I live for Once Upon a Time and Troian Bellisario slays me. Sometimes I speak french and gif things. I make way too many sound effects and love to waste time finding new fonts. Welcome to the insanity. absolutely not spoiler free.
Okay so Nano is here and I’ve been working on this. I’m currently 4-5 chapters ahead of this one, so I figured I can start posting slowly but surely! I’m so sorry it’s been so long, but I’m hoping to get the story finished this month. Thanks and enjoy!
Ghost!Belle au; Recently retired with too much money and an empty nest, Mr. Gold moves to the secluded town of Storybrooke, Maine with no intentions of developing roots. Then he discovers that his pink house is not nearly as quiet as the rest of the town. [Rated G]
Regina Mills was out of place, Gold decided as he listened to her speak at the town meeting. She was dressed sharply, something that he appreciated, but it was a small town, not New York or even Boston. The town was as stereotypical as it was small and held a bi-monthly assembly. According to the woman a row and two seats to the left behind him it was something that most of the business owners set their calendars to. Why, he wasn't certain, but he didn't really care. He had mostly decided to attend because despite enjoying his solitude he liked to know what was what, and sadly that required socialising.
At least he'd have something interesting to discuss with Neal when he called later that night. He'd received a text right after he'd arrived that promised a call. Perhaps he would swing by Granny's diner and grab a meal after the meeting; according to the woman that was where most people conjoined after the meeting. He would normally avoid the fray, but it would give him a reason to be out of the house and on the phone at the same time.
Belle had begun appearing nightly, always after dinner and always with a small gesture to test the waters. First it had been an eerie knocking noise, then the soft clearing of her throat and the television suddenly dimming in volume. Despite growing somewhat accustomed to the oddness of sharing his home with a ghost, he still couldn't fully swallow the truth that out of all the properties that he had looked over he had chosen the childhood home of a restless spirit.
At least she seemed to be interesting.
The banging of a gavel startled him from his thoughts, the growing chatter of the crowd as it dissipated, slowly but surely. He waited patiently for it to thin so that he wouldn't have to overly tax his ankle just because people couldn't stop talking as if they didn't all live within a five-block radius of each other. Unfortunately it wasn't much different over at the diner, so while he waited for his to-go order at a table within earshot, he pulled out his phone.
"Hey son."
"Hey, papa," came the bright reply. "How was the meeting?"
"As ordinary as one would expect. How's Emma?"
"Fine," came the quick reply. Ever since that abrupt interruption from the woman in question a week or so ago, she had become a regular yet increasingly brief talking point. It did nothing but lead Gold to think that perhaps things weren't going as well as Neal would have him believe, but until he said as much, he could only speculate. "She's been a bit under the weather, but it's that time of year. Summer colds and all that."
"Ah," Gold said rather dumbly, reclining in his seat to flex out his bum leg. "Well, best wishes to her recovery, then."
"Yeah, we were hoping on coming up to see you and the house here soon, but if she doesn't get to feeling better then it would be fruitless," Neal explained, a frown spreading across his father's mouth as he stared blankly at the plates on the counter.
"Wait a couple of weeks, then. Unless it's more than just a cold, pneumonia or something-"
"No no no! I just meant that we don't want to give it to you."
Still unconvinced, Gold let it go. He'd find out sooner or later what the great mystery was, of that he was absolutely certain. While not unskilled as a liar, his son also possessed an inconvenient honesty streak that won through almost every time. "Ill or not, I'll be ready whenever you give me the warning."
"Will do," Neal chuckled, and for that one quick moment he was a kid again, all traces of frustration and exhaustion gone. "I'm glad you called, Papa." Gold let out a soft noise of inquiry. "It's weird, not having you just a few blocks over."
"I'm a phone call away," he said gently.
"It isn't the same."
No, it wasn't, Gold silently agreed. But as depressing as that thought should have been, he couldn't help the small smile that settled on his lips; his son missed him too. It wasn't just him pining for the past.
Before he could attempt to reassure Neal that they'd see each other all in due time, Granny was calling his name and setting a brown paper bag on the counter. He quickly gathered it and left, only speaking once he was out of the bustle once more.
"What was that about?"
"I ordered some food to go at the local diner, I don't feel like cooking. How was work?"
The drive home was short and sweet, although the added presence of his son even if over the phone made it seem that much shorter. For a few moments, he forgot that he was alone. The back of his mind registered that technically he wasn't alone, that Belle was there, but that didn't seem to be the case when he walked in the main hall. He'd noticed early on that when she was there, even invisible, the air was thicker, similar to the feeling of walking into the room and just sensing that the television was on. It wasn't one specific reason why, he just knew that she was there.
But tonight she wasn't, and he wasn't certain if he was glad about that or disappointed. She was good about respecting boundaries for the most part, although considering that he didn't mind being around a ghost seemed to prove that she'd already pushed past boundaries.
All too soon Neal was letting him go eat, and although he'd always thought that it was rude to eat while on the phone, he'd been willing to do so. But his son had needed to go find some dinner for himself and Emma as well so it was for the best.
He finished off the now-cold fries, staring blankly at the countertop as he chewed. How exactly had he ended up here? They'd both been happy in the city, they could have remained as they were.
But no, the businessman in him had seen an opportunity in the pink house and he'd had to have it for himself.
