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Mr. Gold was looking over his lesson plan with a frown as the class came shuffling in. Some changes needed to be made if he was going to get this class up to the standard. This wasn't even an AP class but he taught it with a certain set of expectations. He loathed the idea of lowering them for anyone. Yet, here they were, halfway through the school year and only a handful of students seemed capable of the level of work he expected. Senior English should mean that they'd had the previous three years to learn how to write a tolerably decent essay. This year's senior class seemed to be struggling with even the most basic sentence structure.
He shouldn't be so surprised by it, he reasoned. He'd only started at Storybrooke High School in the past year but he'd had the opportunity to meet the previous English teacher, Astrid. Astrid was gentle, soft spoken, and almost unbearably pleasant. No wonder the students in her care had learned almost nothing. She'd probably coddled them to death. The woman had left her teaching position to have a baby with her new husband just as Gold moved to town to be closer to his son. In the hazy heat of a Maine summer, it had seemed a fortuitous circumstance.
For some bizarre reason, Neal had settled in this tiny Godforsaken town with his fiancee, Emma, an officer on the local police force who was well on her way to being sheriff someday. Gold liked his brazen blonde soon-to-be daughter-in-law well enough. It was a relief to interact with someone who spoke her mind freely, even when they disagreed. Besides that, Emma been instrumental in encouraging a reunion between Neal and himself. Gold had a long memory for slights but a longer one still for those few who'd proven themselves to be allies.
To facilitate the growing sense of closeness with his only living kin, Gold had uprooted himself from Boston and his small real estate business there. Storybrooke was in no need of another real estate broker but Gold had led more lives than most cats and could fall back easily on any number of skill sets to survive. He’d thought of setting himself up as a lawyer but the only agency in town wasn't hiring and he didn't have the liquid capital to establish his own. To supplement income while he freed up assets (and really, if he was being honest - to keep himself busy) he applied for the teaching position.
He hadn’t taught since before Neal was born but stringing together an academically challenging lesson plan was like riding a bicycle. Easier, even, given that lesson plans didn’t wreak havoc on his bad leg.
The thing for which he had not prepared himself was the day to day fact of being surrounded by quibbling, hormonal teenagers who cared far more for the latest fashion trend than any esoteric knowledge he might try to impart. He’d made an effort, in the beginning, appealing to any sense of adventure small town kids might harbor with assignments such as Robinson Crusoe, The Time Machine, and even Around the World in 80 Days. Complacency and boredom met him at every turn.
Then again, there were one or two bright spots in the sea of adolescent mediocrity. Namely, within the shining eyes of one Lacey French, a brunette whose essays were both thoughtful and amusingly tongue in cheek. She didn’t always appear entirely attentive in class but the work she turned in was easily at a University level. Given her often slovenly appearance, he had initially been taken aback by the quality of her writing. Lacey showed up to school with her hair in a messy bun or high ponytail, wearing half the makeup section of the local drug store. Her skirts were always shy of regulation length, her tights shredded to the point where he rather wondered what purpose they even served - it couldn’t be warmth.
Gold had even googled her first few short papers to make sure they hadn’t been purchased online. Satisfied that the words were likely her own, Gold began to anticipate Lacey’s assignments with a degree of eagerness. There was a sly wickedness to her sense of humor he found secretly delightful. In the months she’d been his pupil, he found himself wishing she would actually speak more in class. The other students might learn a thing or two from her example.
Unfortunately, she stayed mostly mum during class time, save the occasional whisper session with the Lucas girl. After the bell, Lacey would sometimes linger by his desk to ask an insightful question and they would engage in the only truly stimulating discussion he usually got in this sleepy town.
Gold was starting to realize it was frankly shameful how much he enjoyed those moments. When he’d been a teen, himself, Lacey would have been exactly the type to break his heart into a million pieces - clever, brash, and oddly self-possessed for all her youth. It didn’t help that beneath that palate of cheap powder, Lacey was, in fact, stunningly beautiful. Lithe and petite, she was one of the only students who was not taller than him. Her pale, heart-shaped face was complemented by tumbling auburn curls and a pair of brilliantly blue eyes.
