12

Chance Encounter

He turned to her as they lay among the sheets and queried softly, tenderly, "Are you all right? I . . .wasn't too rough with you?" He hadn't thought so, but he knew that this had been her first time with a man and he was concerned he had hurt her, despite his trying to be gentle. "I didn't hurt you too badly, did I?" His eyes were bright with concern. "I'm sorry if this wasn't . . . I know that a woman rarely enjoys the first time . . ." he blabbed awkwardly, his face crimson. All he had to compare it to was Milah, who had shoved him away and cried that he was a rude lout. Then again it had been his first time too and he was sure he'd been a clumsy oaf. But now, knowing what he did of her, he had to wonder if she hadn't faked her response to him considering how easily she had taken to running down to the tavern to slake her thirst for gaming, drinking, and rogering. If it hadn't been her first time, he would have questioned Bae's parentage. But as it was, his son resembled him too much for him to ever seriously wonder, despite Zoso's taunting when he was at his most desperate.

"Rum, I'm fine," she put a hand on his lips. "There was a bit of discomfort," she blushed admitting to such a private thing, but she knew she needed to discuss it so she could reassure him she was all right. She didn't want him to think she hadn't enjoyed it and make him feel guilty. "But it's nothing compared to the . . .wonder and joy I felt at our union. I have never felt like that in my life, Rum. So cherished, so beloved, so adored. You treated me like something rare and precious, like a Limoges vase. Or a Rembrandt painting. When we . . .made love, I felt like I truly belonged with you, and you gave me wings and I could fly—no I did fly, I flew all the way to heaven and touched it. I heard the angels singing, and I understand now what it means when someone says they could die of happiness. No man has ever—not even Storm—made me feel that way. Only you. And that is what I shall remember always. Not the brief moment of pain at the beginning. That was nothing compared to what came next."

Tears blurred his eyes at her heartfelt declaration. "Belle . . .you have . . . no one has ever said such things about me before . . .not even my wife when we first were married and still in love. I just wasn't sure because . . .I was afraid I had pressured you into sleeping with me and I thought you would want to wait after telling me about Storm's death . . ."

She shook her head. "You didn't, Rum. I slept with you because I felt it was time and I wanted you. Letting me grieve over Storm has finally allowed me to lay his ghost to rest. We would have had a wonderful marriage, had that been meant to be. But it wasn't. And he was taken too soon, before I had a chance to enjoy him this way. But what's done is done. I don't want to spend my whole life mourning and wishing for something I can never have. I want to live, to feel, and most of all to love again. And all of that, Mr. Gold, I have found with you. I was a young girl when I fell in love with a Mesquakie warrior. Now I'm older and wiser and I have known hardship and loss. Now I appreciate what I didn't before. And I don't intend to waste a minute more regretting what could have been. For you never know, Rum, whether there will be a tomorrow."

He drew her to him and kissed her, grateful beyond words at the way she had described her first time with him. Now he was the one who felt cherished and loved beyond all expectations. For the first time ever he felt whole, like he was worth something again, no longer bearing the stigma of coward, the shadow of the Dark One, always feeling inferior and less than a man. Milah had done that to him, he admitted. She had taken what had remained of his pride and confidence and ground them beneath her dainty heel, crushed them on the altar of her bitterness and self-pity. She had made of him a hollow shell whose only reason for living had been his son.

But now in this moment, Belle had transformed that hollow man. She had filled him with love, given him back the self-esteem he had lost, and shown him that he was a man once more. A husband worthy of love and being loved. He felt the unfamiliar swell of pride within his chest that he could not recall feeling except once, long ago, when he spun the best thread at the Midwinter Faire and won a prize when he was twelve. In this moment, he was truly happy, and he wanted to share his happiness with his wife, who had made it all possible.

He kissed her again, murmuring huskily, "You have made me truly happy, sweetheart, more than I've ever been before. Except when I held Bae for the first time. And even then . . .it wasn't the same." Because he had feared the little baby would hate him when he was older, hate his coward papa, like Milah did. So any joy he had was tainted.

