A/N: Ha! I have managed to update this chapter before this Sunday's episode! I feel quite pleased with that, especially since this chapter took a lot of editing and changing. But I hope everyone likes it, anyway. Once again, I know (and truly hope) you lovely readers do not really mind the long chapters, either.
This chapter was pretty fun to write, though. You'll see why.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Forget what the drunks tell you. Hypnosis is ten times worse than any hangover.
Emma trudged into Mary Margaret's apartment with the odd sensation that her brain had just been scrambled with tongs like a tossed salad. A headache pounded inside her head and all she wanted to do was do a face-plant into bed.
Except for the fact that it was impossible to reach the bedroom.
Baby stuff crowded the main room—baby clothes, a pink bassinet, even a crib in the corner. It was missing a baby mobile, but everything else was in check. Emma glanced back at the door. She had been distracted on the walk home, but she had been pretty sure this was Mary Margaret's apartment.
"Oh, hi, Emma," Mary Margaret cheerfully greeted as she emerged from her room with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. Emma gaped at the pile and then gestured to the Babies R' Us that used to be Mary Margaret's apartment.
"Mary, since when is your apartment designed like a nursery?"
Mary Margaret blushed furiously as she deposited the baby clothing on the table. Emma closed the apartment door only to find a dollhouse behind it. It even had a little baby and a dog. Hm. I never had a dollhouse when I was jumping between foster homes.
"You told me you thought your baby might be a girl. I was so happy for you. And then I went into town and…I guess I just got a little carried away," she said. Emma tossed her a skeptical look that read no, really? "Well, there were so many adorable clothes! Like this little bib that has My Mom is the World's Best Sheriff stitched on it. That was custom-made. Oh, and I got one for Gold. Look, see? It says I'm So Cute, I Must Be Scottish! "
Emma wrestled through the swarm of baby toys, trying relentlessly to reach the bedroom. She wondered how much caffeine Mary Margaret had that morning. She sounded a tad bit….enthusiastic.
"And then, I needed a new pair of flats. I just happened to wander into the baby aisle and have you seen how tiny those shoes are?" Mary Margaret held up a pair of sneakers that were the size of her palm.
Emma gave up and collapsed into a chair. Sometimes, talking to Mary Margaret was downright exhausting. How could someone be that happy? Was she like that with Gold? No wonder Mary Margaret stopped coming by the station for lunch.
"Do you have any money left over for…I don't know…rent?" The tiny shoes were dropped onto the table. Mary Margaret's face crumbled. I'll take that as a no. I wonder if Gold would really evict his apparent mother-in-law.
"Do you think he would be forgiving if I offer him this baby stuff as an early baby shower gift?" Emma gave her a dubious look. Doubtful. He'll probably threaten to evict and take the stuff anyway. Her grimness only increased the worry on her roommate's face. "Well…I'll just bring it all back. But I'm still giving you the bibs."
"While you were going on a shopping spree, I was in therapy," Emma announced miserably. Mary Margaret glanced up from stuffing a birthday bag full of baby clothes, her brow furrowing.
"Are you still seeing Archie for your hatred of thunderstorms? I thought you said you quit when Leroy dumped water all over you." Emma sighed and rose to her feet. What she needed was a hot shower to work out the kinks in her muscles. God, her feet were swollen and there was no one to rub them for her.
"I did. This time he put me under hypnosis and I learned that my dear devoted husband did not take advantage of me on our wedding night." The crinkling of the bag stopped as Mary Margaret paused in what she was doing. She was staring at Emma as if she'd just revealed she was an alien from Mars.
"That's…good, isn't it? It proves he respects you. That must have been quite a memorable wedding night," she said humbly. "What did you two do? Pull an all-nighter and play intoxicated Scrabble?"
Emma tried playing Scrabble with Gold once. Every time she claimed he made up a word, he made her look it up in the dictionary. Know-it-all.
"Yeah, memorable. After he drugged me, apparently I came on to him and then fell asleep in his bed," she replied, leaning against the wall for support. Mary Margaret gawked at her, her green eyes nearly bouncing out of her head. "We argued, I left. The end."
"He drugged you?" She was apparently still hung up on that part. Not that Emma could really blame her. She shrugged loosely.
"It was to put the idea of marriage into my head. I told him I needed a week to think. Sorry I didn't come straight here—I wasn't ready to explain it yet. I tried sleeping in a room at Granny's, but August kept knocking on the walls, trying to get my attention. I think the threat of me ordering room service from Ruby scared him off, though. He got real quiet."
Mary Margaret nodded as she allowed everything to sink in. She tilted her head, the direction of her eyes traveling to the not-so-sturdy looking crib in the corner. Emma wondered if Mary Margaret actually got on her hands and knees and fixed it together herself or if she had help.
"Someone will have to dismantle that crib," she pointed out. She might as well have dug her elbow into Emma's side and winked. Hint, hint, Emma. That means you. Well, too bad. Pregnant women don't do so well with stuff they can break.
"It's your crib," Emma retorted. "And I mean that in both meanings of the term." Leaving Mary Margaret to frown and ponder over the dilemma of the crib, Emma wandered off to take that shower. She got side-tracked halfway there and landed on her bed instead.
…
Ugh….I don't want to get up yet…Does it have to be seven o'clock already?
Emma reluctantly urged her body awake. Legs tangled in the sheets, she wiggled across the bed as she usually did to escape Gold's cuddling, except he wasn't cuddling this morning. That was odd. He was the Storybrooke Snuggler, after all.
Spreading her arm out, she groped around for him, but her hand fell flat on the mattress. She opened her eyes wearily, not to the smooth high ceiling of their bedroom, but the cracked spider-web ridden one of Mary Margaret's apartment. Oh, yeah. For a blissful ten seconds, she had forgotten.
Groaning, she gradually left the delicious warmth of her bed, trading it for the cold chill of Maine weather. It settled over her skin, giving her goose-bumps up and down her arms. Stretching on her tip-toes, she stumbled across the slick hardwood floor, blindly seeking a soothing cup of coffee.
Hopefully everyone in Storybrooke refrains from committing crimes today. I don't feel like running around town with the chance of bumping into…him, she inwardly moaned. She stepped out of her room…and stubbed her toe on something hard, nearly toppling over and falling on her face. Ow! That was a rude wake-up call. I thought Mary Margaret returned all the baby stuff. What the hell?
Emma's eyes shot open through the pain burning her big toe. And her jaw dropped open in sheer disbelief. Her mind went on the fritz as she tried to process what she was seeing with her own two sore, exhausted eyes. Never mind the baby stuff. What…the…hell?
"Uh…um…Mary? Mary!" Emma called out through the apartment, her bare feet rooted in place on the threshold of her bedroom. Somehow, the wheels in her mind slowly began to grind once more and she tentatively inched into the main room of their apartment. Or, at least, what was left of it. "Mary Margaret!"
