That same night, while Belle and Baelfire slept Rumplestiltskin could not sleep, watched his true love and his son, fearing that this was no more than a dream or that some god decided it was a mistake and snatched everything he loves .
"Rumple?" Belle muttered in her dream waking up slowly as if she somehow felt his worry.
"I'm here" he answered as he got up from where he was spinning in a corner of the room, trying to get used to the new sensation of light magic.
"You're ok?" Belle asked worriedly, watching as he sat next to her taking care not to disturb Bae who was fast asleep in the middle of the bed
"Yes, it just seems strange to me, all this," Rumple murmured as he watched the little Baelfire approaching the warmth of his mother's body. "I still believe that it is a really wonderful dream from which I will wake up to find myself alone in my tower once more. "
"Honey, I understand" replied Belle as she put a hand on his face
"Really?"
"Yes, when I lived in my father's castle I never thought I could find true love, I always believed that if I had a child it would only be for the sake of my kingdom, now I am happier than I could imagine" she said with a smile while she was approaching to kiss him "Although I must admit that I never imagined that things would happen so fast" Belle added with a laugh.
"Me neither" Rumplestiltskin smiled
"Come, it's time to rest, I read that newborn babies have very irregular sleep schedules"
With a slight laugh Rumplestiltskin got under the covers and embraced his family, for the first time in a long time completely happy, feeling in his heart the first flower of hope for a new beginning which would give peace and harmony to everything in the Enchanted Forest.
++++++++++
A few weeks later while Belle was still trying to adapt to her new life as a mother she had a really amazing discovery. She was sitting in the library trying to make Bae fall asleep, apparently was a baby full of energy but if he did not fall asleep now he would be very grumpy later
"Come on darling, it's time for your nap," murmured Belle as she cooed to her baby and stood up to show him the beautiful scenery that surrounded the dark castle apparently banishing the dark curse also meant banishing many of the dark aspects of the castle the many bad grasses that filled the garden withered to give way to beautiful shrubs and flowers of the most beautiful colors, the melancholy that seemed to follow you through every corridor of the dark castle had disappeared to be summoned by warmth and a warm feeling of peace
"You know it helps mom to relax, a good story and I know the perfect story" exclaimed Belle as she looked around for her book only to find it nowhere
"You know honey sometimes I wish I could do what your father does to raise his hand and suddenly what I want is in my palm, that would be useful, do not you think?" Belle exclaimed as she raised her hand and imitated one of the gestures of Rumple, but to her surprise a bright blue homo cloud floated over her hand for a few moments after she cleared and left a bright children's book, causing Bae to giggle and Belle run out of the library to look for Rumple.
+++++++
"So what do you think is happening?" Belle asked worriedly as she sat on a stool in Rumplestiltskin's tower, and observed mixing various liquids and powders in different flasks. Bae had finally fallen asleep and now rested soundly asleep in a beautifully crafted crib in one of the corners of the tower as far as possible from the odd smells of the positions.
After a moment and several hair samples Rumplestiltskin turned and looked to see her with worried eyes
"I'm not completely sure but I think that all this weeks we practiced basic magic and the wish of the star affected you in a way that we did not expect, you will see when the magic it comes in contact with a person and that person accepts it, never abandons you, is one of the things that I discovered in my research of the last week "
"So there's nothing to worry about?" Belle asked with a bit of hope
"I would not say that sweetheart. You will see the magic of light is unpredictable and is more strongly linked to your emotions and subconscious thoughts "
"So what will we do now?"
"Well, my love, I think now the roles are reversed and it's my turn to teach you how to use your magic", answered Rumplestiltskin with a soft smile.
+++++++++
The time had passed. Rumplestiltskin having no reason why throwing a dark curse and free of his own curse radically altered the course of everyone's destiny in the Enchanted Forest.
The Queen eventually broke her spell and returned to get revenge, however a long conversation with Belle and a little of her magic of light, relieved the Queen of the darkness that rested so much in her heart and relieved her thirst for revenge by opening the way to find his own happiness, which to the surprise of many and not so many of a few found in a kindly widower named Robin Hood, with whom he lived a long life full of love and adventure.
Being free from the persecutions of the Evil Queen, Snow White finally could return to her kingdom to claim her right to the throne and reunite with her true love, giving way to a long reign of prosperity for her people, years later she would give birth to a beautiful girl whom they called Emma without knowing the great destiny that awaited her full of magic and love.
On the other hand the life of Belle and Rumple never ceased to be full of love and a lot of magic. After discovering her new Belle powers, Rumplestiltskin decided that he wanted to help her to perfect them as well as possible and together they worked as a family traveling through all the kingdoms learning new forms of light magic defeating villains and curses. Years later a new member of the family joined them. Gideon, and everything in their lives was even more perfect.