Belle curled up in his arms, content to lie there beside him, reveling in this newfound closeness. Now she felt slightly guilty she hadn't consummated her marriage sooner. Then again, she supposed that it had only heightened the moment to wait almost three months. As she lay with her head on his shoulder, she pondered telling him about the rest of her nightmare. There was one part she hadn't divulged to him, because it had frightened her worse than the nightmare about Storm and she wished she could forget it.

She had dreamed about Rumple lying bleeding on the street, dying from being shot by some greedy unscrupulous people for the claim to the gold mine. That dream even more than the first nightmare had fueled her urgency to consummate the marriage sooner rather than later. For she couldn't bear it if something happened to Rum and she would never know the sweet joy that her Mesquakie friends Little Wren and Meadowsweet had spoken of when they shared the women's house together.

He eyed her curiously. "You look a little . . .worried, dearie. Don't be. I'm going to the shop first and show Jack my finished prototype, and then to find someone to model it. After I'm finished for the day is when I'll go to the assayer and then come straight home to you."

Belle blew out a breath in relief. She was being foolish and letting her imagination run away with her. "Don't mind me, Rum. I'm just being a worrywart." Sometimes a dream was only a dream.

"I promise I'll be careful. You might have married a cripple, but I'm not stupid."

"You're not a cripple," she frowned. "You're a dashing gentleman with a cane. And I'm sure you're as smart as any Harvard professor."

He propped himself up on an elbow so he could look at her lovely face. "Now, dearie, there's no need to make me get a swelled head. I know most women wouldn't look twice at me, I'm just a tailor who happens to have married a beautiful woman, inside and out, and have a talent for making clothes and deals."

"You're much more than you think, Rum. And it's a good thing those women aren't looking twice at you, or else I'd be forced to scratch out their eyes for their effrontery!" she mock-growled, her azure eyes flashing.

"Ohh-ho! So the little medicine woman has teeth!"

"Of course. I'm an owl. I have talons! So watch out," she teased, and pretended to nip his nose.

"I'd better tell those woman that," he said with a devilish twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

"You'd better ignore those women, Mr. Gold," she waved a finger at him. "They've got no business admiring a married man."

"You're right, and have no fear, because all they'll see is me walking away."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed, thinking that any woman with eyes would be looking at the fine figure he cut in his trousers. Then she blushed even as she thought about it. Until she recalled that she could admire her husband any time she chose.

When he rose from the bed to begin dressing and shave for the day, she had a fine unobstructed view of him bending over the wash basin in just his long underwear, and unabashedly eyed him up and down, thinking that despite his age—not that he was all that old—he had a fine figure and a backside many a younger man would envy! She drew her knees up to her chest, luxuriating in staying in bed for a few extra minutes and getting warm feelings thinking about how tonight she would be alone with her husband and perhaps doing this again.

She wondered if it was sinful to be wanting to love Rum so much. Then she shrugged and thought that the Lord wouldn't have made it so beautiful if it were wrong. Then too, she recalled many times her friends among the Mesquakie exchanging glances and giggling behind their hands while they ground corn and sewed about their sweethearts and husbands. Admiration and love for a man was nothing to be ashamed of among the Indians. She recalled Willow saying, When your heart has found its home with a man, you'll know. Deep within in your most secret places, you'll feel complete. And when he beckons you with his eyes or his hand, you will feel drawn to him like a lodestone to metal, irresistibly. That is how you know it is love.

Belle felt drawn irresistibly to Rum even now, when he was performing the same tasks he had done everyday since their marriage. She wanted to hug him and kiss his neck, run her fingers through his silky hair, and pat his bottom. My God, I need to get my mind out of the bedroom and get up and make breakfast. Otherwise Rum will have to eat cold biscuits and ham.

She threw off the covers, allowing herself one last glimpse of his tantalizing backside before pulling on her robe and slippers and going to the kitchen to begin cooking. Oatmeal and bacon, she thought, as she stirred the coals to life in the stove and put on the coffee.

Regina and Bae were already sleepily going about their morning chores, and Regina handed her a basket of eggs while Bae put the milk down, yawning.

"Morning, Mama," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Good morning, son," Belle replied, putting the milk in a pitcher and setting the water to boil for the oatmeal. "Regina, would you mind getting me the dried cranberries, brown sugar, and syrup?"

