maskormenacelogs | falling (closed)

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falling (closed)

WHO: Doc Brown and Mr. Gold
WHERE: Rustic cabin, woodlands outside De Chima
WHEN: Late October
WHAT: Enjoying an autumnal escape
WARNINGS: None so far, updated if needed

It was a ridiculous invitation to make---perhaps not so much now that they were pursuing something, but even with that reassurance, Emmett's heart was still pounding when he asked. Fortunately, Gold had graciously accepted. They would be residing in a rustic mountain cabin for the weekend.

He usually hesitated to describe things as picturesque, but this place fit the description: a perfectly cozy cabin surrounded by trees with gold and red leaves, a stream flowing past, and not another soul in sight. He eagerly unlocked the door, revealing a cabin furnished in light tones. The living room contained a plush couch in front of a fireplace, a well-stocked bookshelf sat to the side, and the kitchen was the rear. A staircase led to the bedrooms and a bathroom, and down below it all, Emmett laughed and scratched at his neck.

"Well, here we are...I've fixed the insulation in exchange for a modest discount, so we should be comfortable. Are you hungry? It was quite the trip, but I had things stocked beforehand."

And was he making a mistake? He crossed his fingers, hoping for the best.

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He needed to spend some extended time outside the flat.

That was the first thought that entered Gold's head when Dr. Brown invited him to spend the weekend further north -- especially given his earlier-expressed desires to move out of Florida, eventually. It was also one he held onto like a cat dangling above a full bathtub when the nervousness set in. Because this was -- whatever it was becoming. Because they were lonely but made each other happy, or at the very least comfortable when happy was not possible. Because after several weeks he didn't startle when Doc would catch his free hand anymore. And he was afraid to trust that, felt guilty that he might be starting to.

This felt fast.

He knew part of that was just his mind doing what it did best. They were staying here because Doc lived with many other people; it wasn't like they'd just eloped -- thought the obvious trouble he'd gone to almost made it feel like that was what had happened. Many of his actions had that feeling to them, that he was putting in so much effort in the hopes of pleasing him, and it was not at all something he was accustomed to.

He didn't know how to react to being "courted" when the next closest thing to that had been what Zelena did, and it was still nothing like this. What he kept remembering was that this is how he would be spoiling Belle, and it brought into sharp clarity just how interested Doc was.

All of this compounded him into the quiet, somewhat hedging little man that followed him inside, careful to make sure that fallen leaves or other debris were not stuck to the bottoms of his shoes or his cane before stepping in. "Doctor, this is...so much."

He only in that moment caught himself -- as he did every time, using his title instead of his given name. He hadn't been directly asked yet but it was clear he was uncertain whether it was acceptable to be that familiar just yet.

But he could eat, and it was an easier question to answer. "Yes, but I can't have you waiting on me hand and foot all weekend," he said. "Let's...try to assemble something together, perhaps."

Edited 2016-10-20 13:29 (UTC)

Even Emmett, as dense as he often was, could hear his hesitation. He shook his head with a smile, catching his arm with a single-minded determination to steer him into the kitchen. He hoped Gold would like what he found there.

"My housemates, as fond as I am of them, are far too noisy and chaotic for us to have any peace whatsoever---which may sound like the pot calling the kettle black, but when we're all together, it overflows. And I have far too much respect for you to put us up in a roach motel."

The kitchen was bright and airy with all the necessary amenities, and the refrigerator and pantry were already stocked. As they entered, Emmett broke away and immediately started rummaging for pots and pans, unsure yet of what they'd be cooking but ready to try.

"I've warned you before that I have no experience with such things, haven't I? I lived in a garage with no kitchen space. But I'll do my best---and in the event I fail, there's a fire extinguisher."

He turned back to Gold with a tentative smile.

Gold had to readjust his balance to allow himself to be led along while also not tripping over his own feet or cane, but by now Doc seemed to understand well enough not to overtax him. The space was better than what either of them had to work with at home, to be certain. So yes, he supposed he could enjoy it while it lasted.

"Let's...not burn down the rental cabin," he quipped, first stepping away to slip his jacket off and hang it on the back of a chair. "And let's not bother with what we're using until we've decided what we're cooking."

