CHAPTER 13

As it turned out, Joe Miller had indeed left instructions regarding his funeral. He had requested a simple graveside service, and Amy decided to honor his wishes. So it was that two days after his death, her father was laid to rest in the Storybrooke cemetery beside her mother.

Only a handful of people attended the service. Granny, Ruby, and Ashley, of course, sat in the front row with Amy, surrounding her protectively. Emma was there as well, though Mary Margaret sent her regrets, because she had been unable to find anyone to sub for her class. But Archie Hopper and Marco came, as did Doc and Dr. Whale. Mayor Mills came with Henry; he had threatened to skip school and come anyway if she didn't bring him, and the mayor knew he would do so. It was easier just to give in to him. She kept him as far as possible from Emma, however.

And Mr. Gold was there. He sat toward the back of the gathering with Melissa Vincent, who had been Joe's attorney. Emma had been concerned when the pawnbroker showed up, fearing a showdown between him and Amy's trio of self-appointed bodyguards. She needn't have worried; he merely nodded to Amy before taking his place in the back. Granny glared at him murderously, but he seemed not to notice.

The brief service was conducted by Reverend Perrault from the Congregational church in town, though Joe and Amy had rarely attended services through the years. Afterward, Amy could never remember a word of the good reverend's funeral service. Her attention was riveted on the gleaming gray metal casket before her, topped with a modest spray of red roses. Distantly she could hear birds chirping, an odd sound for February in Maine. She fancied they were saying to each other, Joe Miller is dead. Amy lost her father—twice.

She had never expected that her father's death would hurt so much. Unlike most nineteen-year-olds, she had known it would happen one day. She'd already lost one parent, after all. But she had never thought it would affect her as deeply as it had. Perhaps it was because it had been so sudden. Or perhaps it was because he died just when he was on the verge of trying to mend their relationship. That knowledge was painful, but in a strange way it also made his death easier to bear. In their own way, Amy thought, they had been able to reconcile.

But now he was gone. Though Amy was grateful they'd had their deathbed reconciliation, she wished there had been time for more. She wished he'd been able to tell her the other things he'd never told her—about his childhood, about his relationship with her mother. Emma had filled her in on their long conversation the night before he died. She now understood what had made her father the way he had been. She was glad that she now knew the details of his life that she'd never known before, but she wished she'd heard them from him.

Most of all, she wished he had been able to be there for the birth of her baby. Her gut told her that the child would have been what truly brought them together. With the birth of his grandchild, Joe would have seen an opportunity to atone for his mistakes as a father. Though she couldn't say just how she knew this, she knew it nonetheless. Seeing him as a grandfather would have shown her the way he'd planned to be as a father—the way he would have been, if her birth hadn't resulted in her mother's death. That opportunity was gone now, and Amy couldn't help but feel as if it had been stolen from her somehow. She knew it was silly, but she wanted someone to blame for her father's death. No, it was more than that. She knew, in that inexplicable way she sometimes knew things, that someone had been responsible for her father's death.

But whoever that someone had been, it hadn't been Mr. Gold. That was another piece of unfounded, yet inarguable knowledge she'd found within herself in the days after her father's death. It wasn't only what she'd been told about Mr. Gold trying to save his life, calling the ambulance and doing CPR. She believed that, but there was more to it. She'd seen the look in Mr. Gold's eyes that night. He had genuinely felt pain for her. He had hurt for her. If he could have done something to prevent Joe's death, Amy believed, he would have. As it was, he had done all he could to make things easier for her in the aftermath. She'd had to do very little as far as paperwork and planning. The few papers requiring her signature had been brought to her at the inn, just as he'd promised. The funeral had practically arranged itself—she knew most of that was probably Joe's own preplanning, but it had been the pawnbroker who had contacted the minister and the florist and the other necessary businesses. Mr. Gold had even arranged for the Home Ec class at the high school to take over running the diner for a few days, so Amy could have her whole surrogate family with her rather than just one member at a time.

