"Would you please remove your hands?"

"No, you can't look yet."

"… Archie."

Archie hummed; he could hear Gold gritting his teeth.

"If you don't remove your hands from my eyes," said Gold, "I will hire Jaws to bite them off."

Archie's hands jerked in surprise, almost coming off. "You'll hire a shark?" he squeaked.

"No. I meant the villain from James Bond – with the silver teeth - look, just take your hands off!"

"One more minute."

Leaning over, Archie painted the last letter on the sign; his other hand remained set over Mr. Gold's eyes. Finally, the doctor subsided.

"Aaaand … look," he said, removing his hand with a flourish.

Gold blinked. His eyes adjusted to the sunshine. He stared.

"What the hell," he said, touching the wooden contraption with one hand, "is this?"

"It's for Miner's Day!" said Archie happily. "Look –"

He hurried forward, gesturing toward the sign with a little skip.

"A hugging booth!" he said. Gold stared at him like he was crazy. "Like a kissing booth, you know? People will come here, pay a dollar for a hug – man or woman, doesn't matter - and we'll donate the money to the nuns!"

"There are several things wrong with that," Gold said.

"And you'll be the one doing all the hugging!" Archie finished. He beamed, hands clasped, and waited for a response. The sun shone down on his sign; the booth was ready and waiting, and Miner's Day was today.

There was a long pause. Archie's smile faded.

"Well," said Gold, swinging his cane outward, "I'm going home."

Archie jumped in front of him, blocking Gold's path. He held his hands out to stop the other man.

"Mr. Gold," he said, "this is part of your therapy –"

"Yes, yes," Gold snapped, waving a gloved hand. "If I don't comply, jail-time, so on and so forth. I know."

"Oh." Archie leaned back. "Good."

Gold looked back at the hugging booth, his brow furrowed. Archie watched him pensively. The other man looked annoyed and extremely reluctant; even now, he was struggling to find a way out.

"Well," said Gold eventually, toxic but at least a little resigned, "are you going to tell me why we're doing this?"

"Intimacy problems," Archie explained. There was a short pause. Gold raised an eyebrow.

"You think I have intimacy problems," he said, "so you make me … hug people."

Archie nodded. With a loud sigh, Mr. Gold turned away, heading back toward his house.

"ALSO!" said Archie, dancing in front of him. "Also, also! It's for charity."

"For the nuns," said Gold scathingly. Archie made a mental note to ask about that later – there was some serious nun-hating going on here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. Later.

"I'll make you a deal," he said. Gold's eyes sharpened. "You do the Hugging Booth – sit here and comply for the whole day, until I say we're ready to leave – and you can donate the money to a different charity. Whatever you choose."

"The NMNSA?" asked Gold.

"If that stands for No More Nuns in Storybrooke Association," said Archie, "then no."

Gold scowled. Archie watched him, shifting his weight from the tips of his toes to his heels, hands clasped.

"It's no good," said Gold eventually, his tone only mildly nasty. "What the hell is the point in saying we're going to donate the money?"

Archie stared at him, bewildered. "But we are!"

"There's not going to be any money," said Gold patronizingly. "You honestly think the townsfolk are going to be lining up in droves to hug me?"

The speech was meant to be sardonic, scathing. Gold's voice lost steam, though, as the sentence wore on, and it ended on an embarrassingly insecure note. He hoped Archie wouldn't catch it – damn it. The doctor's eyes were already wide and swimming with pity.

He wondered if it would work if he made a correction.

"Don't even look at me that way," he said. Archie nodded. It looked like his lips were trembling. "Oh, for goodness' sake!" Gold snapped. "If I sit down and just do this, will you spare me the after-school lecture? I don't need to learn how to love myself."

Archie got control of his lips and nodded. Gold nodded back once, curtly, and moved behind the booth. He sat gracefully on the uncomfortable fold-out chair that Archie had brought, arranging his coat around him and slipping his sunglasses off now that the glare of the sun on the snow was facing the other way.

"For the record," said Archie, also taking a seat, "I'm sure there are many people who want to hug you."

Leave it, Gold, said a voice in the back of his head. Don't respond.

"Mockingly," Gold responded. He could have slapped himself.

"Well, some of them," said Archie. "But there are people out there who really like you, Mr. Gold! Why, at my – my – uh, book club every month there are scores of women asking what you feel –" His voice faltered. "—like - to hug."

There was a bit of a pause.

