A/N: Hello, everyone! First off, I want to thank orthankg1 for giving me another awesome prompt for a one-shot. I enjoyed putting my own little spin on the idea of Gold being Henry's father. I hope everyone else enjoys it, too. As always, I have the reviewers to thank for their support. (-;
Lily
It was an emotional week for Emma Swan. One exhausting storm after another. She didn't know how much longer she could continue to fight against it.
First, she celebrated a quiet wedding with Gold at the edge of the lake near his cabin in the woods, followed by a passionate night with him in his bed. Their bed now. Husband and wife-she still couldn't believe it. After many months of knowing him and trying to decode him, she let down her walls and said yes.
She hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a mistake.
Then her only true friend in town ended up in jail, accused of Kathryn's murder. Regina had framed her; Emma knew it in her heart. She all but begged Gold to help Mary Margaret. For the better part of the week, Mary Margaret was stuck behind bars and left to wonder why Regina must be so cruel. No one except Emma fought for her-even David turned his back on her. Anything Mary Margaret shared with David Nolan crumbled into pieces.
Shortly after that, Regina came dangerously close to taking Henry away forever when he bit into a poisoned turnover and fell into a coma. Emma had never felt so empty than when she thought he was dead. When she kissed her son goodbye for the last time, she fulfilled her so-called destiny as the savior and broke the curse. She brought back the hope and happy endings Regina had denied the people of Storybrooke for so long.
Now her real parents wanted to come to the house she and Gold shared. For tea, they had explained. To officially meet their daughter and get to know her. They sounded like they wouldn't take no for an answer.
Emma had been a nervous wreck since then. She had spent her entire life never knowing her parents and suddenly they were visiting her for teatime. What was she supposed to say to them? What was she supposed to do? Oh, God, what kind of embarrassing questions would they ask?
From seven o'clock in the morning and on, her nerves refused to settle down. She spent the morning rushing around the house and making sure everything was in order. Mostly, she was concerned about the clothes she and her husband left on the stairs last night. They almost made love on that staircase. She could already picture Mary Margaret and David's horrified expressions.
Was it necessarily her fault if she and Gold were still stuck in the honeymoon phase?
After there was no cleaning left to be done, she did everything she could to keep her mind busy, if only to avoid thinking of the imminent encounter with her parents. She helped Henry with his homework until he went off to school-or skipped Miss Ginger's class to bombard all the fairy tale characters with questions. Even if the curse was broken, the townspeople agreed to carry on their routines, to live here in Storybrooke until they found a way home.
That meant Henry was going to school. He didn't earn a Get Out of School card just because fairy tales were real.
She washed the dishes in the sink and scrubbed them too hard, until her hands were red and raw from the soap. She even organized the clutter in the sitting room, where her husband stored many odd antiques he chose not to display in the shop.
Her husband noticed her anxious behavior, as he noticed most things.
"Emma," he said softly, sneaking up behind her when she was done wiping off an old teaset. He took the rag from her hands and then laced his fingers with hers. He brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. "You've been running around all morning. You even made pancakes for Henry, which I have never seen you do. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to keep busy...so you can stop thinking about your parents' visit."
She took her hand from his lips and turned around in his arms. Ever stubborn, she forced her face to remain calm and controlled, shielding the storm brewing under the surface. It was an old, nasty habit of never admitting when she was hurt or needed help.
"I'm alright," she insisted. Gold wasn't convinced.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked gently. Emma glanced around the room, but it was practically spotless. If she scrubbed the place any harder, the house would shine like the evening star. Then her parents would have no chance of missing it.
"Not unless you want to finish cleaning the teacups. Or make the bed. Or open the curtains," she said. In fact, that was precisely what the room needed: sunlight. Gold lived almost like a vampire, keeping the curtains closed at all hours of the day. For some reason, a hint of amusement glowed in Gold's brown eyes.
"I meant," he said and placed his skillful hands on her hips, "is there anything I can do to help you...relax? A massage, perhaps? We haven't spent much time together this morning. I missed you."
Emma couldn't help but feel a warm sensation budding in her belly. No one had ever said they loved her before or cared enough to miss her. She never stopped yearning for him, especially now when she was his wife. He started to pull her close and she let him. His arms moved to the small of her back, then glided upwards so he could hold her tightly.
"Sorry," she began to apologize, but he cut her off with a demanding kiss on the lips. Emma smiled through it. They were leading down a dangerous path, their bodies growing closer and their steps aiming toward the stairs. "Wait. We can't do this. Our clothes will end up on the stairs again."
"We'll pick them up...again," he promised. "We have plenty of time." When she didn't attempt to put distance between their bodies, he sought out her mouth. She returned his kiss eagerly. Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Gold moaned into the curve of her neck. "It seems I spoke too soon. That would be your parents."
"It's definitely not FedEx," she muttered. Courteously, she fixed his tie since she had been in the process of undoing the knot. She must have made the knot a little too tight this time. He winced, swallowed hard, and loosened the tie a little.
"Ready?" He asked and walked with her to the door.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighed. No matter what she did, she could not calm her nerves. The closer she got to the front door, the more anxious she became. What would they think of her? Or of Gold-formerly-known-as-Rumpelstiltskin hanging on her arm? "You know what? Why don't you go into the kitchen and get some drinks ready? I'll answer the door. I just...don't want their first real impression of me to be the wife of Rumpelstiltskin."
Gold nodded considerately, but she could tell he was slightly appalled by it.
"Are you...ashamed of me?" Her heart squeezed when he dared to ask such a thing. Even more so when he sounded like he expected it. There was another knock at the door. Emma lowered her voice, in case her parents could hear.
"Of course not," she reassured him and rubbed the tension out of his shoulders. She could not tell whether he believed it, so she pulled out the big guns. "I love you. I just don't want them to start off this interview by questioning why I married you. I want to start it off on the right foot."
"Understandable," he said. "Your parents and I have a long, complicated history. They could tell you stories about me that would make your hair curl even more than it already has." He twisted one of her golden curls around his finger. "You don't usually tell me you love me more than twice within twenty-four hours. We should invite your parents over more often, just so I can hear it."
"Tell me that after they leave," she replied shortly. Bringing him closer, she brushed aside his hair and her mouth found his ear. She whispered: "I love you. I'm not very good at saying it."
"I love you, too," he said and took her into his arms to kiss her again. Emma lost track of time. It was so easy for her to get swept away by Gold. It was both frightening and exciting.
Her cell phone rang in her pocket. She grumbled and checked it-a text message from Mary Margaret. She hadn't been able to change that to Mom yet. If she was honest, she wasn't ready for that much change. The message read: Emma, your father and I are outside. Remember our plans for tea? We know you're home. We can see your shadows through the stained glass window. Or is Gold getting robbed again?
"You'd better get the drinks started," she warned her husband and went to answer the door. Gold's footsteps headed in the other direction, toward the kitchen. She waited until he was out of sight and then opened the door. Mary Margaret and David Nolan stood together on the porch, bathed in sunlight and smiling harder than two people waiting for someone to take a picture.
"Emma," they exclaimed in unison. Immediately they stepped forward and swallowed her whole in a massive hug.
David's hand flew to her head to cradle it like an infant's. It was strange and Emma squirmed to try to escape it. This was the man she once accused of being involved in Kathryn's disappearance, the man who broke her friend's heart on more than one occasion, the man who wouldn't know the meaning of honorable if it fell out of the sky and hit him on the head.
And this was her one true friend, Mary Margaret. The woman she had learned to share her troubles and secrets with. The woman who shared her taste in hot chocolate with cinnamon. The friend that stood by her no matter what Regina pulled. The meek schoolteacher who did not seem to possess the strength to stand up to Regina, but who now had the fire of determination blazing in her eyes.
