3
Button, Button
A/N: Here's some parental bonding for you all! And you can see the differences between the two families and how it affects the children.
"Let me look through the spyglass again, Alina," Henry whispered, holding his hand out. He still thought it was a mistake to go snooping around in the basement, especially when Regina had often told him never to play down here, that the house might fall in on him.
Alina handed over the spyglass, she'd been scanning the floor, searching for any sign of an aberration, like a trap door. But the interlocking stones seemed perfectly solid and even though they made lots of noise stamping about and listening for echoes, they never heard anything. "Henry, there has to be something here," she cried. "I . . . I can feel it in my bones. There's something hidden . . . something dangerous."
"What do you mean? All I see are empty whitewashed walls and some old furniture and that's it," Henry said tiredly. "Maybe she hid the hearts somewhere else."
"Like where? It's not like you can just build something and shove a wallful of hearts in boxes in it and hope nobody finds it," said his friend irritably. She could feel the cold in the room and knew that something had gone on here. Something bad. But, like all the times when she got her "feelings", she couldn't tell exactly what made her feel that way or why. She just did. Her papa called her his "intuitive little girl" and said she reminded him of her mother, which made Alina happy to no end, because her father hardly ever mentioned her mother at all, much less praised Alina for being like her. Over the years, Alina had learned to keep silent about her deceased parent, because mention of her sent her father into a depression like none other. And Alina hated to see her papa unhappy. She was also afraid that her mother had died in childbirth, even though no one had ever said so, and she was afraid of finding out if that were true—that she had killed her own mom by being born. So she didn't say anything, but secretly she wished her father's heart would heal enough to one day marry again, so she could have a mother. Even a stepmother would be good—as long as she wasn't like the ones in the fairytales!
She continued feeling along the walls, in case there was a hidden door with a quick release catch like she'd seen in all the mystery movies she'd watched on TV.
But nothing came up.
Henry sighed and lowered the spyglass. "Alina, we've been down here for over an hour and found nothing. Maybe there isn't anything to find."
"Or maybe we're just not looking hard enough," the girl scowled.
"Well, we'd better get back to your house soon, because Saylah said dinner's at six and it's five thirty now." Henry reminded her. "If we're late, they'll start asking questions."
Alina bit her lip. She was reluctant to give up the search, but knew Henry was right. "Okay. Let's go home. Saylah will have a fit if I'm not there on time for dinner. And I've never been able to lie to Papa. He always knows if I do."
"How? Does he have a lie detector or something?"
"I don't know. He just knows. And then his eyes get all sharp like rocks and he growls at me and calls me Alina Rose, and then I know I'm in big trouble," Alina replied. "Why don't we come back and look some more tomorrow?"
"Because Regina's home tomorrow. It's Saturday."
"Oh, right. You can come over if you want," Alina offered, knowing how much Henry hated being alone with Regina all day.
"Maybe. Or I can take Emma to my castle," Henry said, speaking about the wooden playground castle in the park.
"That'd be good too." Alina agreed. "Then I'll just spend time with my dad."
Henry cocked his head curiously. Having never had a father spend time with him before, he asked, "What do you two do together?"
"Lots of things. He likes to play games, like cards and boardgames. Sometimes we play Scrabble or Risk or Battleship. Or rummy, war, and poker."
"Your dad lets you gamble?"
"Well, not for money. For candy," Alina explained. "He taught me how to play poker this year. Sometimes he'll read to me from this huge book of stories he has. Sometimes we cook together."
"You mean Saylah actually lets you mess up her kitchen?" Henry gaped at her.
Alina laughed. "Only if Papa asks her to. We've baked cakes and pies together. Even a turkey once with stuffing. And soup."
"I didn't know your dad cooked."
Alina nodded. "He can, but he can't cook everything like Saylah. He said he learned how to cook when he was growing up, that back then he didn't have servants."
"You mean he wasn't always rich?"
"No. He made his money, he wasn't born to it like some people," Alina declared. "Or at least that's what he tells me. Come on, let's go back home."
"Yeah. Wouldn't want my mom to catch us down here." Henry mounted the stairs leading up to the main floor of the house.
Then the two made a beeline for the Gold residence, tired, disheartened and in need of some of Saylah's excellent roast beef with juicy gravy, onion, carrots, and parslied potatoes, along with homemade bread.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
Henry ate his supper quietly. It was delicious, he knew that Regina had often lamented the fact that Mr. Gold had hired Saylah first, for she was the best cook in Storybrooke. Mr. Gold and Alina carried the conversation, talking about customers in the pawnshop. It wasn't that they deliberately excluded him, but Henry didn't feel much like talking. So he ate instead.
It was at times like this that he wished for a father like everyone else. Regina wasn't a good substitute for a mother, let alone a father. Usually she left him on his own, but when she did attempt to be more "motherly" the attempt usually fell flat. He watched Mr. Gold and the chattering Alina wistfully as he ate another slice of bread with butter.