"I will allow you one more attempt at that," Gold said. Blushing furiously, Archie passed. "Very well. Then if you don't mind, let's spend the rest of this ordeal in silence, yeah?"

Silence.

Gold nodded once, satisfied, and stared out at the street. It was damn cold out. How long did he have to stay out here? All day? Until the festival started? But the festival wouldn't really start until two o-clock, and it wouldn't be in full swing until about six –

The sound of crumpling paper interrupted him.

"We agreed on silence," Gold said.

"I agreed on nothing," said Archie. He pulled the paper out, straightening it. A little huffily, Gold turned back to the road and furiously tried to remember what he'd been thinking about it.

"I prepared a list of things to talk about," said Archie, interrupting him again. "Don't worry, it's not therapeutic."

"Joy."

Archie cleared his throat, staring at the paper. "Number one," he read, "list your top five favorite representations of the cricket in popular culture."

"P'tang, Yang, and Kipperbang," said Gold immediately, ticking it off on his fingertips. "The scene with Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged in Life, the Universe, and Everything. Err …"

He drummed his fingers, thinking. Archie gaped at him.

"Is it all right if I stop at three?" asked Gold. "All I can think of is this one episode of Inspector Morse."

"We're talking about crickets," said Archie stressfully, like he was worried about Gold's mental health (which … he was). "You know – the insect?"

"I know. I was being sarcastic – you twat."

"OK, OK," said Archie. "Moving on."

He shuffled the papers and cleared his throat, squinting at the words. "If you were on a deserted island," he asked, "what five movies would you bring with you to watch?"

"If I were on a deserted island," said Gold coolly, "I would not be watching movies."

"Why not?" asked Archie.

"Because unlike you, I am capable of getting myself off."

There was a long pause.

"I don't think you meant that the way it sounds," Archie said. Gold merely sniffed and wrapped his scarf around his neck a little tighter. "Besides," said Archie, "if you weren't watching movies on the island, what would you be doing?"

"Harvesting electricity," said Gold. "Assuming I wished to stay. And if I did, then first I would go about looking for food and making fresh water."

"Making fresh water?" Archie repeated.

"Well, what would you expect me to do, go searching for it like a caveman?"

Archie wasn't entirely sure he deserved the patronizing tone.

"Look," he said, "you can't just make fresh water."

Gold held up a contradicting finger, eyebrows raised. "You can't make water," he corrected, "but you can make water fresh. Argument ended."

"We weren't arguing!" Archie protested.

"Yes, we were. And I won."

Gold was the picture of calm collection, his hands folded on the wooden stand before him. A local man – one of the veterinarians – walked by, stopped, and looked up at the sign. He looked at Gold. Gold raised an eyebrow.

Hastily, the vet walked away.

"Why do you think you're so competitive?" Archie asked.

"I'm not," Gold replied.

"You think your behavior is normal?"

"Yes."

"So," said Archie, in summary, "you think the whole world is sort of dog-eat-dog. If you don't fight – if you're weak – you don't do well in life. You have no money, no nice possessions or respect. You're shunned."

Gold stood slightly, wagged the sign at a passing nun, and sat back down with a scowl when she walked away.

"I thought you hated nuns," said Archie suspiciously, his rant momentarily forgotten.

Gold answered him with an inscrutable, calm face turned toward the road. His eyes were hooded and cool, looking almost vulnerable without the round sunglasses he normally wore. He looked like a stately old gentleman, Victorian and innocent.

"Give me the shiv," Archie ordered. Grumbling, Gold handed it over. "If you even think of sticking someone," Archie warned, tucking the broken-off piece of wood into his European handbag, "this Hugging Booth will simply never end."

Huffing, Gold crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. He was still sitting like that, glaring at the road, when the festival began to pick up.

"Mama, what's a Hugging Booth?" asked a small child carrying a balloon. The mother looked around, caught sight of the booth and Gold, and ushered her child on with a pale face.

"That went well," Gold snarked.

"Oh, hush."

It was two o'clock – Archie hushed up naturally, because suddenly people were coming in. The mother whose child had pointed out the booth got out her cell phone and made a few quick texts. Some people in the park saw the booth and did the same; others actually made calls. Gold watched them all with narrowed eyes, his brain churning.

He completely missed the person walking up to his booth.

"Mr. Gold," Mother Superior greeted, dropping a dollar in the jar. Gold stiffened, his jaw tight, as he looked up at her. "Dr. Hopper."

