CHAPTER 7
As fall turned to winter in the Northeast, the people of Storybrooke came to realize that there was something different in the atmosphere. After countless years of the same old, same old, it seemed that changes were finally coming to the small town. Not everyone liked the sense of revolution that seemed to constantly hang in the air, and almost no one spoke of it, but they all recognized it.
It seemed to some of the more discerning townspeople that the changes had begun with the arrival of the mysterious Emma Swan, but very few of them realized that it had started months before that. The chain of events which would eventually unfold had actually gotten its start months earlier, the day Mary Margaret Blanchard gave her pupil Henry Mills a book of fairy tales. But since only a handful of people knew about this occurrence, it was generally held that Emma Swan's appearance was the harbinger of what was to come.
Henry had indeed brought his birth mother to meet Amy, and she had been pleasantly surprised by the woman. After what she had heard about the woman returning Henry to the mayor, and the crash that might or might not have been alcohol-related, Amy supposed she had formed some preconceived notions about the woman. But Emma Swan turned out to be completely different from what she had expected.
She and Henry had come to see Amy the day after she was released from the hospital. Amy was once again ensconced in Mr. Gold's house, with one notable difference: instead of the little apartment in the west wing, she was now occupying the master suite—Mr. Gold's room.
He had insisted upon it. "I want you somewhere close enough where I can hear you if you need anything in the night," he had said, "and this is the most comfortable room in the house." Amy had to admit that this was true. The master suite was spacious and airy, with antique mahogany furnishings, the focal point being an enormous sleigh bed that dominated the room. It was decorated in the same red and gold color scheme as most of the other rooms in the house. Also like the rest of the house, it appeared to be thoroughly vintage, but modern touches had been placed here and there, skillfully disguised of course. There was another flat-screen hidden in another armoire; the elaborately carved fireplace had been converted to gas, so one had only to flip a switch to be enjoying a roaring fire in moments. Of course, there was an adjoining bathroom, with the same theme of mahogany, red, and gold. The bathroom was far more blatantly modern than the bedroom however, with its stall shower and sunken black-marble whirlpool tub.
Mr. Gold had moved to the guest room next door for the time being. He wouldn't hear Amy's suggestion that she move into the guest room and let him keep his own room. "The master suite is the only one in the house with its own bathroom, besides your apartment," he told her. "You're supposed to be on bed rest; you don't need to be traipsing halfway through the house every time you have to use the facilities. Besides, I'm perfectly comfortable in the guest room." And he was. The guest room, while not as ornate, was more than adequate. Also, though of course he didn't inform Amy of this, its close proximity to the master suite made his late-night visits to her much easier.
So it was to the master suite that Ashley brought the two visitors. When they arrived, Amy was sprawled on top of the bedclothes, clad in a faded Storybrooke Steeds (the high school's mascot) T-shirt. The shirt had been much too large when she bought it at the freshman homecoming game; due to the normal shrinkage and her current condition, it just fit her now. She also wore a pair of men's flannel pajama pants, which Mr. Gold had purchased for her at the Storybrooke Family Shoppe at her request. He had raised an eyebrow when she asked for them, but had brought them to her without comment. She hadn't specified a color, but the pants were a blue-and-gray plaid. Amy had suppressed a smile when he presented them to her. He had obviously noticed her penchant for blue. Then again, since nearly every outfit she owned contained some shade of blue, she supposed it wasn't all that difficult to surmise that this was her favorite color.
She was puttering away on the laptop he had also brought her the day before, claiming that someone had brought it to the pawnshop. Amy supposed it could be true, but wondered why someone would buy the latest laptop on the market and immediately turn around and pawn it. She thought it far more likely that Mr. Gold had purchased it for her. He had expected her to protest as she did with his other unsolicited gifts, but she had merely smiled and thanked him. She was facing a lengthy interlude confined to bed, and the laptop would definitely help pass the time.
Originally she had been browsing the Motherhood Maternity website for pajamas and lounging clothes. She was going to need a lot more of both on bed rest. But the website, being for expectant mothers, naturally contained several links to infants' clothing and goods shops. She had tried to ignore the links, but eventually, against her better judgment, had clicked on the Babies 'R' Us link.
