A/N: Hello, dearies! I daresay this story is almost done. But not to worry—there's still some New Year's fun before it ends. For one thing, I absolutely adore Jefferson. And I hope everyone else does, too. Enjoy!
11:00 p.m.
Red and Archie were locked in a fierce battle. Well perhaps not an overly violent battle since both of them were stifling fits of giggles. She narrowed her eyes with determination. He raised his eyebrows to challenge her. Their tongues moved in haste, competing for the same goal…
Red slapped her hand on the table before pulling the cherry stem out of her mouth. It was a split second before Archie did the same. He spun his knotted stem between his fingers, but Red yipped with glee.
"Hah! I win," she exclaimed and clapped her hands above her head in victory. Archie congratulated her and flicked his stem into the bowl with the other remains of their countless cherries. She had beaten him two out of three this time. "Guess I just have a talented tongue."
She stuck it out to tease Archie even more. He nearly turned as red as the cherries with her little hints here and there.
"Speaking of winning, what is this bet you have with Mr…uh, Rumpelstiltskin?" She still hadn't told him very much about their bet, if only because she wanted her victory to be a genuine surprise at midnight. That and she might not have followed her conscience as much as she should. "It's just…you've been spending a great deal of time with him tonight. It's unusual for you."
She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Her lips formed a surprised 'O'.
"Are you jealous of Rumpelstiltskin?" A tell-tale shade of pink climbed up Archie's neck. He tugged at the collar of his vest nervously.
It made her smile to see him so flustered over her. She would have liked to see Archie defend her honor, but Rumpelstiltskin would likely turn him into some mundane object: a pocket-watch or a new pair of shoes.
"Jim-Jim, the day I bat my eyelashes at that imp is the same day I go blind, join a convent, and willingly ship myself off to the pound." He sighed deeply and clasped her hand across the table.
"I know, Hoodsie Cup. I shouldn't be jealous. I trust you," he insisted and squeezed her hand before releasing it. His eyes peered up at her from behind his glasses hopefully. "So…not even a hint of what I can expect at midnight? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious," he persisted.
Red tapped a finger to her chin and considered it thoughtfully. In a way, she had been dropping a few hints here and there, so how bad was it to let him in on the secret? Her sultry eyes shined.
"I suppose I can give you a sneak peek," she teased, biting gently on her bottom lip.
Leaning far over the table, she clenched bunches of his vest in her hands and pulled him into a feisty kiss. The shock of their lips meeting made his body stiffen in his seat. Then he bent forward into her and kissed her back, their mouths warm and soft as they moved together for that brief moment.
When the kiss broke, Red grinned and licked her ruby lips hungrily. Archie settled back in his seat and raked a hand through his red curls. It was a wonder his glasses didn't steam up from his obvious excitement.
"Is it midnight yet?" His voice was unusually rough and breathless. She giggled at his enthusiasm. Uncapping the jar of cherries, she popped one into her mouth. The pit came out along with the stem, twiddling between her delicate fingers.
"Best five out of seven?"
…..
The text came in just as Emma downed her glass of wine and simultaneously offered him a delicious view of her flexed throat. He imagined pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat and having her toss her golden head back just as passionately.
The drink wasn't infiltrated with any strange substances—Red liked Emma too much to pull a low blow such as that. And he supposed it would make girls' night awkward.
Reluctantly, Gold tore his eyes from the blonde Sheriff to see what Jefferson wanted. So, who's our next victim? Is it Red? Shall I waltz in there and put the moves on her? Or kidnap her?
There was that silly row of smiley faces with devil horns again. Jefferson must have jumped off the deep end for good this time. He sounded much too eager to break out the drugged tea.
The thought of Jefferson taking Red for the night was intriguing…but it would also mean he'd have to turn his pink house into a fortress during the next full moon.
Quickly, he surveyed the diner. It had been a while since he'd last taken note of the competition and foes in this little game. Emma certainly proved distracting.
He couldn't help but notice Granny and Gepetto dancing together on the edge of the crowd—just a little waltz. Recently, those two had been enjoying each other's company. Long walks to watch the sunset, having lunch together, knitting and crafting each other gifts.
Oh, he shouldn't do that to Granny. It would earn him an arrow through his shop window. But Gepetto he could live with demeaning, especially after what his son had done to him.
He began typing out a message to Jefferson. Fetch the oversized puppet from the Inn, will you? Perhaps Gepetto would be so emotional over being reunited with his wooden son that he would forget all about Granny.
A text immediately came back. Do I look like your errand boy? Another vibration of his phone a minute later. Fine. Give me a few minutes.
