A/N: Hello, everyone! Sorry if this took longer than expected. This one-shot is an AU, in which a younger Emma meets Gold under strange, unexpected circumstances in Storybrooke. Enjoy!

Thief

Emma Swan had been living on the streets of Storybrooke, Maine, for as long as she could remember. If she was being technical about it, that was all of eighteen years and counting, though it felt a hell of a lot longer.

Every day was an uphill battle with no end in sight; there was no such thing as comfort or safety or pleasure or even happiness in her world. There was only the stiffness in her lower back from sleeping on the hard pavement in dark alleyways, or the scent of pine that followed her when she hid out in the woods. The worst was the constant pain in the pit of her stomach, a gaping black hole that demanded to be filled even as she wondered where her next meal would come from.

It was a miserable, lonely existence, but as her palms hardened with scabs and calluses, so did her heart. There was nothing worse in the world than not having a home to call your own, or a family waiting to love you unconditionally.

By the time she reached sixteen years old, Emma had perfected the art of shoplifting small packages of food from Clark's store. It was especially easy when he was distracted by one of his sneezing fits. The important thing to remember was to never steal anything from someone she couldn't outrun. Emma had learned that the hard way, and had almost ended up in big trouble. She would have, if it weren't for Lily finding her and helping her to hide. She hadn't seen Lily in a year.

Lily was the one who showed her the mysterious cabin in the woods, where Emma liked to hide out during the night and stash the goods she stole. It was the closest thing to a home that she had.

By the age of eighteen, Emma had moved on from shoplifting at Clark's to breaking into the homes of Storybrooke's residents, to steal trinkets, jewelry, and food she hoped they wouldn't miss too much. It was her own personal rule to steal only from the houses of Storybrooke's richest and most despised citizens, not from innocent people whose only crime was taking everything they had for granted.

She liked to think of herself as a female Robin Hood.

She had already hit the Mayor's grand white estate and the D.A.'s mansion. She didn't trust the Mayor enough to steal any of her apples. It was easy, if not tedious, to bide her time and watch each house carefully, figuring out when they wouldn't be home. Everyone had a pattern. Every Tuesday and Saturday, the Mayor met the Sheriff at Granny's Inn, as if the entire town didn't already know they were doing the horizontal tango. The D.A. stayed late at his office most nights, working on his latest case, or he dined at some fancy restaurant that few people in town could afford. Those kinds of people turned their noses up to everyone beneath them.

The house that she was canvassing was going to be the big one. Her palms were practically sweating through her ratty black gloves from the sheer excitement and danger of it. The owner was the richest man in Storybrooke: Mr. Gold. She had never personally met the man, being smart enough to stay out of his way at all costs and belonging to a completely different world than he did, but she hadn't heard good things among the townsfolk. With the entire town under his thumb, he made life difficult for everyone. She heard even the Mayor was afraid of him.

It amused her then that the most fearful man in town lived in a bright pink house. With green trim. Nonetheless, it was a sprawling Victorian-style mansion and it was more luxurious than anything she would ever know in her lifetime. Too bad he preferred to live alone.

Even his pattern was an easy one to memorize.

Every morning, he left by seven and didn't return until five-thirty in the evening after closing up his shop. On Sundays, he collected the rent from the townsfolk, which kept him out of the house until seven. Despite having a cane and a limp in his leg, he walked everywhere, as though he had all the time in the world. He didn't eat out at Granny's Diner or dine in the same fancy restaurant as the D.A. As a matter of fact, he didn't do any socializing at all. It stirred something surprisingly sympathetic and familiar in Emma as she observed him from afar—he was as much an outsider in this town as she was.

No! She could not afford to form any emotional attachments.

One Sunday night, while he was out collecting the rent, Emma decided to make her move. Crouching in a shrub outside his glorious pink house, she scanned the streets and neighboring houses, just in case anyone was watching. Sometimes the Sheriff patrolled the streets in his car, but so far this block remained free of surveillance. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as that old feeling of paranoia tensed her muscles.

When she was at least 90% sure it was all clear, she darted along the path, up to his porch.