It had been a terrible mistake. Amy's eyes filled as she scrolled through the tiny dresses and onesies. There was a little pink seersucker dress with an embroidered lace collar, exactly the sort of thing she had imagined she would bring a little girl home from the hospital in. There were onesies that were simple enough for everyday wear, but no less adorable to her eyes with their bright colors and themes. She knew she should get off the website before she totally destroyed herself. Instead she clicked on the nursery section.
The first thing she saw on the page was the "Classic Pooh" bedding set. She began to cry softly in earnest. She had always wanted to do a nursery in Classic Pooh. She had pictured sitting in a rocking chair with her baby on her lap, reading the A.A. Milne storybook out loud. Shutting her eyes, she pictured this now, but was surprised to find a new element added to the old fantasy: Mr. Gold standing behind the chair in which she rocked, one hand on her shoulder, gazing down at her and the baby with unmistakable affection.
The vision shocked her out of her tears. Just then, she heard voices in the hall. She had been so lost in her futile wishing she hadn't heard the doorbell ring. Hurriedly, she shut the laptop and blinked the tears away just as her visitors came into the room.
"Look who's here!" Ashley announced brightly from the doorway.
Henry Mills rushed to her bedside, followed by a blonde woman Amy had never seen, but knew must be Emma Swan. "Amy!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his old babysitter.
Amy hugged him back. "Hey, Henry," she said. "Long time no see. My God, you're growing up. Hasn't he grown up, Ashley?" Ashley smiled and nodded.
Amy smiled at the unfamiliar blonde woman, who smiled back but seemed to be a bit confused. Amy could just hear her wondering, who is this? How did I get here?
Henry answered the first question for her. "Emma, this is Amy Miller. She used to babysit for me when I was little," he announced. "Amy, this is my real mom, Emma Swan."
Emma looked a bit taken aback to have Henry refer to her this way, but held her smile. "Nice to meet you," she said, extending her hand.
Amy shook it. "Likewise," she responded, taking a good look at Henry's biological mother. What she saw surprised her and, oddly, pleased her. Emma Swan was an attractive woman in her late twenties. Her blonde hair was long and wavy, her eyes blue. She reminded Amy of someone, though she couldn't think who. She certainly didn't look like the kind of woman who was in the habit of driving drunk or handing over her child to cold, unfeeling women.
"Where's Mr. Gold?" Henry asked, interrupting her assessment of his mother.
Amy turned her smile back to him. "He's still at the shop," she answered. "He won't be home for a few hours."
"Mr. Gold is the richest guy in town," Henry explained to Emma.
"I can tell," Emma said dryly, looking around the room. She'd thought the mayor's house was pretty impressive, but it paled in comparison to this one. She looked at the girl in the bed. "So you're Mr. Gold's…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say. Evidently not his daughter, since her last name was Miller. Could she possibly be his wife? She couldn't picture the creepy guy she had met a couple of nights before married to this friendly, attractive girl, but she supposed anything was possible. It sure wouldn't be the weirdest thing she had seen in this place.
Amy grinned. "His housekeeper," she said. "Or rather, I was."
Emma Swan looked gobsmacked at this revelation. Amy could just imagine the thoughts that were running through her mind now. Henry filled in the blanks for her. "Amy was working for Mr. Gold after her dad threw her out when she got pregnant," he said matter-of-factly. "She went into preterm labor the night I came and found you. She's OK now, but she has to be on bed rest. Mr. Gold said she could still live here until the baby is born."
Now it was Amy's turn to be gobsmacked. She simply stared at the boy for a moment. "Good Lord, child," she said when she could finally speak again, "do you know everything that goes on this town?"
"Pretty much," Henry replied. "I live with Regina, remember? She knows everything that goes on here, and, well, I eavesdrop a lot."
Amy shook her head ruefully. "You're still doing that, huh? Don't you remember what I told you about eavesdropping?"
"'Never peer through a keyhole lest you be vexed'," Henry recited dutifully. "Yeah, I know. But I already know what she thinks of me, and this way I can find out about anything interesting that's happening."