The girl went to do as she had asked, saying, "It's freezing out again, Mama. Best tell Papa to take a hot brick with him to warm his hands on his ride to town."

Even with his gloves, Rumple's hands might be too cold before he reached Storybrooke with the temperatures so frigid.

"I will. I'll start one heating now in fire," Belle said.

"No need. I can do it," her daughter said, and took a small brick from beside the fireplace and heated it with her magic. Then she wrapped it in a flannel, ready for Rumple to take with him when he left to go to work.

Meanwhile, Belle stirred the oatmeal and fried bacon, while Bae set the table.

Soon breakfast was ready and Rumple had appeared and wished the two children good morning, the gold nugget safely tucked in a pouch in his waistcoat pocket, next to his pocket watch.

"Papa, I groomed Jenny and put her saddle on for you," Bae said. "She's all ready to go when you finish eating."

"Thank you, Bae," he said to his son, grateful for the boy's thoughtfulness. Now he wouldn't have to stand in the barn and waste precious time saddling the ornery mule. Sometimes Jenny made the task difficult for him by sidling around and stomping, and with one bad leg it wasn't easy for him to get her tacked up.

He inhaled the aroma of oatmeal with brown sugar, cranberries, and a drizzle of maple syrup as Belle brought their bowls to the table, along with the bacon and set the pot of coffee down. "Mmm! Smells heavenly, darling."

"Thank you, Rum. I wanted to make something that would stick to your ribs and warm you on this freezing morning." Belle said, sitting down and pouring herself another cup of coffee.

Everyone ate heartily of the oatmeal and bacon, even Bae enjoyed it, and he normally didn't care for oatmeal all that much.

After he had eaten, Rumple came and pulled on his parka, scarf, hat, and mittens, then he went and kissed his wife and daughter goodbye and mussed Bae's hair. "I'll see you later, dearies. Hopefully with some good news." He patted the pocket with the gold nugget.

"Papa, here's a warm brick for you," Regina said, handing him it to put in his pocket.

"Why, how thoughtful of you, Gina," Rumple said, and gently patted her cheek. "I'll appreciate this when I'm riding." Then he took his staff and limped out the door to the barn.

Page~*~*~*~Break

The wind skirled an icy blast when Rumple opened the door of the Hatters' shop about an hour later. He stomped his boots to clear them of snow, while Jack looked up from the piece work he was sewing and said, "Colder than the devil's heart out there today, eh, Rum?"

Rumple nodded, unwinding the scarf from his neck and hanging it on the coat rack along with his sheepskin coat. "Yes, and if not for Gina warming a brick for me, my hands would need to thaw out. As it is, though, I can get to work right away and finish up the prototype." He rubbed his palms together briefly before going over to his sewing machine and the cabinet where he had his prototype and unlocked it with his key. Then he removed the brassiere and began to sew the last remaining stitches.

"Morning, Mr. Gold," Tim called from his machine, he was hemming a shirt for a customer.

"Morning, sir," said Johnny, he was shyer than his slightly older counterpart, a skinny sandy haired youth about Regina's age in a neatly pressed blue shirt, black trousers, and caramel colored waistcoat. He was working on cutting out a pattern from a ladies pattern book.

"Morning, lads," greeted Rumple, smiling at them. He would check their work a little later.

Jeff entered a little later, with a new hat he had made, and Jack and Rum admired the new bowler and fabric, then Jeff took it and set it in the window display so people would see it.

Soon the shop settled down and all that was heard was the snip of scissors and the clickety-clack of the sewing machines, until the bell tinkled, announcing a customer.

Page~*~*~*~Break

After the children had washed up the dishes, Belle went into her still room and began making up some cold remedies she had learned among the Mesquakie. Willow Heart had taken great pains to teach her the art of medicine and Belle never forgot to put what she had learned to good use. She made tinctures for coughs and salves for wounds. She mixed powders and rolled pills for fevers and ground willow bark powder for aches and pains.

For some reason she had a funny feeling that she would need these medicines this winter.

While Belle prepared her medicines, Regina busied herself rolling out a pie crust and cutting up apples, making the recipe Granny had taught her.

Bae snitched apples from her bowl until she whacked his fingers, saying, "Quit it, before there's not enough for the pie, you thieving biscuit hound!"

