May 15, 2018
Dark Heart! Gold what was the very first thing that popped into your brain when Belle proclaimed her love to you?
Mind-numbing panic
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Germany
seen from South Africa
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
Dark Heart! Gold what was the very first thing that popped into your brain when Belle proclaimed her love to you?
Mind-numbing panic
Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Kitchen
Just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? This is a make-up RSS gift for @itschippedcup. It was fun being your adoptive Santa!
The prompt was: Undercover boss, Mr. Clucks, Love, and I, uh, managed to fill the first two pretty well. This went in a weird direction.
Sorry you got stuck with me. Enjoy!
Rated T for some cursing and a scuffle.
Summary: It’s the last night of filming with the mysterious Weaver, so of course things don’t go as planned for Belle.
“And what do you think about the CEO?”
“The CEO?” Ruby frowned at the plastic wrap she was pulling off the containers of lettuce and tomato. “Of Mr. Cluck’s?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Cluck’s.” Jefferson smiled, showing all his teeth. Ruby pretended to think about it (as if she had a opinion in the first place). Jefferson was surprisingly easy to rile up, though, for all he tried to act like the suave Hollywood producer he absolutely wasn’t.
“I don’t,” Ruby said finally, with a shrug.
“You don’t,” he repeated, tonelessly.
“Well he’s not exactly Steve Jobs.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I don’t know anything about the CEO. Why would I?” Ruby popped her hip, making a show of balling up the plastic and throwing it in the bin. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s some crusty old white guy who just sits around wondering how to best exploit his plebeian workers. It’s not even his signature on my check.”
“You have direct deposit.”
“Exactly.” She shrugged. “I don’t care who runs the company. Seriously, who does?” She reached inside the sandwich station, transferring the empty condiment containers for the new. “Like, that’s such a random question, Jeff. Why would you even ask it?”
“What can I say? I have my script.”
“I thought the point of reality TV was that it was unscripted,” said a voice behind them.
“Belle! Just the woman I wanted to see.”
“Ruby, after you’re done here could you run to the back and grab more medium cups?” Belle said, ignoring Jefferson. “Then go ahead and take your break, so we’ll have all our bases covered for the dinner rush.”
“Please tell me I’m not on window.”
“You’re on window.”
“Belle! Come on!” She groaned.
“What’s bad about working at the window?” Jeff jumped in.
“The drive-thru window,” Ruby grumbled. “Complete with the freaking cold, impatient people, and Keith.”
“We have to…accomodate.” To her credit, Belle did look sorry.
“Ugh, I don’t want to work with Keith. You know what he did last time? He ranked every single woman that came through on fuckability. First how they sounded through the headset, and then how they looked when they pulled forward. He’s so gross.”
“Watch your language,” Belle chided.
“Oh, we can edit that.” Jeff waved his hand.
Belle sighed as she rubbed at her temples. Only one more night, only one more night, she thought to herself. “I’m sorry Ruby, but we’re bare-boned because of the film crew, and you have the fastest times, plus with Weaver—”
“Yeah, yeah, the big star of the show.” Her eyes rolled so hard Belle was sure they’d pop out of her head. “And you’ll be ‘training’ him tonight, too, hmmm? Aren’t we past the hand holding yet?”
“Actually,” Jefferson said, “we want him put on front register tonight. We’ve gotten enough footage of him stumbling around like a blind lamb, burning the fries and messing up the sandwich orders. Now we’d like to see him crash and burn when actually interacting with the customers.”
Ruby turned large, pleading eyes to the producer. “Jefferson, if you want drama and chaos, put him on window.”
“Drama and chaos, hmmm?”
“Jefferson, I won’t tell you how hilarious it will be to watch him try to balance drinks and food at once, or how slow he’s going to be on the computer, or even how he’s going to butt heads with Keith because both are controlling assholes—”
“Ruby,” Belle warned.
“—I don’t need to tell you, because you are going to see it all and more, because Weaver is working window.”
Jefferson raised his eyebrows, his expression going slightly manic. He looked around at where Weaver, said Big Star of the Show, was currently elbow deep in soapy water at the dishwashing station.
“He’ll be disappointed not to be working with blue eyes here, though.”
“I knew it!” Ruby said. “This is for a dating show!”
Jefferson laughed. “It really isn’t.”
“Come on, Jeff,” she said, batting her eyes. “You can tell me. We’ve made it a whole week without guessing what the show is.”
“Hey, I’ve lasted this long, I’m not about to spill the beans now. You’ll find out with the rest of the world, when we debut in the fall.”
“Lame.” Her eyes drifted over to Weaver, to his short, greying hair and blue jeans. She had overheard him telling Belle that his hair was much longer before he had agreed to do the reality show—apparently it was a deal-breaker if he had to wear a hairnet or even pull it back so he cut it all off instead. It was a conviction that she could admire, even if he was sort of a jerk who seemed to only be nice to Belle. His ass looked good in the standard uniform blue jeans, though, and he was meticulous about his shirt staying clean. He wore glasses with thin, gold frames, and sometimes Ruby would see him flinch, or shake his head, like he forgot he was wearing them.
Or, well, whatever. There was something so weird about him, which Ruby would have noticed anyway, even if cameras and microphones hadn’t been set up around the back of her lame after-school job. And Jefferson wouldn’t even tell her why.
“I bet he’s a millionaire looking for love,” she said as Weaver started taking the dishes from the top of the drying rack (dishes were the only thing he didn’t curse at).
“Ruby, please.” Belle sighed.
“I see the way he looks at you, you know. It’s some Romeo and Juliet shit. And you’re always the one being filmed with him.”
“Ruby, take your break.”
“Who is flyer than my love? The sun be a jealous ho who is no match.”
“‘The all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.’” Belle corrected. “And that’s a quote about Rosaline, not Juliet. Also, how cliche can you get?”
“God, you would know it, you nerd.” She handed Belle the old containers, rolling her eyes as she did so.
“And you said my questions were weird and specific, and here you are, quoting Shakespeare.”
Ruby stuck her tongue out at Jefferson. “I’m studying it in school right now. Sue me.”
“Ruby, I am begging you—”
“Alright, alright.” She flounced to the register to sign out. “I’m not working window, though.”
“I agree,” Jeff said, turning to Belle with his wide, manic smile.
“Fine.” She threw up her arms, annoyed despite herself. “Weaver’s on window. Ruby, you’re front.”
Ruby cackled, even as she blew them a kiss. “I’ll see you babes in ten minutes.”
Belle turned back to Jefferson. “That means all the antics you had lined up aren’t going to work.”
He shrugged easily, pulling out a cell phone and tapping his messenger app. “Oh, that won’t be a problem at all. So, Belle,” Jefferson said, one eye on the screen. “That’s the third break that Ruby’s taken today. Why is that?”
“I’ve already explained this.”
Jefferson gestured to the camera, pinned to the metal shelf above them, the red indicator light glowing a reminder that no one has had any privacy in the past week.
With a sigh, Belle looked directly into the lense. “It’s company policy for any employee of Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Kitchen to be given one thirty-minute break for any shift that exceeds six hours. Since Ruby is a minor, she must be given an additional ten-minute break for every two hours she works, under Maine’s child labour laws.”
“You’re killing me, Belle.”
“I’m going to tell Weaver that he’s on window tonight.”
“Belle, I’m sorry for the switching, I know you were looking fo-”
“Whatever, Jefferson.”
“This really isn’t a dating show and I have plenty footage of you two together—“
“Not a big deal, Jefferson,” she said walking away.
Belle turned on her heel, moving past the fryers and heat lamps, into the deeper part of the back, where the washing station stood next to the freezer. The stockroom was across from there, and she made a mental note to grab medium cups after talking to Weaver, since Ruby hadn’t.
He was currently hosing down the cutting board. Belle slipped the containers she carried into the soapy water.
“I thought the point of fast food was to not have dishes,” Weaver said.
He had been making similar statements to her all week; what do you mean there’s no delete button on the registers, what do you mean Ruby is the only high schooler working here, what do you mean we have to wash dishes.
“There’s no solution in the cold bath,” Belle said, looking across him to the end of the large sink.
Weaver looked at her, then down to the clear water. They could see to the bottom, the metal shiny. The sink itself was actually pretty spotless, considering Weaver had been back here for the last past hour or so. If nothing else, Belle was going to miss him for keeping his stations clean.
“Excuse me?” he asked, eyeing her like he was trying to decide if she was pulling his leg.
Belle pointed to the blue lever above the three sectioned sink, turned to the left. “I’ve explained this to you three times, Weaver.”
“So explain it again,” he huffed. The tips of his ears (curled just so like a pixie’s) turned faintly pink.
“You wash the dishes with soap and hot water. Rinse all the suds off. Stick them in the cold bath.”
