A/N: Hello, fabulous readers out there. I hope you all had a wonderful New Year's and got to celebrate with your family and friends. This chapter is a mighty one, indeed. I'm glad there are so many people that are already fond of it. So, enjoy!
8:15 p.m.
Impressing Emma was easier said than done.
It took great patience to battle against her constant dismissals. Patience was a tricky quality that went back and forth with him—some days he was blessed with it and other days he was cursed with not having enough of it. A dragon would be easier to court than their lovely savior on most days.
Today, he was leaning toward impatience as the clock began ticking down the measly four hours to midnight. Four hours to get on Emma's good side. Theoretically, he supposed he could just tackle her at midnight and plant a passionate kiss on her lips…but he feared he'd lose his family jewels in the process.
Better to do this nice and slow. Or at least somewhere in the timeframe of four hours.
It also did him no good to know that he was currently one of the top three on Emma's hate list after everything that was necessarily done to break the curse. They had yet to discuss the events that had occurred and where he stood in terms of her trust.
What better time to have that conversation than a New Year's party? It might be a chance to start fresh, make peace. And so, he limped toward the booth their savior shared with Henry and her doting parents. He hoped they weren't making up for lost time in their parenting skills by giving Emma the 'stranger-danger' talk.
With the hollow tap of his cane, the four of them lifted their heads, each face contorting with suspicion.
"Emma," he leisurely drawled for good measure. He adored the way her name rolled off his tongue. If he still had that scrolled covered with Emma's name, he'd give it to her. Would she be impressed by that or intimidated? "Fancy meeting you here."
Emma glanced around the diner warily, as though they were somewhere other than the town's New Year's party. Or maybe she was searching for Red for a little help with unwanted patrons. Resting her arms flat on the table, she boldly locked eyes with him. Her cockiness was pleasing.
"Hmm…fancy that," she agreed. She gave him a critical once-over from his dusty brown hair to the length of his suit. He let her look, spreading his feet slightly apart to pose. "Here I figured you'd be plotting complicated, diabolical plans in the basement of your little pink house."
He grimaced unpleasantly. That was it—his New Year's resolution was going to be re-painting that house. Annoyed, he tapped his cane against the tiled linoleum floor.
"You must be going color-blind, Emma. Last time I checked, my house was salmon. Not pink," he retorted, grinding his teeth. She gave him a dubious look. There was no stopping the flow of words now. It boiled inside him until he practically burst. "Bubble gum is pink, Pepto-Bismol is pink, Sleeping Beauty's dress was pink. By that definition, my house is not pink."
Four pairs of concerned eyes stared blankly at him after his unexpected rant. Twenty-eight years of hearing the Mayor taunt him about the shade of his house—a shade she purposely chose for her own amusement—had been bottled up for far too long. He wiped his sleeve across his brow, regaining control of his senses.
Where was his beloved Dark Castle when he needed it?
"I always remembered Sleeping Beauty's dress being blue," Charming said, his eyebrows knitting together in his concentration. Technically, it was David who recalled the Disney tale, but he figured it best not to revive that confused bloke. "Does this mean you'll be painting your house blue?"
Snow White sighed and placed a comforting hand over Charming's, patting it.
"Her dress was pink," she insisted, firmly nodding her head. It meant to leave no room for argument, but Charming was firing up, anyway.
"No, it was blue. Sleeping Beauty danced with her prince and it was blue!" Snow White's cheeks reddened. She had that defiant gleam in her eyes that existed when she'd been a darker version of herself and wielding a mighty enchanted bow with the intent of killing the Queen.
"It was pink! I suppose you think Pepto-Bismol is blue, too?" Gold observed the lovebirds' dispute with growing fascination. Honestly, he hadn't even aimed for sabotage yet, but here they were arguing like an old married couple. I guess I am that good, after all. Sheer brilliance.
Even Henry was sitting up straighter in his seat and engaged in the tennis match between his grandparents.
"It should have been green," he insisted. They stared at him in shock, as if suddenly remembering he was there. Their faces mirrored wonder and outrage at the same time.
"Green?" Emma shifted her body away from her parents and ignored their bickering. He could tell it unnerved her to see her parents going at it so close after breaking the curse. They were supposed to be the purest true love couple, susceptible to simple matters such as this.
"Gold, I don't care if your house is tickle me pink or Little Mermaid red," she shot back, her irritation coming through loud and clear. Licking his lips, he decided it was time to get down to business.
