A/N: I have good news and bad news. The good news is that this chapter is a really positive one and hopefully you'll enjoy what happens in it. The bad news is that I probably won't be able to update this story for two weeks. I wanted to leave the readers with a good chapter, so here it is.

Gold hated rent day. Almost as much as everyone else in Storybrooke.

Most of the time, his reasons for hating rent day involved the people he collected rent from. Not only did he have to risk a sore leg going from door to door, but there were always people that begged for an extension or complained about his methods in collecting the rent. It was frustrating and he usually had a splitting headache by the end of the day.

Why couldn't people just keep their end of the bargain? Why did they constantly have to search for a loophole?

Today was worse than those other days. The people were as frustrating as ever and there was one particular residence he was hesitant to collect rent from. The only reason he didn't skip it and save it for last was because it would kill his leg to do so. Instead, he decided to get it over and done with.

At 7:45 in the morning, Gold tiredly climbed several flights of stairs and knocked on Mary Margaret's door. Sweat beaded on his brow and his suit clung uncomfortably to his body. Hadn't anyone in this building heard of an elevator?

He heard footsteps beyond the door and he stood up straighter, trying to look as presentable and intimidating as possible. It wouldn't bode well if Mary Margaret knew he wasn't immune to her kindness. If she did, he would probably be treated to sugar-frosted cookies the next time he collected the rent.

Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea.

The door opened. Before he could demand the rent from the nun-like schoolteacher, he was struck speechless by the sight of wild gold curls. His gaze dropped further and he realized she had answered the door in a sheer white tank top and lacy red panties. No bra.

His mouth became dry as cotton. The knot in his tie felt too tight. A deep, pleasurable pressure invaded his abdomen when he admired her long, bare legs. Worst of all, he forgot why he was there in the first place.

"My eyes are up here," she said coolly, waving her hand around her face. With the first warmth of a blush rising to his cheeks, he dragged his gaze back to her face. It wasn't an easy task when she looked...so...good. "Are you here for the rent?"

The rent! Yes! It suddenly came back to him.

"Y-yes. The rent," he stammered, falling out of his trance. With his head tilted back and his eyes burning holes into the ceiling, it was easier to ignore Emma's curves and smooth skin. She must have sensed his discomfort-he just hoped his attraction to her wasn't physically obvious.

"Yeah, Mary Margaret has it here. She left early this morning. If you'll give me a minute..." She gestured to her lack of clothing. It was impossible not to follow her hand and he breathed through the increasing tightness below his belt. "Do you...want to come in?"

She retreated into the apartment, leaving the door open for him. Keeping his eyes glued to the floor, he shuffled inside. Gods, it was so difficult to walk without enticing that pressure further.

As Emma strode off to her bedroom, he could not resist letting his eyes trail over her backside, up and down along her body. He chuckled, releasing some of the tension that had built up in his muscles. It would be just like Emma to answer the door in her sleepwear. He could only imagine what Regina thought of it.

"Rent's on the kitchen table," Emma said when she returned. She had changed into her traditional outfit of blue jeans with worn patches on the knees, scuffed boots, and a cleaner black tank top. She even put on a bra. Red, to match the downstairs.

Limping to the table, Gold picked up an envelope marked Rent in Mary Margaret's neat handwriting and tucked it in his suit. There was nothing left to be done here, so he started for the door. That wasn't so bad, he thought.

"Mary Margaret bought a new toaster yesterday afternoon." He had almost reached the door. Was Emma hinting at something? Or just making friendly conversation? Either way, he played along.

"Is this one safe from your screwdriver?" To his intense pleasure, Emma smiled. He had missed that.

"I was about to make toast for myself. Would you like some?"

Without waiting for his answer, she popped two fresh slices of bread in the new silver toaster on the counter. What do I have to lose? He lowered himself on a stool and put his cane between his legs. His bad leg ached when he stretched it out.

"Only toast?" He wondered. Emma shrugged and went to the fridge to take out the butter and a jar of strawberry jam. When the first two slices were done, she plopped them on a plate and passed it to him with the condiments and a knife. Their fingers brushed and a jolt of electricity tingled through his hand.

"It's one of the few things I know how to make for myself. One of the easiest, too," she explained. He felt her eyes on him while he spread the jam across his toast and took a generous bite. Mmm...he moaned to let her know it was good. "I'm not like you. I can't exactly whip up a gourmet breakfast."