He began to roll up his sleeves while he perused the refrigerator. Some good basics -- fresh herbs and vegetables and fruits, good cuts of meat. Some dairy -- all the staples, really.

"...Yes, I think this should do nicely, but it's a little early for dinner. Soup, then?"

That earned a relieved smile from Emmett. He grinned appreciatively at the joke, then considered the items that could make a decent soup.

"I'm regrettably low on spices, but there's salt and pepper at the least. As I understand it, that's enough, provided the tomatoes provide a base...? I've done enough precision chemistry to measure, but the art of crafting a recipe is a little above my pay grade."

He finally remembers to hang his coat, just a little distracted by the sight of Gold in thought. This was going to be interesting, he was sure. "Beef and vegetable, do you think?"

He could work with salt and pepper, but knowing Doc hadn't done much cooking, he figured he'd like to start with something he might be able to do himself at home later, if he so chose. Perhaps offering those classes at the shop had reawakened the teacher -- it was something he enjoyed doing, to an extent. He'd enjoyed showing Milah and Baelfire his little tricks. There was some entertainment to be had in guiding apprentices.

So yes.

"I think I would like to save the beef for dinner. Something a little simpler, fewer steps. Potatoes, flour. Butter and milk. All that to start."

Emmett nods his agreement, gathering the ingredients in a slightly less chaotic version of his usual flailing-limbed whirlwind. He laid things in a neat row, looking to Gold for a next step.

"All ready, professor," he said playfully.

And the beef would be put to use later. The steaks were T-bones, which he could cut and then use the bones to make a real soup stock for tomorrow.

It was all processes in his head right now, much as he'd described to Emma Swan. It settled his nerves, stopped him thinking.

Washing his hands in the sink first, Gold made a rough estimate and portioned the first set of ingredients as best he could so there wouldn't be leftovers. From there, the gradual process of starting the soup stock, with melted butter, sifting in milk and flour and seasoning and allowing it all to blend -- then cubing the potatoes and cooking them separately to start, explaining each step and why along the way, talking about visual and textural cues to follow instead of specific timing.

Once he was going his ankle didn't seem to bother him.

"Next we'll need a couple slices of that bacon, an onion, the cream, and some of that cheese."

Emmett was very careful to follow instructions precisely, his scrubbed-raw hands forcing themselves into stillness. His movements from then were far more deliberate and unhurried than they ever were in the lab. He worked in silence for the most part, his only sounds a small affirmation of an instruction or an appreciative hum at the scents unfolding before them.

Anything else, he feared, would ruin the lesson---his attraction to Gold was still growing by the minute. The man was a natural instructor, and he had to admit that this lesson was going far better than his previous attempt in the big class. Suddenly, as he gathered the items and prepared the next step, he felt the need to say as much.

"Most of my previous instructors in this particular subject believed me to be hopeless---especially after that crème brûlée incident. You're working miracles, Mr. Gold."

He, too, tended to lapse into formality---but maybe that was just the situation at hand.

He assumed that meant fire. Lots of fire. "You'll have to tell me about that later," he returned with a smile.

The bacon was marvelously thick-cut, well selected. Gold said as much then set to dicing and cooking, getting it into another pan, the onion cut and added after. All in all, once they began layering each additional ingredient, the full form of the dish and its full aroma came together in due time.

"You want to balance the cream a little because of the sweetness, a little additional salt and pepper, for instance. Maybe some lemon juice if you have it. Usually sour cream is better. And taste often." He handed him a spoon for just such a purpose. "What do you think?"

Emmett finished the tasks, slowly gaining confidence as they went. By the end, he wasn't anywhere near as hesitant about the dicing and grilling. When they finished, the spoon in his hand, he hesitated just a moment longer to inhale the aroma before taking a taste. Once taken, he delicately deposited the spoon in the sink.

"It's incredible...but then I lack the most discerning palate, you know that. I only hope that you're able to enjoy this too," he offered with a hesitant smile.

"Palate has little to do with it, really, and can develop besides. Despite my overall appearance, remember I am a simple country boy by birth," he admitted. "All one needs is to know their way around simple ingredients."