He reminded himself constantly to keep his distance from the girl, never allow his interest to stray beyond her intellectual offerings. It was always hardest to remember on the days she wore her flirtiest hemlines.
Lacey and her friend Ruby Lucas trailed in just as the sound of the last bell was fading. Their heads were bent together as they seemed to be exchanging heated whispers. Lacey was pink cheeked and shaking her head vehemently at something Ruby was saying as they took their seats.
Ruby laughed aloud and Gold cut his eyes toward her. The warning glance only seemed to ignite her amusement further and the tall girl covered her mouth with both hands, slumping toward her desk. Lacey muttered something terse, flinging the back of her hand toward Ruby’s arm.
“Alright, settle down. Now.” Gold commanded. The chatter in the room fell to a dull buzz that quickly bled out. “Due to the frankly abysmal work that you all turned in last week, we‘re going to spend this week doing some refresher courses on grammar.”
He picked up the pile of homework from his desk with one hand, gripping his cane with the other, and limped toward them. He always sorted the papers by their assigned seats to make it easier handing them out one-handed. As he dropped each paper on its respective owner’s desk, he launched into his prepared lecture. Halfway down the second row, someone began to hum. He glanced over his shoulder to see Lacey waving frantically in Ruby’s direction as Ruby leaned away in her chair, humming off-key.
“Ladies. Is there a problem?” he narrowed his eyes at them.
Lacey’s gaze went wide, her cheeks flushing even pinker than before. “No, Mr. Gold.”
Ruby snorted and Lacey glared her.
“No problem, here,” echoed Ruby, still looking at her friend with a wide grin.
“Let’s keep it that way, hm?” Gold exhaled loudly and returned to his lecture.
A moment later, the humming resumed, this time loud enough that Gold could take an educated guess as to the tune. Behind him, he heard a shushing noise. He ignored both, raising his voice over the two girls. The humming was soon accompanied by a drumming of fingers on desktop.
Just as Gold whirled back to admonish the perpetrator, Lacey was leaning over to grab Ruby’s arm and saying in a stage whisper, “Goddammit Rubes, fucking stop it!” Several students around the two girls began to giggle and Lacey’s hand slapped over her mouth as though she could stuff the words back in. “Shit,” she mumbled behind her fingers.
Ruby had stopped drumming and was glancing back and forth between Gold and Lacey with an expression somewhere between horror and amusement.
Gold scowled deeply at both of them. “Miss Lucas, Miss French - you'll both see me after class. If I hear another peep from either of you that is not somehow related to The Scarlet Letter, I will be sending you to visit with Principal Mills.”
Even Ruby Lucas was cowed by that ominous warning. She looked down at her desk, lips pressed tight together. Lacey looked briefly as though she might burst into tears but she rallied quickly, squaring her shoulders and meeting Gold’s eye. She gave a sharp nod.
Gold pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at her.
As the class went on, Gold found himself increasingly distracted by memory of the tune Ruby had been humming. It was a rock song about the singer having a crush on a teacher. Clearly something the girls must have been discussing prior to his class. Gold wasn't stupid or vain enough to assume himself the subject. Even if the very idea did make his blood rush in his ears.
Lacey with a crush on him. Utterly preposterous. He was more than twice her age, permanently disabled, and cantankerous as hell. No 18 year old girl in her right mind would think twice about a man like him. And rightly so.
He ran through a roster of male faculty members who might appeal to young women. The gym teacher was attractive but not nearly up to Lacey's intellectual level. Then again, not all women required such stimulation - as Gold has been dismayed to discover at Lacey's age.
David Nolan, perhaps. The vice principal was handsome, educated, and known for his imminent likability. Even Gold was rather fond of the younger man, despite his lack of desire to form attachments in this nothing of a town. There had been a pep rally lead by Nolan just before Gold’s class. He'd narrowly avoided attending by explaining the need to revise his lesson plan before standardized testing began. But the whole class would have been there and it seemed the most likely place for Lacey to have confessed to Ruby any secret desire she might harbor.
