10:00 p.m.
Magic was different here in Storybrooke.
Gold recognized the truth of that unspoken rule almost immediately after bringing magic to this land that lacked it, especially since it was a channel of power that did not belong here. This was meant to be a land without it and yet magic had invaded it. It felt different, it worked different, it even tasted different. Magically conjured drinks and foods were about as appetizing as flat soda and sand these days.
But no one in this world understood it better than Red at 10:05 that night.
Seething worse than a rudely awakened dragon, Red briskly strode to his place at the corner of the bar…and dumped an armful of clothes directly in front of him. At first, he assumed she was criticizing his sense of fashion or mocking him about the superglue fiasco. Upon further inspection, he realized it was a pile entirely built of suit pants.
"No, thanks, dearie. I brought my own," he said before she could utter a syllable. He patted his black-suited leg for emphasis. And yet Red was still fuming and shoving the pile toward him. Was there a short-circuit in her hard drive? He didn't speak Cujo.
"I can see that," she coolly returned, gesturing to the pile. He frowned in puzzlement. There had to be thirty pairs of pants right there. Okay, I may have accepted one mug of beer, but I'm usually good about holding my liquor. I know I haven't stripped that many times.
"Donating new suits to my closet will not aid your rent," he taunted, pushing the pile back in her direction. Stubbornly, she used both her hands to nearly topple the pile into his lap.
"You're the one doing the donating, Gold," she retorted, much to his perplexity. "Thanks to your little Everlasting Pants spell, our backroom has become your twisted walk-in closet. The pants are multiplying!"
That was news to him. His eyes switched to the door that led into the little laundry room that served as the diner's backroom.
How odd; usually, when he performed that spell, the pants stayed on his body. Except the last time he used that spell was in the Enchanted Forest. This was not a moment of ordinary circumstance and this was not their world. Which meant there was a chance Red and Granny would be stocked with enough suit pants to last every man in New York City.
Whoops.
"Perhaps you could sell them," he suggested, even though his lips were curving with glee. The unexpected outcome of that simple spell was enough to make him…what was that fancy text lingo? Ah, yes—ROTFL. He wondered if that was meant to be literal.
"That'll go over splendidly for our customers," Red sarcastically spouted. Then, she planted a hand on her hip and imitated waitressing. "How about we just use them as our main ingredient, too? Would you like to hear our specials today? Let's see…Roast Suit, Pants a la mode, or our popular Hot Fudge Trousers."
Red flipped him a disinterested look and surveyed his attire pointedly.
"Besides the fact that you're the only person in this town who dresses like formal wear is severely going out of style," she objected.
He failed to see the problem with that. In his mind, it was always proper to look your best. Emma seemed to agree with him each time she donned her beautiful leather jacket.
A sharp clicking of stiletto heels interrupted their heated conversation, but he did not welcome it. The only reason he heard the clicking over the karaoke music was because he noticed the swift change in Red's posture and the person in the heels was decidedly in a rage.
"Just what are you two doing?" Regina's bitter voice came from somewhere to his right, deflating their spirits. He was surprised those flowers on the bar did not wither in her presence.
"Doing?" Red stretched the word out obnoxiously, as if it were utterly foreign on her tongue. She blinked innocently—once, twice. Swiveling in his stool, he decided to play along. It sounded too fun to pass up.
"Why, Your Majesty, what ever do you mean?" The two of them wore identical ambiguous smiles. Regina impatiently tapped her claw-sharp nails on the counter.
"Oh, please. Knock it off. You two are hardly Storybrooke's little angels," she spat. For the first time, she noticed the pile of suit pants on the bar. Her eyelids lowered a fraction of an inch. "What are those?"
Red swept her hands away from the pile as though the countless pants were riddled with an infectious disease. Apparently, the Gold Virus was catching this year. Even though Regina was oblivious to it, Gold mocked her insolence in his head.
"Those are pants. We're giving them away with every order of hamburgers in the New Year," Red couldn't resist adding for her own pleasure. Regina eyed the pile with nothing short of disgust. "It was Gold's idea."