"Are you enjoying your supper, Henry?" asked Saylah softly, touching him lightly on the arm.
"It's great, Saylah," Henry turned to the housekeeper, who unlike most help, ate with the family. He smiled at the elderly woman. "Where'd you learn to cook so good?"
"From my mama and granny," replied Saylah. She sensed the boy was lonely and sought to make him feel welcome. "I've even taught young miss Alina a few recipes. On Tuesday we're making cookies after school. Would you like to learn too, laddie?"
Henry nodded. "That would be cool. Thanks, Saylah."
He'd much rather be in Saylah's kitchen baking than at home.
Finally, Mr. Gold and Alina stopped talking and began to eat again. When they were finished, Saylah and Alina cleared the table. Henry would have helped, but Mr. Gold shook his head. "No, you're a guest. Guests don't work in my house, boy. Sit down and relax."
Henry obeyed. Then he was quiet, for the pawnbroker sometimes intimidated him.
"Do you like cherry crumb, Henry?" inquired Mr. Gold politely.
"With ice cream?" Henry said, nodding. "I love it!"
"Good, because I believe that's what Saylah made for dessert tonight," said Mr. Gold. "How are you liking school? Alina tells me Miss Blanchard is a much better teacher than the one she had last year."
"Yeah. Miss Smith nearly put us all to sleep," Henry said. "She was as boring as watching grass grow."
"That bad, huh?" chuckled the older man. "I had few like that myself, once upon a time. The trick to enduring them is to pretend they don't exist, dearie."
"That's what I tried to do. I just read the books in class and sucked on butterscotch candies to keep my eyes open." Henry said.
Then Saylah and Alina returned with the cherry crumble in a platter and a huge tub of vanilla ice cream and the rest of the time Henry spent eating the scrumptious sweet and even having seconds.
Page~*~*~*~Break
After playing a game of Scrabble with Alina, Mr. Gold, and Saylah, where Mr. Gold won, Henry reluctantly went back home. When he arrived there he found that Regina still wasn't home and it was almost eight o'clock. Henry did his homework, then spent some time reading the new batch of X-Men comics Alina had given him. Alina had new comics every month because Mr. Gold had gotten subscriptions for her and she always shared them with Henry. Henry supposed he could have asked Regina for some, but he hated asking her for anything, because she always hung it over your head like an anvil. Then you owed her, and owing Regina was not a good thing.
He was just getting into the new batch, reading about Wolverine, Magneto, and Professor X's pasts when he heard the tap tap of Regina's heels coming down the hallway. He looked up as the door opened and she came into the room.
"Still up reading, I see." Regina said. "Thought you'd be asleep."
"It's only nine." Henry said. "I'm not tired yet."
"Well, you can stay up till nine thirty. Then you need to go to sleep, otherwise you won't get up for school and I'll have to scream at you."
"Mom, tomorrow's Saturday. We don't have school."
"Oh. Right. I knew that." Regina looked uncomfortable.
"How was your meeting?"
"Fine. Sydney was accommodating, as always."
When isn't he? Henry snorted. He didn't really like the man, though he wasn't sure why.
"Well, I'm going to take a shower and then have some tea. Don't stay up too late," his adopted mother said before turning around and leaving.
Henry didn't mind, he wanted to get back to his comics, but a part of him wished, just once, that she would hug him before bed. She never hugged him unless it was in front of other people. He had seen Mr. Gold hug Alina tonight when he had come home, and it made Henry a little bit jealous, because he would never have a hug from his father. But then he recalled that at least he could hug Emma, and that would have to be enough.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
In the Gold residence, Mr. Gold was sitting in the den in front of a cozy fire reading the paper. It was what he usually did before bed. His cane was leaning against the walnut coffee table, reflecting off the glass of a small curio cabinet. Inside the cabinet were some items of fine porcelain, a set of dishes with roses and thin gold rims, and a tea set with a scrolled silver tray. One of the cups in the set had a small chip out of it, but it was displayed proudly with the others.
Mr. Gold was reading an article about the upcoming Miner's Day in two months, the nuns were already asking for donations, which made him scowl, he hated beggars, when two small arms wound about his neck, followed by the scent of peaches and cream bubble bath.
He felt his daughter place a quick kiss on his cheek before covering his eyes and giggling. "Guess who?"
Mr. Gold set the paper down and wrapped his arms about his child, pulling her to him. "Oh, I think I've caught a squirmy, wriggly, little . . . worm!" he playfully poked the girl in the tummy.
Alina squealed and half fell on him. "Wrong!"
"How about a . . . caterpillar?" he teased. "You're soft and fuzzy!" She was wearing fluffy terry pajamas colored a dusky rose and fuzzy socks.