Archie grinned and nodded.

"And what charitable organization are you donating to today?" asked the nun, examining their jar. Archie's eyes slid over to Gold.

"Children's hospital," said Gold with a 'polite' sneer. Mother Superior gave him one of her own.

"How sweet," she said. Gold nodded once, giving a slight harrumph as he did, and sat back. Archie stared at him expectantly. The nun stood with her hands folded in front of her, complacent.

Oh, right. The hug.

Gold suddenly felt paralyzed. Archie nudged him, gently at first, then impatiently.

"Mr. Gold," he whispered.

Well, shit, Gold thought. He could feel his face heating up despite his best efforts – things were only going to get worse. With tight, jerky movements, he stood and (catching a thankfully brief look at Mother Superior's smug grin) wrapped his arms around the woman. He tried very hard not to touch her.

He was pretty sure his face was burning. He stepped back and crossed his arms. Both Archie and the Mother were suppressing laughter.

"Well, thank you very much, Mr. Gold," Mother Superior chuckled. "It was well worth the dollar – I'll be sure to tell my friends!"

She turned away.

"Catholic bitch," Gold said. The nun wasn't quite out of earshot, and Archie gave him a scandalized look on her behalf. Gold just grumbled it away, sitting back down. People were definitely looking his way now; their interest was piqued.

"You didn't tell me you turned beet-red when people hugged you," Archie commented.

"Shut up."

"Is it a common thing? Will you blush if I hold your hand?"

"Shut up – I thought therapists weren't supposed to make fun!"

Archie shrugged. He sat up a little, hooking his hands underneath his seat to shift it with him. "Here comes more. Be charming."

"Not my role," Gold hissed at him – but it was too late for talk.

The savages were among them.

He hugged every filthy janitor in town. He hugged every alcohol-stained bum and every smirking mayor. He hugged the coughing, wheezing, dripping people with colds and he hugged a man named Jim who'd recently been released from the psych ward and was therefore dressed as Thor.

"You know," said Archie as he emptied the jar for a third time that day, "it seems the only people you're not getting action from is the people you're trying to help."

"Sexy single mothers?" asked Gold.

Archie checked again to make sure the jar was labeled 'children's hospital.'

"Yeah," he said. "Sure."

Gold saw Ashley staring at them from across the street. He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at her and mimed taking a baby away instead.

"Gold," said Archie, "would you stop acting out the Lindbergh Baby thing and please sit down?"

Gold returned to his seat.

"Thank you. Now, Miner's Day is almost over – you don't have to worry long –"

"Regina's been around three times," Gold reminded him.

"Well, she's left now," said Archie.

"She told me she was just leaving to go to the bank."

"Banks are closed," Archie told him. "It's Miner's Day."

Gold looked at him sideways. "Pretty sure that doesn't count, Doctor."

Archie rolled his eyes. They watched as a few latecomers arrived to the festival – Emma, Leroy, Henry, Regina again. Moe French.

Archie sat up straighter in his seat.

"What are you doing?" asked Gold, instantly turning on him.

"Oh?" said Archie with mock obliviousness. "Am I doing something?"

Gold stared intently at him while keeping Moe in his peripheral vision. "There is no doubt you're doing something. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing—"

"Hey, Dr. Hopper," said a miserable voice. It was just on the other side of the Hugging Booth. Gold froze.

"Hey, Moe," Archie said. "Thanks for coming."

Slowly, Gold turned around and met the eyes of the man he'd beaten. Moe was still mostly in casts. He had that silly white thing around his neck (Gold called it a travel pillow when he was feeling particularly derisive) and he was walking with a crutch.

"My God," said Gold, feigning horror, "what happened?"

Archie's face creased. Moe's darkened, becoming nothing short of hateful.

"Gold," he growled. "If you think I'm going to rise to the bait –"

"It's like you've been hit by some sort of massive, swinging truck!" Gold went on. Moe's cheeks were turning a mottled shade of purple.

"All right, now!" he said, pointing with stubby fingers. "If you think I'm gonna take that –"

"Did you see who hit you?" Gold asked. "Or his license plate number? Quick, go get Sheriff Swan!"

"Gold –" Archie said.

"If you think I'm donating to your – uh – children's hospital -!" Moe started, then wilted a little. He stuck a fistful of dollars in the jar, apologized to Archie ("no offense") ("none taken") and scowled at Gold once more. Gold just stared back, his face just blank enough to get Moe mad again.