Red pointed a finger at the dealmaker, earning herself a double glare. Regina's gaze scoured his body, though not longingly. More like a cockroach that desperately needed to be stepped on and squashed immediately.
"I've heard of people taking off their hats to the New Year. But I believe, Rumpel, you would be the first to take off his pants to the New Year. Tell me, what does Miss Swan think of that? Is she intrigued?"
The way she said Emma's name was vicious and tasteless, as though it left a nasty aftertaste on Regina's tongue. He tried to pass it off with indifference, but inside his mind the wheels grinded to a halt. There was a chance she was simply shooting in the dark, but he knew her—he knew that cunning, championing gleam in those black coals.
She knew.
"Don't mistake me for a fool. I've seen the way you two have been conversing all night," she continued when he failed to speak in defense.
"Conversing?" Red was playing the word game again. Gold sensed that she secretly got a kick out of it.
Regina, however, was not pleased. Judging by the pinched frown on her scarlet lips, she was debating on turning Red into a creature that could be easily crushed. A rat, perhaps. Or a fish that she could throw on the fryer. .
"Yes, conversing. Talking. Chatting. Howling at the moon, in your case," she snapped.
Those thin heels clicked as she circled Gold, her arm brushing across his back. It burned all the way through his suit, desirable as molten lava. She invited herself to sit on the stool beside him, much to his dismay. I hope Red put a fresh layer of superglue on that stool.
He stealthily looked to Red for confirmation, but she slightly shook her head no while pretending to fix her earring.
"I may not have the ears of a wolf, but I do have eyes. It doesn't take a genius to realize the two of you are playing some sort of New Year's game," she unraveled the pieces.
That is debatable, Gold thought snidely. As far as geniuses go, I wouldn't run it by Charming. Knowing his puny intuition, he'll guess we're planning a secret game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Or, in this case…cow. Ugh, Regina was babbling again.
"My guess is: you two are competing for the first kiss of the New Year. Cheesy lovesick couples always do," she concluded with a tiny shrug as if to say what can you do? So she was capable of putting two and two together. Brilliant. Could've fooled me.
Gold scanned the room for a new source of entertainment. By now, he had hoped to master the art of tuning out Regina. Oh, there was Archie trying to imitate Michael Jackson's Thriller…and there was Granny tossing back her third shot in a row….
"I want in," Regina abruptly announced.
Red happened to be taking a sip of beer at the moment of Regina's declaration and she spewed it out all over Regina's black coat. Gold's neck nearly snapped with the speed in which it spun in Regina's direction.
"Excuse me?" Did he hear that incorrectly? Or was Regina seeking to spoil his fun?
Gee, I wonder what her New Year's resolutions will be? Jumping up from her seat, Regina glared down at her damp saliva-beer soaked jacket and flung it off. Now, why doesn't she get reprimanded for stripping? Nobody wants to see that.
"Did I stutter? This little kissing game the two of you are conducting…I want in," she repeated terribly slow as she would to a person who was mentally incapacitated. Gold and Red stared grimly at her.
"So, you're admitting you are part of a cheesy lovesick couple?" The opportunity to mock Regina and make her eat her words was too great a temptation for Gold to ignore. "Oh, but that would imply you were involved with someone and—so sorry, dearie—reflections and cut-outs don't count."
Regina's head reeled back as though he slapped her. Not physically, just verbally.
"Why?" This exploded from Red's mouth, her eyes growing wide in astonishment. Regina tilted her head slightly to the right; Gold interpreted it as a sign that Regina viewed someone beneath her, worth belittling.
"I like to win," she hissed. Her palm extended to Red, her fingers wiggling in anticipation. "I assume you have some immoral set of rules to follow?"
Red glanced at Gold uncertainly, but he gave no indication of his opinion on Regina entering their game. He doubted she would be able to get anyone to willingly kiss her except for Sidney—he was out and about and giving Regina puppy eyes.
Hesitantly, Red pulled out the list from inside her shirt and offered it to Regina. The Queen sneered at it before setting it on the counter ever so carefully with two fingers.