Finally Gold turned off the heat, covered the pot, and allowed it to rest for the moment, all the while now looking for dishes to serve with. The place was well stocked for a rental.

Emmett turned to help him gather the dishes, carefully laying out what he found. The table was perfectly sized for two in a well-lit room, and he definitely found himself appreciating that.

"You, a country boy? I can hardly believe it," he murmured, catching himself in another laugh. "Are we talking farmland and horses?"

"Sheep, mostly," he answered. "Fishers on the coast but farmers by and large."

He dropped a potholder in the middle of the table so the soup could sit on something, bringing a ladle along with so they could serve themselves. No garnish or anything fancy to go with it, but it should be satisfying for both, something to warm their bones a little.

Emmett settled happily, turning the ladle in Gold's direction with an inviting smile.

"Thank you for that, Mr. Gold. I feel it may not turn into disaster the next time Qubit is away for an extended period---he's our usual house cook, I've usually deferred to him."

Ever-inquisitive, he soon had yet another question. "Then I take it you also have a refined taste in seafood?"

He served himself with hardly a complaint, but offered to ladle some into Doc's bowl as well. "Oh, I don't know about refined. I know my way around a knife, how to cook certain sorts, dry and preserve others -- I quite like the varieties in the New England area, though."

It'd been a while; he hadn't really been in the mood for seafood, and it had a different vibe in Florida. Especially in this world.

Ever the gentleman, he was. Emmett took his meal with a grin, taking the time to savor their work. Gold's work, to be precise, with Emmett awkwardly following instructions. He'd followed them reasonably competently, and that was reason enough to be proud.

The taste is warm and familiar, and that was reason enough for emotion to stir inside him. Emmett very visibly enjoyed himself, making the odd content sigh, but when he realized how odd that must have looked, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Certain memory associations are strong in my mind, and thus far every meal we've shared together tastes like home," he murmured. "As muddled as a concept of 'home' is for me."

Gold's gaze dropped, but not without a small smile. In fairness half the times they'd shared a meal had been in a place that felt like home by purely preternatural means. Still, the intent was not lost on him.

"I'm so unaccustomed to flattery without blatant motive," he mused, and if part of him were not still anxious he might have joked about Doc's intentions in bringing him here.

Something in Gold's voice caught his attention there. Emmett leaned across the table just slightly.

"That's always a problem with wealth, isn't it? I've had more than enough practice selling and trading my wares to get by, you needn't worry...though as of late I've been looking at expanding."

Maybe his timing was a little off, but he felt the sudden compulsion to do this now. He reached back into his pocket, producing a long blue box. Simple, no frills---those he saved for the item inside.

"And I'd like you to have my first complete prototype..."

Inside the box was a simple pocket watch on a chain, delicate machinery ticking away. The time was precisely accurate, of course, and on its cover was a simple engraving of a pointed star.

"...if you'd like, that is. I'm sure you have one of better quality, but as I believe it is customary in situations like these?"

He finally stopped rambling then, fingers white-knuckled on the table.

Emmett Brown could have done a lot worse to tickle the Dark One's fancies. Whatever his many interests, an admiration for handmade items, attention to detail and precision -- clear labors of love? Far outpaced anything else.

Gold removed the watch from the box with the delicacy of a man who knew how to handle precious things -- like a jeweler inspecting a valuable piece. There was a certain weight to this, not quite the same as I made this for you, but goodness, how long had it been since he received a gift?

"Your prototype, you said?" he queried, a little breathless.

"Yes," Emmett confirmed, just a hint of a smile on his face. His heart was still hammering---this gift could be taken several ways, and he had to hope it would be the right one.

"I've always had an affinity with time and timepieces---I know you know why. My garage at home was full of them. My more experimental inventions have been disastrous as of late, so it's more fruitful to specialize in what I do best: clocks of all designs and sizes. Pocket watches have largely fallen out of fashion, I'm aware, but..."

He shrugged, grinning unreservedly. "I couldn't picture you with anything less. I hope there will be other clients who prefer the pocket design, but I can't imagine anyone as suitable as you."