“Yeah, I got that down, thanks,” he grumbled, shaking out the pan he still held, the water droplets falling on the mats on the floor.
“We switched to putting tablets in the cold bath a month ago, so the blue lever doesn’t control anything anymore, and the sanitation stuff won’t come out when you fill up the sink.”
He scowled at her, his nose looking even more pointed as his eyebrows drew down. Everything about him was pointed, from his nose to his cheek bones, to his words.
“So nothing that’s been placed in there has been sanitized?”
“Unless the city has suddenly increased the amount of chlorine in the water, that would be a no.”
“That’s fucking fantastic, because that water has been sitting there for hours.”
“Don’t worry about it. No, I mean it—don’t look at me like that. Nothing about today has been real.” There were signs up all over the outside of the building warning customers that there was filming in progress, and Belle was pretty sure she had served more than her fair share of paid actors.
He sighed. “This week, you mean.”
Belle reached into the sink, pulling the metal plug up so the water could drain. She watched the whirlpool form, the water spinning round, round, round.
“This is bullocks.” Weaver dried his hands on the towel he had found shoved back somewhere in the cupboards, and Belle bit her lip to hide her fond smile; heaven forbid he have to wipe his hands on his pants like a normal person.
He turned so his back was to the sink, leaning his weight on the metal edge. Belle stamped down the impulse to shift closer to him, to feel the brush of his shirt against her arm, the heat of his skin. Clearly Ruby was getting to her.
“Jefferson wants to put you on window tonight, by the way,” she said with a forced air of casualty.
“With you?”
“No, with Keith.”
“Oh.”
Belle watched as his expression flattened, his mouth drawing a hard line.
When the last of the water vanished with a gurgle, Belle plugged the sink again, before ducking under and pulling out a plastic bottle full of the sanitation tablets. She plopped one in before turning on the water faucet.
“Jefferson isn’t the manager, you know, and doesn’t know the first thing about running this place. I say screw the cameras.”
Belle raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want to mutiny?”
“We can lock him in the walk-in until close.”
It was hard to see any downsides to the plan right then, Belle had to admit. “We could throw Keith in, too, and save ourselves that particular headache.”
He huffed, the humor leaving his expression as quickly as it came. “Mr. Cluck’s has an HR department. You should file a complaint about him.”
“We have.”
“I mean it. Call the head offices and ask for—” he paused, finally registering what she said. “Wait. What do you mean ‘we have?’”
Belle shrugged. “Last we were told was, the problem is being looked into, whatever that means.”
“And so you’ve just been patiently waiting for him to go away?”
“Oh, well, not exactly…”
“You can tell me.”
Belle shifted her feet. Her eyes strayed to the metal shelf that held the larger metal pots and pans, where she knew a hidden camera had been placed.
“Belle,” Weaver said, moving to stand in front of her, blocking her view. “You can tell me.”
She looked up into his sharp face. His eyes were wide, and so rich and brown, and damn, it might be cliche but they cut through her like coffee, a jolt that made her heart race. His gaze was intense, both friendly and angry on her behalf, and it felt good to have someone so unquestionably on her side.
“I asked a friend of mine to file a complaint with one of the other managers, thinking that maybe if it was a customer, someone would actually listen,” she said, her voice fast and low. She turned so she could lean her hip against the sink, so she was front to front with Weaver. “I actually asked several friends, but that was a month ago and nothing has changed. I think he might have found a way to hijack the review page, or maybe has some sort of deal with the GM. We keep complaining but nothing is happening.”
Weaver hummed, sounding unconvinced.
“I know it’s a borderline conspiracy theory, but—”
“No, no, I’m just remembering what my email said.”
Well that was a non sequitur.
“Excuse me?”
“When I agreed to do this show with Jefferson, he said that he had found the perfect store to stick me in, because of all the complaints.”
“The complaints,” Belle repeated.
“Jefferson forwarded me a few; you certainly aren’t the only one submitting them.”
Belle felt her face grow hot. “So what are you saying? That Keith hasn’t been fired because he makes for good television?”
Weaver’s tongue flicked across his lip. “This is reality TV. I’m sure this counts as mild for the strings producers have pulled before.”
“Mild,” Belle hissed. “You know, he’s been behaving himself with the cameras here. I’ve actually noticed an improvement in how he’s been acting. Also Ruby’s grandmother came in once to threaten him with an actual crossbow not too long ago, which helped Ruby out a lot.”
Weaver smiled, before scowling. “He’s still a wanker.”
“Belle! Weaver! Ruby’s back from break, it’s time to start!” Jefferson yelled.
As if on instinct, Belle grabbed his hand, finding the skin surprisingly smooth and warm. “You know,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “If you’re serious about locking Jefferson and Keith in the walk-in, the temperature is controlled on the outside.”
Weaver raised an eyebrow, his ears turning pink again, but his expression schooled into a careful mask of polite interest. “That so.”
Belle raised her eyebrows, trying to pull off an innocent look and not one like she was planning to inconvenience two people who kind of deserved it. If his answering smirk was anything to go by, she was failing miserably. “Yeah, you know. Depending on how tonight goes…”
She trailed off, and her words seemed to hang there. She felt his hand flex in her grip, but he didn’t pull away and she didn’t let go.
“Look,” he said, his voice low and deep, catching Belle somewhere in her belly. “This is just as much his last day as it is mine.” His eyes were so brown, and Belle leaned forward. “I promise you that.”
His eyes flickered down to her lips and, Belle could feel herself be pulled forward, her eyes closing. Her free hand slid around his waist, she could feel his breath at her lips—
“Belle! Weaver! The rush is—”
The producer’s shout was much closer this time, startling them. Weaver sprung back, but didn’t let go of Belle’s hand, effectively pulling her against him, since in Belle’s surprise her own hold tightened. Weaver’s knees caved under her weight, and he landed hard against the metal of the sink.
“God, I’m so sorry,” Belle said, finally relinquishing hands, only to run them up and down his arms, as if that’d make up for their combined embarrassment.
“Hey guys, as much as I encourage canoodling in forgotten corners, we have a finale to film,” Jefferson said with no small amount of smugness.
Belle rolled her eyes at his teasing, reluctantly pulling back. She licked her lips, hooded blue eyes meeting his, pupils blown wide. They were poised, ready to fall into each other. He brought a careful hand up to her temple and brushed a hair that had escaped from her ponytail.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Of course, yeah,” she said, feeling an easy smile tugging at her mouth.
His own smile was a tad more brittle. “I think I should apologize.”
“It can wait a couple hours,” Jefferson said.
Weaver shot him a look, before turning back to Belle.
“I’m not who you think I am.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He blinked, his face going slack in surprise. “You know?”
“What, you think I’m surprised that you’re someone else? Weaver, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “Your accent keeps changing from cockney to something vaguely Irish. I’m not an American; it doesn’t all sound the same to me.” She reached up adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, which had skewed somewhat on his face.
That got a surprised laugh out of him. “Okay, fair point. It’s not Irish, though.”
“Scottish, then,” Belle said.
“Weaver,” Jefferson snapped.
“Alright, alright.”
Belle giggled. “We’ll talk after, yeah?”
“After my impending humiliation, you mean? Of course.”
“You’ll be great,” Belle said. She impulsively stepped close, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Weaver made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but he smiled, his ears a deep pink, as he followed Jefferson back towards the front.
Watching him go, Belle tried not to let her eyes stray to his backside. Feeling much better about the final night of filming, she made her own way back towards the front.
“Hey Belle, could you drop in some fries?” Ruby asked as she handed back a customer’s change.
A line was already forming at the register, and Ruby hardly spared her a glance as she greeted the next customer.
The dinner rush went smoothly, or at least as smooth as one could hope, with the crew having to weave around cameras and recording equipment.
“Dude, check out the rack on that broad.” Keith nudged Weaver with an elbow.
Belle pursed her lips, annoyed. Weaver, for his part, brushed Keith away with a short, “do your job.” He pointedly did not look at the video screen.
Okay, so it could have been going a lot smoother. Belle was in the middle, making sure both front and window had all the food they needed. It gave her ample opportunity to eavesdrop on Weaver.
“No, sir,” she heard Weaver groan in his headset. “I can’t get you a Big Mac. This isn’t McDonald’s.” She watched him shoot a glare to Jefferson, who was hovering just outside the manager’s office. “No, that doesn’t mean you can have a Whopper instead.”
“Customer’s always right, man,” Keith said as he stuck a straw in a bag.
“We don’t sell burgers,” Weaver muttered. “It’s in the bloody name of the restaurant.” He sighed as something else was said over the headset. “Yes, we have fries. No, you have to be more specific. Just how much is a fuck-ton, sir?”
Weaver rubbed at his temple, and Belle couldn’t help herself as she swiped the headset off and pressed it to her ear. She heard a long, spaced out voice: “Just, like, a lot, man okay? A lot of fries. A fuck-ton.” Weaver rolled his eyes at her as she handed the headset back to him.