Of course, he hadn't told her any of this. Other than actually informing her of her father's collapse, he had kept his distance as she had asked. She had learned about his actions through Emma and Ruby. Oddly enough, they were the only two of her friends who didn't seem to flat-out loathe the man. At different times she had asked them why this was so. Both had given her a similar answer: shady as he was, each of them sensed that his feelings for Amy were real.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized this was probably true. Though her soul still shrank from the thought that he'd taken her in intending to sell her baby, she now wondered if perhaps she'd been too hasty in leaving his home. She'd told him she wanted his side of the story—but had she really given him a chance to tell it? It seemed to her, as she went over and over their conversation that last night, that there had been more he'd wanted to say, had been trying to say. You were, she recalled him saying when she'd told him she thought she'd been special to him. You are. And later, please. I want you to understand.

She would never fully understand his motivations, she realized. But she should have given him the chance to explain them. Perhaps she would have found a little understanding, enough for them to…to what?

She didn't know. But she remembered so clearly the look in his eyes when he'd said, What happened that night…it wasn't part of any plan. Though he had skewed the truth so many times with her, in that one instance at least Amy was sure he had been perfectly honest. Through her own recollections and what Emma had told her, she had come to believe that Mr. Gold's plans for her had changed over time. Even if he'd taken her in originally with less-than-honorable intentions, she knew he had come to care for her. It was painfully obvious, in retrospect, just how much he had come to care. True, some of the things he'd done for her could be dismissed as attempts to gain her trust…but so many of them couldn't. The way he'd noticed little things about her, such as her favorite color being blue and her love of Boston cream pie. The way he'd genuinely tried to share her interests, even those that didn't coincide with his own. The little Christmas tree he had brought her. The way he'd held her and comforted her when Graham died. Even the way he'd tried to warn her away after their episode of near-lovemaking. None of these things could be dismissed as simple devious machinations.

Amy was so lost in her own thoughts that at first she didn't feel Granny's hand on her arm. Finally she realized that the older woman was trying to get her attention.

"It's over, honey," Granny whispered when Amy's gaze finally focused on her own.

She felt a brief wave of shame at this. She'd just spent her father's funeral thinking about her feelings for another man. What kind of daughter did that? A voice came into her head then, however, a voice that sounded a lot like that of the man they were laying to rest. It's all right, baby, the voice whispered. I'm gone, but you're not. It's too late for me, but not for you. Don't be like me…don't spend the rest of your life thinking about what might have been. If you think there's a chance to work things out with Gold, go for it.

Though she wasn't sure if the words were a product of her own guilty mind or something more esoteric, Amy was comforted by them anyway. She would do that, she decided as they made their way across the cemetery to the waiting funeral-home limousine. Once things settled down some, she would call Mr. Gold. She would ask him to meet with her somewhere. The inn or the diner probably wouldn't be good choices, but maybe the coffee place near his pawnshop…neutral ground, as it were. She would ask him again for his side of the story, and she would listen, really listen this time. When she'd heard what he had to say…well, she'd go from there.

With this resolution, Amy felt lighter somehow. Head high, she walked to the limo. There wouldn't be an official gathering after the funeral, per Joe's wishes. But she, Ruby, Ashley and Granny would go back to the inn. Granny had made several pies and had started the coffeepot just before they left. She looked forward to hanging out with her closest friends, relaxing and eating pie and just being together. Maybe Emma would join them. She hoped so. She'd become increasingly close to the new sheriff over the past month, and in the few days since her father's death she had come to consider the woman as one of her close friends.

Just as she reached the limo, another hand closed around her arm. Startled, she looked up to see Ms. Vincent.

Her father's lawyer was a pretty blonde about the same age as Regina Mills. Like the mayor, Ms. Vincent had held her current position for as long as Amy could remember. This was another oddity that Amy hadn't yet perceived—how could a woman only fifteen years her senior have been a fully fledged lawyer for the past two decades?—but it had just occurred to Mr. Gold, standing at a respectful distance that was still close enough to hear everything that was said. Amy didn't actively dislike the woman, who was as lovely and elegant as her contemporary the mayor, albeit in a different way. As a small child, Amy remembered envying the lawyer's hair. The riotous mane of platinum curls was at odds with the rest of her polished exterior somewhat, but the overall effect worked. Still, though she didn't dislike the woman, she had never fully trusted her either. Something about her made her think of Regina.