Amy winced at the "know what she thinks of me", and saw Emma do the same. Her cringe wasn't lost on Emma, either. The two women smiled at one another again, the beginnings of a cautious camaraderie forming.
All of them were silent for a moment until Amy remembered her manners. "Please, sit down," she said, indicating the overstuffed chairs on either side of the room. Emma pulled over the one closest to Amy's side of the bed, but Henry flopped down beside her on the bed itself.
"Henry!" Emma admonished.
"It's all right," Amy assured her. "Henry and I go way back." She ruffled the boy's slick dark hair as he grinned. "We used to sit like this and read stories, didn't we, champ?" she looked up at Ashley, still hovering near the door. "Ash, pull up the other chair."
"I will in a minute," Ashley said. "I forgot your drink in the kitchen, though when I heard the doorbell. Let me go get it. Henry, Emma, would either of you like anything to eat or drink?"
"I'm fine, thanks," Emma said, looking a bit uncomfortable.
Henry had no such reservations, however. "Milk and cookies?" he asked hopefully.
"Henry!" Emma admonished again. Amy smiled at the maternal tone. Whether she knew it or not, Emma was already beginning to step into the role of Henry's mother. She bet the Mayor was none too pleased about that.
"It's fine," she assured Emma. "We have both. No Oreos, I'm afraid," she told the boy, knowing they were his favorite, "but I baked some molasses cookies the night I…well, you know…and they should still be good."
"Oh yeah, I like those," Henry said cheerfully. "I remember we baked them at Christmas one time."
"Milk and cookies, coming right up," Ashley said. "Emma, you're sure you don't want anything?"
"Well, since Henry is going to have a snack," Emma said wryly, "I'd like to try some of those cookies myself. I'd rather have a Coke to go with them, though, if you have any."
"We do," Ashley confirmed. "Be right back!"
"Now, who's that?" Emma asked when she left. Amy couldn't tell if she was asking her or Henry, but Henry answered.
"In the book or in Storybrooke?" he asked.
Amy's curiosity was aroused. "What book?" she asked. Emma had a 'here-we-go-again' look on her face. Amy could tell she wanted to roll her eyes, but she refrained from doing so. Her liking for the woman grew a bit more.
"Here Ashley is one of Amy's best friends and also works for Mr. Gold," Henry said, "but in the book she's Cinderella. She was easy to figure out—she's a maid, and she has a stepmother and two stepsisters who are mean to her."
Amy was completely lost. "Henry, what on earth are you talking about?" she asked.
"My book of fairytales," the boy said guilelessly. "Miss Blanchard gave it to me at the beginning of school. I figured it out, Amy—everyone in Storybrooke is a fairy-tale character, but none of them know it because they're all under a curse. And guess who put them under the curse?" Amy was too stunned to respond, but he answered anyway. "The Evil Queen—Regina!"
Amy truly didn't know what to say. Henry, sweet little Henry, had clearly finally snapped under the pressure of living with Mayor Mills and had created a fantasy world for himself. She wanted to cry, but she was determined not to do it in front of him. Besides, she had done too much crying already in the past few months; she was getting sick of it.
So she pasted on a smile instead. "Wow, Henry. That's really…interesting. A curse, you said?"
Encouraged by her response he elaborated. "Yup. She made everyone forget who they are and took away all their happy endings. There's only one person who can break the curse—Emma."
"Really?" Amy raised her eyebrows. Emma, she noticed, looked as if she wanted to disappear.
"She's the Hope," Henry went on. "Her parents sent her from the fairy-tale world to this one right after she was born, right before the curse took effect. They knew she was the only one who would be able to save them. Her parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, by the way."
Oh, shit. What could she say to that? Finally something came to her. "You said everyone in Storybrooke is a fairy-tale character and doesn't know it, and Regina is the Evil Queen and Ashley is Cinderella. Who am I?"
He looked pleased that she seemed to be taking him seriously. "I haven't figured you out yet," he confessed. "Some people are easy to figure out, like Ashley and Dr. Hopper. He's Jiminy Cricket, of course. The umbrella gave him away, that and all his talk about your conscience. Other people are harder, though. I keep going back and rereading, but I still haven't figured out who you really are. I can't figure out Mr. Gold, either. There's nobody in the book like him."
