#RCIJ 2018

[emospritelet]

Back in Business - Chapter 1

My RCIJ fic for @winterswanderlust, which I split into three because it got out of hand XD.  Prompt: sunflowers, out of business, AU.  The total fic has UST, a little angst, some smut and a side of Ruby Slippers

Rating: whole fic E, this chapter T

Word count: whole fic 20,067, this chapter 5,985

Also on AO3

As a child, Belle French had once read a Ted Hughes poem called November, which began with the line “the month of the drowned dog”. The poem had filled her with an unfamiliar and unwelcome sense of foreboding, and now that she was in the northern hemisphere, in the dark and cold of winter, she was reminded of it. She missed Melbourne, with its hot sun and long stretches of sand and the way the evening air was filled with the shouts of children playing on the beach and the scent of flowers. Her father’s decision to pack up and leave, moving halfway around the world to a town in Maine, of all places, had been hard to accept. She found November in Storybrooke to be dark and ominous, filled with leaden skies and heavy rain, the wind bitingly cold and on the cusp of snow. The two-bed home they had rented failed to keep out the wind entirely, and Belle had lain awake the first night, listening to it whistle and moan, an unquiet soul in the strange house that was already too quiet, too bleak. Her father had changed since her mother had died, grown bitter and withdrawn, and while she could understand wanting to run from everything that reminded him of his old life with the woman he loved, it didn’t fix the pain. It didn’t fix anything.

The town of Storybrooke was considered small, by American standards, but large enough that she was still finding her way around after almost a week of exploring. She thought that she was starting to make friends, though. Ruby, one of the waitresses at Granny’s Diner, was sweet, with a ready smile and kind nature, and Belle had only had to order takeout coffees twice before she was invited to the regular Friday girls’ night at the local bar.  Ruby had also offered her a job waiting tables, working shifts with her and another girl called Ashley, but Belle had politely declined. She had a job in the flower shop that her father had rented as a fallback, but had her sights set elsewhere.

Her career plans required a visit to the Town Hall to make some enquiries with whoever was responsible for municipal services, and Belle hurried along the street, clutching her too-thin coat around herself and glancing anxiously up at the iron-grey sky that was threatening rain. She ducked inside the Town Hall with relief, and, having explained what she was enquiring about, was asked to wait for the relevant clerk. Dorothy Gale was a pretty, no-nonsense young woman with an air of efficiency, dark brown hair braided into two side-plaits. She eyed Belle with growing approval as she explained what it was that she wanted.

“I’d have to run it past the Mayor,” said Ms Gale. “Perhaps before the next Council meeting. There are certainly funds in the budget to cover the post, and God knows it would be good to get that resource going for the kids in this town. We just haven’t had a suitable candidate raise the issue. The place has been closed for as long as I can remember.”

“Well, I can show you my qualifications,” said Belle anxiously. “I had a job working part-time in the Melbourne library since I graduated last year, and—”

Ms Gale raised a hand, cutting her off.

“I don’t doubt you’re qualified,” she said. “But save it for the Mayor. If she wants to raise it at the meeting, of course. I don’t want to make any promises; there have been a lot of calls on town funding this past year.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty,” said Belle. “But I’m sure you’ll agree that the children of this town deserve a dedicated library facility with all that would entail. Reading classes, story time, opportunities for after-school study sessions…”

Ms Gale was smiling.

“Like I said, save it for the Mayor,” she said. “You don’t have to convince me.”

“Okay.”

Belle sat back, feeling pleased. Ms Gale finished what she was writing, and looked up with a quirk of one eyebrow.

“You’ll need to convince Mr Gold, though,” she said.

Belle’s eyebrows drew down.

“Mr Gold?” she said, in puzzlement. “Isn’t that - I think that’s our landlord.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it,” said Ms Gale, straightening up and flicking her braids back over her shoulders. “He owns almost all the property in town. Including the library. The post would be funded by the town, but he would need to agree to the library being reopened. Which he’s so far failed to do.”

“What?” Belle blinked, surprised. “He doesn’t want the town to have a library?”

Ms Gale shrugged.

“I can think of six people off the top of my head who’ve asked him to rent the place to them,” she said. “Not for a library, admittedly, but someone wanted to turn it into a bookstore. Another person wanted to open up one of those books-and-coffee places. He turned them all down.”

“Oh.” Belle fidgeted, tugging at the hem of her skirt. “Do you know why?”

She shook her head, braids swinging.

“Maybe their business plans were bad, although you’d think any rent he could get for the place would be better than none.”

“So you think I’m wasting my time?” asked Belle, somewhat crestfallen, and Ms Gale shrugged again.

“Just saying don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “Even if he says yes, it could need some work doing before it would be suitable for use as a public building again. I imagine you’d need his agreement to cover that before the Mayor would even consider offering you the post.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “Oh. Well, in that case, I’d better go try to convince him. Where can I find him?”

Ms Gale gestured with her pen.

“Back down to Main Street, go past Granny’s and the bakery. He owns the pawnshop on the corner. Can’t miss it.”

“Right.” Belle pushed back her chair. “Well, thank you. You’ve been a big help.”

“A moment.” Ms Gale set down her pen, folding her arms on the desk. “I should warn you. Gold’s not known for his generosity. Everything comes with a price with him. He likes to stick to the letter of any agreement he makes, and he and the Mayor are not on the best of terms.”

“Oh.” Belle felt a sliver of unease work its way beneath her skin. “Oh, well I - I guess I’ll have to do my best!”

“Good luck,” said Ms Gale. “If he agrees, come back and let me know.”

Belle walked back out onto the street, rain from the seemingly ever-present clouds just starting to spit. It grew heavier as she walked back towards Main Street, and she shivered a little, tugging her coat around herself and wishing that she had thought to buy an umbrella. She suspected that the few winter clothes she had purchased in advance of travelling to Maine would be both ineffective and insufficient, and she resolved to get a proper winter coat and some sturdier boots. Just as soon as she could be sure of earning her living as a librarian.

At just after four-thirty in the afternoon, it was already growing dark, the thick clouds adding to the sense of approaching night. Rain was drumming against the sidewalk by the time she scurried past Granny’s, and she shot the diner a furtive glance, its cheerful, warm light tempting her to duck inside and wait out the downpour. After a week in this town, however, she was well aware that the rain was probably only just getting started, and from the directions Ms Gale had given her, Mr Gold’s shop was not far. She pushed her chin down into her collar, hunching her shoulders, and quickened her pace, feeling a wave of relief go through her as she spotted the lit sign hanging outside her destination. Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer.

The shop was faced with sea-green clapboard, and she grasped at the rain-spattered door handle, pushing open the door. A bell above tinkled merrily as she ducked inside, and she quickly shut the door behind her to keep out the rain. She shook the water from her palm, instinctively wiping it against her coat as she looked around. The shop was quiet and seemingly empty, its floor laid with shining dark wood. It smelt of beeswax and very faintly of the musty scent of old books. A counter was in front of her, with an ancient cash register placed to one side of it. Paintings in a myriad of sizes were hung on the wall behind in ornate gold-painted frames: landscapes and bowls of fruit and people in clothes that were two centuries old or more. Clocks ticked in a low, comforting rhythm, and lamps with shades of coloured glass and painted silk sat in sconces on the walls, sending out a yellowish light that gave the place an air of something out of its time, pulled from the nineteenth century into modern day America, a tiny capsule of the past frozen in the present. The shelves of the shop held a myriad of objects: porcelain figurines and glittering glass vases, ancient toys in scuffed cardboard boxes, old books and silver plate. Glass counters stood in front of the shelves, shining warm light onto the treasures within, tea sets and trinkets, necklaces and netsuke, jade and jewellery.

“May I help you?”

Belle jumped, her head turning towards the back of the shop. A man had appeared, standing in front of a thick, patterned curtain, his hands folded over a gold-handled cane with a dark, gleaming shaft. He was short and slight, dressed in a slim-fitting dark suit that had to have been made for him. It was a three piece, the waistcoat over a silk shirt the colour of rich claret, the tie a lustrous black. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a long nose, framed by soft sweeps of brown hair just starting to turn silver at the temples. Dark eyes ran over her before snapping back up to meet hers, and she was suddenly very aware that her hair was plastered to her head and rainwater was dripping from her coat in a steady stream to pool on the floor around her.

“Are you Mr Gold?” she asked, and his mouth lifted at one corner.

“Well, it is my shop.”

His voice was low, a growling whisper, thickened with the burr of a Scottish accent, and Belle could feel herself blush, her heart starting to thump as his eyes gleamed at her.

“Of - of course,” she stammered. “Sorry, I just—”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he interrupted, and took a step forward, the cane tapping against the floor. “I suspect you’re Mr French’s daughter, yes?”

“I - yes.” Belle licked a droplet of rainwater from her lip. “How did you guess?”

“The accent is something of a giveaway,” he said, with a tiny grin. “How may I help you?”

“I, uh—”  Belle shook water from her hands, droplets spattering on the floor. “I understand I need to talk to you about reopening the library building.”

One of his eyebrows flicked, the merest indication of surprise.

“That place hasn’t been open in years,” he said, and his voice was suddenly, strangely flat. Emotionless.

“Yeah, so I heard,” said Belle. “Do you know why?”

“Because I chose not to open it,” he said simply.

“That’s - kind of a circular answer,” she said, and his mouth thinned, fingers opening and closing on the cane, irritation plain in the set of his jaw.

“My reasons are my own, Miss French.”

“Oh, of course!” she said hastily. “It’s your property, and - and I don’t mean to pry, it’s just - well, I just moved here, and I saw it, and I couldn’t help thinking that the town needed a library, and - and I’m looking for a job, so it just seemed a perfect fit, that’s all.”

Mr Gold eyed her in silence for a moment.

“Well, I do own the building,” he said eventually. “You’re a librarian?”

“I am.”

She drew herself up, feeling a swell of pride as she always did when she spoke of her profession. Mr Gold looked her over again, his gaze calculating, and she wondered what it was that he saw beyond her wet hair and unsuitable clothing.

“You’d need to get the Mayor to agree to pay the rent and to hire you,” he said then. “I have no say in how she chooses to allocate town funds.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “But - but I need you to agree to open it up for business first, right?”

Mr Gold continued to watch her, his fingers drumming slowly on the cane handle.

“I never intended to open the place again,” he said quietly, and she gave him her best smile.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to convince you.”

Mr Gold sucked in his cheeks a little, as though he was thinking it over. A rumble of thunder outside made her jump, and he smiled slightly.

“You seem to have run afoul of the oncoming storm, Miss French,” he said. “Would you like to come through to the back room to dry off? I could make us a drink, if you like.”

He turned on his heels, shining shoes swivelling, the light catching his hair as he pushed the curtain to one side and disappeared. For a moment Belle hesitated, left in the dimly-lit shop with its ticking clocks and the rhythmic drip of water from the sleeves of her coat. She raised her chin, stepping forward to follow him, the woven curtain a little rough against her fingertips as she pushed it aside.

The back room of Mr Gold’s shop was more haphazard than the shop itself. Shelves held a jumble of items, some still in thick cardboard boxes. Heavy ledgers sat in a row on one of the lower shelves, and there were benches with lamps and magnifying glasses and delicate tools that she presumed were for repairing things. Mr Gold was standing in front of a carved mahogany cupboard, and glanced over his shoulder.

“I could make you tea,” he said. “Or given the hour and the fact that you’re drenched, perhaps you’d prefer something stronger?”

“Something stronger sounds good,” she said fervently.

He nodded, reaching into the cupboard and retrieving a bottle of whisky before setting it on the bench and reaching for two cut crystal glasses. Belle watched as he hooked the cane on one arm and opened up the whisky, pouring a measure into each glass. He turned to her and held one out, that tiny smile still twisting his mouth.

“I hope this is satisfactory,” he said.

She nodded, taking it. Not her usual drink, but she’d deal. He took a sip of his own drink, cradling the glass in one hand and looking her over as he took the cane and got it under himself once more. She wondered how he had hurt himself, and whether it was permanent. With a cane as sleek and ornate as that, she suspected that he had been injured for many years. She raised her glass and inhaled the fumes, the sharp burn of whisky in her nostrils, an aftertaste of peat and warm honey. One sip, and fire coursed its way down her throat, smooth after the initial burn, its flames licking over her from within. She shivered, and Mr Gold set down his glass.

“Where are my manners?” he said, almost to himself. “You must be freezing. Let me take your coat.”

He walked over to her, and Belle put her glass on the bench, shrugging off her coat. The rain had soaked through the shoulders, and she cursed her own stupidity at not buying something thicker and more suitable for the Maine weather. Mr Gold’s hands were at her shoulders, drawing the coat down her arms.

“You’re soaked through,” he whispered. “You’ll catch your death. Here.”

Losing the coat made her realise how cold she was, her blouse sticking to her skin where the rain had gotten through, and Mr Gold hung her coat over the back of an old chair, striding swiftly to one of the shelves and retrieving a thick bundle of folded fabric. He shook it out, revealing a patterned woollen shawl in dark green and gold. Belle took it from him gratefully, wrapping it around herself and perching on one of the wooden stools beside the bench. Warmth immediately began to seep into her, and she picked up her glass again, sipping at her whisky.

“Thank you,” she said, and he nodded, taking a drink.

“Now,” he said quietly. “You wanted to talk to me about the library. Convince me to open it.” He gestured to her, fingers splaying outwards. “The floor is yours.”

Belle leaned forwards.

“Well, I’m fully qualified,” she said eagerly. “I was working at a library in Melbourne before we moved over here, although it was only part-time, and I have a ton of ideas that I’d like to try out with the local kids. Book clubs, after-school sessions, that kind of thing.”

“And you wish me to reopen a building that’s been closed for decades in order to facilitate this?”

“I - well, I - I hoped,” she said. “I saw that it was closed, and I - I wondered.”

“Another building wouldn’t suit your purpose, then?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I didn’t see any other places that were vacant, and given that it has a big sign outside saying ‘Library’, I figured I’d go with that one.”

Mr Gold took another drink, watching her over the rim of his glass, an intense, searching look, and she put her head to the side.

“Are you saying you have another suitable building I could use instead?”

“No,” he said abruptly. “Commercial real estate in Storybrooke is somewhat limited.”

“All the more reason to make use of what you have, then.”

His lips twitched, as though he were amused.

“So now we come down to my true interest in this matter,” he said, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”

“What could be more rewarding than knowing you’re helping to provide a valuable public resource?” she said, with wide-eyed innocence, and he grinned.

“Please. Be serious.”

“Well, if you want to be mercenary about it,” she said dryly. “I guess you’d get some rent out of it, too.”

“I don’t need the money.”

“Then you’re not losing anything by it, either.”

Mr Gold took another drink, watching her with the light of interest in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking. He put down his glass.

“I daresay it’ll need a good clean,” he said.

“Oh, I can do that,” she said hastily. “I mean, as long as there are no major maintenance issues, of course.  If it’s just cleaning…”

“I also imagine that the selection of books in there is less than stellar,” he added. “It certainly hasn’t been added to since the library closed. You might want to ask the Mayor for extra funds.”

“Right.” Belle felt less sure that that request would be successful, but his response made her brighten. “Does that mean you’ll agree to open the building again?”

He gave her a twisted little smile, the fingers of one hand opening out in a fan. He had long fingers, she noticed, with smooth, neatly-trimmed nails.

“Well, it’s just sitting there gathering dust and costing me money,” he said dryly. “If you can make it work, all the better for me. Perhaps it’s time.”

“Right,” she said again, and took another drink, her mind working. He seemed to sense it, and tilted his head.

“Is there something else that you want to ask?”

“I was told that everything comes with a price with you,” she said.

Mr Gold sucked in a breath, tutting softly as he shook his head.

"It appears the townsfolk have been telling dark tales of my rapacity," he said, sounding amused. "What concerns you, Miss French?"

“Well - I guess I’m wondering what your price for this is.”

“That would be the rent that I’ll receive from the municipal funds, as you mentioned,” he said mildly, and raised an eyebrow. “Is there a different price that you’d prefer to pay?”

His eyes were glinting at her, gold flecks of reflected light shining on dark irises, and she licked her lips.

“N-no.”

Mr Gold showed his teeth, a gleam of gold on his lower jaw where one had been replaced.

“Excellent,” he said. “In that case, I suggest you make your case to the Mayor. You may tell her that the proposal has my full support.”

“Thank you.”

She took another drink, and there was a moment of silence. He was watching her, eyes dark and unblinking. The thunder rumbled again, and there was a flash of lightning outside the window. Mr Gold gestured towards the front of the shop.

“I’d offer to show you around the library,” he said. “But perhaps we ought to wait until the rain has died down a little.”

“Does that ever happen?” she asked wryly, and he grinned.

“North-eastern seaboard not to your taste, Miss French?”

“Back home it’d probably be in the seventies, and I’d be seeking out the air-con,” she said, and his grin widened.

“So what brings you to Maine, then?”

“Change of scene, I guess,” she sighed. “My mother died. Dad couldn’t bear to stay in our old place after that, and I - I didn’t feel that I could let him be by himself in a strange country while he was grieving, so…”

She shrugged, taking another drink, and he continued to watch her.

“Moving to the other side of the world is a little drastic,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You ever lose someone you loved?”

He didn’t answer that, but his eyes glittered, and eventually he glanced away.

“So, your father is a florist,” he said. “I hope his business venture is successful. This world could always use a little more beauty in it.”

“I’ll be helping him set up,” she said. “I’m hoping he’ll be able to take someone else on to help out, though. If the Mayor lets me run the library, that is.”

He took a sip of whisky, amber liquid shining in the glass, and she watched as the tip of his tongue swept a stray droplet from his lower lip. It gave her a familiar sensation in the depths of her abdomen, a tightening that she recognised as arousal. The thought made her cheeks heat, and she buried her nose in her glass to hide her blush. When she raised her eyes, though, Mr Gold was smiling a tiny secretive smile, as though he could read her thoughts, and was amused by them.

“I understand that it’s just you and your father living out at the house he rented from me,” he said. “Did no one else travel with you?”

“It’s just us,” she confirmed. “I’m sure if Dad were ever to decide to take in a lodger, he’d have to get you to okay it, right?”

“Is that likely?”

“Not as long as the shop prospers, no.”

“And how likely is that?”

Belle gave him a flat look.

“You ask a lot of questions,” she said, and he grinned again.

“Well, I’m a curious person. Goes with the territory.”

“Landlord?”

“Pawnbroker,” he clarified. “I lend money. Knowing people’s business is an unfortunate but necessary side-effect of that.”

Belle sighed, but nodded in acknowledgement.

“Dad knows the trade well,” she said. “His shop in Melbourne was always profitable. I guess it depends on how well that knowledge transfers to a town in Maine.”