"May I speak with you?" Emma narrowed her eyes curiously. He was good at masking his intentions—if she wished to understand his purpose, she'd have to comply. She waved a hand aside in invitation.
"Nothing's stopping you so far," she pointed out.
He tentatively glanced at Snow and Charming, who were well-known for being protective of their friends and family. After all, Snow had been the one to pull a sword on the Queen after she crashed their wedding. That napkin dispenser was beginning to look rather unfriendly.
"May I speak with you…privately?"
Like a shot of gunfire, all banter of blue and pink dresses ceased. He was the sole object of the Charmings' scorn. Protectively, Charming placed a steady hand on his daughter's shoulder while Snow took it upon herself to wrap an arm around Henry and urge him closer to her side.
"Anything you need to say to Emma can be said in front of her father," Charming declared. Unbeknownst to him, Emma rolled her green eyes to the ceiling, the words Oh, Dad, lingering on her lips. He pointed a finger to his chest in clarification. "That's me."
"Are you sure about that?" It was always amusing, ruffling Charming's feathers. Puffing out his chest valiantly, he appeared ready to turn his fork into a sword.
"Positive," he returned confidently. His crystal blue eyes twinkled for Snow. A memory prodded Gold's brain from long ago. Oh, the chance for sabotage was much too good to resist. Emma may think less of him for this, but…
"I'm not trying to impugn your responsibilities as a father, Charming." He held up his hands in defense. "I merely wondered if there was some significance to Mary Margaret's one-night stand with Dr. Whale."
The match had been struck and the fire set to the trail of gunpowder. Alarmed, Charming's eyes swiveled to Snow, his hand falling from Emma's shoulder. If Gold didn't know any better, he'd say that the lovebirds hadn't uncovered the skeletons in Mary Margaret and David's closets.
"Whale?" Snow slapped a palm against the tabletop.
"We were cursed!"
Emma's head sank into her hands, her blonde hair cascading around her jaw to hide the way her fingers massaged her temples. Charming's lip drooped in disappointment as he scrutinized his wife. If I were a Disney villain, this would be the part where I sing a devilishly catchy tune, rub my palms together, and laugh maniacally, Gold thought gleefully.
"Snow, that is your excuse for everything lately! No apples to bake apple pie for Thanksgiving? We were cursed. An apartment with virtually no walls? We were cursed. Drinking at the bar, selling candles door-to-door, and making Henry participate in a play about fruits and vegetables? We were cursed!"
Henry seemed to overcome his initial astonishment and he stared accusingly up at his grandmother.
"You kissed Frankenstein?" Emma lifted her head and gazed at Henry skeptically across the table.
"Frankenstein isn't even a fairy-tale character! I figured he'd be the whale from Pinocchio. Monstro." She cringed immediately afterward, probably haunted by mental images of Snow somehow having a one-night stand with a deep-sea creature. Well, this has been fun, Gold mused as he nudged Emma's boot with his cane.
"About that chat…" Emma glared fiercely at him. Now was not the best of times, apparently.
"Haven't you caused me enough grief this year?" She motioned to her disagreeable parents for emphasis. He dared to lean farther over the table until their bodies nearly made contact. Nearly.
"Have I? Let's see….I allowed Miss Ashley—oh, excuse me, Cinderella—to keep her child—" Emma held up a finger to signal his attention. Not that she needed even that to do the trick.
"Which cost me a favor. One you're still holding over my head. That doesn't count," she replied briskly. He brushed off her protest like water off a duck. There was more to come.
"The curse is broken, is it not? You are finally a believer, the savior you were meant to be. Henry is not suffering from a sleeping curse any longer and you have been reunited with your long-lost parents. You've also managed to find a home in this provincial town, a privilege that has been denied you your entire life." He ticked the points off on his pianist fingers until his palm was spread open wide in front of Emma's face. "Seems I have presented to you a handful of kindnesses. You of all people should know my policy about reciprocity."
Charming tilted his head quizzically, having caught that last string of words. He was probably thinking Gold's reciprocity demanded something intimate from Emma. For once, the prince would be right.
"In English? Nobody here speaks the language of Dearie." Gold frowned obnoxiously. Luckily, Emma was perceptive enough to translate for him.
"I do not owe you a favor, Gold." See? She speaks fluent Dearie. Oh, so she wanted to play it difficult, did she? He always got what he wanted in the end. Leering down at her with the intensity of a vulture, he smirked.
"Perhaps you'll find another way to repay me," he hinted devilishly. He knew the hook would latch into Emma's core; she would not be able to resist asking what devious thoughts were floating around his mind. Even if she was struggling to hold her tongue.