"That will be nine hugs," Archie announced, counting the money in the jar.

Gold and Moe both groaned.

Ten o'clock. The festival was being pulled down around them in the dark; except for a few straggling candle-lights, the party-goers were gone and there was no one to be seen. Archie stripped their booth down in silence; Gold stood nearby, clutching the money bag in one freezing hand and thinking about the horrible ache in his knee. It was shooting up his whole leg; always did in winter.

Plus, his ears hurt. He wished he'd brought a hat – no, he didn't. Regina would have taken pictures. And no hats fit him, anyway. His head was too small – 'weird-shaped,' according to the hat-shops.

Bloody non-professionals.

A few scattered bits of wood fell to the ground; panting slightly, Archie stooped and gathered it all up.

"Well," he said breathlessly, joining Gold, "that's it! You got the money?"

Gold held it up for him to see.

"Good!" Archie praised. "And what did you learn from the Hugging Booth today?"

That women and children will only hug me mockingly, Gold thought.

He shrugged.

"Oh, come on," Archie scoffed, struggling with the weight of the wood. Gold almost helped him with it, realized he would have to balance bits of the booth with the money bag and his cane, and decided against it. "You have to have learned something! Is hugging as bad as you thought it was?"

"I never thought it was bad," Gold responded. Archie twisted in an attempt to balance and dropped a few more sticks of wood. "I just didn't want to do it."

This time, the therapist didn't even answer. He was contorting, twisting to his side in an effort to retrieve what he'd dropped without crouching and losing all the rest of it, too. It was getting pitiful; Gold watched him for a few long moments, stuck between setting his things down to help and letting the doctor resolve the matter on his own. He was getting truly uncomfortable – torn between the two options – when a candle-light zipped in out of nowhere and picked up the excess wood.

"Here, Dr. Hopper!" said a bright, high voice Gold recognized as Henry's. The boy took bits and pieces out of Archie's arms, balancing the load. "Sorry I didn't get to come to your booth!" said Henry. "I blew my allowance on X-Men and Mom said I didn't want to spend it there anyway."

He looked over his shoulder, saw Mr. Gold, and nodded a brief, distasteful greeting. Mr. Gold liked Henry – the boy reminded him of Bae, in looks and personality. Only Bae had never been so brusque with anyone but downright villains.

Ouch.

"It's okay, Henry," said Archie. "You know you can always donate at the hospital, right? You don't have to wait for us to set up a booth."

Gold rolled his eyes.

"And," Archie added enticingly, "if you wish to hug Mr. Gold, he needs it all the time. He has intimacy issues."

Gold's mouth fell open; Henry turned to look at him doubtfully even as the pawnbroker tried and failed to formulate a response.

"Also," said Archie, "when you hug him, his face turns bright red."

And before Gold could do a thing to stop it, Henry had dropped his share of the Hugging Booth, shoved his camera phone into Archie's hands with strict instructions to use the flash, and wrapped his arms around the town's most fearsome hugger.

Gold froze.

"You're kind of soft," said Henry with his face pressed against the pawnbroker's stomach. All Gold could see of the boy was his hair – brown like Bae's, but not as fluffy. It reminded him of when his boy was little; when he still loved his father openly, without suspicion or fear.

"Soft like an old teddy bear," said Henry. "Or a mattress that has lumps."

The flash went off a few times from Archie's direction – scowling, Gold broke the spell and forcibly stepped away, displacing Henry with a firm push.

"Hopper," he said threateningly, pointing at the doctor. Archie grinned and handed the camera phone to Henry, who immediately inspected the pictures.

"You're right!" Henry laughed. "He does turn red!"

"Give me that!" Gold snatched for the phone. Henry scampered away, pausing to thumb his nose at Gold when he reached the gate. "Henry!" Gold called. "I will tell your mother!"

The boy was gone, moving down the street. Archie sidestepped to stand next to Gold.

"You'll tell his mother you've been hugging him?"

"It's Regina," Gold shrugged. "In her mind, that's a capital offense."

Contemplative quiet.

"You looked very cute," said Archie a little smugly.

"Shut up."

"Like an indulgent grandpa with his precocious-yet-affectionate grandson."

"I am not old enough to be his grandfather," Gold scoffed. He clutched the bag of money tighter, braised fingertips getting stung by the nylon. "He's practically my son's age."

In mutual silence, both of them cold and tired from the day but thoughtful from the night, they watched Henry make his way home.