Mr Gold sat back a little.

“And how are you finding our little town?” he asked. “Met anyone interesting?”

“Oh, yes,” she said dryly, and his smile widened as she failed to elaborate.

“Have you inherited your father’s passion for flowers?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Well, I like them, and I have a reasonable grasp of the business itself, but I don’t think I have his flair,” she said. “I’m fine with the simpler arrangements, but if it’s something like designing table centrepieces for weddings or something - he’s so much better! I won’t be taking on the family business, that’s for sure.”

“Do you have a favourite flower?”

“Sunflowers,” she said immediately. “They always cheer me up. My mother used to bring bunches back to the house with her, and there were always some in the old cream jug she kept on the table.”

She bit her lip, looking down at the whisky swirling in her glass. Memories flooded into her head, the scent of flowers and herbs in their kitchen, the chirp of insects outside and the hiss of the sprinkler watering the flowerbeds. The sound of her mother singing off-key as she sliced oranges for juicing. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she closed them firmly. She had had enough of crying.

“Miss French.”

Mr Gold’s words were soft, gentle, but she started, eyes flicking open. He was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry if my question caused you pain,” he said quietly, but she shook her head.

“No, it’s just - memories, that’s all. Happy memories, which - which now makes them sad memories, I guess.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, I can understand that.”

She took another drink, almost choking on the whisky, and dashed away a couple of tears. He sipped at his own drink, dark eyes watching her closely, and she turned her glass between her fingertips.

“Do - do you have family?” she asked hesitantly.

“No,” he said abruptly, and set down his own glass before glancing away. “It sounds as though the rain has eased a little. We could try to make a break for it, if you like.”

Curiosity was needling her at his taciturn response, but the thought of a library to explore was an immediate distraction. She drained her glass, licking her lips and beaming at him, and Mr Gold pushed to his feet, gesturing towards the curtain with his free hand. Belle walked through to the shop, noting that the rain was still falling, but seemed lighter.

“Perhaps it was just a shower,” she ventured.

“Perhaps.” He reached behind the counter and retrieved a black umbrella. “I think we’ll take this, though. And the car.”

Mr Gold’s car was an old Cadillac, its black paint and chrome grill shining in the rain, and he held the umbrella over Belle until she was inside before going around to the driver’s side and furling the umbrella. The interior smelled of leather, and she tugged the belt around herself as he got into the seat next to her. She watched the light from the streetlamps shining on the soft sweeps of his hair, and catching the odd silvery fleck of stubble on his cheek. He glanced across at her, eyes dark in the low light, and it made her shiver pleasantly.

“This won’t take long,” he said.

The library wasn’t far from the shop, but Belle was glad to be out of the rain, which, while lighter than it had been, was still falling rapidly. Mr Gold parked up outside the library, and Belle unbuckled her belt. He was staring up at the sky and frowning.

“I thought the storm might be passing us by,” he mused. “But it looks as though another wave will be on us soon. Perhaps we should do this another time.”

“We can make it quick,” said Belle, eager to see the library, now he had agreed to let her reopen it. Mr Gold sucked his teeth.

“I suppose it could be giving us some respite,” he allowed, and got out of the car, walking around to open the door for her.

They had barely made it to the library steps before the rain grew heavier, spraying the umbrella he was holding over their heads and bouncing on the road, silvery droplets jumping upwards with the force of it. Mr Gold unlocked and opened the door, and she ducked inside hurriedly, shoes clicking on the wooden floor. The library had blinds at the windows, and Belle jumped as rain lashed against the glass.

“A very brief respite, it seems,” said Mr Gold, stepping up beside her.

Belle tugged the shawl tighter around herself, the storm outside making her shiver, and looked around. The library was in darkness, racks of shelving looming in the shadows, and she took a step forward, trying to see in the gloom. Mr Gold walked to the left, flicking some switches, and the lights burst into life, sending out a comforting luminescence to make the shadows shrink back. Belle glanced around, noting the numbers of stacks and the old-fashioned circulation desk in polished wood, coated in dust. The floor was dusty too, but she noticed footprints in it, a trail of crisscrossing marks that led from the door to a point in the centre, and no further. She walked to the circulation desk and looked it over, pulling out the drawers to find old library cards, dog-eared and faded. There were ink pads and date stamps, and out of curiosity she picked one up. October 23, 1998.

“Has this place really been closed for twenty years?” she asked, holding up the stamp, and Mr Gold shrugged.

“As I said, I imagine you’ll need to restock.”

“Yeah,” she said absently. If the books were decades old, they may not even be holding together.

He had taken a few steps forward, into the centre of the room where the footprints petered out, and was gazing at the wall opposite, a plain expanse of painted white. Belle put down the stamp, skirting the side of the circulation desk and heading for the stacks of books. She ran a finger along the spines, eyes flicking over the titles as she moved further into the stacks. The books were properly ordered, but dusty, and she pulled one from the shelf, a thick, board-backed book of fairytales. Opening it up was a treat, beautiful illustrations in amongst the pages of text, and it looked to be in good shape. She would definitely need to update the collection, though. Modern classics, non-fiction texts, more children’s books, an LGBTQ section…

Lightning flared outside, and thunder crashed, making her jump. The lights went out with a pop, and Belle squeaked, almost dropping the book.

“Are you alright?”

Mr Gold sounded concerned, his voice seeming to echo strangely now that they were in darkness, and she slid the book back onto its shelf, groping her way out of the stacks. She slammed into a warm body, squeaking in alarm as she fell, and landed on top of Mr Gold, driving his breath from his lungs with a low grunt. They were both breathing heavily, and the scent of his cologne was drifting into her nose, spicy and woody. Her heart was thumping hard, her head spinning a little. Perhaps it was the whisky. For a moment she was frozen in place, feeling the heat from him seep into her and the hard length of his cane between her legs, but then the lightning flashed again and she gasped in shock as his features were revealed, the angular planes of his face and the deep shadows of his eyes, watching her.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

She scrambled to get up, palms on the wooden floor beside him, pushing herself upright and holding out her hands for him to take. He held onto her with one hand, using the other to push himself up with his cane.

“Are you hurt?” she asked anxiously. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were there.”

“No matter,” he said, sounding almost amused. “Unintended things can happen when the lights go out.”

Belle let go of his hand as soon as he was upright, shuffling back from him on the wooden floor, mortified that she had knocked him over.

“Well, that’s more excitement than I’m used to of an early evening,” he said dryly. “There’s an apartment above the library for the caretaker, but perhaps we ought to look it over when the power’s back on. There are stairs. And furniture. All manner of things for you to fall over.”

“Yes,” said Belle hurriedly. “Yes, we’ll leave that for now, if you don’t mind. Not that I’m thinking of moving in here tomorrow, but—”

“It’s good to keep your options open,” he finished, and she nodded.

“Something like that.”

He was still standing in the middle of the floor, a slender figure with his hands folded over his cane, illuminated by the lightning flashes, purple and blue in the darkness.

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble,” she said, and he gave her that tiny grin again.

“Beyond dripping water all over my floor, drinking my whisky and knocking me flat on my back? I think I can handle your sort of trouble, Miss French.”

“Right,” she said, still blushing at the memory of lying on top of him. “Right. Well, okay. Thank you.”

He drove her home in near silence, and Belle sat with her hands folded in her lap, the woollen shawl still around her. She realised that she had left her coat at his shop, but she didn’t feel that she could ask him to turn around and get it. Besides, the thing was soaked through. She could pick it up the next day. Mr Gold changed down the gears as the Cadillac slowed and turned into the road where her father had rented their three-bed house. Heavy rain was making the wipers work hard, and the view through the windshield was a fragmented jumble of shapes and shadows and streaks of light from the streetlamps and houses that flanked the road. Mr Gold slowed to a stop outside her father’s house, and turned his head to face her.

“A moment,” he said.

He reached behind for the umbrella, unfurling it as he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to open the door. Belle got out hurriedly, grateful for the shelter. The rain was soaking the shoulders of his suit, and she stepped a little closer so the umbrella covered both of them. He walked her up the path and onto the porch, the cane clicking on the wooden slats, and Belle sighed in relief to be in some relative shelter.

“Thank you,” she said, and made to lift the shawl from her shoulders. Mr Gold shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said. “You can return it tomorrow. Assuming the weather improves.”

“I left my coat in your shop,” she said, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Then we can make a fair exchange,” he said. “Until tomorrow, Miss French.”

“My name’s Belle,” she blurted.

He mouthed the name, so softly she could barely hear it, soft lips forming the word. Her heart was thumping again, her breath quickening. There was a strange tingling in the air, electricity between them. It felt almost like anticipation, as though this was the end of a date and she was expecting to be kissed. She licked her lips, and his dark eyes flicked briefly to her mouth before returning to meet her gaze.

“Until tomorrow,” he repeated.

He inclined his head before stepping off the porch back into the rain. Water cascaded over the umbrella, and Belle watched as he walked to the car and got in. He met her eyes as he opened the door, and she felt her breath catch before he ducked inside and out of sight.

Great. I have a crush on the landlord. Great. Absolutely fantastic.

[crossinginstyle]

RCIJ: Birthday

Here it is! My RCIJ gift to the lovely @we-aim-to-misbehave!!

Sorry it took so long in the day! Life got suddenly very hectic and i was so worried I wouldn’t get it done in time! But I saw the light and was able to get it all out today! (Talk about waiting till last minute!) I hope you like it! Sorry if the second half has a lot of mistakes...no time to edit, lol.

Her prompt was “enchanted forest, picnic, cuddles, summer.” Enjoy!!

Title: Birthday Rating: M Word Count: 9,097

Silly maid. Fluttering about like some sort of damned fairy.

There wasn’t even any music playing, but she danced and twirled about on her toes like there was.

Still…it was a little impressive how she did that. It must take quite a bit of balance and…oh gods…

Now she was raising her leg up behind her in a way that couldn’t be natural. Was she part fairy?!

“Are you just going to stand there gawking or are you going to put on some music for me to dance to?” Belle asked, startling him, which only made him more annoyed.

“I didn’t bring you here to prance about my ballroom,” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be dusting.”

“I am!” she chirped, holding up her feather duster and illustrating by standing on her tip toes to dust a sconce. “As long as it gets done, does it matter how it gets done? I’m only having a bit of fun!”

“Yes, it matters! This is the Dark Castle, dearie, as I keep having to remind you. And in the Dark Castle we do not…”

“Do ballet?” she suggested, quirking on eyebrow.

“Exactly! Now do your job!”

He stormed out, pausing outside the door, expecting to hear her mutter irritably. But instead, all she was doing was humming! And when he took another peek back inside, she was dancing again!

It seemed his intrepid little maid had officially lost all fear of him. It didn’t help that he never bothered to reinforce his command, like now, choosing to go back to his tower instead of sparring off with her again about her “cleaning” methods.

Sometimes he almost hoped he would scare her for good one day, causing her to flee. She was far too much work to upkeep, and didn’t even do her job well enough to make it worth it. But he couldn’t just send her home. That would make it look like he was being kind. At least in her eyes. Only she could ever look at him and see anything resembling kind.

But…it would be awfully quiet if she left. And he’d grown rather accustomed to having his tea served to him every day without needing to ask for it. His own magic didn’t seem to anticipate his needs as much as his little maid did.

A gray dove landed on the windowsill in his tower, cooing in greeting.

“Good evening, Dove,” Rumplestiltskin greeted distractedly. He’d never been able to determine if Dove was magical, a transmogrified human, or simply a particularly intelligent animal, but it had served him well for many years, despite Rumple never bothering to give him a more imaginative name.

Dove had a missive tied to his leg, and flew inside the tower so Rumple could untie it.

He could tell from the writing right away that it was a letter for Belle, from her father. Rumplestiltskin had begun allowing correspondence between Belle and her father. He didn’t quite remember when he’d started allowing it, never mind why. But it had made Belle happy, and a happy Belle was a Belle who baked Rumple delicious treats.

However, the second letter Belle received from her father had made her cry, and that was not to be tolerated. Belle belonged to Rumplestiltskin, and only he was allowed to make her cry. After that day, Rumple had taken it upon himself to read the letters before giving them to Belle, to make sure the old coot wasn’t saying anything too hurtful. If Belle knew, she never mentioned it.

Rumple unrolled the letter, scanning the contents with disinterest. He didn’t honestly care what the fool said, so long as it wasn’t anything that would upset Belle, or anything that included plans of helping Belle escape.

The letter was benign, bemoaning the disappearance of Gaston (hm, that rose needs watered,) an update on a friend who’d had a baby, (she named her Belle. The child had better be pretty,) and finally, how much he misses her, and that he wishes he could be with her on her birthday.

Wait…birthday?

He poofed down into the ballroom, surprising Belle in the middle of actually cleaning for once. She jumped backward, dropping her duster which sent a cloud of dust into the air, causing her to cough and splutter.

“You have a birthday?” he asked sharply, ignoring her situation with the dust save for waving some of it away irritably.

Belle dusted off her apron, giving him a dry look. “Erm, doesn’t everyone?”

“You know what I mean,” he hissed.

“I’m sorry, Rumple, but I really don’t.”

He took her letter out of his vest pocket, tapping her head with it before handing it to her.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You do read my letters!” she sounded more vindicated that her beliefs were true than irate about the breech in privacy.

Rumplestiltskin waved again, this time dismissively. “I am lord and master here, it’s my right. Now, answer the question, dearie.”

Belle rolled her eyes, quickly scanning the contents of her letter before tucking it away into the pocket of her apron. “If you’re question is, do I have a birthday, the answer is yes. I do. It’s tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he tilted his head to one side. “And you didn’t see fit to share this bit of information with me?”

Belle scowled and flushed, raising her arms only to let them drop again. “I don’t understand what has you so upset, Rumplestiltskin. Why do you care about my birthday?”

Rumple took a step back, twirling his fingers. “I…don’t. I just like to know all there is to know about those in my employ, that’s all.”

“Oh…well…” Belle was still blushing, but her irritation had faded. “Now you know. When is yours, Rumplestiltskin?”

He giggled, though it annoyingly lacked any of the menacing quality he normally went for. “After 200 years, dearie, a year in the life is meaningless. I have long forgotten.”

“Oh…that’s…sort of sad. You could share mine, if you like,” she said.

Rumple blinked, having been taken aback. “I…what would I need to share your birthday for?! Eh…get back to work!”

With that he poofed out of the room once more, reappearing just on the other side of the door. He peeked back in, expecting to see her huff and puff in aggravation, which was so much fun to see. But instead she was only standing in the middle of the ballroom, a feather duster in her hand, and the look on her face did something to Rumplestiltskin’s blackened heart that made him step away and gasp.

 Belle was quiet when she served him dinner that night. Not angry, not sulky, just…quiet.

“How was your letter from your father?” he asked, awkwardly trying to coax a little life out of her. He wasn’t used to her being this way.

“Oh, fine,” she said, smiling weakly, before pasting on an unconvincing scowl. “But then you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, I only skim the things to check for plots against me, that’s all,” he huffed. “Can’t have you and he discussing all my secrets, now can I?”

“Well, if you’ve been reading all my letters, then I think you should know by now that I wouldn’t do that to you, Rumplestiltskin.”

He opened his mouth for another witty retort, but it dried up in his throat. “I haven’t…read your letters, dearie,” he said lowly. “Only his.”

“Why would you only…” she trailed off, and he didn’t like that calculating gleam in her eyes. Mostly because it was starting to look startlingly like his own. “Ever since he sent that awful letter accusing me of…well, you know,” she shrugged uncomfortably. “You’ve made sure he didn’t say anything like that again.”

He scowled at how easily she saw through him, and scowled deeper at the memory of the letter that had made her cry. Whore…that was the word her father had used. He’d accused her of willingly being the Dark One’s whore.

“I don’t know why you still communicate with him,” he growled. “A father wouldn’t say such things to his child.”

“A father shouldn’t,” Belle agreed. “But he did apologize. I think he was only scared. Maybe it’s odd, but he’s still my father. I love him, even though he’s done terrible things.”

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On one hand, he could only hope his son could still love him, despite the evil things he’d done. On the other…he understood Belle’s feelings so acutely it hurt. Damn him to Hades if he didn’t still feel a sick inkling of love for the bastard who’d made him.

“It isn’t odd,” he said. “You are an odd girl, Belle, but not for that.”

Belle giggled, and he mentally patted himself on the back for bringing back her smile.

“Thank you, Rumplestiltskin. I think I’m going to do these dishes now and go on to bed, unless there’s anything else you need?”

Rumple waved away the dirty dishes with a flick of his wrist. “There is…one thing…a present, if you will.”

“A present?” Belle asked, one brow arched suspiciously.

Rumplestiltskin stood, reaching down a hand to draw her to her feet. “It is your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes…but you said you didn’t care about that.”

“I don’t,” he protested, unconvincing even to his own ears. “But you’ll have your gift anyway. Your gift, Belle, is a wish.”

Belle smirked. “A wish? Are you going to be my fairy godmother now?”

Rumplestiltskin sneered. “Don’t liken me to those infernal bugs. Do you want your gift or not?!”

“Yes, I do!” she exclaimed, giggling. “What sort of wish? What are the rules?”

“No rules…” he began, but quickly amended them. “Wait, if it endangers me or takes my power, the wish is null and void.”

Belle scowled. “You know I wouldn’t do anything like that, Rumple.”

“I haven’t lived this long to be careless about details, dearie. I give you the night to think over your wish, and in the morning you’ll present it to me, and I will grant it. No price.”

Belle bit her lip, and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Deal! I can’t wait!”

He chuckled, watching her spin and scamper off to bed. He knew fine well what Belle would wish for. In fact, he was counting on it.

He pointedly hadn’t added a clause that she couldn’t wish for her freedom, so he knew that’s what she would pick.

Oh, she might be sweet and wish only to be allowed to go into town alone. Which…honestly, if she asked, he would have allowed it anyway. But this was her chance to take her freedom by the hands, and even wish for money and provisions so she could see the world, like she longed to. Like she deserved.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t normally sleep, but he went to his room anyway, resigned to spending his last night in a home with the warmth Belle brought just by being there.

He didn’t even know why he’d made her his price for her father’s deal in the first place. He had no actual need for a maid, and he wasn’t quite monster enough to imprison a woman to satiate his physical needs. She also possessed no magic, provided no use in his quest for his son, but the moment his eyes had landed on her, something in him…maybe it was his foresight, maybe it was the way she was brave enough to look him in the eye but shrank away from her hulk of a fiancé, or merely just stupid impulsiveness had made him say “her.”

It was for the best anyway. With Belle out of the way, he could concentrate fully on shaping Regina into the perfect pawn to cast his curse, and reunite with his son at last.

It might have been nice to do it with Belle at his side, but Rumple hadn’t been alive as long as he had to believe in such foolish fantasies.

