Part II

He was wearing a fat suit.

And a costume made entirely out of a vibrant red, synthetic velours. There were a pair of enormous, unbecoming black boots on his feet and the wide, plastic-pretending-to-be-leather black belt around him only enhanced the fact that he was now easily five times his normal size.

There was a messy, heavy wig on his head, topped by a floopy Santa hat and there was a world of cotton wool glued to his face. It was hot and uncomfortable and he was sweating like a dog.

He was convinced he never looked less appealing in his life.

Belle, who'd helped him with his transformation and had offered to drive him - for which he was grateful, he was sure he wouldn't fit behind the damn steering wheel - was happily chatting away, rehearsing the story they'd agree upon one more time.

Much too quick to his liking they arrived at the Nolans and he was vexed by the sheer amount of trouble it cost him to scramble out of the car.

"You'll be fine," Belle reassured him, stepping up in front of him and fixing the lapels of his costume. "You look great."

He merely scowled at her. At this point, her beaming smile was the one single reason he was going through with this mad idea.

Upon ringing the doorbell, the door flew upon instantly and he was greeted by Mary Margaret's jittery nerves.

"Please come in, Santa," she squeaked. "Make yourself comfortable in the living room. Emma is upstairs with David, she doesn't know you're coming… she'l be so surprised… I'll call her down now…"

To his surprise she appeared rather flustered and suddenly a horrible suspension formed in his mind.

As soon as they were inside the living room and Mary Margaret had run upstairs, he turned towards Belle with an aghast expression on his face.

"This fixation Mary Margaret has with Santa Claus… I hope it is confined to the sight of her husband in a Santa suit?"

In response Belle doubled up with laughter and was still trying to contain her snorts when Mary Margaret returned with Emma and David in tow, the later giving him gleeful smirk. Emma however refused to show any enthusiasm.

"Hello Emma," he started awkwardly, careful to keep his voice deep and his accent fazed out entirely.

In reply he received a look of open hostility from a five-year-old, who sat on the couch, her shoulders hunched, her arms crossed and pouting rather impressively.

"Emma, remember when Mr. Gold promised to help you?" Belle started soothingly. "Well, he asked Santa to come here to clear up a few things for you."

Emma's head snapped up at that. "Mr. Gold can make Santa pay me a visit?" she asked surprised.

"I owed him a favor," Gold replied sardonically, finding his Santa-voice a little easier this time. "Emma, I know that you've been rather upset with me lately."

"You kissed my mom," Emma accused him. "Have you come to take her away now?"

When her lower lip started trembling, he knew that aside from Belle's smile there was another reason he was doing this after all. Slowly lowered himself on the couch next to her.

"Emma," he answered softly and completely serious now. "I would never take your mother away. It wasn't even me you saw that day."

"He looked like you though," Emma replied tearfully.

"Of course he did, because he was wearing my clothes." This was part of the story he had worked out with Belle. "But I would never kiss your mom."

"Then who was it?" Emma asked wide-eyed and intrigued.

"It was your dad," he said simply.

"Dad!" Emma exclaimed, wheeling around to her father who was nodding along encouragingly . "But why were you dressed like Santa?"

"Well, can you keep a secret Emma?" Gold asked, leaning in conspiringly.

When the girl nodded eagerly, all anger and resentment forgotten, he started to explain. "You see, grown-ups, as much as children can write letters to Santa, asking him for what they want. Your father wrote me last month, asking me if he could be Santa for one day. Now you can imagine this time of year can get a bit busy for me… there are so many places I need to be, so many presents to deliver… and my reindeer can only ran so fast…"

Emma was practically bobbing in her seat with excitement now and he was rather relieved she was buying his story so far.
"I love the Christmas Cookie Bake at Granny's, but this year I knew it would be very difficult for me to attend because there were so many other things for me to do… so when your dad's letter came…"

"I know!" Emma gasped. "You asked him to fill in for you!"

"Exactly," he nodded solemnly. "I send him one of my spare suits and asked him to make an appearance."

"And then my mom kissed him, because she's allowed to kiss my dad…" Emma wrapped up, all the worry finally disappearing from her face.

"Well, actually…" He couldn't resist poking just a little more fun at the Nolan's expense. "Strictly speaking they weren't supposed to be kissing while your dad was pretending to be me. So both your parents started the year off on a very bad note… they'll have to be exceptionally good all year to receive presents next Christmas." He winked at her, eliciting a giggle from the girl. "Maybe you could send me a letter next year, telling me if they've behaved themselves."

"I will, Santa," Emma answered, happily snuggling up on the couch, perfectly at ease with the world again.

Just seeing the girl relaxed and happy again confirmed his suspicions of how scared she must have been and he felt oddly humbled at being able to ease her worries, even if it came at the price of wearing the most ridiculous and hideous outfit imaginable. "All better now, dearie?" he asked gently.

"Mmm-mm…" Emma nodded, looking at him earnestly. "I'm sorry Santa… I just got scared… I thought my mom was going to leave me…"

"Oh Emma!" A split second later Mary Margaret had plopped herself on the couch, next to her daughter, hugging her tight. "Of course I'm never going to leave you, why would you think that?"