If you come over more often, I'll be sure to make breakfast just the way you like it, he thought out of the blue. He needed to stop thinking those dizzying kind of thoughts. He needed to give Emma her space. It didn't help that he could still picture Emma in his kitchen, enjoying his cooking.

"Does this count as breakfast? You know, the way it was before?" He didn't want to ruin...whatever this was, but he wanted to know where they stood. Emma had been leaning over the table, a few feet shy of where he sat. The ding of the toaster gave her the excuse she needed to turn away.

"No. This is me being polite."

Of course, he thought, taking another, smaller bite of his toast. The rest of their breakfast was served in awkward silence. Suddenly, he found he was not very hungry anymore.

...

He had to do something.

It was obvious to him lately that Emma wasn't happy. It wasn't to say that she was a glowing ray of sunshine before, but her mood had taken a turn for the worse. She was grumpier, angrier, distant, and less likely to let down her walls.

This was the only way to cheer her up.

There was still a part of him that wasn't sure if Mr. Gold could be trusted, mainly because he didn't know who he was supposed to be fairy-tale wise. He had seen the way Gold and Emma looked at each other, not unlike the way Snow White and Prince Charming looked at each other. For whatever reason, they were drawn together and there was only so long they could deny it.

Breakfast with Gold seemed to make Emma happy...well, happier...so he decided it was worth the risk.

That morning, Henry avoided boarding the bus for school. He knew he would eventually get into trouble with Emma and Regina for it, maybe even Mary Margaret, but this was far more important. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he raced along the main street of Storybrooke, stopping only when he reached a specific shop.

The pawnshop.

The clock tower claimed it was a little past eight-thirty, so Mr. Gold should be there. Where else would he be, if not having breakfast with Emma? Besides, he already checked the diner.

Even though he lived in Storybrooke all his life, Henry had never once set foot inside the pawnshop before. Ever since he was a little boy, Regina had steered him clear of the shop, though she surprisingly went there often herself. He grew up learning that the shop was "Mr. Gold's territory" and he noticed that no one else went in there unless they had to speak with Mr. Gold about a deal. His curiosity naturally built up over the years, but until now he never found an excuse to walk in there.

With more excitement than fear, Henry opened the door of the pawnshop and went inside. A sign on the door read Closed, but Henry assumed that was to keep people from disturbing Gold too early. A small golden bell above the door rang, alerting the owner to his presence.

The front of the shop was empty of all human life, but Henry was too preoccupied with the clutter of antiques to notice or care. Eyes widening in awe, he ventured deeper into the shop, like Alice falling deeper into the rabbit hole. He examined every item he could reach.

Almost all of the objects came from the Enchanted Forest. He recognized them from his book. Those painted mugs on the display case belonged to the seven dwarfs, though for some reason there were eight mugs. A gorgeous emerald cloak with golden floral designs hung in the corner of the window and he bet it had been worn by a princess. The chess set belonged to Snow's father, King Leopold.

The glass unicorn mobile belonged to Snow and Charming. It would have been Emma's, if only she had been allowed to spend a night in the Enchanted Forest.

The minute he spotted it hanging over the display case, he pictured the nursery illustrated in his book, with that same baby mobile dangling over a crib. Henry was pulled toward it, as though a string had looped around his waist. Carefully he poked one of the unicorns with a finger, making it sway. It clinked against another unicorn, the two galloping through the air. The dim sunlight in the window caught the glass unicorns and made them sparkle.

"Enchanting, isn't it?"

Henry nervously whirled around, as if he'd been caught in the act of stealing an antique rather than admiring it. He hadn't even heard Gold approach, cane or no cane. When Henry didn't say anything, Gold pointed to the mobile, leaning heavily on the counter as he did so.

"The baby mobile," he indicated. "It's enchanting. An exquisite piece, crafted entirely of glass. Very delicate, very old. Seems like it belongs to another world entirely, don't you think?"

Henry couldn't decide whether Gold was awake or not. Awake meaning he had slipped free of the curse's grasp. Sometimes he acted oblivious and then other times he appeared to know more than he was letting on. Gold walked to Henry's side to admire the mobile, barely making a sound on the floorboards.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Henry motioned his chin to Gold's silent feet. Gold laughed softly.