It was uncomfortable. Emma could only stand there, with her arms hanging by her sides, and wait until it was over. They obviously noticed that she wasn't inclined to hug them back, their expressions worrisome. It wasn't their fault; she simply did not know how to handle it yet.
They gave her some space. Emma was grateful for the ability to breathe again.
"We've been waiting for this day to come. Oh, Emma, you've grown into such a strong, beautiful woman," Mary Margaret gushed. Emma swore there were tears in her friend's-uh, mother's-eyes when she cupped her face.
"Your mother and I are proud of you," David added and put an arm around his wife. It was surreal to see them this way, when David had been married to Kathryn for so long. Everything Emma knew about them was false. All those days she had spent with Mary Margaret were built on lies. "We have so many questions for you. It's past time we knew our daughter."
"Yeah, sure," Emma said unenthusiastically. She should have invited them to Granny's Diner where they might be less tempted to ask personal questions. "Um...come in?" It sounded more like a question than an invitation.
Emma stepped aside and opened the door wider for them. Mary Margaret and David smiled again and walked inside. Their eyes were helpless to absorb every elegant detail. Had either of them stepped foot inside Gold's house before? She severely doubted it.
"Where's your...?" Charming started to ask, his eyes roaming, but his voice trailed off. He must not be comfortable with calling Rumpelstiltskin Emma's husband. Emma took Mary Margaret's bubble-gum pink cardigan and draped it on a hook near the front door. Meanwhile, her gaze strayed to the kitchen, but Gold hadn't returned from it.
"He's in the kitchen. Making drinks. If you want, we can wait in the sitting room..." Emma led them along and motioned toward two rose-colored armchairs. David and Mary Margaret politely sat down, leaving Emma to stand awkwardly in front of them. Like a child ready to be scolded. There were no extra chairs. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and rocked on her heels. "So...what did you...want to ask me?"
David and Mary Margaret studied their daughter like she was some kind of extraterrestrial life-form escaped from a lab. They exchanged unsure looks and seemed to hold a conversation without words. Must be their True Love at work.
"Well..."
"We...ah..." They were just as nervous as she was. It was slightly comforting. None of them knew how to proceed with this family reunion. "Why don't we start with...?" Emma's inside twisted. Her knees felt weak. They made this sound like some sort of interview.
"Kick your feet up, sweetheart," Gold's voice drifted into the room as he emerged from the kitchen. As usual, she never even heard him move. With a snap of his fingers, two more armchairs appeared behind Emma, mirror images of the ones David and Mary Margaret occupied.
She didn't know whether it was the show of magic or the fact that they had a complicated past with Rumpelstiltskin, but suddenly their two guests stiffened in their seats. They kept every ounce of focus on Emma as Gold waltzed into the room. Even when he placed a hand on Emma's back, they were content to bite their tongues.
Well, Mary Margaret bit her tongue. A nerve throbbed in David's forehead and his blue eyes switched to Gold.
"If that hand moves any lower," David warned through his teeth, "I'll cut it off with my sword." Emma snuck a glance at her husband. The smirk suggested he took David's threat as a challenge. She felt his hand dip a little lower, stopping right above the hem of her jeans. Then he withdrew it.
"The tea will be ready soon. My specialty," he announced. Emma gladly plopped down in one of the empty armchairs. Gold claimed the seat directly beside her, less than an arm's length away. He tipped his chin at her parents. "Snow White and Prince Charming. Long time, no see. My, you haven't aged a day. What's your secret?"
Emma rolled her eyes. Her husband was probably clapping himself on the back for these quips. David and Mary Margaret were far from pleased, even farther from laughing with him. Their shoulders were squared, their eyes did not falter, and their chins were raised proudly. They sat in those chairs like a king and queen on their thrones, Emma realized.
"Rumpelstiltskin," they answered together. Their voices blended harmoniously. Her husband narrowed his eyes.
"Do you two do everything together?" David and Mary Margaret looked at each other blankly.
"Yes," they answered simultaneously. Emma found it unsettling. They were almost too close. So close, they might as well share one body. How did two people share that much love? It was definitely better suited for a fairy tale than the real world, where things were not so dreamy.
The silence stretched on. No one knew precisely how to fill it. Mary Margaret and David's hands touched, forever woven. They smiled encouragingly at Emma, which made her feel like she should be the one to say something. Instead, she reached for Gold's hand, yearning for his quiet support, but she wondered if it was such a good idea when David sent a distrustful glare to Gold.
At last Mary Margaret, with cheeks turning rosy pink, met Emma's eyes in a bold way her friend never did before and cleared her throat.
"So, Emma...we haven't had much of a chance to talk to you. There was the curse and Regina to deal with after it was broken and...you and I talked during the curse, of course, but we didn't know we were talking. Anyway, we want to know you...if that's alright."
Emma felt Gold's thumb apply pressure to her palm and start to trace it soothingly. A lump formed in her throat-she fought to hold back a sob.
How long had she tried to feel some sort of anger and resentment for the mysterious parents that left her on the side of the road? How many times had she dreamed of finding them, by some miracle? Yet here they were, two classic fairy tale characters sitting across from her, transformed from a shy schoolteacher and a coma-patient-turned-cheating-husband. Wanting to know her.
"Okay," she said, shifting in her seat. Her voice broke. She drew in a breath and forced her brain to think logically about this. Calm down, she told herself. "Shoot."
Mary Margaret's smile grew, only a step away from the Joker's. Eagerly she sat forward to examine Emma from top to bottom. Her enthusiasm was a bit scary.
"For starters...well, what was your first word?"
Of course they had to start with the baby stuff. They already had the embarrassing part down pat. Emma's neck grew warm.
"Um...I..." Emma wasn't sure how to answer. How did she tell her parents that she preferred to forget most of her childhood memories because they had been miserable and lonely? How did she explain that she was taken in by a young couple for three years and then returned? She hadn't been there long enough for them to reminisce about special moments like her first words.
"It's alright," Gold spoke comfortingly to her and gave her hand another squeeze. I'm here with you; the gesture said. "You're not required to answer anything."
That was the thing: Emma wanted to do the right thing and let them in, but she had to take baby steps. Being separated for years wasn't something they could kiss and make better. There would be no fairies waving their wands and erasing her memories of Mary Margaret or David Nolan. It would take time.
Now Mary Margaret had her head bent, looking like she did something wrong. David, on the other hand, had a bone to pick with Gold.
"Excuse me," he interrupted. His blue eyes were unnaturally icy as they sought out Emma's husband. "Are you her husband or her lawyer?"
Gold flashed a wicked grin. The kind that meant he was up to no good. Oh, no, Emma thought and held her breath.
"Her husband, of course," he stated, infuriating David all the more. Gold enjoyed rubbing it in. David had no one else to blame for it. After all, he practically charged into that one. David started to rise from his chair to confront Gold, but Mary Margaret put a hand on her husband's chest and shoved him back down.
"I'm sorry," Mary Margaret apologized, reminding Emma once more of the modest friend she had come to know. "I remember now. You didn't have any love for the system and I should have thought before I asked you something like that. We're just realizing how much we've missed of your life. We never watched you grow up, we never celebrated your birthdays, we never even gave you the sex talk-"
Now Emma's face flushed beet-red. It's a little late for that, she thought. I already know where babies come from and what happens when you you insert Point A into Point B. Even Gold was massaging the bridge of his nose, pinching it between his fingers. David offered his wife an alarming look.
"You really think...now is the right time? She's already had Henry-"
"It's a milestone, Charming. I want to make sure we hit every one and that we're good parents," she insisted. Her tone left no room for argument and David did not pursue it.
"You've done a fantastic job so far," Emma said sarcastically. She regretted it instantly. At least they were trying.
"Thank you, Emma. That means a lot to us," Mary Margaret replied. Apparently, she missed the sarcasm. Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek, hoping to prevent anything else from slipping out and ruining this moment. Gold's lips parted, but the kettle whistled before he could say anything.