There was no porch light on, not even one of those motion-detectors that some of the houses had these days. Gold struck her as the type to welcome the shadows instead of shy away from them. Kneeling beside the doorknob, she kept her eyes trained on the street as she tested it out—locked. Of course. There was no welcome mat or potted plant on the porch, nothing that would hide a spare key. Besides, she assumed Gold would prefer to have only one key to his sanctuary, which would be on his person at all times.

Luckily, Emma had been in practice for a long time and had taught herself how to pick a lock. Sticking two thin needles into the keyhole, needles she had found in a trash bin once, it only took her twenty-eight seconds to unlock the door.

Honey, I'm home, she thought wryly as she edged the door open and infiltrated his home.

It was just as dark inside the house as it was on the porch. There wasn't a single, warm glow of light to guide his way home. Of course, that meant it was easier for her to move among the shadows. For a moment, she listened to the natural breathing of the house—the whistle of a draft somewhere within made her shiver, the entire place was silent as a tomb, and there wasn't even the monotone ticking of a clock to interrupt it.

The floorboards creaked under her weight as she crept into the sitting room.

Jackpot.

The sitting room was crammed with priceless antiques that probably didn't fit inside his shop. Massive paintings in gilded frames, several musical instruments that hadn't been played in some time if the fine layer of dust was anything to go by, a handcrafted chessboard with glass pieces, frozen in the middle of a game. Emma touched one of those glass figures delicately. She wished she could learn how to play.

In the end, she pocketed a handful of those glass pieces in her pockets.

Take only what she could easily carry—that was her rule. If she could manage it, she took things that might not be missed.

She stuffed a pair of expensive-looking leather black gloves in her pocket as well. Those would come in handy for the approaching winter. It was tempting to slip them over her hands now, but she refused to leave her old gloves behind as evidence. Sneaking through the sitting room, she pilfered small things—a ring here, a silver flask, a carefully folded emerald cloak that she found in the drawer of an antique armoire. That last one wasn't exactly small, but she draped it over her shoulders and tied the strings around her neck. It even had a hood, reminding her of something she'd seen in a storybook once. She couldn't resist how it matched her daring green eyes as she twirled in front of a dusty mirror. Oddly, the beautiful cloak made her feel...like a princess.

From the sitting room, she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. It had a faint smell of tea and it reminded her of how dry the roof of her mouth was. Ignoring the fridge—it was never smart to steal refrigerated food that would spoil—she took her chances with the cupboards. The first cupboard only contained mugs, tumblers, and teacups. She debated on taking one of those, particularly the teacup with the chip in the rim, but she knew she had no room to spare for such a delicate object.

Still, it would have been nice to drink from something other than her palms when she fetched water from the well in the woods.

The second cupboard was the one that contained the food and her stomach lurched almost as soon as she laid her eyes on it. Canned foods were out of the question—even if they were bound to last longer, they were too heavy to carry along. Instead, she grabbed a small pack of buttermilk crackers, a bag of chocolate chips, and devoured a pear right there on the spot. Apparently, he didn't trust apples, either, since there were none to be found in the bowl of fruit on the counter. She held that piece of fruit to her mouth and moaned to the high heavens as the juice exploded across her tongue. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

That should last her until she risked another shoplifting episode from Clark's. She had to be careful not to go too often, though, or he would start to catch on to her.

Normally, she would only spend five to ten minutes in each house, picking through it quickly and never going upstairs in case the owners came back unexpectedly. She knew her time was up, but she hesitated in escaping through the front door. This place had been more promising than any of the others. It made her wonder what else she would find if she dared to venture upstairs to his bedroom. Silk sheets? Money? Jewels?

It was too risky to be considered smart…

…but the risk was part of the fun.

Against her better instincts, she climbed the stairs to the second floor. The first door she found was the bathroom, which was bigger than any bathroom should be. There was a glass shower and a Jacuzzi-sized bathtub set into the floor. At the sink—white marble with gold faucets—she rubbed a bit of soap into her palms and face to scrub away the smudges of dirt. The soap smelled like roses. She stole another bar of soap and a tube of toothpaste.

If only she had time to take a bath, but she feared that she would not leave it again.

