Howdy! So I couldn't stay away :D this story is kind of making me giddy…I get happy when the muses decided to play, I hope you enjoy this new chappy as much as I do! Thank you guys that reviewed in the few hours between the time I posted the first chapter and this – you really totally rock…and just perhaps go to proving my untested theory of reviews increasing typing speed!

(added disclaimer, Something Wicked– Shakespeare from Macbeth which, in happy symmetry ties about to my Scottish influence on Mr. Gold since you know the great Robert Carlyle is Scottish and all that and I just love Scotland…so yeah, the ending quotes, Macbeth not mine…and I'm sure you knew that :D )

Chapter 2: Possession

Rupert Gaston was waiting in the conference room his secretary told him. Mr. Gold was glad, for Gaston's sake that he was on time. He loathed tardiness and had no tolerance for people who disrespected his time. He palmed his silver knobbed cane that rested against his dark cherry wood desk and moved quietly across the steel grey plush carpet to the door.

Baelfire Consulting was a fifteen-story building with an underground garage in the heart of Boston, Massachusetts. It gleamed black steel and dark tinted glass with severe angles. Mr. Gold's private office, his secretary and a large conference room he had for his sole use were resident on the top floor. He crossed from his office, graceful in spite of the obvious limp and entered the conference room. At the center of the large room was a cherry wood, which was used throughout the building, table polished to a high gleam. There were no fingerprints in Mr. Gold's presence. High back black leather chairs, 30 in total, surrounded the oval table the tallest backed chair sitting at the head.

"Mr. Gaston," he stated dryly in way of greeting. The man was in his mid thirties, dark hair worn what Mr. Gold considered to be unfashionably long and he wore his own hair to his collar, dark eyes and a tanned complexion. He had overheard the younger females of his staff comment on Gaston's looks enough to know that they found him supremely attractive. Mr. Gold himself was wholly unimpressed.

"Mr. Gold!" Gaston rather leapt from the chair with a surprising sense of frivolity considering he was nearly bankrupt and Mr. Gold was ferociously glaring at him. He was sitting in his chair and that was unacceptable.

Gaston must have sensed that something was wrong from the very pointed and icy stare he was being given but in testament to his obvious dimwittedness it took a full thirty seconds and an open mouth that was about to ask who peed in the man's corn flakes before realizing his error. He put the hand he was about to extended in greeting to Mr. Gold hastily back into the pocket of his cream colored suit trousers and took another seat at the left of the one he had been sitting in.

Mr. Gold sat with only the barest hint of the discomfort his knee was causing him and turned his dark gaze to his client.

"Mr. Gaston, I asked you here today to talk about one of the businesses you purchased a little over a year ago. A bookshop called My Father's Shop, do you recall this?"

Gaston's greening at the gills told Mr. Gold he very well did, the shifting in the chair also told him that whatever means the purchase came about from were certainly either shady, embarrassing or both.

"Yes…yes, I bought the business a while ago."

Mr. Gold gave a low sarcastic completely Scottish sound in the back of his throat and gripped the edge of the table, "I'm aware, I want to know why."

Gaston further greened and became fascinated with something out the surrounding glass windows over Mr. Gold's shoulder.

"Well, it was going to be a wedding present…" Gaston trailed.

Mr. Gold fought to keep from closing his eyes in exasperation. "Are you being purposely evasive Mr. Gaston?"

Gaston's eyes jerk to the older man scowling, "Look Mr. Gold I know I should be grateful you're taking on my case personally but I really don't see that I owe you an explanation for it."

Mr. Gold was still for several heartbeats, which were admittedly very rapid and shallow if you were counting by Gaston's. Mr. Gold's face slowly broke into a smile; it was neither humorous nor kind. It was sinister and foreboding.

When he spoke it was barely above a whisper, "Mr. Gaston, there is a reason I am good at my job, there is also a reason they call me The Crocodile and it isn't because I'm warm and fuzzy and used to not getting exactly what I want. The mere fact you came to me looking to save you and your dwindling trust fund means that everyone else failed or turned you down… Don't," Mr. Gold paused holding up a hand, "Don't bothering trying to dispute that, I knew all about you before my company took you on. It's my business, knowing things. If I want to know why you bought this business you'll tell me. If I want to know the name of your grade school teacher, you'll tell me. If I want to know what you ate for breakfast or how old you were when you stopped wetting the bed, you'll tell me. You'll tell me if you want to save any of your profligate lifestyle."

