Spun with Gold

A/N: I 've figured it out! So last night's episode made me cry so hard (yes I cry at TV shows, shut up), and then... INSPIRATION. I know what I'm doing with this story now, but I'll have to be busy to catch it up before next weekend, which, for those of you who aren't caught up is the FINALE. So get on it peeps. The one-shots with Rum and Belle will continue, I promise, and start stinking of a plotline really soon, but there's also going to be the "real-world" plot coming out as well in small snaps of Storybrooke.

As always, all my readers have all of my love, and my reviewers have all my bubbly happiness.

Always,

|ACP|

Chapter 4: A cry and a chance encounter

They were calling for help. The people of Storybrooke that walked around the damp, overcast streets and were blissfully unaware were practically screaming for it inside. They passed in and out of Mr. Gold's store, like specters, coming with small unexplainable objects they'd found lying around their houses, systematically selling off all of their past lives and bartering for their newfound bliss in unfair deals and agreements that reeked of their fear. Regina lorded it over them as Mayor, strutting about the place with that self-satisfied smear of lipstick that was her grin. He had helped make this real. The world had been here before, this "reality" to which they all clung to so desperately now, but the people had come out of the blue. Even the town had been fabricated to fit Regina's specific needs. It seemed like every day was a monotonous dream and he was just slugging through it, waiting.

Mr. Gold had developed a keen sense of patience over the years. While his grit and ability to abide by the conditions life sent his way had worn down through time and his waiting, an odd sense of purposeful patience began to fill him, starting at the handle of his cane and slowly going up to the tips of his hair. This was not life's doing. It was Regina and that brat of hers. He kept himself busy, of course. For the first year or so it had been going around to re-establish his deals, to keep tabs on people and be sure that certain ones were adjusting in certain ways. A favour to the Queen. And then, as time went on, he couldn't help it. The looking. Looking for a sign of Her, a scrap, a left-behind note or even a small rose petal left in his teacup like she used to do near the end. He should've known then.

Stupid old man. Her father was there, crying and screaming in his subconscious for Rumplestiltskin's help, for him to bring her back to the undeserving, ungrateful, loathsome imbecile of a florist lord.

But by far, the one who cried out for help the loudest, was the one that shouldn't have even been there. The boy that was a gift, a side-deal that he had made in a stroke of brilliance, an experiment to see if people could be literally reincarnated into this "real world". His name was Henry, after the Queen's father, the sacrifice she'd made to wreak her unholy yada yada on the "good" people of their world. He was a lively boy, with dark brown hair and brown-green eyes, and had been procured using some of the last vestiges of magic that Mr. Gold possessed. Henry needed, of course, a birthmother, seeing as good ol' Regina was time-locked with the best of them and couldn't go through the motions of pregnancy as long as that clock sat still like it was supposed to. Just take little Cindersoot down the drive. She'd been pregnant for on eighteen years when the mayor's replacement family was born, far, far away from Storybrooke to a young woman of eighteen, a young woman named Emma.

And if Regina was the lock, then Henry was the key. Emma was the knob to the door of their world, and as long as Henry was alive and her son, she would twist and open up their world for him. This plan was almost too dependant on the fact that Ms. Swan would be like her mother, the noble and forgetful Snow White, but he'd still gone through with it. After all, a slim chance is a chance all the same. And any hope was better than staring out the window and imagining the two very different loves in his life being gone forever with no hope of ever returning. He'd lost one for sure. The other he was going to find as soon as the curse was broken, find and keep safe because the wrath of the defeated Queen towards him would be something impressive. This was assuming, of course, that she wasn't killed in the blood the storybook people would be calling for. For fairytale creatures, they can be quite violent.

Henry wanted to find Emma. Mr. Gold could sense it, could practically smell the boy's desperation for his birthmother, and he couldn't really blame the child. If he'd had Regina as an adoptive mother, he'd have combed the earth looking for his real one. And all at once the plan was in motion. The book Mr. Gold had eased into "Mary Margaret"'s possession early in their time-lock had found its way into Henry's hands, and the seed was planted. It had been almost too easy to distract the girl so that Henry could sneak one of her credit cards. All this, without the boy's knowledge. In the event of the plan's failure, he had to be able to claim innocence with no trace or weak link. A specialty in his trade.

