Emma groaned as she rolled over, bringing a hand to her forehead. She could feel the semi truck trying to push its way past her skull. She looked over at her clock and quickly looked away from the blurry red numbers only to be assaulted by light from the window she must have forgotten to close last night. Last night…
Emma looked back to her alarm clock, waiting for the numbers to clear and trying to breath in sync with the thump thump thump of her temples. Seven fifty-one. Crap.
The sheriff jolted out of bed, almost hurtling downstairs before noticing the water and Advil on her night stand. She must have set it out for herself the night before. Oddly, the ice cubes weren't melted, but, then again, the window was frosted over and it was December in Maine.
She popped the pill into her mouth and chugged the water, wishing it was coffee. When she got downstairs, there was a pot of exactly what she wanted made up and waiting for her along with a plate of pancakes and bacon. Deciding to forgo a shower, Emma put deodorant on, brushed her teeth to get rid of the gross aftermath of dehydration, and then stuffed two of the pancakes into her mouth and thrust the bacon into her pocket. She needed to get to work, so she would have to thank Mary lat-
"Shoot!" Emma mumbled around her mouthful.
Mary was in jail. Someone had been in her apartment. Someone who was really good at making pancakes. Fuzzy memories floated to the front of her mind of August offering to help her with… something or other. Maybe it was him. She would have to thank him later.
Looking at the clock on the wall, Emma read seven fifty-seven and cursed to herself. She hopped into her boots and ran back up the stairs to grab her jacket, almost tripping over a shirt she had no doubt flung onto the floor a few nights ago. Flying back down the stairs, Emma finally managed to swallow her pancakes and shoved the last one in between her lips. She could eat the bacon at work. If she wasn't there on time, Regina would be up her butt.
Shoving her badge onto her belt, the sheriff slammed and locked the door before hopping down every other step to get to her car. She remembered her coffee when she got to the bottom but decided it would be a waste of time to go back up for it. Instead, she raced to her car, gulped down the pieces of pancake she could and prayed that her engine didn't feel like taking a long time to start up.
{[(/*\)]}
"Where is she?" Mary Margaret asked worriedly, twisting her fingers together.
Mr. Gold sighed, "All in good time, Miss Blanchard. I'm sure our dear sheriff shall remember that time is of the essence."
"And if she doesn't?" the school teacher's voice went higher in pitch.
Mr. Gold's lips pursed. "Well then, we better be glad Madame Mayor seems to be taking her time today."
Mary Margaret looked at the clock on the wall in the sheriff's station, twisting to see it past the bars. It was eight o'five. Mayor Mills was usually there at exactly eight, so something must have been holding her up. It couldn't possibly have been traffic; there was none in Storybrooke.
Just when she was starting to think she would have a meltdown, Emma came running into the room wearing the same shirt she had been wearing the night before and with her jeans on inside-out. She had a strip of bacon sticking out of her mouth and three more jutting out from her pocket.
"Hey." The bacon muffled most of the word, but Mary Margaret was sure that was what her friend said.
Mr. Gold tried to look stern, but she could see the corner of his mouth fighting to tug up into a grin. "Miss Swan, you are very fortunate the mayor isn't on time. What were you doing, going fifteen miles an hour? Who, may I ask, would give you a speeding ticket?"
Emma ripped the end of her bacon strip off and pointed it at Mr. Gold's chest, making him step back to save his tie. "Don't be all condescending with me, Gold. I had a sucky night. Or, at least I think I did."
Mr. Gold's impending smile dipped into a slight frown. "You remember nothing of last night?"
"I'm sure it'll come bite me later," Emma snorted, shoving the bacon back in her mouth.
"Indeed," Mr. Gold agreed distractedly.
Mary Margaret looked back and forth between them, wondering what was going through her landlord's head. It also struck her as unusual that Emma had been able to make herself breakfast. Unless, of course, she had gone to Granny's.
"Sheriff Swan, your lack of decorum never ceases to amaze me," Regina drawled, contorting her lips in a displeased smirk-like expression.
"I know. Sometimes I even amaze myself," Emma shot back with a flat look. "Gold, would you mind baby-sitting Madame Mayor while I go change?"