"I'll get that. You continue to enjoy your time with your parents," Gold said and leaped out of his chair to get the kettle. Enjoy was a little too optimistic a word. She was a little envious of Gold. Unlike her, he had an excuse to leave for a breath of air. He would not be missed by her parents.
When he was gone, she noticed how her parents seemed to relax in their chairs. Did Gold really intimidate them that much? Or was it only the idea that he was married to their daughter?
"You and Rumpelstiltskin," Mary Margaret began. Emma froze in her chair, silently panicking about what her friend-slash-mother might say. David's hand passed over his face and he moaned unhappily. "I guess we can skip the question about how you two met. You two seem very...affectionate."
"Snow..." David groaned behind his hand.
"Can we get one thing straight?" Emma asked hesitantly. "I know you two have a complicated history with Go-um, Rumpelstiltskin. You might not like it, but I care deeply for him. He understands what I've been through; he's had his own rough past to deal with. He supports me and he loves me. For the time being, he makes me happy."
There were the worried faces again. Mary Margaret's teeth nibbled on her lower lip. David's mouth formed a rigid line. They looked at each other again that made Emma suspect they were holding a silent conversation. It was like waiting for a jury to tell her whether she was guilty or not.
"Okay," they said. They didn't sound completely confident, but Emma hoped they could find a way to accept it. It would just be another obstacle they needed to overcome if they wanted to have a relationship with their daughter. "At least he doesn't have that skin problem in this world. Makes it easier to look him in the eye," David noted. He suppressed a shudder.
Emma's brows furrowed.
"What skin problem?" That was the downside to Henry's book-there were no illustrations of Rumpelstiltskin like there was Snow White and Prince Charming. Whoever wrote it must not be too fond of him. All she knew was that Gold never mentioned any skin problems. The taste for leather, yes. Skin problems, no.
Mary Margaret and David wiggled in their seats and kept passing small glances at one another. They were communicating silently, debating how much to tell her. Emma wished she could be included in their silent communication, but so far she was on the outside looking in.
"Well, let's say...hypothetically, you put every bottle of lotion and skin treatment in existence into a basket for his Christmas gift. It still wouldn't be enough to clear it up," Mary Margaret said. Emma was struck speechless. "It was all over his body, this...greenish-gold tinge to his skin. Or at least we assume it was all over his body. We've never...seen him...that way before. There were scales and dry flakes...he looked like a member of the reptile family. No offense. But he looks much better now."
The last part did little to console Emma. She gaped wordlessly at her mother, all the while trying to picture her husband with abnormal green-gold skin and scales. It didn't matter. She loved him with all her heart. She didn't want to be so strongly affected by it, but she felt her lip begin to curl.
It was like the cork had popped free from a bottle of champagne. They couldn't stop. Memories fizzed in their eyes and it overflowed from their mouths. Neither of them seemed to worry about Gold overhearing them in the kitchen.
"And the giggle," David went on. "It reminded me of a dying sheep. As a former shepherd, I would know."
"Don't forget the eyes. They also resembled more lizard than man. Big, round, almost no pupil, and this bizarre gold color. Maybe closer to amber. He had this way of staring at you, unblinking, like he was looking through you. He always seemed to know more than he let on."
Emma's hands gripped the arms of her chair. She didn't want to hear any more about the man her husband had been. She only cared about the man he could be with her. Mary Margaret must have noticed her daughter's discomfort. "I'm so sorry, Emma. It's been a long time since we had these memories in our heads. This is the most normal we've seen him. It's...strange."
Emma's mouth opened. She didn't know if she should say it's okay or to demand an apology to her husband, who had excellent hearing. Before she made up her mind, a set of light footsteps entered the room along with the distinct clinking of teacups. He was back.
"Here we are," Gold said and set the tray down on the cabinet behind Emma's chair. He carefully passed teacups to her parents, who politely cradled them on their laps. "Sorry it took longer than expected. I like to make sure the tea is just right."
He handed a teacup to Emma and caught her eye. She suspected there was another reason for his prolonged absence. You were listening, weren't you? Either that or he had slipped something into her parents' drinks for revenge. She really hoped that wasn't the case.
She also hoped he didn't think for a second that she had encouraged her parents' stories about the man he used to be. She responded with a mournful look and the corners of his lips lifted. No, they were on good terms. Gold took his cup of tea and reclaimed his chair beside his wife.
"What did you talk about while I was off making tea?" Mary Margaret and David had yet to taste any of that tea. Maybe they were suspicious about what was in it. Gold's eyes wandered to Emma first, then her parents, searching for an answer.
"We were giving her a few suggestions for your Christmas present," David replied innocently. Mary Margaret fought back a euphoric smile. Emma stared at them both in horror. "How do you feel about a gift basket of assorted lotions?"
Gold's head swiveled from David to Emma.
"You told her. I was going to do it at the opportune moment," he objected, shooting upright in his chair. Emma wondered when that would be. When he was shaving? In bed, after making love? She placed her hand on his thigh to make him settle down, but David and Mary Margaret's eyebrows rose. "Whatever they say, darling, it isn't true. It's an exaggeration."
"So you deny being a short, manipulative, leather-wearing, lizard-eyed, giggling imp with bad skin?" David retorted. Emma had to grip Gold's leg even harder to keep him in the chair. Mary Margaret waved her hands, ready to change the subject. Emma prayed she was fast enough, before the two men came to blows.
"Next question. Emma. I've always wanted to ask...who is Henry's real father? What's that story about?"
Emma's mind went haywire. She once told Henry a story about his father, but none of it had been true. She hadn't been willing to relay the real story to Mary Margaret, either, but that was because...she couldn't remember that much about it. All she ever felt was the betrayal and anger of being left behind with a child and no reliable means of supporting it.
The two men stopped arguing and they turned their heads to look at Emma. She hadn't even brought it up with Gold, but she could tell by the questioning look in his eyes that he wanted to know the answer.
"I...to tell you the truth, I don't really know," Emma said. Mary Margaret tilted her head, puzzled. "It was a long time ago, back when I was eighteen. My memories of Henry's biological father are...blurry at best. I think I had one too many drinks the night I conceived Henry. I can't remember his face or his name. All I know is that he was gone when morning came. He left me before I found out I was pregnant and I never saw him again. I don't know who Henry's father is."
...
Something happened to Gold. Something he couldn't rightly explain when Emma explained to her parents about Henry's father. First his hearing went out-he saw Emma's lips moving and he felt her hand on his knee, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Time seemed to slow down. His mind wandered to another place without warning.
A memory.
No, an entire set of memories tickled his mind, unfolding one by one. He hadn't remembered any of it until now, but then Emma's story about Henry's father seemed to knock something loose. Dots danced in front of his eyes and he thought he might pass out as the memories clicked back into place.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
How had he not managed to remember before? How had he not sensed something of the truth when he was with Henry?
"Emma," he interrupted. His voice was weaker, strained, and shaking with the revelation that pressed behind his eyelids. He felt multiple pairs of eyes on his face and Emma's hand squeezed his thigh tighter. She was worried. He placed his hand on top of hers and rubbed it. "I...I think I may have the answers you're looking for."
He opened his eyes to see Emma, Snow White, and Prince Charming staring at him in bewilderment. Emma gave him the look that questioned his sanity.
"You do? How is that possible? I hadn't even met you before I had Henry," she said. He knew she was trying to stick to logic and struggling to make sense of it. He licked his lips carefully. She had to know the truth. Oh, how had he not known it?
"I remember everything now," he said, tapping a finger against his temple. "Emma, don't you see? I was there. I know it because...I am Henry's father."
...
He wandered the streets of Manhattan, alone. Old habits die hard-Regina had come to him to make another deal. She wanted a child, though fortunately not with him. Apparently Graham wasn't doing it for her, either. So she had sent him out of Storybrooke to make the necessary arrangements.