“Man, I wish I had what he was smoking,” Keith said, listening through his own headset.
Weaver grunted as he put through an order of five large fries. He seemed to rather not acknowledge Keith’s existence at all, not that Belle could blame him. With Keith, it was best to just put your head down and pretend he didn’t exist. The stoner, a young man in an old volkswagen, pulled forward.
“Now there’s a chick I’d like to show a good time,” Keith said as the next car pulled up to the order screen.
Weaver grunted as he listened to her order, thankfully a regular combo meal with a diet Pepsi. He reached over for a cup, filling it with ice from the station right next to him.
“Seriously, you gotta be gay or something to not even look up.”
If the comment bothered him, he didn’t say; he didn’t react at all. Weaver snapped the lid on the drink, placing it in line to be passed through the window. He glanced at the order screen, making sure to get the extra sauce packets she wanted.
Belle watched as Keith slid the window open, and hoped that he wouldn’t say something dumb to the customer. She really did not want to apologise again because a customer wanted a manager immediately after Keith said something gross.
For once, he didn’t make any snide comments as he took payment for the order. He leaned out to hand her her drink and card back. Belle’s ears perked up automatically, already preparing to swoop in and offer her apologies.
“You have a good day, sugar,” he said.
Belle looked up at the video feed and saw the lady roll her eyes before rolling her window up. Releasing her breath, she turned to glare as Keith shut the window and busied himself preparing the next order, who was either oblivious to both her and Weaver’s obvious distaste, or, more likely just didn’t care
Whatever. If Weaver was to be believed, this was Keith’s last night anyway. Belle wondered if it was because his inappropriate behavior was caught on camera, or if Weaver had some sort of connection with the GA.
After that, things slowed down. Because it was the last night of filming, they were able to close early so Jefferson and the crew could easily pack up all their equipment.
Weaver opted to stay, to help Belle and Ruby close the restaurant for the night, instead of leaving with Jefferson.
“Are you sure?” Jefferson asked, raising his eyebrows like he was in on a secret. “We have an early morning tomorrow, remember.”
“As I’m well aware. I’ll be back at the hotel later, alright?”
Jefferson hummed, a salacious smile curving his mouth. “Don’t keep him out too late now, you hear, Belle?”
“For fuck’s sake, Jefferson,” he muttered.
“Some of us want to go home,” Keith called from the window where he was counting out the register.
“No, he’s right,” Ruby said, pushing a broom into Belle’s hands before either she or Weaver could respond. “You take the front. I’m pretty sure some lady left her kid’s used diapers under one of the booths and God knows I’m not paid enough to handle that right now.”
Belle sighed, exhausted with today, but she managed a smile in Weaver’s direction. “We still need to talk.”
He smiled back. “Yeah we do.”
So Belle went to the front to clear away the last of the garbage and restock the condiment stations. Ruby was right about the diapers, which absolutely was not the weirdest or even the worst thing Belle had ever found while closing.
As she was sweeping the last of the crumbs and wayward straw wrappers into the dustbin, she let her mind wander to the last few days, to Weaver and his careful, slow way of doing things. To how his arse looked in his jeans.
Belle heard Ruby yell. She was wary to classify it as a scream, because it wasn’t the sort of thing that was really meant to draw attention. Belle looked over to the register, but it was long since closed, and due to strategically placed walls and machines, Belle couldn’t see much else from where she was standing.
Ruby was such a teenager, always loud and dramatic. Belle wondered what it was that she had found that made her call out like that. Maybe Weaver made her unclog the drain, or Keith was being an asshole again and hiding in the stockroom.
Not thinking anything more about it, Belle picked up the dustpan just as she heard a crash from the back, and Ruby yell again.
“You’re a fucking creep, Keith.”
Belle dropped the dustpan, pushing open the swinging door marked Employees Only. She ran around the corner only to see the cart they used to move the sandwich fixings pushed over, the plastic containers scattered across the floor, the saran wrap doing little to keep them from spilling. Weaver had Keith bent over one of the counters, arms pinned uncomfortably half-way up his back.
With his greying hair and slim-build, Belle had assumed that Weaver wasn’t much of a fighter. Keith had clearly also made that wrong assumption; the man was scrappy.
“Everything okay?” Belle asked, somewhat at a loss.
Ruby was shaking a little, but for all Belle could tell it was more out of anger.
“Yes,” Keith said.
“No,” Ruby said, at the same time.
Anger flashed across Keith’s face, gone a deep tomato red, and he kicked a leg out, cursing. Belle stepped a little closer to Ruby.
“Come on man,” he said, trying to appeal to Weaver. “We were just messing around.”
“Messing around?” Weaver asked in a low voice. “Surely you know this girl is sixteen. She’s far too young for anyone to be messing around with.”
“It was a compliment. She should learn to take one.”
“Grabbing my ass isn’t a compliment. It’s fucking assault,” Ruby snarled. Her shoulders were tight and she was leaning slightly forward, like a wolf about to rush it’s victim.
Belle squeezed her shoulder. “How about you call your grandmother? Ask her to come pick you up.”
“I’m not a girl,” she said, shrugging Belle’s hand off.
It took Weaver a moment to realize he was being addressed. “What?”
“I’m not a girl,” Ruby said again, glaring.
Weaver sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes you’re an independent young woman. I’m sorry, does that somehow make his behavior okay?”
His hold must have slackened, because the next thing Belle knew, Keith reared up, butting Weaver in the face with the back of his head, blow hitting just below his eye. He closed his eyes against the pain, hands letting go. Belle heard his glasses crack.
Ruby let out a shout of surprise, jumping back as Keith reeled around and threw a punch at Weaver’s face. Weaver responded on instinct, his left arm coming up to perry, then ducking and shoving Keith back, but Keith was just throwing random punches now.
Keith definitely landed a few more; Belle could see blood dripping from his cheek, but he shoved him back and jammed the palm of his heel up into Keith’s nose. Keith stumbled back, trying to find purchase on the counter that he had recently been pinned against.
Belle looked at the cart, left lying on the ground. As fast as she could, she pulled it up, gripped the handles, and ran forward.
Ruby would describe it as badass later when they were telling the story, but the truth was a lot less awesome. Belle yelled, getting Keith’s attention. He turned towards her, ready to lunge, when the cart hit Keith square between the legs. He doubled over, clutching the sides, when Weaver kicked at the wheels, toppling it and Keith back to the floor. He went down in a heap and seemed to be staying there.
“You fucking bitch,” Keith said, dazed and winded. Belle wondered if he had hit his head on the way down before realizing she didn’t care.
“Are you—” Weaver hesitated, not sure what to say.
“Fine. Just—fine. Are you? Jesus, Weaver, you’re bleeding.” She grabbed a towel and pressed it to his face, hoping he wouldn’t need any stitches. Weaver cringed at the pain, taking off his glasses. Instead of pulling away for asking that the towel be put under water first, he pressed his hand to hers. Her other hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he said softly.
“Uhm, so, should I call the cops?” Ruby asked, who had wrapped her hands around herself. She winced when Weaver’s eyes landed on her. “Sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking.”
“This is hardly your fault,” Weaver assured her. He toed Keith’s side, but he didn’t stir. He must have passed out.
“I can’t believe he did that,” Ruby said, not seeming to have heard. “I can’t believe he just attacked a movie star like that.”
“Movie star?” Weaver raised a bemused eyebrow.
“Reality TV is hardly Hollywood, Ruby,” Belle said with a tired sigh. Maybe cops were a good idea. She looked out at the spilled vegetables, sad and limp on the floor. She so didn’t want to be the one to clean it up.
“You know what, close enough.” She looked at the twisted frame in Weaver’s hand. “Are they broken? I thought I heard them break.”
“Oh,” he said, looking down. “They’re fake, actually. Doesn’t matter.”
“What, are they part of a costume? For your character?”
“Ruby—”
“I’m your boss, actually.” He was met with a confused silence. Weaver was clearly expecting more of a reaction, as he shrugged self-consciously. “I figured you ought to know now, at least.”
“Wait,” Ruby said with a frown. “You mean, like a new one? New management?”
“No, I mean I’m the owner of Mr. Cluck’s. My name is Robert Gold, and you work for me.”
“CEO!” Ruby says, smacking her forehead. “And Jefferson thought he was so slick.”
Weaver turned his brown eyes back to Belle, her hand still holding the towel against his cheek. “Sorry,” he said.
“That’s what you were trying to tell me earlier, isn’t it?”
“Jefferson wanted have a reveal done at headquarters—walk into the conference room, see me sitting there in my suit, all high and mighty.” Weav—Gold said.
“Like a bond villain,” Ruby said. “I can dig that.”