"Amy," Ms. Vincent said with a smile that seemed just a trifle false to the young woman. That was what had always made her wary of the woman, Amy realized. Like Mayor Mills, Melissa Vincent's smile never quite managed to reach her eyes. "I hate to accost you like this, but I wanted to speak to you before you left. I'd like to express my condolences."

"Thank you," Amy replied, polite but a little bewildered.

"How are you holding up?" Ms. Vincent asked. For just a moment there was a flash of authentic concern in the woman's eyes, but it vanished so quickly Amy thought she must have imagined it.

"I'm doing OK," Amy said. She wondered what the woman was getting at. She knew Ms. Vincent well enough to know that the woman hadn't simply wanted to inquire after her welfare.

"Good, good," Ms. Vincent responded just a little too heartily. "Listen, honey, I know this isn't really the time, but I wanted to tell you that we need to set up a meeting sometime soon. We need to go over your father's will."

So that was what it was. "All right," Amy agreed. Though it really wasn't the time to discuss such matters, she supposed it was something she might as well have over and done with. "When would be a good time?"

"Tomorrow afternoon? My office?" Ms. Vincent suggested.

Amy nodded. "That will be fine," she said. Briefly, she wondered why this seemed to be such an urgent matter for the lawyer. She couldn't imagine that the will would contain all that much. Her father's living as an insurance salesman had been adequate at best, she knew. He couldn't have had that much to leave behind. And who was to say that he'd left it to her in any case? He could just as easily have left it to some charity. Probably had, actually. After all, they'd been estranged for some time before he died. The lawyer probably just wanted to tie up loose ends so she'd be free to concentrate on her more lucrative clients, Amy reasoned.

Ms. Vincent's reaction seemed to indicate as much. "Great," she said brightly. "Tomorrow afternoon, then. Is three o'clock all right for you?"

"Fine," Amy repeated. Ruby, Ashley and Granny were huddled by the limousine, she noticed. They were obviously longing to get it out of the cold, but they weren't going to do so until she got in first. "Ms. Vincent—"

"Oh, please, honey," the blonde interrupted. "Call me Melissa. 'Ms. Vincent' was my mother."

Amy smiled. She could tell even as it spread across her face that it was as false as the lawyer's. "Melissa, then," she said equably. "I need to…my friends are…"

Melissa Vincent finally acknowledged the small group waiting patiently by the limo. "Oh, of course," she said quickly. "Go on and join your…friends." Amy thought she caught a hint of distaste on the last word. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly.

As if realizing her faux pas, Ms. Vincent's smile grew even brighter. "I'm sure you want to be with them right now," she said in an understanding tone. "I won't keep you any longer. I'll be expecting you tomorrow at three."

…

A little over twenty-four hours later, Amy was sitting in the lawyer's office. Though she'd never experienced the phenomenon, she thought she might be going into shock.

According to Ms. Vincent, her father's estate was valued at approximately two and a half million dollars. And he had left every bit of it to Amy.

"I don't understand," she said finally, when she was finally able to speak again. "How…how can that be? I mean, he was an insurance salesman. We were always comfortable financially, but we never had that kind of money."

Ms. Vincent smiled. "It's not so surprising, really," she told the young woman. "Like you said, your father was an insurance salesman. As such, he was able to take out multiple life insurance policies. He named you as the sole beneficiary on every one of them. Since he'd been paying on all of them, and since his death has been judged to be natural causes, they're all going to pay off. Of course, he also left some debt, mainly on the house and vehicles. But those amounts are negligible. Once the house and cars are sold, what remains after the debts are paid off will be added to the balance of the estate." Her smile faded. "There is one thing, however."

Of course there was. She should have known. "What's that?" she asked. It was probably something to do with taxes, she thought. Of course Uncle Sam would want his share of the spoils.