"Of course not, my dear. Do enjoy yourself." Gold looked at Regina, grimacing before adding, "And feel free to take your time. I'd absolutely loathe for you to get a speeding ticket."
Emma shot a glare at him over her shoulder and then disappeared into the hall to find the restroom.
"How can you possibly believe that she can keep the people of this town safe?" Regina raised an eyebrow at Mr. Gold.
"I have a bit of faith. You saw first hand how useful she is in a fire, didn't you?" Mr. Gold grinned, but cut the mayor off before she could start again, "But that's not what you're really worried about, Madame Mayor."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Regina growled.
"Well, you were pushing Mr. Glass towards being the sheriff. Because he's especially talented at pinning people to car hoods, correct?" Mr. Gold laughed.
"And look what happened! The ungrateful reporter left my side for hers. I hear they're quite close now." Regina smirked. "I believe he took up the mantle of ally that you wanted so badly."
"And I heard you fired him from the newspaper, among other cute little stories." Mr. Gold let his teeth show in more of a threat than a smile, the gold one glinting dangerously. "I think it's all bull."
"Well, Miss Swan doesn't, and that's what matters." The mayor took a step closer to him. "It's important to have trust between allies. Maybe that's why you're still on the waiting list."
"Watch yourself, Regina. You're not the only one who isn't afraid to fight dirty," Mr. Gold snarled.
"Is that a threat?" Mayor Mills snorted.
"Yes. And unlike you, I don't make empty ones." He flattened his lips, giving her a challenging look.
Mary Margaret watched the two of them have a silent conversation. Even though it was completely nonverbal, she got the feeling it was very violent. It was a little uncomfortable, watching their completely blank expressions contrast the murderous looks in the other's eyes. When was Emma coming back?
{[(/*\)]}
Approximately eight years and ten months before the Dark Curse struck…
Rumplestiltskin stood before his spinning wheel, watching the spokes move methodically, relishing the feel of the smooth wood beneath his calloused fingertips, but for the first time in a very long while, he didn't try to forget. He wasn't attempting to get swept up in the soothing creak of the old wheel, or the pulsing magic which was rarely calm, traveling so swiftly into the straw. He was already at peace, and his mind was more focused than ever on his son. If he had known falling in love would have helped his mental state long before now, he would have chased after it much sooner. For the first time in centuries, he could think.
He tensed at a slight pressure on his waist until he realized whose arms were snaking around him. Belle's chin came to rest on his shoulder and he smiled at her slight wobble in amusement. He wasn't particularly tall, but in two inch heeled boots, his wife had to stand on the very tips of her toes to reach that far. She was very fond of stealing his shoes and leather pants - which he didn't mind in the least, since she let him give her a once over every time - but she liked wearing her flat shoes when she had her little blue dress on, which meant he was eight inches taller than her.
"Happy Winter Solstice," Belle whispered in his ear.
Rumplestiltskin turned and sat at the stool preceding his wheel, bringing her down on his lap. "And to you, my love."
"I see you decorated." She smiled, admiring the way his gold thread hung from the table, the windows, and the walls. He had also put up the red cloth banners she had been working on. Belle had never been particularly adept at household chores, but he had guided her through the sewing, telling her stories of how he used to help his aunts - the spinsters who had raised him - with their vocation.
"Is this your first time celebrating?" Belle wrapped her arms around his neck, interlocking her fingers behind his head.
"Yes. I've acknowledged it before, but never exchanged gifts or decorated." Rumplestiltskin nodded.
"Did you never spend it with Bae?" she asked curiously.
He kissed her cheek, burying his nose in her hair. "Of course I did, thirteen times. I always bought him one gift and told him to go off and spend time with his friends, though. As such, it was never an exchange, and we never spent the whole day together."
"Why not?" Belle snuggled closer to him with both of her legs draped across his thighs.
"Well, I thought that perhaps he would have more fun in a more cheery, decorated house. The other villagers never wanted me there, though, so I didn't come. He had fun with his friends, which was all that mattered. I wouldn't have had anything for us to do, anyway. He always asked to stay with me, but I knew he was just being a good, polite lad. I didn't want to keep him from his fun," the sorcerer said plainly, like it made all the sense in the world.