Belle laughed. Her head felt a little light, actually. “Jefferson is going to be pissed he didn’t get this on camera,” she said, looking back down to the ruined floor. She wondered if Gold had broken the cart when he kicked it.
“There are still the security cameras, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few hidden ones still tucked away.”
“Does this mean Keith is fired?” Ruby asked.
“Keith is very much fired,” he said. He seemed to realize that his hand was still holding Belle’s, which in turn was holding the cloth to his split cheek. He pulled it down, not letting go.“Belle, I—I just want you to know—I’ve grown very fond of you in this short amount of time, and I realize this puts you in a strange position, and I—”
Belle cut him of, her hand going around his neck, to the back of his head, pulling him down towards her, allowing their lips to crash together. Their teeth knocked, and their noses fought for room, but he still moaned, his lips pulling at hers.
“Ew. Guys, come on.”
Belle pulled away first, her gaze locked on his. “Let’s get this sorted out, yeah? Then we can talk.”
He licked his lips, and Belle bit back a groan, already wanting another taste. “Yeah. Alright.”
Fortis Jefferson! This might be an emotional topic, but I’m curious as to what happened with your wife’s body? Did “cleaners”dispose of her or were you able to somehow manage to get her a grave and tombstone?
(A/N: I adore this question because it’s something that never even occurred to me.)
I, uh, I didn’t have much choice; I was dead, after all. Gold paid the cleaners extra to take Prissy’s body and say they took mine along with it. She was cremated, which is what she would’ve wanted. There’s a nice spot on a hill in upstate New York with both our tombstones on it. I hear it’s nice.
Doesn’t really matter, anyway. Either way, Prissy’s gone. What’s left is just a body.
Alterations! Belle. So how did your father react when he learned that you called off your wedding to Greg? What are his feelings towards Gold?
Oh. Well, he wasn’t happy.
He kept insisting I fix things and apologize to Greg. That I was throwing my life away and acting like a child. That in a few months, I’d come to realize the mistake I’d made. That Lennon could never provide for me or any children we may have. That the rest of my life would be a financial struggle.
And I can count on one hand how many times Papa has met Lennon. He seemed to like him and consider him a good man, but he warned me more than once about getting to involved with someone I could never have a serious relationship or any real future with.
I understand he worries about me and wants what’s best for me, but that doesn’t mean he gets to make my decisions for me. I love Lennon with all my heart, we make each other happy, and that’s what matters.
Hey, You
Here it is! RSS fic 2016 for @itschippedcup. The prompt was “all I see is you.” I . . . did stuff with that? I had a lot of fun, I hope you enjoy!
Mysterious lights in the streets of Storybrooke have the local librarian playing Nancy Drew. We’re going to blame the fact that I was listening to the Welcome to Nightvale audiobook for this one after attending a conference in technology in the library. From conversing as a secret Santa, I learned of a preference for an AU Storybrooke setting, and angst (lite) to a happy ending.
Ao3
Nobody knew when the lights started to appear. It was just a quirk of the town, one of many, that at 3 AM every morning there was a series of light flashes on Main street in no particular order. At least, that’s what most people thought.
Belle thought maybe she was discovering a pattern. The lights were soft, a gentle glow in the darkness. A soft white contrast to the dim glare of the yellow streetlights. Indeed, the street lights made them barely noticeable; there was no risk of them being blinding to passing cars or people who happened to be walking about at the witching hour. They could almost come from anywhere. They definitely came from the pawn shop. No one looks directly at the pawn shop.
The pattern unfolds itself slowly, calmly, like the lights themselves. Belle notices them one night when she can’t sleep, reading by a low bedside lamp in a pile of blankets. Her curtains in her apartment above the library are wide open, as they are often are due to absent-mindedness at bedtime. The sodium glow of the streetlights doesn’t bother her, and it isn’t as though the shops along Main street employ dancing neon signs 24 hours a day. Storybrooke was quiet compared to her time in Buffalo, New York for library school. Belle prefers it not to be completely dark, truth be told, as she often wakes in the night to moments of disorientation set more easily to rights with a quick survey of her surroundings.
She supposes she’d just never been awake at exactly 3 AM before that first night, because that is the only time the lights appear. At first, Belle assumes her eyes are playing tricks on her when the first light appears in the corner of her vision. She is quite tired, and reading at three o’clock in the morning; her poor eyes put up with so much abuse from her bookish demands on them, no wonder they might start rebelling. The second light followed quickly, two more quick lights after that as Belle finally turned her head from her reading to the window. The lights lingered at times, or dashed off so quickly as to almost be imagined. By the time the last lingering glow had faded, Belle had made her way to the window to try and ascertain their origin.
The front window the Mr. Gold’s pawnshop burned for a few seconds with the afterimage of a flash; Belle could see its round burnished shape hovering in the air a moment like a picture developing on film. Blinking a few more times, her eyes cleared completely and she sought out the window of the shop in the darkness. It was impossible to see in the darkness and her own night vision being shot after looking too closely at the little “show.”
Standing at the window fifteen minutes later, Belle resigned herself to not knowing what the source of the anomaly was and shuffled back to sleep. She stared at her book a few moments, not really taking anything in, before shrugging it off and trying to go back to sleep. She was sure there was a perfectly reasonable, dull, small-town reason for the incident.
A week later, after getting up at 2:50 AM five nights in a row to watch the light show, she was no longer so sure. Belle made another notation in the notebook she’d started to keep the second night of her vigil once the show ended, the lights never lasting more than two minutes after starting at 3:00 AM. Staring into the darkness, Belle realized she was starting to become slightly obsessed. She shook her head in disbelief, looking down at the ink markings of her notes that looked like chicken scratches in the dirt.
“What the hell is going on?”
*****
Belle stood outside City Hall, biting her lip. This probably wasn’t such a great idea. Was a couple of lights really a matter for the Mayor? However, Belle was beginning to feel like she was at the end of her rope in terms of where to go next, and straight to the top seemed like the best idea. A small voice wondered about going straight to the source, but it was quashed.
She had already tried to get information from the usual town sources. She’d bought Leroy a beer at Granny’s a few nights back, to catch-up with the man and press him for information. She’d felt a little guilty about it at first. Leroy was a friend, she really ought to have asked him for drinks without an agenda, but too many 3 AM wake-ups had killed her patience.
“Hey, Leroy,” she’d said as casually as she could manage after a discussion about folding fitted sheets. “You ever notice those strange lights on Main street early in the morning?”
“Notice ‘em?!” Leroy scoffed. “Sister, I was one of the first people in town to see the electric light show.” He gestured, to no one in particular, as his witness.
“Really?” Belle leaned closer, avid.
“Yeah,” Leroy said. He sounded somewhat affronted, but Belle wasn’t worried. He almost always did.
“Bout a year or two back, I was working on the project to remodel the library before it opened back up.” He paused for a drink, and Belle calculated it would have been about two years ago, right when she was finishing up library school. She’d heard rumors that her hometown library would finally be opened after untold years of closure, and she couldn’t keep herself from hoping against hope there might be a way to use her newly minted degree.
“So I’d left my favorite hammer on the roof where were working this one day, and I went back to get it,” Leroy was explaining.
“At three o’clock in the morning?” Belle couldn’t help but interrupt.
“Hey, you don’t mess with a man’s favorite hammer,” Leroy said as though it were apparent. Belle shrugged.
“Anyway, I’m up there right? Looking around with my flashlight, when all of sudden-BLAM! Those crazy lights start going off like it’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind or something.”
Belle nearly choked on her beer. “Uh huh, right.”
“It’s true!” Leroy insisted. “I thought little green men were going to land and ask me to take them to my leader. Wouldn’t’ve minded giving them the Mayor . . .” he mused, then quickly looked around him for a lurking Regina Mills or her supporters.
“I’ve seen the lights, Leroy. They aren’t that bright at all. You’d barely notice them unless you were looking for them!” Belle nearly sloshed her drink in her insistence.
“Yeah yeah.”
“The question is, what are they doing?” Belle got a faraway look in her eye as she began to contemplate her new favorite obsession. “They’re not bright enough to be signal flares, yet they seem to have a signal-like pattern. I’ve been looking into-”
“Clark!” Leroy shouted at the top of his considerable lungs and Belle blinked in shock. “You owe me a beer, man!”
“No I don’t!” Belle heard the pharmacist say faintly from across the diner.
“The hell you do!” Leroy growled and got up to go harass the man.
And that was that.
Granny, Ruby, even Sheriff Graham--none of them had been of any kind of use. They were either clueless, superstitious, or totally uninterested.
“It’s not breaking any kinda law, Belle,” Graham had told her gently, as though she was spoiling for a flight.
“I’m not complaining about the lights,” Belle hastened to reassure him. “I just want to know what they’re for.”