Gold chuckled to himself as he imagined Jefferson dragging the wooden man down the street. Weirder things have happened in this town. Casually he lingered at the bar and drank in the most delicious wine he had ever tasted—White Swan. A little sour upon first taste, but oh so sweet on his tongue once he'd acquired it.
He was just stretching his arms and cranking out the stiffness in his shoulders when another text message vibrated on his phone.
"You're popular tonight," Emma observed over the rim of her glass. As long as she remained his biggest fan for the evening, he could care less whether a horde of shippers crowded outside his shop with little suits and canes. Though, it would definitely be worth the appalled look on Regina's face.
"What can I say? I may be a difficult man to love…but there are some who try," he replied smoothly, staring at her intently. He sincerely hoped she was one of those people. All she gave him was a tiny nod in acknowledgement.
Another sharp vibration. Oh, right—the messages. Jefferson held no candle to Emma's allure, no matter how many fantastical worlds he could jump.
This time, Jefferson sounded frantic. His eyes are blinking! And he's heavy! This is more disturbing than those puppets you keep in your shop! The second one read: I'm leaving him by the dumpster.
He slid off his stool under the watchful eye of Emma. I wonder if August the Wooden Wonder would object to making friends with the dumpster rats for a moment or two. August or Emma? Tough choice. He offered her a reassuring smile.
"Excuse me, dearie," he murmured as he began to depart into the crowd. He could sense Emma's wondering eyes burning into his back. The glass clinked on the bar and he fought the urge to turn around.
"Where are you going?" She called after him, strictly curious.
He waved a hand back to her and debated twice whether he should simply return to the bar and procure her another drink. Somehow, he didn't think the line I'm using August the Puppet to lure Gepetto away from Granny because I desperately wish to kiss you at midnight would flatter her.
"To relieve myself. Granny's iced tea gets me every time."
…..
Marco had not been truly happy since his wife passed. Likewise, Gepetto was equally disheartened with the loss of his dear boy, Pinocchio. Burying himself in his woodwork, thinking he would never find him.
But tonight, his soul was light as a feather. Tonight he was dancing with Granny and enjoying her company. For such a busty woman, she proved to be swift on her feet. It had been a while since he'd been able to smile so genuinely.
The dance ended and Gepetto slumped to catch his breath. He wasn't as young as he used to be. His lungs heaved for air and it felt like his heart was going to explode.
"I…I have not moved that fast in years," he gasped, his accent thicker in his breathlessness. Granny handed him a glass of water, which he gratefully gulped down. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Granny hadn't even broken a sweat.
"Neither have I," she agreed. "But, boy, does it feel good or what?" Granny stretched her muscles and gave a satisfying moan. Gepetto had to disagree with her since he was floundering on the verge of a heart attack. "Ready for Round Two?"
Gepetto held up a hand to mutely request a moment.
Thankfully, a commotion started up from the middle of the crowd. It distracted Granny. Just a minute or two and he would be back on his feet. But she was frowning and observing the excitement with unease.
"Somebody's crowd-surfing," she announced. She made it sound like someone had tried to rob the cash register. Then she squinted to view the scene better. "Or something…" He turned his head to find out what she was talking about. He gasped and leapt to his feet, forgetting about his tiredness.
There, floating over a sea of hands was his boy, Pinocchio. It was easy to recognize him—he was the only wooden man in Storybrooke. He was pretty sure Pinocchio wasn't crowd-surfing of his own accord.
"Pinocchio!" He charged boldly into the crowd to retrieve his son.
August was panicking inside his mind. One minute he was lying in his bed in Granny's Inn, the flowery-printed covers nestled comfortably around his stiff form, staring hopelessly at the cracked white ceiling. The next minute, some crazed man broke through the door of his room like a one-man SWAT team, dragged him away, abandoned him by a dumpster, and was found by Rumpelstiltskin who for some odd reason threw him to the crowd like meat to a pack of wolves.
This just wasn't his week.
Ow, ow! Oh, God, there's hands everywhere! Let me go! Put me down! You're tearing my clothing! Is this insidious torture actually fun for you people? This is like…this is like forcing a coma patient to crowd-surf! If this is some form of physical therapy, I do not like it!
Gepetto latched onto his arm and pulled him down to the ground. Huffing through his nose, he dragged his boy to a secluded booth and gazed into his crystal blue eyes. They blinked once, making him yelp. Half the dolls in the toy section of Mr. Clark's store didn't do that!
"Pinocchio…can you hear me?" Blink. "Blink twice if you can." Blink, blink. Gepetto's breathing rapidly increased with anxiety. He drew a shaky hand across his bearded chin in distraught. "What is two times two?"