 She found him spinning, as usual. Rumplestiltskin had been there most of the night, trying to get a head start on forgetting. But the morning came whether he wanted it to or not, and here came Belle, skipping into the ballroom like a child on Christmas. Or…a child on her birthday, rather.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday girl. Have you turned ten years old already?”

Belle fixed him with a sardonic look. “Surely you don’t think that. Perhaps I’m young to you but I happen to be twenty-five years old, today. Thankyouverymuch.”

Rumple was surprised, actually. He knew fine well she wasn’t ten, but he had thought she was younger. Somehow it comforted him, made him feel slightly less guilty for some of those less-than-appropriate daydreams he tended to have without wanting to. Slightly less.

“An old maid,” he joked, earning a laugh from her, where most women probably would have been angry. “Have you decided on your wish?”

“I have!” she chirped, holding her hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly.

He got up, slowly, like the old man he was, and went to stand before her, hands ready to poof her into town, or Agrabah, or wherever she wanted to go. “Well?”

“I wish,” she began. “…And I’m going to be very specific, so you can’t back out!”

“I’ve taught you well,” he praised.

“I wish, for you, Rumplestiltskin, to spend the whole day with me. I’d like to go outside, and I’d like the weather to be nice. I know you can do that. I want to go swimming and have a picnic. I want to have cake, and I want you to eat some too. I want you to not pretend, all day. That means you can’t pretend you’re angry if you’re not, but neither should you pretend to have fun, if you’re not. I wish for you to be yourself. Your real self. All day. And I’d like you to pick activities as well, because today is your birthday too, Rumplestiltskin. It’s part of the wish.”

Rumple stood, stock still, waiting for her to laugh and say she was kidding. “That…that’s it?”

He gaped in shock as she pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket to peruse, before nodding in satisfaction. “Yes, I think that just about covers it. Is my wish granted?”

He felt his magic grant the wish before he could even answer, the deal taking hold, removing his ability to hide his true feelings. He didn’t think she meant to do that, but in order not to pretend, Rumple could not lie.

“I…I thought…” he shook his head. “That’s your wish? Not…not to…go free?”

“Why would I wish that?” she asked, looking genuinely befuddled. “I made a deal. I won’t break that, not even for a birthday wish. This is what I want, Rumple, and you said there were no rules, so long as it didn’t affect your safety or powers. Does it?”

“No,” he admitted. “It…doesn’t. So…I suppose…we’re going on…a picnic?”

Belle squealed in delight, declaring she would go and get a basket prepared if he would please find a suitable picnic blanket. She was then gone almost as quickly as he could magic away, and he was left in a sort of dazed stupor, wondering how the hell he’d gone from preparing himself to never see her again, to taking her on a picnic and agreeing to spend the entire day at her beck and call. Alright, perhaps that wasn’t exactly in the agreement, but what else could he do but as she wished?

Bemused and confused, he found himself sorting through a mostly unused closet for a blanket that could serve for her picnic, and then in an equally baffling manner was suddenly waiting beside the kitchen door.

Belle skipped up to him, a large picnic hamper hanging from the crook of her arm, but her ecstatic smile waned slightly when she caught sight of his face.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “I…I don’t really want to make you do something you really don’t want to. I made that clear in the wish, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he assured her, heart stuttering to realize he was totally incapable of hiding his feelings from her, and he felt the first sting of panic rise up in his chest. “I’m just…confused, Belle. Out of anything you could have wished for. To be free to go to town, to see your father, or friends. Gods, you could have even wished not to have to work anymore. You chose this?”

Belle smirked. “Well, to be completely honest, the never working again part never occurred to me. I would be lying if I said that wouldn’t have been a pretty good one,” she giggled. “But yes, you silly Dark One. This is what I want. I want to get to know you. The real you that I know is in there, not the impish façade you put up for everyone else. The real you who intercepts letters from my father just to make sure they won’t hurt me. The you who gave me an entire library just because I like books. The you who makes me laugh, then looks so boyishly pleased about it. Would it be…so bad? I don’t have to know all your deep, dark secrets, Rumplestiltskin. I’d be happy just to see you loosen up and have a little bit of fun for once.”

“Fun,” he scoffed. “Fun for me has been turning people into snails for longer than your great-grandfather has been alive.”

Belle scrunched up her face. “My great-grandfather isn’t alive, Rumple.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Well, there won’t be anyone you can turn into snails, but you could practice turning snails into…I don’t know, butterflies or something.”

Rumple huffed. “Can I turn them into wasps instead?”

“Make it honeybees and I could bake you some honey cakes!”

“…you have yourself a deal, dearie.”

 As per the deal, Rumple used his power to make the normally cold and rainy environment around the castle bright and sunny, and just warm enough to be comfortable without being hot.

He followed Belle about bemusedly as she hunted for “just the right spot.”

“What’s wrong with over there?” he asked, pointing toward a shady tree.

“Not enough grass,” she replied.

“There’s grass over there.”

“Not enough shade.”

“For the love of…” Rumple twirled his hand, making a large willow tree appear near the lake, just over a plush patch of grass.

“Perfect!” Belle chirped, grinning at him and practically skipping toward the spot before busily spreading out a blanket. “I’ve packed chicken sandwiches, and some of those pecan pinwheels you like so much. Also lemonade, and wine!”

“Oh,” suddenly much more interested, he dug into the pinwheels first, surprised when Belle didn’t slap his hand away for eating dessert first. Like she normally did.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, helping herself to a pinwheel as well. “It’s our birthday, after all.”

“You forgot the cake,” Rumple said between bites.

“Cake?”

“You specifically said in your wish that you wanted to eat cake.”

She giggled. “Oh, well, I didn’t actually have time to bake a cake but…”

Before she could finish her sentence, a chocolate cake with blue frosting appeared in front of her, candles alight.

“A deal is a deal,” he said, smirking.

“But I already made my wish,” she said, sliding the cake closer to him. “You blow out the candles.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Dark Ones do not blow out birthday candles.”

“Oh really?” Belle droned, arching a brow. “Is that written in some ancient Dark One text somewhere? Perish thee that blow out thy birthday candle?”

“You’re growing very sarcastic these days, do you know that? Fine, I’ll blow out the silly candles.”

He took a breath and blew out all the candles in one go, hearing her giggle in delight and wondering why until he realized he still had his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

“What did you wish for?!” she asked.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he twilled, raising a finger. “If I tell, it won’t come true. Everyone knows that.” In truth he’d actually forgotten to make the wish. He hadn’t blown out a birthday candle in…actually, he didn’t think he’d ever blown out a birthday candle.

“Fine,” Belle huffed, but he could plainly see that she was teasing. “Let’s save the cake for later. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“Me? This is your wish.”

“Remember? I specifically said I wanted to do things you like to do, too. We’re here, that’s one for me. Now it’s your turn.”

Rumplestiltskin sighed and rested his back against the tree, thinking. As per the deal he couldn’t refuse, but what did he like to do? He liked to make deals, and gain power, and spin. None of those things, however, were probably what his little maid had in mind, so he tried to think of something benign enough that would please her, yet not make him cringe.

“How about…a walk?” he offered after a time. “It truly is summer beyond the Dark Forest.”

“Really? That’s what you want to do?” she asked a little in disbelief. “Well, alright, let’s go!”

They left their picnic, enchanted to be protected from ants and other scavengers, and strolled into the forest, away from the grounds of the Dark Castle.

Belle skipped along merrily, collecting wildflowers that she came across, and Rumple found that he truly didn’t mind the activity. The weather was pleasant, and she was rather entertaining to watch.

“What’s the last birthday you remember celebrating, Rumplestiltskin?” she asked conversationally as she plucked some daisies.

His breath hitched when he found that his automatic answer of “I don’t know,” stuck in his throat. Damn it! He couldn’t lie!

But when he hesitated, she glanced up, no doubt finding him casting about in panic, and her face softened. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Oh…well then. They continued on for a moment in silence, and Rumple found to his own astonishment that he didn’t really mind telling her.

“My…erm…son,” he spoke at last, breaking the silence and making her look up in surprise. “He baked me a cake. Or tried to, rather. Completely inedible, it was,” he chuckled, remembering fondly the sticky texture and overpowering taste of molasses when the boy had been unable to find sugar instead. “But I ate it anyway, of course. Every bite, and asked for more. He was just so proud of it. And he made me a necklace out of yarn as my present. I wore that thing every day until I lost it in the fields at some point…” he trailed off, touching the spot where the soft yarn had rested against his throat for so long as if he’d lost it yesterday, tasted the cake yesterday instead of hundreds of years ago.

“That sound like a lovely birthday,” Belle whispered when it seemed his story was over.

“It was,” he agreed without looking at her. “We played games and stayed up far past his bedtime that night. It was…it was…” his mouth was beginning to run away from him, and he tried to stop himself, but wasn’t entirely sure if he couldn’t, or didn’t want to. “It was my last birthday with him. It was the last birthday I ever celebrated.”

Neither spoke for a while, and Rumplestiltskin was just amazed the world didn’t end because he’d shared his past with his maid.

“My last birthday with my mother,” Belle said. “We took a picnic, just her and me. She told me stories of her youth, even scandalous things that had us both blushing and giggling. I’d never felt closer to her than I did then. It’s my favorite birthday memory.”

Ah, so that was it. Rumple glanced down at her at last, finding her looking a little wilted, and wracked his brain for a way to bring back her cheery mood, though why he wanted to so badly was anybody’s guess.

He plucked a few of the flowers from her hands as they walked, and she watched in interest as his deft fingers turned them into a crown which he perched atop her busy little head.

And that was all it took to have her grinning in delight and sticking a flower behind his ear before laughing even harder.

“Oh no, no, no,” he scoffed, removing the bloom. “White does nothing for my complexion. I would prefer yellow, if you please.”

Barely able to for all her laughing, Belle exchanged the white daisy for a big, bright, yellow one, and they continued on their way.

Just when he was about to suggest they turn back, they heard the unmistakable sound of a wagon approaching. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the trees, pressing her against one of the trunks to be assured her blue dress was hidden from view.

Rumplestiltskin snorted once he saw who was on the wagon. “It’s that fool, the Sheriff of Nottingham. What is he doing in his part of the Enchanted Forest, I wonder?”

When Belle didn’t respond to his rhetorical question, he glanced down to find her staring at him curiously, and only then realized that they were pressed flush together, faces barely an inch apart.

He flew away from her as if she’d suddenly turned to molten lava, and brushed his hands down his coat to cover his discomfort.

“Come, Belle, I have no desire to deal with that idiot today,” he said, though he would find out why Nottingham was in the area…tomorrow.

“Oh, come on,” Belle cajoled, and he didn’t think she could possibly realize how alluring she sounded when she talked like that. “Whatever he’s up to, I doubt it’s anything good. Wouldn’t you like to have a little fun?”

“Fun?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Belle winked, and she really needed to stop that. Had she no clue what that could do to a man? Or a…him? “Consider it my gift to you. Now come on, and follow my lead.”

Disconcerted but admittedly very intrigued, he followed Belle at a trot until they came out ahead of the wagon, which held not only Nottingham but an assortment of equally as slimy looking lackeys.

He watched in shock as she stepped out in front of the wagon. Was she trying to get herself killed?!

“Whoa,” Nottingham called, stopping the horses several feet away.

“Hello, boys,” Belle said in an overly coquettish manner. “What are you handsome lot doing way out here?” she was so over the top it was hilarious, and Rumple had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“What are you doing out here?” one of the men asked, suspicious, but eyeing her lecherously.

Belle sighed dramatically and waved toward the wood. “My husband dragged me all the way out here to live, and then he went and died on me! And I’ve been so lonely ever since!”

Just what the hell was this woman up to?!

“Lonely, eh?” Nottingham asked, grinning like a wolf. And of course a man as priggish and self-centered as he would recognize her. He hopped down from the carriage, strutting up to her like a rooster. “Why don’t you come along with us? We’ll take good care of ya.”

“Yeah!” another of the men crowed. “You won’t be lonely with us!”

Nottingham took another step toward her, and Rumple tensed. He was waiting for some kind of sign from Belle, but damned if he’d allow that degenerate to touch her.

“Why don’t you and I take a little walk right now?” Nottingham said. “I’ve got a delivery to make, but I care spare some time. I’ll make you forget all about being lonely.”

Belle smirked. “And you’ll only need, what, twenty minutes?”

Nottingham blinked, then his eyes widened, and Rumple thought that was sign enough before appearing suddenly behind him.

“Coveting my maid again, Nottingham?”

Nottingham screamed (like a girl,) as did his friends, and he spun around, face paling.

He turned back toward Belle as if to run, but Rumple disappeared and reappeared just behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t turn to look at him, just tilted her chin up and leaned into him as if this were a normal occurrence, and Nottingham paled even more.

“I don’t think he wants to play anymore,” Belle pouted, sounding a little like one of those crazy tree nymphs. It was fantastic.

“N…n…no…” Nottingham stammered. “I swear, Dark One, I didn’t know she was…if I’d recognized her…”

“Hear that?!” Belle snapped, craning her neck to look at him. “He didn’t even recognize me!”

“How insulting,” Rumple cooed, patting her shoulder comfortingly. God, how brilliant was she? When she looked at him, he could see how her eyes sparkled with mischievousness. She meant no harm, of course. He would not be killing or otherwise maiming Nottingham today, but she was helping him to torment the pig and it was downright fun.

“He was just about to tell me of the delivery he was making,” she said pointedly. Ah, yes, his reason for being in this forest, which was no doubt no good.

“It’s…it’s nothing,” Nottingham said. “Nothing to do you with you, Dark One…or…or you…erm…my Lady. Tell them, boys!”

“Your boys are long gone,” Rumple chirped, jerking his chin in the direction of Nottingham’s abandoned wagon.

Just then, came a weak “help!” from inside the wagon, and Rumple could feel Belle’s sudden intake of breath.

He let her go, but watched her closely as she ran toward the wagon, ready to spirit her away the moment it was even hinted at being a trap.

She opened the latch on the side, and opened a small door, sticking her head inside and emerging again followed by a young woman, bound in multiple chains which looked rather excessive considering she was barely more than a girl and slim for all that she was quite tall.

“Thank you!” the woman sighed in relief, paused when she caught sight of Rumplestiltskin looking more exasperated than scared, which was curious. “Unless…are you who he was taking me to?”

Rumplestiltskin snorted. “Please, I don’t need another maid,” he waved his hand, vanishing her chains, but kept a wary eye on her and tried to beckon Belle closer to him with just his eyes.

“Shit,” Nottingham hissed, backing away as if to flee, but Rumple made the woman’s chains reappear around his feet.

“Why did he have you locked up?” Belle asked, all pretense of the game gone in favor of concern.

The girl was glaring like a wolf at Nottingham, and that, along with the red cloak made him remember why she looked familiar. “You’re Snow White’s friend,” he said. “The wolf girl.”

“Red,” she corrected. “And I know who you are too, Rumplestiltskin. So what do I owe you, for saving me?”

“I didn’t save you,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “She did,” Belle had finally gotten his hint and returned to him, standing before him like before, though she had to know how possessive of her it made him look. “Belle? What price shall you accept?”

Red eyed Belle in a mixture of suspicion and awe, and then she suddenly focused her sharp eyes first on Belle’s flower crown, then on the daisy that still rested behind his ear. “I don’t have much…but I suppose if you should need the services of a werewolf…”

“How about tea?!” Belle exclaimed suddenly. “Could you come for tea? Rumple, is it okay? I could meet her in garden if you would prefer instead of inside the castle…”

“Tea?” Red asked, brow raised, and he thought he also saw her speculatively mouth “Rumple?”

“I believe she would like your presence for tea,” Rumple said in resignation. He knew the girl to be safe enough provided it wasn’t Wolfstime, and he didn’t think she could learn anything about him in Belle’s company that her friends didn’t already know from invading the castle constantly with all their complaining. Charming had even seen Belle, so she was no secret either.

“That…that’s your price? You want me to come over for tea?”

Belle nodded excitedly. “Next Tuesday?”

Red sighed and shrugged. “Well, alright. I’ll see you Tuesday then. What about him?” Nottingham was still desperately trying to escape his chains.

“What do you think?” Rumple asked, resting his hands on Belle’s shoulders again.

“I was going to suggest a snail,” Belle said, smirking again, and Nottingham doubled his efforts to escape. “But I think Red here has more reason to be angry than us. What say we let her deal with him?”

“Excellent idea. And it’s even Wolfstime, still. Dearie?”

“Sounds good to me,” Red said, beginning to remove her cloak.

“We should give him a running chance, though,” Belle said.

“I agree,” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand and Notthingham’s chains vanished. Before the smoke had even cleared Nottingham was on his feet and running, soon following by a massive Wolf.

“She seemed nice,” Belle said once the pair had gone, and they turned back for the castle.

“Yes, if you had to make a new friend and invite her to my castle, I suppose it may as well be her.”

 When they returned to their picnic, Rumplestiltskin was in a better mood than he thought he’d ever been. The game with Nottingham has been most enjoyable, more so since it had been sweet little Belle’s idea.

“What next?” he asked her after they’d eaten their sandwiches. “It’s your turn.”

Belle looked out at the glistening lake, and turned back to him with another of those mischievous smirks that he was quickly finding that he was quite weak for.

“Let’s go swimming!” she declared.

“Uh…all right,” he said, feeling like this was probably not a good idea considering the mood she was in. “You go, I’ll…uh…watch.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, shaking her head. “Swimming was part of the wish and I said we so you have to come too!”

Rumplestiltskin grumbled but didn’t really put up much of a fight as she grabbed his hand and led him to the lake.

“Surely you’re not going to swim in that?” he asked her, pointing to her dress. “You’ll drown.”

“Of course not,” she said, and as long as Rumple had been alive, and as long as he’d had the gift of Sight, he’d thought he’d reached the point where he couldn’t really be shocked anymore. He was wrong.

“What are you doing?!” he exclaimed, turning away from the preposterous woman as she stripped off her clothes.

“Going swimming,” she said. “How did you expect me to swim? It’s not like they make clothes special for swimming.”

“They should,” he muttered, wondering if he could quickly invent something. He heard more swishes of cloth and…surely she was keeping on her shift…wasn’t she?!

He heard a bit more movement, and then a splash, but he still kept his eyes locked firmly at a squirrel in a nearby tree.

“You can look now!” she called, humor plain in her voice. “Funny, I didn’t think the Dark One could blush!”

“I’m not blushing!” he snapped, turning to look at her and seeing her shoulders bare above the water. He looked down, and sure enough…there was her shift.

He busied himself gathering her clothes up off the ground to hide the fact his face was hot, and Gods, how old was he again?! Like he’d never seen a naked woman before! And one naked woman was no different than any other naked woman. Or so he kept telling himself.