"Aww it was just a slice or two," he said, pretending to be remorseful, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes belied his meekness.

She eyed him sternly. "Ay-yuh, and soon one slice becomes three and four and before you know it, you've eaten the whole bowl." She finished rolling the crust and placed it in the pie tin.

Then she mixed the apples with some sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg. She filled the pie with them, putting pats of butter on top and then crimping the top crust. She cut slits in the top and brushed the top with a beaten egg before sliding it into the oven.

Then she handed Bae the bowl with a sly grin. "You can lick the bowl, Mr. Hungry."

He took it and found there were a few slices of apples left as well as some juice with cinnamon. "Thanks!" he began to eat them with a spoon.

Regina began to clean up the counter, then drank a glass of milk before returning to her current project, beading a belt for Bae. She wanted to make him a belt like the warriors of her tribe wore and she thought his Manitou, if he was ever on a vision quest, might be a wolf. She had occasionally Seen a wolf hovering over him when she stared at him with her shaman's Sight.

While Regina beaded, Bae got out his sketchpad and a pencil and began drawing the girl, deftly shading her face and the comfortable deerskin tunic she wore, along with her stockings and knee high moccasins. She had wrapped her hair around her head and wore a beaded headband colored red, blue, and black with a raven in the center.

And outside it began to snow lightly.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Around lunchtime, Rumple took a break from his projects, having finished the prototype brassiere, and went to grab something to eat at Granny's. He also decided to ask the older woman about who might be interested in modeling his prototype undergarment. After lunch he pulled Granny aside and spoke with her softly, explaining what he needed.

Granny was interested and told him that perhaps he could find a willing volunteer down at the Storybrooke Orphanage. "I'd do it myself, Mr. Gold, but you don't need an old woman like me modeling that!" she giggled. "Might cause you to need smelling salts!"

Rumple chuckled at her dry humor. "Madam, I wouldn't presume to even speculate on an upstanding lady such as yourself. I will tell Belle you were asking for her, and you might see her soon when she comes into town in a few days. We're hoping the snow melts enough for us all to make the trip in, since it's so high right now, even Jenny with me on her back has difficulty navigating the drifts."

"'Tis been a long cold winter, that's for sure," Granny said. "Stay warm, Mr. Gold."

Gold tipped his hat to her respectfully before leaving and venturing down the snowy street to the Storybrooke Orphan Home.

It was a long low brick building with a roof that looked badly in need of re-shingling and it had a small poplar and a maple tree in the front yard which was covered with snow. The walkway and wraparound porch had been shoveled though, and wood was stacked beside the blue painted door. The sign that read Storybrooke Orphanage was worn and needed painting, though the top was also covered in icy snow.

Gold made his way carefully up the walk, his staff tapping at the slightly slippery surface before venturing to walk on it, as he didn't want to slip and risk a fall where everyone could see. Soon he had reached the door and used the brass door knocker in the shape of a dog's head and rapped on the door.

It was opened by a tall woman in her mid fifties. "Good afternoon. I'm Mrs. Muffet, the matron here. Do come in, sir, it's raw out today."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Rum said politely and came into the house. "I'm Mr. Gold, the tailor from Hatter's Tailory and Millnery."

"Of course! You're Jack Hatter's new partner," exclaimed Mrs. Muffet, she was a genial lady with brown hair in a bun and bright brown eyes. She wore a green printed dress and button up boots. "Welcome, Mr. Gold! What can I do for you? Are you looking for another apprentice, perhaps?"

"Umm . . .not exactly. I'm actually looking for a girl of around sixteen or seventeen, to model a new prototype I've been working on," he said honestly.

The matron's eyes grew animated. "Ooh! Like a new dress style?"

"Uh . . . sort of," Gold coughed. "This . . .err . . .goes under the dress . . .and I need a model to see how it would look. It's meant to . . err . . . replace those tight stays you women have to wear now." He hoped this conversation wasn't going to offend her and risk him getting tossed out on his ear. "Forgive me for bringing up such a delicate subject, but . . ."

"Replace them? With what?" asked Mrs. Muffet curiously. Since Gold was a tailor she didn't feel too awkward discussing this subject, especially since they had retired to her office to do so.