He blinked four times. Papa, I understand your concern…I'm unnaturally wooden, not mentally incapacitated.
"Someone must have broken into my Inn. Red found him in one of the rooms just this week," Granny spoke from behind Gepetto. Immediately, he whirled—not in surprise, but in anger.
"You knew where my boy was? And you didn't tell me?" He waved his hands in the air in exasperation.
Granny fiercely planted her hands on her hips and scowled. Uh-oh, there was the crossbow look. August wished he could squeeze his eyes shut, but his eyelids hardly stayed closed that long.
"How was I supposed to know he was yours? That is hardly the little child you had in our world—his hair isn't even red! You also failed to advertise him as the Wooden Wonder back home! Here I thought it was some quirky hobby of his, to have a full-sized wooden doll in his room! Last I heard, they only came in female versions!" She glanced down at the wooden form of August in pity. "You're lucky I had enough firewood for the Inn."
That notion made Gepetto's face drain of color. A cold sweat broke out over his skin and he held his son tightly, as if Granny were planning on extracting him then and there to throw him into the fire.
"I am taking my boy home," he sternly declared.
"No one's stopping you," Granny hollered, motioning her hand to the door. Gepetto hoisted Pinocchio by the arms and dragged him off through the diner's door. Granny sniffed shortly as she watched him depart—this would mean she would have to find a new dancing partner.
Inside, August was wailing. Ooh, oh, ow….by the time he drags me home, I won't be able to sit for a week!
….
Fifteen minutes later, Jefferson darted in and out of the shadows of the diner. He slunk around the side of the building, avoiding passing by the front, until he reached the alleyway that branched off of the parking lot. He was sure no one had seen him.
Ah, the parking lot—good times.
For a second, he teetered on his feet uneasily and nearly landed on his face. Phew, that whiskey must have gone to his head. Wait until the imp catches this evening show, he chortled inside his mind. Would he be satisfied then? Jefferson doubted it. That selfish imp never knew when to quit.
Luckily, Jefferson was sure he would enjoy the show just as much. He had returned to his house using Regina's car to gather a few items. Just a few props. An actor always needed to be prepared for the spotlight, right?
In his hands he hefted a heavy pot from his own kitchen, which he set down in the snow. From his pocket he drew out a package of firecrackers. They'd been lying around in the kitchen drawer for too long—it was time to put them to good use.
Resting on his haunches, Jefferson emptied the firecrackers into the pot. He took a lighter from his pocket and flicked the flame. It was the only glowing essence in the alleyway, a tiny dancing pillar of fire. Jefferson grinned maniacally as he touched the flame to the firecrackers. Happy New Year's everyone.
It was amazing what he learned from Christmas movies.
….
Grumpy's song had just ended when the disruption started. It came out of nowhere and it was ferocious in volume. A tremendous round of popping that sounded like gunfire. Instinctively, every head in the diner ducked. Some people even scurried under the tables for cover.
Emma dutifully pulled her gun while Granny rushed out of the kitchen with her crossbow.
"Where's the idiot rascal? Let me at him," she shouted and fired an arrow straight into the ceiling. Shrieks erupted from the crowd as everyone began to panic. Surprisingly, Grumpy hopped on one of the stools and whistled to gain everyone's attention.
"Everybody just calm down!" Gradually, the roars of the crowd ceased to a confused murmur. "Look at it this way. I figure there are only a handful of people unaccounted for in this diner, ergo out there waving a gun. Let's see…the Queen—"
"Who is still drowning in Gold's pants," Red mumbled somewhere near Gold's ear. He shot her a dark look over his shoulder. Thankfully, Grumpy didn't catch that one or else the rumor mill would be churning rather strongly during the New Year.
"Charming, Snow, Cinderella…" Grumpy ticked the names off on his fingers one by one.
Gold figured someone might have handed Charming a new water gun. And he wanted to be Deputy of this town alongside his daughter. He would certainly feel sorry for Emma when she attempted to train Charming. It'd be the equivalent of training a fish to fly.
"Jefferson," the Sheriff in question added under her breath.
Bulls-eye, Gold congratulated her silently. The last time she had seen Jefferson was the night he'd held her and Snow hostage. The hatter definitely wasn't among the people in this diner. Grumpy continued on, unwavered.
"Henry, Henry's girlfriend…and as far as we know, Rumpelstiltskin has not yet mastered the art of cloning himself." That remark earned Grumpy a formidable glare. Yet, he vowed. Then again, he wasn't sure how he'd feel about multiple Rumpelstiltskins running amok about town and wearing out his best suits.
