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The Orphan Jones	By : RueRambunctious Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time Views: 1477 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own OUAT and make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
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Mr Gold likes to believe that he is a simple man, with few interests beyond his wife, thirteen year old son, and his business.

He is yet again reminded of the foolishness of this belief as upon locking up his pawnbroker's shop for the night he hears pounding feet in the snow and the unmistakable sound of sobbing.

Gold recognises the sobs. He has heard them often enough. The man grips his keys in his hand, expecting he will be welcoming a visitor shortly, and turns around to look into the gloom of the night.

Further away than Mr Gold had imagined, (but perhaps he is getting used to picking out those cries over any other outside noise) he notices a familiar child running from the direction of the accursed Jones residence.

Surprisingly, Gold's Pawnbroker's does not seem to be her intended destination. The twelve year old does not spare a glance at the shop at all, or, apparently, a thought for the weather, as her narrow, bony little feet crunch through the snow unshod. Her skin looks dark in the dim lighting, lightly mottled purple.

Perhaps she's headed to the docks.

“Iridiana!” Mr Gold calls into the night.

Either the girl is crying too heavily to hear, or she just doesn't care, because she runs on, a blur of a thin, grey dress and tendrils of pale hair whipping about in the cutting wind.

Mr Gold sighs, knowing it is going to be another of those nights. He futilely repeats his cry of Iridiana's name then chases after her into the night.

Iridiana runs blind when she is significantly upset, and it does not surprise Mr Gold when she stumbles on ice and falls backwards heavily, scraping her hands and all the way up one leg to her hip.

If the girl had gotten up, brushed herself off half-heartedly, and continued to race into the night, Mr Gold would have been less worried. Instead, Iridiana sits on the snow and ice in the middle of the road and merely cries harder, wrapping her fists too tightly in her long hair.

“Iridiana?” Mr Gold intones softly, approaching carefully. He's less afraid of the ice than the girl coated in it.

She stiffens for a moment, acknowledging his presence, but the weeping wracks her small frame too severely for her to give it pause.

“You're alright, dearie,” Mr Gold declares, sitting down carefully and feeling thankful not to be relying on his cane tonight. The floor is so cold that it sends a chill to his bones before it starts to melt from his body heat and wet his tailored suit.

Iridiana looks at him from under her hair, as though she would speak if she was not hyperventilating and likely to choke on her own breath.

Mr Gold's own boy has not cried like this in years, but Gold is grateful for having raised two sons for the help it gives him in helping to calm Iridiana down. He has seen the twelve year old upset plenty of times before, particularly on special occasions, but right now her face is as red as a screaming, teething toddler.

Mr Gold rubs circles in the girl's back, murmuring nonsense in a low, soothing voice as though she's no less troubling than a spooked horse, and eventually her panic subsides to irregular, shuddering gasps.

Normally Mr Gold would continue to let her sit for as long as she liked, but they are in the middle of a poorly lit road and she is soaking, freezing, likely to get ill.

He heals up her scrapes efficiently and rightens the hem of her dress, pushed up when she fell. Mr Gold stands, and reaches out for Iridiana's icy, little hands.

“Come along,” Gold says softly. “Let's get you back into the warmth.”

Iridiana stares at him as though she knows he has spoken but can't quite quieten her thoughts enough to process what Mr Gold has said.

“It happened again,” she whispers.

Something in her raw voice or her raw eyes makes Mr Gold's insides tighten. “What did?”

Iridiana is quiet, and if Mr Gold was less familiar with her hurt, he might have thought she was not going to answer at all. Eventually she says hoarsely, “My magic, I… glimpsed something.”

“Something bad, I take it?” Mr Gold surmises quietly.

“No,” Iridiana says pitifully, and that gives Mr Gold pause to look at the girl more closely.

“What she said,” the girl continues rawly. She closes her eyes as though just the recollection hurts enough to make her dizzy. “What she said… hurt worse than usual, and...I saw, um, I saw...”

Mr Gold puts his arm around her shoulders, blocking some of the biting wind, and waits. She is shaking violently and he would prefer to get Iridiana out of the cold before she continued her story, but he knows she won't be able to walk until she has blurted out the words, as though expelling some kind of debilitating poison.