"Like…?" He grinned wider, flashing his teeth. Emma instinctively scooted an inch away on the pleather seat.
"Hypothetically?" Nothing was hypothetical with him and she knew it very well. He made a show of examining his properly trimmed nails. "Let's say…a simple kiss at midnight?"
The moment the request was out, Emma blanched in shock. Charming nearly leapt over the table to urge him away from Emma, his hand outstretched like a stop sign.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! My daughter is not kissing some arrogant, annoying, twisted magic-wielding imp!" Gold recoiled from the harshly flung words and sneered. His fingers curled tighter over the head of his cane. Always ungrateful, that faux-prince. How many times had he honestly aided him? He should be happy to put in a good word for his daughter.
Who else would he suggest? Jefferson?
"Aren't you one to call the kettle black, dearie? Perhaps I should refer to the name you use when writing to the town's advice column. Hopeless and Confused." Charming's mouth dropped open in protest, but Emma sharply demanded silence. Her cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink as she realized how many people were turning their heads their way.
"Enough," she roared. The table fell silent—Snow and Henry's eyes averted from the dealmaker, Charming simmered in his frustration. "If you're on your best behavior, I might consider repaying you," she told Gold reluctantly.
Both Snow and Charming's eyes flew wide open in disbelief. How would they react if Emma invited him over for dinner some night after this? Henry studied Gold distrustfully, as if he thought he would steal Emma away like he planned with Cinderella's baby.
"Turn that might into a certainty and you have a deal," he silkily negotiated.
He held out his hand, but Emma never made a move to touch him. The coldness radiated off her in waves. This would be much harder than he thought. At this rate, he would need to be armed with one of the dwarfs' pickaxes to chip through that barrier.
"How about if you can impress me, you'll earn that kiss?" Even better. Despite the hardships and loneliness that inevitably came with being the Dark One, he had learned a thing or two about the affections of women. At least, he thought he did. Then again, that was back when he dressed in leather pants.
"Deal."
And he swiftly turned on his heel to leave the Charmings to their own devices. He couldn't help but chuckle under his breath at the snippets of conversation he overheard over his shoulder. The seed had definitely been planted and sprung up magnificently.
"And what about Kathryn, Charming? You were married to her and she once had a pregnancy scare!"
"We…were…cursed?"
"Exactly."
…
Despite the round of squabbling, Snow and Charming had apparently agreed to disagree. They were still sitting together in the same booth and Charming had relented enough to take Snow's hand into his own and trace circles with his thumb across her skin. Snow murmured something and the prince smiled. Oh, Charming, how could I ever stay mad at you? You're so handsome! Oh, Snow, even if you ran away with Whale, I would always find you, my love!
How did you separate the world's purest couple?
When he returned to the bar for a shred of solace, Red's head was bent forward and she was scribbling something on a yellow pad of paper. Her cricket was mingling in the corner with Marco. Out of curiosity, he tried peering over the bar to see what she was writing so furiously. Was she making a list of deceptive tricks, too?
"If you scribble any faster, you'll punch a hole in the paper," he commented. The pencil paused mid-sentence and Red glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She scrunched her nose and tapped the pencil unnervingly on the bar.
"Great. You made me forget what I was about to write," she scolded, tossing the stub of a pencil away. Tearing off the sheet of paper, she slid it across the bar for him to read. "This is a list of rules for the big New Year's kiss. I know how you appreciate details."
Indeed, he thought as his brown eyes scanned over it. His lips quirked at a few of the notions Red had come up with. It was a pretty impressive list already, without his encouragement.
1. The kiss must be enacted at the stroke of midnight. No early starts allowed!
2. No intense make-out sessions within the hour of midnight. Refer to rule 1.
3. It must be a legitimate kiss between two people. No pecks on the cheek, no kissing the back of the hand, no French-kissing! No kissing your reflection in the mirror, either—it won't count as two people and you'll look stupid trying.
4. The kiss must take place where everyone can witness it—no running off to the bathroom for a private kiss. Be proud of your smooching.
5. No forced kisses—no owed favors, no tackling the mate of your choice and applying unwanted affection. It must be willing between both people. No kissing on top of the tables. Granny doesn't need a second heart attack this year. Or a reason to use her crossbow.