"Henry is still asleep, right?" The suspicion came from Ms. Ginger. Simultaneously, the crowd turned to the booth where Henry and Grace snoozed. That kid could sleep through the end of the world. Emma sent a scathing look to Ms. Ginger. "What? Who knows what that boy is capable of with the Queen as his mo—excuse me, adoptive mother?"
"About as capable as you are of keeping your voice down when Pongo chases you up your tree," Gold muttered, loud enough for the aged teacher to hear. It silenced her protests immediately, the color draining from her face. It made her hair look like it was on fire.
Apparently, Emma heard it as well since she offered him a surprised, but grateful look. That one actually hadn't been for her—he had a soft spot for Henry and it would be the day some old hag dragged the boy's name through the mud in front of him.
Emma double-checked her gun and proceeded to push through the crowd to the diner's door.
"Everyone, stay inside. I'll handle this," she professionally demanded. Granny charged through the crowd with her crossbow. People dashed out of her path, lest a stray arrow "accidentally" be released. The way Granny carried herself, she looked like a soldier ready for war.
"As will I," she announced briskly. It was meant to leave no room for arguments, but Emma stumbled back from the door. She held her hand out to command Granny to stop.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, you're not. I am the Sheriff and this is my job," she objected. Granny's face hardened in displeasure, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. That crossbow rose an inch. No one ever challenged Granny when her mind was made up.
"Excuse me, Sheriff. This is my diner, I'm the one with the crossbow, and that fool is getting an arrow where he doesn't want one, so help me God. Besides, you'll need someone to cover you." Add another inch.
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She studied the crossbow meaningfully. Granny's aim was rather deadly, even after 28 years of misuse. And from her build, Emma wouldn't be surprised if Granny could take on a raging bull.
"Stay close to me," Emma instructed as she opened the diner's door.
A vibration ran up Gold's leg as he watched Emma and Granny slip out into the night. It was his phone; another lousy text message from Jefferson. Shouldn't he be out there causing havoc? Reluctantly, Gold peered down at the screen. Defend your woman, it read.
That hatter must be shipping his potential relationship with Emma hard if he was encouraging him to go out there and be Emma's knight in shining armor. The only other woman out there was Granny…he preferred not to ask Jefferson which woman he meant.
Or was Jefferson planning something else entirely?
Curiosity getting the better of him, he sifted through the crowd in the direction of the door. No one tried to argue against his leaving.
…..
"I have to be honest. There's another reason why I volunteered to come out here with you," Granny openly admitted as she and Emma traversed the side of the diner. Emma led in front with her gun while Granny brought up the rear.
"You mean other than the excitement of testing out your crossbow after nearly three decades?" Emma snorted over her shoulder. She peered into as many shadows as she could, but it only got darker the closer they got to the alleyway. Just what I want to be doing on New Year's Eve, she mentally moaned.
"That was my initial reason. Back in my day, Old Bessie and I could have been a match for the Huntsman," she boasted. Emma glanced warily at 'Old Bessie.' "My second reason is because I wanted to talk with you privately. To warn you, so to speak."
That revelation startled Emma to the point where she almost halted in progress. Granny collided into her back sharply. It was a good thing she had been pointing Old Bessie more toward the mouth of the alley. Was Granny psychic now? Was she about to spout some warning of a grave danger to Emma?
"If you're going to tell me about the secret ingredient you put in your iced tea, Henry already told me," she flatly tossed back to Granny.
The point of the crossbow lightly prodded Emma's back, instructing her to stop. Reluctantly, she turned to Granny and registered the deadly seriousness on the old woman's face.
"It has nothing to do with my iced tea, girl. And what in blazes is wrong with my special iced tea, anyway?" Granny barked, clearly offended. Emma held up her hands in surrender. Other than the fact that it's addicting? Absolutely nothing. "No, I wanted to warn you about Rumpelstiltskin. I've seen the way the two of you have been flirting all night."
Emma spun right around and gave Granny a stern look. Was Granny really implying that she…and Gold…? Were their numerous interactions that foretelling?
"We were not flirting," she protested hotly, her voice a little too high in pitch for her liking.
There had been nothing remotely intimate between them. The only remarkable thing was that kiss…and frisking him in the kitchen…and discovering that he would grant her permission to touch his suit whenever she liked…
"I may be an old woman, but I still notice plenty. I noticed you flirting a mile away. What do you call that kiss, then?"
An accident, Emma excused it in her mind. A pool of warmth unfurled in her stomach as she recalled her unexpected kiss with Gold. Thinking back to it, she could still taste him on her lips.
Anything she said would egg Granny on, so she stayed silent. Granny made a small 'hmph' noise, as though her silence confirmed her suspicion.