The terrifying Mr. Gold lived in a pink house. He was grateful that his enemies didn't know where he'd moved off to, otherwise he would have definitely been seen as a fraud.
"You're deep in thought, is it still all right for me to come in?"
Three quick blinks cleared his vision, and when he looked up he saw Belle on the opposite side of the kitchen's island. She was barely visible and looked hesitant, something that he'd yet to see from her.
Respect and politeness for his boundaries, yes. Hesitant? No. If she'd been hesitant then he wouldn't have felt almost normal about nodding yes to welcome her into his home for the night. Or rather, into her home. Perhaps that was why he had trouble saying not; it was her home first.
"How was it?" She asked, tilting her head to the side as she leaned forward, leaning against the granite countertop. She looked so normal, so natural; exactly like she belonged.
"The meeting? Fine." He cast her a brief glance before limping over to the microwave with his burger in hand. Eating fries while on the phone was one thing; risking a messy stain on one of his suits? No.
For a moment all she did was hum softly in acknowledgement. Why did she even bother sticking around? Loneliness, certainly, but he was almost certain that she could have made better acquaintance with the toaster over him. The more important question was why he had so easily accepted having a ghost for a friend. Without a doubt a normal person would have considered visiting a therapist. Storybrooke had one, perhaps he should make use of it. But the thought of talking to a stranger was more unsettling than the thought of talking to a ghost was. She at least had seen him interact with his son over the phone, so she knew his demeanor and habits.
Of course, if he'd known that he was being watched then he probably wouldn't have acted normally. Keeping quiet had worked in her favour, and he couldn't help but give her credit for that.
"You're thinking," Belle commented. "About what?"
"Other than the fact that I'm discussing current events with a ghost? Nothing much."
She rolled her eyes in irritation, but he could see how the corner of her mouth twitched as she attempted to not look amused. Even dead people had trouble concealing the truth, he thought with an inward sigh. "You're not discussing current events," she pointed out. "You said three words. You know I meant your son."
"Actually, no, I didn't know that. But what good would come of informing you of the town's goings-on? Three words seems rather generous in hindsight."
"Which is why I meant how it was talking to your son," she repeated, sighing. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. Truly. If you want to be left alone or to talk about how the paint in your bedroom is chipping instead, just say as much."
For a moment, all Gold could do was stare at her in disbelief. "Wait, I thought you were going to leave my bedroom alone."
"I haven't been there since we met," Belle promised with a smile, breaking the tension that her directness had seemed to cast across the room. "It was my father's room. It was beginning to chip before..."
He frowned, his brow furrowing. "Before?"
She shook her head, loose curls bouncing lightly. "Nevermind. The point is that you need to repaint, it's been quite some time. And before you argue, I can help. I reach the top half," she added with a sweet little smirk.
The thought of a floating person with a paint roller was more disconcerting to him than the thought of living with chipped and out-of-date paint. "No thank you," he said dryly. "I think I'd rather have Neal and Emma deal with it."
"Suit yourself," Belle shrugged. "Are things not going well with him and Emma?"
"Things are fine," he grunted, opening the microwave before it had a chance to beep. Settling himself back down at the table with his food, he considered the subject dropped. That is, he did until he felt a pair of all-seeing eyes looking through him as though he was the translucent one. "Quit that," Gold called with his mouth half-full of burger.
"Do you want me to leave?"
"I said to quit, not leave."
She gave a quiet laugh, looking away with a roll of her eyes. "I don't mean to pry. I just figure that if you're going to keep letting me stick around then I might as well get to know you."
"Certainly you could find someone else to haunt," Gold retorted dryly, quirking a brow as he kept his own gaze focused on his dinner.
She followed, her lightly-glowing form appearing in the corner of his eye. Or was it the glow from the dim and needing-to-be-changed bulbs in the overhead lighting? She seemed more real than unreal at times, and he was quite certain that if he hadn't seen straight through her on their first meeting then he would have almost fully believed that she was alive.
"And why would I want to do that? You seem like you have a good story to tell."
"I hate to inform you, dearie, but you have a bad judge of character."
She gave a laugh that had him wanting to join in, but he stubbornly hid behind his dinner, taking another mouthful of burger so that he would have something to do other than giving in. It was a rather musical sound, echoing across the room, and somewhere in the back of his mind Gold realised that he could very easily become used to hearing it.
“I think I’ve been around long enough to know a good story when I see it. There are books with dusty covers that haven’t been touched because they’re unworthy and trash, and there are books whose pages haven’t been read for so long because the story is too real.”
“I’m sorry, are you calling me a dusty book?” He challenged, giving her a pointed look that she matched with the addition of a playful smirk.
“I’m a ghost, you can’t really do anything to me for it, so yes.” He snorted, rolling his eyes as he bit off more of the burger, faintly smiling as he chewed. She might have been a ghost, but she was more real than half of the people he had met since he had moved here. She got him, which he was loathe to admit, but it was the truth and he couldn’t deny that he liked having someone to talk to that wasn’t living in a fairytale. “Don’t you dare smile, I might start expecting it more often,” Belle teased, giving another of those musical laughs of hers.
Yes, he decided as he attempted to school his features into a rather forced scowl; he could definitely get used to it.