"Mm…what?" Mary Margaret, black hair sticking up at odd angles, trudged into the room still half-asleep. She had yet to really open her eyes and check out the makeover of her kitchen. And Emma thought the crib was bad. "Emma? What's going on? Did someone break in…? Whoa," she gasped, green eyes shooting wide as she took her first good look around.
Mary Margaret's face paled. She pressed a hand to her heart in shock. Emma wondered if Mary Margaret was at risk for a heart attack at this stage of her life.
"Depends on what you mean by break-in," she muttered from the middle of the room, tripping over at every turn. "I for one have never heard of a robber who chose to leave something instead of stealing it."
The entire apartment—every square inch it seemed—was filled with flowers. Roses, to be exact. A red field of roses, dozens upon dozens and bunched together in glass vases. Their kitchen was a greenhouse. There were flowers covering every surface—flowers on the table, flowers on the floor, flowers crowding the hall. The petals tickled Emma's bare feet and ankles.
"Where did they all come from?" Mary Margaret breathed in wonder, the initial shock of the roses slowly wearing off. Emma was still gaping around, the heady fragrance clogging her nostrils. It smells like a funeral parlor in here. Not exactly what a Sheriff wants to wake up to.
"Better question: who are they for?" There wasn't a card in sight. No letter, no banner, no supposed robber waiting to pop up and yell 'Surprise!' They exchanged wary looks. Between the two of them, Mary Margaret was more likely to receive flowers. Emma guessed there were nearly one hundred here. "David sure is a charmer."
Mary Margaret bent to ruffle through the petals in search of a note of any kind. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Rubbing her swelling belly, Emma merely yawned and watched her go at it like a child scrambling for candy after the piñata's been smashed. She hopped over the vases and headed for the bathroom.
A second later, she reappeared, rubbing a hand over her face in exasperation.
"Mary? There are flowers in the shower." Mary Margaret showed no sign of listening. Victoriously, her hand shot up from the jungle of roses, clutching a small white card. She stood, turning it over in her fingers.
"Found it! Okay, let's see here…" Mary Margaret's eyes roamed over the card curiously. With each passing second, a pink blush rose to her cheeks. "Oh, wow."
Emma stared skeptically at the overwhelming mass of roses. How were they even going to get rid of them all? Sell them? She nudged some vases, trying hopelessly to make room. I hope David and Kathryn didn't go bankrupt over this. That might be a huge tip-off that he's having an affair.
"What? Did David write you a whole love letter?" Mary shook her head slowly, still eyeing the card in her hand. She seemed to be dazed and Emma had to wonder why.
For a guy who has a wife, gave her the wrong card on Valentine's Day, and causes a world disaster by strolling down the street, he sure is going above and beyond in impressing her. Next he'll be screaming her name from the rooftops. Hopeless romantics.
"Emma? These flowers aren't from David," she managed to explain, gazing around at the bunches of flowers as if now seeing them for the very first time. Emma cleared off a chair and sank into it. She stocked the extra flowers in the sink. It was the only place that was open.
"You mean you have more than one suitor? Have you been crushing on more than one charming guy who you evidently saved and who also happens to be married? I didn't think that list was very long in Storybrooke." Emma brushed a fallen petal off her knee. Mary Margaret was a statue. Please say something! What exactly does that card say? Accept these roses or die in seven days? If water starts leaking out of our television, I'm out of here.
"These flowers…are from Mr. Gold," she quietly revealed, lips trembling slightly. Emma's face contorted with confusion, followed swiftly by anger. Her next guess would have been Archie. But Gold?
"What, did he trip and you just happened to be there to catch him? So I leave him to sort out my thoughts for a week. Hell, it hasn't even been a week and his response is to send two thousand roses to my roommate? If he's trying to make me jealous, it's not working very well in his favor!"
At least the quantity of roses made sense. Gold was the richest man in Storybrooke. Indulging on countless roses to make up to his wife wouldn't be an issue. Show-off.
"No, it's not that. He sent these roses…for you," Mary Margaret nodded encouragingly as Emma's brain struggled to process this. Gold never sent her flowers before. It just wasn't in his nature, especially since he obviously did not like Moe French. She leaned forward to swipe the card from Mary Margaret and read it.
My dearest Emma,
I hope you and our little bundle of joy are well. Please accept these roses as a token of my remorse for the suffering I apparently caused you as of late. By accept, I do not mean toss them in a dumpster. I would have personally delivered them in that red suit you like, except Goldie…ate it.
You are never far from my mind. Is it too much to ask that you say the same of me? You have no idea how challenging it is for a man with a lame leg to cuddle with a dog that is more than half the size of you. It doesn't feel right, darling. If you were considerate, you'd shorten that week of thinking.
Truly yours,
Gold
Emma stared at the card. Any harder and her eyes just might have caused the card to burst into flames. Her stomach coiled and flopped with every finely scripted word. Apparently? Remorse for the suffering he apparently caused her? Did he even realize how detrimental his actions of drugging her really were?
Just for that, he would be the farthest thing from her mind. Except it was hard to ignore these roses, whose presence mocked her.
"Well, you know what I think of Gold and his roses?" Emma tore the card into pieces. Then, she lifted one of the vases of flowers and flipped open the trash bin, buried under even more roses. Mary Margaret frowned as she realized the intention.
"Oh, Emma," she softly chided, but it was too late.
Emma dropped the vase into the trash where it shattered into a mess of glass and petals. She picked up another and repeated the process until the trash bin was bursting. And yet Emma had barely made a dent in clearing out the roses.
"I happen to think this is really…"
Emma whirled to shoot Mary Margaret a warning look. Down went another vase of flowers on the pile and then there was no more room at all. Mary Margaret shrugged, unable to resist sniffing a couple of the sweet roses.
"I was going to say charming," she finished, making Emma blanch. "Maybe even…romantic?" Emma tossed her hands in the air in bafflement.
"Charming? Romantic? If this were David, it'd be charming and romantic. This is Gold. It's strictly manipulative," she grumbled. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a dumpster? Or maybe I'll just drop them out the window and shout 'heads up!'"
Mary Margaret couldn't help but giggle a little at Emma's bothered nature. It just proved how much she was trying to hide her care. Emma sighed as she wracked her brain for a place to stuff the flowers now. The shower was full. So was the stove.
"You think French would give me a refund if I sent all these roses back?" Mary Margaret shrugged as she opened the cabinets to retrieve some pancake mix. Now all she'd have to do is remove the roses from the stove and she could make breakfast.
"And what exactly would you do with the money? I have a feeling you wouldn't drop it in Mr. Gold's mailbox," Mary Margaret mused, arching an eyebrow in interest at Emma while she dumped the vases in the sink. They would have to decide how best to do the dishes afterwards.
"Nope," Emma agreed, planting her hands on her hips. "I might buy a monster truck and hire Leroy to 'accidentally' run it through Gold's pawnshop, though. Seems fair enough."
Mary Margaret frowned with disappointment. Emma really was taking this argument with Gold hard. The sound of the front door opened. Oh, dear. Was Emma going to start filling the rest of the apartment building, too?
