" He didn't budge, only let out another snore. Whale tried harder, shaking Leroy's arm until it flopped over his chest. "Leroy!" With a groan, Leroy came to and stared up at Whale. Just as he did with Emma, he fingered Whale's white lab coat.
"Frosty? Happy Birthday!" Emma was starting to worry over Leroy's state of mind. Whale simply detached himself from Leroy, brushed off his coat, and shrugged.
"Sometime," he repeated flatly. Avoiding her glare, he pretended to check his beeper. The thing hadn't even trilled! "Excuse me. Emergency." The doctor headed for the door and nearly collided into Mary Margaret, entering with a basket of candy canes swinging on her arm. "Ooh, candy canes."
Whale plucked one out, much to Mary Margaret's dismay and tucked it into his pocket before vanishing around the corner.
"How is he?" Mary Margaret hesitantly stepped into the room, the candy cane wrappers crinkling as they shifted over one another in the basket. Emma gestured to Leroy's bed-ridden form, but he beat her to the answer.
"Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg…" Mary Margaret tilted her head in alarm, her lips pinched in a worried frown.
"He's…festive," Emma admitted. "He's been singing carols ever since falling off the roof of the station." The worry increased around Mary Margaret and she pressed a hand to her mouth in horror.
"What was he doing on the roof of the station?"
Here came the punch-line. Emma had never seen the nurses laugh so loud as when she explained Leroy's injuries. You'd think she was practicing stand-up comedy. Thank you, I'll be here all through Christmas.
"Well…Gold was generous enough to hire Leroy to string up Christmas lights and decorate the station. And then he fell off the roof." For a second, Mary Margaret was still, the weight of Emma's words sinking in. Then, the corners of her lips twisted upward and she failed to stifle the giggle in her throat. "You don't believe me, either, huh?"
Mary Margaret's face grew red as she worked to staunch the laugh and regain her composure. It began to fade when she realized Emma was being completely serious.
"Oh, Emma, I do believe you. It's just…Mr. Gold isn't exactly the Ghost of Christmas Present. More like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come." Mary Margaret immediately rushed forward, growing nervous. "Please don't tell him I said that. My rent's high enough as it is and I don't want to be evicted during the holidays."
"Granny got run over by a reindeer…walking from the diner Christmas Eve…"
Wasn't there any form of medicine Whale could give Leroy to stop making him act so…jolly? Emma rolled her eyes and motioned to the basket of candy canes that Mary Margaret was toting around.
"I thought you quit volunteering at the hospital," she pointed out. She knew Mary Margaret missed it—it had given her a chance to help out in the community for those that desperately needed it. But Mary Margaret shook her head wistfully.
"I'm not."
"Then what's with the basket of candy canes?"
As if she just remembered them, Mary Margaret lifted the basket off the crook of her elbow and passed them over to Emma. Uncertainly, she accepted it. What was she going to do with…one, two, ten…fifty or so candy canes?
"Oh, those are for you," Mary Margaret said, wringing her hands together in a ladder. Emma peered into the basket and picked up one of the candy canes, twirling it between her fingers. She laid it on the table beside Leroy, a little get-well gift.
"Thanks. Seriously, you didn't have to buy out Mr. Clark on all his candy canes. They're probably going to Henry and he'll be on a sugar high until New Year's," Emma protested. She tried to hand the basket back, but Mary Margaret held up a hand to stop her.
"They're not from me," she said.
Emma paused and looked down at the pile of candy canes again, this time with a mystery begging to be unfolded. Did she have a secret admirer now? Someone who was trying to bribe her out of parking tickets?
"Then, who…?" And suddenly it hit her with the intensity of ice-cold water. She glanced over her shoulder at Leroy, whose eyelids were fluttering. She scowled. "Let me guess: Gold left them outside our door?"
Mary Margaret raked a trembling hand through her cropped black hair, thinking.