Gold was suddenly glad that Red put the 'no magic' rule down. Otherwise, Regina would try to turn them all into snails. Or would she break her word? Doubtless.
Regina's lips dipped deeper along her face as she scanned the list over. Gold could tell when she reached the 'no magic' part because her mouth moved with the words and the disdain in her eyes was impossible for a blind person to miss. Addicted to magic, Regina should crumble from the detox like an alcoholic going without beer.
Ultimately, she thrust the list back at Red and pursed her lips.
"Game on," she proclaimed, taking the time to meet both sets of opposing eyes.
Gold wasn't intimidated, even with the clock ticking the hours away. Who would ever fall for Regina of their own free will? Besides the stable boy, anyhow. Gold had a working theory that Stable Boy simply mistook her for a horse. It would certainly explain all the grooming and carrots.
Regina offered the two of them a sinister smile dripping with a deadly promise. And then she glided away, off to laugh maniacally about her evil plans.
"And the stakes just got higher," Red glumly observed. Gold watched Regina vanish into the crowd, swift as black smoke, and imagined all the ways in which he would happily knock her off her throne. "So, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"
Was she referring to him? Did she honestly just insist that they were in some way…friends? How much beer did she drink?
"Not unless you're in a room with a handful of enemies who simply wish to kill you instead of kiss you," he replied. Red grimaced.
"Yeah, but I want to do neither to you. Think about it—temporary allies until Regina is thrown out of the game. Two against one," she bargained. He caught sight of Regina within the crowd and noticed her staring toward Emma. No doubt that would be her first target, not the competitors. Red's cease-fire did sound quite attractive.
Extending his hand, they shook on it.
"Deal."
….
Regina loved to win.
Competitions like these were just opportunities for her to flaunt her charisma and come out on top, one way or another. It gave her a thrill to imagine herself holding the victory over everyone else's heads, especially Rumpelstiltskin's. That miserable imp was practically keeping tallies on a chalkboard and she was regrettably behind.
The first thing she did was seek out the weakest link, the chink in the armor of her competitors. She rarely attacked her opponents directly—if there were some alternative way to hurt them, then that was the path she chose. The path least expected.
Her lips pulled into a mighty grin when she spotted Emma Swan in the crowd.
Bingo.
Red and Rumpel would no doubt expect her to retaliate head-on, as they would try to do amongst themselves and her. But Rumpel couldn't possibly earn that first kiss if there was no Emma to pucker up to, could he?
It was sickeningly adorable how he thought he could win the savior's affection.
And judging from the way Emma's blonde head kept turning in his direction every so often, the savior wasn't far off the mark, either. Out of all the men Emma Swan could have in the palm of her hand, why ever would she choose someone like him?
An even better question was how to go about getting rid of her?
The wheels in her head cranked around as she scanned the diner for inspiration. She would have to be clever. Super-glue her chair? Nope, Red already used that one on Gold and it would be nauseating to watch his eyes boggle with hunger as she stripped. Ooh, she could turn Emma into one of those annoying singing fish that hang on the wall and—
Except for the fact that she couldn't rely on magic.
Ever since learning it, she had relied on magic for nearly everything. Shopping, opening doors, spying on people through her mirrors when she was bored…Only during the curse was she forced to be…normal. She couldn't even snap her fingers and make Henry's room clean itself like Mary Poppins.
Her eyes strayed to the two idiots performing a duet with Granny's karaoke machine—Grumpy and that sugarplum fairy of his. If only she could…if only she could get Emma Swan up there and dump a bucket of pig's blood over her head. Except for the fact that she couldn't use magic. Damn.
Wait a minute.
Since when did Regina Mills, Evil Queen of Storybrooke follow any rules? Since when did she let anyone tell her what to do? Rules were meant to be broken. Screw it, she thought as she curled her palm and willed a bucket of blood to appear on the shelf high above the spot where the karaoke singers performed.
Regina would use force to bring it crashing down. It meant she could linger on the fringe of the crowd and look perfectly innocent. No one would suspect her. Hopefully. No one paid any attention to the bucket above the singers' heads, mainly because the singers directed all the attention.