"Hey, Mary. A little tip." She turned from placing a frying pan on the stove and ripping open the box of pancake mix. Hanging from the doorknob was the spare key Mary Margaret kept in the fake plant outside their apartment. It swung back and forth on a piece of rope, with Emma staring grimly at it. "That plant isn't fooling anyone."
…..
Oh, you've got to be kidding me…
Emma took one look at the interior of the station and immediately wanted to turn on her heel, dash back to Mary Margaret's place, and dive under the covers of her bed. Maybe stop at Mr. Clark's general store and invest in his state-of-the-art Weed-whacker. It was always conveniently right next to the highly-acclaimed Chainsaw and much useful Hammer.
It was Mary Margaret's apartment all over again. There were roses everywhere. How many did Gold order? The entire flower shop? Moe must be rolling in dough this morning. Either that or he finally got his truck back.
How exactly did Gold expect her to get anything done as Sheriff if her desk was buried under a field of flowers? What if Regina walked in here, smirking as usual?
"I think I've had enough roses for a lifetime or two," she muttered as she crept over the countless vases. Thank God no one was being held in jail today. Otherwise, there was a good chance they'd be drowning in petals. Or frolicking.
Practically trudging to the spot where her desk should be, Emma removed the vases of flowers only to find a square velvet box waiting. She sighed as she picked it up and flipped open the lid. It was a stunning pair of diamond earrings, absolutely real and very expensive. They were probably worth more than her car. And they were shiny. She could blind someone with those.
So, Gold's plan to get me back is to smother me with roses and buy me priceless earrings that are so heavy they'd probably make my ears fall off? I'm surprised he's not hiding behind the door waiting to see my reaction and catch it on video.
Emma's boot nudged something near the edge of her desk. It ruffled and she glanced down at it—a generous dessert basket, wrapped in pink cellophane. There were treats of all kinds. Cookies, fudge, brownies, chocolate-dipped strawberries…There was even a package of Oreos in the middle.
"Okay. Now he's just trying to butter me up."
….
Never could Archie recall a time where Mr. Gold sat on his couch. That fact changed at noon on a rather bland day, signaled by a soft rapping on his door.
Fixing his glasses on his nose, Archie frowned thoughtfully, glancing up from one of his files. There was no one scheduled for a session at the moment, which meant it was probably an unexpected person seeking his advice. He was always happy to guide people toward the right path. People even stopped to ask him for directions.
Depositing the file inside a metal cabinet, Archie checked himself over quickly. Not that he was hoping it was someone extra worthwhile…like Emma or Ruby or something. Smoothing a hand through his curly hair, Archie pulled open the door…to find Mr. Gold, cane in hand, dressed as impeccable as ever. Obviously not Emma, then. Unless she's wearing a really good disguise.
Archie's insides plummeted like a roller-coaster taking the high dive. There was ever only one reason for Mr. Gold to show up on his doorstep. Money. Archie's mouth grew dry, his jaw slack, nerves jumping like fish out of water.
"Oh…uh, M-mr. Gold," Archie stuttered, face flushed. "I…I thought the r-rent wasn't due for a couple more weeks." He mentally checked—no, it wasn't. Right? It's not due, right? Oh, holy crickets…I don't have the money. And if I don't have his money…please don't beat me senseless like Moe French!
"Indeed, it's not," Mr. Gold casually agreed. Archie let out a low whistle of relief. But, then why was he standing at his doorstep? Was he asking for another guys' night out? "Believe it or not, I seek your advice." Advice? Mr. Gold was here asking for advice?
Archie couldn't help but to be intrigued by this sudden turn of events. To delve into the mind of Storybrooke's most intimidating citizen—besides Regina Mills, of course—was dangerous and tempting at the same time. He suddenly recalled Emma mentioning that Gold had drugged her. Dangerous, indeed.
"Uh…okay. Sure. Right this way," Archie kindly gestured to the black couch in the middle of the room. The brusque tapping of the pawnbroker's cane matched the drumming of Archie's pulse as it pounded in his ears.
"Is it necessarily required that I lie down?" Mr. Gold eyed the couch with intense speculation as Archie settled into his favorite chair. He leaned forward eagerly, crossed a leg, and then uncrossed it again.
He would have offered Gold a peppermint, except the man had already taken one. Just like Emma and Henry. Like mother, like son, like…step-father and…husband…Instead of eating it, though, he stuffed it in his pocket for later.
"N-no, no, of course not. I mean, you can if you want to…but you don't have to. Only if you want to. No," Archie rambled and bit his tongue. Literally. Decidedly, almost gracefully despite his bad leg, Mr. Gold took a seat on the couch and seemingly waited for Archie to begin.
Archie grinned nervously and debated whether to immediately take notes. He decided he'd better not—some patients found it unsettling or suspicious when a doctor was jotting down the words that came out of their mouths. Mr. Gold would need to feel comfortable enough to open up.
"Alright, so…"
"I assume this discussion will remain entirely confidential," Mr. Gold abruptly intercepted.
Archie noted the distinct desperation in the pawnbroker's eyes and darkness beyond that. The man obviously expected Archie to betray him, to spread the news around the moment he left this office. It was sad, really; Mr. Gold clearly had trust issues. The diagnosis was free.
"Yes, of course. Nothing you say will ever leave this room. It's strictly between you and me," he assured Mr. Gold with that practiced, calm tone that suggested: you can trust me. It was up to the patient to listen to it, to believe it.
"I'll hold you to it, doctor," the man replied coolly and Archie nearly paled with fright. That cane was gripped between two firm hands and Archie tried his best to avoid staring at it. Nervously, he readjusted his thick glasses and nodded frantically. Find a happy place, find a happy place.
"Okay, right. What…what would you like to talk about?" Always the open-ended question. It was not his way to instruct patients to focus on a certain subject—he merely advised them to talk. Talk about their lifestyle, their jobs, talk about the weather if that made them feel better.
It was quiet for a long minute. The only sound was the ticking of the clock that sat on a table near the window. Tick, tick, tick…
Archie had the urge to check the time, but fought against it. He didn't want to appear impatient for the man to speak. Finally, Mr. Gold opened his mouth to speak, face lined with grim seriousness.
"If you were in a relationship with Emma—" Excellent way to start the question. Archie blushed. "How would you manage to please her?"
Archie nearly tumbled from his seat. That question was most unexpected. Is this what's bothering you? You're having trouble pleasing Emma? Drugging a woman doesn't usually please her. And trust issues on top of that…
"Y-you want to please Emma? Well, that's—"
"That was not what I said. I'm interested to know how you would please her," he corrected, adamantly swerving from the personal matter here. Archie sighed. He'd have to tread carefully with Mr. Gold. Words meant everything to him.
"Well, I…" He thought long and hard about it. How many times had he fantasized about asking Emma out on a date? "I would…send her dozens of roses. Beautiful, fresh ones as red as her lips. And I would tell her how lovely her blonde hair is when it falls in waves around her shoulders…and I might take her out dancing until she's dizzy. After that, I'd take her out to the Toll Bridge where we could look at the full moon and listen to the melody of the crickets chirping in the night. And I'd tell her that there wouldn't be anyone else I'd want to share that moment with…because it would be absolutely perfect."