Further down the hall, she found his bedroom. It was ten times bigger than the size of the bathroom. Just as she expected, the bed was dressed in black silk sheets that felt like the clouds of Heaven when she flounced down upon them. The silk was cool as running water beneath her fingers and it took all her strength to get back up on her feet.

In the closet were countless designer suits and ties, the height of fashion and elegance, and worth more money than she would even know what to do with. Impulsively, she snatched one of his silk ties, hoping it wasn't one of his favorites. There were more rings, watches, and silk handkerchiefs in a wooden case on his bureau, so she took those as well. It was unfortunate that he ran the pawnshop or she could have made decent money off them quickly, but perhaps she could find someone else that was interested in a trade.

Her eyes lit up as she searched the drawers—hidden one hundred dollar bills at the bottom of his sock drawer. Not too original.

This place was worth the risk, after all.

Now all she had to do was get out safely….

She froze as she heard one of the most frightening sounds in her entire existence: the sound of the front door opening and closing. Only then did she realize she had never relocked it, like she often did to avoid suspicion. She remembered the lack of a spare key on his porch and had the terrible feeling Gold would be too careful not to notice that his door was strangely unlocked.

He must be suspicious, because he wasn't moving. Neither was she. Barely breathing, heart pounding in her throat, stomach twisting with the taste of that pear, she stayed frozen in place like a deer in headlights as she waited to see what he would do.

It wasn't easy or comfortable to stay crouched so awkwardly, so low to the ground. Her legs started to tremble and she stumbled, gripping the edge of the bureau for support. Hopefully he hadn't heard that.

Unbeknownst to her, one of the glass chess pieces started to slip out of her pocket. It fell free…

…and shattered on the floor at her feet. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent house. She held her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in surprise as the noise startled her. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one. Now that he knew for sure there was an intruder in his house, his footsteps raced up the stairs in pursuit.

Time to go.

She rushed for the window, not bothering with stealth anymore, and shoved it open. It would be a sharp drop to the ground with only a patch of bushes below—she had to hope it would be enough to break her fall. Behind her, the bedroom door crashed against the wall, just as she got a leg through the window.

Before she could make the jump, he caught a fistful of the emerald cloak and dragged her back through the window, the tied strings digging tightly into her throat. The room spun in a dizzy circle as he flung her toward the bed. The silk sheets she had admired earlier now wrapped thickly around her, suffocating and binding her in place. She had no idea which way was up, until she rolled off the bed. She heard another of the glass pieces break in her pocket on impact. Damn.

And he just loomed there, watching her scramble, memorizing her features, waiting for her to attempt another escape. He watched her like a vulture watches its prey, anticipating the perfect moment to swoop down and snatch her up in his claws.

The window was out of the question, but the bedroom door was wide open, even if he was hovering near it. If she could reach it, race down the stairs, and out the front door, she'd be free. How fast could a man with a cane be?

She made a try for it, jumping up from the floor and already running.

"Where do you think you're going?" he growled and grabbed ahold of the ends of the cloak again. This time, she undid the strings and shook it free from her shoulders. Angrily, he tossed it aside and slammed the bedroom door before she could slip through. He spun her around to face him and pinned her against the door.

There was nowhere to run and, no matter how hard she struggled, his body was much too close to hope for a quick escape. Eventually, she stopped fighting. Their bodies were a mere inch apart and they both gasped for breath from the excitement of their chase. His hands held her down by the shoulders, rooting her to the spot, though they eased up in grip as soon as she stopped struggling.

"Your move, dearie," he challenged her with a hint of a smirk, as if he rather enjoyed this game they were playing.

There was only one move she could make.

She kissed him.

Grabbing onto his silk tie, she pulled him toward her and found his lips. It was only supposed to be a brief distraction, and she was already thinking ahead about which way she would run, but what she didn't expect was that he would kiss her back. His body pressed flush against hers, her hands had no choice but to brush his chest while his own twisted into her tangled blonde curls. He was surprisingly soft, with only the tip of his tongue brushing her lip before she instinctively opened up for him. She almost forgot her need to escape.

It was the most passionate kiss she had ever known, bringing a fresh pink blush to her cheeks. In fact, it was the only kiss she had ever known.