Gold blushed at that, eyes flickering up from the watch ever-so-briefly, then back. "Doctor -- Emmett --" He swallowed. "This is -- tremendous. Truly, as fine a piece I've ever had the pleasure of inspecting, much less owned -- finer, even."

Quite an expense for someone who didn't make gold from nothing, even when building from scratch.

"You're courting me, and I am at a loss for how to counter." He didn't...actively pursue. Not really. He would have felt pathetic even trying. Still he had trouble imagining it coming to him -- save in what she did.

Emmett's smile broadened the moment he heard his name on Gold's lips. The significance wasn't lost on him. He was still hesitant about many things, but this response emboldened him a little.

Surer now than he'd been all afternoon, he reached across the table to briefly touch the back of Gold's hand, willing him to meet his gaze.

"Who said anything about countering? I know you're in a difficult position, and I'm certainly not expecting anything. I simply want to express my appreciation and gratitude for someone who's done much to brighten my life, and that means you, Rumpelstiltskin."

Emmett hesitated just a little over the unfamiliar name, but the smile was still in his eyes. He moved to back away and clear the table now, still afraid to push too fast.

Gold appeared to relax a little when he withdrew -- like he was about to reach that point where he needed a little room to breathe before it overwhelmed him, before it started to feel like, as affectionate as it was, he was being cornered. Those tears with the first kiss had said much without explaining anything, after all.

He gently replaced the watch in the box -- not to be worn currently, but perhaps if they ventured out anywhere else later.

But there, he could collect himself, decompress, and in moments he was himself again.

Emmett took the hint and set to work on cleaning up, scrubbing everything with a determined hand. He would soon have everything in spotless condition, and soon enough...

He wiped his brow when finished, then began again from a safe distance at the cabinet.

"A drink, perhaps? I wasn't sure what you would like...I have coffee and tea, naturally, and whatever wine I was able to scrounge up, but I'm no expert---I'm afraid I can't hold my liquor at all."

Once he'd collected himself, Gold no longer needed the distance, and for the sake of being more social and just at least slightly less awkward and useless joined Doc at the counter, drying what he washed. "I only cook with alcohol," he clarified. "Tea will be fine."

He was still uncertain what he should do, other than attempt to be pleasant, but his need to assist at least minimally came of that. He'd agreed to take part in this; one assumed this meant some manner of reciprocation, yes?

Pity that he was, at the moment, completely rubbish at all this.

Emmett flashed a small smile, grateful for the assistance. "Excellent, so we won't be tripping over each other in a haze at the bar."

Soon enough, the work was done, and he turned his attention to the tea. "Last time we settled for mellow, I recall...is that still your preference, or would you like something with more of a caffeinated kick?"

A safe enough topic, he thought. He'd take things slowly, taking the opportunity to focus more on learning the little things about his companion.

He laughed a little at the joke, but the slightest widening of his eyes as he stared off at nothing suggested he was at least imagining it. Heavens, no; he didn't need any additional help making a fool of himself.

"Let's keep it mellow," he suggested.

If they needed to wake themselves up for any reason, there was an area to explore.

Gold watched Emmett work as he recentered himself, realizing he didn't often take a moment to observe what he was doing, beyond anticipating what he might do next, and that was his nerves taking the wheel. Despite his powers he still had it in his head that he was very far away from his haven, but he had to tell himself he wasn't. He could be there in an instant if he needed to be, so he had to start viewing this as the short vacation it was. Doc was part of that.

He remembered Lacey and the work he had to put into keeping her interested enough to want to be close to him -- for Belle's safety. They were two people going through the motions -- whatever it was she was attracted to, it wasn't truly him, and he wasn't attracted to her. However, he had to be the one making most of the moves, just to maintain her interest. All the while, he had to deal with the very real fear of being rejected, because she'd shown she would if he didn't perform the way she expected him to.

This was not the same thing in any way. He wasn't putting on an act, not really; he was quieter, more reserved around strangers in this strange land, perhaps. But Doc was getting him at pretty much the same level as anyone from Storybrooke would at this point, and he was drawn.

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