For a long time Mr. Gold just stared at Archie with a blank expression. Apparently, he had succeeded in rendering the pawnbroker speechless. The exact opposite of what he wanted to happen.
"Okay…how might I manage to please Emma?" Archie shrugged hesitantly.
"You…didn't agree…with my scenario?" Archie bit down on his lip, the images of a smiling Emma by the water's edge under the Toll Bridge floating away. The couch moaned under Gold's weight as he shifted forward.
"Your vision was very sweet," he admitted. "So sickly sweet that it is a miracle I have not obtained several cavities simply by listening to it. I fear you'd financially ruin my wife due to the immense dentist bills that would pile up in her mail slot." Archie's polite smile dimmed with every word until only a frown of despair lingered on his face. That…that hurt. Words can hurt, you know. I'll remember that the next time you want to sing karaoke with me!
"Oh, well…every person expresses their feelings in different ways," Archie brought the conversation back to somewhat safer ground. "You could…start with the roses. And then work your way from there." Money is not an object; everyone in Storybrooke knows that.
Mr. Gold nodded thoughtfully, but there was no spark in his brown eyes. He seemed really depressed by this whole down-point with Emma. If Archie didn't know any better, Gold was truly in love with his wife. It just wasn't easy to please her. At least Gold was willing to try; that was all that counted.
"I've already sent her plenty of flowers. Knowing Emma, they have been wonderfully displayed in the trash bin," he said, tapping his cane against the ground. Archie mulled over the tension in the pawnbroker. Judging by the circles under his eyes, he hadn't slept peacefully last night.
"Starting off with flowers is nice…but just remember that money cannot buy her love," Archie spouted with that old Beatles' tune playing in his head. I don't care too much for money, 'cause money can't buy me love. Oh, now he was going to have it stuck in his head all day! There went his foot, tapping away.
"So what do you suppose I do, then? Ask her to go dancing?" Archie flinched at the harshness of the word. It was meant to mock him.
Still, this was good—Mr. Gold was talking to him. That he could work with, given the time. Maybe try some ink-blots or have him recount his dreams or draw a picture. It usually worked for Henry. Except his drawings were rather disturbing. They were practically propaganda, claiming 'Down with the Evil Queen!' 'Savior Emma to the Rescue!'
"I don't think you'd be much of a dancer with such a bad leg," Archie blurted. Mr. Gold sent him a piercing look and the cane stopped tapping. Archie gazed at the hardwood floor. "I mean, there are other things you could try. Have you…tried connecting with her?"
"Connecting?" Mr. Gold spat the word as if it were distasteful. One of these days, Archie would have to convince Mr. Gold to an extended session, if only to unravel the reason for such problems with communication and trust.
"Yeah, you know…communicating with her. Talking to her," Archie responded, growing reasonably animated as he leaned forward in his chair. Mr. Gold sighed impatiently. His eyes wandered the room, as if he were being restrained on that couch against his will. As if he'd rather be anywhere but there.
"I tried talking to her. She doesn't listen to a word I say. I even texted her goodnight, but she sent nothing back. Not even one of those strange little smiley faces with the tongue poking out." Archie snorted as he attempted to stifle his laughter and earned a suspicious glance from Gold. He turned it into a throaty cough, but somehow he didn't think Gold bought it.
"Texting…probably isn't what she had in mind. Did you try sitting down with her at the kitchen table and discussing your issues like adults?" Gold frowned.
"No," he said bluntly. Archie nodded slightly. "I never got across Mary Margaret's doorstep before she threw a hairdryer at my head and shouted like a banshee. She said she needed space. Kept telling me to back it up."
Archie guessed that was probably late last night. There was a faraway glaze to Gold's eyes as he seemed to reminisce about it. He could imagine Gold lying in bed all night, wondering what to do before deciding to ask for advice.
"It's obvious that you feel you made a mistake in hurting Emma, even if it's difficult for you to express it to her. You seem to care a lot for her if you're willing to please her. You should always let your conscience be your guide," Archie advised. It was his little slogan. Too bad he didn't have enough money for business cards.
Mr. Gold was silent for a long, drawn out minute and then he stood with the intent of leaving.
"I should thank you for your time, doctor," the pawnbroker muttered as he limped toward the door. Archie politely stood and held out his hand, but the man ignored it. He awkwardly let it drop back to his side.
"No problem. I'm always happy to help." Mr. Gold half-turned, causing Archie's alarms to ring in his head. Did he say something wrong to upset him? Tread carefully. For some reason, the smirk forming on Gold's lips did little to quell his worries. If anything, the alarms were louder.
"In that case, I believe I may have an interesting proposition for you. What say you, Mr. Nolan, and I discuss it over lunch? Perhaps I'll be generous and invite Leroy as well." Okay, now his alarms really were ringing loud and clear. David? Leroy? Proposition? The wheels were spinning wild and fast behind Gold's brown eyes.
Archie glanced around at the clock. He supposed he had time for some lunch. And if it was anything serious, he could always cancel Henry's therapy appointment. Only Regina would be disappointed and probably break another mirror. The Mayor was up to 45 years bad luck.
"Are you paying?" Gold halted in his tracks and leveled a hard stare at Archie. He laughed dryly. "Of course not. Ridiculous question. I hope David didn't stop at Mr. Clark's for Apollo bars again."
…..
Emma sat back in her favorite chair, stretching her arms leisurely above her head and planting her boots comfortably atop her desk. She was feeling quite relieved. The roses had all been cleared out, there was little paperwork to be done, Regina was busy taking Henry out for a mother-son day, and the cells were blissfully empty.
Now all she had to do was enjoy this cup of freshly brewed coffee, wait for someone to get robbed, and rescue Henry from Regina's loathsome, mind-numbing plans for mother-son day. But first she would enjoy this coffee. As long as the kid doesn't voluntarily run into traffic or Gold doesn't get robbed…again…I should be good for a few minutes.
Just as she was raising the cup to her lips, the phone rang. Wow, that was fast, she thought with arched eyebrows. And it's off to work I go. Setting the coffee down on her desk, she lowered her boots and begrudgingly picked up the phone. She really needed to elect a Deputy—when she worked for Graham, all she did was answer the phones and do the night shift.
"Sheriff Swan," she answered flatly. It was a habit to use her former surname, since most people weren't comfortable being reminded that their one form of security was married to Mr. Gold. She knew she should be more enthusiastic when it came to the citizens of Storybrooke. With her luck, Regina would use her lack of enthusiasm as an excuse to fire her.
On the other end of the line, there was an odd humming and she thought for sure the line was dead, until—
I just called to say I love you…I just called to say how much I care…
Emma held the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Shaking her head, she slammed it down onto the cradle. Stupid prank callers. Didn't the people in this town have anything better to do? Like, say, live a strangely hazy existence?