“Aren’t you coming?” she called.

“Oh no,” he said, slowly hanging her dress on a branch. “It’s your birthday, I’d hate to traumatize you by removing my clothes.”

“I won’t look,” Belle said, and he could tell she wasn’t convinced by his dismissive tone. “Or, you could swim in your clothes. I would never ask you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

But she was comfortable removing her clothes before him? What a strange girl. Well, now he felt challenged, and he didn’t like that one bit.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Turn away.”

He looked at her only to see that she was turned dutifully away, and had her eyes covered with her hands for good measure. Was he seriously about to do this? She’d told him he could wear clothes, which released him from the deal that compelled him to do as she wished, but he knew she wanted him to play, and this was her chosen game. He didn’t think she meant anything suggestive about any of it. How could she? So he took a deep breath and vanished away his clothes, wading into the water – keeping a safe distance from her, and telling her it was safe to turn around once the water covered his shoulders.

Belle turned around, but her eyes were still closed. Good.

“Jack!” she called.

“Jack?” Rumple echoed. “Are you expecting someone else?”

Belle giggled. “No, silly! I say Jack, you say Jill. Haven’t you ever played?”

He shrugged, but her eyes were still closed, so he said, “No…”

“It’s a game! I say Jack, and you have to say Jill in answer. We keep that up until I tag you. Jack!”

“This is absurd.”

She moved toward him, arms outstretched and eyes firmly closed. “Well, I suppose you can say whatever, so long as I can hear you, but you have to try and get away. Jack!”

“No problem there,” he said, quickly swimming just out of her reach.

“Jack! And no poofing away!”

He had been just about to do that very thing, and grumbled in response. “You’re no fun.”

“And you’re a cheater. Jack!”

“Jill,” he gave in and said at last, just narrowly moving away from her questing fingers.

He kept backing away, staying just out of reach, but careful not to move the water too much after the first time nearly gave him a glimpse of something he had no business looking at.

“Jack!” she squealed, diving for him.

“Jill,” he responded, effortlessly moving away another step until he found his back pressed against a boulder, with no easy way of escape that wouldn’t take her right past him.

“Jack,” she said, unintentionally moving closer to him, and frowning when he didn’t answer. “You can’t stay quiet, Rumple. That’s against the rules.”

“Jill,” he said, and she jumped at the nearness of his voice and spun around, her hands landing on his chest.

“Got you!” she exclaimed, opening her eyes, then stilled.

He was still too, feeling his brain begin to short out at the nearness of her unclothed body and eyes just as blue as the water around them. He wanted to push her away, needed to, but couldn’t get his limbs to obey. And she…foolish girl she was…wasn’t moving away either. What was wrong with her? How could she not want to get her hands off his repulsive skin immediately? And why was she looking at him like that?!

Instead of moving away, she moved closer, and he could feel her breasts against him and oh…oh no…this was bad. Very bad. If she got any closer she’d feel something he knew would scare her off for good.

She was using the leverage of her hands on his shoulders to pull herself slightly up, and he squeezed his eyes shut before he could see anything, attempting a weak, “My turn. Jack.”

He’d thought, hoped, she would squeal and run away then, though how he’d be able to play her game a reach for her naked body with his eyes closed he had no clue, but she still wasn’t leaving.

“Jill,” she whispered, and he could feel her breath on his face.

He had to do something, had to before something happened he wouldn’t have the strength to stop. Something she could only regret.

When her thigh brushed against where he was hard and heavy, he just knew that’d be it. Surely that would be too much for her. Maybe she was too naïve to know what that meant? Oh please don’t let her ask him about it.

But she didn’t ask, she didn’t flee, she didn’t do anything that was right or predictable. No, instead, her lips touched his, and if he was capable of having a heart attack, he knew he’d be having one.

“W…what are you doing?” he asked, opening his eyes at last.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, and how could she look so innocent and so beguiling at the same time with her wet hair dripping into her face and her skin prickled with gooseflesh.

He wanted to say yes. Needed to say yes. This was bad. Very bad. He’d been trying to free her, damn him! This was the opposite of freeing! This was binding her more firmly to him than anything before. She couldn’t even know what she was offering. She probably only wanted kisses to satiate her curiosity, and he was the only one around available to give them. She couldn’t know what his body was demanding he take from her. He thought the demons in his head would be howling for her now if they hadn’t suddenly gone strangely silent the moment she kissed him.

“Belle, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he croaked.

Her eyes flashed dangerously then, and he howled all on his own when her little hand wrapped around him, squeezing tightly.

“I’m a virgin, but not a blushing one,” she said, beginning to stroke him clumsily but with determination. “I’ve gotten my hands on all sorts of books, Rumplestiltskin. And I’ve quite the imagination, as well. I know you want me, this tells me that,” she gave him another squeeze and he groaned, capitulating with frightening swiftness. “But maybe your mind or your heart don’t,” she let him go then, and instead of being relieved he whimpered pathetically. “And if that’s the case, give me the word, and I’ll stop.”

Gods…he was stuck. He couldn’t lie to her, and he couldn’t hide his feelings. Not even for her own sake. “I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But I’m afraid this isn’t what you really want. I’m afraid you’ll regret it. You probably will, when I don’t suddenly become the type of man you must want.”

“What I want, Rumplestiltskin, is you,” she said, looping her arms around his neck. “I know who and what you are, and I’m not afraid of you. If you truly wish to stop…for whatever reason, we’ll stop. I know the deal is making it so you can’t hide from me. I don’t want this if you’re feeling compelled in any way.”

“I’m not,” he whispered, feeling every carefully built defense start to crumble.

“Then what do you want, Rumplestiltskin?”

His mouth crashed against hers, swallowing up her startled gasp. Her legs wrapped of their own free will around his waist, and he grabbed a handful of her arse to hold her to him.

She may have been a virgin, but she was no stranger to kissing. That much he could tell. But he didn’t care. Suddenly he didn’t care about anything but the feel of her skin on his hands and the taste of her tongue in his mouth.

This was a bad idea. It could only end badly. But to hell with it. It was their birthday, after all.

He turned around so her back was against the rock, and lifted her up a little so he could pull back and take a look at the breasts he’d been trying to avoid seeing. She chuckled and arched her back, pushing them closer to his face, and well, what else could he do but kiss them?

“I didn’t plan this,” she whispered, breath coming in pants as he fastened his lips around a nipple. “I didn’t lure you in here for this.”

“Sure you didn’t,” he growled, switching to her other breast so he could nip it playfully. “You just took off all your clothes, bade me to do the same…”

“All right,” she laughed. “Maybe I had designs, but they were mostly wishful thinking.”

“Maybe this is what I wished for,” he said, kissing her lips again.

It caused an odd sensation, not just quieting the voices in his head but making him feel lighter somehow. He would have liked to ponder it, but Belle was moaning and writhing in his grasp and this was far more important.

He found a foothold in the stone and pushed them both up so that Belle was sitting on the rock, every inch of her bared to his view. Normally he would have been mortified that she could see him too, but strangely enough, he wasn’t. She was looking at a point on his face, tilting her head to one side.

“What is it?” he asked her, ready to release her and bolt the moment she decided he wasn’t to her liking.

“There’s something different about your skin.”

“Is it…bad?”

She shook her head, then smiled. “No, come here.”

He lifted himself further out of the water and pressed her back onto the boulder, kissing every inch of skin he could access in the process. Belle gasped and sighed as he moved down her body, licking and nipping, but then she tensed once he lowered until his head was between her thighs.

“What…” she began.

“I thought you read all sorts of books,” he teased. “Surely you’ve read something of this.”

“Well…yes…but…I didn’t think men actually wanted to…”

“If they don’t, they’re fools,” he said. “But tell me no, Belle, if it isn’t what you want,” he wanted to make sure she understood that she had the same power to stop that she gave him.

In lieu of answer, she whimpered and parted her legs farther for him.

If he’d still been unsure, the sight of her flushed and swollen already wet for him would have been enough to chase the rest of his doubts out of his head. He pressed a feather-light kiss to her first, to get her used to the touch, then applied more and more pressure until his mouth opened to take its first taste.

He’d done this enough times to know how to do it well, but never in his long life had he loved it as much as now. The taste, the feel, the way she whimpered and wriggled, it was the most glorious thing he’d ever experienced.

So wound up and responsive was she that it was a matter of moments before she was coming apart with a throaty cry that went straight to his cock.

“Rumple…” she cried, reached down for him.

Instead of climbing atop her, he pulled her back into the water with him, and she hissed at the cold on her heated skin.

“Rumple,” she repeated, eyes barely open more than a slit. “Want you.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I need you to say the words, Belle. I need you to be sure.”

“I want you,” she said more firmly. “I want you in me, please.”

Rumplestiltskin groaned, nearly unraveled by her words alone. He lifted her up, letting the weightlessness of the water keep him from moving too fast and hurting her. He entered her slowly…carefully…watching her for any sign of pain.

Her face scrunched up in discomfort, and he paused, but then her legs were tightening around him and she pushed herself downward, taking all of him.

His groan sounded foreign to his own ears, and he had to hold her tightly to keep her from moving and making this end far too soon for his taste. Once he felt a little more in control, he began to buck up into her, but he mostly let her set the pace, which quickly turned to more writhing than thrusting and honestly he wasn’t complaining.

She was incredible lost in passion as she was, and he couldn’t believe that he was able to bring her pleasure like this. With Milah he’d never been able to bring her to climax except with his fingers and mouth and with Cora…well…he later suspected her of a lot of faking.

He shook his head, banning those other women from his thoughts as he gloried in Belle. His Belle.

He was quickly nearing the precipice, but he was determined she should find her own release again before he found his, and he snaked his hand down between him to do just that.

When she threw back her head and howled, he howled with her, coming harder than he ever had in all his centuries of life.

For a long, long time, neither of them moved or spoke. He had his face buried in her hair as securely as hers was buried in his, and they held each other like that as they drifted in the water.

Eventually though, he felt her body begin to cool, and he gradually unwound himself from her.

“We should…” he forgot what he was going to say when her eyes rounded to saucers. “What? What is it?”

“Rumple…” she breathed. “Your skin…”

“What? Is it extra sparkly or something?”

“No…it’s…darling look.”

He was distracted momentarily by the endearment, but looked at his hand, astounded to find it weathered and tan, instead of green and scaly. “What…”

“What happened?” Belle asked. “Your hair and eyes are different too! I mean…they’re still lovely but…”

For a moment, Rumple panicked. The sudden silence of the voices in his head made sense. They’d somehow managed to actually break the Dark One’s curse! His instinct was to rage and cry, because without his curse, he was without power, and he needed power to reach his son…

But…he didn’t feel any less powerful. In fact, he felt more in control of that power than ever before.

Just to test it out, he transported them both out of the water, and they reappeared on their picnic blanket, fully dry and clothed.

“I still have magic,” he said awe.

“Were you afraid you wouldn’t?” Belle asked. “You looked pretty frightened there for a moment.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled, which soon turned into a full-throated laugh. Not a maniacal giggle, but a laugh like he hadn’t been capable of in a very long time. Belle’s eyes softened at the sound of it, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. “You broke it, Belle. You broke the curse.”

“I didn’t even know you were cursed!”

“I didn’t think the curse could be broken without stripping me of my power, but it has.”

Belle had looked a little unsure and tense, but soon relaxed into his embrace. “Why do you need it?”

He sighed. “I’ll tell you Belle, I’ll tell you everything. But what say we just finish enjoying your birthday?”

She seemed to be coming to terms with his appearance, and grinned. “Our birthday! Ready for cake?”

“Is this…okay?” he asked. He had to be sure. “I know I’m not very…impressive to look at,” just to make sure he could, he cast a glamour to turn himself back into the imp, and pitched his voice. “I can go about like this, if you prefer.”

She giggled and shook her head. “As much as I like you and your sparkly skin and silly ways, I think I’d quite like to get to know you the way you really are. Besides, your brown eyes are incredibly beautiful.”

Rumple let the glamour fade and knew now that he was truly blushing. No one had ever said that about his eyes before.

“How did the curse break, anyway?” Belle asked, leaning up to kiss him.

“Like that, I suppose,” he said. “True Loves Kiss breaks any curse, that’s all I know.”

Belle’s eyes widened again, and lit up like the sun. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

He hadn’t honestly meant to say it that way, but found to his own pleasure that it was indeed very true, and had been for a long time. “I love you, Belle.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and just when he thought she was going to kiss him again, his mouth was instead met with a piece of cake, which she smushed into his face for good measure. And now she was laughing maniacally.

“Hm, tasty,” he said, licking the frosting off his lips. “But I think it’d taste a lot better off of you.”

 They enjoyed the rest of their day cuddling and talking and learning what it’s like to be in love and know it.

When they finally went back to the castle, Rumple though that everything seemed brighter, prettier. But it was probably just because he was happy for the first time in longer than he could tell. They parted ways only briefly to prepare for bed, Rumple finding he was actually tired for once, but it seemed natural that they would go together to her bedroom.

When he laid with her in his arms, he felt so peaceful, yet so ready to complete his plan to find Baelfire. He would tell her the whole sordid story in the morning, and she would probably be unhappy about his methods, but he wasn’t afraid she would turn from him.

Well…not very afraid.

Just on the cusp of sleep Belle tapped his shoulder, asking if he was awake. He was completely awake in an instant, thinking (hoping) that perhaps she was ready for a round three.

But instead she was holding several strands of thread, all braided together. It wasn’t any of his gold thread, although it was golden in color, and he wondered if it came from her old ballgown.

I know it can’t possibly replace your necklace,” she said, tying it around his wrist. “But Happy Birthday, Rumple.”

Rumple stared at the bracelet for a long time, not even trying to hide his tears. Belle smiled and rolled over, backing into him so he knew that he was being requested to spoon her, which he promptly did.

In truth, he did remember his birthday. And it wasn’t for several more months. But he decided then and there that this was his new birthday from then on, because it was the day he became alive again after so long of feeling dead. There was still a piece missing, but he felt more hopeful and confident than ever that he…they would find Baelfire.

“Happy Birthday, Belle,” he whispered, and then for the first time in 200 years, Rumplestiltskin went to sleep.

[elanorjane]

California Soulmates [Complete]

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Epilogue AO3 link

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music and get out from under her father’s thumb. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him and get the hell out of L.A. When inspiration strikes, there’s only one problem…the songs they’re writing aren’t their own. They’re each other’s.

*“Telepathic soulmates” RCIJ for @beastlycheese

[boushh2187]

Ever After  (RCIJ Gift 2018)

Title: Ever After

Author: boushh2187

Fandom/Pairing: Once Upon a Time / Rumbelle

Word Count: 2018

Rated: G

Rumbelle Christmas in July 2018 - Gift for @youcanttellsomeonetoloveyou

Prompt: Rumple and Belle enjoy afterlife

Summary: Rumple and Belle’s happily ever after(life) comes with a surprise or two.

Author’s Notes: To my giftee @youcanttellsomeonetoloveyou I hope you like your gift. I enjoyed working on it! :)

He wouldn’t have believed that he’d succeeded except that she was in his arms once again.

“I knew you’d make it home.”

“Yes.”

She kissed him, and they were bathed in golden light. True love’s kiss, of course. They stood beside the well where they were reunited once before, and where they were once married.

“Now where do we go?” he asked Belle, as he looked at their surroundings. The well was there, but the forest was missing.

She placed her hands on either side of his face, and smiled broadly. “Anywhere we want.”

She took his hand and began to lead him away. “Come. Let me show you!”

And he followed. He would follow her anywhere.

As they moved away from the well, the mist began to grow thicker. For a moment, he thought she would pass through the mist and he’d lose her again, but she kept checking on him. She would flash him a radiant smile and tell him to keep up.

Soon the mist began to clear and the surroundings became somewhat familiar. He couldn’t place it at first, not until he saw the castle just a short walk away. It looked different. It was brighter in color, and the air around it felt more welcoming. The entire space it inhabited seemed to glow with a kind of positive energy. It was completely different from the depressing and violent version he had just left in the Wish Realm, and different to the Dark Castle he remembered in his past. It was as if the love that he and Belle had found there together had transformed it.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Belle asked him. He nodded in amazement. “Wait until you see the inside.”

The same transformation had taken place indoors. Anything that was once unpleasant was now changed, and what he remembered fondly remained the same. He looked around in amazement, and Belle walked slowly next to him, holding his hand all the while.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Great Room, where he once used to spin, and Belle used to sit and read to him. The long table where she would serve him dinner, and which she eventually shared, was there as well. And so was someone else.

Rumple could make out the figure of a man at the far end. He squinted. For some reason he couldn’t see him clearly at first. Then the man stood up, and Rumple’s vision cleared. “Bae?” The man smiled broadly at him. It was Balefire. His son.

His son made his way toward them, and Belle reached out to him as he neared. He took her hand. Rumple watched as he squeeze her hand. There was a familiarity to their exchange. He supposed they must have interacted in this life many times.

“I do still prefer, Neal,” he said. “But I’ll make an exception for you, Papa.” Neal winked at Belle, and grabbed his father’s shoulder and pulled him into an embrace.

It had been years since Rumple’s heart had felt this full. He held his son close, and he felt Belle gently hug them both.

That is how their eternity together began. Rumplestiltskin and Belle traveled wherever they wanted. No curses. No magic beans. They could take any method they wanted. They could leave Storybrooke in their black Cadillac and drive into any city they wanted, or any realm that they wanted. They could ride on horseback from the Enchanted Forest and straight into Storybrooke. They could take a hot air balloon from the Edge of Realms and arrive in Paris, France. Anything was possible.

Neal would visit them often. Usually he would visit when they were in one of their homes, enjoying the peace and happiness this new life had brought them. He would join them for dinner, or they would go sailing. And sometimes, if the timing was just right they would see their relatives that were still in the land of the living.

They would mostly see Henry and Lucy when Neal was with them. The first time it happened, they were enjoying a bottle of wine together by the fireplace in their Storybrooke home. Neal had cooked dinner for them, and they were relaxing after the meal. Someone mentioned Henry, and suddenly they were there with their family. The three of them were sitting next to Henry, as he and Ella watched Lucy open her Christmas presents.

The first time they saw Gideon was when they were having a picnic outside their home at the Edge of Realms.

Belle wore a floral sundress, a large brimmed hat, and sunglasses the she had brought from Storybrooke. Rumple was always amused at how they could mix and match things from their various travels and multiple residences. She was throwing a ball for Gideon’s childhood dog, Harry, to fetch. The dog had appeared soon after Rumple arrived to this new life. The dog followed them nearly everywhere. He watched as she tossed the ball and coaxed the dog back to her. The fluffy retriever didn’t need much encouragement, but she always called to him happily. He bounded back toward her and in his exuberance he knocked her over. Her hat fell back and she laughed as he stood over her and dropped the ball.