Even if he was the one to start the fire during the election, Gold had never been unpleasant toward Henry. He even began to suspect that Gold would make a decent father, given the amount of respect, fondness, and undivided attention he awarded Henry whenever they crossed paths. Maybe he's not all bad, he thought, not for the first time.

"One of these days, perhaps," he promised. At first, Henry was excited. If he learned how to stay quiet on his feet, it would make sneaking out of the house easier. Then he frowned, recalling that every one of Gold's deals had a price attached. Gold held up his hand. "For you, Henry, it'll be free of charge. Now, why aren't you in school? Your mother will be worried."

Henry smiled, knowing full well which mother Gold meant. He never showed much consideration for Regina's problems. He was only interested in Emma. And that's why I'm here, Henry thought, seeing his chance.

"Emma's not very happy," Henry stated. That same troubled look Emma got whenever he mentioned Gold now darkened the dealmaker's eyes. "I think she misses having breakfast with you."

"Has Emma admitted this herself?"

Something told Henry that Gold already knew what the answer would be. After three weeks of breakfast together, Gold knew Emma better than most people in town. She could be stubborn, proud to a fault, too proud to admit she missed a good thing like breakfast with Gold. Henry's response came by looking down at the ground.

"Hm. I thought not," Gold murmured.

"I was thinking...maybe you could ask her to have breakfast with you again. It could cheer her up," Henry suggested. Gold didn't share his optimism. Sighing, he knelt down to Henry's level so he could look him in the eye.

"Henry, I have no power over Emma. She was the one that put an end to our breakfast deal. Do you know why?" For my own good, Henry thought, but he did not bring himself to say it. Gold nodded anyway. "It was because she wanted to protect you from me. As much as I would enjoy having breakfast with Emma again, the choice must be hers."

"Oh," Henry muttered. His hope fell to pieces. He was so sure this would make Emma happy again.

"Tell you what," Gold said. "If the opportunity should ever arise, I will ask her."

"Okay," Henry agreed. It was the best he could hope for.

Henry offered his hand to help Gold up, but he declined. With visible agony, the dealmaker stumbled to his feet, nearly colliding with the display case. There was a rumor going around town that Gold's cane was more of an accessory or a weapon than an aid for his leg. Henry saw now that Gold wasn't faking the torment. Not when he winced and had to rub out the kinks in his muscles just to ease it.

"Do us all a favor, Henry. Go to school," Gold said, waving him toward the door. And here he'd been hoping to ask Gold if he could hang out in the shop and explore its wonders. Henry got the hint and started for the door, his backpack heavier than ever on his shoulders.

A curious thought struck him just as he grasped the knob.

"Mr. Gold?" He turned back to see Gold still standing there by the baby mobile, apparently lost in thought. Gold shifted his head and raised his eyebrows in question. "About the fire...you wouldn't have let anyone really get hurt, right? It was just for...appearances?"

He must have known what Emma would do in that situation. Even if Regina was the Evil Queen, it didn't mean that Henry wanted the good guys to stoop to her level. Of course, he didn't know whether Gold was a good guy or not. At the moment, he was hesitating too long.

"No. Of course not, Henry," he said with a smile that was meant to be charming. Henry smiled back and left the shop. Once outside and a safe distance away, he let that smile crumble.

Liar.

...

Emma was grateful for her workload as Sheriff. As demanding as it could be, it kept her busy. She could focus all her energy and attention on her duties and not have to think about Gold or the breakfast-that-was-not-really-breakfast this morning.

That is, until she decided to help two parentless kids find their birth father before Regina sent them into the system. The only thing they had of their father was an old compass. It might be the key to finding him, but first she needed to pay a visit to the one person that would know the origins of the compass.

Gold.

Surprisingly, he was in the front of the shop when she walked in. When he looked up and saw that it was her, he smirked.

"You couldn't stay away, hm?" Suddenly Emma wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. If only she knew how. Why did Gold assume his charms would work on her? Just because he was stuck inside her head..."My, my. So many visitors today."

Emma's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?" Gold acted innocent, mindlessly dusting the antiques on the counter. This was one of those times she felt he knew more than he was telling. It was no use badgering him for information, so she waited for him to speak.

"Your boy was in here this morning," he finally said, glancing up to take in her reaction.

That came as a shock to her. The notion of Henry ditching school wasn't so much a shock, but the fact that he visited the pawnshop and its owner. As far as she knew, Henry never went inside the pawnshop. If he was in here, it meant he purposely sought out Gold.

