A/N: The spark of inspiration that spawned this Christmas Carol riff was Cynthia Hand's The Afterlife of Holly Chase. Not that I'm using her work as the basis of anything; Dickens is my primary source, just like it was hers. But still, I got the idea to write this when I was reading her novel, so I'm going to be going to Goodreads quotes for my chapter titles/epigraphs. Also, I will be borrowing heavily from the source material. Expect me to be lifting and tweaking passages from Dickens' A Christmas Carol (Gutenberg text from the 1843 edition) and maybe a couple of odds and ends from various film versions and The Man Who Invented Christmas.

Timeline: S4(A and B)

A Miners' Day Madrigal

"I just think, we don't get promised anything good in this life. Bad things happen all the time. They're happening right now, somewhere out there. They'll keep happening. Who knows? Maybe this moment, right here, is as good as I'm ever going to be."
― Cynthia Hand, The Afterlife of Holly Chase

Stave One: Bad Things Happen All the Time

Rumpelstiltskin set the small round box on the table, scarcely daring to believe it was finally in his possession. In appearance, its sides resembled a miniature barrel with pearl studs set in its rings. Its top had the image of a starry night sky. Aesthetically, it was a thing of beauty, but it was far more than that. This 'box', this artifact was an object of true power. With it, Rumple knew that he could ensure that nobody would ever be able to enslave him again, as Zelena had not so very long ago.

Well. The witch was no longer a threat to him; he'd made quite sure of that. And with this box, once he'd filled it with enough Light magic to unlock its potential, nobody else would be either!

Over the centuries, he had amassed a great deal of magic, but he knew that he needed more. So long as there existed someone mighty enough to threaten him, he would never feel safe. His recent slavery had only confirmed that his fears were justified. He wouldn't rest until he knew that his power was secure. Now that he had the Sorcerer's Hat in his possession, he knew that day would not be long in coming. And he would let nothing deter him from his goal, not this time!

Regina looked at the distraught man before her with sorrow. "I… guess I should thank you for clearing something up for me," she said quietly. "Grace is the second person I've seen with this condition. I'd assumed that True Love's Kiss would reverse it, but when it didn't work in the first instance, I'd assumed it was because Robi—because the man in question had… moved on. Obviously, the love of a parent for a child is something very different, so whatever this affliction is, it doesn't seem to be a curse after all."

Jefferson regarded her bleakly. "What are you doing for the other person?" he asked.

"For now?" Regina shook her head. "I've removed her heart. If this… ice can't reach it, it can't freeze it. It's keeping her alive."

"But comatose," Jefferson said shakily.

"Alive," Regina repeated. "I can do the same thing for your daughter, until a cure has been found, however..."

Jefferson frowned. "However?"

Regina winced. "Paige is still a child. Removing her heart is… riskier. I know my mother seldom took one from anyone who hadn't completed puberty yet, and I never have." Henry had removed his own to give to Pan, she recalled, but it had only been out of his chest for hours. "The longer it takes to put it back where it belongs," she continued, "the greater the possibility that her body will… reject it when we eventually do. I'd want Dr. Whale monitoring her in the event that we go through with this."

"And if her body does reject it?" Jefferson asked, dreading the answer.

Regina winced again. "She's small for her age. I don't think I have a possible donor heart in my vault that would fit, and there's a strong possibility that her system would reject that, too. Even if it didn't, from what I know of non-magical organ transplants, she'd be on anti-rejection drugs for the rest of her life."

"And if there's no donor? Or if she needs another transplant down the road?"

Regina shook her head. "I'm truly sorry, Jefferson. I do believe that, in time, a cure will be found. I'm working as best I can to find one. As are the fairies," she added. "It's just a matter of time."

Jefferson closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, too, your majesty," he said. "But this is my daughter's life. You keep researching, but I can't wait around while you're leafing through a bunch of dusty old books. Not when there's someone else I can ask."

Rumple was distracted. He'd long known that the Snow Queen was a Storybrooke resident, but he hadn't perceived her as a threat until the queen of Arendelle's arrival. Now, between his need to unlock the hat's magic and his worry about how to neutralize a potential foe with a power that could—if not rival, at least—threaten his own, and his need to conceal his activities from the woman he loved, he had little time to spare for other deals.

"I don't doubt Regina will find the answer in time," he said.

Jefferson rested both his hands on the shop counter. "I can't wait for her," he said. "I need your help."

Rumple shook his head. "I've none to give, dearie. This isn't my brand of magic and quite frankly, I've other matters that occupy me. Good day."

"Wait!" Jefferson said. "Please. I… I want to make a deal."

Rumple looked up. "A deal," he repeated, his lips twisting into a sneer. "For a deal to be struck, each party involved must have something that the other wants. I don't have your answer and I don't have the time nor the inclination to obtain it. And as for you? Tell me, portal-jumper, have you acquired another hat?"