As she reached for her coffee, the phone rang again. She unintentionally slammed the cup of coffee down on her desk, the fluid spilling over the rim of the cup and staining her desk. Someone had better have committed a serious crime.
"Sheriff Swan?" She cringed, almost afraid to alert the person on the other end of the line to her identity. The humming began again, except this time it was a different song. We just argued, and this is crazy, but here's my number so call me maybe….
Emma set the phone down, effectively hanging up.
Sinking back into her chair, Emma managed to pick up her cup of coffee without interruption, even though there were less waves of steam emanating from it. Still, she was grateful for the warmth that seeped into her fingers. Now, where was I? She lifted the cup to her lips. This time, a bit of coffee made it into her mouth, scalding her tongue.
And then the phone rang again.
Emma sputtered, the majority of the coffee dribbling down her chin and onto her blouse. Ugh, and it was a white blouse, too! Scowling, she dabbed the stain poorly with a napkin and picked the phone up at the same time. Whoever this prank caller was, they were in for a rude awakening.
"What do you want? Look, I happen to be the Sheriff and I'm pretty sure I can figure out where you live. Unless you want me to come knocking on your door tonight with my badge in one hand and handcuffs in the other, I suggest you quit it with the sappy love songs."
Silence on the other end. Maybe they were smart and hung up. If they were any smarter than that, they wouldn't call back. No, there was shallow breathing. She could hear it now on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Uh…Emma?" She jerked up, knocking her coffee over and spilling it everywhere. This was just not a good week for her by any means. First, she got into an argument with Gold due to the fact that he drugged her, then she ruined her only nice white blouse, and now she just bit Ruby's head off.
She sunk her blond head into her hand. The rumor mill churns on.
"I was just calling to see if you still wanted that grilled cheese for lunch? It's past noon," Ruby told her. There was a tremor of giggles underneath the usual chipper in the waitresses' voice. Oh, that was right. She'd forgotten that she'd told Ruby about stopping in for lunch. "You can leave the badge and cuffs at home," Ruby teased, bursting out into laughter.
In the background, Emma could hear Granny warning her to stop flirting over the phone. Ruby must have covered the phone with her palm for her words were somewhat muffled as she yelled back that it was the Sheriff, for her information.
"Yeah, thanks. I'll be down to pick it up," Emma murmured, the apples of her cheeks flushing an unattractive shade of red. She hung up before Ruby could mention anything about the sappy love songs. It was bad enough Ruby probably assumed that it was role-play for Gold, but he wasn't the type for sappy love songs, anyway.
My to-do list: Clean up the coffee, get Henry away from Regina, break the curse, have a baby. Hire a secretary. Not in that order.
….
Leroy hung up the telephone and exchanged wary glances with Archie and David. The three of them huddled next to a payphone and just wasted a dollar of pocket change.
"So? Do you think she got the message?" David grinned foolishly and gazed at Leroy as if he held the answers to all the mysteries of life. If he did, would he be in this provincial town surrounded by these people? No, he'd be living it up in Las Vegas. Archie's expression mirrored David's, just as eager. It almost reminded Leroy of caroling on Christmas and he shuddered.
If he wasn't getting paid for this, there was no way he'd be here.
"Next time," he growled, poking Archie in his sweater-vest-clad chest. "I'm picking the song!"
…..
Emma hurried out of the station, her protruding belly grumbling for that grilled cheese. Granny's made a really good one, second only to their hamburgers. Except it was proving tough to stomach hamburgers during this pregnancy.
There was her yellow Bug…with three people attached to the bumper. David, Archie, and Leroy gathered around her Bug, hands shoved into their pockets. Leroy was whistling Someday My Prince Will Come. By the looks of it, they were waiting to speak with her. Either that or they were admiring her little sunshine.
"Are you all here to report a crime?" Let me guess. It was Regina in the diner with the poisoned apple, she thought cynically.
"Not unless it's a crime to sing in public," Archie spoke up, sending her a lop-sided grin. It matched the crookedness of his glasses rather well. Emma paused, the dots connecting slowly in her mind as Archie's neck flushed red. Singing? In public? The prank call.
"That….was you?" Her fists curled into balls by her side, causing Archie's eyes to boggle out of his head. David nodded proudly while Leroy rolled his eyes impatiently. Oh, yes—she could see it now. They were quite the boy band. What exactly would they be called? Archie and the Crickets? Grumpy, Dopey, and Bashful?
"Our mission, should we choose to accept it—" David began to declare, even going as far as puffing out his chest. He might as well have been a valiant knight at King Arthur's table. If that knight were used as an example of how not to slay a dragon, that is.
"For $25 each," Leroy interjected.
"—is to accompany you throughout the day with the entertainment of love songs that may influence your love life," David finished, crossing his arms with satisfaction. Emma, however, was puzzled. These three…are going to stalk me…and sing love songs….to convince me to take Gold back?
"And we do accept the mission," Archie stated, as if the prank call hadn't cleared that up enough. Not only was she going to have that pop song stuck in her head the rest of the day, but there would be more to come. Her stomach grumbled, but the grilled cheese was the last thing on her mind.
"And let me guess: Gold gave you this mission?" Leroy shrugged.
"He's the only person in town who conveniently has enough dough to pay all three of us, sister," he barked, offering her a look that suggested it was pretty obvious. Oh, how impressive of Gold. Sharing his wealth with the community by harassing her with love songs. "I told you we should have negotiated for $30!"
Leroy attempted to elbow Archie in the ribs, but Archie jumped back in time. Leroy stumbled and dug his elbow into David instead. David made to slap Leroy on the back of the head, but Archie chose that moment to step forward and earned the slap. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh, boy. Not only am I dealing with my potential stalkers, I'm dealing with the Three Stooges.
"If you'll excuse me, boys, I have a grilled cheese waiting at the diner," Emma hinted, shooing them away from her Bug. Leroy refused to budge, blocking her way to the door. Short and pudgy as he was, he was about as easy to move aside as a boulder.
"Sure…but we have a request to make first," he said, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest sincerely. Something told her to ignore the so-called heartfelt request, but she'd be lying if she said Leroy hadn't caught her attention. Maybe they would just get down on their knees and beg her to make up with Gold. Why do I get the feeling that I am going to regret the next two seconds of my life?
"Okay….what's your request?" Leroy, David, and Archie silently communicated with their eyes and then drew in a deep breath. Emma closed her eyes in annoyance. She should've known it'd come to this. Snap, trap, shut.
Don't go breaking my heart, Leroy was the first to sing in a gravelly voice. David picked up where he left off, tapping his foot on the pavement. I couldn't if I tried. Oh, honey, if I get restless—
Baby, you're not that kind, Archie pitched in. Was he trying to impersonate Elvis or did his hips always twitch like that? It looked like he was trying to hop like a cricket.
"I've heard enough," Emma muttered, squeezing past them to reach the driver's side. The three men followed her into the street, where a passing car honked at them. A few more steps and David might have been mowed down.