"A new undergarment I designed. It's called a brassiere and it makes stays look so very . . .medieval," Rum explained what he had done. "But in order to patent it, I need a model to wear it briefly, so we can draw her measurements and so forth and I can adjust it if necessary. I can make it in various sizes depending on a woman's . . .err . . .body type." He blushed slightly. "But it won't cut you or squeeze your ribcage or make it difficult to sit comfortably or walk quickly or take deep breaths or eat."

"What about posture, Mr. Gold?"

"My brassiere will support your shoulders and back just as much, without confining you. I made the prototype off of one my first wife wore back home in Scotland."

"I see. Does your new wife, Belle, wear one?" she queried shrewdly.

"She will, as soon as I make one for her," Rumple replied.

Mrs. Muffet thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose I could let Hannah model for you, she's old enough and tall enough. But I insist upon the utmost propriety, Mr. Gold. I want her to be chaperoned at all times and no . . . err . . .bare skin shown."

"I assure you, Mrs. Muffet, I shall have Mrs. Lucas to chaperone and there will be no exposure, the young lady will have a shift underneath the brassiere at all times." Mr. Gold informed her. Once he saw how it fit, he could have a bust made and use it to put the brassieres on for display, though he would still need measurements when someone ordered one. He hoped it would take off, like Jack swore it would.

"I shall fetch Hannah for you then," Mrs. Muffet agreed.

"One other thing. I shall pay her, as I would anyone else who did such a job," Mr. Gold told her. "Fifteen cents a day."

"How generous, Mr. Gold!" Mrs. Muffet exclaimed, then said, "Wait here."

Gold relaxed while the matron bustled down the hall to bring back Hannah, who hopefully would be willing to be his new model for a few days. His hand absently caressed his staff, relieved when the wood didn't glow or Willow's crotchety voice echo in his head. That would be all he needed, the shaman's staff coming alive to bedevil him and scare away children.

He was looking idly at a small paperweight on the matron's desk of a dandelion puff when he heard a soft giggle from behind him. When he turned towards the open office door, he didn't see anyone, but then he spotted the toe of a worn brown shoe poking out from the side of the door.

Gold raised an eyebrow. "Hello, dearie. Why don't you come in and say hello, instead of lurking in the doorway? I don't bite."

"Are you here to 'dopt one of us?" asked a little girl's voice.

The small voice was so hopeful that it made Rum feel sad and guilty that now he would have to disabuse her of that notion. "Umm . . .no, I'm afraid not, but . . .I would like to meet you all the same."

Slowly the brown loafer inched into view, followed by a plaid sock, and then all at once a little girl of about seven peered in at him, wearing a rather worn blue frock that looked as if it had been handed down to her, as it hung on her small frame, being two sizes too large. She had long slightly wavy blond hair and huge blue eyes in a pixie like face. "Hello."

Rum gave her a smile, and the child paused on the threshold of the office, hesitantly gazing at him. "I'm Mr. Gold. And who are you, dearie?"

"Emma. Emma Swan."

"Emma, what a lovely name," he said quietly.

She looked startled. "You think my name's pretty?"

"I do. Why?"

"Cause Peter and Zelena say it's frumpy. Like an old lady's and boring," she lisped.

"Well, they're wrong. Do you know what your name means?"

"No . . ." she shook her head.

"It means universal, and is the name of several queens and other people of note. Why there's a character in a book by Jane Austen with your name," Rum told her earnestly. "So it's certainly not frumpy or boring."

"I'm in a book?" the child exclaimed in awe. "Do you know that story, Mr. Gold?"

"Well, my wife has it home on her bookshelf," he said. "I haven't read it yet."

She sighed in longing. "I wish I could read it."

"It might be a little hard for you right now. Do you know how to read, dearie?"

"Uh huh. I can read the third primer in school."

"That's very good. But the book might be too advanced for you."

"Oh." Her face fell. Then she looked up at him. "But if you know the story, maybe you could tell it to me?"

He chuckled thinking here was a kindred spirit t o his wife. "How about we make a deal? Next time I come here, I'll make sure to have read Emma and tell you about it. How's that sound?"

Emma nodded. "I'd like that, sir. Thank you!"

"You're very welcome, dearie," Rum frowned as he looked at her dress. "Come here," he beckoned to her.