He had to admit, she was placing a great deal of trust in him to acquire a good, healthy child. After all, he was never particularly fond of Regina, so who was to say he wouldn't bring back a piglet wrapped in a blanket? Or a monkey? Ooh, what about a kid, as in baby goat? The look on her face would be priceless.
As a man of business, he had already made some connections with a group of people that ran one of the small orphanages in Manhattan. It was his intention to meet with them that evening, select a child, and return to Storybrooke with an offer for Regina. She could handle the rest. The arrangement might not be entirely legal, but it would do.
In the meantime, he took a stroll around the streets, drinking in the sight and smell of Manhattan. Greasy food, even greasier vendors, buses belching smoke all over the place, and too many pidgeons crawling around his feet. He chased them away with his cane.
With his eyes roaming endlessly, he didn't pay much attention to the crowds rushing past him, though some of them checked him out. In his clean, expensive black suit, shoes, and tie, he fit the bill of a wealthy businessman. His steps were full of purpose and the only currency in his pockets, aside from a roll of bills stashed in his suit for dire circumstances, was a slim piece of plastic. Even if he was a stranger in that city, he was better off than most of the people that passed him by.
There was one girl in particular that caught his eye. Loose blonde curls, slender frame, black glasses. Young, no more than twenty. His reason for picking her out of the enormous crowd wasn't because she was beautiful. It wasn't fate, destiny, or love at first sight. It wasn't due to any ounce of recognition.
She was following him.
She had been trailing him ever since he left his hotel, about an hour ago now. He must have come across her on the street and she decided to tag along, always staying a few feet behind in the crowd. Whenever he glanced over his shoulder, pretending to admire the sights of the city, she was there. No matter what street he took, no matter how he quickened his steps or slowed, she was there. Coincidence? He didn't believe in it, even in a city as massive as this one.
Any other person might not have noticed it, but he tended to be observant of his surroundings, especially when he was out of his element.
He pretended not to notice. He wanted to see what she would do, or if his imagination had truly run away with him this time. Was she one of Regina's pets, come to spy on him whilst away from her kingdom? Or was she a vagrant? Did she take in his luxurious attire and see a golden opportunity?
Somehow, she had turned around on him. Perhaps she knew a shortcut, but she managed to get in front of him in the crowd. So innocent, she tried to blend in with the crowd walking his way. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stumble. Then her body collided sharply with his as she "tripped" into him.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She gasped loudly, playing the innocent card. His cane slipped out of his hands and clattered on the ground. His hands steadied her shoulders. "It's so crowded on this street. Someone must have bumped me and I lost my balance. I put out my hands to break my fall and...there you were."
There he was. How convenient. As if they had never crossed paths before, a stroke of luck.
"It's quite alright," he told her and dared to rub her shoulders. They were strong and proud, but tense under his palms. She squirmed and a guarded look glazed over her eyes. Oh, she was very pretty, especially with those fiery green eyes. Of course, he thought she would look even better without the glasses.
He felt her hand slide into his suit, slowly, carefully, aiming for one of the inner pockets that held his credit card. So she had been paying attention, after all. For just another heartbeat, he gave her a soft smile and let her believe she had the upper hand. Then, swift as a snake, he caught her wrist and pulled her close. Her eyes flew open wide in alarm.
"Let go of me or I'll scream," she warned. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her fist clench by her side. No, you won't, dear. Something tells me you're not the screaming type, he thought skeptically. How long had she been running on the streets?
"Go ahead," he challenged her. "You scream. Someone calls the police. Then I shall explain to them how you were attempting to steal my credit card. Did you pick me out because I happened to have a cane and wouldn't catch you if you ran? Did you really think I wouldn't notice you trailing me?"
She froze, her face fearful. He saw the panic seize every muscle in her body. Any second she could bolt, but his hands still gripped her wrist and shoulder, rooting her to the spot. It was only then that he realized how young she really was-and how thin. Most likely, all she wanted to do was eat a good meal. Sleep in a place without benches, drafts, and holes. Survive by any means necessary. It was a sort of desperation he had seen from many of his customers, but never truly understood himself.
He brought his mouth to her ear. Not that it really mattered, with the intense buzzing of the crowd.
"If you really wanted the card inside my pocket, you should have spilled coffee on my jacket and hope I'd take it off," he said. She smirked.
"I'll remember that next time," she replied bitterly. Could she even afford a simple coffee? She was accustomed to stealing credit cards on the street; she might as well steal fresh coffee from people walking away from the local coffeeshop.
"You can remove your hand from my suit," he said, the wheels in his head spinning rapidly, "and I might use that card to order you a refreshing drink and something hot to eat."
He released her hand and shoulder. If she wanted to, she could run far and fast and he might never see her again. She didn't run. The promise of food and drink must be tempting. The girl rubbed her wrist and continued to study him suspiciously.
"Why would you do that for me? You don't know me and I just tried to steal from you. I admit it. Or is that my punishment?" He winced. She had a smart mouth on her. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, even if her situation was less than mediocre. Oddly, it was a welcome change from the people that cowered before him in Storybrooke.
"That's one way to look at it, i suppose," he replied. He didn't explain his other potential reason for his generosity-he needed to pass the time somehow before he finished his job for Regina. "Do you accept my invitation or not?"
He bent to retrieve his cane and took a step away from her, threatening to leave her behind. That sense of panic seized her again, but this time for a different reason. Her best chance was about to walk away. How long would it be until another golden opportunity presented itself?
"Yeah," she whispered. Her voice was swept away with the crowd. He half-turned back to face her. "I mean, yes. I...accept. Thank you."
"Oh, I'm just overflowing with generosity," he said, his tone cooler than he meant it to be. The girl walked slowly beside him. Not too close, but not too far. Not close enough to snatch his card and run. There was a cozy bar down the street. "Are you going to tell me your name or should I guess?"
"You first," she fired back. She definitely had a spine. He liked it. It had been a long time since someone besides Regina put up a good fight. He stopped to give her an elegant bow.
"My name is Mr. Gold," he introduced himself. Instantly he could tell she didn't entirely believe it. It was an ironic name for such a wealthy-looking man. "Your turn."
The girl stood straighter and seemed to mull it over silently for a moment. What harm could it do?
"Lily," she offered. It was a lie. He was almost certain of it. Even if she didn't trust him, she took too long to come up with the name, her lips parting and closing several times. Her face grew tense and her voice rose a little higher. It must mean something to her. After all, the best lie was the one not too far from the truth.
He let it go. She would never tell him what her real name was. They began to walk again, falling quickly into step with the other.
"Where are you from, Lily?" He asked. The girl appeared bothered by the name she chose. He wondered why that was. Her head bent forward and he caught a miserable look on her face. It was the long-drawn look of someone who had experienced too many hard times.
"I don't really come from anywhere. I've been to so many places...I guess I haven't found any place to call home yet," she murmured, mostly to herself. Looking at her, recognizing how defensive her stance was, he felt a shred of sympathy expanding in his chest. His worries were few and far between, but this girl most likely knew fear and need every day.
"You'll find it. Someday," he said. It was the only comfort he could give.
...
"You've never had a real drink before?" He asked incredulously. They perched on hard stools inside the bar and just finished a meal of overcooked hamburgers. She sat beside him and peered at the drink menu through a constant layer of cigarette smoke. Her green eyes scanned the list, but her expression became more confused.
Could she ever afford a drink, even if she was at the legal age? Judging from the tightness of her back and shoulders, brought on by too many troubles, a drink might do her some good.
"You might come from a world of caviar and wine, but alcohol has never been high on my list of priorities," she said, shoving aside the menu. She rested her arms on the bar. It also wasn't very fun drinking alone, but how could she know that if she never tried it?