"Well, someone left them outside our door, but I have no idea who it was." She unzipped her handbag and reached in to retrieve a white envelope, with Emma's name scripted on the front in elegant, flowing handwriting. "There was a note with your name on it, but I didn't want to read it. Why would Mr. Gold send you a basket of candy canes? And decorate the station? Emma…is there something we should be discussing?"
Oh, good grief.
It was bad enough the situation with Gold was puzzling her to no end, but she could do without having those kinds of thoughts circulating around town. Once Ruby caught wind of it, it'd be downhill from here.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Believe me when I say that I am not involved with Gold in any way, shape, or form." Snatching the note from Mary Margaret's hand, she tore it open and began to scroll over the perfectly printed words. Who ever knew Gold had such—dare she say—beautiful handwriting?
My dearest Emma,
I hope you are well. Please accept this gift as a token of my generosity and goodwill. I know how fond you are of my cane—I've seen the way you look at it. Here is a count of fifty for you. Enjoy.
~Mr. Gold
Emma re-read the note and then re-read it again. It wasn't computing into her mind the way it should. The letters blurred on the white paper and her fingers crinkled it. Generosity? Goodwill? Fond of his cane?
What in the name of Jack Frost was going on in this town?
A stroke of heat burned her cheeks as the contents of the note became branded into her memory. Breathing quite heavily and very aware that Mary Margaret was watching her with concern, she folded the note and then ripped it in half, tossing it into the bin next to the door. She was thankful Mary Margaret hadn't read the note—it might have spurred on the idea of romantic interest.
"I'll be back," she announced, picking up the basket from where she had absently laid it on Leroy's hospital bed while reading the note. There was only one solution to this problem—she'd simply have to confront Gold and demand to know what his game was.
"Just…don't kill him, Emma," Mary Margaret advised, her flats slapping the tiles as she hurried after her. Emma paused on the threshold and she forced a smile for Mary Margaret.
"Trust me, Mary. If I did, I'd probably be doing this town a favor and I'd be lucking out on one myself." Holstering the basket of candy canes onto her elbow, Emma marched out into the hallway with the cheerful notes of Leroy's confused singing licking at her heels.
"Baby, its' cold…baby, it's cold outside!"
….
Decorate the station? Check. Send a basket of candy canes? Check. Take her out for Christmas dinner? No, I don't want to come off like I have a desire to bed her. Do I? No, decidedly not.
The bell above the shop's door chimed, announcing a customer. Why did he ever invest in that Closed sign? It brought him no peace. Grimacing, he lifted his eyes and received a surprise of his own. Emma. Carrying his basket of candy canes. Ah, so she did receive them. Excellent.
"Emma," her name rolled off his tongue before he could stop it. It had a lovely sound, smoothly embellished by his accent. Before he could utter another syllable, she charged up to the display case and deposited the trove of candy canes.
"What are these?" She pointed to the treats without touching them, as if she might contract a disease.
Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he peered over the rim of the basket at the red and white striped canes. Quickly, he did a mental calculation. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight…A-ha! Two were missing.
"From the looks of it…candy canes. Did you not enjoy my gift?" Emma's fingers curled around the handle of the basket until the knuckles turned bone white. The nails were painted crimson, a deliciously dark shade the Queen's apples would envy.
"I don't mind candy canes, but I have a policy against accepting them from men whose intentions are suspect," she said, arching an eyebrow. Then she lowered her voice. "I am not fond of your cane."
And she received his note. He had the urge to laugh at that one. Then why are you looking at it, sweetie?
"Seems to me you broke your policy," he chastised rather smugly. When Emma merely blinked at him, he dipped a hand inside the basket and smoothed it across the mound of candy canes. "The basket I sent contained fifty candy canes. There are two missing. I have faith in your abilities to do elementary math, Sheriff."
Emma made a small 'O' with her lips, the dawning realization brightening her features from the inside out. A modest pink blush rose to her cheeks, discrediting her obliviousness. Perhaps she did not expect to get caught.