Rumple looked at her adoringly as she gently moved the dog over and sat back up. She caught his gaze and blushed. Rumple stood, picked up the ball and threw it far into the distance. Harry jetted off after it.

“Let me help you, sweetheart.” He offered her his hand, and she took it, standing up and straightening her dress as she did so. He must have still been gazing at her in adoration because she blushed again. “I don’t know how I still get flustered when you look at me like that,” she said, softly.

He pulled her close and smiled at her. “I think it’s because you must be able to read my thoughts,” he said, as he waggled his eyebrows. She slapped his arm, playfully.

He smiled and bent down to kiss her, and when they parted he couldn’t help but gaze at her again. How could he be so lucky to spend all of eternity with her? “Do you know…” he said, with a dramatic pause. Belle looked up at him curiously as he continued, “That you are the most breathtaking sight in all the realms?”

“Even when I’ve been playing with the dog all day?” she teased.

“Even when you were up all night with Gideon crying, or when he had you working on one of his messy, and occasionally explosive, experiments.”

“Even when Gideon and I had to give Harry that bath after that unfortunate meeting with a skunk?

“Even then,” Rumple said, playfull tapping her nose.

Belle laughed and put her head on his shoulder. Together they watched Harry running up towards them.

“Remember when Gideon finally decided on a name for his new puppy?”

Belle nodded and said, “He wanted to name him after a literary character, just like he was named after one. The three of us were reading through Harry Potter.”

“He loved those books,” Rumple said.

“And now, imagine him studying in a place as close to Hogwarts as he could get.”

They both laughed, and in that moment their surroundings changed.

There was Gideon, wearing graduation robes, and accepting an award as he graduated from the Elfame Academy. He was all smiles as he walked towards his classmates. They slapped his shoulders and congratulated him.

Rumple and Belle walked toward their son. They both reached out to touch him, even though they knew they could not. They followed him to the graduation celebration at the school. They both fought happy tears at the sight of him so successful and happy.

They stayed close and whispered in his ear, “We’re proud of you, son.”

They could only hope that he could somehow feel their presence and gain some kind of joy or comfort from it.

Many months later, Rumple walked into their bedroom in the castle to find Belle getting dressed in front of the mirror for their evening out. They’d spent the day relaxing on the castle grounds, after working on Belle’s favorite garden in the morning. This evening they were going to be traveling to New York to go to one of their favorite restaurants and to see a show. Rumple had left the choice up to Belle so it was going to be a surprise to him.

He walked up to her and helped her zip up her dress. “Any hint of where we might be going after dinner?” he asked her.

“To tell you the truth, I haven’t decided yet. You’ll know when I know,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. She seemed a bit distracted.

“Is something the matter?”

“No… not really. It’s just… Do you ever feel like our son is trying to reach out to us?”

Rumple had to admit that he did feel that way sometimes. He nodded, and rubbed her shoulders gently.

“I feel like I can hear him right now,”Belle said quietly and closed her eyes.

Rumple closed his eyes as well, and listened. He knew it would be a futile exercise, but did so anyway. Any chance to see or hear Gideon would be more than welcome.

“Mother. Father?”

Belle was startled, as was he. Could they really be hearing their son?

“Am I imagining that?” Belle asked, as she looked around.

Rumple turned towards the door. No one was there. Belle looked toward the dresser, and began to look behind it. She opened all of the drawers. “It’s coming from somewhere around here.”

“I hear it too,” Rumple said, as Gideon’s voice continued to call to them.

Then they saw it. The ornate handheld mirror lay face down on the dresser. It’s edges glowed with a faint golden light. Belle snatched it up, and they looked in the mirror together. Gideon’s face was there. He smiled at them.

“It worked!” he shouted. “It really worked!”

“Gideon?” Belle asked. “Is it really you?”

“Yes! I’ve been trying to reach you for ages!” Gideon said with a laugh.

Rumple stood behind Belle and looked at the mirror over her shoulder. “But how is this possible, son?”

“Magic!” Gideon said with a broad grin. “I’ve been researching so many enchantments, spells and potions, and I finally had a breakthrough.”

“Oh Gideon, we miss you so much. We see you sometimes. We know you are doing well,” Belle told him. Rumple could hear the emotion in her voice.

“Are you happy, Mother? Father?”

“Very happy,” they said in unison.

“Don’t worry about us, Gideon,” Rumple said. Live your life. Find your happiness.

“I am, Father! Now I can talk to you too. I can reach you through this mirror. The conditions have to be just right, but you’ll hear from me again. I’ll find Henry and Lucy one day too, and you can see them. Have you found Baelfire? I’m sure Henry would like to see his father.”

“Yes! We see him often.”

“If you could arrange that, it would be wonderful,” Belle told him.

“I have to go, Mother. We’ll have longer to talk next time, I promise.”

“We love you, Gideon!” Belle called out, as Gideon’s face faded from the mirror.

Belle and Rumple’s reflection replaced Gideon’s and they both sighed audibly.

“What a clever boy,” Belle said.

“Well he does take after you,” Rumple said, and she laughed. He put his arms around her waist and leaned his chin on her shoulder as they continued to look at their reflection.

“Now he has a way to contact us, and we can talk to our family. Wait until Neal hears about this.”

Rumple kissed her softly on the cheek. “Now we have something to celebrate in New York. Perhaps we should go dancing instead of the theater?” He twirled her around, and she smiled broadly at him.

“Let’s go!” she said, and took his arm. They were off to New York, via horse and buggy, and their afterlife together couldn’t be more perfect.

[thedarkcheessmaster]

Infinite realms, similar, yet completely different

Note almost unrelated to the fic: Have you ever get too late to a party that even the after party cleanning is already done?

My gift for @notalwayslate for the Rumbelle Christmas In July 2018.

Prompt: One last time, he whispered

Read on AO3

Rumple

Rumplestiltskin cried thinking of all those times when he made ridiculous plans to do something evil and it never went well. Every time he tried to do something shady it somehow backfired spectacularly. It seemed that not been able to complete the cast of the dark course had created some sort of karma now his plan, the darkest plan ever planned by the dark one would work.

Unless he did the unthinkable, unless he paid the ultimate price to save everyone… he had known the moment he discovered the plan of the dark one that the only one who could stop him would be him. But at his core, he was what he had always been, a coward…

His tears are bitter, and he knows that if he does this he would never see her again, he has failed her again. He can’t do this; he needs her comfort and love, her faith on him. He doesn’t deserve her but he needs her. He needs to see her face, to hear her voice, once more.

He feels drained and empty. As he sees in the dream catcher his memories of the wedding, how beautiful, how utterly perfect she looked, he cries for the time he wasted with her, for the time he could have been happy and was wasted.

He thinks in the words he heard of unknown source, infinite combinations… he heard it somewhere, somehow, he is not sure, was it Henry? Or has his Belle who told him? Maybe it was Gideon in one of his breaks from the academy. He is not sure about it but he remembers some words:

Infinite realms, similar, yet completely different. Like this “Whish Realm” that have turned oh so real, where the curse was never casted. One universe where we exist, one where we don’t. Infinite alternatives.

He sees the dream catcher and an idea comes to him. Those universes connected by the tiniest of threads, but connected nonetheless. He should be able to call them, it could take more magic that he is comfortable with but he has nothing to lose at this point.

He tries to call them, this alternatives, to his dream catcher, those other times he met her and tries to see happiness even if is only a little.

He knows he would do whatever it takes to stop this man, this beast that represents the worst of him, the man he tried to forget he was and the man he could have become without belle, without the memories of her love and her kisses, and he would never saw her again so he want the memory of her smile to give him strength because that’s what she is, his strength.

It’s working, he could feel it, the images are coming…

Tess

She needed to get pregnant or all of this would have been for nothing, Nassedo was dead and now all the responsibility to carry their plan to fruition was in her shoulders. It had been so difficult! Zan, her beloved Zan was in love with a human girl uhgg, that stupid Liz!

But she had been working, time and charms would get her the prize, after all for all that she loved Zan, he didn’t need to love her back to get her pregnant. She just needed one night, or day, one night when his defenses were low enough so feelings from his previous life would resurface and she would be there to comfort her and show him her undying love.

She needed one opportunity and she needed to do everything right when the opportunity present because she was under no illusions that she was going to have more than one try.

That was the reason she was here in this horrible city instead of Roswell, another horrible city in this backward planet, with Zan, looking for the only creature that would help her to fertile the moment when she and Zan got together.

She heard the sounds getting closer and closer, a childish laugh that crossed her back and gave her goosebumps.

-Oh, oh. What do we have here?

A reptilian, one of the last survivors of an ancient race now almost extinct, famous for their knowledge… and their deals. It was rumored they could give you whatever your heart desired… for a price.  

Tess stilled herself. She had come to this point and she wasn’t going to go back to Roswell without the means to complete her plan.

-I have come to make a deal.

The image was cut abruptly, the reminder of the other him, the dark one, completely unwelcome. Even if the images make him remember his first encounter with his beautiful Belle. No, this wasn’t what he wanted to see; he wanted to see something else, something better. He concentrated in his wish calling the visions of the times he wanted to see…

Hierophant

It was official. There was a new serial killer in the Heights.

After the roller-coaster that was the investigation about the candy killer almost two years ago Weaver was thinking he would have a little peace and his life would go back to normal after hearings, testifying in court and an endless pile of late reports to catch up. And now he had a new serial killer case in his hands.

Worst was that he didn’t think this was going to be over anytime soon. There was little evidence to go by, the last three months or so there had been six murders, all had been men; some had faced charges of sexual assault. All murdered in the same area in the same way.

Some officers believed it was a woman, Weaver had his doubts, while a woman would fit in the profile, she would have to be quite skilled to get the job done, and while Weaver didn’t want to be sexist but there were more probability it was a man, the father, brother of even the partner of some rape victim if someone asked him, and he decided to answer, which he didn’t think was bloody likely. After all it was best to keep things close to the vest in ongoing investigations and the press would likely distort anything he said.

What Weaver didn’t understand was why so many people praised their efforts, saying that they were cleaning the streets of the scum the police ignored.

But a murder was a murder and also a crime and his job, whether the people believed he was dedicated to it or not, was to purse and arrest criminals.

He had to question the shop keeper of one of the stores nearest to the site of the crime, a small flower shop, with an even smaller shop keeper, not that Weaver had much moral height to make jokes about short people. But the woman was petite, with luscious blonde curls and an easy smile. She had been sad about not been of much help to the police but the day before the store had been close and she hadn’t witness anything. She had been just a little coquettish and in the end Weaver left the flower shop with a little paper with her phone number, in case he needed to question her further, of course.

Without knowing it, Weaver had just met the hierophant killer.

- One last time ­-he whispered sounding hoarse even for his ears, the sound was defeating, and the stories seemed to not have a happy ending, was that their destiny? To know each other but never be truly happy with each other. No, he needed to see something, to recover the hope that somewhere, somehow, he and Belle where happy, safe and sound.

-Just one more time…-He could feel the magic accepting to his wishes, looking for an image of hope and happiness.

Claire

How much time the ETM were supposed to take to arrive? The lady was having that baby RIGHT NOW! And they need a doctor. They been him, Det. Weaver, and the pregnant lady. She for obvious reasons, and Weaver so they could check out his hand, he was sure the lady (most like a girl she was too fucking young to be having a child of her own)  had already broken one or two bones by holding his hand so freaking tight.

Tears were silently falling from her eyes, and her teeth were pressed together trying to withstand the pain the contractions must be causing her. Weaver has sort of an informal expert in pain and none of the things he had braved seemed to hurt as much as she was hurting right now. And he had been shot once! But all of that would be worth it if the girl delivered the baby safe and sound. But for that they needed the fucking ETM! Why were they taking so long?

Funny thing was that even though the ETM came the lady refused to liberate his hand and he ended accompanying her thought the birthing of her baby, who was a little boy, healthy and rosy pink.

After the ETM had checked out his hand and assured him there was nothing wrong with it, he noticed the new mother waving at him and asking him to come to her.

They talked a little bit, she thanking him for his help and apologizing to him for crushing his hand, Weaver dismissed her concerns, telling her it was part of his duties as a detective.

-And may I know the name of my savior? -She asked smiling. Weaver was still a little dazzled from the whole experience that he didn’t notice to obvious sinister intentions behind her questioning.

-Weaver, Aaron Weaver, -In that moment his reasoning came back and he understood her evil plans- No, no way. Don’t even think about it.

Her smile was proof enough to fundament his fears.

That moment he decided that Roger should never learn about this, the Boy Scout would never let him leave this down.

At the end the snap shot of him with Claire and little Aaron, cut from a newspaper, graced his desk at the station.

He smiled, he had missed the birth of his sons, but that moment was, as Belle would say, a new beginning. He thought of Gideon, and the sadness his passing would cause him, but there was no going back, this was to save him, to save everyone of the corrupted version of himself. He would be okay; at the end everyone would be okay.

Rush & Gideon

For Gideon this is unexpected. After going to the Wish Realm to retrieve the body of his father, he had decided to put him to rest in the same place as his mom, in the rose garden by their home in the Edge of the Realms. After that he had to take care of the house, and some other properties his father still owned.

It had been Alice, a nice girl that reminded him a little of his mother, and he could see why his father had been fond of her, she must have been like the daughter his parents never had, that told him about the apartment his father was given by the course in Hyperon Heights, and about the many objects of sentimental value that could still be there.

He opted for going alone, at list this first time, to be there for the first time, with the belongs of the man his father was cursed to be.

Something must have been wrong with the magic bean, because he hadn’t ended in Hyperon Heights, as planned, but in a big room, with many people and a man that looked so much like his father but wasn’t his father. There was no recognition when Gideon called to him and he had thought this a dream, a strange dream, brought by the pain, but he had fainted before he could do something more and had woken up to the most interesting reality.

He was questioned by a mild mannered man in front of a lot of people, who keep asking about a gate, which gate he wasn’t sure, maybe the portal he had used, maybe not.

It had taken him a while to understand; apparently he was on a ship in space, in space of all things! With a man that looked and sounded like his father but wasn’t his father.

But maybe he is, because the second time he met Rush, the man that looks like his father, after his so embarrassing little unplanned nap, in his confusion and amaze he had dropped his things and the travel book his mother so loving filled with photos of their travels, fell to the floor, and one photo, not glued well enough came lose, and him, Rush picked it up.

It was a favorite of his father, the one where he is a baby and his mother looks slightly annoyed and it’s a little blurry. His mother hated the photo, but papa had always loved it. And Gideon thought it was funny.

He examined the photo for some moments before giving it back, and rushing out of the room, his eyes looking the tiniest bit wet.

So Gideon still guards hope in his heart because he understand what this means, that his father is still alive somehow in this doppelgangers of his. Because he must have recognized his mother and he cried because he is separated from her and looking madly for a way back to her. Maybe there are dozens or hundreds of other doppelgangers in other universes, and times and places where his father is still alive and happy somewhere, with his mother, his brother and him.

The pain of his father’s passing, still fresh, became a little less sharp after this discovering. Because maybe, and just maybe, happy beginnings never end.

[wierdogal]

221B Avonlea Street [RCIJ Gift]

Dear @annagingil

I am deeply honored to be your RCIJ this 2018. I hope I did justice to your wonderful prompt. I couldn't decide between the two ideas so I just wrote them both.

First up, Victorian England and Detective Holes and Dr. Gold work together to bring down the Napoleon of Crime.

Summary: Isobel Holmes was bored without any new cases and the rule implemented by her sister that she not pursue any more cases regarding Professor Malcolm's criminal activities. That all changes though as she received a letter signed only with 'G'.

On AO3

[evilsnowswan]

Finished my RCIJ fic. Anyone free to beta an untitled thing just under 4k? Light angst with a happy ending.

[winters-summer-santa]

@winterswanderlust I have almost 5,000 words of your fic written, so we’re getting somewhere!  My elves have been instructed to send you a snippet, and this is the one they chose

At just after four-thirty in the afternoon, it was already growing dark, the thick clouds adding to the sense of approaching night.  Rain was drumming against the sidewalk by the time Belle scurried past Granny’s, and she shot the diner a furtive glance, its cheerful, warm light tempting her to duck inside and wait out the downpour.  After a week in this town, however, she was well aware that the rain was probably only just getting started, and from the directions Ms Gale had given her, Mr Gold’s shop was not far.  She pushed her chin down into her collar, hunching her shoulders, and quickened her pace, feeling a wave of relief go through her as she spotted the lit sign hanging outside her destination.  Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer.

The shop was faced with sea-green clapboard, and she grasped at the rain-spattered door handle, pushing open the door.  A bell above tinkled merrily as she ducked inside, and she quickly shut the door behind her to keep out the rain.  She shook the water from her palm, instinctively wiping it against her coat as she looked around.  The shop was quiet and seemingly empty, its floor laid with shining dark wood.  It smelt of beeswax and very faintly of the musty scent of old books.  A counter was in front of her, with an ancient cash register placed to one side of it.  Paintings in a myriad of sizes were hung on the wall behind in ornate gold-painted frames: landscapes and bowls of fruit and people in clothes that were two centuries old or more.  Clocks ticked in a low, comforting rhythm, and lamps with shades of colored glass and painted silk sat in sconces on the walls, sending out a yellowish light that gave the place an air of something out of its time, pulled from the nineteenth century into modern day America, a tiny capsule of the past frozen in the present.  The shelves of the shop held a myriad of objects: porcelain figurines and glittering glass vases, ancient toys in scuffed cardboard boxes, old books and silver plate.  Glass counters stood in front of the shelves, shining warm light onto the treasures within, tea sets and trinkets, necklaces and netsuke, jade and jewellery.

“May I help you?”

Belle jumped, her head turning towards the back of the shop.  A man had appeared, standing in front of a thick, patterned curtain, his hands folded over a gold-handled cane with a dark, gleaming shaft.  He was short and slight, dressed in a slim-fitting dark suit that had to have been made for him.  It was a three piece, the waistcoat over a silk shirt the color of rich claret, the tie a lustrous black.  His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a long nose, framed by soft sweeps of brown hair just starting to turn silver at the temples.  Dark eyes ran over her before snapping back up to meet hers, and she was suddenly very aware that her hair was plastered to her head and rainwater was dripping from her coat in a steady stream to pool on the floor around her.

“Are you Mr Gold?” she asked, and his mouth lifted at one corner.

“Well, it is my shop.”

[imgilmoregirl]

Well hello there, Dearie! *taps fingertips and smirks* Santa is delighted to meet you and will go digging through your blog soon! (Santa had to work or you'd have heard from Santa sooner, but I'm here now!) Santa has been drooling over your prompt and hatching plots! Such as: Evil!Belle should impregnate Rumple and leave him tied up in the dungeon of the Dark Castle. Right? In all seriousness, do you have a specific plot bunny in mind? Also, any squicks I should know about? More soon!