"This year, you get to spend it with me, and next year you get to spend it with your family, and hopefully one day we'll all spend it with Bae," Belle said softly, petting his hair.
Rumplestiltskin's hand stopped stroking over her back abruptly. "Next year I'll get to spend it with my what now?"
"Your family," she answered simply, still running her fingers through his thick curls.
He blinked up at her owlishly, his mouth opening and closing before repeating, "My what now?"
Belle laughed sweetly. "Well, for your first winter holiday, I thought I would give you a nice present."
"I don't understand," Rumplestiltskin breathed.
She kissed the tip of his nose. "When two people love each other very much-"
"You're pregnant?!" he squeaked, his mouth hanging open comically.
Belle blushed. "That's okay, isn't it? I mean, I know we never talked abou-"
Rumplestiltskin's hands threaded her hair, twining her tresses around his digits before he gently but hurriedly pulled her lips to his. The kiss was slow and languid and full of passion and love. His tongue slowly explored her mouth and her eyes closed in relief. He hummed contentedly into her mouth, and she could feel his smile. Belle pulled out of the kiss slowly, letting his lower lips go a second later.
"Are you happy?" she asked shyly.
He grinned teasingly at her. "I'm not unhappy."
{[(/*\)]}
Storybrooke, present day, 8:12 December second…
Henry walked down the halls of Storybrooke Elementary with his thumbs hooked over his backpack straps. All the kids he passed were smiling and laughing and whispering, but none of them were who he was looking for. Since Emma was too busy helping her mother to assist him with Operation: Cobra, he just had to take the next step himself. He had to talk to the other kids who were awake: Chip and Rose.
He stood on his toes to peer over the heads of his classmates, looking for Chip's blonde head or maybe Rose's chestnut curls. Henry was usually able to spot them quickly since they were the only children besides himself that didn't do the exact same thing every day. The curse was beginning to break now, though, and everyone was doing something different. Of course, Chip and Rose obviously hadn't been completely unaffected by the curse - they had occasionally come to school with glassy eyes that only saw what they were supposed to see - but they were awake through most of the twenty-eight years, not aging at all.
Henry still wasn't sure why he aged and they didn't, but maybe they could tell him. If he could find them.
As soon as he saw them, he took a purposeful step to the left, bumping into Chip. Caught by surprise, the blonde boy let out a little yelp and went tumbling to the ground.
A softly accented voice came from his right, "Hey, that was rude!"
Henry looked up to see Rose's chocolate eyes glaring daggers at him, her dainty hands rested on her hips and a disapproving countenance marring her porcelain features. Chip bounced back up, giving Henry a grin that showed off his chipped front tooth. Well, one of them clearly wasn't angry.
"I'm sorry, it was an accident," Henry apologized quickly.
Rose gave him a suspicious once over before turning to Chip who assured her, "It's okay, Rosy. He didn't mean it."
"All right." The girl's face softened. "Just watch where you're going, Mr. Mills."
Henry opened his mouth to agree before giving her a strange look. Mr. Mills? She was three years younger than him, though only behind one grade. Then again, looking at her, it wasn't surprising she would address him so formally. Her posture was perfect; her chin was held up, but not to the point where she would look haughty, just confident; and her hands were now folded neatly in front of her. She reminded him of someone greatly, but he just couldn't place it. It was just so familiar. And her accent was hard to place, too. It was clearly a mix, but of what, he didn't know. It was pretty, though, with a slight lilt and very soft t's.
"Yeah, I will." Henry smiled, then stuck his hand out towards Rose. He already knew her name, but she didn't know that. "Hi."
The seven year old hesitantly rested her palm in his and gave him a small smile. "Hello." Henry definitely heard more of an a than an e, so Australian, maybe? She certainly sounded a little bit like the local florist. Maybe her name was Rose French. "My name is Rose. Chip has told me about you. You two are in the same class, correct?"
Henry stared for a moment, wrapping his mind around the fact that she sounded so much like an adult. "Y-yes, we are."