As I’ve said, it was a great honor and pleasure to be your Santa this RCIJ 2018. I love how we share a lot of interests and like I’ve said in my anon messages, I’ve squealed while visiting your blogs a couple of times. I hope I did justice to your prompt and hope you enjoy them!
I posted the two gifts under a series name in AO3, same title as above. But here’s the link for both :)
-wierdogal / ml101 (on AO3)
221B Avonlea Street
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.
The House (Castle) Always Wins
Summary: What if the Dark Castle was more than just the dark castle? What if when the curse hit, the castle was given new life? Or DarkCastle is alive and became human during in Storybrooke AU :)
It was another five days before Belle felt well enough to get out of bed, and even then she felt exhausted. She didn’t think that she could rest for much longer, though; she had already broken the deal they had made, and she was very afraid that she would be tossed out into the snow if she didn’t make herself useful. She had not seen the Dark One since he had disappeared from the room in what seemed to be high dudgeon, but she suspected that he had been keeping an eye on her. Or (if not he himself) the castle had. The fire was always burning, no matter what time she opened her eyes, and there was always a fresh pot of tea by her bedside on a silver tray. For the first few days she only wanted water, her fever making her desperately thirsty, but when she finally drank the tea it was hot and delicious and tasted as fresh as if it had just been brewed. She was also sent food: dishes of cut fruit that could not possibly have grown in the depths of winter, bowls of lamb broth thick with barley, or rich beef consommé. When she was able to sit up without feeling faint, she found solid food on the tray, thick slices of roast beef with mustard and horseradish, pheasant roasted with squash and fresh sage, and delicate pieces of rabbit in a rich wine gravy.
She ate her fill, and when she was done the dishes disappeared and were replaced with dessert. Belle spooned lemon syllabub into her mouth, humming in pleasure at the flavours. If the Dark One was going to throw her out into the snow, it appeared he wanted her to have a full belly before he did so.
“Done with lying around, are you?”
His voice made her jump, and she dropped her spoon, letting it rattle in the little glass syllabub dish. He was standing with his arms folded, fingers tapping on his elbow. He had long, slender fingers, black nails at the ends. She wondered if he had always been this way.
“I’m so sorry to have been so much trouble,” she said. “You looked after me so well; I imagine you didn’t get much sleep the first day or so.”
“Dark Ones don’t need sleep,” he said, and his words piqued her interest.
“Dark Ones?” she asked excitedly. “Are there more of you?”
“No,” he said flatly. “No, there’s just me.”
“But you just said—”
“It was a figure of speech!” he snapped. “And one I have no desire to explain.”
He raised his hand, as though he was about to conjure that red smoke that took him away from her, and she held up her hands.
“No, please don’t go!” she pleaded. “I don’t often get the chance to talk to someone like you.”
“A demon?” he said snidely, and she blinked.
“I - I didn’t think you were a demon,” she said. “I thought maybe you were a - a dark fairy, or something.”
“I’m not a bloody fairy!” he snapped. “Useless, interfering gnats!”
“I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Forgive my ignorance, Dark One.”
He grunted, nodding, and she put her head to the side.
“Do you have a name?” she asked. “Or would you prefer it if I called you Dark One? Or - or is there a title? Should I call you ‘My Lord’, or—”
“I’m not a lord,” he said coldly. “I’m not a noble. I have no need of vacuous titles and paltry mortal honorifics. I am the Dark One. That should be enough for anyone.”
He seemed irritated, and so she nodded, bowing her head.
“Very well.”
There was silence for a moment, and she let it stretch out, keeping her eyes on the silk coverlet.
“My name,” he said eventually. “Is Rumplestiltskin. You may use it.”
“Rumplestiltskin.” She tried the name, let it fall from her mouth, and looked up at him with a smile. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“I doubt that,” he said, and she wanted to sigh.
“I’m sorry to have been a burden,” she said. “You were very kind to take care of me.”
“Yes, well, it was either that or have you die in my dungeons,” he said, his fingers flickering in the air. “I’d prefer not to have to deal with weeping relatives making pilgrimages here to mourn your passing.”
“I doubt you’d have to,” she said dryly, and his mouth pursed a little.
“You have no family?”
“I - I don’t know,” she admitted. “My mother is dead. My father - he may be dead too. I’m - I’m trying not to think about it. There was a rebellion…”
She cut off, chewing at her lower lip, tears forming in her eyes.
“So, that’s why you ran,” he said.
His voice was lower, the high, snide tone gone. It was warm, accented. Like the voices she had heard from the north. Was that where he was from?