"Hey, we're singing here," Leroy yelled after the car. Ooh, that was not a friendly gesture that old lady just made, Emma thought with a small smile as the car tore off. Was it a full moon or were people in this town just this mad on a regular basis?
Lady with a baby here. I'm tired, I'm angry, I went swimming in roses, I spilled coffee on myself today, I've had two prank phone calls, and now a singing trio is smothering me. Nobody else had better mess with me.
"So, is that a 'no' on the request?" Archie inquired, staring hopefully at her. She unlocked her car door, intent on ignoring them. That apparently wasn't going to be an easy feat. They started singing again. Don't go breakin' my, don't go breakin' my, don't go breaking my heart—
"Quick! Jump in her backseat!" Leroy shouted as Emma slammed her door shut. Archie looked at Leroy like he was mental while David continued humming to himself.
"Leroy, we are not jumping in Emma's backseat," Archie scolded, wagging a finger. Emma fumbled with the key and cursed under her breath when her car refused to start. This was not happening to her, not today. Come on, sunshine. You can do this! Do I have to start singing, too? You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…
"Besides," David added, returning to reality. "You're a heavy-set guy, Leroy. There's not enough room for all of us. One of us could take shotgun, except the front is filled with sweets." Once again, the engine stalled while the trio pondered over the matter of how best to infiltrate Emma's Bug. Leroy sent a fierce stare toward David.
"Alright, Nolan. You're riding on the roof!" Miraculously, the engine finally turned over, rumbling to life. That's my sunshine. Emma tossed the three men a victorious smirk as she tore away from the curb, leaving them stranded in the dust. Leroy pouted childishly.
"Anyone here have a car?" Archie questioned, glancing between his musical accomplices.
"I'm borrowing Kathryn's. She took it to yoga class," David said, shrugging pathetically. Leroy grumbled, stomping over to the sidewalk so as to avoid any other cheerful Sunday drivers in the vicinity.
"What car? Last time I left Granny's, I parked it somewhere. And I still haven't remembered where! There was something about a sneeze…" Archie sighed and rubbed his forehead, which was creasing with anxious lines.
"I do have a car," he admitted sheepishly.
"Great," David exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Their mission was back in motion. At least until Archie gave a shaky, weak laugh. It reeked of the sorrowful statement here's the thing…
"Except for the fact that it needs gas because Gold and I were doing burnouts in the diner's parking lot and I'm low on money this week. Rent." That was always the reason for having no money in Storybrooke. What was the world coming to when you couldn't even join in on burnouts without being reminded of rent?
The three of them exhaled miserably and starting walking in the direction of the diner.
"Forget $25," Leroy grumbled. "That gimp owes me a new pair of shoes."
…
Emma trudged up the walk heading to the diner, reveling in the blissful silence. No Archie, no Leroy, no David. No sappy love songs in her ear. What a relief.
"You're in a mighty good mood for someone who just had an argument with their husband," a voice called out to her from up ahead. Her head lifted to meet a pair of aquamarine eyes. It was August, descending the stairs like he was a princess at a ball. Well, at least he wasn't tap dancing and breaking out into song.
"And you're always inconveniently in my way. Did you put a tracker on me or something?" August scoffed as he ran a hand across the stubble on his chin.
"Of course not. Why? You think I could do that?"
Emma rolled her eyes as he examined her up and down, probably searching for the best drop-off spot for a bug. If his hand went anywhere near her butt, the citizens of Storybrooke would require a tracker to find his body. She tried side-stepping him, only to have him copy her moves. She sighed.
"And we're dancing again." August smirked down at her.
"Good. Consider it a prelude to our date," he declared, making a sweeping bow. Wasn't he just Prince Charming? Too bad that kind of thing had no effect on her.
"Prelude? Date?" August straightened and flashed a full-toothed grin. How many times did he have to practice that one in the mirror?
"Yes, our date. You said I could buy you a drink sometime and that time is…" He arrogantly brought his wrist up to check a watch that wasn't even there. "What do you know? It's half past today." She shoved past him before he could put up his barricade and block her again. Bet you weren't ready for that step, were you, twinkle-toes?
"Oh, right," she shot over her shoulder. "Call in that drink the minute I have an argument with Gold. How very comforting of you. What, do you expect me to cry on your shoulder?" She stopped on the first step to glance back at him. He was still smiling in the same spot she left him.
"Are you breaking your word?" She grimaced.
"No," the answer came reluctantly. Apparently, he'd already known that since he was so accepting of it and quick to say I told you so with those mocking blue-green eyes. Didn't he have a typewriter to consult? Or special paper to buy that didn't come with furry pens?
"Then you'll have no problem meeting me here at five," he stated, backing away down the path. Emma's eyes flew to the town clock that overlooked the town in the distance. It was a little past one. That was good—she still had time to come up with an excuse…maybe call him later and fake a cough to say she was sick…
"Why five?" August shrugged carelessly, his shoulders rolling under the leather of his jacket.
"I've got stuff to do. And you're running from the Three Musketeers. Five should give you enough time to lose them. There's not enough room on my bike for more than two."
Five, right. She could get that grilled cheese, avoid the three Spice Girls following her trail, and then go into hiding until at least six. Maybe spend an evening at the cabin in the woods. If she didn't show up, he couldn't exactly have a date, could he? Who would be her replacement? Himself?
"And don't try calling me with some excuse that you were conveniently kidnapped or decided to jump back into bed with your husband. Don't crinkle up a bag of potato chips, telling me the line's gone dead, either. I played that one in college on my girlfriends. And I have the cabin in the woods under strict surveillance. I don't care if someone is trying to hog-tie you and throw you in their van. I'll still want that drink."
Emma's eyes widened. This guy meant business. And surveillance? Surveillance with what? Chipmunks? Or was he planning to sic Archie, Leroy, and David on her again if she went near the cabin?
"You have issues," she told him. He didn't seem entirely perturbed by it. He just inclined his head and shook it off easily. By the placid look on his face, he could very well be translating that into you look fantastic today.
"Still doesn't change the fact that you still owe me that drink. Oh, and don't try having me kidnapped, either. I have a bike." As if that would save him from Gold. When that man wanted something done, he could be quite persistent. Their honeymoon was proof of that. Emma sighed and headed up the steps of the diner.
"Just a heads up….Ruby's coming," she called over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed August scrambling like she yelled the word fire and he leapt into the bushes lining the path. She would have mentioned it'd probably be easier if he hopped on his bike and roared off, but that grilled cheese was waiting. Oh, well—August could fend for himself.
"Hey, Emma. Granny's got your grilled cheese ready," Ruby said as she passed by with a hefty bag of garbage ready for the dumpster. The bushes rustled and they hardly hid August. "Uh…August? Why are you hiding in our bushes?" Slowly August poked his head up from the bushes. His hair was covered with leaves. Brushing himself off, he stepped onto the path.
"Oh…I was….searching for…my whale tooth necklace. It seems to have gone astray," he offered the first thing that came to mind. Ruby's gaze dropped a few inches.
"But…it's hanging around your neck," she pointed out, frowning. August glanced down at it. Damn. He pretended to wipe his forehead in relief.