Melissa Vincent shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Your father's will names Mr. Gold as the executor," she announced. "The money from the insurance policies is to go into a trust fund. It's to be released to you at Mr. Gold's discretion until you reach the age of twenty-five, at which time the entire balance of the trust fund will become available to you."

That was not what Amy had expected to hear. "Mr.…Gold?' she repeated blankly.

"Yes, honey," the lawyer replied. "Mr. Gold has the option to release the balance of the trust fund to you now, or as soon as the checks come in. He also has the option to arrange a yearly income from the fund for you until you reach twenty-five, or"—her eyes darkened—"he can withhold the contents of the fund from you until the same time."

"And what has he decided?" Amy asked in a near-whisper. Her head was spinning. If she was going to come into a large inheritance in five years' time, that would kill any chance she had of receiving assistance from the state to care for her baby. That also left five years in which she would have to try to raise a child with no money. Even if Mr. Gold truly cared about her, would he be able to resist this opportunity to keep her under his thumb? Would he use this to try to force her to give up the baby? If he did that, would she have any choice?

"I don't know," Ms. Vincent said in as comforting a tone as she could manage. "He hasn't informed me of his decision yet. He told me he would do so today, after I went over this with you." She paused. "He also requested that you be present when he announced his decision. He's actually in the lobby right now. I'm to send for him as soon as I've gone over the will with you." That concern flashed in her eyes again. "I know you two have had a…disagreement of some sort. Would you feel more comfortable having Sheriff Swan present when he announces the decision? Or perhaps Mrs. Woods? Or even Dr. Hopper…he's just in the next building, I'm sure he'd be glad to come and…be with you."

So the lawyer had the same doubts as she. Amy was so confused. Why would her father have done this to her? Why would he have made the man who had wanted to sell her baby the executor of his estate? Had Mr. Gold coerced him into it somehow, as he lay dying? But if that had been the case, why had Mr. Gold attempted to save his life? If it was part of some devious plan, it would have been much easier to let him die on the spot. She didn't know what to think. She wanted to believe the best of her father and the man she thought she might still love, but it was so hard with all of their past actions. Not just against her, but so many others.

Well, there was only one way to find out the truth. "No, that's all right," Amy said. "I don't need anyone with me. I want to know what his decision is."

Melissa Vincent nodded slowly, though her eyes were full of misgivings. She spoke into the intercom. "Brianna, please send in Mr. Gold."

She heard the measured thump…thump…thump of his cane as he approached the door. She remembered when she had welcomed that sound, knowing it meant that he was home for the evening and coming to hang out with her. Now it filled her with a feeling that was close to, but not quite, dread.

Mr. Gold entered the room. Amy couldn't help noticing he was wearing her favorite of his suits—the black one with faint red pinstripes, with a black dress shirt and red tie. Something about that black-and-red combo just seemed…familiar to her somehow. Those were definitely his colors, she thought.

His face was somber. "Good afternoon, Amy," he greeted her, his tone formal.

"Hello, Mr. Gold," she replied with equal gravity.

"How are you doing?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over her. They rested for a moment on her midsection, and a look she couldn't read passed briefly over his face before he resumed his usual inscrutable expression. Was he remembering how he had trailed his lips over her stomach that night? She flushed slightly at the unbidden thought.

"Fine," she managed to reply, hoping he didn't notice the red creeping steadily up her neck. She knew it was a futile hope, though; he had always noticed it before.

He did notice, and it was with a monumental effort he kept the smirk from his lips. So, she remembered the night he had touched with such passion the very area he now stared at. The thought of their encounter unnerved her as much as it did him. He hoped it was for the same reasons.

But he had to play the businessman now, not the former almost-lover. "I assume Ms. Vincent has apprised you of the situation," he said briskly. Amy nodded. "I think you should know that your father named me the executor of his estate…quite recently. The evening before…" He trailed off, knowing she would comprehend what he left unsaid.

And she did. Her father had changed his will right before he died, perhaps as he was dying. Amy's confusion grew. He had known what had happened between her and Mr. Gold. Yet he had still named Mr. Gold the executor. Why? Why had he put the man who had planning to more or less steal her unborn child in charge of the one thing that might have allowed her to keep the child?