Emma came beside him.

"Hmm . . . that dress of yours is too big."

"I know. It used to be Sarah's. But then she grew out of it and they gave it to me."

She looked at the blue dress in distaste. She knew it was too big for her and felt it made her look like a ragpicker.

Rumple cocked his head. He could tell just by eyeing her, what her size was, and even without his tape he could mentally calculate what her measurements were. "I could take that in for you, if you would let me. Do you have another dress?"

"Uh huh!" Then her face fell. "But I don't got any money."

"I wouldn't charge for a few alterations," he said quickly. "Tell you what. I need to escort Hannah back here once I've finished with her today. When I come back, you give me that dress and I'll fix it for you."

She stared at him suspiciously. "Nobody gives away something for nothin', mister. What do ya want me to do for ya?"

He reached into a pocket, finding a scrap of ribbon of a deep blue and handing it to her. "If I fix your dress, I want you to comb your hair and put this ribbon in it."

"That's it? You don't want me to polish your boots or somethin'?"

"No. I can do that on my own. Besides, you want to look nice in your new dress don't you?" He thought it exceedingly sad that the child didn't even have someone to take care with her appearance, her blond hair was tangled and looked like it hadn't seen a brush or comb in a week.

"I can do it, Mr. Gold!" she cried eagerly. "You'll see." She hated combing her hair, since it was hard with all the knots and hurt, but she would do so if it meant getting a dress that fit. Then she said, "You're lucky, cause your name means money!"

He started laughing. "Well, not really, dearie. My given name, Rumford, means a wide river crossing. But perhaps you're right and it was fortunate our paths crossed," he replied, thinking that sometimes there are no coincidences."

They heard the tapping of Mrs. Muffet's shoes in the hall and then the woman appeared with a tall girl of about seventeen with pretty red hair and blue eyes. "Emma, what are you doing in here? Are you pestering Mr. Gold?"

"He said I could say hi," the child said defensively.

"I'm sorry, was she disturbing you?" the matron began.

"No, we were having a nice chat," Rum disagreed.

"That's a first. Usually she doesn't say much," Mrs. Muffet said. "Run along now, Emma."

Emma turned and went out the door, calling, "I'm gonna go brush my hair!"

"That's another first," Hannah said. "Usually she doesn't even touch a comb and won't let us do it either. She's like a little savage!"

Mr. Gold frowned, not liking the other girl's terminology. "Perhaps she needs to be taught correctly." Then he stood and offered her a hand. "Mr. Gold, pleased to meet you."

"Hannah Smith," the girl said and shook. Mrs. Muffet says you might have a job for me . . ."

He nodded and then proceeded to outline what he wished from her, but his mind was not thinking so much of his prototype, but a blond child with tangled hair and wary sad blue eyes.

He had a feeling that little Emma Swan was going to change his life in an unexpected way.

Page~*~*~*~Break

It took about an hour and a half for Rumple and Jack to take measurements while Hannah stood there, chaperoned by Granny, in her shift and petticoats. Jack also sketched her, making sure the dimensions and proportions were correct. He showed the sketch to Rumple, along with the measurements and said, "Looks good to me, Rum."

"Yes. I can definitely work with this, and we can have a plaster bust made, Jack. Of course, each one will be tailored to the customer." He looked at Hannah. "Miss Smith, how does it feel on you? Is it too tight? Too restrictive?"

"No, sir. Feels fine. Almost like . . .I ain't got nothin' on, really."

Rumple asked if she could breathe right, had her bend over and asked how that felt, if she was dizzy. He gave her a glass of water to drink. All of the questions were met with negative answers. It appeared the new design was a success.

Jack's eyes glowed. "Rum, you've put us on the map."

"Not yet, dearie. First we need to market it."

"Yeah but the design works." He slapped Rumple on the back. "Buddy, we are gonna go places, trust me."

After Hannah was dressed and paid her fifteen cents, Rumple escorted her back to the orphanage. She waved and said that anytime he needed her to model, she was available.

Gold thanked her and then waited to see if Emma would appear. Sure enough, the little girl hissed, "Psst! Mr. Gold!" from a doorway and he turned to see her standing there in red dress that was frayed at the hem and patched. His fashion conscious soul cringed. That's an even worse one than the one I'm about to fix! He groaned. He looked at her hair though, which was neatly combed and braided.