Hey, Santa, good to hear from you! Can’t wait to find out who you are! Oh, that plot made me laugh. I don’t think I had any specific scenario in my mind when I created that prompt, I’m not creative for prompts at all so I just put together the things I most like to read/write. All I definitely want if angst, because I’m a sucker for that and I’ve been reading all the heart-wrecking fics lately.

I don’t think there is nothing I wouldn’t read… My ao3 history has all kinds of stuff. So well, I’m eager to see what you’ll come up with.

[evilsnowswan]

Omg, this was all kinds of PERFECT. Exactly what I imagined the prompt to be. DarkCastle!smut is the best. I love how the story has hot smut, but is super emotional and sensual at the same time! Now I’m stuck with the vivid mental image of a clay bowl of beautiful strawberries. :D

I love how he’s all woobie and she’s the one pulling the real strings and taking fate in her own hands. And he’s making her dresses - of course he is. He’s so thoughtful and gentle - and it shows in his actions, the small gifts, and him always checking in with her first to make sure she’s okay.

Your writing is amazing, so much tension and emotion at the same time.

“Time seems to stop, to stretch, as he watches her mouth close around the treat. Her eyes are on him until the moment her teeth breach the fruit and its flavor floods her mouth. She closes her eyes and moans happily, smiling as she pulls back. It’s all he can do to remain upright as thoughts of falling to his knees and using his own mouth to make her make that same sound over and over again.”

*fans self* time for a cold shower. XD

“The noise he makes when she kisses him is one that Rumplestiltskin will deny to his grave.” —- hahaha, of course he would! Perfect.

“His eyes darken, and she feels that tension again, a string taut between them that she could break if only she was brave enough.” —- Glad she finally did!

Thank you so much for writing this for me. It’s awesome and the aesthetics are gorgeous and so so sensual. <3

I’m sorry it took me a week to comment, I just came back from a trip and lacked the time and brainpower to read until now. The heat is killing my braincells one by one, painfully and slowly. xDD

Dang, now I want strawberries!

Lover of the Light  |  an RCIJ Gift for @evilsnowswan

[AO3]

It starts with a bowl of strawberries.

Belle stops and stares, dusting rag in her hand, her head tilted in curiosity. They sit in a clay bowl, their bright, shiny red skins taunting her with their sweetness, the dark green tops and short stems firm yet supple between her fingers. Late morning sunlight streams in through the windows, making the tiny seeds on the surface of the berries glisten.

She licks her lips and drops the rag, reaching out to skim her fingers along the smooth rim of the bowl.

Weiterlesen

[emospritelet]

Back in Business - Chapter 2/3

Part 2 of my RCIJ gift for @winterswanderlust

Rating: whole fic E, this chapter T

Word count: whole fic 20,067, this chapter 7,763

[Chapter 1]

AO3 link

The storm had passed by the time the next morning dawned, but the skies were still grey and dull, and the air had grown colder. Snow was coming, according to the too-cheerful weatherman on the local news, and Belle shuddered as she ate toast and peanut butter. She felt good, though. There was a spring in her step and a flutter of excitement in her belly at the thought of getting one step closer to opening her very own library. Assuming the Mayor would agree, of course, but now that she had Mr Gold’s permission to use the building, she hoped that would be forthcoming.

Ms Gale looked surprised when Belle told her the news, but smiled warmly.

“I can’t believe he agreed,” she said. “You’re not the first to try, but you’re certainly the first to succeed. Did you like - agree to give him your first born, or something?”

“Nothing that drastic,” said Belle, with a grin. “He definitely wasn’t keen on the idea, but I managed to talk him around. Maybe I played on his sense of community spirit.”

“If he has one, that’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Ms Gale dryly. “Still, I guess the ‘why’ isn’t important. I’ll get this before Mayor Mills today. If we’re lucky, she could make an initial decision without waiting for the Council meeting. It’s not a huge expense, after all.”

“I - did want to get some funds to buy more books, though,” said Belle, and Ms Gale nodded.

“Yeah, that part might have to wait until the Council meeting, but at least if you get her agreement you can start getting the place ready, right?”

Belle beamed at her, feeling confident.

“Right.”

Belle had to wait most of the day to hear the Mayor’s decision, and the waiting was torture. She helped her father in the shop to take her mind off things, setting up the racks of aluminium shelving he had bought, making up bunches of bright flowers for sale, and watering and feeding the plants that he was growing. It was after four when Ms Gale called to tell her that her proposal had been approved and that she would hold the position of librarian, starting the following Monday. After thanking her politely, putting down the phone and letting out the squeal of excitement she had been desperately holding in, Belle bounced on her toes, glancing around and snatching up her bag before bolting out to head over to Mr Gold’s shop to give him the news.

She entered the pawn shop at a rush, the little bell tinkling above her as she stepped inside. Mr Gold was standing behind the counter, hands poised on the tips of his fingers, as though he had been waiting for her. His suit jacket was off, and she noticed that gold sleeve garters had pushed up the sleeves of his blue silk shirt. A gold chain hung from one of the buttons of his waistcoat and looped down before disappearing into the pocket, and she suspected that it was attached to a watch. Because of course it would be. For a brief moment she entertained the fantasy that he was a time-traveller, a man from the nineteen-hundreds, trapped in the present day and trying to preserve of much of his old existence as he could. The thought made her want to giggle. He had a tiny smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Miss French,” he said pleasantly. “From the absurdly cheerful look on your face I take it the Mayor has agreed to your proposal?”

“Yes!” said Belle, a little breathlessly. “At least - she’s agreed to pay my salary. I haven’t had a decision on whether she’ll give me any funds to restock yet.”

“In that case, it seems congratulations are in order.” He reached to the side, opening up a drawer and holding out a key with a round tag. “Here. I believe this belongs to you.”

She stepped forward, holding out her hand, and he placed the key in her palm. She turned the tab over with her thumb. Library was written on it in a thin, slanting script. A wide grin spread across her face, and she met his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“The pleasure was all mine."

He was watching her intently, and she could feel herself blushing. She wondered whether he found her as attractive as she found him. Perhaps he had thought about her when he lay in bed the previous night, wondering how it would feel to kiss her, to touch her. To pull her by the hand into that back room and lay her down on the bench, and—

“Was there something else, Miss French?”

His voice made her jump, pulling her out of her brief daydream, and her blush deepened.

“Oh!  Oh, yes…” She reached into her bag for the shawl he had lent her, holding it out to him. “Thank you for this.”

“Ah. And I have your coat.”

He turned and pushed the curtain aside, emerging moments later with her coat in his hand, now dry. Belle took it from him with a nod, and he folded his hands over the cane, flicking back his hair.

“Will you be exploring your new dominion, then?” he asked.

“I’ll be cleaning it,” she said, a little ruefully. “Lot of dust on everything.”

“I could always get one of my teams in to do that, you know.”

“You have - teams?” she said neutrally.

“I have people I employ to take care of the more unpleasant aspects of my businesses, yes.”

His voice was soft, almost a caress, but the way he phrased the sentence made him sound as though he ran an organised crime network, and for the first time Belle understood why the rest of the townsfolk seemed leery of him. There was an air of menace about him, steel beneath the silk. She wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t feel that he meant her any ill will, but she could still sense it. A darkness swirling within the seething intensity that he seemed to keep a tight grip on. Passion and rage, buried deep and almost forgotten until he let it burst forth. She wondered how spectacular it was when he lost his temper, and decided that she probably didn’t want to find out.

“That - that won’t be necessary, thank you,” she said. “I’d quite like to go through everything. It’ll feel more like my place then, you know?”

“As you wish.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” she added. “I’ll look over the apartment as well, see what needs doing.”

“Let me know if there’s anything that requires the services of a tradesman,” he said. “I keep the place as well-maintained as I can, but I daresay they may be some small repairs to be made that I’ve overlooked. I can get someone out to fix them straight away.”

“Another one of your ‘team’?” she asked, amused.

Mr Gold showed his teeth.

“Precisely.”

“Can I paint the walls?” she asked suddenly, and he inclined his head.

“Of course.”

“Great.” She clutched the key in her hand. “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll get out of your hair. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “I look forward to seeing what you do with the place.”

Belle grinned, but shifted from foot to foot, feeling a little awkward.

“You want to ask me a question,” he said, and she nodded.

“You - you didn’t want to open it, did you?” she said.

Mr Gold eyed her steadily.

“No.”

“Ms Gale at the Town Hall told me that you turned down like six offers, or something.”

“Seventeen in total,” he said, “although I suspect most of them were before her time.”

“So…” Belle floundered a little. “So - I guess I’m wondering why you decided to say yes to me.”

He hesitated for a moment, and shrugged.

“Because you reminded me that the world turns and time moves on, and that perhaps it was time to move with it,” he said. “That perhaps it doesn’t help to hold onto the past.”

“Right.”  She didn’t understand what he meant, but she supposed it didn’t matter. “Well - I guess I’ll see you around.”

He smiled, a brief twist of his mouth.

“Good day, Miss French.”

She started early the next morning. Her father had gone to the shop, and she spent a little time collecting together a plastic bucket, all the cleaning materials she thought she’d need and a thick roll of garbage bags. The weather had grown colder, flecks of snow just starting to fall, and she shivered as she locked the house, hurrying into town as quickly as she could.

When she reached the library she dug into her pocket for the key that Mr Gold had given her and unlocked the doors. They opened with a faint squeak, and she pushed them wide, feeling a surge of pride as she entered the library: her library. She set down her bucket of cleaning materials and flicked on the lights, a broad smile spreading across her face as she watched the light gleam faintly on the dust-strewn wooden floor and cast shadows amongst the stacks of books. Her eyes turned towards the circulation desk, and she blinked. On top of the desk sat a large bunch of sunflowers, yellow bursts of colour bright against the dark wood, the blooms wrapped in purple paper and tied with gold ribbon. Belle stepped forward, reaching for the bundle of flowers, fingers stroking the velvet petals. She looked in vain for a card, but had a suspicion where the sunflowers had come from. There was only one other person who had a key to the library, after all. And who knew about her favourite flowers.

She didn’t have a vase, and so she had to make do with a beer glass from the caretaker’s apartment, filled with water. The apartment was small, but looked as though it could be comfortable once it was thoroughly cleaned and the furniture replaced with something new. Not that she was thinking of leaving her father’s place that day, but it made sense to plan ahead. She wanted her independence, after all, and she suspected that rental prices in Storybrooke were somewhat lower than in Melbourne, where she had had no choice but to stay with her father. It had made dating almost impossible. Not that she was thinking about that either, of course. Not much, anyway.

She wrapped the glass with the purple paper, tying it securely with the gold ribbon, and placed the bunch of sunflowers back on the desk, smiling at their cheerful colours. Time to clean the place up.

By the end of the day she was exhausted, aching from head to toe and covered in grime, but the library and apartment were free from dust and empty of anything that was outdated, broken or too dirty to clean. Belle had seen more spiders than she was comfortable with, but they had scuttled out of her way through cracks in the floorboards and under the skirting, and as far as she was concerned they could stay there. Closing the last empty drawer of the circulation desk, she ran a tired hand over her face, grimacing as it came away smeared with dark grey. She badly needed to shower. She skirted the desk, taking a pile of books that she had already marked for removal and stacking them in a cardboard box. Turning, she caught a glimpse of the bunch of sunflowers out of the corner of her eye. She should thank Mr Gold for sending them. Just as soon as she was clean and looking less like a dust-covered goblin, anyway.

“The place is looking brighter by your presence already.”

His voice, unexpected in the silence, made her jump with a squeak of surprise, and she turned around, heart thumping, to see him standing just inside the door, leaning on his cane.

“Don’t you knock?” she said, aggrieved, and Mr Gold looked around himself, as though her question confused him.

“This is a public space now, is it not?”

“I - yes, of course,” said Belle, feeling awkward. “Sorry, I just - you startled me.”

She was well aware that she was dirty, covered in dust and cobwebs and sticky with sweat, and he was immaculate in his suit. His shirt was deep pink today, and it suited him, the colour warming his skin. He took a step forward.

“I just thought I’d see how you were getting along,” he said. “I see you’ve removed most of the things from the apartment. I can have someone collect and dispose of them.”

“Oh, would you?” She felt herself almost sag in relief. “Thank you! I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it all.”

“No matter.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you thinking of living there? I could procure some furniture for you, if so.”

“Yeah, now I’ve looked at the place, I think I’d like to,” she said. “I love my dad, don’t get me wrong, but I really need my own place.”

“One’s privacy is something to be treasured,” he agreed.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you live alone?”

“With only my own thoughts for company,” he confirmed, with the ghost of a smile. “Not always the most pleasant of roommates.”

“I get that,” she said quietly. “Maybe you should get a cat, or something.”

Mr Gold grinned at that, and took a step towards the stacks, running his eyes over them.

“You’ve removed some of the books, I see.”

“Only the ones that were too damaged, or reference books too out of date,” she said. “I want this to be a useful resource, after all, and it can’t be if people are reading the wrong information.”

“Very true,” he said. “I’d hate to have to chastise you over inaccurate reference texts, after all.”

Her brain took the not unwelcome mental image of what form such chastisement could take, filing it away for later use, and she raised her chin before she could start blushing.

“I’m guessing you’d be all over my history section, am I right?” she asked dryly.

“Well, it’s important to learn from the past,” he said. “I - may have a few books to donate, if you’ll have them.”

“Already learned everything you need from them?” she teased, and he met her eyes.

“I don’t make the same mistake twice,” he said quietly, and she felt her heart thump again, a heavy throb in her chest. She smiled, and took a step towards him.

“Do you want a library card, Mr Gold?”

He ran a long finger across the spines of the books on the shelf in front of him, and glanced around at her.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Have you decided on how you’ll fill the spaces left?”

“Almost,” she admitted. “I made a list of genres and titles off the top of my head, but I’m sure there are more I could think of. I guess it all depends on whether the Mayor will give me a budget for new stock and a computer system to keep the records on.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Belle shrugged.

“Then I’ll be thinking up fundraising ideas.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know,” she said, a little awkwardly. “Maybe a bake sale or something.”

Mr Gold looked as though he was amused, but trying not to show it.

“Can you bake?”

“Kind of...” she said uncomfortably, and his grin widened.

“Sounds delicious.”

Belle sent him a very level look, and he bit his lip, glancing away before turning back.

“May I see the list?”

“Oh.” She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing as she felt how much dust was in there. “It’s on my laptop.”

“Would you email it to me?” he asked.

"You have email?" she said sceptically, and he showed his teeth.

"Is that so surprising?"

"Actually, yeah."

"I have email," he said, looking deeply amused. "A telephone, a computer. Even, dare I say it, a television."

"A thoroughly modern man."

"I didn't say I watched the thing."

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

"Why do you want to see the list?"

“I’m interested in the changes you plan on making here," he said, with a lazy wave of his hand.

Belle put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.

“I hope you don’t plan on censoring any of my choices.”

He grinned again, eyes glinting wickedly.

“Now, why on earth would I do that?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know…” She folded her arms. “Sometimes people can be - too close-minded in their outlook, I guess.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” he agreed. “Though it’s not a description I’ve ever had applied to me. I’m personally hoping that you choose to expand the minds of the town. In every area.”

He was still grinning, and she got the feeling he was being suggestive. It wasn’t helping her burgeoning crush on the man in the slightest.

“Increasing one’s knowledge is an important thing,” he added. “Not just history, or art, or science. Books are a way to explore the world without leaving home, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” she said eagerly. “Yes, that’s it exactly!”

Mr Gold walked slowly amongst the stacks, running his eyes over their contents, his fingertip slipping over the curved spines in a series of soft thumps.

“I remember spending hours in the library back home as a child,” he mused. “Sometimes it was the only place you could keep warm in the depths of winter. I read a great deal. Things I probably shouldn’t have, at times. Tales of far-off lands and bloody battles. Forbidden desires. Love. Lust. Sacrifice.”

“I think maybe we read the same books,” she remarked, and he glanced over at her, his eyes gleaming.

“Perhaps we did.”

“So what’s your favourite thing to read, Mr Gold?” she asked, and a smile flickered to life, sparks lighting up his eyes before dying.

“Happy endings,” he said quietly, and she smiled, wishing that he didn’t look so sad.

“Me too.”

“The list, then,” he said, his voice suddenly brisk, and reached into his pocket, drawing out a card and holding it out to her between the first two fingers of his hand. “You’ll find my email address there. And my number, should you need it.”

“Thank you.” Belle slipped it into her pocket, and hesitated. “And - and thank you for the flowers.”

His eyes flicked towards the desk.

“I thought they’d brighten the place up.”

“Well, they certainly do that,” she said. “I don’t know where you managed to find sunflowers in November. Not at my dad’s shop, that’s for sure.”

“You said they were your favourite,” he said, as though that explained things.

“Yeah.” She glanced behind her, where the flowers sat: bright, warm yellow petals and deep brown centres. “Well, they’re beautiful.”

“Yes.” His hands shifted on his cane. “A ray of sunshine, to chase away winter’s chill.”

Belle smiled.

“I think you have the soul of a poet when it comes to books and flowers, Mr Gold,” she teased.

He smirked.

“Must be why I’m such an utter bastard in every other area of my life.”

Belle giggled, and his grin widened.

“Good day to you, Miss French,” he said. “I look forward to seeing what you intend to grace the shelves of the library with.”

He inclined his head, turning away and heading for the door with a click of his cane against the wooden floor.

“Then you should come to the grand opening,” she called, and he turned slowly back, shoes squeaking faintly on the floor.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m planning a big opening party,” she explained. “Interactive activities, dramatic readings, children’s games. There’ll be food. Maybe even some wine and cheese.”

“A social occasion?” he asked, in a very neutral tone. “Sandwiches and small talk?”

“You make it sound terrifying,” she said dryly.

“I very rarely socialise, Miss French.”

“Well, let this be one of the occasions, then.”

That tiny smile returned, lifting the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But it’s kind of you to ask.”

“Well, I’m still going to send you an invitation,” she said archly, bouncing on her toes. “And if you don’t come, just imagine what the rest of the town will be saying about you behind your back.”

The smile became a grin.

“Oh, I don’t have to imagine that,” he said. “But perhaps I’ll consider attending. After I see the list of books.”

“It’s a date,” said Belle, and clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. “I mean - a deal! It’s a deal!”

His teeth were very white, his eyes glinting with amusement, and she could feel herself blushing again.

“The deal is struck.”