The Sheriff had shrugged his leather-clad shoulders and cocked his head. “Guess it isn’t for us to to know, eh?” He smiled at her and she smiled back instinctively. Then shook it off.
“Wait, how do you know it they aren’t breaking any laws?”
“Pardon?” Graham seemed somewhat nonplussed that his charm hadn’t ended her enquires.
“I can’t be the first person to ask about these things,” Belle narrowed her eyes in realization. “You’ve had to check out the lights for yourself at some point to find out they’re not breaking any laws, haven’t you?”
Graham rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Welllll . . ..”
Belle gave him a pleading look. She may have used The Eyes.
“City Hall,” he said. “Mr. Gold has some sort of permit from City Hall for the lights.”
“Thank you,” Belle said. She could feel the thrill of a tangible lead.
A lead that, unfortunately, now had her standing outside of City Hall contemplating her life choices. The small voice tried one last time to convince her that the Pawn Shop really wasn’t such a bad option before she strode forward determinedly into the building.
The Mayor’s smile was a shiny red warning, like the colorful stripes on poisonous frogs. “Miss French,” she purred. “And what can I help you with today?”
“Madame Mayor,” Belle said cautiously. Personally, Belle wasn’t much afraid of the town’s regal and overbearing mayor. She harbored no illusions, however, that if she did something that the Mayor personally didn’t care for, the woman might take it out on the public library she knew Belle thought was so precious. Her curiosity could kill the Cat in the Hat if she wasn’t careful.
“I was wondering if I could ask you about a . . . permit,” she began.
The Mayor’s smile never faltered. “You’d like to apply for a permit? What for? Some sort of library project?” Her eyes were starting to narrow.
“No! No,” Belle said. “I don’t mean a permit for myself. I wanted to know about an existing permit.”
The smile was gone but its ghost remained. This woman has on so many masks it’s nuts Belle thought to herself. Still, she’ rather deal with smiling and insincere than angry and vindictive.
“I see. And whose permit are you interested in?”
“Mr. Gold’s?” Belle ventured. “I mean, I assume it’s Mr. Gold’s, since it has to do with his shop.”
The Mayor leaned forward in interest, her eyes now keen and focused. “Mr. Gold’s shop,” she said, relishing each word.
Belle internally rolled her eyes. She did not know what those two had between them, but their rivalry was legendary and frankly, somewhat childish. It was almost sibling in nature and would have been somewhat amusing if they didn’t use the whole town to wage their battles.
“Yes. You see, since I live across the street from the Pawn Shop, I couldn’t help but notice that there are some lights that come on at night.”
As Belle spoke she noticed the Mayor’s face slowly darkening and prayed it wasn’t at her.
“I don’t have any kind of problem with the lights,” Belle said. “I mean, they’re strange, you know? So random and--anyway, I was wondering what kind of permit Mr. Gold had that allows for the lights to happen every night.”
“Well,” the mayor straightened back in her chair, face distinctly less friendly then when Belle had entered. Belle swallowed down the instinct to keep talking.
Something shifted in the Mayor’s face and she gave Belle a small pout. “I’m afraid I can’t go into any details . . . but I can tell you what kind of permit Mr. Gold has.”
“Thank you,” Belle said relieved.
“Of course, I understand completely if you find the lights . . . troublesome,” the Mayor continued. “Not everyone was quite happy with the permit being issued, but it was decided by a committee and well, you know how it is.” The small smile was back, added to it a vaguely conspiratorial tone. Ah,Belle realized, falsely sympathetic and trying to start shit, that’s a good look as well. She probably hoped that Belle wanted to register some kind of formal complaint against Mr. Gold, begin some old battle anew.
“Of course,” Belle echoed, smiling with relief. Let the Mayor read that as she would.
The Mayor shuffled some papers around in a probably unnecessary fashion, glancing down at one and responding.
“It’s a permit for an art installation,” she said. “It’s a ten year permit, with about eight years left.” She looked up. “Like I said, it was approved by a committee. I suppose everyone’s idea of ‘art’ is different.”
Belle nodded, not really listening as her mind whirled over the new info. The return of the Mayor’s danger smile signalled the end of the meeting and Belle thanked her as she stood to go.
“Oh, one last thing,” the Mayor said as Belle turned to go. Of course, Belle thought, but turned back anyway.
“Technically, the permit isn’t for Mr. Gold.” The Mayor ticked her head to one side, contemplating the magnitude of technicalities in running a town.
“Really? Who’s it for, if I can ask?” Belle felt confusion winding up her new intel into knots like a kitten with yarn.
“It’s for his son, Bae Gold.” And with this, the Mayor was clearly done with the librarian so Belle took her leave.
*****
“Do the brave thing,” Belle muttered to herself.
The not-brave thing would have been going into the archives of city hall, documents that were stored onsite at the library, and digging through city council minutes until she found documentation about the committee that issued the original art installation permit. Odds were though that such documentation would contain dry meeting minutes taken by a bored secretary and perhaps a list of how members voted. Maybe the original submission and description of the art installation would be included, the motherlode that Belle has been searching for, but honestly, enough was enough.
The answer was literally in front of her. It had been across the street from her the whole time, taunting her, and she was ready to go straight to the source.
Belle wasn’t certain why she’d delayed the inevitable for so long. She knew of Mr. Gold’s reputation--it hadn’t changed much from the same bogeyman tales of her pre-university days--but it had never really bothered her. Exasperated her, yes, especially the tiff between Mr. Gold and her father that seemed ongoing and unfounded. The stuff with the Mayor was downright . . . weird. But personally, she’d never had any sort of problem with the taciturn Mr. Gold. Well, he could bring his son to the library more, 13 was about the age a lot of boys stopped reading as much and could really use the encouragement--
Enough stalling. Belle’s vague sense of disgust with herself propelled her forward into the pawnshop with a quaint tinkling noise from above the door.
Mr. Gold was behind the counter and he looked up with an almost imperceptible shake of his hair away from his eyes. For some reason, Belle was struck dumb by the sight.
“How can I help you?” Mr. Gold said quietly, with what Belle supposed was meant to be a sort of menace but to her just sounded smooth.
She gawked a moment more, then found her footing again.
“Mr. Gold,” she said with an unsure smile, walking up to the front of the glass case he stood behind. She stopped herself just before him, hands falling palm down on the cool glass to catch herself. An eyebrow on the pawnbroker may have twitched, but he said nothing.
“I was wondering, that is, if you don’t mind, but could you maybe tell me . . .” Belle was hemming and hawing, she didn’t think that happened outside of books. She took a deep breath. “What’s with the lights?!” She finally managed, exasperated with herself.
Mr. Gold’s face, before a placid and vaguely uninterested mask, furrowed into some new shape that Belle could only classify as ‘supremely displeased.’
“Miss French, I have a permit for the light display--”
“Oh, I know,” Belle cut him off, ignoring his huff of displeasure. “I know the shop has a permit for an art installation issued to Baelfire Gold that’s good for at least eight more years.” She started digging through her coat pockets to pull out her notebook. She’s vaguely aware that Gold was attempting to speak before she cut him off again with a small cry of victory, splatting the notebook down on the counter. She jabbed a finger at the esoteric marks she’d hatched out over days worth of 3 AM observations. “What I want to know is, what does it mean?”
When she bothered to look Mr. Gold in the face again, she was shocked to find him, well, shocked. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape and his breathing seemed to catch. Belle could almost feel it moving across her own lips as she realized she had leaned a good ways over the countertop with her notebook, quite far into the man’s personal space. He was holding himself perfectly still, eyes flicking from her own to her notebook and her hands resting scant inches from his own hands, which he slowly curled into themselves and withdrew behind the counter. Belle rather thought she was scaring the man with her intense questioning, but couldn’t think of a graceful way to back down now.
Gold cleared his throat, staring still at the counter top. “Do they bother you? The lights?” His voice was quiet as before, but the potential for menace was gone.
“Yes. Well, no,” Belle said hastily. “The lights themselves don’t bother me, the mystery of them . . . ? I’m afraid I’ve lost a fair amount of sleep over it.” Embarrassment was beginning to creep into her voice. “I saw them by accident, at first. I got up a few more times to watch them and I just-I just really need to know what they mean.”
“What makes you so sure they mean anything?” Gold asked, shifting his cane from one hand to another.
Belle huffed, then leaned forward onto her elbows atop the case. Gold’s eyes got impossibly big, and she noticed the lovely smooth color of them even in the dim of the shop. “Come on,” she said, bluffing her way through the shame. “Why on Earth would you go through the trouble of getting an artistic installation permit from Mayor Mills just to twinkle some lights every night unless they meant something?”
A palatable hit, she couldn’t help but think, as his mouth began to curve into a genuine smile despite what Belle was sure was his best efforts. A shame he doesn’t do that more, she also thought. It was a very good look for him.