"I also think you should know that I discussed the disposition of his estate with him shortly before he…passed. He was quite clear in his wishes, and I intend to abide by them."

At these words, Amy slumped in her chair a bit. A casual observer wouldn't have noticed, but it wasn't lost on the sharp-eyed lawyer or the equally astute pawnbroker.

She was fucked, she thought despondently. Her father had managed to do one last cruel thing to her from beyond the grave. Of course he had wanted Mr. Gold to keep the money from her until it was too late. He had wanted her to be stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to receive any sort of welfare benefits but unable to access any of the small fortune he had bequeathed her in time to help her keep her baby. For some reason she couldn't fathom, her father had wanted her to have no choice but to give up her baby. But it made no sense. She recalled his loving words on his deathbed, the tenderness in his eyes when he had looked at her for the last time. He couldn't have been faking that. Why, then, had he done something that he had to know would hurt her so deeply? Was it possible he thought he had been acting for her own good?

So lost was she in her pain and confusion that she failed to listen to Mr. Gold's decision about the trust fund. What was the point, anyway? she thought dejectedly. She knew what his decision was, had known since she found out he'd been named executor. Well, she decided, he still wasn't getting his hands on her baby. Even if she wasn't going to be able to keep her after all, she would somehow see to it that he had no part in the adoption. Maybe Dr. Hopper would be able to help her. She would have to go see him as soon as this was over. She had only a few weeks to go now; time was of the essence.

Ms. Vincent was speaking now. Though she really didn't give a good goddamn what the lawyer had to say at this point, Amy forced herself to listen to the woman.

"So if you'll just sign these papers, honey, the first deposit will be made in your account as soon as possible," the woman chirped…yes, chirped. She was quite cheerful all of a sudden. Had she been in on the whole thing, too? But she had said something about a deposit…

Something wasn't adding up. "Wait, what?" was all Amy could think to say.

"You need to sign the papers, sweetie," Ms. Vincent said patiently, "so the first payment can go into your bank account when the funds are available."

Amy knew she probably sounded like a moron, but it couldn't be helped. "Payment?"

Mr. Gold's deep, dark eyes found her own and held them. "Your father asked that I arrange a yearly income for you from the trust fund until you attain the majority," he repeated. He had known full well that she hadn't been listening the first time. it had been like a knife through his heart, the thoughts he had realized were undoubtedly going through her head, but at least he would be able to prove her wrong. "For the next five years, you'll receive a yearly stipend of one hundred thousand dollars."

One hundred thousand dollars. Christ on a cracker. All of a sudden everything was crystal-clear. Her father had never intended to hurt her. He had never planned to force her to give up her baby. He had wanted her to have all the money she'd need and then some to raise her little girl. Far from intending to punish her from beyond the grave, he had given her an incredible gift.

Of course, that didn't explain why he had named Mr. Gold as his executor, but as she realized what her father had done she realized why he must have done so. He had known she cared for Mr. Gold. He had known Mr. Gold cared for her in some form or another. By putting Mr. Gold in charge of her trust fund, he had tried to give the man a chance to redeem himself. It was obvious that Mr. Gold had decided to take that chance. Her father had to have known that they would have to remain in close contact under the terms of his will. Maybe it had been his way of trying to give her another gift, a gift even more precious than the resources to raise her baby.

Once again she was lost in her own thoughts. But Gold could tell from the light in her eyes that these thoughts were much more pleasant than her thoughts from a few minutes before. She understood, then. She understood that no one had been out to hurt her, not her father, not him. Perhaps she understood the reasons her father had had for setting things up this way, too. If not, well, that would come in time.

The pain in his chest eased. He believed, hoped, this could be a new start for them. Not that he was going to throw himself at her feet right this moment and declare his love. No, that wouldn't do at all. He had to do this slowly. And he had to be prepared for disappointment; there was still the chance that she wouldn't be able to move beyond all that had transpired before. But seeing the look on her face, the dawning comprehension and joy, the realization that he was at least partly responsible for her sudden good fortune…he thought that in time, she might, just might, be able to forgive him. God, he hoped so. These past few weeks had been agony. Not a day, not an hour had passed when he hadn't thought of going to her, begging her once again to hear him out. Somehow he had managed to refrain from doing so, knowing she wasn't ready for it yet. But her father's death had changed things. Though he sincerely regretted this, he couldn't deny that Joe Miller's passing had been the catalyst he needed to make his way back into her life, if not her heart right away. Joe had known this, he thought. It occurred to him that the man's highest acts of love for his daughter had been posthumous ones.