Belle spent the next day finishing the last few bits of cleaning and overseeing the clearing out of the old furniture and books. The men that Mr Gold sent were all short, stocky, and unfailingly polite, and she had little to do except hold open doors and tell them what was to be taken. The library looked different in the light of day, clean and with none of the clutter of its twenty years of closure. She had emailed Mr Gold the list of books she wanted to purchase, and he had replied to say that he had ordered some furniture for the apartment, and that if she wished to rent it, she would need to sign a tenancy agreement. She emailed him back to agree, thumb flickering over the screen of her phone as she walked to the diner. It was after six, and already dark, but Ruby had sent her a text inviting her to Granny’s for a couple of drinks with the plan of moving on to a bar, and after two days of hard physical work she was ready to let her hair down a little.

The rain was falling, a thin drizzle soaking her face as she crossed the street, and she ducked into the diner with relief, smiling as she spotted Ruby waving to her from one of the booths. Ruby was beaming, lips painted bright red to match the streaks in her hair, a tight red shirt above leather pants. Seated beside her was Ms Gale, in a blue and brown plaid shirt above dark jeans and heeled boots, one hand resting casually on Ruby’s thigh. A bag of chips sat open on the table in front of them, their glasses empty, and Belle slid into the seat opposite.

“Oh good, you came!” said Ruby. “Belle French, meet Dorothy Gale, my girlfriend.”

“We’ve met,” said Dorothy, raising her glass. “The woman who finally convinced Gold to re-open the library. What are you drinking?

“Oh - gin and tonic,” said Belle. “Thanks, I’ll get you one later.”

“Sounds good.” Dorothy patted Ruby’s leg. “Same again?”

“God, yes!” Ruby turned to kiss her, smiling as she did it, and handed over her empty glass. “Tell Granny not to be so mean with the rum this time!”

“You tell her,” said Dorothy dryly, and Ruby giggled as she walked off to the bar.

Belle shrugged off her coat, the heat of the diner seeping into her.

“Dorothy was really helpful,” she said. “I don’t think I’d have known how the hell to get the library open again if she hadn’t given me some pointers.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome,” said Ruby, looking over at the bar with a grin on her face. “You ever look at someone and think ‘Oh. So, it’s gonna be you, huh?’ before you even really talk?”

Belle bit back a smile.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, that’s how it was for us,” said Ruby, with a sigh. “Valentine’s Day at The Rabbit Hole, both of us dateless and depressed…  I threw a drink over her by accident because I wasn’t looking where I was going, and when our eyes met… well.” She sat back with a satisfied smirk. “Guess it was fate.”

“How long have you been together?” asked Belle.

“Getting on for eighteen months,” said Ruby happily. “We’re saving up to get our own place. Not that there’s much free real estate around here, but we can still try.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to move out of my dad’s place,” said Belle wryly. “I love him, don’t get me wrong, but I miss having my own space. Since I moved back after being away at university, I realised how bloody stifling it is, and - yeah, I - I really need to move out.”

“Any thoughts on where?”

“There’s an apartment above the library, actually,” said Belle. “I’ve already talked to Mr Gold about renting it.”

Ruby grinned at her, leaning on the table on her elbows, eyebrows twitching suggestively.

“So, you managed to talk your way around Gold about the library, huh?” she said. “He make you sign away your soul, or was it something way dirtier?”

Belle gave her a level look, which made Ruby’s grin widen.

“He’s really not that bad, you know,” said Belle. “He was really interested in the library, and the books I was planning on buying. I mean - okay, he doesn’t strike me as the world’s most sociable person, but he seems fair, at least.”

“Hmm.” Ruby reached into the open bag of chips in front of her, watching Belle. “Give me your first impressions of him. I’m interested.”

“First impressions?” Belle tried not to blush as she remembered that one of her first impressions had been how much the sound of his voice and the glint in his eyes turned her on. “Uh - well, I guess he seemed polite? Good manners, very well dressed, like he spends a lot of time picking outfits so everything’s just so. Fastidious, I guess. Like everything he wears is perfect and his shop is spotless and he has these long fingers that he handles things really carefully with—”

Ruby was staring at her, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking.

“—and everything he does is so deliberate,” she went on, “like the movements he makes and the way he gestures, and he looks at you and it’s like he can see into your soul, or something.”

“Oh my God,” said Ruby, leaning forward, eyes wide. “You like him!”

“I didn’t say that!” protested Belle, blushing fiercely.

“Didn’t say what?” Dorothy set a glass in front of her, and she snatched it up hurriedly, stirring ice cubes with a straw.

“Belle wants to bang Mr Gold until he can’t walk even with that cane of his,” said Ruby offhandedly, and Dorothy giggled.

“Seriously?” she said, and pulled a face as she slid onto the seat next to Ruby. “Well, I’m probably not the best judge when it comes to guys, but you gotta admit the man can wear a suit.”

“Agreed,” said Ruby, passing over the bag of chips.

Dorothy took some, pushing them into her mouth and crunching on them.

“Probably into some kinky shit, though,” she said, licking salt from her fingers and reaching for her glass. “Looks like he has a sex dungeon and gets off on spanking.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Ruby, and they both snickered.

“Ooo-kay, so I’ll be getting so drunk I don’t remember any of this conversation, then,” said Belle lightly, poking at the ice in her gin and tonic, and the others chuckled.

“Sorry for teasing,” said Ruby, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It’s just - well, as long as I’ve known him, Gold’s always been alone. Bitter, closed off, unsociable - that seems to be his thing. The idea of him actually attracting someone—”

“—a young, sweet - may we say it - hot someone—” added Dorothy.

“Yeah, it’s just a little weird to think about, that’s all,” said Ruby, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe you’ll understand why when you get to know him.”

Belle took a slurp of her gin.

“You know him well, then?” she said, and Ruby shrugged.

“I guess so. As well as anyone in this town, that is. He’s in the diner a lot.”

“Uh-huh.” Belle took another drink. “So, what’s his first name?”

Ruby opened and closed her mouth, and Belle gave her a knowing smile.

“Does he have family?“ she went on. “How did he end up moving over here from Scotland? What’s his favourite food to cook?”

“You know all that?” asked Ruby, round-eyed, and Belle shook her head.

“That was gonna be my next line of conversation,” she admitted. “Okay, he already told me he doesn’t have family, but everyone has someone, right?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Ruby. “Maybe he doesn’t talk to them anymore. He’s always on his own, I can tell you that. He comes into the diner most mornings for coffee. And he collects the rent, of course. Polite, like you say, but not exactly friendly.”

“Seems to be friendly enough with Belle,” said Dorothy, with a grin. “Agreeing to reopen the library, when he told everyone else to go fuck themselves…”

“Yeah, how did you get him to do that?” asked Ruby curiously, and Belle shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “He didn’t seem keen when I first mentioned it, but I talked about the things I wanted to do, the benefit it would bring to the town, and eventually he just seemed to come around.”

“Remind me to give you a call next time we’re struggling to make rent,” remarked Dorothy.

Belle giggled, and took another drink, setting down her glass and looking between the two of them.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, since he didn’t want to talk about it,” she said. “What was the reason the place was closed down?”

Ruby and Dorothy looked at one another, each pulling bemused faces.

“Before my time, I guess,” said Dorothy.

“Mine too,” said Ruby. “I mean, I could ask Granny…”

“He said it was twenty years ago,” added Belle, and the two women shrugged in unison.

“Granny wasn’t even here then,” said Ruby. “She moved out here with me after my parents died. Pretty sure that was less than twenty years ago. I was pretty young.”

“Huh.” Belle took a sip of her drink. “Guess I’ll have to find out some other way.”

“You could check the Storybrooke Mirror,” suggested Dorothy, reaching for the chips again. “I worked there for six months or so before I got the Town Hall job. There’s old stuff on microfiche that no one’s looked at in years. Could be something there.”

“Right.” Belle pursed her lips, thinking it over. ”Maybe I’ll take a look.”

Ruby took a slurp of her drink, setting down the glass.

“So, what’s the apartment like?” she asked.

“It’s a one-bed, but I think it could be cosy with a little effort,” said Belle. “Mr Gold says he’ll get some furniture for the place.”

“Well, if you need some help with assembly or carrying shit, I can help out,” offered Ruby.

“Thanks,” said Belle, and reached for her drink again. “It’s gonna be so cool having my own place. Can’t wait to make it mine. Bookshelves, some cushions, maybe a few pictures...”

“Get some things from Gold’s shop,” suggested Dorothy. “It’ll make him feel more at home when you eventually get his pants off.”

Ruby giggled, and Belle blushed before joining in.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” she said dryly, and Ruby raised her glass.

“We fully support you in your plan to seduce the menacing, shady-as-hell, yet sharply-dressed pawnbroker twice your age,” she announced, and Dorothy clinked the glass with her own.

“Go get that skinny ass,” she added, and Belle groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Look, I can’t even think about that right now,” she said. “I have a library opening to plan. Which means I need to use what little cash I have to buy cupcakes and wine and cheese and kids’ party food between now and the end of the month.”

“You’re opening then?” asked Ruby, with interest.

“If the Mayor agrees to fund the new stock of books, yes,” said Belle. “If not, I’m gonna be planning a fundraiser.”

“You should hear next Thursday at the meeting,” said Dorothy. “We’ll keep everything crossed for you, won’t we Rubes?”

“Damn straight,” said Ruby, with a nod. “And just in case you don’t get lucky, I have a few - interesting - ideas for the fundraiser.”

She grinned wickedly, waggling her eyebrows, and Belle groaned.

“Yeah, your expression doesn’t fill me with confidence,” she said.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna suggest a kissing booth again,” said Dorothy wearily, and Ruby’s eyes went wide with innocence.

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

Belle had to go back to Mr Gold’s shop to sign the rental contract and pay over the rent and a deposit, which she had borrowed from her father against her first month’s wages. Mr Gold watched her as she read over the contract, and produced a black and gold pen from inside his suit jacket so that she could sign her name. He wrote an entry in a heavy ledger to mark the payment of the deposit and first month’s rent. She watched his hand move across the page, and he glanced up as he set down the pen, giving her a tiny smile, his eyes dark with something like promise. It felt as though she had signed the most important contract of her life, as though she were somehow making a deal for her soul with the Devil himself. Whether she was saving it or giving it away was, as yet, unclear, but the glitter in his eyes made her heart pound. Mr Gold closed the ledger with a heavy thump, fingers shifting along its sides until it was perfectly aligned with the edge of the counter.

“The furniture I ordered should arrive tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll have some of my men take it up for you and assemble it.”

“Thank you,” she said, a little breathlessly, and his smile widened a little.

“And your own things?” he asked. “Will you need assistance with those?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t have much,” she said. “Ruby’s gonna help me move in.”

“Very well.”

He reached to the side, to a carved wooden cupboard, and opened it up, reaching inside and turning back to face her. A key dangled from a round fob held between finger and thumb.

“I replaced the locks on the apartment door,” he said. “Here.”

She reached out to take it, tucking the fob into her palm and feeling the warmth of him on the smooth plastic.

“Thank you,” she said. “I - uh - I should go.”

“Of course.”

He leaned on the counter, still smiling at her, and she could feel her abdomen pull and tighten. She turned away, clutching the key hard in her palm, feeling breathless as she made her way to the exit. His eyes were on her back as she left, and when the door closed behind her it was as though she had been swimming up from the dark depths of a warm lake, and could suddenly breathe again.

It was two days later that the furniture for her apartment arrived, and the same short, burly men that had gotten rid of the old items carried it up for her, whistling a tune as they did so. She had told her father she was moving out, and he had grunted at her, slumped in front of the TV with a glass of rum in his hand, as was his usual state in the evenings. It was the way he had dealt with things even before her mother had died, and if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn’t sorry to be going. She had packed her things: clothing, books, and the few pieces of personal furniture she wanted to take, and the next day Ruby bounced up on the doorstep with a beaming smile, red-streaked hair fluttering in the winter breeze.

“Thought I’d give you a hand,” she said, gesturing to the driveway, where a red car was parked.  “Wow, are all those books? Don’t you already have a library-full?”

She was grinning, and Belle gave her a level look, handing over the first of the boxes.

“Private collection and not for public use,” she said sternly, and Ruby giggled.

“You have the strict librarian thing down already,” she said. “Maybe think about getting some glasses so you can look over them when people are talking too loud.”

It didn’t take too long to fill the car with boxes, two suitcases of clothes and an old coat stand, and Belle decided to come back for the rest later that day. Getting the boxes of books up to the apartment left them out of breath, but maneuvering the coat stand through the door of the library was more awkward.

“I’m not sure we’ll get it up the staircase,” said Ruby, huffing a little under the strain. “How do you feel about hanging all your coats down here?”

“We just need to turn it,” said Belle impatiently, swinging her end around to the left with more force than she had aimed for.

There was a crunching noise, and she groaned, already fearing what she’d find. Glancing over her shoulder revealed one leg of the coat stand, stuck in the drywall. Belle swore under her breath, tugging the thing free with a shower of plaster and leaving a large hole.

“Oops,” said Ruby ominously.

“Yeah.”  Belle bit her lip, setting the coat stand down. “It’s not too much damage, right? I could fill this in, repaint…”

“It’s a hole three inches across,” remarked Ruby. “I think it’s gonna take more than a little filler and a lick of paint.”

“You wouldn’t have thought it would have gone that deep,” grumbled Belle. “Isn’t this supposed to be a wall?”

Ruby stepped forward, bending to gaze at the hole.

“That’s hollow,” she said curiously.

“What?”

“Behind the drywall. There’s a space back there. Here.”

She dug in her pocket for her phone, bringing up the flashlight app and shining it on the gap.

“There’s something back there,” she said excitedly.

“Let me see.”

Belle crouched down to peer through the gap. The light from Ruby’s phone gleamed on something; reddish-brown wood with what looked like brass fittings.

“I - I don’t know if it’s a door, or something,” she said vaguely. “I can’t see.”

“Let me look a second.”

Belle leaned back, and Ruby glanced around the room before shoving her entire fist into the hole, opening it up.

“Ruby!”

“Oh, come on, you wanted to know just as much as I did!”

“I’m probably gonna have to pay for that!”

“Yeah, maybe Gold’ll give you a tongue-lashing,” said Ruby dismissively. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Oh my God…”

“Just have a look, would you?” said Ruby impatiently, brushing streaks of plaster from her hand.

Belle sighed, but held up the phone. The hole made by Ruby’s fist was large enough to see through. A wooden door, set with brass fittings and a series of large cogs.

“It - it looks like a door,” said Belle. “Works with some kind of mechanism, like cogs and pulleys, or something.”

“Let me see.” Ruby took her place, peering through the hole. “Huh. Kind of steampunk. Hey, do you think it’s an elevator?”

“If it is, it doesn’t go up to my apartment,” said Belle, and Ruby shook her head.

“Not going up,” she said. “Going down.”

“A basement?” Belle pulled a face. “Mr Gold didn’t mention one, and I didn’t see a door to it, or anything.”

“So ask him.”

“What, before or after I tell him I busted a hole in his wall?”

“Come on, what harm can it do?”

“Fine,” sighed Belle. “At least let’s get the rest of my stuff. That way if he murders me you guys can build a shrine in my honour in the classics section.”

Ruby chuckled, and picked up a suitcase.

“Hey, is there gonna be an erotica section?” she asked, with interest.

“Planning on one,” said Belle. “Depends if I can get funding for the new books.”

“There’s always my kissing booth idea…”

“Yeah,” said Belle, in a very dry tone. “I’m - probably not gonna be doing that.”

“Suit yourself,” said Ruby airily. “Just saying that there’s someone in town you wanna kiss, and rumour has it he has a rather large - checking account.”

Belle sighed, rolling her eyes and stomping off in the direction of the stairs, and Ruby’s cackle followed her up.

She knew that she had to own up to Mr Gold about the damage, and she figured sooner was better than later. The man had a habit of turning up when he wasn’t expected, and she didn’t want the hole in the wall to be a surprise. She waited until Ruby had gone to work her shift at the diner before heading to his shop, and Mr Gold looked up from the counter, his rent ledger open in front of him.

“Miss French,” he said, with a tiny smile. “Are you all settled in?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “I have to unpack, but - yeah.  I’m an independent woman. How about that?”

“Well, I hope you’ll be very happy there,” he said, turning his attention back to his ledger. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need."

“Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence, and she stepped a little closer, watching the light gleam on his hair.

“So - there’s an elevator in the library,” she said.

Mr Gold stilled, pen hovering above the ledger.

“What?”

“An elevator,” she said. “At least, I think that’s what it looks like. I’m sorry to say I had a bit of an accident. Knocked a hole in the drywall. I’ll pay for the damage, I swear.”

Mr Gold set down his pen, not looking at her. He turned away, shoulders stiff, and pushed at the curtain separating the back room from the shop. Brow crinkling, Belle followed him.

“So, am I right?” she asked. “There’s an elevator there? Where does it go? How come it’s walled off.”

He was standing stock still, his back to her, and she bounced on her toes as she waited for him to answer.

“Apologies, Miss French,” he said quietly. “I just remembered something very urgent that I have to do. I’m afraid I’m closing up early today.”

“I - what?” She was perplexed. “But - the elevator? I’m right, aren’t I? How come it’s not working? I don’t understand.”

“That’s not something I care to discuss,” he said sharply. “Now, if you don’t mind?”

“Mr Gold, I—”

“Please!” he snapped. “Miss French, I’d like you to leave!”

She took a step back, snapping her mouth shut, feeling hurt and awkward.

“Right,” she said softly. “Right. Okay. I’ll - I guess I’ll see you.”

She backed away, letting the curtain fall across and hide him from her sight. The shop was silent but for the low ticking of clocks, a reminder of the passing of time, of the years that had passed since the elevator was walled up and hidden from view. She wondered what secrets had been buried with it, and recalled Dorothy’s suggestion that she visit the local paper. Perhaps there would be answers there.

The newspaper did indeed have old microfiche available to view, just as Dorothy had said, but the young man who showed her to the small, windowless room to look through them merely shrugged when Belle asked why the library had come to be closed. She sat down with microfiche from 1998, flicking through stories of town festivals, cookouts and Little League games, and as the articles moved from September into October, reports of storm damage to the Town Hall. The storm had been a large one, it seemed, but she couldn’t find anything to say that the library had suffered any damage. She flicked to the next page, and flicked on again before going back, something familiar tickling at her mind.

Belle frowned, looking over the picture in front of her, its sign reading Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer.  Mr Gold’s shop looked much as it did now, albeit with a lighter hue of paint on the clapboard frontage, the blinds drawn and a sign in the window saying Out of Business. Her mouth flattened at that; what had happened to cause him to close the shop?  Perhaps it wasn’t the most profitable area of his business, but even so… She concentrated on the text below the picture. Local property developer and antiquities dealer, Mr Gold, closed his business without warning yesterday, following the reports of a tragic accident at the Storybrooke Public Library. Your Storybrooke Mirror reporter tried to reach the businessman for comment, but was told by his softly-spoken yet intimidating assistant that he was unavailable until further notice. Anyone wishing to redeem pawned items should submit their claims in writing to the shop and their queries will be addressed.