"It can either be your worst nightmare or a magical substance that makes all your troubles vanish," he said, waving his hand hypnotically in front of her face. She wasn't impressed. A drink or two might help loosen her up. For all he knew, she could be the kind of girl that would get drunk and swoon over him. She might even tell him her real name.
The bartender came over to remove their empty plates. A typical young muscled man in a black T-shirt. Gold barely gave him a second glance, his eyes glued on his newest friend.
"Anything else I can get for you?" Gold stared at Lily; Lily stared at the menu with a fixed jaw and furrowed brows. She couldn't make up her mind because she had no idea what she liked. The menu might as well be written in Latin. So he chose a drink that they would, hopefully, both enjoy.
"MacCutcheon whiskey for both of us," he ordered. Lily lifted her blonde head to give him a puzzled look. They would soon find out if whiskey was her thing. Or was a flirty margarita more her style?
"No problem," the bartender said, slapping his hand on top of the bar. He didn't move to fetch their drinks. Gold raised an eyebrow. "I'll just need to see some ID for your daughter."
"I would call that a serious problem. And she's not my daughter," he protested. He gave Lily a furtive glance and he grinned. He would love to know what made her tick. "Technically, we're on our first date."
"Oh?" The bartender seemed startled to hear it. He looked back and forth between Gold and Lily, as if he couldn't quite swallow it. Lily, on the other hand, was vocal in her disgust. Her face flushed red and she nearly jumped up from her stool.
"I've never met him before today. He's lying," she objected.
"No, I'm not. We've hit it off, haven't we, dear? I can hear the marriage bells already! Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da!" Gold twirled his finger through the air, all the while humming the wedding tune. Lily's mouth dropped open. She tugged on his arm, pleading with him to stop. Half the bar was looking their way now. The bartender backed away, as if there was something wrong with them.
"Are you always this infuriating?" Lily hissed. "Or have you already had too much to drink before you met me?"
"Are you always so opposed to wearing a smile?" Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the girl smile once from the moment they collided on the street. It was his goal, right then and there, to make her smile before they parted ways.
The bartender was still waiting, though he clearly thought they were crazy. Surely he had seen more astonishing sights than this. Gold dipped a hand into his suit and pulled out that roll of extra bills. He plucked one fresh one hundred dollar bill from the roll and waved it toward the bartender.
"How does one hundred dollars sound for turning a blind eye?"
The bartender took the crisp bill from his hand, rubbed it between his fingers for a moment, then stuffed it in his pocket.
"I'll get you those drinks," he relented. Lily gawked at that roll of money in Gold's hand before he slipped it back into his suit. Her eyes were filled with longing. He was the sort of man that didn't blink an eye over throwing away one hundred dollars. It was probably more money than Lily had ever seen.
The bartender quickly put their drinks in front of them and walked away. However, he kept an eye on Lily. Gold wondered if it was simply because of drinking age or another reason entirely. He scooted closer to her on his stool and raised his glass.
"The most expensive whiskey you can put in your belly. To us," he declared. Lily played along by touching her glass to his and brought it to her lips. She sniffed the alcohol and took a tiny sip. Instantly she slammed the glass down on the bar and scrunched her nose. She forced herself to swallow and gagged. While the alcohol streamed into her stomach, she clutched her throat and stuck out her tongue.
"This stuff burns!" She made a string of funny noises in the back of her throat. He snickered. Amateur.
"You'll get used to the taste." He downed his shot of whiskey like a pro.
She took another sip. At least this time she didn't stick out her tongue. It took time, but she got used to the alcohol as it numbed her senses. It became easier for her to drink it. Soon she was tossing it back like a real shot. The bartender kept filling their glasses.
They had too much to drink. Gold's brain started to prickle, going numb, and he forgot about the task at hand for Regina. The time slipped through their fingers. Lily loosened up and shook off her cardigan. She smiled easily.
"You should do that more often. Smile," he said too loudly and dared to cup her chin. Lily's green eyes were glazed and lighter, glowing from the influence of the alcohol, but he still felt some resistance. Some stubborn wall that would not completely crumble. What happened to this girl to make her so resilient? "How old are you, dear?"
"Eighteen," she answered and flipped her hair. That sounded more like the truth. No hesitance. The alcohol in his system sparked his confidence. He scooted even closer to Lily.
"Old enough to be in my bed," he quipped. Lily blushed. He usually used his quips to startle those he dealt with, but Lily did not cower or jump in fright. She hardly batted an eye. To his surprise, she smiled again. It must be the alcohol talking.
"Is that an invitation?" He was astounded by her sudden boldness. She must be warming up to him. That alcohol really was magical.
Something was happening. They were drifting closer. His hand moved from her jaw to the back of her head. She didn't stop him even when his lips hovered right above hers. His head bent an inch further and their lips met. It was a soft and hesitant kiss, but they teetered on the edge of something more.
"Was that...your first kiss?" He inquired. Lily chewed on her lip.
"No." Lie.
"Shall we...continue this conversation elsewhere? Say...a more private room?" Lily's smile faltered slightly. She considered it for more than a heartbeat and then she dipped her head in agreement. The alcohol fogged their brains, making it impossible to think with the best of judgment.
He paid for their drinks, plus an extra one hundred dollars for the bartender just to remind him of his silence. Then they walked out of the bar together, arm in arm, in search of the nearest hotel room.
...
They stumbled across a shabby hotel with vacancies not far from the bar. Nonetheless, the walk put a terrible strain on his leg and he longed to lay with Lily. Several times he came close to requesting that she massage it. That was the alcohol talking on his behalf, again. They booked a room for the night, with the story that they were newlyweds not to be disturbed.
Once inside the room, he closed the door, locked it, and went to Lily. She tossed aside her cardigan and walked unsteadily into his arms. When his hands circled her waist, she drew in a breath. She had never done this before, with anyone, and so he had to guide her along.
First he bent his head to capture her lips again. She tasted like the whiskey they had so quickly consumed. The kiss was slow, patient, and yet on the verge of hunger. It gave her an idea of what was to come. She folded into him and began to respond. He was pleased when he felt her lips part under his tongue.
Leaving her breathless, his mouth burned its way to her jaw, the pale curve of her neck, the shell of her ear. In moments, she moaned. He brought her hands to his chest, to the lapels of his suit, so that she may start to undress him if she wanted, but Lily gasped. Her hands fluttered nervously over his tie instead.
"Shh," he whispered in her ear. "Trust your instincts." To demonstrate, his hands slid up her back to hold her tighter and he took the lobe of her ear into his mouth, his teeth grazing it. Lily tilted her head back and moaned again. At the same time, she exposed more of her neck for him.
He reached up and removed her glasses, which were barely hanging on the bridge of her nose anyway. He set them carefully on a table behind them. For the first time, he was able to admire her fierce eyes without anything in the way. He was right: she looked so much better without those glasses.
Lily was the one to steal a kiss this time. She grew more confident and unraveled his tie, the silk wrapping playfully around her fingers. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and he let it fall to the floor. Next his dress shirt was ripped open, exposing his chest. Lily licked her lips and dove to kiss it. His hand flew to her head to hold her there-as if she might vanish into thin air through his fingers.
Gone was her dress. It was a simple white knee-length one with pink blossoms. It pooled on the floor at their feet. At once, he stepped back to drink in the sight of her body. Thinner than he originally thought, but naturally beautiful. So youthful, so supple. He could not resist cupping one full breast, even when it made her gasp again in surprise.
Had she truly never been touched this way before?
Backing her up toward the bed, they fell on top of it. Lily trusted her instincts and spread her palms over the taut muscles of his back, her leg hooking around his hip. Her eyes trailed down his bare chest and stopped dead on his belt.
"Take your time," he warned her. She needed to feel ready if she was going to continue to dance with him this way. Her hands withdrew from his back. For an instant, he was afraid she would shove him away. Her hands made their way down his chest, to the hem of his pants. Anxiously, she met his eyes and he silently challenged her to do it.