And the man had also accomplished something else. Though he couldn't have known it at the time (or perhaps he had, Gold mused as he remembered the words the man had spoken while they'd waited for the ambulance) Joe Miller had also ensured that his daughter and granddaughter would be safe from the mayor. Now that she would have a sizable income with which to raise her baby, Amy would never have any reason to go to Regina for help. Gold didn't believe that she would have done that in any case, not unless she was truly desperate. But he also knew that a single and poverty-stricken parent could be one of the most desperate souls there was. He knew, too, that Regina would have been prepared for the situation. Much like him, the woman's generosity would have come at a dear price. And unlike him, she would have had no compunctions about demanding that Amy pay that price. There was no reservoir of goodness hidden deep in Regina like Gold had discovered in himself; any true kindness and empathy in her had long been extinguished.

"May I have a moment alone with Amy?" he asked Ms. Vincent. Though it was phrased as such, the lawyer knew it wasn't a request. Her expression again grew wary, but she nodded in agreement and left the room without comment.

For a long moment Amy and Mr. Gold simply gazed at each other. He thought to himself that she was even lovelier now than she had been the day he met her. She was obviously one of those lucky women who bloomed with pregnancy. Though her movements were slow and at times awkward, her face was round and rosy and her eyes sparkled. Even her grief couldn't dim the quiet happiness he saw in her now. He knew it wasn't joy over the money, for she had worn the look even before she discovered her father had been looking out for her after all. Although he had never seen that particular look before, he knew in his soul that it was the look of an excited mother-to-be.

She thought that he was as elegantly dressed and impeccably groomed as ever. Yet there was a difference in him. He looked tired, she realized. Tired and unsure, two things she had rarely seen in him. She had noticed as he entered that he was limping a bit more than usual. It was very slight; most people wouldn't even notice it, but she wasn't most people. A wave of compassion passed over her.

Amy knew Mr. Gold had done some terrible things in the past. She knew he had intended to do such a thing to her in the beginning. But somewhere along the way he had changed his mind. More than that, he had changed. She knew better than to expect that he would reform completely; knew that he would never be one to completely walk the straight and narrow. But his actions, especially since her father's death, had shown her once and for all that there was a good heart buried beneath that calculating exterior. That goodness in him deserved a chance.

She opened her mouth to say something—what, she wasn't exactly sure—but he spoke first.

"Do you remember the first night you spent at my house?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she replied, unsure of where he was going with this. Did she ever. Every detail of that night was permanently etched into her memory. Especially she remembered his face in the candlelight, his strangely serious expression. He was looking at her now with the same expression.

"I told you then that if your circumstances changed, I'd be the first person to tell you to keep your baby," he said slowly. "At the time, I said it merely to gain your trust. As I got to know you, though, I realized I meant it. There's a reason I never found a home for your child, Amy: no matter how good the prospective parents seemed, I knew that baby already had the best possible home…with you."

Amy's eyes filled with tears at the words. She believed him—staring at those dark brown yes full of pain and remorse, it would have been impossible not to. But there was something she had to ask.

"But if you knew my baby was meant to be with me…" she began, choosing her words with the utmost care. "Why did you continue with the adoption plan? Why didn't you tell me sooner you thought I should keep her?"

"I was going to," he responded, still speaking slowly, carefully. "The night you left, I was going to tell you. I think Regina suspected. I know she realized I had feelings for you, and she must have sensed that I was nearly ready to act upon them. That's why she let it slip to Emma about Henry."