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s why I ran.”
Silence fell, and she concentrated on her hands, the fingers laced together on top of the blue silk.
“You look better,” he said. “Deal-breaking appears to agree with you.”
Belle sighed, glancing up at him.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said sincerely. “Truly I am. Would you allow me to pay what I owe when I’m well?”
He paced slowly back and forth, boots clicking on the wooden floor, as though he was thinking it over.
“We agreed that you could wait out the storm,” he said. “The storm has now passed.”
“I know, but—”
“So I take it you wish to strike a new deal?”
She felt hope bloom in her chest. Perhaps he wouldn’t throw her out after all.
“Yes,” she said. “And - and for a longer period of time, if you’re willing.”
He regarded her, his eyes flickering over her.
“Rest first,” he said. “If you’re well enough to rise this evening, come to the great hall, and we’ll discuss it. Perhaps a deal can be struck.”
He disappeared in a plume of red smoke before she could respond with anything more than a nod, and Belle lay back against the pillows with a sigh. Perhaps they each had something to offer the other. Perhaps she could be safe.
Hard to be a player when you don’t know the game. A semi-Atomic Blonde AU from the lovely Rumbelle Secret Santa prompt by @annagingil: “secret lovers, spies in day.” Title by Bowie, hot mess by me. Here, have some songfic like it’s 2004. I hope you enjoy.
Rated: M
Word count: 3,983
A03 Link
You never told me of your other faces
You were the widow of a wild cat
And now I know about your special kisses
And I know you know where that's at
I guess I recognize your destination
I think I see beneath your make-up
What you want is sort of separation
This is no ordinary
This is no ordinary--“Criminal World” by David Bowie
Belle grabbed handfuls of hair, twisting it with practice between her fingers. She shoved it roughly but efficiently under a short red wig, lowering the long fringed bangs over the tops of her eyes. She carded her fingers through the rest of the bob to make sure it was lying flat and even. It would be easier with a mirror, but she plans on completing her transformation in the stall of this godawful ladies’ room before glancing at the total effect on her way out.
Boots, impractical but stylish jacket, new earrings and a couple of slap bracelets complete the look. She wants a look that says “party girl” but inconspicuous, so most of her ensemble is black or navy. Everything she was previously wearing, including the flat shoes, blonde wig, professional cut dress, and stud earrings get shoved into the oversized slouch bag covered in heavy leather fringe that she wings over her shoulder like an infantry pack.
Less than five minutes after Belle entered, Lacey leaves.
She hadn’t had enough sleep but she’d had enough coffee. The coffee in this country was dismal; it was so mild she could probably brush her teeth with it, but that made it easier to imbibe large amounts without necessarily intaking food to protect her stomach. Belle enjoyed food a great deal, so it was a source of consternation that her stomach could be somewhat touchy at times. People in her line of work really shouldn’t develop quirks that get you noticed, or remembered.
Or slow you down: she was almost 20 minutes behind her self-imposed schedule. That was still within the range of allowable delay but it didn’t improve her mood. She’d needed the extra time to change hotels, or rather, have Lacey change hotels via payphones at the airport. Then of course she had to become Lacey in that dive of a ladies’ room, and at last she was ready to meet the Stationmaster.
She’d checked her bags in at left-luggage until after the meeting; depending on how competent she assessed this “Mr. Gold” to be, she might need to take further precautions with her belongings for a long-term stay.
Belle internally rolled her eyes at the name Mr. Gold. She’d asked back at Home Office what year exactly did this agent think they were living in? Regina had given her half a smile and said “You’ll have to ask Gold--he’s been Stationmaster so long he may have lost touch with reality.”
Belle reached the rendezvous site 15 minutes before Mr. Gold and 10 minutes later than she wanted to. The discotheque thrummed like a hive of bees from the outside. She found a spot in the shadows down from the entrance, leaning against it in apparent casualness while lighting a cigarette. She balanced the danger of the glare from the tip drawing notice against the suspicious nature of being noticed doing nothing at all, and added the adoption of a bored look while she slouched to clearly indicate ‘waiting for someone and not happy about it, do not approach.’
She was intently scanning the people as they entered and exited the club, but she felt more than heard that something was behind her a moment before the man began speaking.
“Ms. French?” A voice asked in accented English.
She turned her head slowly and controlled, like a snake hypnotizing prey.
“Mr. Gold?” She responded in her own accented English. Which accent she’d chosen for this engagement not quite evident from only those two words.