This would feel so good. Just for the hell of it, she downed a beer and licked her lips. This ought to be quite a show.
The dwarf and the fairy finished their cute little melody and submersed themselves into the crowd again, with Nova nearly tripping over five shoes in the process. Archie claimed the microphone. So, the cricket is the one running this karaoke show, huh?
"Any other volunteers? It's only ten o'clock," he announced, checking his watch.
Only a few people appeared torn between raising their hands, but not one of them did. She should have known Emma would not have the guts to sing in front of the whole of Storybrooke. Maybe she was one of those people that had the angelic voice of a dying goose.
"I'll bet our Sheriff could put on a spectacular show for us," Regina called out, deliberately staring at the back of Emma's leather-clad body. The blonde spun and glared in her direction, but Archie looked intrigued. As did the rest of Storybrooke, since the murmurs increased to an excited roar.
Regina could feel Gold's sharp eyes digging into her shoulder blades, but she didn't care. Let him watch the show.
"Sounds like a challenge, Emma," Archie spoke into the microphone. But Emma declined with a shake of her head.
"No, thanks. Singing isn't exactly my strong point," she answered roughly. She was going to play it hard, was she? Regina casually shrugged and tried to keep the smile off her red lips.
"Typical," she muttered, loud enough for Emma and most of the crowd to hear. Everyone was watching the exchange as they would an exciting tennis match, their eyes switching back and forth between the two women. Tension made the air heavy as Emma took a few steps closer to Regina, a sour look on her face.
"Excuse me?" Ah, now she could see the common traits between Gold and Emma. They both enjoyed tuning her out. Regina examined her lovely lacquered nails and clicked the tips together. It got on Emma's nerves.
"Ironic, isn't it? The savior is powerful and brave enough to slay a dragon and break the curse to end curses, but her knees turn to Jell-O in face of karaoke. You seem to hate the spotlight, my dear," she retorted, forcing a sickly sweet smile. Emma bristled while Archie egged the crowd on.
"Give me that microphone," Emma grumbled, stalking up to the front of the crowd.
There were a couple cheers, a few people jeering on Emma's name, and more than a couple awed expressions as their Sheriff accepted the mike from Archie. She chose "Arms" by Christina Perri and the crowd slowly quieted to a dull buzz as the soft music filled the diner.
Emma's body seemed frozen in front of the crowd—she looked like a child whose parent was forcing her to participate in the holiday school concert. Tentatively, she began to utter the words, her voice almost inaudible at first. It gradually rose, though not as powerful as it should be.
I never thought that you'd be the one to hold my heart…But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start…
Regina listened in disbelief for a moment. The Sheriff didn't have a bad voice; not truly American Idol worthy, but not terrible to endure. Not that she would ever openly admit such a thing.
I hope that you see right through my walls…I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling…
Her fist clenched tightly by her side and the bucket swayed. She would wait for the right moment—that moment when Emma stopped singing. And when the crowd showered their applause on her and she stood there smiling like an idiot, then Regina would dump that entire bucket of gooey, sticky, red blood all over her.
The horror on her face would be priceless, not to mention the way the blood would stain her blonde waves and soak over her shoulders, all over that wretched leather jacket. They're all going to laugh at you, she elatedly taunted in her mind.
Why did that sound familiar?
Any minute now….
…..
Gold knew something was amiss the moment Regina called Emma out to sing karaoke.
There was a fake smile plastered on her lips as she leaned by the end of the bar, her body half-turned to watch the Sheriff squirm. Knowing Emma, it didn't surprise him that she embraced the challenge. His eyes burned a hole into the back of Regina's head. What are you playing at, Your Majesty?
Nonetheless, he resigned to keeping a sharp eye on Emma.
It wasn't difficult at all—the moment she stepped before the crowd, she garnered his attention effortlessly. The way she became slightly nervous about singing was oddly appealing to him. Arousing. Her voice started out low and slowly rose, but he did not have to strain his ears to hear it. Once or twice, she met his eyes in the crowd and he liked to imagine she was singing this song for him.