"Emma was right," Amy whispered. "She said it was no coincidence that Regina told her then…"

He smiled then, a sad, weary smile. "A very perceptive young woman, our Sheriff," he said. "I planned to tell you myself. Not then, but later. I didn't want there to be any more secrets between us. I was going to tell you everything, then let you decide for yourself if…" He trailed off.

"If what?" Amy breathed. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"If you could live with knowing everything I'd done," he said in a rush, as though afraid he'd lose his nerve. "If you could live with me, knowing the things I'm capable of."

She was silent for a long moment. Now it was his turn to hold his breath. If there was any hope for them at all, now he would find out for sure.

"I need time," she said finally.

A spark of hope flamed within his heart. "Of course," he said, trying with all his might not to sound too eager. "I'll give you all the time you need."

She smiled a little then. "You will?" she asked.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I promise. You can have as much time as you need to…think things over. And, Amy…if you decide that you can't live with it…well, I'll find a way to accept that." The words were spoken with a quiet, simple honesty.

Her eyebrows rose. "Really?" she asked. A teasing note crept into her voice. "That doesn't sound like the Mr. Gold I know."

He took that as another good sign. Amy sounded now like she used to when they would playfully banter back and forth. "Well," he replied in a similar light tone, though he meant the words with all his heart, "perhaps the Mr. Gold you know has learned a few things."

Her smile widened. "Like what?"

He grew serious then. "Maybe he's learned…that sometimes when you love someone, it means letting them go. Letting them go, and trusting that they'll return to you in the end." He rose then, swiftly, before she could think of how to respond to that. "I'll be in touch, dear." Just like that, he was gone, leaving her to think over his final words.

…

Melissa Vincent wasn't sure what to expect when she returned to her office. Mr. Gold's demeanor when he left had given her no clues, though he had walked with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there earlier. With some trepidation she entered the office.

Whatever she'd been expecting, it certainly hadn't been the sight that greeted her: the sight of Amy Miller with a smile on her face. The girl was positively radiant, and she knew it wasn't just pregnancy hormones. The lawyer knew the glow of a woman in love when she saw it.

"Is everything all right, honey?" she asked, though the answer was perfectly obvious.

The girl turned shining eyes towards her. "Oh, yes, Ms. Vincent," she said, with something very close to laughter in her voice. "Everything is just fine."

Sorry for the wait, but I hit a massive roadblock with this chapter. I'm still not completely thrilled with it, but the good news is that I am completely thrilled with the next chapter, which I've already started working on. This chapter isn't really that important, anyway, mainly just to move things along. Chapter 14 is a different story (well, not literally, but you know what I mean).

How about Mr. Gold turning out to be a lawyer on the show? Would have been nice if they'd clued us into that fact a little earlier, though it's pretty obvious in retrospect. Had I known sooner I could have used it. In this story, though, he's just a businessman with some questionable ventures. In fact, this story will be pretty much AU from here on out. There won't be any disappearances or murders or anything like that. August will pop up, but Jefferson probably won't unless I get an idea for him. (Pity. He's hot, but he's no Rumple.) However, I have figured out how to work in Red Riding Hood's backstory. The writers did me a favor there. It'll come out in the massive fairy tale flashback I have planned for a few chapters out. Never fear, more smexy good times are ahead too.

I'm sure "Melissa Vincent's" true identity was easy to guess. In my version of Storybrooke she has no memory of the fairy-tale world, and she's no more evil than most lawyers (j/k). She's also not an informant for Regina (I figure after how Regina did her in the pilot episode she still wouldn't trust her in Storybrooke—though she may not know exactly why).

Standard disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon A Time or any of its characters, just my OCs. ABC and Disney have that pleasure. Nor am I making any money off this. I'm also not making any money off the following plug: Check out the site "Cats That Look Like Rumple" (.com) if you haven't already. It's hilarious (and there's a seriously hot bathtub pic of Robert Carlyle, which is enough reason by itself to take a look IMHO).

And as always I want to thank my loyal readers. Thanks in advance for not giving up on me or "Miller's Daughter". I promise I'll try to update quicker in the future, though I've just started a new job and come home exhausted most days (another reason for the delay). I know this chapter was kind of slow, but I promise the next one will make up for it!