"Why was he here? What did he want?" Something to do with the curse? Was he still trying to figure out who Gold was supposed to be? She grew impatient and placed her hands flat on the counter, looming close enough to Gold to catch his eye. And a whiff of his cologne.

"He's shipping us," Gold replied casually, his finger moving back and forth between their bodies. What the hell was that supposed to mean? She knew what shipping was, but why would Henry push them together when he made it clear Gold was dangerous? "He wanted us to have breakfast together again. He seems to think it will make you happy."

Make her happy? All at once, she remembered Henry asking her if she missed having breakfast with Gold. She had never answered, but Henry must have picked up on her increasingly bad mood.

Oh, Henry...

"Why would he-?" Gold held up his hand, cutting her off midsentence.

"You should speak with him about it. I sense it's more of a personal matter. What happens in this shop is strictly business." M-hm. Sure it is, she thought skeptically. Gold spread his hands toward her. "Now, what can I do for you, Sheriff?"

From her pocket she removed the old compass the two kids had given her that day. She placed it on the counter and watched Gold examine it with a practiced eye. It had come from this shop and he claimed to have a name on record. However, when he found the right card, he pulled it out of Emma's reach...and waited. She knew precisely what he expected.

Everything comes with a price.

"What's your price?" She huffed. His smile stretched like a child's on Christmas morning. He continued to hold that card close to his chest, too far away for her to snatch it up. Not unless she took a flying leap over the counter and tackled him.

"Forgive me," he requested after a moment of thought. Emma shook her head. She should have known it would come to this.

"How about tolerance?" Gold considered it, licking his lips. It was strangely hypnotizing. His glee dimmed. Take it or leave it.

"Tolerance," he repeated thoughtfully. His finger tapped the card. "Have breakfast with me again, abiding our original deal, and I shall give you the name you need. Do we have a deal?"

Emma looked from Gold to the card. She had sworn to help those two kids and if this was what it took, then so be it. She would have breakfast with him, but it didn't mean she had to forgive him yet. When she agreed, he read off the name on the card. After that, she stormed to the door, intent on fixing this issue with a local named Michael.

"Oh, Emma?" He called her back one last time. "See you at breakfast."

...

He should have been happy. In a sense, he was, even after watching Emma leave his shop and taking every ounce of light with her.

Just as he promised Henry, the opportunity had presented itself and he had asked Emma to have breakfast with him again. He wouldn't pretend that she had agreed because she missed him. She had agreed because of those two children she was protecting so fiercely-Hansel and Gretel. Still, she had agreed, and that lifted his mood greatly. He was practically bobbing on his toes behind the counter. His leg even felt loads better than it had since his falling-out-of-bed incident.

However, there was a bigger issue unfolding here.

He didn't put that blank card back into its box right away. Dropping it on the counter, he reached for a fountain pen. His mind wandered, teasing him with memories of his past mornings with Emma. What would they have for breakfast tomorrow? What questions might she ask? Only time would tell.

Soon enough, the pen scratched across that blank white card, the ink spilling out to spell Emma's name over and over, decorated with mesmerizing squiggles. When his mind returned to the present and he saw what he had done, he dropped the pen and flipped over the card.

He had felt these strange, powerful effects before. Three times, to be exact. The fourth time is the charm? It was the lightheaded sensation of flying, of not being tied down to the earth. Of being able to say and do anything. It was becoming more and more obvious what this affliction was and it could only spell trouble.

If I'm not mistaken, he thought, dazed and confused, I'm falling in love with Emma Swan.

...

I also want to take the time to thank those that have read and reviewed this story. Every word means a lot to me and boosts my motivation for writing.

To 1994omi: I'm glad you're enjoying this story and I appreciate your reviews. The dreams have always been realistic and strange in this show, so I'm glad I was able to make it work for Gold. I love the Henry and Emma moments, too. Don't worry-there will be plenty more of them to come, along with Emma and Gold.

To The Ghostly Horse: Don't worry-I promised I wouldn't keep these two apart long. I'm having a lot of fun exploring their relationship. I agree with you about Rumpel's use of dearie. I never get tired of hearing Robert Carlyle say it. Thanks for reading!

To Charlotte Ashmore: Thank you for all the reviews you've given my stories. Yeah, it's never fun falling out of bed. Poor man. (-;

To beverlie4055: Thank you so much for reading and giving me a review. I appreciate it!