"When you play with fire, Sheriff, you're bound to get burned. I've had the discourtesy of knowing Rumpelstiltskin for a good while and I certainly recognize his kind. Vultures, nothing less. That imp is nothing but manipulative and self-serving. An opportunist, mark my words. No matter how aloof he may seem with the townsfolk, the man still has needs."
It made Emma's heart pound painfully inside her chest to picture herself being the woman with which Gold fulfilled his needs. Writhing in his arms, having him whisper in her ear…She didn't know whether to invite the pleasurable feelings stemming from such a risqué vision or to shy away from it.
At the same time, she didn't wholly agree with Granny's claim—she didn't think he might be as much the monster as the town made him out to be.
"Thanks for the advice," she humored Granny as they continued down the alleyway. Granny clapped a hand over Emma's shoulder.
"If you were smart, you'd heed it. Heaven forbid if he were foolish enough to hurt you, Sheriff. If you think an old woman like me is deadly with a weapon, you should see your mother with a bow and arrow."
Well, I know one thing for sure. There's no way I'd ever bring Gold home to dinner.
…..
Gold found him on the side of the building opposite where the disruption took place.
Emma and Granny would be circling the building in search, but Jefferson looked rather calm as he leaned against the wall, fists buried in his pockets, foot propped up against the building as though about to push off of it. Apart from setting off fireworks, he could be posing for the cover of a magazine.
"Lovely trick with the fireworks," Gold announced as he limped toward the hatter. Jefferson's eyebrows rose toward his hairline.
"You knew it wasn't gunfire. Impressive," Jefferson returned, burying his hands deeper into his pockets. "Everyone else in the diner was scrambling for cover. It was hilarious."
"Unless you raided the station, you don't have a gun to wave about and shoot off, do you? Besides, I'm a fan of Home Alone myself during the holidays," he explained. Jefferson nodded musingly. Not that he was going to invite the hatter over for a Christmas sleepover anytime soon. "If you start throwing bricks off a roof, I'll not be responsible for using someone else as a shield."
Jefferson's face grew blank as though he were actually considering it. How hard did the Queen cut off his head? Next he'd be the fool who would try tossing a penny off the Empire State building and imagining it hitting someone far below.
"Fortunately, I have poor aim. I'd probably hit you by complete accident." The man was speaking madness again. He was even chuckling to himself. How in the world did he obtain such odd…dare he say…friends?
Gold listened to the sounds of the night, but he did not hear Emma's footsteps yet. No doubt this was Act II of his little firework stunt. An attempt to make him look heroic for stopping the madman on the loose, perhaps?
"If I'm Emma's knight, you must be the dragon," Gold mused, giving Jefferson the once-over. Jefferson deliberately fingered the cravat at his throat. At least he was a stylish dragon, unlike that wretched Maleficent. Those diamond black horns didn't suit her at all.
"And now comes the fight," Jefferson said, leaping away from the wall. Gold's grip increased on his cane. Judging from the uneasy gait Jefferson had, he'd bet he was drunk. "A staged fight, of course. A little fake show to paint you as a 'hero'." Jefferson air-quoted with his fingers. "But hero might be pushing it. You think we should have you rescue an adorable kitten from a tree?"
Gold ignored Jefferson's ramblings. Gliding forward, he decidedly buried the head of his cane into Jefferson's stomach. The air whooshed out of Jefferson's lungs and he doubled over, moaning in agony. If the wall hadn't been there, he would have lost his footing.
"Do you…always…tune me out?" He gasped for breath. It sounded more reasonable than telling Jefferson to start moaning of his own accord. "This is supposed to be a fake fight. Emphasis on the fake!"
Jefferson held up a finger as he straightened to full height, indicating he had more to say.
"That was partially for continuously blowing up my phone with those idiotic smiley faces," Gold retorted. Looking at some of Jefferson's more random texts, you'd think he was the happiest man alive. Nothing but a row of smiley faces sticking out their tongues.
"Laughter is the best medicine," Jefferson huffed. He spread his arms out by his sides. "Alright, let's try this again. I'll make it sound realistic. Ready? Oh, no, not the cane," Jefferson cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out into the night.
Gold rolled his eyes to the black sky. He didn't think it sounded at all realistic. Must Jefferson be so dramatic? Plus, it was much too fun having a chance to beat up Jefferson. So, he slammed his cane into the hatter's leg to distract him before pinning him against the wall.
Jefferson was groaning against the discomfort. He tried struggling out of Gold's grip, but the imp was stronger than he looked. Footsteps slapped against the pavement from around the building. Emma and Granny.