"Dr. Whale took one and I gave one to Leroy," she explained briskly. "You know, the guy that fell off the station's roof while stringing up Christmas lights?"
His hand paused over one of the candy canes. She allowed that pitiful doctor and Leroy to have his candy canes? If he wished to offer a cane to those two, he'd have left the basket outside their doors or otherwise make them lame.
The flicker of movement commanded his attention as Emma spread her palms on the counter and leaned toward him. The only things separating them were the display case and the basket of candy canes.
"And now you're sending me candy canes? What exactly are you trying to achieve?"
Without looking away from her burning green irises, he began to close the book in which he'd been jotting notes. Instantly, her gaze snapped to the leather volume with his finger still marking the page. With agility that rivaled his own, she snatched it up.
"What were you writing so meticulously? Something about me?" She thumbed through the pages, stopping only to scan his elegant penmanship.
Hastily, he circled the counter, his cane tapping sharply on the floorboards. He reached a hand out for the book, but Emma darted away out of reach.
"Emma," he warned through his teeth. She certainly knew how to try his patience. She shot him a bold look while sifting through the pages. He extended his palm insistently. "Give it here, dearie."
"What is it? Your diary? Why not call in that favor for it?" Roughly he licked his lips, struggling to maintain a clear head. It was amusing how she assumed she currently had the upper hand.
"I'm not one to waste favors, Emma. Hand it over or you'll force my hand." The threat wasn't about anything rash or abusive—despite his reputation and power as the Dark One, he'd never resort to hitting a woman in order to get what he desired. But he had a feeling she'd leave him no choice but to wrangle it from her. She would not enjoy being handled in such a manner.
"Resorting to violence isn't a show of generosity or goodwill, Gold," she openly mocked him, dancing out of his reach. "Besides, I'm younger, faster, and I happen to be the Deputy. I doubt there's anything you could do to convince me."
Something in his face must have startled her, for her fingers paused on the corner of a page, the one directly before his latest entry. Leisurely, his eyes roved from her head to her feet and up again.
"Words are precious, Emma. Never present a challenge you're unprepared to face," he advised with a low clucking of his tongue. Emma's lips thinned out as she considered his warning and what it might mean. Then she turned the page. Her brow furrowed as she read.
"Decorate the station? Send a basket of candy—" Lurching forward, he grabbed ahold of the book. Miraculously, Emma held on to one end even as the binding made a suspicious tearing sound. "—canes? Why are you keeping a list?" She tugged.
"They're my good deeds for the year. That way, my stocking won't be filled with coal when Santa comes." He tugged back. She dug her heels in to avoid stumbling into his chest. It was a fierce game of tug-o-war they were playing.
"It'll take more than two good deeds to clear your name, Gold," she scoffed. Another tearing sound reached his ears and he could swear he saw the binding wear out and stretch tighter. Enough of this nonsense.
His fingers released the book, sending Emma flying backward. Still, he did not miss the victorious smile plastered on her face. The game isn't over yet, Emma.
Before she could begin to gloat, he brought his cane up and around her body. The cane drove against the small of her back, pinning her firmly against his body. There was nowhere for her hands to move and so the book was pressed between them, a thin layer of protection for Emma. I win. He smirked down at their golden-haired savior, who was pouting quite ferociously.
"What did I tell you? Seems you were unprepared for my challenge."
Stubbornly, she pushed the book against his chest, forcing him to tumble backwards until his back collided against one of the display cases. Silly girl—it only reinforced the prison he'd established to subdue her. The cane dug tighter against her leather-clad back.
"The book, if you please." It was then he allowed his mind to stretch beyond its means and register just how close Emma was in proximity. He hadn't been this close to a woman since….no, he wouldn't reminisce about that.
As Emma breathed sharply in and out, he could feel the rising of her chest. His thumbs brushed against the leather of her jacket, light enough so that she did not notice. A hint of cinnamon lingered through the strands of her hair, teasing his nostrils; ever so gently, he inhaled. Delicious.