"Oh, there it is! Thank God for that. Oh, little whale tooth necklace, I was sure I'd lost you. Family heirloom," he explained. Ruby didn't look like she bought it. Maybe it was time to stop playing games with her. Unless it involved hide-and-seek and he had the use of his motorcycle. "Look, Ruby, I got to get ready for my date with Emma—"
"You're going on a date with Emma? But…she's married," Ruby protested, the garbage bag dropping to the cement. It almost burst open, not that Ruby would have noticed then. August raked a hand through his brown hair.
"It's…not really a date. Just a drink. She owes me," he said. Ruby's dark eyes roamed over his blue-green ones, struggling to understand. "Ruby, I know you like me. A lot. Bordering on obsessive, actually. But nothing will ever happen between us. Ever. Sorry." There, it was out. No more running or hiding in bushes or sneaking into the Inn through the drainpipe.
For a long moment, Ruby was silent, staring at him as if she'd just missed every word he said. It was as though someone yelled 'Cut!' and she'd managed to replace her body with a wax doll. And then anger seeped across her face, turning it red. Great, now she was going to huff and puff. Or…no, she was picking up the garbage bag. Oh, boy.
"You jerk! Leading me on like that and then going on a date with Emma! You don't even have any consideration for my feelings or anything!" Slinging the garbage bag over her shoulder like Santa, Ruby whipped it across his back. She slapped him with it again and again, until he was holding his hands up to surrender. What was in that bag? Rocks?
"Ow! Ow! Ruby, let me explain—"
"Emma was right! I can do so much better than you," she cried out, slugging him right across the head. Forget this.
Taking off at a run, he aimed for his bike. Ruby followed behind, waving the garbage bag like a madwoman. God, she ran fast in those heels. Hopping on, he gunned it and sped off, leaving her to shout obscenities at his back. Maybe I should have waited until she got rid of the garbage.
….
Emma entered the diner and immediately made a beeline for Mary Margaret's lonely table. Finally a sane person in this town that wouldn't embarrass her in public. Before she even sat down, Granny came bustling over with the grilled cheese and a soda. Right on time.
"How are you holding up?" Mary Margaret observed her with a doe-eyed pair of concerned eyes as Emma munched on her grilled cheese. Ooh, that hit the spot.
"Besides swimming in roses, chowing through half a package of Oreos, and being stalked with love songs? Pretty swell. Oh, and I have a date with Stubble at five. My life is now complete," she announced sarcastically. Mary Margaret's hands curled tightly around her cup of cocoa, though she didn't have any intention of bringing it to her lips. She seemed distracted.
"Is that all? Obviously this problem with Gold is bothering you or we wouldn't be talking about it." Emma wolfed down one half of her grilled cheese and started on the other. She cocked an eyebrow, giving her friend an odd look.
"We're not talking about it. You are talking about it to avoid talking about you," she retorted. It was too easy to read Mary Margaret sometimes. She might as well have been projecting her thoughts into the air above her head. Those friendly green eyes became saddened as she leaned close.
"Remember when you told me to stay away from David and I agreed?" Here it came. Flashing in neon lights above Mary Margaret's head like the Northern Lights. Emma nodded for the sake of it.
"Yes." Mary Margaret chewed softly on her bottom lip.
"I didn't," she quietly confessed.
"Yeah, I know," she replied back instantly. Mary Margaret jerked up in her seat, eyes full of alarm. Just because she had been dealing with problems of her own lately didn't mean she wasn't any less observant. After all, there had been a chance that those roses had come from David. "You are a lovesick schoolteacher. Covering your tracks is not your strong suit. New perfume, late nights, high phone bills, singing in the shower, plunging necklines…"
"Plunging?" Okay, it wasn't exactly a shirt Ruby would wear, but it was far from nun-worthy. Mother Superior would be offended.
"When I met you, you were a top-button kind of girl." Emma finished her grilled cheese with intense satisfaction and licked the grease off her fingers.
The diner's bell rang, announcing a customer. The hairs on the back of Emma's neck rose before she could shift in her seat and see who it was. Was that….? Oh, no. Humming. Save yourself, Mary Margaret. This is about to get ugly.
I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you…I know you were right, believing for so long…
Someone kill her now. Strike her with lightning, start a mob, open a vortex underneath her seat to suck her to some other world. Where was August and his bike when she really needed him as a distraction? Oh, there he was…riding off while Ruby chased him with a trash bag. Obviously she was over him.
And Emma's face was turning beet red.
"David," Mary Margaret breathed in wonder. The look on her face was oozing love. Maybe Mary Margaret thought this show was for her. As the three men circled their table, with everyone in the diner watching, Emma shielded her face with her hand.
"Stalkers," she mouthed to Mary Margaret, pointing discreetly at the singers. Her eyes widened with realization and she stifled a giggle. Such confident support. Shoving back her chair, Emma stood up with all intents and purposes of leaving.
"Hey, she's trying to escape again! Surround her!" Leroy, David, and Archie formed a triangle around her, blocking her exit. And they were singing louder. What was this? Lunch and a show? Over Leroy's shoulder, Mary Margaret offered her a sympathetic shrug. Thanks for all your help, Mary. I'll remember that when Gold and I ask you to babysit.
"Boys!" Granny stood near the counter with her hands planted firmly on her hips. The singing halted immediately. "What do you think this is? Karaoke night? No singing obnoxiously in my diner! It bothers the customers. Take it outside," she demanded, shooing in the direction of the door. Leroy frowned.
"But it's our job to—"
"Outside!" Don't make her get the shotgun, Emma thought with mild amusement. David, Leroy, and Archie shuffled to the door and apparently decided to wait for her outside. It'd be fun getting to her car. Oh, but now they were leaning against it again. She'd rather walk than face those three and their shrill singing.
Meeting Granny's gaze, she noticed a slight nod of Granny's head before the woman headed back to the kitchen. She'd have to remember to send Granny a bouquet of roses. Mary Margaret, however, was teetering on the brink of uncontrolled laughter.
"Stalkers, huh?"
…..
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. It's not warm when she's away…
The singing just wouldn't stop. It was driving Emma up the wall, which was exactly why she was power-strutting straight to the pawnshop. It didn't help that everyone she passed gave her odd looks when they noticed the musical posse trailing behind. If Emma didn't hear another love song for the rest of her life, it would be too soon.
"If you three keep singing, I'll arrest you for….harassment and…personal invasion," she threatened over her shoulder. Personal invasion really needed to be made a serious crime in this town, what with the way she seemed to attract creepy men with a thing for invasion.
Archie's singing trailed off, but the other two were blissfully negligent.
"In other words, we're invading your personal bubble?" Emma whipped around to glare at Archie. Way to go, making my threat an empty one. When you phrase it that way…
"Yeah," she mumbled unhappily. She could draw a circle around herself, but she figured Storybrookers weren't immune to chalk. David would probably trip into her circle by mistake, Leroy would ignore her and cross it anyway, and Archie….well, at least Archie would appreciate it.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone—
Emma moaned and pulled open the door of the pawnshop, slamming it behind her before Archie and the Crickets could follow.