"Very good, Emma!" he praised. "Did you braid it yourself?"

"Molly helped," she told him. She handed him the blue dress. "You sure I don't owe you somethin'?"

"No. You kept your end of the deal. Now I'll keep mine," he assured her. "In a day or so I'll have this back to you."

"Thanks, Mr. Gold!" she whispered, then on an impulse she flung her arms about him for brief hug.

A startled Gold hugged her back.

Emma drew away quickly, saying, "Sorry! I didn't mean to . . . be so . . . familiar, sir. It's just nobody's done anything so nice for me since my mom and dad died of typhus when I was three."

Rumple felt his heart go out to the lonely child. "Then I'm glad I can help you. And it's all right if you hug me, Emma. I won't break."

"Mrs. Muffet says nobody wants a grubby orphan hanging all over them," Emma sighed.

"You don't have fleas, right?" he teased.

"No sir!"

"Then I don't have to worry about anything." He smirked. "I will see you soon, dearie."

Then he turned to walk away with the dress under his arm.

Emma waved from the porch, watching till he was out of sight. Then she looked down at her worn brown shoes and the patched dress and hoped that the wish she had made last week for a friend was about to come true. Though most of the children at the orphanage were nice, there were some who were cruel and taunted her for being different.

And Emma knew she was different. She was a daydreamer, and she longed for a family to take her from this place, because even though Mrs. Muffet was not some evil witch, she was not the mother and father Emma longed for. There was some undefined hole in her heart, one that begged to be filled by someone who wanted her, not just a child to do work around a place. She didn't want to be adopted to become a servant, she wanted, more than anything, a family like the one she had lost. Yet no one would adopt a child with her reputation.

For Emma had a reputation as being "strange". An odd little girl with an uncanny way of knowing things about someone by looking at them and listening to them, and also knowing when people lied to her. It creeped out Mrs. Muffet at times and also some of the other children. Because of it, Emma had no friends among the orphans, no true ones that is. For who wanted to be friends with a freak?

The little girl stared down the road after Gold's retreating figure, her small hand stroking the hair ribbon on her braid. It was the nicest thing she ever remembered getting. She knew she would have to hide it though from Zelena and Bo, her chief tormentors, who would steal it if they could or chop it up with scissors.

But for now she was content to stroke the sleek silky ribbon and await Mr. Gold's return with her mended dress. It was something to look forward to, and she hadn't had anything to look forward to in a very long time—even Christmas had been subdued and barren this year.

Maybe Mr. Gold will be my friend. I'd rather have a grown up friend, even if he is crippled, than a kid who thinks I'm a freak.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Mr. Gold took the dress and put it in his satchel, then got ready to visit the assayer before returning to work for another hour and then going home. It had started to snow lightly and the flakes stuck to his hat and scarf as he made his way to the bank, where the assayer's office was located. The bank was one of the biggest buildings on Main Street.

It was a huge building whitewashed to an almost marblesque sheen, with two large white Doric columns on each side of the door. Manicured bushes were along the walk and the sign Storybrooke First National Bank was in gold letters on the façade. The assayer's office was on the left side, with a small sign hanging on it.

Gold made his way to the side entrance and went inside. The assayer was a short gruff dark-haired man called Leroy Miner. Known to all as "Grumpy" because he usually was, he looked up as the tailor entered his establishment.

"Mr. Miner—" Gold began.

"Just Leroy. What are you doing here, Gold?"

"I . . .need this tested," he removed the gold nugget from his pocket.

Leroy took it. "Huh. Where'd you find this?"

"On my land. My children found it when they were caught in a blizzard in a cave. I wanted to see if it was real or just pyrite," he said.

The assayer didn't look surprised. "So would I."

"But before you do so . . .I'd like us to draw up a contract between us. That if it is real . . .the results will be confirmed and kept confidential. Between you and me." Gold insisted.

"I always keep the confidentiality of my clients, Gold," Leroy sounded annoyed.

"Even if some powerful men ask you to reveal them?" pressed the tailor.