"No," Jefferson admitted. "But I'm working on it."

"And when you've obtained one, perhaps we'll have something to discuss. I don't suppose you've any objects or artifacts of Light magic?"

"Light magic?" Jefferson repeated. "What would the Dark One want with—"

"That's my concern," Rumple snapped. "Unlike your affairs. But if you do have any such artifacts…?" Really, living sources of Light magic were infinitely preferable, but an object could help in a pinch.

"No," Jefferson admitted. "Not on me. But if you save my Grace, I'll get them for you somehow!"

"Well, if you can, once you've given them to me, I'll see if there's something I can do for your daughter. Not before."

"But if the ice reaches her heart, she'll die!"

Rumple went back to the papers he'd been examining when the Hatter had come in. "Unfortunately, that is a distinct possibility. You have my sympathies. But as you have nothing else I need, I'm afraid that's all I can give you."

For one stunned moment, Jefferson stood there, his mouth gaping open. Then in a voice low and venomous, he snarled, "You bastard!" Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and fled the shop.

Rumple was already so engrossed in the papers that he barely heard the jingle of the shop bell or the slamming of its door.

Regina answered her doorbell, took one look at the stricken man standing there and ushered him inside. "Tea?" she asked him in the living room. "Or cider?"

Jefferson nearly collapsed into the armchair she was indicating. "The second one, if you don't mind," he said raggedly. "And then… If I understood you correctly, if you take Paige's heart, there's a strong chance that she won't survive. But if you don't, then there's no chance at all that she will."

Regina sat down on the sofa facing him. "If you'd called on Snow, I'm sure she'd tell you not to give up hope and that there's always a chance. And miracles do happen," she acknowledged. "But they're generally less dependable than the options I've given you. Hope is admirable, but if you're looking for real solutions we can implement now…"

"All right," the hatter said, almost whispering. "You… you'd better do it."

Tinker Bell squared her shoulders, pasted on her brightest smile, and walked smartly into the pawnshop. "Good afternoon," she greeted Rumple.

Rumple raised an eyebrow, but after a moment, he returned her greeting with a slight twist of his lips that could only with great charity be deemed an answering smile. Undaunted, Tink launched into the reason why she'd come. "Miners' Day is coming up, and the convent is holding its usual fundraising drive. As we do every year—or at least, as the others have done; this will be my first time," she admitted with a slight blush, "we'll be making and selling candles. I was hoping you might want to put a display up in the shop."

Rumple snorted at that, but Tink was still warming to the subject.

"People come in here all the time and I'm sure they'd be happy to pick up a candle or two if they seem them right by the cash."

"And I'd make a commission on each sale?" Rumple suggested.

The fairy blinked. "Pardon?"

"Well, if I'm giving you the space for you to hawk your handicrafts, and I'm to waste my time collecting payments which will then need to be turned over to you little bugs, surely you'd agree that I'm entitled to some recompense for my trouble."

Floored, Tink said faintly, "It's for charity…"

"Which begins at home," Rumple shot back. "Not in this place of business."

"Well, all right," Tink said. "I guess Blue was right after all when she told me I was wasting my time suggesting it."

"Perhaps the only time in the histories of all the realms when she and I have been of the same mind," Rumple informed her.

"Well then. No display. But as for the candles themselves, how many can I say you'll purchase?"

Rumple snorted again. "None."

"You want to stay anonymous?" Tink asked hopefully.

"I want you out of my shop so that I can go about my business," Rumple snapped. "Now, when the Dark Curse brought this town into existence, woven into its fabric was the provision that nobody would be in danger of starving to death or finding themselves with no roof over their heads."

"Yes, during the twenty-eight years when time stood still," Tink pointed out. "But things have moved on since then and there are a number of people in this town who are just barely hanging on. We can do so much better for them."

"Or perhaps, you and your ilk ought to go out amongst them and share their sorrows. Actually, I'd settle for you just going out amongst them this very moment. Do so, and you won't need to explain to your… mother superior why the convent's rent has just increased by ten percent."

"You can't be serious!" Tink gasped.

"Why not test me a moment longer and find out?"

The fairy gave him one disbelieving look and stormed out of the shop.

Good riddance, Rumple thought. Miners' Day wasn't until the end of February and here it was only December. For all their supposed virtue, the little fireflies were starting their annual pickpocketing earlier than ever! Doubtless capitalizing on one of the festivals native to this realm in hopes of greater largesse! "What a humbug," he muttered, turning his thoughts back to the Snow Queen and the…

…light magic needed to fill the hat!

Rumple smiled. Doubtless, a good source would have occurred to him sooner or later, but the green fairy's call this morning had just given him the perfect idea…

"Dinner?" Rumple repeated, as though Henry was speaking a foreign language.