"He's mine," Granny roared as she jumped out from around the building, wielding the crossbow.
Jefferson's eyes boggled at the deadly weapon as Emma and Granny raced toward them. Gold pressed his arm to Jefferson's throat, holding him firmly against the wall.
"I seem to have stumbled into a trespasser, Emma," Gold called out over his shoulder. Those brown eyes glinted dangerously at Jefferson. The imp was enjoying this scenario way too much for his own good. Jefferson squirmed in his grasp, gasping for air.
"Never mind. I think….I like you better as the villain," Jefferson choked out.
Without warning, Jefferson's knee soared upwards and hit Gold where it hurt most. His grip loosened on Jefferson as he crumpled toward the wall. In a flash, Jefferson revealed a pair of silver scissors and slashed Gold across the chest, tearing through his dress shirt. It wasn't a terribly deep cut, but it did draw a line of blood.
Gold fumbled for Jefferson's coat, but the hatter skittered away. Emma was nearly on them and ordering Granny not to shoot when Jefferson swiftly loomed close to Gold's ear.
"You'll thank me for that later," he hissed.
Gold grabbed up a fistful of Jefferson's coat, but Jefferson scrambled out of it and dashed off just as Emma's feet pounded beside Gold. He watched as Emma picked up speed in pursuit of Jefferson. With a cry of frustration, she chucked the gun square at his head before tackling him into the bushes.
Emma dragged Jefferson to his feet and slapped handcuffs on his wrists, though Jefferson did not seem as displeased as he should be. Perhaps he was thinking there were worse things in life than being stuck in a jail cell in the station with Emma.
Currently, he was spitting out a leaf.
"You're lucky this time! I had you in my crosshairs," Granny bellowed from where she stood beside Gold. He was just starting to see past the stars and smooth down his suit. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining it. And this was one of his favorite shirts!
Granny lowered her crossbow and started for the corner of the building, the excitement of the chase fading away. Her foot must have caught on something, for she tumbled forward. In a quick swoop, a net captured her body and pulled her up into the air, the rope attached to the flag waving above.
It was Jefferson's old trick that he often used around his mansion—it was partly why Gold never visited the house on the hill. Jefferson would only be too amused to attempt this trick with him.
Emma's mouth dropped open as she observed Granny struggling against the cords of the net. Jefferson had the gall to burst out laughing. He would have bent over at the waist, but Emma was holding him too tightly. And Granny was like a cat that had just been doused in water.
"You maniac! You let me down this instant or I'll have your head!"
Jefferson tried to staunch the gales of laughter, but was failing miserably. For once, Gold didn't feel the need to put much stock in Granny. You're a little late on that threat, dearie.
…..
"Not as cozy as your mansion, but I'm sure you'll get used to it," Emma mercilessly spouted as she tucked Jefferson away into his new temporary home. He hadn't put up much of a fight on the way over to the station, though he did complain about the music in the car being too loud. In which case, Emma turned it up louder, just to annoy him.
"Thank you…Princess," he replied in his smug way. It was his form of I-told-you-so concerning this curse.
She slammed the cell door and he gave her a miserable pout, which she ignored. She turned around to face Gold, who had accompanied her over to the station. Her excuse was that she did not want to be stuck in a car with Jefferson alone. Yes, that was all.
"Never thought I'd thank you for locking someone up or using that cane of yours for something other than walking," Emma quipped. Gold shrugged modestly, but she didn't miss the gloating smile on his elaborately curved lips.
"Oh, my hero," Jefferson mockingly chirped from behind the bars.
Both of them turned to glare at the hatter, not amused by his antics as of late. He simply played off an innocent air, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. It must be the New Year's drinks numbing his senses.
Heat warmed the apples of Emma's cheeks. That cute sentiment hadn't exactly been what she was going for. She wasn't about to cuddle up with Gold and allow him to carry her off into the sunset. But the fact that he helped her catch Jefferson was hard to ignore.
"You're wounded," she pointed out, gesturing to his blood-stained shirt. He peeled back the fabric to reveal the edge of the cut that ran across his chest. A few beads of blood glistened in the dim light of the station.
"I've dealt with far worse," he muttered, releasing the silky fabric. Jefferson scoffed from where he leaned against the gray wall of his cell.
"Never has there been a truer statement," he surmised, tapping a finger against his chin. "Remember that time in Frankenstein's world when you decided it was a brilliant idea to open that coffin and nearly got the blood sucked out of you? Or in that Chinese land where you set off a firework on top of that mountain and caused an avalanche? Or—"
Gold pointed his finger threateningly at Jefferson. The rules stated he could not use magic tonight, but he was willing to break them once in a while. It hardly deterred Jefferson—the words practically demanded out behind his lips.