There was a tapping sound from the shadows behind her, as a man with a cane and a hideous hat emerged from one shadow around the corner of the building to join her shadow. Belle’s internal map told her that he’d had to come up from the river banks and detour around several warehouses to get that drop on her. Not the path she would have taken, but not wholly unexpected.
Belle knew she still looked like a bored party girl and took a slow drag from the cigarette while eyeing the man. Shortish, dressed nicely apart from the hat, cane was a bit ostentatious (necessary?), older but that was too be expected based on the briefing at Home. “You’re late,” she informed him. She’d decided to use R.P. for this assignment for regional neutrality. The reprimand sounded lovely in BBC English.
The man smiled far too widely. “No, I’m not.” Fair enough, In a flash of the headlight of a passing car, she caught sight of the glint of something in his mouth. A gold tooth? Her estimations of this agent were . . . conflicted. He read like something out of an old spy comic with advertisements for decoder rings in the back. On the other hand, he’d almost gotten the drop on her. Almost.
“Shall we?” Mr. Gold held out his arm for her like an old-time gallant. She threw back her head and gave a drunken laugh, grabbing his arm sloppily while her legs contrived to fall in step with him and not topple her over despite the lack of direction she was apparently giving them. The wool coat covering his arm was warm and expensive feeling. He smelled like woodsmoke. Mr. Gold grinned again, and they started down the street; just a businessman on a Friday night picking up a good-time girl. They disappeared into the shadows together.
(ah, ah, ah)
What a criminal world
The boys are like baby-faced girls
What a criminal girl
She'll show you where to shoot your gun
What a typical mother's son
The only thing that she enjoys
Is a criminal world
Where the girls are like baby-faced boys
Belle lit up a cigarette while scrutinizing photographs.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do that in bed,” Gold said, not looking up from the papers he was reading in the armchair next to the bed. Belle turned her head slightly to give him a languid look while she exhaled a stream of smoke nonchalantly. She sat in the middle of Gold’s ridiculously large bed, wearing only her own lingerie and his shirt. Black and white glossy photographs littered the bed around her. She’d made a good connection in befriending Merida, novice intelligence agent. Merida tended to blunder about and into things, but she took a damn fine shot.
For a moment, Gold looked up at her sternly from the armchair before his face softened in resignment and he looked back down at his papers. He wore a an honest to God smoking jacket without a trace of irony, looking like some ersatz Sherlock Holmes in the overstuffed brown leather chair.
Frankly, everything about Gold’s abode was rather “overstuffed” for Belle’s tastes, yet she found herself drawn here for their trysts more often than not. She’d made sure Lacey kept changing hotels every few weeks, starting out somewhere posh then slowly degenerating in quality, the slow decline of a woman living a little too outside her means for a little too long but who just had to keep the party going.
Belle didn’t really mind the growing inferiority of her base-camp’s amenities; her frustration was with how long this infernal investigation was taking. She should have been further along ages ago. Home needed her to run a traitor to ground, but so far she’d just been running in circles over this Godforsaken city.
“This Hatter character is all over the map,” Belle muttered, tossing photographs into rough groupings in an effort to switch up the patterns they presented.
“Character is definitely the word to describe Jefferson,” Gold said laconically.
“You really trust that guy with your import and export dealings?” Belle asked him. She made a mental note to get better control of her accent. She’d been getting slack around Gold.
Gold grinned wolfishly and she caught sight of the gold even in the low light of his cavernous bedroom. The man was a such a peacock, she thought, but not without fondness.
“I don’t trust anyone, dearie, that’s how I’m still in this game.”
The fondness vanished and she made a mental note to get better control on that as well. She stared at him in silence until the grin faded and he deigned to answer her questions.
“Jefferson might have fried most of his common sense with drugs, but his abilities to focus and execute a plan are quite keen,” Gold admitted. “Plus God knows how he gets across some of the borders he does carrying the things he does.”
Belle made a hum of agreement. “That’s one of the reasons Home Office flagged his file.”
“You know, you can hear the way you emphasize certain things, almost as though they’re titled peerage,” Gold said with amusement. “‘Home Office,’ or my favorite, ‘Stationmaster.’ It’s quite endearingly formal.”
Belle bristled at his tone, like he was describing the tricks of a favored pet.
“I don’t see why calling something by its proper name is quite so funny,” she said coldly, her movements regarding the photographs turning brisk. They’d reached that inevitable point in their interactions when it was probably time to leave.
Moving soundlessly and with ever-surprising grace, Gold left the armchair to push the photographs aside and crawl up the bed to loom above her. She met the maneuver with a cold stare and the quirk of an eyebrow. Better make this good, her look told him.