"Midas," Emma said suddenly. "He could be King Midas. His last name is Gold, and you said he's the richest man in town." Over Henry's head, Amy shot her a look. You don't seriously believe this, do you?
Of course not, Emma replied with her eyes, but please, just humor him.
Henry appeared oblivious to their wordless exchange. "Nah, he's not Midas," he said dismissively. "There's a picture of King Midas in the book, and Mr. Gold doesn't look anything like him. Everyone looks like their character in the book, at least all the ones I've figured out do. Except Dr. Hopper, of course, but he was a man before he was a cricket."
This was getting crazier by the second. "He was?" Amy said carefully. "I don't remember that about him."
"Yeah, that's another thing that makes it hard to figure people out," he told her. "The stories aren't the same as they are in all the other books. Some of them are pretty close, but they're all a little different. Some of them aren't the same at all."
"Hmm," was all Amy could think of to say. "Well, let me know when you figure it out, OK? In the meantime maybe you should go help Ashley in the kitchen. I just realized she's going to have an awful lot of things to carry." This was true, but of course she really wanted to have a private word with Emma about all this.
"All right," Henry aid equably, jumping up and leaving the room. In the doorway he turned. "I know you don't really believe me, either of you," he said. "It's OK. I guess it does sound kind of weird at first. But it's true." With that, he was gone.
"God," Amy said faintly when the sound of his footsteps faded away.
"You said it," Emma agreed.
"I have to say, I was afraid something like this would happen one day," Amy confessed. "Any child would have a difficult life with Mayor Mills, but a boy as sensitive and imaginative as Henry…well, you've met the woman. Wouldn't you want to escape into a fantasy world?"
"Yeah, I can't say I blame the kid," Emma said. "It's craziness, of course, but I can see where he would get the idea that she was the Evil Queen."
Amy laughed. "I'm with you there," she said. She grew serious then. "And you're going along with this…fairy-tale thing?"
Emma nodded. "I know how it looks, but Dr. Hopper thinks that's best for now. He thinks if we go along with it that Henry will grow out of it on his own."
"Maybe he's right," Amy said. "Maybe having you here will help with that, too." She hesitated a moment before adding, "Are you planning to stay in Storybrooke for a while?"
Emma looked down. "I wasn't originally. My initial plan was to go right back to Boston. But I guess you've heard about the crash, right?" Amy nodded. "I know how that looked, but I swear, I wasn't drunk. I only had one drink at the mayor's before I left."
"I believe you," Amy said, and was mildly surprised to realize that she did believe her.
"Now I'm almost glad it happened, though," Emma continued. "It gave me a chance to stick around and realize how bad things really are for Henry. At first the mayor didn't seem all that bad, but when I mentioned that Henry had shown up on my birthday, right after I blew out the candle on my cupcake and wished I had someone to spend my birthday with…well, her true colors came out then. She was very threatening. To be honest, she hasn't let up since. But I'm not going to let her stop me."
"Not going to let her stop you from what?" Amy asked. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with a woman she'd met barely ten minutes earlier.
Emma looked her right in the eye. "From helping Henry," she declared. "Not with this curse thing, although I'll go along with him on that for now. But he does need help. Mayor Mills is sending him to therapy, but I don't think that's really what he needs. I think, more than anything, he needs a friend. I'm going to try to be that to him. Maybe it's too late for me to be his mother, but I can at least be his friend."
That did it. Amy decided that she definitely liked this Emma Swan. "I told Henry when he was little that someday, someone was going to come along who cared about him just the way he is," she told the older woman. "I'm glad you're staying here."
Emma smiled. "Thanks," she said. "I think he already had that in you, though. Just from meeting you and seeing how he is with you, I think you're probably the reason he's not more messed up than he is."
Amy was touched. "That might be," she said. "I've always been fond of the little guy. But it's different with me. I was his babysitter. But you're his mother, even if Mayor Mills is his legal guardian. Even if all you can do for him right now is be his friend, surely knowing that his birth mother truly cares about him will do him a lot of good."
