As Emma dug through her wallet to find her debit card, she heard the inn's door open and close. She heard a few, uneven click-tap steps of someone who walked with a cane, before a man entered her periphery vision.
Long hair, expensive suit, well looked after cane, middle aged. The man was only an inch or two taller than Emma herself, and was at least ten pounds lighter.
Granny fumbled for a roll of cash, handing it to the man, fear in her eyes, face, and body language, "It's all there."
The man nodded, his brown eyes revealing little of the man himself, Emma noted. Odd.
"Of course it is," The man was Scottish, that was for sure. His voice was low, quiet, and hoarse. It made you strain to listen to him. He pocketed the cash, and turned his sights to Emma, "I'm Mr. Gold," he extended his free hand.
Emma took the hand, shaking it, noting that his grip was firm, even with how fragile he looked, "I'm Emma Swan."
Something stirred in Gold's eyes then, something that Emma found hard to read. A small smile tugged at Gold's lips, "Emma. That's a beautiful name. Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to get back to," Gold turned, and left, leaving Emma feeling like she somehow had lost something important.
"Who was that?" Emma turned back to Granny, finally finding the debit card and handing it over.
"Our landlord," Granny seemed more relaxed now that Gold was gone, "He owns the town."
Emma nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that the town was quaking in their boots over a man with a cane. Much less one who looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over. She took the debit machine from Granny, quickly completing the transaction.
Granny gave the debit card back, and handed Emma a key on an ornate key chain, "Welcome to Storybrooke."
Emma smile, then made her way to her room. Storybrooke was strange, but she had a sudden sinking feeling that the people here were stranger.
(LINE BREAK)
When Emma entered Mr. Gold's shop, she hadn't been sure what to expect, but it hadn't been this. She hadn't expected Gold to be hunched over one of his glass counters, coughing harshly into his hand, face pinched in pain.
Emma couldn't hide the flair of horror when she saw blood staining both the counter and his hand. She picked up her cell phone, and almost had the emergency service dialed when Gold made a gesture to wait. Emma did, fingers hovering over the buttons.
Soon enough, the coughing subsided, allowing Gold to breathe. His breathing was shallow, and Emma could hear the rattling from across the room, but he was breathing. Gold wiped his hand off with a handkerchief, and wiped the counter off with a rag.
"I'll be alright, Miss. Swan. Put your phone away, please. I suffer from a chronic illness. Don't worry, it's not catching."
Emma nodded slowly, putting her phone back into her pocket, and striding forward, "I was just looking around town."
"Understandable. Anything catch your eye, dearie?"
Emma looked around the shop, noting that it smelled of old things: leather, books, wood. It was a pleasant scent. A mobile of glass unicorns caught her eye, and Emma felt drawn to it, watching at the light refracted through the unicorns, casting rainbows on nearby surfaces.
"You possess a good eye," Gold rasped, limping over, "It's a beautiful piece, very old."
"I-I can't buy it," Emma said, spying the price tag, "Besides, I have nowhere to put it, and no baby."
Gold nodded, "If anything in the cases catch your eye, I can bring them out for you."
Emma walked around the shop slowly, noting the odd mix of various items. Jewelery, books, weapons, glass and porcelain figurines, dolls. The list went on and on. Emma had a feeling that the space behind the curtain would reveal even more stuff, which was odd. Most small town spaces like this didn't have so many expensive items, much less items of such quality and quantity.
"How'd you get all this?" Emma asked.
"Some people come to me. Some of this is from my own personal collection. I have contacts outside of Storybrooke who inform me when interesting merchandize can be bought," Gold answered smoothly, "All of it is legitimate, Miss. Swan. Do not worry about that."
Emma blinked, "I-that wasn't what I was implying. I'm sorry-"
Gold waved a hand, "Don't worry about it, dearie. I've dealt with a great number of impolite people, and you have been beyond polite so far."
Emma smiled, "Anyway, I'm meeting Henry later. If I ever need something, I'll let you know."
Gold smiled a small smile, one that barely registered as a smile, "Of course. Have a good time with your boy."
Emma nodded, "I will. Have a good day."
Gold watched as Emma left. Once he was sure she was gone, Gold flipped the sign on his door to closed, bringing a shaking hand to his head. Twenty-eight years under Regina's curse. Twenty-eight years of dinners where Regina asked him personal questions.
Rumpelstiltskin was a private man. So was Gold, but Gold thought Regina had been his friend. He'd leaned on her when he'd had no one else to lean on, asking for the occasional favour when his body wouldn't do what was asked of it.
Rumpelstiltskin had forgotten how draining his illness had been, forgotten how much effort it took to do the most simple of tasks. Forgot the disgust and pity that people showed him whenever he coughed. He'd forgotten how much his illness hurt.
Rumpelstiltskin limped into his back room, sitting down on his comfortable chair, elevating his bad ankle, wincing at the tightness and stiffness that lingered. He stared around at his shop, a small smile playing on his features.
Regina had been...surprisingly kind to him during the twenty-eight years. She'd helped him when he needed it, shoved food at him when he couldn't stomach the thought of cooking for himself, made sure his rent was collected when Gold couldn't do it himself. She'd even driven him to the hospital last winter, when he'd fallen and sprained his already bad ankle.
A mixture of emotions, from gratitude to rage, flowed through Rumpelstiltskin's system. Regina had to have known the curse would break eventually, and knew he'd remember her kindness. Rumpelstiltskin couldn't help but feel ashamed, that he'd had to lean so heavily on her. He hadn't relied on anyone when he'd been a man before, even managing to make his illness out as something not too horrible when Baelfire was around.
Rumpelstiltskin sighed, running a hand through his hair. He shoved his thoughts back. Emma Swan, their saviour, had come. He couldn't wallow in self pity; he had plans to work through. Rumpelstiltskin had to find Baelfire, had to find his son.
After all, if Rumpelstiltskin couldn't, all this suffering would have been for nothing.