Curious, Belle turned the page backwards, trying to find an earlier edition, and her mouth fell open as she saw a picture of the library on what would have been the front page of the newspaper. Children’s Outing Ends in Tragedy it proclaimed. Belle leaned closer, eyes running over the words in front of her. A group of children left Storybrooke Library in tears yesterday as one of their own suffered a tragic accident. Baeden Gold, aged 3…

Belle straightened up, breath catching. Baeden Gold.  

She shook her head, bending closer to read the rest of the article. The elevator had been out of use, down in the deep basement awaiting repairs, and the doors had been closed. Unfortunately, the elevator was not electric, and the doors could be opened by anyone who knew how to work the mechanism. It wasn’t known who had opened them - the Sheriff was said to be investigating - but the result was an open elevator shaft down which a small boy had tumbled to his death. Belle bit her lip. So. The reason for the library’s closure, and Mr Gold’s refusal to open it since. She wondered what had made him finally agree to her proposal.

She sat back in her chair, chewing her lip, her mind troubled. It had happened twenty years ago, and yet no one spoke of it, least of all Mr Gold. She wondered if he had wanted it that way, if he had walled off his pain with plaster and paint and tried to forget it had ever happened. As if he ever could.

[crossinginstyle]

Ho ho ho! It's your secret santa here again. I think I have a pretty good idea for your gift, but if this isn't what you're into, I'll understand haha. How do you feel about cats?

Yay!! I can’t wait!!

Well…kinda depends on what you mean by how I feel about cats, lol. Do i like cats? Yes! I have two! Am I into anthropomorphic animal AUs? ….Not so much…. I HOPE I’M NOT THROWING OFF YOUR GROOVE BUT I JUST WANNA BE HONEST!!!!!

Seriously though, I’m gonna love whatever you write. So if you’re having fun, I’m happy!!!

(BTW, I’m gonna tag your asks with Style’s Secret Santa. Hopefully that’ll help you find the responses!)

[elanorjane]

California Soulmates - Chapter 8

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music and get out from under her father’s thumb. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him and get the hell out of L.A. When inspiration strikes, there’s only one problem…the songs they’re writing aren’t their own. They’re each other’s. 

*“Telepathic soulmates” RCIJ for @beastlycheese

AO3 link

Note: The end of this chapter veers into Mature territory. 

Belle gravitated closer to him the whole time they were singing, as if proximity was helping her read his mind. She couldn’t explain how she’d done it. The lyrics were popping into her head, sung in his voice, and she echoed them.

When he looked up on the last chorus they were so close. She liked the way the shorter strands of his long hair framed the confusion and wonderment in his dark eyes. It was as if he couldn’t explain their connection, so he couldn’t entirely trust it yet.

Her knees, exposed through the rips in the demin, rested against the inside of his, the guitar on his thighs between them. She’d chosen these clothes at the thrift shop because they were unpolished, relaxed, and nothing that ever would have been picked out for her. Whereas her usual clothes, the ones the label supplied for her, forced her to sit primly and quietly erect, these clothes allowed her to lounge, not worried if her legs lolled apart. Belle leaned forward, her elbows resting on her thighs. She felt the night breeze rustle through the wide armholes of her tank top, causing the gaping neckline to flutter.

Gold glanced down at the movement, then his eyes snapped back up to hers.

She knew the way she sat forward exposed even more of the black lace of the bra she wore underneath, but she didn’t care. There were no paparazzi here, or impressionable young fans, or her father. She was simply a woman, having an enchanting, impetuous night with a man she felt a connection with.    

She knew she’d just met him tonight but she liked him. Really liked him. Everything about him, his hair, his eyes, the ring on his right pinky, the chain and cord bracelet around his wrist, told a deeper story. She was a sucker for a good story.  

He told her what they had was magic. Then if this was a spell, she wanted to see how far it was cast.

She flicked her gaze to his mouth. His lips were already parted. This was so new and delicate, she didn’t want to ruin it. But it felt so right. The perfect moment to cap off a miraculous evening. Or lead to more. She leaned in slowly. He bent towards her, the cheap guitar creaking in protest. Belle felt confident enough to close her eyes.

Then Bae let out a heavy snore from the couch. Their eyes flew open and they jerked apart, like two kids caught by their parents. Belle covered her face and let out a nervous giggle. She was so caught up in the moment, she’d honestly forgotten he was there. She peaked through her fingers to see Gold smiling at her softly.  

He chuckled quietly. “I used to bring him up here when he couldn’t sleep when he was little,” he told her, standing up and taking the blanket off his chair and tucking it around Bae.

“C’mon,” he held his hand out to her in the way she loved. She took it and he helped her stand. She glanced back at Bae as he towed her toward the door.

“He’ll be fine,” he told her. “He sleeps up here all the time. He’ll come wondering down if he gets cold.”

It struck her that a teen boy got more freedom that she, a grown woman, ever had.    

She’d spent a whole evening with a stranger and his son, yet she felt completely comfortable around them. Something occurred to her as they descended the stairs. “I think it was your accent,” she told him. “I recognized it from the song, the one in my head, before I met you. So when you came to the meet and greet, it was as if I already knew you.”

“Why did you record it?” he asked her. He didn’t release her hand, but she heard a tightness in his voice.

“Because I thought it was brilliant,” he told him honestly. “And I knew I’d never be allowed to release a song like that,” she added. She pushed the image of her father, and how angry he was sure to be with her, away. She didn’t want to talk about him. She didn’t want to think about him. Tonight, even if it was only tonight, was for her and her alone.  

“So I recorded it with my friends and they leaked it for me.” They stopped at his apartment door. “Are you angry I did?” she asked him.

He took both her hands in his, really thinking about it. “No,” he told her finally. “You sounded beautiful singing it,” he told her pensively.  

He let go of her to unlock the door, gesturing for her to enter first.  

“Do you think we could control it, this thing we have?”

He shook his head, “There’s no controlling anything,” he assured her, tossing his keys on a table, “especially in art.”

She considered his words. She hadn’t thought of what she did as art before.

The apartment was small, but it looked and felt like a real home to Belle. The large house she shared with her father looked like a showhome, cold and flashy. Here there were lots of books and instruments laying around. Strikingly, there were pages and pages of notebook paper with what she assumed were lyrics written on them pasted on the walls.

She took a turn about the room, admiring the poetry she read. They were contemplative and honest, just like the man himself. She paused when she found some in fresher ink, the lyrics not as sober as the others. One page was the single that her label had just released. Another was her first clumsy try at songwriting, before his complete song had come to her. It was surreal to see her thoughts in his cramped, male handwriting.

“Has this ever happened to you before?” Not until she asked the question did she think how disappointed she’d be if he had this mind meld with others. That she wasn’t the only one, that she wasn’t special.

“No, never,” he told her from where he stood by the door, watching patiently as she canvassed his home.

Where he stood was awfully close to a small, twin bed, the minimalist sheet and pillow suggesting it was his, which reminded her of the almost kiss on the roof and she blushed. Out from the spell of making music together, she no longer felt so gutsy. She took refuge by the shelves of records he had on the opposite wall.

“Wow,” she flipped through a dozen of them. They spanned decades. “I’ve never even heard of half of these people.” She ran her fingers over the worn spines.

She stopped at one she recognized, sliding Ryan Adams’ Demolition from its spot. “Mmm,” she hummed with pleasure, “I love this one.” The next shelf down was a small record player and she took the record from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable.

She stood, turning back to him. White noise, then the twangy guitar intro of “Nuclear” emanated from the tiny speakers. They stood, awkwardly staring across the room at each other like kids at a middle school dance.

Belle chortled, trying to shake her nerves. They could read each other’s minds, why bother being bashful?  

He must have reached the same conclusion because he offered his hand to her in a now familiar gesture. But this time, when she took it, he tugged her towards him, then lifted his arm to spin her. Her back rested against his chest for only a moment before he spun her back out. When she twirled to a stop he did a goofy shimmy and twist. It made her cackle so he did it again, this time grabbing her arms, forcing her to wobble along until she released any remaining apprehension and whirled around with him. They pranced around the room, pulling out every move they could think of to make each other laugh. She may dance for a living, but Belle spent most of the song bent over in giggle fits as he discoed and tangoed around her.

When the song ended, Belle was panting for breath from the laughter or the cavorting or both. When "Hallelujah" came on Gold pulled her into his chest, knocking what little air she had out in a whoosh. He extended their entwined hands, his other arm resting on her waist. He proceeded to spin them in circles until she was dizzy and tears of laughter leaked from her eyes. She buried her head against his chest, clutching both arms around his back, egging him on to go faster.

He ceased their circles to “You Will Always Be the Same,” but didn’t let her go. Instead, he drew her into a slow waltz. This was different from the silly dance off and the frenzied spinning. The jokiness had fallen away. Even in its simplicity, it was the most romantic gesture Belle had ever experienced. His eyes didn’t shift about the room, and he didn’t pull her closer so he could look over her shoulder at the floor. He watched her face the entire time. Instead of making her shy, his attention lured her into the fantasy he was weaving around them. She was relieved he was holding onto her because if not she would have swooned into a puddle on the floor. She spent the entire song savoring each little feeling, his long fingers clenching around her waist, her arm wrapped around his neck and his hair brushing against her skin, his solid chest, the way he looked at her like she was something precious. She breathed in the smell that was uniquely him, clean outdoor air and guitar string cleaner.  

By the time “Desire” came on any pretense of a waltz was abandoned. He slowly swayed them back and forth. One hand rested on her lower back, gently pressing her hips to his. His other hand slowly caressed her hip to right below her breast and back in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion. Both her hands wrapped around his neck, the fingers of one hand sinking into his silky hair.  

She brought her forehead to rest against his.

"Do you think what we have only applies to music?” she murmured.  

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he told her softly.

She smiled. “Are you reading my mind right now?" she asked.

He pulled back to study her. “I don’t know if I’m reading your mind or it’s my own hopes I’m hearing.”

Then he kissed her and she didn't care whose idea it was.

This time, when his hands reached her hips they slipped beneath her tank top. His fingertips, calloused from years of guitar playing, scraped against her bare stomach front to back while he angled his mouth to kiss her deeper. Belle senses were heightened and completely keyed in to everything about him and what he was doing to her. The heat coming off his chest. The comparatively cool air rushing across the skin he’d exposed to the window air conditioning. The rough patches developing on his chin and cheeks, despite beginning the night clean shaven. The deep, noisy breathes they took through their noses so they wouldn’t have to break apart for even a moment.    

His hands didn’t wander any farther than her waist and Belle was certain that he would do nothing to push her further tonight. That he would be happy just having her like this. That she was enough. But nothing about this felt rushed. More like the coda to the song they started even before they met at her concert tonight. The idea of not taking this any further tonight left her feeling bereft. Like a magician’s handkerchief, once Belle tugged on one end, she felt compelled to keep pulling until the other end was freed.

There was no anxious twinge in her stomach, like her first time with Gaston. This was a pleasant tightening, like pulling back a guitar string but not letting go. The potential to make something beautiful was only a moment away, if you just let go. Wanting to create something more with him tonight, Belle gripped his wrists and tugged his hands up, lifting both her arms in the air. He took the invitation and broke the kiss only long enough to peel her shirt off in one smooth motion, flinging it to the floor. Instead of using his eyes to take her in, he pulled her flush against him. He was tactile with her. Learning her by feel and gaining familiarity, like with a new instrument. He used his hands to memorize the contour of her waist and hips, the elegant curvature the black lace made of her breasts, the arch of her spine.

Again, she knew instinctively that he wouldn’t unsnap the button of her jeans or urge her onto the bed. He took only what she freely gave him. That made it easy for her to peel the collar of his flannel away from his neck, fastening her mouth around the skin she found there. He tasted salty from all the running they’d done. He shook the button down off, freeing him to rip the t-shirt that was under it off as well, giving her access to what she’d already permitted him.

This tit for tat she was comfortable with. It was just like writing a song with him. She supplied the first two lines of a verse, and he finished her thought. When she’d explored his chest with caresses mirroring his own, she unbuttoned her own jeans, shoving them down her legs. He immediately fumbled with his own waistband. She toed off her sneakers to completely rid herself of the denim. He answered by shucking his, continuing to kiss and touch her all the while.

Belle placed her hands on his chest, gently extracading herself. She kept touching him, to let him know she wasn’t rejecting him. Looking in his eyes, she felt she knew what a real spell looked like. His breath was labored, him already dark eyes were clouded over and he shook himself and blinked, bringing himself back to the moment.

She stood before him in her bra and panties. Honestly, it wasn’t anything different than what she wore in some of her shows and photoshoots. But she’d never been comfortable with it. She’d never found being mostly naked in front of a fully clothed crowd to be empowering or fun, like other performers did. She was used to seeing the hungry eyes of strangers devouring her body and she hadn’t realized how fearful she was to see the same selfish gaze from him. She hesitated, studying his face. There was desire there, definitely, but his appreciation of her wasn’t calculating. There was some reverence, but instead of being completely focused on her, she saw his own insecurities reflected back at her. Belle breathed a sigh of relief. He was real. She wasn’t alone on display. He wasn’t hooking up with a pop star. There were no hidden motives. He wasn’t going to tweet about this afterwards. He wasn’t going to slip a USB filled with demos in her pocket later. He was in the moment with her, bringing his own life and history and self-doubt with him and asking her to accept him.

That she could do.

She walked backwards until the cold metal of the bed frame touched her calves. The hurt and confusion in his eyes lasted only until she offered her hand to him, mimicking his usual move. He smiled, relieved, and took it.

She tugged him to follow her when she lowered herself to the bed and reclined back, covering her body with his. The thin fabric of their underwear left little to the imagination. She felt the distinct outline of him on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He froze on top of her, sensing her jolt underneath him.

She didn’t want him to mistake her relative inexperience for hesitation. Just in case he couldn’t read her mind, she boldly wrapped her legs around his waist, yanking him flush up against the heat between her legs. He let go of the breath he was holding in a long, sputtering exhale and slammed his eyes shut.

“I want this,” she told him. No, that wasn’t enough. That made it sound like she was just looking for sex, a one night stand. “I want you.”

She felt him twitch between her legs. That got his attention. He’d been so careful with her, up to this point. Letting her take the lead, finishing her movements. She was writing a bridge, giving him permission to make what they were creating into his own vision as well.

He nodded and she released her legs so they could remove the last barriers between them. She was whipping off her bra when a sudden look of complete panic overcame him. He was naked, looking at the floor, muttering to himself. Was he regretting this already? Had he thought of a song lyric? She concentrated but heard nothing.

He shook his finger at her, miming to wait one moment.

She sat up on her forearms to watch him cross the room to the more cluttered corner, obviously Bae’s, and shuffle through the pile of school books and papers heaped on a tiny desk, knocking some to the floor, which didn’t deter him.  

“Aha,” he found something and returned to her, holding the shiny red square condom packet aloft. “Ninth grade health class. Thank the California public school system.”

She threw her head back and laughed, “Won’t he miss it?”

Gold shook his head seriously as he climbed back onto the bed, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth and resuming his position hovering over her, “Not as much as I would be.”    

She giggled again, which turned into a hum when his mouth descended to her neck. She felt him fiddling with the condom between them.

He pulled back to look at her, “Ready?”

She smiled at the concern she saw there. “Yeah,” she breathed, bringing one hand to his cheek.

He lowered his head so their foreheads touched. “Belle,” he whispered when he finally sank into her.

Belle heard her name spoken dozens of times a day. Paparazzi yelled it, fans chanted it, tv and radio hosts announced it. But Rumford Gold expressed it with true feeling. She rarely went a day without at least one person coming up to her to tell her how much they “love” her. But he said her name with real affection.

Despite their intimate act, he studied her face attentively as he moved inside her, first in shallow thrusts, then slow deep ones, adjusting his tempo based on her reaction. He could easily have gotten lost in bliss, leaving her responsible for her own. Instead he helped her chase her own gratification. He didn’t rush her toward climax. Belle had never had a partner willing to help her explore the intricacies of pleasure. In that, she was usually a solo act. She was satisfied to know she hadn’t been wrong about him, that they’re duet abilities extended beyond songwriting. She explored, trying her legs at different heights. On the mattress lifting to match his trusts, then locked around his lower back, then higher with her knees by his shoulders. Each change in position helped her progress up the scales of pleasure. She’d only begun to imagine the other possibilities when she let her knees fall wide to her sides. The arrangement brought a stretch to her thighs that added to the pleasant sensations swelling inside her, making her breath hitch. Gold caught her reaction, reaching one hand between them to massage her center. He thrust at a steady rhythm letting her response build, build, build.  

“Oh,” was all she could get out before her crescendo, leaving her breathless and limp beneath him.

His pace became erratic and his head fell to her shoulder as he reached his own apex.

Afterwards they lay curled together on the cramped mattress, catching their breath.  

Belle couldn’t help it, a bubble of blissful laughter emanated from her. She grinned at him, “Redux?”                

[evilsnowswan]

Uh-oh, Belle, someone is in trouble now.

(And you better put that down. You don’t know where that’s been or whose bothersome boytoy in disguise you just snapped in two. Sometimes roses are people, Belle. I would not touch the roses. Just saying.)

The pink roses were her favorite. The blooms were wide and soft, the petals curling playfully as they opened, and the leaves felt like velvet under her fingertips. He’d said she could go anywhere in the gardens, as often as she liked, yet she was not to pick any of the flowers, especially the roses. But their beauty and their sweet smell was too much to resist…

[boushh2187]

Happy 4th of July! Try to stay cool. It’s hot ☀️ out there. Do you have any plans for the day? We’re going to fireworks later. Your Santa. 🎅

Hi Santa! I might try to do some shopping if there are any stores open. If not just going to have some grilled food and watch the fireworks on TV. I missed the local fireworks and the Macy’s one is just madness to go to…Have a great holiday!

[abovethemists]

david bowie doesn't do anything for me either. I tried watching labyrinth and I just don't get it. we're united in that my friend. I'm currently trying to think of a reason belle and gold aren't together so it'll fit the rest of what I'm planning. progress be slow laterz -santa

I like David Bowie just fine I just find Jareth kind of...ick. But glad to know I’m not alone in that! Jareth the Goblin King seems to be the gateway to finding Rumple attractive for a lot of the fandom. I can’t wait to see what you come up with! (Rumple dumping her for what he thinks is her best interest is always a good one).

For your ease of access I’ll tag all your messages with ‘rcij’ and ‘raven’s secret santa 2018′