If only…
The vibrations of his phone in his pocket disrupted his concentration near the end of Emma's song. Grumbling, he debated whether to ignore the mindless hatter. Then, he figured Jefferson was obnoxious enough to continue texting him until he answered.
Digging out his phone, he bent his head to check the glowing screen. Ah, yes: one new message. His lips creased with a frown as he read it. You claim to be so observant. Regina.
He stared at the screen with perplexity before glancing suspiciously at Regina across the way. There was nothing alarming about her, except for the fact that she was watching Emma quite intently. Was she impressed with Emma's singing or perhaps fuming with jealousy? Was Jefferson hoping to make fun of her? Because he could certainly join in—
The phone buzzed a second time with another message. This one was more impatient in tone, complete with a smiley face that irritably rolled its eyes. Above Emma's head. Ever seen Carrie?
Slowly, his eyes lifted to Emma as she finished her song, praised with a round of applause from the crowd. Across her body his gaze traveled—from her chest to her throat, to the top of her golden head. Then upwards still, to the decorative shelf high above, set in the diner's wall. And sitting precariously on the edge, out of view of the crowd, was a bucket.
Immediately his eyes snapped down to Regina and he understood what game she was playing.
She wanted to make a fool out of Emma, tear her down in front of all of Storybrooke. Break her pride into pieces. Frantically, he jumped up from his seat and ignored the third buzz from his phone, but it was already too late.
The bucket was falling.
….
Regina licked her lips again and rapidly clenched and unclenched her clammy hands in anxiousness. Her brow furrowed and her chest heaved with heavy breaths as she anticipated that perfect moment. And Gold would witness his little hero drowning in blood with no comfort to offer.
Would he still want to kiss her then?
The last few notes of the song faded out, Emma's voice dropping to barely a whisper. Then the crowd politely clapped over her performance. The corners of Emma's lips lifted into a modest smile. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gold watching Emma with something like admiration.
And…now!
Regina channeled her magic and the bucket swayed…it tilted…and it rocked back into place. It didn't fall over; it didn't topple down to coat Emma in a fountain of crimson fluid. She scowled in displeasure. Stupid bucket. I said…fall!
Once more, she thrust her energy forward only to notice that Emma was drawing toward the crowd to leave and slip into invisibility again. Archie had retrieved the microphone and he didn't even have to ask for volunteers before that useless Cinder-girl gladly marched forward, her confidence restored now that Emma had sung.
But Regina had already unleashed everything that was holding the bucket still and…
It was tipping…
Falling…
As though in dramatic slow motion, the bucket leaped into open air and flipped upside-down, right over Ashley's head. A waterfall of thick, oozing red drenched her head and splattered over her light blue dress. The bucket descended and hit Archie on the head, making him collapse to the floor.
Immediately, Red squealed and rushed to his side. She knelt down, nudging him by the shoulders and pulling his head into her lap.
"Jim-Jim? Are you alright? Can you hear me?" His head lolled pitifully over her legs, his glasses crooked on his nose. His eyes barely focused on Red looming above him.
"Amy Winehouse? Aren't you supposed to be in…rehab?" Red picked at her red-streaked hair in confusion. Then, she held up three fingers in front of Archie's pale face.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" Archie struggled to lift his head and his mouth pouted as he concentrated on the blurry fingers in his vision. A bump the size of an egg was already forming on his temple.
"Mmm…eight?" Red frowned miserably and enlisted Grumpy's help to carry him over to a booth, where he could rest for a bit. She hurried off to get him an ice-pack.
The rest of the crowd stilled and everyone stared in open-mouthed disbelief. Even Emma was wide-eyed like a deer in headlights as Cinderella stood frozen in place, arms outstretched and dripping with…wait, that didn't even look like blood!
Granny was the only one who gained her composure enough to stomp up to the unrecognizable Cinderella and swipe a finger across the girl's arm. She stuck the red-coated finger in her mouth and tasted it.
"Spaghetti sauce," Granny announced. It was supposed to be blood, Regina growled inside her mind. Why must magic be different here?