6. Party games do not count. Spin the bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven will not win you points.
7. No kissing a cut-out of the person you wish to kiss. It is creepy and will not count as a real kiss.
When he was done reading the list, he read it over again just to be absolutely certain of the rules Red was enforcing. There went his plan to tackle Emma and plant a kiss on her lips. He was surprised that she hadn't considered a rule about interfering with fellow competitors. Maybe the idea of interfering too tempting for her to resist, especially when it concerned him.
"And what is the repercussion should one of us lose? What would you have me do?"
There had to be a catch here somewhere, otherwise Red would not be as excited. Wolves were always slippery about these sorts of games. She gently pried the paper from his fingers and went back to scribbling. A second later, she handed it back to him. A note had been added at the very bottom.
In the event that there is a winner—meaning that one of us loses—that unfortunate person will celebrate the winner's victory by serving dinner and acting as that lucky couple's personal waiter/waitress for one entire evening.
The insides of his stomach caved in. If Red managed to come out victorious, he would have to serve her and Archie on a date. How humiliating would that be? And no doubt Red would milk it for its worth. But if he won…ooh, that would be excellent. Yes, waitress, bring us some wine. Oh, waitress, Emma requires a chocolate cake, freshly made.
He was bound to win.
"Agreed," he stated, whisking the paper back. He deliberately dismissed Red's company by shifting away on his stool.
In the corner of the room, Leroy had set up a radio to play music while they waited for midnight to come. Red hurried off to take individual orders for any food or drink. She was almost twirling across the floor like a ballerina.
And he smiled as he went back to watching the lovebirds.
….
"So, is there anyone else that you slept with that I should know about? Sidney?" Charming interrogated Snow as the couple strode up to the bar. They stopped a few stools away from Gold, allowing him to eavesdrop on their heated conversation. Despite the karaoke machine Leroy had found in Granny's closet, he caught almost every word being spoken.
"The Queen's mirror? You must be kidding, Charming," Snow fired back. There was a moment of pause—from the corner of his eye, Charming appeared quite stunned.
"That guy's a mirror? I thought that was just a clever name for his newspaper!" Gold was inches away from doing what this world called a 'facepalm.' Sometimes, David Nolan's cluelessness leaked through. Suddenly, Red slid up to the bar, interrupting their moment.
"Snow, what can I get you?" Friendliness oozed off Red as she inquired about her old friend. Turning slightly on his stool, he watched Snow squeeze her eyes shut for a moment before smiling warmly at the waitress. Headache?
"Just a hot chocolate, Red," she ordered. "With—"
"With a sprinkle of cinnamon," Red finished expertly. She still did that often, due to the endless days of filling the same orders. One of these days, he planned to mess with Red's serving abilities and obnoxiously order something different each day. "I served Mary Margaret for twenty-eight years, remember? You're lucky, too. We're almost out of cinnamon."
While Red dutifully fixed together Snow's hot cocoa, a troublesome idea began to nestle itself deep and comfortably inside Gold's mind. Oh, he shouldn't. He actually liked Snow White a little, even if she was a royal. How could anyone resist that sweet face? But the idea was rooting deep down, slithering along the lobes of his brain, demanding to be satisfied.
This was something of a competition, after all.
Snow White wanted hot chocolate, did she?
Over the bar, while Red was preoccupied with amicably chatting up Snow and Charming, he spied the row of spices and bottles at Red's fingertips. With a brief flourish of his wrist, the bottle of cinnamon and small bottle of Tabasco sauce switched positions, gliding smoothly into their new spots. Red never noticed the exchange,
She also never stated in the rules that magic was not allowed.
Casually, he captured a tortilla chip from the nearest bowl, dipped it in salsa and popped it in his mouth. He waited to see if this would really work. He was relying on the habits of a hazy existence. Red laughed at something Snow said and blindly reached for the bottle of cinnamon. Or, at least, the place where the cinnamon always had been for the past twenty-eight years.
Red poured the sauce into the drink and it dissolved into the chocolate. She put some whipped cream on top and passed it over to Snow.
"One hot chocolate with cinnamon," she announced proudly. That's what you think, dearie. I hope that drink is hot enough for you, Snow, he thought wickedly, barely able to hide his smile as he crunched on another chip. Inclining his head, he watched Snow bring the mug to her rosy lips and take a generous sip. How could he resist observing?
"Oh…phew, it's a little hotter than usual, Red. How much cinnamon did you put in?" Red's sultry eyes darkened with confusion.
"Not that much. Just a pinch, like always. At least I think I did…" He saw her reach for the bottle of cinnamon which wasn't cinnamon at all, only to realize what the special ingredient really was. Grabbing up the bottle of Tabasco sauce, the color drained from her face. "Snow, wait—"
It was far too late now. Snow took another sip of cocoa. She would regret it in a second.