He knew when the boy went missing. There was little in Storybrooke he didn't know, and so when Regina's precious son went running off through the town's impenetrable borders, he got not only a raging Wicked Queen in his shop, worrying her fancy haircut out, but also the first inkling his plan was falling into place.

"We made a deal!" he shrieked, clawing at the cage. This was essential. He must know. "I want her name! We had a deal! I need her name!" Snow White and King James stopped as he raged, frantically screaming down the craggy hall. "Her?" James asked, turning around and looking at him with disgust. "It's a boy." The king turned back around, but Snow didn't move. The miracle of mother's intuition had never failed him yet, and no kennel the royals thought to confine him in was about to change that. "Missy! Missy! You know I'm right." he cooed down the hall, and he could feel the Queen's knowing. It was like rosehip tea, steeped just long enough in a nice porcelain cup. It called to him. "Tell me." he said gently, and the Queen still remained in place. "What's her name?"

Queen Snow White turned half-way around, and her face was full of her pain for the girl. But she was honest as she was beautiful, and would keep her word. Fairest in the land but one. Even dead, She would still win any contest against this soon-to-be mother. "Emma." Snow said in a low voice, and her eyes flickered, as though she had just figured this out but still knew it to be true. "Her name is Emma." The Queen left then, and her King followed her, as did the light. Rumplestiltskin repeated the name, again and again, working it into the curse. Emma, Emma, Emma...

Mr. Gold now had only to wait for the boy to return to know if his plan was to work or fail. The girl would have to come back with him to start the clock from its place at 8:15, to start the wake up call the crying town desperately needed. And such was the way of fate that he was picking up rent at Granny's when he saw it.

A stranger in Storybrooke.

A lovely stranger, with long blonde hair and a harrowed face, wearing red leather and brown boots, renting a room. He'd come in the back door, seeing as it was technically his house, and had heard it. "'Scuse me, I'd like a room?"

"Really?"

Business had begun then, with Granny bustling about giving off preferences and taking down her order. Intrigued, he came into the front room and laid eyes on her just as she said, "Swan, Emma Swan."

"Emma." he said, unable to keep his curiosity and wonder from his voice. So easy. The girl who had somehow turned into a woman turned around to look at the speaker and he continued. "What a lovely name." She seemed a little unnerved, but took it in stride, thanking him for the compliment and turning back to Granny, who drew a wad of cash from her dusty desk's drawer. Where she got the money every month, he didn't know, and didn't care. "It's all here." she said, a tinge of fear in her stony old voice, glancing at the money as though it were poisonous now that it was his and she held it out for him. "Yes, yes of course it is dear, thank you." The money changed hands directly in front of the now skeptical savior child's face, and he observed her with amusement. She didn't look promising. But then, he thought, Usurpers never do. "You enjoy your stay. Emma." The words were so familiar, the name rolling off his tongue as though it were his own child's. He'd said it enough times over the years.

As he left the inn, he caught Red Riding Hood's eye and gave her a small smile. He respected her dark primal attitude. It was a quality he well admired, but didn't associate with. He stood on the front stoop, knowing Red Riding Hood was watching after him to see if he'd leave. But he was listening. Today was important. These words were important. Over the hedge, his eyes found the old clock, and as the words left the old woman's throat, the clock changed. 8:16. Welcome to Storybrooke.

A/N: GAH. Well. That wasn't what I planned at ALL. But whatev's. Rewatched the first episode, in case you couldn't tell, cause of that funny canon concern. Hope you enjoyed. Read, Watch, Review.

Also, still having trouble getting the tab button to work EVER, so if you have any advice, I would be very willing to take it gladly.

Arrivederci my ducklings.

|ACP|