The bell rang and Henry huffed slightly. He had blown his first chance all because the little girl sounded like a librarian and talked more than her friend. Chip was nine and always played the big brother roll from what Henry had seen, but Rose really acted more like the older one judging by their conversation.
"You wanna walk to class together?" Chip asked brightly when Rose walked off to her own class.
"Sure, sounds good." Henry smiled. "Are you two brother and sister?"
"Nah, but it feels like that sometimes," the blonde answered happily.
Henry tried to think of more questions to ask. "If she's seven, why is she in fourth grade?"
"How do you know she's seven?" Chip asked carefully.
'Because I looked at her permission slip which she has been turning in for as long as I've been alive. R. G. always signs it.' Henry looked at his classmate. "I-I heard a… teacher talking about it."
"For real?" The younger boy asked suspiciously.
"Yup." Henry nodded.
Chip drew up one corner of his mouth in thought. "'Kay, if you say so."
They walked into the classroom and Henry groaned. Ms. Ginger was Snow White's substitute. She smelled weird.
{[(/*\)]}
She kissed Gold.
Emma sat on the bathroom floor with her boots stood next to her. She had just gotten her pants on the right way after stuffing the last few pieces of bacon in her mouth when she remembered- she kissed Gold. She had drinks, August offered help, she left the bar, she got accosted, she kissed Gold. Then she propositioned him.
The worst part was that not only did he not indulge in her pleas, he drove her home and kept her company. He was a perfect gentleman, which meant she couldn't be angry at him. That jerk. How could he? Mr. Gold was selfish and cutthroat and unforgiving and… always polite - to the people he deemed worthy - and witty and intelligent. And a good kisser.
She had been drunk, though, and alcohol meant bad decisions, and kissing him was a bad decision. According to Henry, Gold was evil. As much as she wanted to deny it, Henry's opinion mattered to her a lot. If Gold wasn't good enough for her son, he wasn't good enough for her. There were so many reasons she shouldn't and only one reason she should. 'You want to.'
"No I don't," Emma growled to herself, carding her fingers through her tangled hair. "This town is rubbing all it's crazy off on me."
'Emma and Gold sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.'
'I don't even know his first name.'
'But you know what his tongue tastes like.'
'Ew. Gross.'
'Not what you said last night.'
'Why do you sound like Meryl Streep from The Devil Wears Prada?'
'Because that is the most condescending voice you can think of.'
'No, it's not.'
'Do you really want me to sound like Regina, the real devil in Prada?'
'No, you make a good point.'
'I know I do, I'm a genius.'
'You're me.'
'Don't ruin this for me, idiot.'
Emma looked straight ahead at the sink in front of her. "I really need to go back to Boston."
She could hear Regina's heels clicking down the hall. At least she was leaving. Emma would still have to face Gold if she went back out, though. She could still taste the bacon in her mouth. He was a good cook, kisser, and lawyer. She was so screwed.
{[(/*\)]}
Gold paced back and forth, listening to the tap of his cane. Miss Blanchard stared at him blankly, watching him go back and forth. Regina had left shortly after their stare down, and yet Emma was still in the bathroom. It wasn't like he put laxatives in her pancakes; what was taking so long?
He thought back to the morning, attempting to keep a laconic facade in place for Miss Blanchard, though he doubted she was paying the slightest bit of attention. It wasn't like she would be able to guess what he had done, even if he did look a little guilty. It wasn't supposed to be that way. He wasn't supposed to feel badly for putting a hunting knife in the vent by Miss Blanchard's bed. He wasn't supposed to feel badly for betraying the Savior. She was a piece, a pawn. Nothing more and nothing less than a means to an end.
The deal he made with Regina had demanded that the school teacher look guilty; in the beginning, at least. By the end, Regina would be tied up in her own string. Where she thought he wanted his battery charges dropped, he simply wanted a way to move her to the side. Even if his plan didn't work, it couldn't be traced back to him. The two idiots who had buried the heart had used Regina's shovel, and if they were to testify that he was guilty, it was their word against the word of a very wealthy and influential man who had not a complaint about Kathryn Nolan.
All he had to do was not care about Emma Swan.