"Maybe," Emma said. "I hope you're right. Every child deserves to know that their parents—or parent—cares."
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Amy said suddenly. She didn't want to jeopardize the fragile friendship she was forming with Emma, but this was something she really needed to know. Something she had to know. Before she lost her nerve, she blurted "Why did you give Henry up?"
It was like flipping a switch. Emma's face closed, hardened. Hoping to undo the damage, Amy rushed on. "Please don't think I'm being nosy, or judging you; furthest thing from it, in fact. You know I'm pregnant. From what I understand, my situation is a lot like yours was. The baby's father split months ago, and my own father—the only family I have—threw me out of the house when he found out and won't have anything to do with me. I've spent the last few months trying to decide what to do. I really want to keep my baby, but I'm not sure it's the right thing You're the only person I've met who's dealt with this before. That's why I had to ask you."
It worked. Emma's face softened. "I gave him up because…I wanted to give him his best chance," she said, "and at the time, I didn't think that was with me."
Amy was about to ask her to elaborate—did that mean she now thought she'd made the wrong decision?—but right then Henry and Ashley returned. The chance was lost, at least for right then. Amy wasn't too disappointed, though. She had a feeling she'd be seeing a lot more of Emma Swan.
She was right. In a few short weeks, Emma was entrenched in Storybrooke. Granny had been forced to kick her out of the bed-and-breakfast by the mayor, ostensibly due to the "DUI" ("If there's one person in this town I like less than Mr. Gold, it's Mayor Mills," the old woman had fumed on one of her frequent phone calls to Amy), but Mary Margaret Blanchard had saved the day by offering Emma her spare room, an offer Emma had taken her up on after some resistance. Amy was glad Emma had found a semi-permanent place to stay, and also amused when she realized that—according to Henry's theory—Emma was now living with her real mother. (Henry had filled her in on what he believed to be Mary Margaret's true identity.)
As if to atone for the mayor's smear campaign against her, Sheriff Graham offered Emma a job as his deputy. Mayor Mills was most displeased with this development, which in turn pleased Mr. Gold a great deal. Truthfully, most of the citizens of the town were not unhappy to see their sheriff, who was well liked, go up against the mayor, who was not. Very few of them were brave enough to voice this opinion out loud, however.
"I don't get it," Amy had said to Mr. Gold one night at dinner. (He had taken to eating with her in the master suite in the evenings.) She sat on the bed as usual, a lovely teak tray balanced on her lap; he sat in one of the armchairs with a matching tray. That night they were having pizza at Amy's request, though Mr. Gold had been doing most of the cooking since Amy got out of the hospital. Surprisingly, he had turned out to be quite a good cook, as good as Amy herself. "I never liked cooking for just one," he had explained when Amy questioned why a man of his culinary talent had eaten out most of the time until she came to work for him. "Too may leftovers. I don't mind eating leftovers once but after that it gets tiresome. With two people, though, that's not much of a problem—particularly when one of the two is eating for two."
Amy had requested pizza on this night for several reasons. One, she wanted to give Mr. Gold a break. She felt kind of sorry for him. He worked eight hours a day at his pawnshop and then had to come home, cook, and wait hand and foot on an invalid who was supposed to be working for him. Two, she had been craving pizza for some time. And the third reason, the only one she didn't tell him, was that she wanted to see him eat a slice of pizza. He was such a fastidious man, and pizza was definitely not a fastidious food. She wanted to see exactly how he would tackle this.
Much to Amy's private glee, Mr. Gold's solution to the pizza predicament was a knife and fork. She had expected as much. Still, it was hard to contain her smile as she watched him cut his slice of pepperoni and extra cheese into bite-sized pieces. Only Mr. Gold could still look elegant while eating pizza.