Class ended abruptly and Gold found the object of his musings waiting beside his desk with an expression of penitence that he didn't buy for a second. Ruby stood by the door, impatiently tapping the toes of one foot.
“Mr. Gold?”
He blinked at Lacey stupidly only just remembering he'd asked both girls to stay after. “Ah yes, the distraction-causing Miss Lucas and her foul mouthed friend. That will be a detention each, today after school and I'll want a half page essay from each of you - single spaced. Miss Lucas, your subject is the impact of noise pollution on the collective attention span of the teenage mind.”
Lacey snorted and covered her mouth with one hand as Ruby stared at Gold in confusion.
“Um, okay?”
Gold looked at Lacey, whose shoulders were quivering with silent laughter. She always was the only one to truly appreciate his sense of humor. He wished he didn’t enjoy making her laugh quite so much. “Miss French, your topic is the effect of semantic choices on the manner in which we are perceived.”
Lacey’s mouth twisted but her eyes still glinted with amusement. “Sounds like fun.”
Gold looked away to keep himself from smiling at her. Always ready for a challenge, that girl.
Ruby huffed and rolled her eyes. “So, can we go to lunch now or what?”
Gold leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Perhaps I should add another afternoon for being rude to a teacher?”
Lacey stepped closer. “She didn't mean it, Mr. Gold. She's just turns into a bit- um, she-dog when she gets hungry.” Lacey looked back at her friend, who made a face at her. “What? You totally do.” Lacey inclined her head but, with her face turned away, Gold could not see her expression.
The two girls seemed to silently communicate for a moment before Ruby shrugged. “Whatever. It’s chili day. See ya’!”
Gold turned back to his lesson plan, dismissing both girls out of hand, when he realized that Lacey hadn’t followed her friend. In fact, she hadn’t moved at all, just running her fingers along the wood grain of his desk and looking at him, thoughtfully.
“You can go to lunch, now, Miss French. I hear it’s,” he gave an exaggerated grimace, “ chili day.”
Lacey laughed lightly and shifted toward him, the hand on his desk laying flat against the top. “I’m sorry about… it’s all my fault. Ruby and I were talking during the pep rally and I told her... “ Her cheeks tinged pink and she shrugged. “Well, I don’t even know if you knew the song she was singing but she was just messing with me about it.”
“Of course I knew,” Gold snapped, oddly perturbed by the returning notion that his favorite pupil might fancy the bland but undeniably charming David Nolan.
Lacey’s brows flew upwards “So, you know…?” she closed then opened her mouth, eyes shifting to the side then back to him. “You, um, know... Van Halen?”
“Well not personally but I didn't exactly hibernate through the 80s. As much is that might've been a better choice.” As an afterthought he added, “I'm more surprised that you know them.”
“Oh, I've always listened to classic rock.” Lacey shifted in her high heeled shoes, the hand not on his desk now twisting in her skirt.
Gold winced inwardly. The reminder was starkly painful but necessary. At times it became a little too easy to forget the insurmountable age gap that lay between them. Not just a gap, a chasm. A shark infested moat. He had to keep picturing it like that. Anything that would remind him that Lacey French was forbidden territory.
She was studying him now with the oddest expression, as though trying to solve a puzzle. She licked her lips. “Does that… I mean, is it a problem?”
He furrowed his brow, trying to decipher exactly what code she was speaking. “I believe it calls your tastes in music into question but otherwise…” he waved a hand in the air, dismissing the issue.
“So….” Lacey leaned one hip a little too casually against the desk. “Roth or Hagar?”
Gold delicately wrinkled his nose. “Why on Earth would I have an opinion on that?”
“Because everyone has an opinion on that,” she replied, in a tone that implied she was stating the obvious.
Gold bit back a smile. “Do you?”
“Of course. But we’re not talking about me, right now,” Lacey shook her head.
“Perhaps we ought to be talking more about your detention?” the warning was toothless as he really had no desire for her to leave, but for the sake of propriety….
Lacey blew air out through pursed lips, tilting her head to look contemplatively at him. “You're a Hagar man, aren't you?”