"No! Try again." She giggled hysterically as he tickled her.
"Third time's the charm, dearie. How about . . . a pretty little princess?"
Alina removed her hands from his eyes. "Got it, Papa!" she sang. "Only I'm just a girl."
"You're my little girl, and if I say you're a princess, then you are," he said simply, grinning at her. Then he winced as she bounced a little too hard on his injured leg. "Careful, love. I'm getting old, or you're almost too big for my lap."
Alina looked alarmed. "Did I hurt you, Papa? I didn't mean to."
"No, I'm fine. It's just this old wound . . . it flares up sometimes. Stay," he said when she would have gotten up.
Alina nestled carefully on his good side. "Papa, what happened to your leg?" she asked, it was something she always had longed to know, but had never dared to ask.
"I hurt it a long time ago. In an accident," he said softly.
"Like what kind of accident? A car crash?" she inquired, her eyes wide.
"Umm . . . something like that," he said evasively. There were times when he could barely recall things, and other times when his memories were clear as glass.
"How come they couldn't fix it? The doctors, I mean?"
"Well . . . they tried, but . . . it was too badly damaged to fix all the way. I'm lucky I can still walk, after a fashion." Mr. Gold said.
"Oh. You want me to get a hot pack for it? Saylah can heat one up in the microwave."
"No. It's not hurting me so much tonight."
Alina shifted. She loved this quiet time with her father before bed. Suddenly a button popped off her pajama top. "Oh, fiddlesticks!" she cried, since she was forbidden to ever swear in her dad's presence. That would only end with her mouth washed out with soap. "My button!" She hunted for it in the couch cushions.
"Here, let me see," her father said. He examined the button, then said, "Fetch me my sewing kit, princess. I can fix this in a few seconds."
"You can? You can sew?" she exclaimed.
Gold laughed. "And spin too, dearie. I told you once before, your father wasn't always a rich shopkeeper and a lawyer. Once I was the son of a tailor, and I could sew like nobody's business. Now hurry up!" He clapped his hands.
Alina scurried off into the small parlor where the sewing kit was kept. Her father rarely revealed much about his past, but she had recalled him mentioning that once or twice. It was hard though, remembering that her father, who wore beautifully tailored suits and ties, had ever been a poor tailor's son.
She returned lugging the sewing kit, and Gold took it and then said, "Now hold perfectly still, sweetheart." He took a needle and some pink thread, threaded it and began to sew the button on.
In a twinkling, the job was done. "There! Better than new!"
He placed the needle and thread back in the sewing basket.
"Thanks, Papa!" Alina said gratefully. "Can you teach me how to sew buttons?"
"You want to learn how to sew?" he repeated, astonished. "Why?"
"I just do. Can you show me?"
He felt oddly pleased by her request. Why, she wants to be like me! it reminded him of someone . . . his son, whom he hadn't seen in years. He felt a sharp pain in the vicinity of his heart when he thought about his son, grown now, and yet still not talking with him. Gold couldn't even remember where he was. "Yes. Look in the basket and find a piece of scrap material," he told his daughter. "There's also a tin of buttons. Take out four of them."
Alina did as she was told, and soon received an impromptu lesson from the master spinner of cloth, straw, and sorcery.
Gold patiently showed her how to thread the needle and sew a button firmly in place. It should have bored him, but he felt oddly happy teaching his daughter this simple thing, which he used to do every day as a child.
Alina managed to sew on two buttons before growing sleepy. "I'm tired, Papa."
"All right. Save the rest for tomorrow. Maybe I'll teach you how to hem a skirt too," he said, then he followed her upstairs and tucked her into bed. "Good night, sleep tight, and don't let—"
"—the bad fairies bite!" she finished. Some would have said "bedbugs" but in the Gold house it was always fairies. "Sweet dreams, Papa!"
"You too, dearie," he said, and kissed her forehead before returning to his own bed for the night.
He found himself pondering his missing son, and wishing if he would ever see him again. Then for some reason he thought of Henry Mills, and wondered if the boy had ever known a hug from the mayor. It was a thing he strongly doubted, for Regina Mills was a cold fish, and not given to gestures of affection. It made him wonder why she had ever bothered to adopt a child, or why he'd ever helped her in the first place. Money was all well and good, but nothing replaced affection or love, a fact which he knew well, and he sighed before turning out the light. Once he had been a lonely, desolate man, until Alina's mother had come into his life like a star gone nova, and changed everything.
My poor girl! I wish you could have known her. I'm a poor substitute for her and always will be, he thought sadly. He thought that might have been the reason his son had left him. But at least he had his daughter, and so he was never lonely again. It was something.
A/N: As promised, some snippets about Gold's past. There is some truth to it, even though some of it is false memories Regina and the curse implanted. And of course you all know what happened to his son if you watched the show!