"What don't you get, dear?" Mr. Gold responded, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer. They had been discussing the latest extraordinary event to befall the town: the sudden awakening of the coma patient known only as "John Doe". Not only had the man awakened from his years-long coma (exactly how many years it had lasted no one was sure), he had managed to wander out of the hospital undetected and into the woods surrounding Storybrooke before being found by Sheriff Graham, Emma, Henry and Mary Margaret. The latter three had become involved in the search thanks to Henry's newest conjecture, that the comatose man was really Prince Charming, husband of Snow White (Mary Margaret) and father to Emma. Emma hadn't yet been deputized by Sheriff Graham; her help in tracking down John Doe had been what gave him the idea in the first place.
Unfortunately, "Snow White" and "Prince Charming"'s happy ending had been marred by the discovery that John Doe was in fact one David Nolan, the long-missing husband of Kathryn. He had stormed out after an argument one day, the woman said, and when he never returned she naturally assumed that he had left her for good. Amy didn't buy it. She had never once thought to check the hospital? That had been Amy's first thought the night Mr. Gold went missing; wouldn't it be anyone's first instinct? Regina's involvement in the matter (she had been listed as the unidentified man's emergency contact, had supposedly been the one who found him comatose in the first place, and had somehow produced the man's identity and wife within hours of his awakening) was also a red flag to Amy. Not that Amy believed that she was the Evil Queen, but the woman was definitely devious. And she was definitely up to something, and it could probably be filed under the category of "no good".
Once Mr. Gold had told her of the saga of John Doe/David Nolan, the conversation had turned to Emma's lengthening stay in Storybrooke, and from there turned to Henry and Mayor Mills. It was while discussing Mayor Mills' more objectionable personality traits that Amy had made her proclamation.
"No one likes Mayor Mills, not even her own son. How on earth did she ever get elected Mayor? How does she keep getting elected?" It was something Amy had always wondered about, but never voiced. But with Mr. Gold it was all right. He was the only other citizen in town with as much wealth and power as the Mayor, and there was no love lost between them. Amy knew she was safe speaking her mind about the mayor to Mr. Gold.
"Well, it's quite simple, really," Mr. Gold said, laying his tray aside and leaning forward a bit. "She got elected in the first place because no one ran against her, and she keeps getting elected the same way."
"No one's run against her? Not ever?" Amy was incredulous.
"No, dear. Different people have discussed doing so from time to time, but nothing ever comes of it. She always seems to unearth some unsavory bit of information about anyone who even thinks of running, and she has no qualms about making the information public. She literally ruined a couple of prospective candidates. After that, I think people just decided to leave well enough alone."
"But that's illegal!"
"Not really. She always makes sure that no one can directly link her to the information she unearths. And don't forget, she has both the sheriff and the editor of the town paper under her thumb. It's quite easy for her to dredge up someone's sordid past and come out smelling like a rose."
Amy was disgusted. "God, what a vile woman. I always knew there was something off about her, but I didn't realize she was that bad. My father is small time compared to her." She spoke of her father matter-of-factly, without rancor. Joe Miller still hadn't seen or spoken to his daughter, even when he'd been informed of her medical crisis. Amy had wept over this not a few times, but as time passed she had put it behind her as best she could.
"Quite," Mr. Gold agreed. "I think things are about to take a turn, though. It seems that one of her minions has suddenly developed a mind of his own."
"Graham." It wasn't a guess. Amy couldn't picture the obsequious Sidney Glass ever turning on the mayor.
"Of course. I think the arrival of Miss Swan…opened his eyes, shall we say. Perhaps in more ways than one."
Amy leaned forward, eager to hear this bit of gossip. "You think Sheriff Graham has a thing for Emma?"
"Based on the few times I've seen them together, I would say yes. And what's more, I think Miss Swan reciprocates the feeling, although I don't believe she herself is aware of that yet."
"Graham and Emma." Amy pondered this for a minute. Finally, she broke into a grin. "I can see it. They'd make a cute couple. I wonder what Henry would think. I've always thought he liked the sheriff even if he is kind of Regina's toady. Just imagine if Graham started working against her and hooked up with Henry's real mother."
"Yes, it would be something," Mr. Gold said distantly. Though he was still looking at Amy his gaze was suddenly far off, as though he saw a different scene than the one actually before him. In fact he was trying to remember his past, something he'd found himself doing more and more lately. It seemed to him that he had once known another young couple much like Emma and Graham—a beautiful, spirited woman and a handsome, strong man. But who had they been, and where had he known them? The answer wouldn't come.