Now the fair princess was sweltering and waving her hand frantically in front of her face to cool it off. The apples of her cheeks reddened with heat and her foot tapped against the rail of the bar. Her body squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, unable to handle the burning that was rising inside her.
"Snow? Are you alright?" Charming laid a gentle hand on Snow's elbow, but it jerked out of his grasp as his wife nearly jumped off the stool. He spotted the bottle of hot sauce in Red's hand and his eyes widened. "You put hot sauce in her drink?"
"I swear, I didn't mean to! That's where the cinnamon always used to be before and I…I guess I…somehow…"
All of a sudden, Red locked gazes with him and he could hear the wheels turning in her head. She studied the row of spices and found the cinnamon right where the Tabasco sauce was before. He was sure there was nothing on his face to convey his trickery, but somehow the dots connected and she knew.
And Snow was putting on an interesting show for the diner, hopping back and forth on her feet and panting. Steam practically rose off her tongue.
"Oh, gods, this is hot!" She scrambled for a drink on the bar, but all she found were mugs of beer. "Why is there nothing but beer? I need water!" Snow slapped her hands on the counter in desperation, which only jostled Red more. Frantically, she gestured to the kitchen.
"We're all out of water bottles. The faucet works, but—"
That was all Snow needed to hear in order to dash for the kitchen and stick her mouth under the faucet. Charming gave a miserable groan and glared at the bottle of hot sauce that Red oh so carefully set down in its proper place. Swooping toward Gold, she spoke in a low voice that only his ears could hear.
"If I weren't planning on dropping a tarantula down the Mayor's shirt, this would so be going on the list of rules."
…
He had wandered into the kitchen to check on Snow's fiery battle and came out smiling wider than he had all night. Honestly, he felt like a kid that had visited DisneyLand for their first time. He almost felt guilty that Snow looked so miserable after lifting her head from the kitchen sink.
"My tongue hurts," she murmured as she drifted past, black hair damp from the faucet. He stepped aside to let her through, but she never gave him a second glance. Good to know, he thought with a hint of satisfaction. If he was lucky, Snow wouldn't want to kiss anything for a while.
"So did Charming's…after eating lasagna with Madame Mayor that one night," he couldn't resist tossing over his shoulder. He heard the clump of Snow's boots stop in place as she registered what he had just said. "Oh, but you were cursed, remember?"
And then she was charging straight for the stool that held Charming.
"Charming! You ate lasagna with the Queen?" The guilty expression on Charming's face confirmed the rumor was true. "The other night when I cooked it, you told me you didn't like lasagna!"
Oh, he could die giggling then and there.
Somehow, he managed to maintain his control as he peered around Granny's narrow kitchen. Even though their rent was paid to him, he had never been inside the diner's kitchen before. He had no reason for it. At the moment, it was blissfully empty, what with everyone enjoying the New Year's party.
Even Granny was busy doing a duet with Archie. Total Eclipse of the Heart, from the sound of it.
There were quite a few treasures to be found in Granny's kitchen. It seemed Granny was stocked with everything—extra condiments, ingredients, herbs…and, oh, what was this? Sitting innocently inside a dusty cabinet for…personal use? An April Fool's prank? That woman was not your average granny; that was for sure. He'd have to remember never to order a drink from the diner on April 1st.
In any case, the label fell off his tongue easily as he picked up the surprise product. Laxatives. This could come in handy.
Hastily, he pocketed it and imagined the amusement that would inevitably come if Charming ever—
"What the hell are you doing in here?" He froze at the sound of the demanding voice behind him. Turning, he gazed into a pair of emerald eyes that were alight with suspicion. What a surprise, indeed.
"I could ask you the same thing, Miss Swan," he returned swiftly. Unless you happened to try Red's latest special—extra hot chocolate. I'd be happy to relieve you of some of that heat.
His carefree retort only set her on edge even more, the muscles of her shoulders tightening. She could use a relaxing massage and he was told once or twice that his fingers were magical.
"I was looking for my…Mary Margaret. Apparently, the hot chocolate was too hot for her to handle tonight," she said, eyeing him up and down. Why was she studying him so expectantly? Did she suspect he had something to do with her mother's drinking problems?
He simply chose to leer down at her calmly. Betray nothing.
"I believe she went that way," he pointed over her shoulder, but she made no attempt to leave. Instead, she raced for him and planted her hands firmly on her hips, efficiently blocking his path.