"Bae's mom did," Emma pointed out quietly and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

Suddenly the lump in his throat was impossible to swallow away and the familiar feeling of failure rose inside him again. He had managed to sort out the Nolan's mess, but he was unable to give his own son what he wanted: a stable family, the unconditional love of his mother…

But then there was Belle, crouching down in front of Emma, her one hand reaching out to grab the girl's hand in hers, gently tugging it to make her look up , her other hand on his elbow, her thumb rubbing his arm soothingly.

"She might have," her warm lit was soft and comforting. "But Bae still has his dad and he loves him so very much. And he has you for a best friend, so between the two of you, he's not alone, right?"

"Right!" Emma agreed, her genuine grin threatening to split her face. Disentangling herself from her mother's arms she launched herself forward, throwing her arms around the man sitting next to her.
"Thank you, Santa!"

And all of a sudden there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

"You were brilliant!" Belle beamed at him as they made their way into the backroom of the pawnshop, thankfully unseen by anyone.

With a sign of relief he tore the hat off, trying to ease some of the stifling heat. Not that he wasn't rather pleased with the outcome of their little stunt, but he was more than ready to get out of the costume. He tried to pull the wig off as well, but only managed to pull it down a few inches before it got completely stuck.

"Come here," Belle grinned, standing up her tiptoes and bringing her hands to the sides of his head, digging her fingers underneath the wig to loosen up the velcro fastenings and her close proximity allowed him to inhale the scent of her hair. The smell of vanilla, the closeness of her body and the feel of her hands so close to his face were making him feel light-headed.

Still, after months spend in court, having to listen to Milah explaining in great detail what a beastly man he was, it was rather gratifying to have Belle looking at him like he'd just hung the moon.

"Well, I hope that at least this will cure Mary Margaret of her Santa fetish," he remarked, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

When she giggled in response however, his heart skipped a beat.
"I wouldn't count on it."

She finally managed to take the wig off and he wanted to groan at the feeling of cool air around his head. Eager to get rid of the rest he started on the buckle of the odious belt.

"Seriously though…" he continued, rather to have something to talk about than anything else. "Please explain to me what the appeal is of a man dressed in this…" he looked down at the remainder of his costume in disgust, "…monstrosity."

"Well, I'm starting to see it now, actually," she replied off-handedly. It wasn't until his sharp intake of breath that she realized what she'd said and she blushed to the root of her hair.

He huffed in disbelief, at the same time reaching out on reflex to grasp her arm, preventing her from turning away from him.

"Come again?" he asked, his voice low and completely gobsmacked.

"Well…" Her cheeks were still flaming red, but she looked him steadily in the eye, refusing to break their gaze. "Perhaps he appeal isn't so much the costume, but the man underneath."

He blinked at her, his mind furiously trying to catch up to what she was saying, trying to gauge its meaning.

They were standing close. Even closer then before when she'd taken his wig off. He was still holding her arm, unconsciously pulling her close, all the while staring down in her eyes, their blue suddenly so much darker.

Then he became aware that her gaze had drifted down and that she was now staring rather intently at his lips. The scent of vanilla and something underneath that, something more spicy and alluring enfolded him, causing his mind to go blank.

Her hand was slowly sliding up over his arm towards his shoulder, pressing herself even closer against him and between the roaring in his ears and the yearning of his heart he was aware of little else than the way her eyelids fluttered close and her lips appeared more inviting than ever.

Lowering his head and closing the distance between them, the coil in the pit of his stomach tightened when his mouth was only inches away from her lips.

And then her nose wrinkled with a small sniff, a frustrated giggle escaping her. "It tickles."

Right. Because most of his face, especially the area around his mouth was still plastered with cotton wool.

He swore quietly, relaxing only slightly when she pulled him in an awkward hug, soft laughter ghosting over his ear.
"All right, so much for the appeal of Santa."

It wasn't going happen like this, he decided. If he was going to kiss Belle French for the first time he would do so without fuzz getting in the way.
If he was to hold her in his arms for the first time, he would actually get to enjoy the feel of it without an entire suit stuffed between them, making it impossible for him to make out even the slightest curve, even though she was all but plastered against him.

If the moment came when he was finally going to succumb to his long suppressed desire for her, if he was finally going to believe that she might actually return these feelings, he wasn't going to be wearing the world's most off-putting costume that left him sticky and sweaty.

So instead, somewhat regretfully, he brought his hand up and caressed her cheek lightly with the tip of his fingers, relief flooding him when she leaned into his touch instantly, her breath catching in her throat with a small hitch.

"Have dinner with me tonight?" His voice was rough with tension and he swore he could see her pupils dilating further.

"I'll ask the Nolans to watch Bae… call in that favor straight away…"

By now her eyes were shining and the happy smile curling around her lips sorely tempted him to crash his mouth to hers, cotton wool be damned.

But it would be worth the wait to woo her properly. To lavish her with attention like she deserved. To be wearing an actual suit.

"I'd love to."

Merry Christmas everybody!