"Ah, Emma," Gold drawled as he dusted off one of the old-fashioned guitars that had been previously hanging on the wall. It was so dusty in this shop; the outline was visible on the wall. She would suggest he hire a caretaker, but she had a feeling she wouldn't approve of any of his choices. "What a lovely surprise. Did you receive my gifts?"
Emma strode up to the counter and curled her fingers around the edges. He laid aside the gray rag and offered her his undivided attention.
"If you mean the jewelry and the dessert basket, then yes. Oh, and Mary Margaret's apartment and the station were filled with roses. All 815 of them," she huffed. Gold arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Mary Margaret counted before selling them for the nuns. I guess a lot of people have to make up for Valentine's Day." The guitar clattered across the counter.
"You sold my roses, paid for with my wealth in token of my dearest affection, for the nuns?" Emma frowned as his skin turned red. "Next I suppose Mother Superior will host a charity event wearing diamond studs. Diamond studs which were meant for your ears, darling." He really was blowing this out of proportion.
"No, that would be Regina. Diamond studs aren't my style." Gold pressed a hand to his chest and let out a thin whoosh of air. Two minutes in his company and she'd already given him a heart attack. That was a new record. "Figures you don't like nuns." That brought back his focus with a vengeance, his brown eyes darkening to the shade of frozen earth.
"I don't have a problem with nuns. They have a problem with me." Emma shook her head pitifully. Right, Gold. Because you are completely innocent and the world is out to get you.
"Do me a favor and call off your little mariachi band that won't quit stalking me," she demanded, pointing to the window. Gold followed her finger to see David, Archie, and Leroy with their noses pressed to the glass. He grimaced—those fools were leaving fog and gods only knew what sort of disgusting germs.
"What's wrong, dear? I find it entertaining."
"And I find it annoying," she snapped back. "If that's how you're planning to win me over, try serenading me yourself." She strummed the strings of the guitar as a little nudge for his inspiration. One string broke.
"You'll have to pay for that," he said quietly. Emma gawked at him, her mouth falling open.
"I am not paying for a guitar that was probably already broken in the first place. You probably loosened the strings on purpose," she accused him boldly. Gold chuckled lowly, his eyes never straying from her body.
"A bit paranoid, are we? Oh, yes, Emma. My tingling Emma senses told me you'd be stopping by my shop today so I rubbed my palms together evilly, twirled my invisible mustache, and decided to deliberately play with the strings on this guitar knowing you would not be able to resist strumming it and therefore breaking one, the result being that you owe me. That sounds like me," he sarcastically spouted. Emma spread her palms wide on the counter.
"Yeah, that sums it up pretty well. Hits the nail on the head, actually. I'm still not paying for that," she argued. He exhaled impatiently.
"You break it, you buy it. One way or another." Emma drummed her fingers on the counter as if she were waiting for the punch-line of a joke. In that case, she'd have to wait all night. Spinning on her heel, she stomped into the back room. A second later, she returned with a roll of duct tape, much to his amusement. "Ah, eager, are we? I was simply going to ask that you share your Oreos." Ignoring him, Emma crudely applied two long pieces to the broken string, securing it down.
"There, I fixed it." The string popped up again, the pieces of tape still attached like a flag. "Call off the band."
Gold switched his gaze to the crew outside his shop and gestured for them to come inside. Leroy, Archie, and David obeyed, piling behind Emma, though she refused to acknowledge them. She was capable of holding a grudge.
"Are we gettin' paid?" Leroy inquired over Emma's shoulder. She scrunched her nose at the odor of his breath. Someone desperately needs to be paid in Tic-Tacs.
"How many songs did you sing?" Huh. So Leroy wasn't kidding about getting paid by the song.
"Five," David and Archie simultaneously answered.
"Hundred," Leroy added. Gold ceased gathering a handful of crisp twenties from somewhere in his suit. Eyes darkening dangerously, he tucked the money away, dashing their hopes. Emma snickered.
"Just for that dishonesty, you get nothing," he hissed. He was particularly aiming daggers at Leroy. The short man bristled in irritation, resembling a porcupine.
"Why are you lookin' at me, sister? Maybe I'm the one tellin' the truth! Just because I'm a heavy-set guy and I drink once or twice a week doesn't mean I don't have a good pair of lungs to sing with." Emma scoffed, earning their unwanted attention.
"No, but I'm pretty sure your liver's in the toilet," she muttered under her breath. She shot Gold a warning look. Hurry it up, Gold. There's no way I'm hosting a parade down the middle of Main Street again. There were people actually crowding around waiting for the floats.
"I happen to have eyes and ears everywhere. Boston could hear your singing from here. Regina should be receiving a letter of complaint. For now, I am dismissing you from serenading Emma," he declared. Emma released a pent up sigh of relief. No more having to hurry to her car in an effort to escape. No more being stalked by mushy love songs.
"Does this mean you two have resolved your issues?"
With Archie speaking over one of her shoulders and Leroy peering over the other, they might as well have been the little good and evil incarnations. And David was just in the background for support. Though, Archie did sound somewhat hopeful for their reunion. Was Gold threatening to attend daily therapy now?
"No," she answered before Gold could form a smart reply. "It means he's going to have to resort to plan D."
Emma turned and left the shop, the four remaining to watch her walk away. Gold winced as she closed his door harder than necessary. Actually, Emma, this is Plan D, Part One, Section A…and a half. David cleared his throat, catching Gold's solemn attention.
"Your guitar is broken."
…
The songs included in this chapter are: "I Just Called To Say I Love You" by Stevie Wonder, "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" by Elton John, "All Out of Love" by Air Supply, "Can't Buy Me Love" by the Beatles, and "Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers. Just so you know. I don't own any of these songs (obviously).
Let's give it up for Archie and the Crickets (as I am dubbing them now). Who knows? Maybe one of these days, they will come back for an encore. (-; Things are going to start picking up in this story, too, with the little portion of Season One I like to call the "domino stage." So many exciting things to come!
I can tell you that I'm planning to have Gold officially serenade Emma next chapter. *cue 'Awwww's* So, what song(s) do you think Gold should serenade Emma with? Hand 'em to me! I really need the inspiration and I appreciate all suggestions. I have a couple possibilities in mind, but I'd love to hear what my readers have to say about it!
Speaking of my readers, it's time for shout-outs. Le gasp! 700 reviews? Oh, you guys are awesome! Oreos for all my readers!
Thank you DaesGatling, olverabonk (700th review!), Twyla Mercedes, Paranormal Moonlight, Aralain, discotimelord, iwannabegoldnrumpeled, Sweetangelz18, brontegirl89, DragonRose4, Notsureyet18, Tizmine, russianeyes718ouat7ncis, dirty-icing, The-Writer2012, Musicalfan2012, ekletik, and Duffer13.
Thank you everyone for taking the time to read. As always, much appreciated! (-;