"You never answered my question. What are you doing in here?" He resisted the urge to pat the pocket containing the laxatives.
Having Emma so close was doing odd things to his senses. After all, she was the savior, capable of great power and accomplishing even greater things. She radiated integrity, strength, and courage—everything he was not. A seductive blend, if ever there was one.
And she did look fabulous in leather; always a bit of a turn-on for him. Gods, he needed to put a bit of distance between them before there was no turning back. He needed to clear his head before breaking the puzzle that was Emma Swan.
"Perhaps I was searching for something to impress you," he offered.
Whirling, he did just that, sizing up the contents of the room. Crossbow? Dangerous. Cinnamon? Decidedly not. He plucked a flower from a vase on the counter and held it out to her. Emma stared down at the rose uncertainly before accepting it, their fingers brushing ever so lightly upon meeting at the stem.
"How charming of you," she flatly surmised. She could deny it all she wanted, but he could tell by the pink coloring of her cheeks that she liked it. Had anyone sincerely given her a rose before? "Now what are you really doing in here?"
That was Emma for you—forever skeptical and unappreciative of a kind gesture.
"Must I have an ulterior motive for everything?" Emma's stern gaze told him the answer: yes. It was only during a full moon that Emma's Charming genes surfaced and she was easily fooled.
"Gold, you have an ulterior motive every time you blink," she shot back. He exhaled deeply through his nose. To tell the truth or not tell the truth? That was the question.
"I suppose you'll just have to frisk me…Sheriff."
The rose quivered in her grip—the turmoil written on her face suggested she was seriously debating whether to put it down and comply with his ultimatum. To his pleasant surprise, she laid it down gently on the counter and motioned for him to spread his arms and legs. A thrill shot along his spine as he leaned his cane against the wall and obediently did as she asked.
Breathing out deeply, her hands started at his shoulders, working over the muscles and smoothing across the length of his right arm. The weight of her touch dipped underneath, teasing the skin of his wrist, then his hand. It blossomed for her, inviting her touch. Curling her fingers away, she moved to his left arm.
All the while, her lips flattened into an anxious line and she worked to avoid looking directly at him, but she was failing horribly. On the other hand, his gaze never strayed from her face at all—it demanded her full-on attention, penetrated that impossibly thick wall until her fingers paused on the silky crook of his elbow.
And she looked up.
Breath quickening in short gasps, she vehemently brushed against the skin of his neck and began patting his chest. Her hands slid into his suit to check for hidden objects. Slipping, dropping, hovering about his belt. Once more, she hesitated in continuing her search, distracted by the heavy onset of his stare.
Those spring green eyes flickered up to his chocolate brown ones and he lifted an eyebrow to challenge her. Slowly, his arms lowered to his sides; one hand reached up and caressed the small of her back and delved underneath the hem of her leather jacket.
"You're clean," she muttered and backed out of his grasp. Spinning on her heel, she went in search of her mother, forgetting all about the rose left abandoned on the counter. Left alone, he breathed in and out, calming his nerves.
If anyone needed an ice-cold glass of water, it was him.
…..
There were only a few ways to daze the Dark One beyond belief.
Judging by the fearful expressions of passersby on the streets, it was rare if anyone possessed the knowledge. But one way for certain was the gentle touch of a woman. It was the reason why Belle had taken him by surprise all those years ago in his castle—for what kind of woman would care to shower affection over the Dark One? Even if he encouraged it and manipulated it, the simplest gesture had a way of sinking deeply into his mind.
Gold could swear he still felt the sensation of Emma's fingertips roaming over his body, burning straight to the bone. Absently, he drifted past Charming with his head cloudy and bemused. The prince lounged on a stool and watched Red get up to do a duet with Archie. Snow was lost in the crowd, silently massaging her burnt tongue every few minutes.
What would Charming do if he realized the most powerful dark being in the realms had just been frisked by his daughter?
"Funny. You claim you're so powerful with your magic. I half-expected you to be up there and wooing the crowd with a song or two," Charming spoke up, gesturing to the small crowded area where karaoke was taking place. Gold grimaced at the idea of having the courage enough to make a fool of himself in front of all of Storybrooke.
"Not much of a singing voice, I'm afraid," he muttered half-heartedly. "Hot drink?"
He took it upon himself to occupy the stool beside Charming and nodded his head toward the untouched mug on the bar. Steam rose from the rim and warmed the prince's handsome face. Blankly, Charming glanced down at it before wrapping his fingers around the handle.