There was a sharp snap and the belt came undone, the fabric parting from his legs. Gently he settled on top of her and kissed every inch of her body. Lips, neck, breasts, stomach...when his tongue traced the line of her panties, her toes curled. Gone, at last, was that strip of fabric. He eagerly slid it down her legs. Her hands fumbled with the last remaining bit of his clothing, the portion that concealed his most precious organ.
When they were finally bare to each other, she inevitably sought out that sensitive organ with her eyes and got a good look. He let her, all the while taking the time to admire her as well. She started to close up again, but he kissed her desperately.
"Take your time," he repeated softly. He nestled his head between her neck and shoulder and sucked on the sweet skin there. Perhaps tomorrow she would bear a mark, proof of this night spent together. "Tell me when you're ready."
Lily let her hands roam and explore. She touched everywhere she could reach-his face, his chest, even...there. She seemed to enjoy the way he grunted for her, which encouraged her to do it again. She never used words to tell him she was ready. Rather, she hooked her leg around his waist once more, buried her head in his shoulder, and nodded.
At last, he pushed inside of her, becoming one with her. When he broke through that thin veil between her legs, making her a real woman, Lily sucked in a breath. Her nails dug into his back, clawing away the burst of pain. He let her adjust and catch her breath. Then they began to trust each other; they began to move together. Slowly at first, then faster, a dance they could carry on through the night. Pleasure unlike any he ever felt exploded in his brain.
"Lily," he cried out, reaching the highest plane of pleasure.
"That's...not...my name," she panted in his ear. He could hardly hear her over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding away. "My name...it's...oh!" She plunged into that vast ocean of ecstasy and they forgot any mention of her name.
Afterwards, they lay together beneath the rumpled sheets, her back firm against his chest. He kissed her shoulder and grinned as she shuddered one last time. Their breathing slowed, their bodies cooled. He dragged the blanket over and savored the feel of her bare body pressed against his.
This was the closest he'd been to a woman in years.
They fell asleep in each other's arms.
...
He woke in the early hours of the morning, long before the first beam of sunlight invaded the room. He found himself wrapped around Lily. The effects of the alcohol had worn off for the most part, leaving him with a splitting headache. The memory of what they did was faint. Like a pleasant dream.
As she slept on, he sat up on his elbow and studied her longingly. Beautiful, headstrong, smart...this was a girl he could easily latch onto and even fall in love with. He wished he could stay with her, for more than one night.
It could never be.
They were strangers. They weren't meant to be together. There would only ever be this one night of passion between them, if the alcohol spared her memory at all. He didn't even know her true name.
Gold quietly detached his body from Lily's side. Folding back the blanket, he crept out of the bed and got dressed. With a rise of frustration, he realized he completely forgot about the deal with Regina and finding her a child. It was part of the reason he had a roll of one hundred dollar bills in his suit, to sway those who gave him trouble.
He left the roll of bills on his pillow-for Lily, since her situation was so desperate. There was three hundred left there. It should satisfy her for a while.
He gathered his cane, fixed his tie, shoved his expensive shoes on his tired feet, and started toward the door. It was impossible to stay with her. Perhaps he could bring her along, take care of her, but the risk was too great. He refused to put his heart on the line. She would leave him eventually, like all the rest. Most likely, she would take his money and run.
So he decided to be the one to leave before he gave her a chance to hurt him. One last time, as he opened the door, he glanced back at Lily's sleeping form. Goodbye...Lily, he thought mournfully.
He only wished he had time to learn her true name.
...
Even when he returned to Storybrooke, he kept tabs on her for some time. He hired someone to keep an eye on her in that outside world and report back every detail. For some reason, it was more difficult than he imagined to let her go.
That was how he learned she was pregnant, only a few months after their night together. According to his hired man, she had never got involved with any other person after he left that night. His unexplained departure must have stung her more than he thought it would.
That particular report left him with a cold sweat.
She was pregnant. Pregnant...with his child.
At first, he debated whether to bring her to Storybrooke and raise the child together. Too many unspoken fears stopped him. What if his spy had made a mistake and the child wasn't his? What if he brought Lily here and she left him? What if she did not care to see him ever again?
Maybe it was best if he left her alone.
A handful of months later, a new report shook him to the core. She was planning to give up the child and had already started making the arrangements for when she gave birth. He assumed she could not afford to care for herself and the baby. The thought of his child in someone else's hands, beyond his control, disturbed him.
Should he take it in? What about Lily? The notion of raising a child alone, regardless if it was his blood, frightened him to no end. His original fears about Lily only added to the turmoil and destroyed any fantasy he had about having a family with her. He wasn't father material-it would be a mistake to raise a child and expect it to turn out healthy.
He couldn't do it.
Yet he couldn't stand it if his child, a precious being he created with Lily, ended up somewhere else in the world. Who knew what kind of people would take it in? There was the deal with Regina left to resolve...and even if he wasn't the one to raise the child, he could watch it grow from afar. He would not let Regina hurt it. However, it would kill two birds with one stone.
"I believe I may have an offer for you at last," Gold said one bright morning as he strolled into Regina's office. While she glared at him, his fingers selected a strong red apple from the bowl on her desk. "You should have it in no less than three months, after it is born. It is the best arrangement I could hope to secure for you."
He felt a slight twinge of regret, but he cast it aside and bit generously into the apple. To spite Regina a little more, because he loved the chance to dig under her skin, he grimaced and stared at the apple suspiciously.
"Not to alarm you, but your apples taste rotten." Regina's lip curled.
"And I should trust your judgment?" She growled. It seemed she was never satisfied and she was always paranoid of his intentions. As if he might one day stab her in the back. If he did, she deserved it. The chunk of apple nearly got caught in his throat as he swallowed hard.
"In regards to fresh apples or choosing a child worthy of your affection?" Another black glare from Regina across her desk. That was the cherry on his cake for the day. "Trust me, Madame Mayor...you'll want this child." He placed the rest of the apple, uneaten, on her desk. The large bite mark faced her. Regina was purely disgusted.
"Why should I care for this child over any other?" Because it's mine, he thought, but he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing the truth. She would take too much pleasure from raising his child in front of his eyes.
"Trust me," he repeated.
When the time came and Lily gave birth, she wasted no time in giving up the child. It was brought to Storybrooke and Gold met his hired man at the border. The child was passed into its father's arms-it was a boy.
"Take care of it," the man warned, his odd turquoise eyes grim. Beneath his dark beard, it was hard to make out the unsatisfied curl to his lips. Gold sneered at the man. He hired him to keep tabs on Lily, not to make judgments.
"Thank you, Mr. Booth. Your part in this is done," he said coldly and walked back to his car with the child tucked in his arms. And then Gold gave his son away to Regina. She named him Henry, after her long-dead father.
Soon Lily faded from his memory, locked away in a drawer in the back of his mind labeled do not open. The night they shared might as well have been a dream.
Soon, he never gave Lily another thought.
...
"What did you just say?"
It was Mary Margaret that asked it, not Emma. Mary Margaret's voice was breathless and she sat rigidly on the edge of her seat, her hand trapped in her husband's grasp. The other hand balanced the teacup on her lap and Gold noticed it was trembling. If it was possible, her skin had become paler than ever by one or two shades, with no trace of pink.
David's shoulders were hunched and his muscles were coiled. Almost as if he was mentally and physically preparing for battle. His blue eyes were stone and trained on Gold. He looked like he could leap out of his chair at any minute to strangle him.
And Emma...
Emma was quiet. Too quiet. Her green eyes were confused and guarded as she stared at him, waiting for an explanation. She had that sour little twist to her lips and he felt a wall form between their chairs while she worked it out in her head. She removed her hand from his thigh as if she had been burned.