And then Cinderella screeched on the top of her lungs. A couple of people were trying to hold in their laughter, one of them being her prince. Cinderella dashed through the crowd, followed by her boyfriend who called after her with apologies, toting their crying baby.
Regina pretended to be as wonderstruck by everyone else in the crowd, but she caught Gold's eyes glaring in her direction. He knew what she had done. And no doubt he would find some way to make her pay for breaking the rules of the game. Tack on a "please" to ensure her cooperation.
Instead of worrying or showing concern, she grinned maliciously in return. Game on.
….
Emma stepped away from the spaghetti sauce-soaked area of the diner in a daze. Her cheeks were flushed and adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her heart race violently in her chest. She had the inkling that bucket of sauce was meant for her. Or was it a silly New Year's prank with Ashley being the unfortunate soul?
Never mind the singing. The singing she could do without for the rest of her life. It was bad enough that the whole town witnessed her embarrassing show. She was never much of a stage girl.
And right now, her mind was active with odd sensations—she felt like she'd just taken a flying leap off a cliff and had yet to reach the bottom. Her belly flopped every which way and the crowd was an unimportant pool of people swallowing her whole.
Maybe that was why she did not notice Regina casually edge her black heel into her path.
All she could recognize was Gold, standing by the bar and holding a cup in the air in a small toast to her, though he never took a sip. She remembered the way he stared at her so intensely while she sang—
Her foot snagged and the thoughts were thrown sideways in her head as her body tumbled forward. Everything was a mad blur around her. Her legs lifted off the ground and her hands flew out to break her fall as the bar rushed toward her…
Emma couldn't even close her eyes as she waited for her skull to connect with the solid edge and pain to explode behind her eyes.
Suddenly, something dark intercepted her descent to the bar and caught her in a secure embrace. The impact was so sudden that her hands barely registered the feel of silk under her fingertips, her head thrusting forward sharply, and her lips…
Her lips landed on someone else's.
She could tell her rescuer was just as surprised by the unexpected collision of their mouths as it barely moved against her own. Sturdy hands gripped her by the forearms as she leaned onto the person's chest—a man's chest. The kiss was soft and warm and lasted only several seconds. Her mind was numb, but she could swear she felt the tip of a tongue sliding across her bottom lip.
Then, she lifted her eyes dreamily and noticed Gold's face a mere inch away. He looked as surprised as she felt and his tongue—that tongue that teased her lip—licked the corners of his mouth as though he had devoured a most delicious hot fudge sundae.
Gradually, life and devilish glee returned to his brown eyes.
"Should I consider that a prelude to our kiss at midnight?" Emma's brain struggled to restore itself, Gold's seductive words crawling across her mind with ease.
"You can…consider that…"
Her mouth hung open unattractively as feeling shot back into her body, her system booting up. It was as though someone had jolted her with a live wire. She realized she was still leaning against him, his hands burning through her leather jacket. Abruptly, she squirmed from his grasp and brushed herself off.
"You can consider that an accident."
"Or perhaps fate," he challenged. He didn't make any move to put distance between their bodies and Emma had never been one to retreat in fear or intimidation. The two of them stood only a foot apart, oblivious to the stares of the crowd. At least, until Gold snapped his eyes among them coldly. "Nothing to see here, I assure you."
The crowd slowly departed among the other end of the diner while Granny cleaned up the spaghetti spill.
"I don't believe in fate," she argued.
She did not like to think of herself as one of those people who believed every little thing happened for a reason and led to greater meaning. She believed that people were capable of making their own luck, making their own choices and being held accountable for them, that fate had little to do with it.
"No?" Gold cocked his head in heightened interest as he dared swoop closer. It reminded her of Jefferson and the way the hatter had invaded her personal space. Was this where he learned it? "Then how do you suppose the dominoes fell precisely as they did? How do you suppose you ended up here in this moment?"
He was playing a game of cat and mouse with her, dangling the cheese in front of her face and begging her to take a bite. She considered the curse and the way she'd ended up in this world, living a lonely, hard life when she could have had her family in the Enchanted Forest.
