A/N: Before you guys read this chapter, I wanted to say that Rumplestiltskin/Gold is one of my favourite characters on the show, but he does lend himself to being a brilliant antagonist when writing, which is how I've used him in this fic. So, for anyone rooting for Gold who's annoyed by this, YES, I love him too, but I needed to focus on his bad side as I still think/ hope (!?) it works for this situation.
Dark eyes flash with curiosity as Gold catches a shadow of movement as he makes his way up the stairs.
He had taken heed of the Mayor's suggestion to leave the Sheriff to her own devices the previous evening, not for the sake of adhering to the brunette's wishes, but rather because he needs to speak to the blonde alone. Hoping to catch her thusly this morning, he has made his way over to her apartment under the dull haze of the winter sun.
Now, as he frowns at the Sheriff's front door which appears rather more worse for wear than usual, he's surprised to find that with each step he takes towards her apartment, the battered wood sways gently on its hinges. Creeping closer, his brow furrows deeper as he detects the dull murmur of voices from inside. He recognises both the low, deceptively bored-sounding muttering and the rich, soothing voice coming from behind the door, despite both women speaking surprisingly quietly and saying uncharacteristically little.
"Yet another business meeting, dearie?"
He mutters under his breath, moving to stand against the door and pushing the painted wood slyly open to peer through the crack. What he sees sends him taking in a low gasp as his eyebrows rise high in surprise. Stepping away from the door, he leans against the wall to gather himself, a slow smile finding his dry lips.
He had harboured his suspicions, true - fed greatly by the reaction of both of the women in question in response to his purposeful prying - but to see it with his own eyes is something else entirely. To see the usually stoic blonde who seems to strive to give off the impression that she'd happily punch any brave enough to try touching her sat so sweetly on the Mayor's lap; a woman who, yes, oozes sex appeal, yet seems barren of any real token of affection. To see well-manicured hands play so gently through soft curls as the younger woman had leant so tellingly forward.
A car outside the Mayor's house late at night could suggest a relationship of a sexual nature.
The brunette leaving the Sheriff's apartment with her lipstick delicately smeared as she smiles ever so smugly could suggest the same.
But what he has seen, peering silently through the battered door, is more than he could have hoped for. Evidently, a relationship of a sexual nature does exist between the two - and this in itself is something he finds beautifully amusing - but this appears to be more than that.
So much more.
And this is what he repeats to himself excitedly as he makes his way back to his shop.
"Perfect."
Gold smiles as he stirs sweet sugar into his tea, and whether this exclamation is directed towards his cup or his newfound knowledge is unclear. Taking a seat behind his eclectically cluttered workbench, he sips at his drink thoughtfully while tapping his cane lightly with blunt-nailed fingers.
He has pondered over his deal made with the Sheriff often since that eventful day at the hospital, his mind churning with the possibilities of what favour he might request from her. He loathes to admit that there have been a couple of occasions when he has found himself bored and excruciatingly lonely, and on such occasions, a part of him - a very particular part of him - has entertained the idea of simply requesting that she come over in order to demand a very physical return of her favour. Such is not in his nature, however, and despite what others may think of him - in Storybrooke and back in that other land, that better land - the thought of following through with such vulgar demands leaves him feeling inwardly disgusted.
He likes the Swan woman.
She interests him, and her somewhat gritty personality often earns her a smile from him; sometimes in jest, sometimes at her expense. Either way, he is ashamed of his infrequent late-night thoughts of just, well, fucking her, and, deal or no deal, he is under no illusion that she would comply willingly.
No. He shakes his head. With the new information his spying has gleaned, the blonde is far too valuable to ruin in such a way.
After all, his main remorse following his altercation with Emma had been coming to the realisation that, while she possesses some of the tools he needs in his ultimate quest, she doesn't possess all of them, and without the ability to give him what he requires to send her off on her mission, she is useless to him.
Or so he had thought.
The blonde is unable to use magic. Doesn't believe in magic. Won't entertain the very existence of magic, and while this is rather amusing in its own twisted way, he needs magic in order to locate the thing - the one - he wishes for her to seek out.
And thus, enter Regina.
When they had first come to this wretched town, his plea to her had been frequent and in earnest, and while he had quickly found that their previous arrangement stood strong - the brunette forced to heed his every command without her consent - the deal seemed only to pertain to happenings within Storybrooke itself. With his son beyond the town line, any request involving Bae had fallen on deaf ears.
Until now.
Now, he has leverage. Now she has a weakness.
He had indulged the thought previously of using the boy as a means of threatening the Mayor. To hold Henry to ransom in demand that she break the Curse and use her power to locate his son. Alas, the endeavour to threaten Henry had previously been pointless; the Curse having been crafted - by his own design - to require a Saviour - the Saviour - to break it.
To be Regina's undoing.
He has worked hard since the blonde's arrival to condition her in such a way that she might succeed in her task, but Emma has proven a victim of the unfavourable circumstances of her upbringing and much more difficult to mould than he had first foreseen. Her inability to comprehend what's right in front of her nose is almost laughable in its ridiculousness.
He had thought that after what had happened to Graham, Henry would be able to convince her, yet still, she'd clung desperately to what she had perceived as sanity.
"So stubborn, dearie. So hard; so brittle like glass. Well, glass can be shattered, Miss Swan. Oh yes, it can."
And, there are two ways in which the Curse can be broken. In which he will get what he desires. Polar opposites: life and death.
And hasn't he always just marvelled at the beauty of it?
Either true love will break the Curse, giving life to the blonde who up until now has hardly been living but merely surviving; an invisible burden on her shoulders she doesn't even know exists. Gold muses that this would indeed be the more appealing of the two options; the more intricate and beautiful in its design. However, he finds it hard not to put more faith in the latter option, as, while bearing little of the grace and fantastical qualities of the first, it will work just as well.
The Saviour loves or the Saviour dies.
Both will break the Curse.
But with the latter, there's a good chance he himself will fall victim to Regina's wrath if she manages to best him. It's not a possibility he believes is likely, but it is a possibility.
And that simply won't do.
No, he needs the blonde alive, he accepts this now. To assure his safety to do what must be done, and for a much simpler reason.
She knows about the outside world.
She knows about the world in which his son resides.
Killing her would be detrimental to his cause.
Using her, however...
He is afraid to touch the boy.
But his mother...
He likes the blonde well enough, but he has no issue with using her if it will garner the Mayor's attention. If he has her attention, perhaps the cards may finally be stacked in his favour.
He needs her attention.