Gold raised an eyebrow, refusing to dignify the suggestion with an answer.
Bold as brass, Lacey reached out and patted his hand. “It’s okay. I mean, he's a bit more conservative so, that makes sense,” she mused, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “No assless chaps.”
“Language, Miss French,” he chided without conviction, holding very still as he realized her hand hadn’t moved away from where it covered his. She was standing so close he could see little flecks of silver and green in her eyes, the scent of something fruity and sweet wafting toward him. Perfume, perhaps. Or her shampoo. Some ridiculous and disgusting part of him desperately - foolishly! - wanted to turn his hand upward and entwine their fingers. Pull her closer still and see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
Seemingly oblivious to the torment her proximity was causing him, Lacey continued on in a false tone of shock. “What?” She batted her lashes. “ I'm not even allowed to say ass ? Even Shakespeare said ass.” She leaned even farther forward as she said the latter, so they were practically nose to nose.
Gold’s mouth went dry. He swallowed around a sudden thickness in his throat. “Well, when you've written plays for the British queen and you can say whatever you want. Until then, there are rules, Lacey.”
The corners of Lacey’s mouth curled upward, her gaze intent as she leaned in just a fraction of an inch. “Yeah but…” her expression shifted to something searching, almost wistful, “don’t you ever just wanna say fuck the rules?”
Lacey’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth then back, her own lips parting slightly as her smirk fell away. The fingers of the hand covering his curled inward. Gold held his breath. She was so achingly close, her gaze gone dark and heavy lidded. He could smell her lipgloss. It too, was fruity. Strawberries. She smelled like a summer banquet. Ripe fruit plump and shining in the sun, begging to be plucked and devoured. Even her breath was hot and sweet as it gusted over him.
And before his mind could register it happening, her lips were on his and she was kissing him. Worse - much, much worse, he was kissing her back. Her free hand slid into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp in a way that made him swallow a groan. The other hand stayed on his, clinging tight as his palm sweat against the desk. He could barely move, barely think, barely breathe. Stuck somewhere between exquisite fantasy come to life and the harrowing reality that this should not - could not - be happening, for a moment he was almost completely undone.
Someone outside the door laughed loudly and Gold slammed back against his chair, the front feet rocking off the ground in his haste to put space between them (without rising from his desk and embarrassing himself further). Lacey reeled away, as well, withdrawing her hand and blinking rapidly.
“Miss French…” he panted, “this is…. We can’t just… It isn’t….” he wallowed helplessly for the proper words. For a man who loved language, it certainly seemed to have deserted him now, when he needed it most.
“But… I thought.” Lacey shook her head, . “The song… I thought you knew it was about you.”
All his breath seemed to leave his body and Gold could only stare in mute wonder. About him. Not Nolan or some similarly pretty face. Lacey was, demonstrably, Hot for Teacher and he was that teacher. God help him if that didn’t make some deep and feral pride buried within him roar to life. He clutched the handles of his chair even tighter, crossing his legs in a miserably unsubtle attempt at preserving some dignity.
“I think perhaps you... “ he tried to stutter out a response but Lacey’s eyes had already flicked away as she pulled a buzzing cell phone from - oh for fuck’s sake - the top of her shirt.
“Oh! Shit, I forgot I have this stupid History project to work on.” She frowned a little, chewing on her lower lip. “Sorry to... “ one shoulder shrugged. “Aw, hell. I’m not sorry, Mr. Gold. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
The remaining rational part of his brain was screaming that he ought to reprimand her, ought to lecture her on the inappropriateness of them ever even being in the same room alone together - let along doing that - again. But that part was silenced quickly as Lacey leaned in to press her lips to his, once more.
A breath away, she murmured, “See you at detention.”
A shudder of pure desire ran the length of his spine and it was all Gold could do to keep himself from leaning forward to capture her mouth again. He found himself making a vague sound of agreement that came out more like a whimper.
With a hum of satisfaction, Lacey swept away and out the door.
Unmoving, Gold listened to the clicking of her heels fade, her gloss still sticky and sweet on his lips.