"How is that even possible?" David bellowed. "You were cursed, same as everyone else in town. You shouldn't have been able to leave Storybrooke, which means you shouldn't have met Emma before she came here."
"It's true," he insisted, mostly to Emma. He needed her to believe him. The memories were so fresh in his head, they could have been made an hour ago. "Regina temporarily sent me out of Storybrooke. She wanted a child, so I went to Manhattan to find one. You were desperate; you tried to steal from me on the street, but I offered you a drink. Your favorite, MacCutcheon whiskey. You can't remember the first time you tasted it, can you? It turns out we had too much to drink and we...we spent the night together. Just once. I left you shortly after and returned to Storybrooke. You became pregnant with Henry. You gave him up and I brought him here."
Emma turned her head away. He could no longer see her face through the curtain of gold curls, but he felt the anger radiating from her. She was hurt; she felt betrayed.
"You gave Henry, supposedly your own son, to the Evil Queen?" David demanded. When phrased in such a way, Gold sounded like a heartless villain. Already the memory of Henry ending up in Regina's hands sickened him.
"My cursed persona did," he shot back. "If I had my way, if I had been my true self, it never would have come to pass. Henry would have stayed with me." Deliberately he looked to Emma when he said that, clinging to the hope that she knew how much he meant it.
"Henry should have been with his mother. His real mother," Mary Margaret said, her hand pressed to her heart. There was incredible pain in her voice and a bitterness that Gold rarely heard from the fairest of them all. Losing her own child would forever be one of her insecurities, thanks to his dark curse.
Meanwhile, Emma still hadn't said anything. Not a word to let him know what she was thinking. He reached out and took her hand, but she did not return any gesture of warmth. He knew what she was doing-struggling to make sense of it, she was playing it safe and cutting him off.
"Please, sweetheart, talk to me. Say something. Don't shut me out," he pleaded. Did she remember any of it? Or did she need proof, like she often did, before she believed it? "Lily," he said and her head shot up. "You asked me to call you Lily. It was a name you were using at the time. How else would I know that unless I had been there with you?"
Emma's lips parted. Recognition began to cloud her eyes. Was she remembering? That's it, he thought, holding his breath. Remember.
"I..." Emma abruptly rose from her chair. His hand slipped out of hers. The full teacup that had been sitting on her lap now crashed on the floor. Glass shattered and skipped around Emma's feet. Tea splashed everywhere. "I need a moment. Alone."
And she strode from the room.
"Good going," David muttered. Gold glared.
"Me? You were the one that asked the question of Henry's father," he snapped and pointed accusingly at Mary Margaret. David leaned over to shield Mary Margaret, as if a spell might shoot out of Gold's finger. "I know you two are still over the moon. When you have your first fight, you let me know."
"We're not a perfect couple. We have our moments when we argue," Mary Margaret retorted. Gold snorted.
"Really? What do you two argue about? Who gets the hot chocolate with the most cream and cinnamon?" He stormed out of the room to find Emma and left them to think on that.
...
He found her outside, pacing restlessly and kicking stones. She had that look, like she needed something to punch. The sliding glass door that led into the kitchen was still ajar, but he closed it behind him so Snow and Charming would have no chance of listening in. Not unless they cracked a window in the sitting room or snuck into the kitchen.
Slowly, cautiously, as if she was a majestic animal he intended not to spook, he approached Emma. He placed a timid hand on her back. It was foolish to invade her personal space any further while she was caught in a rage. Not to mention that her position in this matter remained unclear.
"Are you alright? I'm sorry if this has upset you," he said. Emma tried to smile, but it was painfully weak. She didn't pull away from his hand, but she didn't move into his arms, either.
"I'm not angry with you. At least, I don't think I am. It's not like it was a big, bad secret you were keeping from me. Mostly, I'm confused. I can't remember anything of the night we spent together." She rubbed her temples, as if that would help unclog some of those lost memories. "So...you were the one that introduced me to whiskey?"
He hung his head. There was a bottle of MacCutcheon whiskey in their fridge right this minute. She continued to have a taste for it, even now.
"That is my fault," he admitted sheepishly. Or, specifically, Mr. Gold's fault. "I remembered the part where I acquired your-our-child for Regina...but I could not remember being the one to create him in the first place. There was less emotional attachment to you because Mr. Gold had been trying to forget you. Seems alcohol affects him more than it does me."
Even in the Enchanted Forest, where most of his misery had taken place, he hadn't been a big drinker. He never truly developed a taste for it and it often took a monumental tragedy to lure him to its cold comfort. During the times he did drink, he was able to hold his liquor better than Mr. Gold did.
Emma ran her hand through her mane of hair. Her forehead sprouted worried lines and she stared hard into the ground, as though it would provide her with all the answers she sought. He could sense her growing annoyance and distress, but he waited quietly and patiently for her to sort out her thoughts.
"I wanted to give him his best chance," she said. He knew she meant Henry. It was the same reason Snow White sacrificed a life with her daughter. To give Emma and everyone else in the Enchanted Forest their best chance during Regina's curse. "That's why I gave him up. I wanted him to be safe, healthy, and happy, even if it wasn't with me. And you gave him to Regina, of all people."
The guilt consumed him as she let her regret come forward into the light. Her voice was brimming with so many raw emotions-sadness, longing, pain, and fury.
"It was my cursed persona's fault. If it had been me, I would have rather died than give my son over to Regina," he argued. He finally dared to take a step closer to Emma and brushed a finger along her jaw. It was enough to make her look up, into his face. "I'm sorry for the part the curse has played on your life, Emma. Yours and Henry's."
Emma's jaw locked and her shoulders broadened. She was struggling to remain strong, as always, but her chin quivered.
"You should have brought me here, too. We could have been together. You, me, and Henry."
The weakness won out. She shifted her head into his palm and he felt another dull ache in his heart. Gold had made many mistakes in his life, cursed or not, but taking Henry away from Emma just to give him over to Regina was possibly one of the worst.
"You weren't meant to arrive in Storybrooke until your twenty-eighth birthday," he reasoned. Everything had worked out as he once envisioned it. Fate did not usually approve of things going off-course. "Besides, Mr. Gold was not a pleasant or strong man. He was afraid. Afraid that if he reached out to you, you would be furious that he left you and you would reject his offer. He knew he was not father-material, but watching Henry grow from afar was better than nothing. He would never possess the strength to fight for you or Henry. That's different now. I will do everything in my power to protect and love our boy."
He thought he saw a ghost of a smile flit across Emma's face.
"Our boy," she repeated fondly. Gold brought his head down to kiss Emma, sealing the deal.
Nothing would ever separate them again.
...
"You have to tell him," Emma badgered him as soon as Henry walked in the door, arriving home from school. They stood together in the kitchen, cleaning after her parents' visit, but Gold heard Henry sling his backpack across the floor near the front door. He and Emma talked all afternoon about what to say to Henry; both agreed he should know the truth. Still, the thought of breaking the news made him nervous. "Just don't go all Darth Vader and blurt Henry, I am your father out of nowhere."
Gold listened closely as Henry called out for them. Any minute he would walk into the kitchen.
"Remind me why it must be me," Gold whispered. Emma took his hand, squeezing it for a short moment. It was to console him or perhaps even covince him further to go along with it.
"I would tell him, but...I lied to him about his father. I'll talk to him about that after. He'll have a hard enough time getting over that. I don't want him to put distance between you two. As his father, you should tell him."
"Oh, there you are," Henry said from the doorway. Gold's shoulders tightened. It was time. "Before you ask, school was the same as usual. I don't think anyone realizes they can do something new in class now."
That meant he made another birdhouse in class. According to Mary Margaret, her children in school had enough birdhouses altogether to make a bonfire in the center of town. Emma turned away from Gold to greet Henry with a warm smile.