"You," she whispered accusingly. The excitement on his face in response to her acknowledgement of his power did not go unnoticed by her. He was so close now that she could almost taste the cologne wafting from his suit.
"Exactly. Fate," he murmured. His fingers reached up and stroked a curl of her hair back from her cheek, lingering by her jawline. The tips of his fingers hovered over her skin, not quite touching but near enough that she could imagine it. "That was a remarkable performance, Emma. Any chance of an encore?"
Before she could protest, his other hand slid down into her back pocket, tucking something away inside. Instantly, she swatted his hand away and shot him a dark look of warning. He made a low, playful tsk-tsk.
"In your dreams," she retorted, offering him her rudest defiant glare. He simply gazed back calmly, his lips splitting into a toothy grin.
"Sounds like a date." She blanched and shifted uncomfortably.
Emma attempted to sweep past him, but he was graceful enough on his feet to block her path. She bumped into his chest again and scrambled backwards. They danced across the tiled floor—every time she tried to make a quick getaway, he would follow her steps as though reading her mind. A cat playing with a mouse.
Finally, she huffed and glowered at him, silently demanding him to move out of her way.
"I do believe I deserve a kind thank you for breaking your fall. Otherwise, you would have hit your pretty little head on the bar…and it may have taken your own Prince Charming to awaken you in the hospital." She had an odd feeling he was casting himself in that role. "Mind your manners, Emma."
Patiently, he waited with his hands folded ever so nonchalantly over the head of his cane. There was no other way out, was there? If she turned around and headed the opposite way, would she find him standing directly behind her without having moved? Just get it over with, Emma thought to herself.
"Thank you," she reluctantly obliged. But still he gazed down at her expectantly. What else could he be waiting for? "You did mean in words, right?" Gold's grin increased and there was a shimmer of amusement in the depths of his eyes.
"Of course," he said. What else would I have meant? The smugness was suffocating.
Turning about, he started off but not before handing Regina a smirk on a platter. She didn't look so good—she actually appeared a little green. Emma watched his suited back retreat and then remembered the way his hand had stuffed something in her back pocket.
Scrambling inside, she pulled out a wad of twenties.
…
She was trying to escape into the kitchen, someplace away from the bustling crowds where she could release her climbing rage in peace. She made it to the freezer and then rapidly began to pace. Back and forth, grinding a path into the tiled floor.
How could it not work? It had been such a failure! Instead of catching Miss Swan, it hit the Cinder-girl instead. What did that lowly, clumsy-footed princess mean to her? Nothing. Absolutely worthless in her efforts.
Sure, Archie had gone down, which meant the wolf was hurting. But the collateral damage was simply not enough, not yet satisfying. It wasn't enough to ease the fire brimming her veins. Not to mention how she anticipated the Sheriff cracking her skull open like a watermelon. But what had to happen? She fell into Rumpel's arms and they kissed.
They. Kissed!
It was choking her throat, gagging her until she had the urge to vomit up her inner organs.
Frustrated to no end—oh, how she despised losing—she gripped the steel rails of a nearby cart that held an assortment of pans and baking sheets. Roughly, she huffed in and out. Then she brutally kicked the cart, the pans rattling thunderously.
"Temper, temper," a silky voice ridiculed from behind.
Pursing her crimson lips, she spun on her heel as the dull thud of Rumpel's gold-tipped cane echoed in her ears. Figured he would want to have a chat at this convenient moment. Come to slay the dragon and rescue your fair princess?
"Granny's stocked with the latest Betty Crocker kitchen set. Admittedly, I'm jealous," she darted around the truth. But he knew her all too well.
Those brown eyes were two pieces of frozen earth crushing her shoulders. It pinned her in place, spiraling along her limbs like barbed wire. Whatever he lacked in height and brawn, he more than made up for in presence and intimidation.
"I don't doubt that," he mused. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Was he honestly implying that she was envious…of Emma Swan? That was utterly ridiculous. "That was an amazing magic trick you conducted. What's your secret?"