It was her turn to be shocked when he suddenly leaned across the counter himself, bringing those eyes she’d just been admiring directly before her. “Alright, Miss French,” he said, voice amused and conspiratorial. “I suppose you’ve earned it.”
Belle blinked rapidly a few times, brain muddled by the smell of the man’s cologne or possibly his hair. For a moment, she forgot what he was talking about, and half hoped for him to close the distance between their mouths for an unexpected but not unwanted caress. She snapped back to reality when Gold pulled away, and gestured languidly toward the curtain to the back room.
Heart pounding, Belle walked around the counter to fall in step just behind Mr. Gold as he pushed the curtain aside to let her pass.
She’d never been to the back of the pawnshop before; she’d rarely been in the pawnshop at all, save the occasional unique gift hunt. It was . . . cluttered, was the nicest word she could think for it, ‘fire hazard’ being another. For all that, it was fascinating space, and Belle had the sense of being surrounded by hoarded treasure rather than disorganized trash.
She craned her neck around, trying to take it all in, when a cautiously cleared throat caused her to whip her attention back to her host. Gold was standing near a shelf, a book in hand and Belle hurried over to see. He cracked the book open to a page in the middle, one turned to so many times the book held the memory of the place and it fell out almost completely flat without him needing to turn a page.
It was a chart, an alphabet more accurately, dark black ink listing out all 26 characters plus some numbers, beside them a series of dashes and dots.
“Morse Code?” Belle said, turning to look up at the man beside her. Gold nodded slightly. His finger traced a letter here and there, and Belle saw faint pencil marks besides the letter he indicated.
“Once upon a time, my son had a friend,” Mr. Gold began, and Belle was rapt upon his face as he told his tale to the book in front of him.
“Bae doesn’t have a lot of friends, given-well, given the way things are,” he sounded apologetic to the absent son, and Belle felt a twinge within her. “But Emma-that was his friend-didn’t care about things like small town gossip, and she and Bae got on like a house afire. Bae had never had a best friend like her before, and Emma, well, Emma had had a rough time of things but you never would have known it when she and Bae were together. Two peas in a pod, those kids.”
He was silent for a few long moments, and Belle felt her heart began to drop with impending dread. “What happened?” She nearly whispered.
Gold seemed surprised to find her still here, or possibly so close. He glanced at her and back at the book, licking his lips quickly.
“Emma was in foster care, her foster family lived across the street from us, and they had to let her go,” there was a hint of anger in his voice. “Bae begged me to apply as her foster parent, to keep her from being sent back to another group home in Boston or a family far away.”
“Did you?” Belle was on tenterhooks as the story unfolded.
Gold finally looked at her steadily, a glassy sheen to his eyes. “Yes, I did, but I was denied.” Belle let out a shuddering breath and he continued before she could pry again. “My ex-wife, Bae’s mother, had come back into town demanding custody of Bae despite leaving without a trace for several years. While the court was clearly going to rule in favor of me maintaining custody, the ugly battle with Milah and her criminal boyfriend was enough to lose me the chance of being a foster father at the time. Emma was shipped off, and it was months before things had settled enough here for me to investigate what happened to her further.
“It was a wretched time for Bae, having his mother storm back into his life and losing his dearest friend. It had to have been awful for poor Emma as well. I wasn’t able to find out much about her, after she was back in Boston. They said she was gone again, back out in the system, and that was as far as I was allowed to get.”
Belle could feel her own eyes beginning to fill, and she swallowed hard to keep tears at bay. Gold shook his head and heaved a sigh. “The lights, you care about the lights,” he said, shaking his head in self-recrimination.
“No, it’s fine-” but she was cut off.
“Bae and Emma used to flash lights back in forth from the windows of their rooms at night, likely when they were supposed to be sleeping.” The small smile was back, sadder and sweeter. “They taught themselves Morse Code, and thought themselves quite clever for it. When Emma-when Emma left, Bae struck upon the idea of sending out lights to show Emma where he was, to lead her home, if you will.” Slowly, Gold closed the book and set it down on a nearby surface.
Belle swallowed hard. “That is so sweet,” she managed with a tremulous smile.
Gold snuck a peek at her through his hair and seemed visibly startled by her reaction. Belle wondered how people normally responded to the story of the lights.
“You figure out what the message is?” He asked lightly, and she appreciated the effort before she could become to maudlin.
She shook her head ruefully. “No, I hadn’t gotten as far as thinking of Morse Code- I don’t know why, they were basically giant Aldis lamps in your window. I likely would have gotten there soon, but. Well. I think I might have gotten carried away with the conspiracy of it.”
The smile they shared filled her with a warm glow.
“Well, Miss French, the message is currently ‘hey you’ so I wouldn’t beat yourself up too much about not decoding that bit of witticism.”
“Huh,” Belle said, thinking it over. “I would have thought it something a bit more . . .”
“Intelligible?” Gold suggested.
“Meaningful?” She offered. Gold shrugged.
“It changes, actually, every 6 months or so. It’s usually short, just two or three words since it can take some time to program the lights. When he first started, it was things like ‘miss you’ and ‘I’m here Emma’ but he’s recently turned 14 and discovered the angst of Pink Floyd, so now we get ‘hey you.’” There’s a slight eye roll at the joys of teen parenting.
Belle laughs. “Oh, that makes sense. Really, it could be much worse.”
“Indeed.”
There’s an awkward bit of silence then, flowing into the room and twining about them like a bothersome cat. Belle isn’t sure where to go from here, barging her way into this man and his son’s personal lives like a bull in a china shop. Hints of embarrassment over her silly obsession start to creep over her again.
Gold clears his throat and fiddles a bit with the top of his cane. “I, I was rather worry that you might have a problem with the lights,” he said, still not quite facing her, not quite avoiding her. “When no one lived above the library, the possibility of a genuine complaint was extremely thin. When you came back to town, well, I expected you a bit sooner than now. And a bit angrier.”
“Angry?” Belle was astonished. “Who could be angry after hearing that story? Plus, it’s a lovely bit of innovation; art and science project in one. I’m sure people think it’s quite clever!”
Gold is looking at her directly, face unreadable but not unfriendly. This close to him, she realizes he looks down at her, but only just. “Miss French,” he says carefully. “No one knows about Bae and Emma. Or what the lights really mean.”
“What?” Belle blinked at him owlishly. “But what do you tell people when they ask.”
He gives a small, understated laugh. “No one ask Miss French, that would require speaking to me.” He gestures to himself, the case in point.
She shakes her head. “That’s-that’s ridiculous.”
“I suppose so.”
“It’s Belle.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“My name,” she said it slowly, like it was his fault for not catching on to her non sequitur sooner. “It’s Belle.”
“I’m . . . I’m aware of that,” he said, still befuddled.
“Good.” She beams at him. “I feel like perhaps you should call me that.”
“Very well . . . Belle.” He’s hesitant, but not as much as Belle thought he might be, not as much as rumors and reputation would have lead to her believe an hour ago and she would have definitely stopped believing a few moments ago. “My name is Alasdair.”
“Alasdair,” she says, vowels playing differently in her mouth than his, but still quite pleasant.
“Yes.” He clears his throat a little, eyes darting about. “Most people don’t know about that either.”
Well that clinches it. “I like it,” she breathes, soft as a feather, then lifts herself slightly on her toes to brush her mouth against his.
At first only his mouth moves, just a hint of acceptance that encourages Belle to press closer. Then his hands come up to rest on her shoulders, and she dares to wrap arms around his waist. The kiss is tame, but Belle feels it down to her toes.
They break apart after a moment. Alasdair is staring at her with an intensity that makes her shudder, and he loosens his grip as she gently tightens hers.
“Well,” he starts, then seems unaware how to continue.
Belle grins, wide and slightly tipsy up at him. “I like you,” she tells him.
“You’d be the only one.”
She gently swats one of his arms, then ducks her head under his chin. She feels him resting it into her hair with a sigh.
“I like you too,” is his quiet admission in the still of his workroom.
“Thanks for telling me your story,” Belle quietly replies. She knows the message in the lights hadn’t been meant for her, but nonetheless, she feels like they’ve led her somewhere wonderful.
*****
Six months of dating the feared Mr. Gold had caused some of the people in town to look at her a little sideways, but Belle really could care less. She and Alasdair had been very happy getting to know one another, and his son Bae seemed to think of her as the Best Thing to happen to his father in a while, so all in all, they were forming into a nice little unit.
Belle hummed to herself under her breath as she sorted books at the desk, a happy habit despite the selection being “Wish You Were Here.” Bae’s predilection for Pink Floyd was still going strong.
The door opened, and Belle smiled up at the teen girl who came in. She was wearing a large flannel shirt, a backpack slung heavily over one shoulder. Her long blonde hair seemed a bit worse for wear, and Belle wondered if it was a windy day.