"This is considered assault," she protested. She tried to angle away only to be restricted by the cane. Every time she attempted to avoid the cane, she risked pressing harder against his body. She was trapped.
"So arrest me," he countered. Granted, it would mean matters more difficult to receive a gift from her in jail, but he liked his chances of calling her bluff. It wouldn't be a picnic for her to have him sitting across the room from her desk in a cell. "Go on. Slap the handcuffs on my wrists. Imagine how that would look three days from Christmas."
He knew he had her pegged when her muscles stopped tensing and her body ceased fighting against the tight corners in which she was bound. Finally, she sighed in defeat and thumped the book against his chest again.
"Fine. Have the book," she muttered and waited for him to release his hold.
Oh, but it was so amusing to watch the Sheriff writhe about like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar with nowhere to fly. His head bent closer to hers, his eyes never faltering from those gleaming, confident orbs. It made him grin wider to hear her breath quicken.
"Gold. You have your book. Now let me go."
Just a moment longer, he kept his cane pinned to her back, savoring the curves of her body as they nestled against his. Just to remind her who held the power here. And then the cane dropped away and Emma gratefully stepped back.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?" He knew what she was referring to as she fumed, standing as far from him as possible. The reason for his change of attitude today. The sudden embodiment of Christmas spirit.
"Chances are…you'll know soon enough, Miss Swan," he replied, reverting to formalities. It gave her another reason to relax her muscles and be assured that he would not do anything intrusive.
The heat of her gaze bored into his back as he returned to the counter, putting the book away. No doubt Ruby—if she won the bet—would disclose all details to Emma. Assuming she won, which was still questionable in his book. Emma's knowledge about the bet would inevitably mean a decrease in trust, if he had any to begin with.
"Why let these canes go to waste? At least take them for little Henry," he offered.
Emma warily eyed the basket of candy canes, as if he might have poisoned them. That wasn't his style—even poisoned apples were quite unimpressive in his mind. Reluctantly, Emma stepped forward and accepted the basket before scurrying to the shop door.
Surprisingly, she turned back once her hand had caught the doorknob.
"Gold, this may sound…strange, but I'm afraid I have to know. Especially after that invasion of personal space. Do you…like me?"
Judging from the puzzlement on her face, it wasn't a hopeful question of whether there were returned feelings. His unexpected kind gestures, coupled with their close encounter a few moments ago, made her assume there were some romantic intentions attached. It was a surreal phenomenon to have one beauty fall for him once upon a time—he doubted fate valued him enough to repeat history.
"I believe I admitted it once before, Miss Swan. Your integrity and audacity intrigue me. I do like you. How you manage to interpret that is no concern of mine."
With the door edging open, she hesitated there on the threshold, watching him carefully. Was it a trick of the light or was there a flash of something softer in those green eyes? Shaking her head, Emma readjusted the basket on her elbow and flitted through the door.
Dipping his fingers into his pocket, he retrieved one of the candy canes he'd looted from the basket. Tearing back the wrapper, he stuck the straight end of the cane into his mouth and began to suck rapidly on it. His tongue wrapped around it and savored the peppermint taste.
The offer of those candy canes for Henry had spawned an idea in his mind. Why hadn't he considered it before? If his generosity toward Emma did not work, it was time he trained that generosity on someone connected to Emma, someone who might appreciate it and therefore get the job done.
Namely, her son.
….
Le gasp! What will Gold plan next? You'll have to wait and see! Good stuff is coming up yet. And I think you'll enjoy the special Golden Swan moment I am planning for the next chapter. (-;
I wish to present a basket of candy canes to those that have reviewed. Thank you all for the kind comments and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Here's to discotimelord, louisethelibrarian, DaesGatling, QueenCalafia, ParanormalMoonlight, PsychoticQueen, helikesitheymikey, nuckythompson, beverlie4055, thedoctorsgirl42, spankingfemfatale, and a. .
And four for Glen Coco (you go, Glen Coco)! Sorry—couldn't resist.