"Hey, kid. Glad you're home. I was thinking...what if we went out for dinner tonight at Granny's?" Technically, they went out to Granny's most nights of the week, but Gold understood her reason for selecting this night. It was meant to be a family outing, a way of mending any sore spots Henry might have after learning the truth. Just Henry, his mother, and his father.
"Sure," Henry said with a shrug. He snuck a glance at Gold and grinned excitedly. Henry enjoyed having dinner with them at Granny's because, unlike Regina, Gold and Emma let him order whatever he wanted including dessert. He was a child, after all, and they were determined that he had no regrets.
"Great. I'll get ready. Start on your homework," Emma told her son, much to his disliking. She was making an honest effort to be his mother. She began to leave the kitchen, but she stopped suddenly, as if something else occurred to her. "I think your stepfather might have something to say."
At last she carried on down the hall and left them alone. Henry stared up at Gold curiously, but he was frozen in place. Where should he even start?
Henry must have sensed that he needed some time to sort out his thoughts. He started his afternoon routine. Walking to the fridge, he helped himself to a jug of chocolate milk. When he grabbed a glass from the cupboard, his eyes fell to the sink and he paused.
"Did you guys have visitors? There are four teacups in the sink," Henry pointed out. The boy was more observant than anyone gave him credit for. Henry truly was his child. Even the mischievous behavior made perfect sense now.
"Yes. Your grandparents visited this afternoon. They wanted to get to know their daughter," Gold explained. He had never been so relieved than the moment when Snow and Charming walked out the door.
"Aww, I wish I had been there." Emma chose not to make a big deal out of it because she knew the kid would volunteer to skip school. Henry brought the jug of chocolate milk over to the table and set down his glass. Gold joined him, helping himself to a glass as well. Maybe the chocolate would calm the knots in his stomach.
"You didn't miss anything important," Gold assured him. He sipped the chocolate milk and licked the brown mustache off his lip. He had to admit that he felt a little better. Now it was time to get down to business. "Except for one crucial detail. Henry...you understand that I love your mother very much, don't you? I care as much for you as I do for her."
Henry's eyes widened slightly. It wasn't just the serious nature of his speech. Gold had never properly told Henry that he loved him, though the boy knew he cared for Emma. It was past time that he heard it.
"I understand," he said. Then, warily, he added: "This isn't one of those talks where you tell me how much you love my mom and whether I approve of your relationship, right? I don't mind that you two are together. Just don't give me any details." Gold chuckled.
"No, Henry. This is entirely about my relationship with you." Henry cocked his head, waiting. Gold wondered how best to proceed. "You see, Henry...it's rather delicate...I'm not sure how to say it, despite my affinity for wordplay, so here goes: Henry, I am your father."
He was sure he would get a lecture from Emma about "going Darth Vader," but it felt so good to get it off his chest. Henry barely blinked. Did he not find this surprising?
"I know," the boy said, as if it had been obvious from the start. "You married my mom. That makes you my stepfather. Are you asking me to call you Dad?"
A troubled frown crossed Gold's lips. This wasn't how he expected it to go. Then again, he was rarely an expert when it came to such emotional situations.
"No," he answered. "I mean, yes, you can call me whatever you wish, but...the reason I wanted to talk to you is to explain to you that I am your father. Your real father. As in the man that created you with Emma."
Henry made a grossed-out face. Too much information. After his face relaxed and the weight of Gold's words were absorbed, he stared off into the distance, thinking hard about it. Gold began to worry again. What if Henry was upset that Emma lied to him? What if he wasn't that fond of Gold and somehow resented the fact that he was Henry's father?
Out of nowhere, Henry turned his head back and grinned impishly.
"I knew it," he exclaimed. Gold was startled, nearly falling out of his chair. Henry had suspected the truth? Henry was...happy? His glass of chocolate milk almost tipped over as he edged closer to Henry. His son.
"How?" Henry was clever, of course. Had Gold done something to plant the idea in the boy's head, even before he remembered the truth? He had been nothing but kind and generous to Henry, as a father might act toward his child.
Henry rolled his eyes. Gold got the feeling that someone had insulted his intelligence.
"In case you haven't noticed, Emma's not a very good liar," he stated. Gold couldn't help but crack a smile. That was true-for someone with a so-called "superpower," she was a poor liar. "She didn't tell me the truth when I asked about my dad. It kind of hurt at first, but I think I understand why she did it. She told me a good story about my dad being a hero. Either my dad wasn't a hero...or she didn't remember and didn't want to tell me. Plus, she said my dad was a firefighter that enjoyed pumpkin pie. That was after the election. Remember, when I made posters of Emma as a firefighter because she saved Regina? That same week, Granny's had a special on homemade pumpkin pie. Pie plus firefighter poster equals my dad."
Gold was impressed. The boy's skills of deduction were top-notch. Another trait he inherited from his father.
"How do I fit into this?" He asked gently. "Out of all the people in Storybrooke, you assumed I was your father?" What child in this town would ever like the idea of having him for their father? Most children heard strange stories from their parents and ran away. Only Henry had ever been brave enough to face up to him.
"Easy. I mostly looked for similarities. We have the same eyes. We're both stealthy and tricky. Also, you and I scrunch our noses the same way when we're upset." Just to prove it, Henry forced his nose to scrunch up. Gold looked at it and laughed. Oh, that was definitely his nose.
"So does this mean you're comfortable with this truth? I only remembered it today. Your mother and I didn't want to keep it from you." Henry tapped his chin.
"Yeah, I'm okay with it," he said. Something told Gold that Emma was still going to talk to Henry about the way she lied. She would be relieved to know that Henry had once again figured out the truth before they did. "Does this mean I should call you Dad from now on? Or...Papa?"
Gold touched Henry's shoulder, a small comfort.
"You can call me whatever you'd like, as soon as you're ready. Not a moment before." Henry nodded thoughtfully.
"Okay...Dad." Gold's heart skipped inside his chest. It brought on a mixture of happiness and sadness. It had been so terribly long since a child looked at him that way-happily, lovingly. Not since Bae. He realized he had missed it.
For the next half hour, Gold recounted his memory of visiting Manhattan, choosing not to leave a single detail out about the sights. It thrilled Henry and he made a promise to take him there one day. He helped Henry with his homework. Ironically, he was yet again tasked with drawing a family tree. This time around, Henry filled in the blanks with Snow White, Prince Charming, and, ultimately, Rumpelstiltskin next to Emma's name.
At last, footsteps bounded down the stairs and they both turned their heads. Emma appeared, dressed in a fresh tan leather jacket and her hair curled to perfection, spiraling loosely over her shoulders. Another powerful memory eclipsed Gold's eyelids, of stroking his fingers through a mane of blonde hair. He had done that with Emma's hair often enough, but he got the feeling his cursed persona had done the same with Lily.
"Ready to go? Or do you two need another minute?" She glanced at Henry, searching for any signs of anger or betrayal. When she found none, she looked at Gold and raised an eyebrow. He answered the unspoken question on her face with a shallow nod. Yes, he told him the truth. "Henry, is there anything you want to talk about?"
Henry finished his glass of milk in a single gulp. He wiped the milk moustache away and exchanged a secret smile with his father.
"He told me the truth, that he's my real dad. I just want you to know that I totally knew it first," he announced. Like any child, he felt special for being the first to figure something out. Emma's face went blank with awe. When Henry rushed past them to fetch his backpack, she pulled Gold aside.
"He seemed to take it well," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "How did you break the news to him?" Gold hesitated.
"It wasn't too difficult. I...simply told him...Henry, I am your father. Like you said, he seemed to take it well. Better than I expected." Emma narrowed her eyes and swatted his chest hard. "What was that for?"
"You never listen to me! I told you not to go Darth Vader!"
...
Writing the flashbacks for this one-shot made me start to wonder how Rumpel managed to last six weeks in the real world without his wealth in the midseason finale. Something tells me he's taking it rough.