When their lips finally parted, they were more out of breath than they were a moment ago. She noticed that his eyes were a seductively dark chocolate-brown with flecks of gold. Hers were the shade of the cloak he had ripped from her shoulders, now pooled on the floor at their feet.

"You taste like pears," he said, his accent stronger in his lust.

"You taste like tea." His fingers danced across her blazing cheek. For a moment, his head dipped down again, and she was sure he would kiss her a second time, their lips on the verge of coming together. The hand he had thrust into her blonde curls now stroked her soothingly.

"I want your name," he demanded. She hesitated, thinking of all the ways he could use such precious information against her. There was power in a name. Her hands moved from his chest to his neck, bringing him closer. His lips parted, as if ready to invite her in again.

"Emma," she whispered in his ear.

She didn't give him the chance to gloat or to demand more information than that. Instead, she brought her knee up and hit him where it hurt most. Immediately, he groaned in pain and folded in on himself. She pushed him back and he tumbled to the floor with the emerald cloak. It proved to be her saving grace as he slipped while trying to pursue her.

Too late; she opened the bedroom door and vanished down the stairs, but not before she heard his parting words: "I will find you! Emma…."

….

For the next week, Emma kept a low profile, just in case Gold decided to report the break-in to the Sheriff. She hid out in the cabin in the woods, which was too deep for most hikers to find by happenstance. The crackers and bag of chocolate chips only lasted three days, but the cabin had become useful in storing food so she wouldn't go hungry too fast.

Maybe next week she could come out of hiding and hit Clark's store again. She just had to make sure she never ran into Gold again.

It happened one afternoon when she returned to the cabin after fetching a bucket of water from the well. There was nothing unusual about the cabin to raise her suspicions; no cracked door, no signs of forced entry, not even a fire burning in the fireplace. Usually, she didn't light it unless it was the dead of winter, during the night, in case someone saw the smoke. Nonetheless, when she stepped into the cabin, the bucket of water fell from her hands and rolled across the floor, the water soaking her feet.

"Hello, Emma," he greeted quietly and rose gracefully from the couch where he had been lounging in wait for her. She was beginning to think that cane wasn't meant solely for his leg, since he moved better than most men she had observed. All she could do was stand in the doorway, in the puddle of wasted water, and debate whether to run. "It seems you are just as surprised to see me as I am to see you here. Please, come in from the cold."

Slowly, he inched his way toward her, raising his hands in caution when she backed away. Any minute she could bolt, but would he catch her? She wondered if the Sheriff was also hiding somewhere in the cabin, prepared to arrest her. If he was, then he wasn't making himself known.

"Relax, dearie. I mean you no harm, despite our unexpected meet-cute. All I want is a calm, polite discussion. Can you do that?" She didn't know whether to trust him. He had every reason to bring her down. In any case, her window of escape was closing.

Going, going…gone. He arrived at her side and closed the cabin door. Then he motioned for her to step further into the room. She blamed her hesitation on her curiosity.

It seemed he wasn't satisfied until she took a seat on the couch. It was warm from where he had sat a few moments ago. Suddenly, she felt like a child about to be scolded for doing something wrong, with him towering in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, studying him from under her lashes. Ironically, their roles had been reversed; now he was the one invading her privacy. To be honest, it wasn't really her place to call home, but she felt territorial over it, having hidden out there for so long.

"For starters? You stole my favorite tie," he accused her, fingering the silk tie around his neck. It was one and the same. What else had he reclaimed while waiting for her to show up? The glass chess pieces, at least, were still there above the fireplace. "Secondly, this cabin belongs to me. Yes, that's right. That's twice you've invaded my personal space—and all before dinner and a movie. Tsk-tsk. Lastly, I told you that I would find you again."

"So what happens now? You call the Sheriff to take me away?" Her green eyes scanned the room, but she sensed they were alone. If he wasn't going to call the Sheriff, then what did he want? Or did he prefer to take matters into his own hands? Her heart raced a little faster as she imagined the possibilities.

He wandered to the fireplace, the end of his cane thumping on the floorboards. His brown eyes trained on the familiar glass chess pieces. There were only two left—she thought they might be the king and queen.