"Nobody gets the results of my finding but me and the client. Nobody, Gold. I have a reputation to maintain. I'm not like that shyster Midas." Leroy declared flatly.

Gold coughed. "Midas?"

"Yeah Alexander Midas, the last assayer who worked here. He skipped town a year ago, supposedly with a lot of crooked funds. But I'm not like him. I can't be bribed. And I have no family to hold as hostages. So whatever this is—your secret is safe with me."

He took the nugget and began assembling his test kit.

Rum wondered if the reason Midas had run was not only because he was a conman, but because of something he had done to betray Lumiere's trust to the banker and the mayor. Perhaps that was why those two were so desperate to get their hands on Belle's property. Gold wouldn't doubt it.

"Gold is the only yellow colored metal that isn't affected by most acids," Leroy explained, and held the nugget between a pair of metal tweezers. "This test is made using a blowpipe and nitric acid," the assayer said, holding up an instrument like a bent metal straw. He took a candle and blew the flame over some finely ground sodium carbonate and it became liquid. He dropped the nugget into it and washed it, then withdrew it and dropped it into the vial of acid.

It gleamed with unmistakable luster as it sank to the bottom.

Leroy raised an eyebrow. "You've struck it rich, Mr. Gold. Like your name."

"How pure is it?"

"Ninety-eight percent is my guess," the assayer replied. "If you can locate the vein where this originated . . ."

Gold smiled quietly. "Then we'll have a gold rush."

"Ayup. That you will." He fished the nugget out of the acid, weighed it and dried it. Then he gave it and a contract verifying the gold as pure back to his client to sign.

As Gold signed his name with a flourish, he couldn't help a thrill of elation run through him at the realization that he was rich . . .if they could afford to mine the gold. He wasn't sure how much that might cost . . .if he was still the Dark One, he would have just used magic, but now . . .he couldn't wait to share the news with his family.

He took the nugget and the contract and asked Leroy for a copy to be made. "I'm going to file this second one with my lawyer."

"I see. Smart thinking, Gold," said the assayer. He nodded when Gold pulled on his winter gear and then left the shop.

The tailor returned to his shop with new spring in his step. Unknown to him, a pair of greedy eyes watched him go.

A few moments later, Leroy's door opened again.

Page~*~*~*~Break

"I'll see you tomorrow, weather permitting," Gold bid goodbye to Jack after he had finished the final adjustments on the prototype and locked it in the cabinet again. He took the drawings home with him, wanting to see if his son could reproduce them. After he had wound his scarf about his head and tugged his hat over his ears, he put the warmed brick into his pocket, slung the satchel over his shoulder with Emma's dress inside, and went to saddle Jenny.

He started out of town at a quick trot, urging the mule faster than usual. He wanted to arrive home before the storm broke, for the sky was again spitting snow and was a leaden gray color.

Jenny did not balk this time, seemed she longed for her warm stable and alfalfa and oats. They were about halfway out of town, passing through the stretch of woods, when three men appeared on horseback. One leveled a gun at the tailor.

"Give us your valuables, old man! Or we'll blow a hole in your other leg."

Gold lifted his hands. "Please, I have nothing you want."

"We'll be the judge of that!" growled a tall one with a bandanna over his face. "Give us your wallet."

Pale and shaking, Gold went to hand over his wallet, wishing he wasn't so helpless. If only he had his magic.

As his hand slipped into his coat, he caught sight of his staff. The runes atop it were glowing.

Well, boy, you gonna kowtow to these ruffians or are ya gonna fight?

Fight? How? I have no weapons!

Sure ye do, boy. The brains you were born with and the Power within you.

What Power? I have no magic! I'm not like that anymore.

Quit talking crazy! You're my heir and denying it will not change a thing. Except maybe get your fool head blown off.

I'm not a dark magician any longer!

He nearly jumped as he felt something like a hand smack the back of his head. Foolish boy, that's in the past! What matters is now! Pay attention!

As Rumple went to take his wallet out, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

A/N: Hope you liked the Rumbelle moments! So now you've met some more residents of Storybrooke . . .hope you liked Emma and Leroy. I know now you want to throttle me for my evil cliffy! What do you think will happen next? Thanks for all the lovely reviews and follows ect . . .I greatly appreciate them!