The smoking jacket belt had come loose and the burgundy silk folds of it were starting to part. Gold took no notice of it as he started to trace a fingertip along the edge of his shirt she was wearing. There was still amusement on his face, but behind it a kind of heat Belle thought boded rather well.
“Forgive an old man his small pleasures,” Gold murmured, his fingertip reaching the slight swell of her stomach and turning into a full palm caress. “When you’ve been at this game as long as I have, you start to grow complacent about the whole circus. Fresh blood is . . . invigorating.” He finished the statement by moving his palm down a few critical inches and then lowering himself enough to start gently mouthing at her neck.
Belle smiled slightly despite herself. “Old Man?” She said mockingly. He grumbled against her neck, moving his mouth down to her décolletage.
“Yes, precisely. Much too old for chasing traitors all around the world whilst trying to keep a woman like you happy.” He somehow managed to to get all that out while never letting up his gentle assault. His hand moved just there and Belle was arching into him.
“I took care of the chasing part, darling, you’ve just got to lie back and think of Home Office,” she managed around breathing that was growing more labored. He chuckled against her, a delightful shiver resulting.
“Ah, the benefits of teamwork-” he punctuated the word with a twist of his clever fingers and Belle wrapped one of her legs around his hips, pulling the smoking jacket completely open as she speared one hand into the locks of his hair and scraped her nails along his scalp. Her other hand was snaking inside the open jacket to press him more firmly against her.
He paused his oral exploration though his hand never ceased moving, if anything growing more intent with its ministrations while he watched her flushed face from atop the length of her body.
“You know a real character to look at,” he said idly. Of course Gold would talk shop while getting her off. She tightened her fingers in his hair which only provoked a Cheshire grin.
“Oh? Who might that be?” She tried to match his disinterested tone but her rapid breathing made it somewhat difficult. She decided sliding the hand inside the jacket into more interesting territory would level the playing field. Gold did so like his little games.
His own face was growing flushed as he struggled to maintain the same nonchalance as before. “Our good friend-” he grunted slightly “-Officer Rogers. A man that turns traitor to his own government to feed our agents information might decide to doublecross us if the price is right.” She gave a little hum of agreement and a particularly good squeeze of her hand. He gave up pretending to be unaffected by removing her panties with a sharp tug and blanketing her fully, hands and assorted fabric barriers being removed in the interest of getting down to business.
Belle turned her self-satisfied crowing into moans. They didn’t precisely keep points in their little tête-à-têtes and the scoring was always up for debate, but she felt certain this round had gone to her.
Belle’s decision to bed the Stationmaster was a conscious one; she found it an extremely enjoyable way to relieve the tedium that often accompanies these sort of drawn-out assignments. She also knew it was an excellent way to accelerate feelings of trust or inclinations to grant favors between an agent and a potential asset. Everyone was a potential asset, even other agents. People were either assets or problems in Belle’s experience.
Not that sleeping with Gold was much of a hardship Belle mused as they moved in increasingly frantic tandem. Man was hotter than sin. She was beginning to suspect she’d been here a bit too long; she was thinking she might even miss this once the assignment was over.
In the languid stillness that followed their coupling, Belle traced a finger down a sleeping Gold’s back in the blue-black darkness of the room. He didn’t even stir from his position, face-down on the bed in the depths of slumber. When Belle realized she’s been wondering on the likelihood of an assignment taking her near this station again anytime soon, she decided it was past time to to finish things here and go back Home.
You've got a very heavy reputation
But no one knows about your low-life
I know a way
to find a situation
And hold a candle
to your high life disguise
You caught me kneeling
at your sister's door
That was no ordinary stick-up
I'm well aware just
what you're looking for
I am no ordinary
I am no ordinary
Because of the rain that started to fall, it was hard to tell the newly forming puddles apart from the pools of blood.
Belle could feel her hair, her real hair, snaking in cold tendrils down her neck and nearly bare shoulders. It was freezing out, but she already felt numb. She spared a thought for her eye make-up, the smoky nightclub look was probably running down her face like a hideous mask that it would take ages to clean-up and hideaway, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care too much at the moment.
Officer Rogers was dead. She’s not sure who else might be as well. Merida? Jefferson? It had all gone tits up.
The Operation had failed utterly, stupidly, it was doomed before it began! Someone had betrayed them, betrayed them all, and they’d set her up, goddamn them. She was well and truly burned unless she found him, the real traitor, and hoped to god Home Office granted her clemency for this spectacular fuck-up.
She heard a noise above the hiss and patter of the rain, a steady tapping on the pavement drawing near her. Her tongue moved unconsciously to the side of her mouth and tasted blood. Gold emerged from the growing gloom, wearing his ridiculous hat and coat, gloved, the rain running off him like some kind of black duck. She tried to muster some surprise, but she’s too exhausted, on her knees on slick pavement next to a dead man with all the fight drained out of her.