The girl seemed hesitant, pausing several feet away when Belle asked if she could help her.
“Um, do you know, the pawnshop, across the street,” the girl was twisting her hands together, then shook her head at herself. “Nevermind, I’ll just go.”
“Wait!” Belle said quickly. She slid down from her high chair and came around the edge of the counter. The girl pushed a chunk of hair behind one ear and looked down at her scuffed shoes.
“The shop’s closed to do inventory, but I know Mr. Gold is still in there,” Belle kept her voice low and even while she gestured across the street. “I could even go over there with you, if you want.”
The girl bit her lip, and Belle thought there might be tears starting to well up in her eyes. A thought hit Belle like a thunderclap.
“What’s your name?” She asked, holding back the urge to reach out a hand to the young woman.
The girl sniffed, running her sleeve across her eyes quickly and looking at Belle.
“It’s Emma,” she said, and then looked away again.
By the time she had the courage to look back, she was surprised to see tears welling up in the eyes of the petite librarian, who had a huge grin on her face.
“Emma,” Belle said. “Welcome home.”
This was written for the RumbelleSecretSanta exchange! My prompt was “how a woobie!Gold flirts”. I set it in a “What if Gold hadn’t taken Belle to the well before the curse was broken in S1” scenario, so it’s a bit AU-ish. There’s awkward flirting attempts and just a wee bit of angst, because, well, it is Rumbelle after all. Okay, I lied, there’s quite a bit of angst. I mean, c’mon, it’s woobie!Rumple. The first part is Charming family-pov, the second is Rumple-pov. I hope my dear giftee @itschippedcup likes it! :D
Hi dear! I had a fun time being your Santa! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and a great 2016!
PART I
Seeing Mr. Gold in Granny’s Diner was not an odd thing per se. Though he rarely deigned to actually eat there, he could frequently be seen picking up his lunch while coldly sneering at anyone who dared to look him in the eye.
However, seeing Mr. Gold enter the diner accompanied by a young beauty was another matter entirely.
The woman in question was a lovely slender creature with rich chestnut curls and startlingly blue eyes. She shyly met the astonished stares of the patrons, blushed, and nervously reached for Mr.Gold’s hand, prompting a series of excited whispers from several tables which were only silenced when Mr. Gold cast a withering look at the offending parties.
Ruby, who had momentarily been frozen with surprise, came forward to usher Mr. Gold and his pretty companion to his usual table – in the back, away from prying eyes. After they had taken their seats, the murmurs gradually died down; only the four occupants of the table two rows down from Mr. Gold’s could not keep their eyes of the pawnbroker and the mysterious woman.
The only recently reunited Charming family had come to Granny’s to catch up and get to know one another better, but this unsuspected arrival had put a sudden end to those plans.
“I don’t have any curse memories of her, do you?” Mary Margaret asked David, who was sat next to her. He shook his head. “No, none whatsoever – then again, I did spend a good deal of the curse lying in hospital and being unconscious,” he replied, his face darkening as he remembered the time before Emma had broken the curse.
“That’s Belle, Rumpelstiltskin’s True Love,” Henry chimed in, earning him three surprised looks.
“How did you…oh, of course, the book,” Mary Margaret realized.
Henry nodded. “Her picture is in there. She was a princess who made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin to save her kingdom. In exchange, she had to stay with him forever and clean his castle.”
Emma pulled a face. “Wow. That’s charming.”
The three other’s chuckled. “He was the most feared sorcerer in all the realms back in the Enchanted Forest,” David explained. “He did a lot worse than hiring princesses as scullery maids. In fact, that’s a surprisingly harmless deal, considering who and what he is.”
Emma still seemed skeptical. “Still, not exactly “true love” material,” she replied, making air quotes.
Mary Margaret’s suddenly face lit up with realization and she turned towards Henry. “Wait, you don’t mean Princess Belle of Avonlea? I remember her father, King Maurice. He came to visit our palace sometimes when I was a child.”
Henry nodded again. “That’s the one.”
“I think her father’s a florist in this world…I think he’s called Moe French,” Mary Margaret continued. “I wonder how he feels about this,” David said skeptically, nodding towards Mr. Gold and Belle. “Do you know what happened to her?” he asked Henry.
“They fell in love, but when Belle tried to kiss him, it nearly took away his magic, so he sent her away,” Henry concluded the story. Mary Margaret frowned. “He chose his power over love? How awful! Then again, he is the Dark One.”
A long-forgotten memory of a conversation and a fight deep in the woods stirred within David. “I recall that he once told me he loved someone, but lost her. He said she died and he seemed…well, heart-broken,” David said, remembering the haunted look in imp’s eyes all those years ago. “Whatever he did, he deeply regretted it.”
“Their story ends very abruptly in the book, but I think my mom may have done something to Belle. She was the one who tried to trick Belle into taking away Rumpelstiltskin’s magic. I think she locked her up before the curse happened,” Henry speculated, a hurt look crossing his face at the thoughts of his mother’s evil deeds.
“As leverage perhaps? She must have made Gold believe his girlfriend was dead to hurt him,” Emma added, putting two and two together. She nodded towards Gold and Belle. “So do you think he’s…I don’t know…trying to win her back?”
“Maybe he’s decided to fight for his love after all,” Mary Margaret smiled, “Oh look, she’s taken his hand again – and – oh my god, I think he’s actually blushing!”
Emma actually turned around at her mother’s exclamation.
“Emma!” Mary Margaret chastised her, looking scandalized. “You can’t just spy on other people like that!”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and you’re not?”
Mary Margaret blushed, but defended herself, “Well, we can’t help but look at them, we’re facing them.”
“Don’t worry Mom, I always come prepared,” Henry said with a grin as he pulled out a sleek silver compact mirror.
“Isn’t that Regina’s?” Mary Margaret asked, raising an eyebrow at her grandson.
“Yep,” Henry replied, showing no sign of guilt.
“Why would you carry that with you?” David wondered.
“Spy equipment for Operation Cobra,” Henry replied simply, sharing a secretive smile with Emma. “Here, that way you can see them without turning around.”
Emma opened the mirror and angled it so she could catch a glimpse of the couple behind her. Belle had her back turned towards her, but she could see Mr. Gold.
“He’s very nervous,” she remarked.
“Gold? Nervous?” David asked incredulously.
“Sure. Look at the way his hands are shaking and how he’s playing with his cane underneath the table. And he can’t look her in the eye – he’s shy, who’d have thought it – oh, and there’s a dead give-away, perspiration on his forehead. This used to be part of my job, you know, reading people,” Emma explained upon seeing her parents’ and her son’s astonished faces. “That must be one heck of an awkward date they’ve got going on there. I mean, what the hell do you say to your girlfriend after a break-up and nearly thirty years of being cursed?”
Just then, Ruby made her way over to Gold’s table. She jotted down the orders and then lingered for a bit to speak to Belle – leave it to Ruby to make the first step in meeting the mysterious newcomer. Gold seemed irritated by this and soon shooed the young waitress away, who, after placing the orders with her grandmother, immediately made a beeline towards the Charming table.
“Oh my god, am I dreaming or is this actually happening?” she squealed as soon as she’d reached them. “Gold has a girlfriend. An actual girlfriend!” Ruby’s excitement was almost palpable. “Her name is Belle-“
“We know,” they replied in chorus.
“Wait, really?” Ruby, who had been eager to share some gossip, looked a little put out. The four quickly explained to her what they knew. Ruby’s eyes went wide.
“So he does have a heart after all, huh? I’ll tell you, he’s really different around her. Kinda sweet, even,” she mused.
“Really?” David said in disbelief.
“Yeah,” Ruby replied, “he’s all soft-spoken, but not in the usual creepy ‘I-own-this-town’ way, more like he’s afraid he’ll startle her. And I swear to God I actually heard him stutter when I went to their table.”
Emma snorted. “Well there’s a scenario I thought I’d never see. Gold, of all people, brought to his knees by a woman.” She studied Belle skeptically. “Weird. I figured his type would be more Regina-ish.”
“It’s adorable though, isn’t it? In a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ kind of way,” Ruby sighed.
Emma and David pulled a face but Mary Margaret nodded in agreement with her friend, smiling brightly at the unlikely couple.
Henry only grinned. Beauty and the Beast indeed, he thought.
PART II
What do you say to the love of your life after telling her you value power more than her, banishing her from your home and inadvertently causing her to be the prisoner of a vengeful hell-beast of a queen for more than two decades?
Mr. Gold, or Rumpelstiltskin, as he was truly called, had no clue what it was, and so he found himself struggling for words after Belle regained her memories and her previously blank, confused eyes suddenly filled with realization and – much to his panic – tears.