Amy's voice brought him back to the present. "Mr. Gold?" she was asking. "Is everything all right?"
He smiled. "Of course, dear. I was just woolgathering." The flash of memory, if that was indeed what it was, vanished like a puff of smoke. "What were you saying?"
She was staring at him with a more serious expression than he ever remembered seeing on her face. "I was just saying that it's funny," she said. "My father is a rotter through and through, yet people like and respect him because of the face he presents to the world. People don't like Regina, but they do seem to respect her, because she also presents a false face. But people are afraid of you, even though you don't pretend to be anything other than what you are…and you're the only one of the lot who has a good heart, deep down."
Oh, my dear, if you only knew, he thought. Guilt rose in his throat like nausea, a feeling he had rarely experienced until the advent of Amy Miller. A good heart, she said. If she had had any inkling as to his plans for her child, he knew she would not believe that. She would fear and despise him just as much as the rest of Storybrooke, maybe more.
The hell of it was, he was starting to believe she might be right. It seemed to him now that once, long ago, he had been a good man. He couldn't pinpoint any concrete remembrance to confirm this, but instinctively he knew it to be true. He had been a good man once, a kind-hearted, gentle man…until…until what? What had transformed him into the calculating, ruthless businessman he was now? He couldn't recall just what had shaped him into who he was today, but he knew full well what was threatening to transform him back into that long-ago good man—the young woman before him.
This was not the time for these thoughts, however. He fully intended to think this over, but now was not the time. He thought for a moment how to respond to her statement and bring the matter to an end.
"I think," he said slowly, "that sometimes people are more comfortable with a 'false face' as you call it, than with someone who dares to be true to themselves." Yes, that was good. To wrap this conversation up he cast about for a suitable distraction, and thought of one. "Oh, I almost forgot—I have a surprise for dessert."
Amy knew he wanted to change the subject. A man like Mr. Gold was not going to open his heart in one night. She was succeeding in drawing him out slowly, bit by bit, and that was how she would continue to do. So she went along with the new topic. "Really? What's that?"
He only smiled mysteriously as he collected their dishes and left the room. A few minutes later he returned with two dessert plates, on which rested what Amy immediately recognized as Boston cream pie. She adored Boston cream pie and had mentioned this fact at some time or another to him, and he had obviously remembered. She was pleased, but not surprised; she had long ago deduced that Mr. Gold listened closely to even the most innocuous conversations, and remembered what he heard.
"Oh, sweet!" she said, clapping her hands. He smiled at her enthusiasm as he handed her her plate. "Did you get this at Granny's?"
"I did," he confirmed. "She made it especially for you." He decided not to mention how nonplussed the old woman had been at his request, and the fish-eye she had given him when he stopped by the diner to pick it up. Even with his recent kindnesses towards Amy, and towards Mrs. Woods herself, it was plain to see she still suspected him of being up to something. How right she is, he thought cynically. But just he was up to now even he couldn't say. A few months earlier, he would have said he was trying to charm Amy and gain her trust. But he had already done that. There was still something about her, though, that made him delight in showering her with small treats and surprises…something in him that shrank away from thinking too deeply about how he would ultimately use her.
"And that's not all," he said. "I thought you might like to watch a movie, so I stopped at Video Palace—odd name, don't you think? They only carry DVDs now—and rented one."
Amy gaped for a moment at the thought of Mr. Gold in Video Palace, somewhere she was certain he had never set foot in before. (She was right.) "What did you get?" she asked.
"Something I thought we could both enjoy," he said as he opened he armoire to reveal the state-of-the-art TV and DVD player within.
Knowing Mr. Gold, she expected an old black-and-white movie from the thirties or forties, which would have been fine with her; she enjoyed old movies. Or perhaps a foreign film. The latter turned out to be correct, in a way: the movie Mr. Gold had chosen was Sense and Sensibility, one of her all-time favorites. "Oh, I love this one!" she bubbled. "You will, too."