"Not as hot as Snow's, hopefully," he joked lightly. Gold suspected Charming would have surveyed Red like a hawk while she fixed it together.
He dipped a hand inside his pocket and felt around for the laxatives. It was a miracle Emma hadn't carried out her frisking long enough to discover them. Now, how to go about slipping it to Charming?
He cleared his throat to catch the good shepherd's attention. For all his intense curiosity and acknowledgement, the two of them might have been drinking buddies. A laughable notion. Just as Mr. Gold never shared a drink with David Nolan, Rumpelstiltskin had never considered doing so with Charming.
"I've been meaning to ask you something," he started, wracking his brain for something to distract Charming with. The prince was smarter than David Nolan. Those cool blue eyes, pieces of a soft summer sky, flashed with indignation.
"Before you say it, no, I am not giving you my daughter's hand in marriage," he announced sharply. It was a good thing Sidney wasn't in earshot or that story would end up on the front page of The Mirror. He could see the headlines now: Here Comes the Bride, All Dressed in Leather.
Gold leaned back in his seat, baffled by Charming's automatic assumption. How long had this one been swimming around his mind?
"That was not what I was planning to ask," he argued. Then he drew back. "Why? Would you be willing to reconsider?" The deathly scowl on Charming's lips proved that to be a definite negative. Gold whistled lowly. "Alright, then. My question is not so blunt. How do you…slay a dragon?"
He had no plausible idea where that one came from. Apparently, quick thinking was one of his stronger attributes tonight while everyone else's minds were becoming numb from alcohol.
Charming paused mid-sip and gawked as though Gold just sputtered foam. Raving mad, he could read quite clearly on those brazen features. Charming opened his mouth and closed it again. Clearly, he was having issues processing this.
"Let me get this straight. You want to know…how to slay a dragon?" Gold kept his passiveness reigning free, to prove how serious he was about the matter. Charming's eyebrows shot up in wonder. "Can't you just….point a finger and turn it into a unicorn?"
What in blazes would he ever do with a unicorn? Keep it as a pet? Though, their blood and horns were useful for special spells and potions.
"Yes, I could," he agreed, if only to remind Charming that he was indeed powerful. "But…I've never had the chance to slay a dragon the proper way. Valiantly, with sword in hand. Like you." After this, he would be paying a trip to the kitchen to wash his mouth out with soap.
Forget the pony; he could turn that bloody dragon into a puppy and hand it to Archie for his birthday. How would the cricket fare with a dog that breathed fire every time it barked?
"Like…me?" There was that echo again. Echo, echo, echo…"Well, you just…take the sword in your hand…" Gold noticed Red's pathetic stub of a pencil on the bar and hastily snatched it up. He held it out to Charming.
"Here. Why not demonstrate?" Charming blinked down at the piece of pencil.
Hesitantly, he accepted it between his fingers. Slipping off the stool, he placed his feet firmly on the ground with his back facing Gold. Muscles tensed, back straight as a pole, legs buckled, the prince actually looked ready for a life or death battle. It made the dealmaker snicker to observe him wield the pencil like a sword. Fool.
"Right. First, we have to set the scene. So, there's a dragon. A really big, scaly fire-breathing dragon. And black smoke is rising from the village because it's on fire. And men are screaming, knights are dying…and people are panicking and shouting: Help! Help! We are dying! Can you save us?"
Out of all the people he had dealt with over the years—and there were quite a few—Charming doubtlessly had to be the most dramatic. And the most amusing. He even beat out that one-handed wastrel, Killian Jones.
While the prince was putting on a one-man show of cowering like a peasant—which admittedly stung just a bit due to being so close to home—he brought the laxatives out from his pocket. With Charming's back turned, he dumped the contents into the mug. Bottoms up, Charming!
"Oh, yes. Can't leave the good people crying out desperately, can we?" He played along while stirring a spoon in the drink. Mix it up nice and sweet. He almost licked the spoon to taste it himself, which would not bode well for his encounters with Emma.
"Exactly," Charming nodded over his shoulder. "You jump into the flames and action with your mighty sword drawn. And there's the dragon, stomping down on someone's hut. Fearsome, with yellow eyes as big as your head. And when it closes in on you, towering over you worse than any ogre, you can feel its breath all hot and muggy on your skin. It shoots a pillar of flames your way, and you dodge like this."
Charming dropped on his knees and rolled. He nearly tripped a few people in the process. Now heads were turning to watch the fake fight.
"Maybe jump on its spiky back and ride it along—" This had gone on long enough. He feigned a yawn of boredom.