“This is it, isn’t it?” She murmured, a voice more suited for Gold’s bedroom and not even sure he can hear her.
One of Gold’s hands was holding his cane, the other was holding a gun. On her. He spared a glance for Rogers’s body and then looked back at her. The part of his face she could make out was unreadable.
“Well, this is somewhat unexpected,” he said mildly. “But yes, I rather believe this is it.”
Belle gave him a belligerent look. “Really? That’s all you have to say?” Anger gave her a false sense of warmth. “Tell me, did you even wait for Home Office to give the burn notice, or will you just let them know it’s handled after the fact?”
Now that inscrutable mask he calls a face registered some confusion. “Whatever are you on about, dearie?”
“I’m finished!” She yelled at him. “We couldn’t deliver the Package to Hatter, I barely got Rogers out alive and now he’s fucking dead anyway because he lost the damn plot and tried to stab me.” She shook her head, almost involuntarily. “I planned this mission, I coordinated the players, I was the only one who could have possibly betrayed us! Home Office is going to think I’m the double agent sooner or later—why the hell else are you here?”
The son of bitch smiled. Belle made a jerking motion that would have eventually turned into an attack but he wiggled the gun in warning and the motion died along with her anger.
“Really? That’s what you think will happen? I didn’t expect so much naïveté from you, sweetheart.” He sounded pleased about the whole thing the smug bastard.
She gave him a cutting look. “That’s the only scenario that makes sense, or will to Home,” she said cooly. “They’ll assume I’m Weaver and you’ll get tea with the queen for killing a turncoat.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Gold replied. “Considering I’m Weaver.”
There was a stuttering of the world, and then it all clicked back into place. She released her next breath shakily, her eyes darting about as all the pieces game back together.
“You never left the Station.”
“Hatter.”
“Home Office was already looking at you.”
“Of course, but they weren’t looking at you. That worked quite well for me.”
“You had me bugged.”
“Several times.”
“Where?” That was probably irrelevant at this point but professional curiosity had not deserted her in her last minutes even if everything else had.
He looked a little shamefaced for the first time that evening. “In your brassieres, primarily. Just a little extra wire.”
She couldn’t help it, she started laughing. She finally started to shake with cold as well as with hysteria as the rain just kept dumping on their strange little tableau. Clever, her brain thought, as she wanted it to reach for ‘despicable.’
She was hunched over now, staring at the slick cobblestones, enjoying that last fizzle of amusement.
“Alright, get it over with, Gold,” she said without looking up.
To his credit, he stopped playing dumb, and she heard the gun cock dramatically, much closer to her head. She closed her eyes and waited. Then she waited some more.
Finally, with some exasperation, she looked up. Foolish man probably had to gloat or a deliver a final witticism like a bloody film villain.
His face . . . it was utterly still except his mouth which was twitching like he was trying to bite down on words that weren’t being said. His eyes were wide and anguished. She frowned at him in confusion.
“Gold?”
“ I know what I should do,” he said, almost as though he was explaining it to himself more than her. “I should kill you. I could, right now, and this whole mess would fall into place exactly like you said. And Home would be none the wiser. But the thing is . . . I don’t want to kill you.” He sighed, and to her shock put the gun away, his coat shedding water around them like a fountain. “I’m too old for this, Belle, I’ve been in this game far too long. Because I honestly thought that we were something . . . more to each other. That there was something there.” His smile was back, but it was small and self-loathing. “I know you could never love me, but I thought we were at least friends.” He spread his hands wide, the showman ending the act. “You see? Just an old fool after all.”
Belle couldn’t move. Her mind was racing but her body wouldn’t let her act. His clemency was ludicrous, the man’s an idiot. They stare at one another in silence for long moments. He gives a small shake of his head, and then drops his cane on the ground. Belle doesn’t jump although the movement shocked her. She glanced at it in confusion. Gold whipped his coat off, the same dark wool piece she’d met him in all those weeks ago, and drapes the sodden but warm fabric over her small form. She’s swallowed by it, and while it won’t exactly heat her up much, it was protecting her from the elements a bit more than the tight black sleeveless dress and torn tights she’s currently in.
The rain started to soak Gold’s suit while he picked up his cane.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and kill me with this,” he said, gesturing with it. “I think that would be a bit pathetic, but since I also don’t plan on just handing over the gun to let you execute me, I’ll understand if things happen.”
“What?” Belle said, and slowly rose from off her knees at last.
Gold gestured impatiently. “You know who I am-what I am. The only way to clear yourself with Home Office is to take me in. Or rather, take me out, as I have no intention of being locked up.” Another wan smile. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you, I know what you can do. Let’s get this over with; you have tea with the queen to get to, after all.”
But, her brain stuttered again. She didn’t want to kill him. She does think of them as Friends. As more?
She’s screwed.
“Are they any other options?” She asked mildly, as though for the time or a cup of coffee.
He gaped a moment, then gathered himself.
“Well, there’s always running,” he replied, a menu item he’s not sure she’ll approve of but offers anyway.
She noddded. She’d assumed that would be the case.
“Alone?”
His jaw worked again. “That . . . had always been the plan.”
She stepped in closer to him. Her legs are wobbly from the cold, the kneeling, the fighting, from life. But they could still support her if she asked them to; they could still run.
He brought one gloved hand up slowly in the rain and traced some invisible line down the side of her face.
“Shall we?” She asked him, and he gave her a shaky nod.
She took hold of his whole arm, and they leaned against each other under the weight of the world. His cane tapped softly as they moved away from the alley, from the body, from their old lives. Who knows how long this will last--they may kill each other tomorrow. Or maybe they’ll kiss, and it will be one with all the layers of who and what they are stripped away and she’ll find out if there’s something there after all. Time would tell.
Tonight, together, they run.
(ah, ah, ah)
What a criminal world
The boys are like baby-faced girls
What a criminal girl
She'll show you where to shoot your gun
What a typical mother's son
The only thing that she enjoys
Is a criminal world
Where the girls are like baby-faced boys
Inspiration:
Atomic Blonde. Directed by David Leitch, performances by Charlize Theron, James McAvoy, Eddie Marsan, John Goodman, and Toby Jones, 87Eleven et al., 2017.
Johnston, Anthony & Hart, Sam. The Coldest City. Oni Press, 2012.
Lockhart, E. Genuine Fraud. Delacorte Press, 2017.
Tagged by @annagingil thanks hon’! Your taste in music is on point btw :3 I haven’t done one of these in forever
Rules: Tag 10 people you’d like to get to know better
Relationship status: Mentally dating Jughead Jones
Fav color: Green
Pets:
Last song I listened to: Say No To This- Hamilton: An American Musical
Fav TV show: Currently? Huuum Game of Thrones, Skam, Teen Wolf, & RIVERDALE!!! 💙
First fandom: Harry Potter
Hobbies: Reading, watching tv, volunteering? Hanging out with friends
Fav book: Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince
Worst thing you’ve tasted / eaten: I can’t remember right now… I’m not a fan of milk? @ooodonoghuehooker reminded me that it's actually a jellybean that tasted like dog food -.-
Fav place: Disney World? New York?
Tags: I’m not going to tag 10 people :/
@anglophilestymie because I often see them in my notifications/dashboard
@ooodonoghuehooker because why the hell not 😘
@aweasleywizard because he’s the best💙
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'.
Here's the second story. I went a bit overboard but I hope you like it. :)
Summary: What if the Dark Castle was more than just the dark castle? What if when the curse hit, the castle was given new life? Or DarkCastle is alive and became human during in Storybrooke AU :)
Belle reached up to touch Gold’s face, her palm cupping his cheek. He looked tired and drawn, and she supposed it was hardly surprising, given the events of the past few days and the conversation they had just had.
“It’s over for now, at least,” she said. “We can go home and rest, and I can heal. We’ll worry about the rest if and when they call, okay?”
Gold put his hand over hers, his eyes crinkling in a tired smile, and she leaned forward to kiss him.
“Come to bed,” she whispered. “I need to be held, and I think you do too.”
She was still very sore, and it was more comfortable to lie propped on the pillows, so he curled by her side with his arm around her waist and his face pressed against her side. She listened to his even breathing as he drifted towards sleep, and the painkillers helped her to join him.
Her sleep was disturbed, because she kept trying to turn onto her side, and then the pain would wake her, and so she was tired and grumpy the next morning. Luckily there was a long drive ahead, and she slept in the car, head lolling against the seat as it sped along. The journey home to Maine would take around four days; Gold had said that he wasn’t planning on stopping off in New York to see Jefferson and Ella, but would be going straight home, and Belle was glad of it. Not that she didn’t want to see them, but she was looking forward to getting back to the place she now called home. Looking forward to getting on with her life, whatever that meant. Gold still hadn’t done any more than kiss her gently, as though he thought that touching her would somehow hurt her, and the lack of intimacy was starting to get to her. She was aware that she was still injured, and she supposed it made sense to be careful. But she missed his touch.