And he did enjoy it. But the part he enjoyed most of all was when Amy turned to him, still seated in one of the chairs, and said, "Mr. Gold, why don't you get comfortable? Sit here on the bed. I know you must be worn out, and you can see better from here anyway."
He considered a denial, but before he realized it he was taking off his suit jacket and shoes and stretching out next to her (on the other end of the bed, of course; he didn't want to alarm her or anything by sitting closer). She was surprised he had actually done so. Surprised, but pleased. Somehow he looked younger without the jacket. She still had no idea of his true age, but seeing him in a more relaxed manner than she had ever witnessed previously, she found herself putting him closer to forty than fifty. Not really so very old at all. And she noticed again what she had seen a few times before: in his way, Mr. Gold was an attractive man.
As the movie progressed, they found themselves sitting closer and closer to one another. Neither was really sure how this happened, but both assumed the other must be moving unconsciously. In truth, they had both moved. So it was when Amy grew drowsy, about the time Willoughby deserted Marianne, she was able to rest her head on Mr. Gold's shoulder. She closed her eyes for what she intended to be only a minute or two.
When she woke again the movie was already over. The DVD had returned to the main menu and the music was blaring unheeded. The lamps were still on. And Mr. Gold was still lying beside her, now deeply asleep himself.
His face in repose was surprisingly gentle. Amy fought the urge to touch it, to plant a kiss on those thin but nicely shaped lips. He had a real man's mouth, she decided, firm and masculine but capable, she now saw, of softness. She liked that about him; she had never really been into what Ruby called "pillow lips" on a guy.
"Mr. Gold," she whispered, nudging him. she knew he'd be aghast when he woke up to find he'd been sleeping next to her, but wanted to prevent him further embarrassment by letting him wake on his own. "Mr. Gold, wake up."
"Mmm," he murmured. He tossed his head a bit from side to side but otherwise didn't stir.
Well, Amy thought, I can say I tried. She slipped under the covers and rolled over on her side, her back to him, barely touching him but touching him nonetheless. The warmth of his body beside her felt good, familiar somehow, comforting. Within a few minutes she was asleep again.
Once her deep, even breathing told him she was well and truly out again, Mr. Gold eased just a tiny bit closer. He wasn't sure what had come over him. That was another new emotion Amy had awakened in him: never before could he recall craving another's closeness. He knew it would go no further, though, because he wouldn't allow it. He would simply enjoy this moment, without letting himself dream of more. The feeling of her next to him was right, somehow. It was enough.
Before many more minutes had passed, he, too, was asleep again.
This was originally part of a much longer chapter, but I decided to split it in two. This seemed to be a good stopping point. I'm toying with changing the rating back to T, at least for now, since nothing too graphic has been written and further sexytime is still a ways off (Amy is in the middle of a high-risk pregnancy, after all). I know it's a bit fluffy but I tried not to let Mr. Gold get too OOC, or at least I tried to explain what's making him seem that way. Let me know what you think—if I should leave it at M or change it back to T.
It seems that Storybrooke's most unlikely couple is getting close to discovering their happy ending, but don't worry. Everyone's favorite Evil Queen is not at all happy about this set of circumstances, and she won't go down without a fight. I'm still tweaking the second part of this chapter but hope to have it up soon. I'll be going out of town for a couple of days, so I wanted to get this part up before I left.
Random thought: some savvy Youtuber totally needs to make a fanvid of Mr. Gold set to ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man". That little ole band from Texas is right, every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man. And every girl crazy 'bout a morally ambiguous character. Combining the two, it's no wonder Mr. Gold (Rumple) has become such a FF darling.
Hugs and kisses and Boston cream pies to everyone who reads, favorites, and reviews my story. I would ask for more reviews, but the truth is I'm terrible about reviewing myself. There are several stories on here I adore—I gave some of them a shoutout last chapter—but when it comes to reviewing I never know what to say without lapsing into the land of squee. (And there are a lot of Mr. Gold squee stories on here.)
And I am once again carrying on the tradition of having my author's note be longer than the chapter, so I will sign off for now. Be happy, be safe, be loved!