He was mocking her. Twisting the dagger into her gut in hopes that she would scream and beg for mercy. Feigning calm, she crossed her arms and relied on the ignorance card.
"Magic trick? I don't know what you mean," she lied rather smoothly, her face placid. But he saw through her like glass. It took a good liar to recognize an equally good liar.
"Oh, I think you do," he replied crossly. Those pianist fingers drummed on top of each other, daring her to object. Probably anticipating the first available opportunity to wrap around her throat and cut off all circulation. Touchy.
"The rules clearly stated—" His jaw locked in his irritation.
"Ah, yes. The rules that you're more than likely to break. You may have learned my magic, dearie, but you failed the lesson of keeping your word," he hissed. As he took one step forward, she took an involuntary step back. He was trying to corner her. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we? From now on, you are to obey those rules to the tee."
Regina's back collided against the freezer door, but still he advanced until he was close enough to touch. Not that she desired to in any form—she'd rather lock herself in this freezer and become an ice statue for decoration.
"I don't have to—"
"Please," he added and arched an eyebrow expectantly.
He was relying on his little contracts and deals to demand her obedience. Annoyed, she shoved away from the freezer and thrust a nail into his chest, making him stumble back. It was a fiery dance of power that never ended.
"Your pleases have lost their punch," she retorted. What would he do? Turn her into a snail and crush her? Snails were so last century. Sneering, he caught her finger and squeezed until she gasped. She pried it away and rubbed it as it turned red.
"Have they? When you visited me in my cell, I believe I said something along the lines of…In this land, should I come to you for any reason, you shall heed my every request. You shall do whatever I say—"
"So long as I say please," they finished together. Her voice was distorted in a nasally, crude tone. He gave her a condescending look for mimicking his accent. "I know. I haven't forgotten." He snorted in disagreement.
"Oh, really? Always nice to make an impression," he gloated, smoothing a hand along his dress shirt. She curled her lip in pure disgust. "Then there is no misunderstanding. We are still in this new land, are we not? I did approach you instead of the other way around. It's all about the wording. Like it or not, Your Majesty, you're inclined to do whatever I ask. If I demand you to, say, kiss my boot, I expect you to bend your arse over and show some fealty."
Defiantly, she did not give any sign of compliance. It only dug further under his skin, which only served as her entertainment.
"And if I don't? What then, Rumpel?" His lips snaked into an icy grimace. His hand hovered over her chest, right where her heart pounded. He wouldn't dare.
"Don't forget—I'm the one with the power around here. Despite how hard you try to convince yourself, I can easily make your existence in this land a living hell," he spat. His hand dropped away, leaving her with an invasive chill.
"You've finally found yourself another girl, hmm?"
She couldn't resist sticking a knife into his twisted, cruel heart. People like them were not meant to be happy, so why did he insist on defying the odds? The expression on his face gravely darkened, his irises blackening until she was nearly staring into Death's face.
"May the best kisser win…fairly," he said, turning to leave her in hollow, ebony thoughts. Oh, they were far from finished yet.
"And don't think I'm stupid enough to believe you didn't have something to do with making my son fall asleep. That boy stays up past midnight on the weekends. I swear, if you put him under a sleeping curse—"
If he did, Emma would be the one to wake him…again. It would tear her to shreds to witness it.
"Why would I do something as reckless as that?" He scoffed over his shoulder without slowing his pace. "Sleeping curses are your expertise."
….
I happen to think "Arms" by Christina Perri would fit the Golden Swan ship quite well. And I figured I'd up the stakes a little.
Now I shall thank all those that have given me such wonderful reviews recently: The Auburn Girl, SakuraBlossom58, spankingfemfatale, 666Neme666, nuckythompson, Huntress4455, helikesitheymikey, la-stella-immortale, DragonRose4, louisethelibrarian, DaesGatling, discotimelord, AngelofDarkness1605, Marcie Gore, mydirt09, SwanQueen4055, and Musicalfan2012.
So much love for this story! Thank you, everyone! You have no idea how much it means to me that you guys are enjoying it so much.