If Emma was surprised to know that he and Jefferson were…acquaintances, she didn't show it. Oh, he was so off his friend list.
"Why not use magic to heal it? Rumor has it you're good with that sort of thing," she said, waving her hand toward his cut. Among other things, of course, she couldn't resist adding in her mind. It made her blush worse. She hoped he didn't notice.
"Is it warm in here, Sheriff? You're quite flushed," he lilted, his teeth flashing with a knowing grin. Yeah, he noticed. Jefferson snickered, earning another sinister glare from her. "In any case, after showing off my magic to you, I made a deal with Little Red. Turns out I'm to refrain from using magic for the rest of the night."
Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she saw his eyes flicker to Jefferson. It must have been a trick of the light because ever since she first met Gold, his eyes never seemed to stray from her. The intensity of his attention was almost overwhelming, what with the way he devoured her, undressed her, glimpsed through to her soul even.
She shook the thought from her head and motioned to her office door.
"We should get that cleaned up," she announced over her shoulder and expected him to follow.
Gold lingered behind for a moment, watching as she retreated to her office. He felt eyes on his back and turned to see Jefferson grinning like that elusive Cheshire cat in Wonderland.
"Thank you, Jefferson," the hatter hinted in a sing-song voice. He flounced onto the rickety thin mattress in his cell and happily propped his feet up on the rails. He was already making himself at home.
Emma would have her hands full yet.
…..
He stepped over the threshold of her office, which was really no bigger than a closet. He found her doubled over beside her desk, sifting through a cluttered drawer. At least her office had a nice view.
She tossed a roll of gauze, a cloth, a brown bottle of alcohol, and a box of Band-Aids on the desk. The Band-Aids had pictures of the Power-Puff Girls plastered all over them. He wondered how often Graham had used them. I'll endure the wound, he decided.
Emma straightened up and slammed the drawer closed. She glanced awkwardly at him, studying his ruined shirt. She cleared her throat.
"Close the door. I'd rather not listen to Jefferson any more than I have to," she grumbled. Something told him she wouldn't be offering the hatter half her sandwich. Yes, Princess, he thought as he gently closed the door and moved into the center of the room.
Should he take a seat on her desk? After all, he was the patient and she was his doctor tonight. But Emma blocked his path to the desk as she pored over the items. She motioned absently to his shirt and he could tell she was trying to avoid his gaze.
"Now….uhm…you'll have to…take off your shirt. So I can see the cut," she hastily blurted. Ah, no wonder she was being so tricky. A small smirk threatened to slide over his face.
He enjoyed seeing her squirm outside her comfort zone. That pink hue was lovely on her cheeks. Not to mention the magnificent fire glowing in her green eyes. An emerald blaze that a man like him could only dream of stoking. During the rare times he dreamed, anyway.
"So eager," he taunted. Ooh, how that fire roared.
He took his time shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it on the coatrack beside her office door. So….homey, wasn't it? He undid his tie and slipped it off, placing it comfortably on the corner of her desk. It allowed him to reach around her body, invade her personal bubble all the more.
All the while he never took his eyes from her and she—caught in a wary trance—was helpless to break contact.
Deliberately slow, he popped the buttons of his dress shirt one by one. Her sharp focus was directed to his fingers as they started at the very bottom and worked their way upwards, occasionally pausing so that she may admire the canvas. The shirt parted and she held up a hand to signal him to stop before it joined the tie.
"I just need to see the…cut. I don't need an entire…show," she insisted hesitantly, even though her eyes roved over his clothed arms. Are you sure, dearie? Front row seats—going once, twice…
Inevitably, her gaze slid to the bare skin of his chest. It was marred only by the gash along the middle. He was not overly muscular, but he was not in bad physical shape, either. He had a surprisingly strong build for someone who played the cripple card more often than not to cut the line in the ice cream shop.
"Ready when you are…Nurse Swan," he shattered her reverie. She realized that she'd been foolishly staring. Focus, Emma, she chided herself. It's only Gold. Except for the fact that the man apparently had a gift for getting inside her head.
Focus…She exhaled a thin breath and grabbed up the bottle of alcohol. Taking the sterile white cloth in hand, she poured the alcohol over it and examined Gold's wound. Her fingers dared to brush across its edges experimentally and he winced.
"This is probably going to sting like a bitch," she warned him, the alcohol-damp cloth hovering above his cut. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She didn't know what he had to be smug about, other than the fact that she was in the presence of Gold in his half-naked glory.