"I've been thinking about you and your…unfortunate situation," he continued, completely ignoring her concerns about the Sheriff. He touched one of the chess pieces delicately, almost lovingly. "The only reason someone would dare to steal from me is because they're after petty revenge, they're plain stupid, or they're desperate. Which one are you, Emma?"

She didn't like the way he said her name—a seductive purr of Em-ma, like he wanted to savor it on his tongue. It did strange things to her stomach, unleashing more butterflies than she'd be willing to admit. The silence stretched on, and she realized he expected an answer, his dark eyes seeking her out.

"Desperate," she decided. He nodded, as if she had given him the correct answer.

"I thought so. Quite brave of you, strolling into the monster's den. It would be all too easy for me to report this to the Sheriff and let him know your whereabouts, but, alas…I'm prepared to make you a deal."

"Why?" Emma cut in. All of this sounded too good to be true, that all she'd have to do was make a deal with Gold and she'd be off the hook, depending on whatever it was he demanded of her. Right now, she should be escorted away in silver bracelets, but he held the power of her fate in his hands. Worse, he knew it.

"Because, Em-ma, that's what I do." He even offered her a half-bow. When she did not object further, he continued. "I will not turn you over to the Sheriff, as you fear. I won't breathe a word to anyone of what you have done. Your secret will be safe with me. In exchange…you agree to stay with me, to share my lovely abode."

Emma's mouth dropped open.

"How generous of you," she said dryly when she regained her composure, clinging to her skepticism. There had to be a catch to this; otherwise, he was giving her everything she ever wanted on a silver platter. Comfort, security, a stable roof over her head, hot meals.

"Hardly," he scoffed and, for a heart-pounding instant, she swore he mastered the ability to read minds. "My request is more selfish than you think. It gets rather lonely. And you have been nothing but fascinating to me."

So he wasn't the only one unhappy with his situation. Apparently, money really didn't buy everything, though she suspected he could have any woman he wanted with a swipe of his gold card. Yet he was choosing her. Maybe it was fate.

"Deal," she agreed. Anything to leave behind such a miserable world. For his credit, his lips rose in a half-smile, not without relief. At last, she stood up to meet his eye. "How should we…seal it?"

His grin widened. There was that hungry look of a vulture again and she felt her nerves tingle with excitement, and perhaps even a little fear.

"Normally, a handshake would suffice," he said as he stepped closer to her. His hand grazed her cheek, bringing about a pink streak of warmth in its wake. "But for you…who proved so eager in our last meeting…I would not deny a more intimate seal of the deal."

"Like another kiss?" she said, leaping to the heart of the matter. She was too aware of his finger twirling one of her loose blonde curls. "Greedy."

"I've heard worse."

It was only one step forward before their lips met. Just like last time, she felt him respond almost immediately, his cane pressing into her back to urge her closer. This kiss was more formal than their first, strictly closed-mouthed, brief, gentle. It still took her breath away. She wondered if that ever stopping happening, with enough kisses.

"Our deal is sealed," he confirmed, holding her against his chest. Then he gave her the space she needed to clear her head, taking a step back and moving toward the door. "Of course, I'll give you the time you need to gather your belongings."

"Thank you," she said. He nodded and lifted the overturned bucket out of the way to open the door. At the last minute, she called out to him again, giving him pause in the doorway. "Can you teach me how to play chess?"

"I can," he assured her, glancing at her over his shoulder. "If we first replace the glass pieces you broke."

"Whoops."

…..

A/N: As always, I wish to thank the readers that were kind enough to review recently: Grace5231973, orthankg1, Emperor's Sister, 1994omi, and Sparky She-Demon. I'm glad to hear that everyone enjoyed the big 50th wedding one-shot last time.

On another note, if anyone is a fan of Supernatural, I just started a one-shot collection in that archive. The collection is called "Family Business" and it will be written the same way as my two one-shot collections for this archive, with humorous, light-hearted one-shots along with any requests the readers have. It will be my first time writing in that archive, but I hope it will be as much fun as it is writing in this one. So, if you're interested, feel free to check it out. (-;