"Yeah," Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Now that we know that we're family, well, Mom—Emma, I mean—and I started celebrating Christmas when we lived in New York and it was really great. Nothing major, just turkey and stuffing and pies and sitting around watching holiday movies and stuff, as a family, you know."

Really, he had enough on his mind without this foolishness. "No," he told Henry pointedly. "I don't know. Nor do I care to. Now, if you're finished with the sweeping up, then you're finished for the day."

Henry didn't take the hint. "You and Belle should think about it," he persisted. "I mean, what else have you got to do?"

"Not your concern, and I resent your implication that our affairs, whatever they might be, would prove in any way less important than your… dinner," Rumple snapped. "In deference to the day, and to the time spent under the curse when the statutory holidays of this land were honored, you may have the 25th off, but as for the evening, you keep it as you like and I shall do the same."

"But you don't keep it all," Henry pointed out, still smiling.

"Then let me leave it alone, as I've managed to do for the last three centuries!"

"Okay," Henry sighed, relenting. "But when it's Miners' Day, maybe you'll come over for some of Regina's mulled cider after the celebrations in the town square."

"More foolishness!" Rumple snapped. "And I'll thank you to drop the subject if you expect to be working here on the 26th." Was everyone starting to think of that ridiculous holiday already? Irritably, he wondered why the curse had included the blasted thing in the first place. Even if such a festival had been celebrated in most of the kingdoms that comprised the Enchanted Forest, he certainly hadn't meant for the curse to include a day that lauded a cooperative effort between fairies and dwarfs! The latter, while annoying most of the time, did have their uses, but the former? Well, at least he'd finally found one for them, and now that he had the pirate about to do his bidding, it wouldn't be long until they were serving that purpose.

And if Ingrid had her way, by the time Miners' Day came about this year, there wouldn't be anyone left alive in Storybrooke to celebrate it anyway…

Belle smiled apologetically at her new husband. "I should have asked you!" she said at once, even as her hand, still holding the giftwrapped present, faltered. "I-I know it's not one of our traditions, but I still thought it would be—"

"An expression of closeness and connection," Rumple nodded, smiling warmly, while a small jewellery box materialized in the hand he held behind his back. "Certainly something welcome with the Snow Queen's threat still hanging over us all."

"You're no closer to finding a solution?" Belle asked.

Rumple shook his head. "And now, the fairies have vanished, so I don't know if one seems likely. But let's not think of that this evening," he added, still smiling as he brought forth his own token of affection. "Tonight, at least, we can try to think of happier times."

Belle nodded, though her answering smile was unsure. Perhaps it was selfish to focus on their happiness with a curse looming large on the horizon. Still, she took the box, opened it, and gasped with delight at the exquisite pendant within. "It's beautiful!" she breathed. "Now, you!"

And Rumple acquiesced and opened what, unless he missed his guess, was a book. "This is, quite the gift," he murmured. He didn't have time for recreational reading these days, but he could still appreciate the feelings behind the present. "And once this situation has been resolved, I look forward to poring over it and discussing it with you."

Belle laughed. "I think it's become one of my favorites," she admitted. "Not the least because I share a name with one of the characters."

"Indeed?" Rumple arched one eyebrow. "Well, I shall hope to be able to begin it soon, then."

It would have been sooner, had he been able to lure the Savior into the hat, but his failure to do so was only a setback. He would be free, both of the dagger and of this town, and then? He and Belle would have all the time they needed.

Eight Weeks Later…

Rumpelstiltskin stole back into his house, feeling like a thief in the night. In a way, he was. He couldn't go to his cabin; he wasn't ready to face Ursula or Cruella, not after what he'd just witnessed. Well. At least, he could be reasonably certain that Belle wouldn't be back for some time!

His feet padded on the staircase as he made his way up to the second floor, to his bedroom. After tonight, he doubted it was their bedroom, not anymore. Or was it hers now? Hers and—? He was shaking, not with rage, but with utter misery as he pulled open the door.

A sigh of relief escaped him. The room was exactly the way he'd left it a month and a half ago. She hadn't been inside with him. Not yet, anyway. He needed to get back. Ursula and Cruella would be wondering what was keeping him. He'd just grab a few changes of clothes and other sundries and be off.

His gaze fell on the night table and, barely realizing what he was doing, he picked up the leather-bound hardcover that had been Belle's gift to him, eight weeks ago when they'd been happy. He'd never had the chance to read it. Time was of the essence, and he could certainly take the book with him to read at his leisure if he were inclined. Right now, though, he needed to focus on the essentials. Right now, he needed to…

He needed to sit down. The last six weeks had been hell, but he suspected he'd just entered a new circle of it and with his heart in the state it was…

He sank down on the mattress with its bedclothes in disarray, suddenly unable—or, at least unwilling—to move. The book slipped from his hands to the floor and he bent to retrieve it. As he picked it up, its pages flipped open to the preface and, without quite realizing what he was doing, he began to read.

I HAVE endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly…