A/N: These are all fills from the kinkmeme, one of the few non-explicit prompts I could find. I'm in love with it.

It was ten at night on a Saturday, and Emma was enjoying her time at home, waiting out the storm. Mary Margaret – who epitomized most of Ben Franklin's proverbs, especially "early to bed, early to rise" – was already asleep. It was just Emma, relaxing on the couch in her pajamas and watching Cake Boss.

The perfect, calmest way to end a day.

So of course, something was up.

The knock came during the end credits, not interrupting the show at all, but that didn't mean Emma was pleased about it. She all but stomped to the door – if it was anyone but Henry, she'd bite their head off. No one disturbed her peace, not during Cake Boss.

She opened the door.

Outside in the hallway was a soaking-wet Mr. Gold, with a little girl of around four clutching his left hand and another little girl of around two hanging from his neck, supported by his right arm. He was shivering violently and looked exasperated – the four-year-old possessed his cashmere coat, and the two-year-old was wrapped up in his jacket.

It was December and storming out, and Mr. Gold was apparently babysitting in nothing but a thin silk shirt and his trousers.

"Ah, Sheriff," said Gold tersely, ignoring Emma's gaping mouth. "May I come in?"

His voice held a note of controlled anger that suggested he might force entry. Emma opened the door a little wider.

"Sure," she said, staring at the little girls. "Come right in."

Limping heavily (the four-year-old held his cane), he entered and collapsed into a wooden chair by the kitchen table, carefully arranging his arms so as not to bump the two-year-old around.

"Sarah," he said wearily to the older of the girls, "let go of my hand for a moment, yeah?"

She hesitated, but eventually let go.

"Soooo," said Emma as Mr. Gold pried the two-year-old (Kylie) from his neck and shifted her into his lap instead. "You have kids now, I see."

"They're not mine."

Emma didn't know the ways of Storybrooke very well, but she was fairly certain kidnappers didn't usually go to police with the kidnapped children. She motioned for Gold to go on.

"I found them on Toll Bridge," he explained, wincing when Sarah climbed into his lap and put her weight on his bad leg. "Playing, of all things. The bridge gave out and –"

He gestured to the puddle forming around his feet. Emma raised an eyebrow.

"You jumped in after them?"

He gave her an annoyed look she couldn't quite interpret.

"Mr. Gold," said Sarah, edging her little sister out of the way and clutching at his tie, "I hafta pee."

"Again?" Mr. Gold asked. She nodded. With a long-suffering sigh, Gold turned to Emma, who just smirked.

"Where's your bathroom?" Gold inquired, still looking faintly annoyed.

"Through the hall," said Emma. She watched as Mr. Gold tried and failed to stand, huffed in irritation, and lifted Sarah off his lap.

"Sheriff Swan will show you," he told her, massaging his leg. Instantly, she latched onto his hand and refused to let go.

"I want you!" she wailed – from Mary Margaret's room, a thump and a moan could be heard as the schoolteacher fell out of bed. "I want Unckie!"

A light shade of pink dusted over Mr. Gold's cheeks. "I'm not your uncle," he protested softly, refusing to meet Emma's amused gaze. "And it's just for a moment."

"I want Uuuunckiiiieee!"

"You can't have me!" Mr. Gold cried helplessly. "I'm a boy! Just –"

He broke off, eyes wide. Then he turned to Kylie with a look of utter horror and vaulted her off his lap, holding her an arm's length away as she peed on Emma's kitchen floor.

"Oh, nice," Emma commented. Mr. Gold shot her a scathing look. The toddler was completely unrepentant.

"Unckiiieee," Sarah reminded. With a particularly nasty glare, Mr. Gold handed Emma the soiled two-year-old and snatched his cane from Sarah.

"All right," he said. "Come on."

They traipsed off down the hall, Mr. Gold limping more than usual from exertion. Emma's eyes turned toward the blank-faced Kylie.

A minute passed. She could hear muffled voices coming from the bathroom.

"I'm not going to wipe for you."

"But –"

"You're four and I'm trying hard enough not to look at you while you force me to be here. You can wipe on your own."

"But, Unckie –"

"No."

Emma sniggered. Finally, a happy-looking Sarah and a sour Mr. Gold emerged. He collapsed once more on the kitchen chair and pulled his bad leg to his chest.

"What happened?" Emma asked. He glanced up at her, taking a moment to process her words. The irritated look on his face gradually dissipated.

"Oh," he said. His left hand swooped out in some sort of aborted gesture – Sarah took the chance to grab it, and at this point, Mr. Gold didn't even seem surprised. "They fell through on Toll Bridge. I jumped in after them. Got them out."

"Their clothes are dry, though," Emma remarked, looking Kylie up and down and centering on the wet spot on the girl's pants. "For the most part."

"Yes, well, I wasn't about to walk around town in December with two hypothermic toddlers, was I?"

Bemused, Emma shook her head, thinking that she'd have to get a shirt for Kylie to wear to bed - one from Mary Margaret's closet would do. Beside her, Gold's hands slipped beneath his trousers to massage his aching calf.

"I may have broken into a children's boutique," he admitted. "But I left them the entirety of my wallet, minus credit cards, so they should be able to replace the broken window and clothes well enough."

"You didn't buy yourself dry clothes, I see."

Still shivering, Mr. Gold pointed out that there wasn't much he could do for that in a children's boutique.

"Well, here," said Emma, handing him the now-squirming Kylie. "We're about the same size, right? I'll get you some of my pajamas."

She disappeared for a moment, leaving him alone with the kids.

"Can we watch a movie?" Sarah asked. He shot her an incredulous look.

"It's almost eleven," he said. "As soon as we can, I'm putting you to bed."

"Awww!"

"Don't 'aww' me," he retorted. "I can feel the air sucking out of the room every time you yawn."

"You should go to bed, too, then," Sarah told him, crawling into his lap once more. Mr. Gold's eyes softened a bit though he tried to keep the irritated expression on his face; she was looking up at him in utter concern. "You're old, and you bumped your head in the river. You'll get sick."

Gold smiled down at her – and since there was no one around to witness it or damage his reputation, he pulled the girl into a hug.

"Well, thanks for worrying," he said against her hair. "But I'll be fine."

Sarah snuggled closer, her knees stabbing against his stomach in a way he was, honestly, quite willing to tolerate. She and Kylie hid their faces against his shoulder and neck, respectively. Warmth blossomed in his chest, and a ridiculously-pleased smile spread across his face.

"Aww," said a voice from the doorway, effectively wiping the smile away. "You're cuddling."

Gold's eyes flickered to the side – he didn't move his head, for fear of disrupting the children – and he saw Emma smirking at him, pajama pants, a woolen sweater, and a shirt for Kylie folded in her hands.

"We are doing no such thing," Gold snapped, trying to edge the children away. He only succeeded in somehow pulling them closer, and really, he wasn't complaining.

Their breath had evened out – both girls were asleep.

"What happened to their parents?" Emma asked, carefully prying the girls away. She handed Gold the pajamas. Not at all an even trade – he hadn't been hugged since Baelfire left, and he already missed the warmth.

"Abandoned them," he answered, pushing off the chair. He went into the bathroom and changed awkwardly, unable to stand for most of it – hell, what all had he done today? A swim in the half-frozen river. A three-mile walk to Emma's house, going out of his way to hit the children's boutique.

His leg felt like it was on fire. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to blame the kids.

Finally, he re-emerged into the living room, dry enough now to collapse on the couch instead of the uncomfortable wooden chair. Immediately and against his will, he slumped from a sitting position to lying down, his eyes sliding closed.

"I wanna sleep with Unckie," said a sleepy voice across the room. Obliging, Emma placed both girls with him and they crawled onto his chest, nuzzling against him until they were comfortable.

"Well," said Emma, sounding amused. "I guess you don't want to stay up and watch Cake Boss with me, then."

Gold was too tired to reply. Old images flashed through his mind – the hut he used to live in and the way it swayed and creaked on stormy nights. Bae's frightened face when thunder clapped, the way the boy used to climb in bed with him when he was very young and scared.

Strangely content, Gold wrapped his arms around the toddlers and fell asleep.