“I saw her make a decision,” Iridiana expels at last. “Before she knew… believed… how bad things were gonna get.”

“Can you tell me about it inside?” Mr Gold asks.

Iridiana looks at him, then flexes her digits and realises they feel both numb and on fire, as though the cold has eaten her senses. She nods quickly.

Mr Gold takes her back home to the shop, whisking her inside with magic because surely what could be the price for helping a frozen little girl?

He ushers Iridiana into the living area, surprising Belle, and makes eyes at his wife to make some fresh, warm tea. Belle stands at once, giving Iridiana a worried look before hurrying through to the kitchen.

“Gaston's gone to bed,” Belle whispers as she passes.

Mr Gold nods slowly, relieved he won't have to field questions from their son about his playmate's ghostly appearance, and fetches down some blankets from the cupboard. He nudges Iridiana towards the fireplace, the girl having the sense not to get too close to the hearth at first, returning her body heat slowly, then Mr Gold bundles her into the blankets and sets her into a chair which he pushes closer to the fire.

He takes a turn standing in front of the flames himself, steam rising from his damp suit. Snowflakes in his hair melt and drip onto the floor.

Mr Gold waits until Belle has placed a cup in Iridiana's hands and the girl has clutched it comfortingly to her thin torso before asking, “So, do you want to tell us the details?”

“No,” Iridiana snorts, but she leans into the tea's heat and closes her eyes with an expression that suggests that she will anyway.

“Did you know Aunt Zelena suggested to Mom that she should have had an abortion when she was pregnant with me?” Iridiana asks softly.

Belle almost drops her own, already chipped, teacup, but Mr Gold steadies it with magic and exchanges a concerned look with his wife.

“Did your mother tell you that? Or is that what you saw?” Mr Gold asks.

Iridiana blinks and affects a faux veneer of cheeriness as she admits, “Tonight my mother told me she regretted not having the abortion.”

Belle really does drop her cup this time, and only the carpet saves the teacup from destruction. Both adults stare at Iridiana, ignoring the puddle of tea spreading across the floor.

Iridiana turns to place her own cup on the nearby sidetable and mutters, “I'll get a cloth.”

“Sit down,” Mr Gold declares. He turns to his wife. “Sweetheart, will you please call Iridiana's… charming… parents, and tell them she'll be staying with us tonight?”

Belle gives Iridiana a sincere look. “You're welcome to stay with us every night,” she says firmly, then steps into the hall to use the house phone. It's not long before she can be heard bickering with whoever is on the other side of the call.

“Where was your father during all of this?” Mr Gold asks.

Iridiana is cringing into the furniture guiltily as the argument in the hall continues. “Jack's teething,” she explains. “He was busy.”

Mr Gold is about to reply, but an exclamation from the hall steals his words. “I don't care if you're the sheriff! It's hardly kidnapping if you're unfit! Go see if David's willing to back you up on this, because we all know what a useless mother you are!”

The phone slams back heavily into its cradle and Mrs Gold returns with a grim expression, which softens into compassion as she looks at Iridiana. “Are you alright?” Belle asks.

“I'm sorry you and Mom aren't friends any more,” Iridiana says softly.

“I'm sorry that your mother is in severe need of a personality transplant,” Belle replies.

Iridiana is quiet.

“This isn't your fault, you know,” Belle insists sincerely.

Iridiana seems unconvinced, and pulls her teacup back towards her like a security blanket.

She doesn't say much for the rest of the night, and the Golds make up a bed for her, not for the first time. The couple then retreat to their room, where they talk quietly amongst themselves about this latest calamity.

It's one one in a long, long line, and the twelve year old seems close to breaking point.

Iridiana's father comes by to collect her the next morning, and he looks close to breaking point as well. Hook and Mr Gold have a strained relationship and difficult past, but Gold has stopped feeling like the wounded party a long time ago. Hook looks like hell. Every Hook has ever committed is being dearly paid for by the impossible task of balancing his wife and eldest daughter, and Mr Gold might have considered that justice were it not for the considerable strain upon Iridiana.

Staring at Hook's stubble and dead eyes, Mr Gold swallows and admits silently to himself that he actually feels sorry for the grounded pirate. He looks like he's been treading water for so long he is considering the merits of drowning.
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The Orphan Jones