"What's pleasure without a little pa—heeee," he hissed once she pressed the cloth to his cut. He tried to pull away, but she gripped his shoulder to keep him in place. He was like a fidgety child with the way he retreated. With the hiss coming from his mouth, she half-expected his hair to rise on end like an angry kitten's.
"I told you it would hurt. You didn't listen," she berated. He looked ready to protest, but he chose to bite his tongue. If he was expecting a lollipop, he would be sorely disappointed.
For a few tense moments, the two of them remained silent—Emma working on cleaning out his cut and Gold leering intensely down at her without any sign of relenting. At least he wasn't hissing anymore, though his nose kept scrunching every time the cloth brushed against his skin.
Noticing his unease, she dabbed at the cut gently.
"You're very good at this," he complimented after a while. She shrugged loosely while the last of the dried blood seeped into the cloth.
"I learned the basics when I was ten and…more or less taking care of myself," she explained. "As the story goes, I never had a mother who could kiss and patch up the boo-boos whenever I fell off the swing." The resentment was crystal clear in her voice; he willed it away.
With time, her brow gradually relaxed, as did her touch. He savored the feel of her fingertips when they followed after the cloth over his skin. Emma seemed mesmerized by his battle wound, as he so liked to think of it. Or maybe it came from such unabashed exposure.
The cloth paused in its movement. Emma laid it on the desk and used a piece of gauze to dry his skin of excess blood and alcohol. And then she did something even more miraculous: she lowered her walls completely.
It was as though she were under a magical spell meant to attract her to him, a moth to a flame. Emma's sunshine-golden head bent forward carefully until her lips teased the skin just above his cut. He inclined his head back, his eyelids fluttering closed in absolute bliss. He had the urge to bring his hand to her neck to hold her there, to weave his fingers through her hair, but knew it would only break her little spell.
On cue, Emma inhaled sharply and drew her head away.
"Sorry. I…I don't know why I did that," she murmured, purposely averting her gaze from him. He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek—it was deliciously warm to the touch. Instead of pulling away, she turned her head and in the process allowed more of her cheek to lean into his palm.
The spell had been cast again.
His fingers slipped down to her neck as he urged her closer to his body. She drifted airily, as though stuck in a mystifying dream. No matter where his fingers landed, their eyes never broke apart. His arms circled her waist to hold her and she tilted her head back to allow him further access. His head descended, his mouth seeking out hers. This time, the kiss would not be an accident. So close, he could nearly feel her breath on his lips…
"I know what you're do-oing in there," Jefferson abruptly called out from his holding cell beyond the door. His voice was slurred in a drunken song. "Between you and me, I doubt those walls are soundproof!"
He hoped the hatter rotted in that jail cell. It's official—he's shipping me with Granny. He must have been sending those texts to Emma by mistake.
Emma stumbled away from his body, the spell broken. She finished taping up the gauze over his cut so that it would not get infected and then proceeded to shove the items back into the messy drawer of her desk. Reluctantly, he gathered up his belongings and buttoned up his shirt. Thank you, Jefferson, he groaned mentally.
"Perhaps…it's time we head back to the diner," he solemnly suggested. Emma's lips pinched in a bothered frown. "Unless of course you wish to have a late night tea party with our dear friend."
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder as Jefferson started a chorus that announced to the world that he and Emma were sitting in a tree. Emma blanched at the mention of spending any amount of time with Jefferson, even if she was the Sheriff.
"We'll bring him back a doughnut. Maybe," she said, passing through the door after he so courteously opened it for her. His eyes flew to the clock on the wall—it was just over a half hour to midnight. Jefferson's sloppy singing followed their backs all the way out of the station.
Rumpel and Emma, sitting in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Rumpel with a baby carriage!
…..
Just a little tease there. (-; The next chapter might be the last one. Who will win the bet? Will Emma and Gold share that first New Year's kiss? Or will someone steal it right from underneath Gold's expensive shoes? You'll have to wait and see!
So many people to thank for such kind reviews! Here's to DaesGatling, discotimelord, QueenTakhsis, Huntress4455, helikesitheymikey, AngelofDarkness1605, sundancemc, FortunesFavour, Musicalfan2012, Guest, mydirt09, a. , SwanQueen4055, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, la-stella-immortale, and ValueMyHeart.
Quick (important) question: Many of you have requested that I do a Valentine's Day Golden Swan fic in the vein of these holiday fics I have been doing. I'm all for it, but…there may be some awkwardness with the oh-so-inevitable plot coming up in OUAT (*cough Bae cough*). My question is: would you guys still want me to do this Golden Swan Valentine's fic in the event that the Bae rumor is true (for those of you that know what I mean)? I just want to know what you, the readers, think about it.