The unsaid motivation and answer as to exactly why Gaston would be answering all these questions, besides the fact Mr. Gold was indeed the last resort for people such as Gaston was that Gaston had a contract with Mr. Gold, a very heavily favorable contract, favorable to Mr. Gold especially if Gaston failed to cooperate fully with him.

Gaston paled, losing even the green tint he had had about him, he was now just a ghostly white. Gaston gripped the arms of his chair, fingers turning white with the effort. He turned his cool green eyes to Mr. Gold in a mix of fury and desperate humiliation.

My Father's Shop was a deeply personal purchase for him Mr. Gold plainly saw and was all the more intrigued.

"You're not going to tell me are you Mr. Gaston?" his tone was sickly sweet and sardonic.

Gaston stiffened and lifted his head in a valiant show of bravado. "If I must, I must." He shrugged.

Mr. Gold thought as much and there was a smile turning the corner of his mouth churlishly as he nodded for Gaston to proceed with his story.

Mr. Gold was titillated even further by Gaston's halting tale. Who wouldn't be? It had all the trappings of a Grimm fairytale! The braw fair maiden, the dastardly attempt of rescue by the hero left wanting from the even more spendthrift maiden's father. It was one horrifying misstep after another.

Gaston had evidently vacationed in the sleepy little town in Maine as a child every summer with his family until he was 15, the family that ran the bed & breakfast had a little girl about his age named Belle, Gaston found her in equal measures at different times in his youth repulsive and captivating.

By mere fluke he ran into Belle French in college, well a college mixer. She went to NYU and he Princeton. She remembered him and disliked him. Called him arrogant, self-centered, and egotistical to the nth degree, to sum it up, the last person on Earth she'd considered dating.

Gaston needed no more to be smitten and attempted to woo her endlessly as he always liked a challenge.

It was somewhere in their final year of college that Gaston let the story go hazy, he had succeeded in wooing Ms. French, Mr. Gold clearly surmised as they had become engaged at some point in the proceedings. Indeed as a wedding present apparently Gaston had purchased the family business to surprise his intended. Or so Gaston presented but apparently the good Ms. French took umbrage to the gesture of being bought and controlled, but Mr. Gold knew Gaston well enough to fill in the blanks the man had left out. Oh yes, Mr. Gold knew Gaston's type all too well and he could write the tale quite well, even if Gaston persisted in leaving out details.

Mr. Gold having extracted all the information he felt he would from Gaston sent him away, Gaston needed only the barest of hints to vacate. So Mr. Gold was left to his thoughts. He turned his tall imposing chair to the floor to ceiling smoke grey windows looking out over the Boston skyline pink and orange with an early fall sunset steepling his fingers listlessly.

He was simply taken with this story. He wanted to see this town, meet this Ms. French, meet the father painted the sadsack, money ignorant, possible drunk, cowardly man that by means of his incompetence all but let his daughter, her reputation, and the family business be sold, to in fact the highest bidder.

Mr. Gold knew indeed he had a sour outlook on most things but he had a knack for seeing into the heart and intent of individuals. He knew Mr. Rupert Gaston did not purchase the My Father's Shop out of goodness or want to be kind, no, he purchased the shop with the want and intent to own and posses.

To own and posses not a storefront though of course, but what sounded to be a slip of woman that had no desire at all to be bought or owned.

Oh yes, Mr. Gold was indeed intrigued.

"Mr. Gold we'll be landing in Maine in approximately 20 minutes, a rental car as you requested will be waiting. It should be a 30 minute drive to Storybrooke from there sir."

Mr. Gold nodded to his single stewardess on his private jet and accepted the cup of tea she hand her tray along with his favorite Scottish whiskey. "Very good, make sure my bags are unloaded promptly Ms. Rainier, aye?" he lifted his eyebrows as he sipped his tea.

"Of course Mr. Gold, will there be anything else?"

"No, that'll be all." He dismissed her and turned to the window. It was stormy and he was perfectly content with that. Settling back against the soft leather of the seat he closed his eyes and softly began to quote

"By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.

Open locks,

Whoever knocks!

How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!

What is't you do?"

He absently rubbed a finger across his upper lip, something wicked indeed.