"And then you chop its filthy head off, save the day, and have crying young maidens swooning at your feet, correct?"
Charming got to his feet as if just realizing he was rolling around on the diner's floor. He glanced back at Gold warily, obviously taken aback by his abrupt conclusion. He returned to his seat and set the pencil down on the bar. Play time was over.
"You have the idea. It's no cakewalk," he advised. It was then that Charming lifted the mug to his lips and drained half of it, worn from his intense demonstration. Gold settled back on his stool and waited. And waited. And waited.
Did the prince have bowels of steel?
Charming was oblivious to the change in his drink. He just went on tapping his foot as Red belted out a Taylor Swift song. There was the big vocal finish and the crowd cheered. Charming enthusiastically clapped, flashing his flawless pearly teeth.
Not even a tic out of place.
He downed the rest of the cup and moaned, rubbing his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and his head fell forward to hang limply.
"Must be indigestion," Charming murmured mostly to himself. Gold had to fight to keep the anticipation off his face. It was an amazing feat that Charming hadn't yet stumbled off the stool. After all, there had been enough laxatives in that stash for at least three people.
The seconds passed and the moaning increased in duration and frequency. The guy sounded like he was on his deathbed. Suddenly, Charming was bent over with his head under the bar and crossing his legs tightly. A cold sweat had broken over his skin as he shakily met Gold's eyes.
"Will you…oh, will you…excuse me. Clear the bathroom!"
Like a rocket, Charming was off the stool and running for the bathroom, shoving past people in the crowd. It was more like hobbling, if he was telling the truth. He dashed into the restroom and slammed the door behind him. Good luck kissing Snow in there. Mirrors don't count.
"What's his hurry?"
Flushed and breathless, Red joined his side and downed a glass of wine from the selection of drinks on a nearby tray. Her eyes flickered to the bathroom and then to Gold, who was playing the innocent card. He raised his head, as if just realizing Charming was no longer in the seat beside him.
"Oh, Charming? Why, I have no idea, dearie. One moment he's waving a pencil around in the air like a sword and pretending to slay a dragon. The next, he's complaining of indigestion and running for the bathroom." He deliberately frowned at the empty mug that Charming drank off. He made a show of waving it under his nose, sniffing it for the scent of alcohol. "Perhaps he's drunk."
The pitter-patter of footsteps made both of them turn around. Snow White approached their side of the diner, her fingers pinching her pink tongue and rubbing it in circles.
"Have you seen Charming? I can't find him," she questioned, pulling her fingers away long enough to speak coherently. Red tilted her head thoughtfully.
"I thought you two always find each other," she teased. Gold sniffed, but made no addition to that sentiment. Must be the Tabasco throwing her off. "He's in the bathroom."
"Something tells me he might be in there for a while," Gold offered, but Snow dashed off anyway to knock on the bathroom door. He ignored Red's probing gaze. He knew she was searching for some sign of his involvement in Charming's loose bowels. "I'll have a drink, while you're here. For Emma."
Maybe the guarded gleam came from thinking the mention of Emma was insurance so that Red wouldn't dare defile the drink as he had done with the lovebirds. Still, she gave him the benefit of the doubt and prepared a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Red took her time in choosing the cinnamon, just to be on the safe side.
"What are you going to put in her drink, I wonder?" Red gave him the evil eye as she handed the drink over.
"Would love potions disqualify me?" Immediately, the list of rules appeared from inside Red's shirt and the pencil flew wildly across the paper. That proved just how naïve Red was about magic—it was possible to conjure a lust spell, but not one of pure love.
"No…love…potions," she read aloud as she wrote. He shrugged and sought Emma out from the jostling crowd. She was currently sitting in a booth with Henry while Regina sent her unrelenting glares of hatred from across the room. If she didn't appreciate the beauty of a rose, there was a chance she would take kindly to a drink.
"The rules never discouraged extra cream."
…
At this time, I would also like to wish Huntress4455 a happy birthday. This chapter is dedicated to you and I hope your birthday was good to you, dearie!
And thank you, everyone, for the wonderful reviews! Perhaps I will come up with a few more Golden Swan holiday fics to keep you all satisfied. I love playing around with these two so much!
For now, I would like to thank discotimelord, 666Neme666, Huntress4455, pinkcrazyness, spankingfemfatale, helikesitheymikey, nuckythompson, DragonRose4, Musicalfan2012, thedoctorsgirl42, .714, DaesGatling, and SwanQueen4055.
Happy New Year's to everyone!