Gold called Mr Dove as they were driving through New York state, asking him to go to the house and stock the fridge. Belle listened to the conversation with half an ear.
“Yes, I’m bringing her home,” said Gold. “She’s safe, no worries on that score, but she’ll need some time to heal.”
There was a pause, and he was nodding.
“Get fresh milk and cheese,” he said. “Some chicken or something. We’ll be back late, so something easy to make for dinner. And make sure there’s some wine in the fridge.”
Belle slid a hand across his thigh, enjoying the firm warmth of him. She could hear the faint noise of Mr Dove talking, and Gold rolled his eyes.
“Don’t go overboard,” he sighed. “And remind me to introduce you to some eligible women next time we’re in Boston.”
He rang off, and Belle raised an eyebrow.
“What was that about?” she asked sleepily, and Gold glanced at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.
“As well as being an excellent enforcer,” he said. “Dove is also a hopeless romantic.”
They rolled into Storybrooke at just before nine in the evening, the car pulling to a stop on Gold’s driveway. He helped her out, supporting himself with his cane on one side, and taking her arm. Belle rested her head against his shoulder for a moment, breathing in the clean, damp Maine air. It was very cold, frost already covering the ground, and was pleasant after the dry heat of the desert and the dirty air of the cities they had passed through. She let out a contented sigh. Home at last.
Gold let them into the house, and Belle noticed that the lights were on, and the house was warm. Dove, she suspected. She took off her boots and coat and followed him through to the kitchen, where he was already taking things out of the fridge. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
“Sit down, I’ll make us something to eat,” he said.
Belle sank into one of the kitchen chairs as he plated up cold roast chicken, cut some bread and prepared a salad. He opened a bottle of white wine, pouring two glasses, and Belle took a sip as he set the food on the table. There was a tub of potato salad as well, and a selection of cheeses that he put on a small wooden board. She was surprised to find how hungry she was, and helped herself to bread and cheese, lifting a piece of chicken breast onto her plate.
“It’s nice to be home,” she said, and he looked up at her, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is.”
They ate their fill of the food, and drank two glasses of wine, after which Belle felt decidedly woozy, and Gold washed the few dishes and took her hand to help her up the stairs.
“At least tell me I don’t have to sleep in the spare room again,” she grumbled, and he grinned at her as they stepped onto the landing.
“I think it’s safe to say that the only things that will mean we sleep apart will be illness and excessive snoring,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “Is your bed comfortable enough for an invalid?”
“I checked earlier to make sure it had enough pillows,” he said. “Close your eyes.”
Belle looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Please.”
He waited patiently, and after a moment she closed her eyes, feeling him take her hand and guide her into his bedroom.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” she asked.
“Go ahead.”
Belle blinked, her eyes noticing the soft light first of all, and then the colour. The room was set up as though it were a honeymoon suite, with vases of red roses set on the dresser and nightstands, and red rose petals strewn on the bed. A box of chocolates was beside one of the vases, and Belle pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling both touched and amused.
“Did you do this?” she asked, and Gold shook his head.
“Dove,” he said dryly. “I told you. Hopeless romantic.”
She giggled.
“Remind me to thank him,” she said. “I think I’ll take a bath before we turn in, though.”
“Oh, he’s been in the bathroom, too,” said Gold, with an air of weariness that she didn’t quite believe. “Let me run you a bath. I’m sure he’d like to know you used the products he purchased.”
Belle giggled harder, trotting to the en-suite to find yet more roses in vases and several bottles of floral bath products. She turned to Gold with a grin as he bent to turn on the water.
“You know, this is the first time I’ve been in your bathroom,” she said coyly. “That bath looks big enough for two, what do you say?”
She wasn’t supposed to be getting her dressings wet, so she was unable to relax in the bath as she usually would, but the sight of Gold sitting opposite with rose-scented bubbles up to his chest was amusing enough that she didn’t care.
“This is nice,” she sighed, sliding a leg down next to his. “I want more times like this. With fewer bullet wounds getting in the way.”
He grinned.
“I’m hoping that Storybrooke will continue to be as boring as hell,” he said, “just as it was before you came crashing into my life and turned it upside down.”
Belle poked him with her toes.
“Admit it, you had fun.”
“That’s one very inaccurate way to describe it, yes.”
She sighed contentedly, shifting her body in the hot water, and he ran his hands up her legs, stroking her wet skin, his thumbs gently massaging her thighs.
“Small town life, then?” she said. “Bake sales and weird local festivals and wondering which of the neighbours has a bizarre fetish?”
“It’s Miners’ Day soon,” he said cheerfully. “There’ll be a bake sale at that, and you can talk to Eric Fisher about his mermaid obsession if you like.”