It was her, bless the darling creature, who made the first move and flung her arms around his neck, causing him stagger backwards as pain shot into his crippled knee. Belle had buried her face in his neck, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by her scent which even her long imprisonment could not completely take away from her, and the sensation of her soft hair and her warmth and all things Belle, all the things he’d thought he’d lost forever. He wrapped his arms around her gently, his breath coming in deep shudders.
“You’re real,” she whispered hoarsely, echoing his earlier statement. “Rumple…Rumple,” his name feverishly fell from her lips, “I thought I would never see you again…that I would be locked away forever…” The last part came out as a sob, and he could soon feel the dampness of her tears spreading on his clothes. He tightened his arms around her, his heart filling with a mixture of joy, shame and a burning hatred towards Regina.
“Oh sweetheart, it’s alright, your safe now,” he whispered, “I won’ let anything happen to you. I-“ he swallowed thickly, “She won’t be able to hurt you anymore. It’s okay, it’s okay…“
They stood like this for a long time, clinging to each other, both afraid that the other might disappear again.
Two days after their reunion, Belle asked him to show her the town. He was against the idea initially, not only because he did not want to risk meeting Regina, but also because he did not want to share her – he’d spent years believing her to be dead, regretting his actions, and now he wanted to be alone with her.
But she was restless after her long time spent in captivity and, although she did not mention it, he knew she wanted to look for her father, and he could hardly begrudge her that, not when he himself had spent centuries planning how to get to this world so he could find his son. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when she found out he’d put her father in hospital, though.
Finally, he’d decided to take her to Granny’s. She could ask about her father there and she would be among people, something she had been denied for a long time.
When she came out of her bedroom after getting ready to go out (he’d hurried to purchase some adequate clothing for her the day before, earning him some surprised stares from the shop clerk), he felt his heart jump.
He’d almost forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful she was.
The clothes from this land flattered her; she looked simply stunning in the royal blue dress he’d picked out for her, her hair brought back to its former glory after having turned lank and dull from her years locked away in the hospital. Her eyes, easily her most striking feature, had regained their mischievous sparkle too, he noticed.
Overall, she looked…
Stunning, breathtaking, divine, mesmerizing, his brain offered.
“Ah…uh…y-you look…very nice,” he stammered, his tongue suddenly made of lead.
That was pathetic, said the high-pitched voice in his head that belonged to the scaly, leather-clad version of him. Rumpelstiltskin felt his cheeks burn.
“You look very handsome,” Belle replied, smiling shyly. “I like this version of you as well,” she added, trailing her fingers over the soft material of his expensive suit. Her innocent caress sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, and had to suppress the sudden urge to let out a nervous giggle as he would have done in the old world.
“A-as well?” he questioned her.
“I liked how you looked back home. The way the light would catch on your golden skin. And your leather clothes,” she added, blushing a little. He felt his cheeks burn even more. He had to stop this before it got out of hand.
“S-shall we?” He offered her his arm, inwardly wincing at stutter in his words. Belle giggled and took it, and together they stepped outside.
He’d anticipated some curious looks sent their way, but he was quite annoyed when Granny’s customers gawked at him and Belle as if they were circus attractions. Rumpelstiltskin was used to people’s eyes resting on him with curiosity, fear, suspicion and even hatred; Belle was not, and she was noticeably taken aback by suddenly being the center of attention when she entered the diner with him.
Sending the nosy gawkers a reproachful look, he imperiously strode inside the establishment. Belle followed suit, nervously taking hold of his hand and squeezing it slightly. He squeezed back reassuringly.
Ruby, who had been staring at them along with rest, remembered her manners and brought them to his usual table. She also sent a smile Belle’s way, which seemed to calm her, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his previous dislike for the wolf girl lessen a little.
On their way to the table, they passed the Charming family, all four of them staring at him and Belle with surprise, and, in Miss Swan’s and Prince Charming’s case, with suspicion. He resisted the temptation to sneer at them. They took their seats (he made sure Belle was facing him and sitting with her back to the rest of the people. If they continued to stare, he did not want her to feel uncomfortable) and Ruby, after handing menus to them, left quickly, sensing his displeasure.
“All those people…it’s a little overwhelming,” Belle admitted, staring down at the menu which contained so many dishes she had never even heard of. “They seem to be afraid of you,” she continued, and Rumpelstiltskin’s heart sank. The last thing he wanted to do was to admit to her that his alter ego in this world was just as ruthless as his true self.
“I guess it’s because they’ve remembered who you were back in the Enchanted Forest? I mean, it must be odd for them to see the Dark One suddenly appear among their midst. You kept to yourself back in our world,” Belle mused. He felt relief flooding his chest. At least he’d dodged that bullet.
For now, the imp’s voice snickered in his mind. Eventually she’ll discover you’re just as dark as before.
“You’re probably right,” he replied a little loudly, trying to drown out the imp’s voice. “I expect the sight of me has put them off their meals,” he joked darkly.
Belle frowned and reached for his hand. “Don’t say that! In this world, you are an ordinary man, just like them. You’re not the monster they think you are.”
He blushed upon hearing her kind words and his free hand nervously played with the handle of his walking cane. The imp inside him was cackling. She’s right, you know, it hissed gleefully, here you’re just a useless cripple again. Until you bring magic into this world, you are nothing.
Through the cloak of self-doubt that had begun settling around on his shoulders, he suddenly became aware that Miss Swan had started watching him (no doubt thinking herself clever) with a compact mirror he recognized as Regina’s. Mild panic began to boil in his stomach until he remembered that Regina was magic-less too and had no access to her mirror-spying tricks.
“I-thank you. You are too kind to me. As always,” he stammered softly, his cheek once again turning warm. Again with the stuttering. Damn.
Ruby returned to their table to take their orders. Belle, having no clue what most of the food items on the menu were, relied on Rumpelstiltskin to order for her and only shyly smiled at Ruby, still unused to being exposed to other people.
“All right, thanks,” Ruby chirped, writing down their order, before beaming at Belle. “Haven’t seen you around here before! Did you two get separated by the curse?”
Rumpelstiltskin was about to tell the pesky wolf girl to go and do her job when Belle replied, “Something like that. I’m Belle, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ruby’s smile broadened. “Hi Belle, I’m Ruby. Nice to meet you too! It’s all a bit weird right now and people come in here to find missing relatives all the time, so if you need help finding anyone, just let me know, okay?”
Belle’s face lit up with hope. “Actually, I am looking for my father. His name in our world was Maurice, but I don’t know what he is called here,” she told Ruby, who put a comforting hand on Belle’s shoulder.
“I’ll ask around and get back to you when I know something, alright?” she promised, and Belle gave her another grateful smile.
Ruby finally took notice of Rumpelstiltskin’s irritated glance and hurried to place their order. Afterwards, he noticed with slight annoyance, she went straight to the table where Miss Swan and her family were seated, no doubt to gossip about what she had just found out.
His attention was brought back to Belle when she softly called his name. “Rumple, I want to thank you. I know you don’t like being among other people, especially people who probably hold resentment towards you for what you did back in our world,” Belle began.
“It’s no matter,” he mumbled and thought back to when he’d first said that to her, all those years ago in his castle when she’d torn off his curtains and tumbled into his arms.
“No, it is,” Belle insisted, stroking his thumb. His heart jumped at the small caress. “You put my wishes before yours, and even if it’s something small like taking me outside when you’d rather have stayed at home, it tells me that you have changed since we parted.”
Poor deluded girl, the imp giggled, but Rumpelstiltskin willed the malicious voice into silence. If she believed him to be a better man, then he would make sure to meet her expectations, no matter what the cost. He would not – could not – lose her again.
“I want to be with you Rumple. I fought so hard for you, until she locked my up and I couldn’t,” Belle said, her lovely eyes glittering again. “Promise me you won’t send me away again. I could not bear it.”
Never! Never, never, never! Losing you again would be my death. Next to Bae, you are the most precious thing in all the worlds to me.
The voice that said this belonged neither to the imp, nor the pawnbroker. This was a soft voice that belonged to a desperate man, a man buried deeply beneath layers and layers of darkness and magic and years of grief and bitterness.
But how could she want him? After all he had done? He may not be scaly and claw-handed in this world, but he was still monstrous in many other ways. Though it would break his heart, he knew that her happiness lay elsewhere, and not with him.
And so he sighed and asked the question he’d been trying to avoid before. “What about your father?”
“I dearly love my papa and I cannot wait to see him again,” Belle said with obvious longing, and his heart sank, even though he’d just told himself it was best for her to return to her father.
“But once I find him, I will tell him that I love you and that my place – and my heart – lie with you now,” she continued, and he looked at her, his heart filled with love that he feared it might burst. He still could not believe she could want him. Love him, even.
“You…you truly wish to stay beside my side? After all that I’ve done? After I turned my back on you?” He dropped his gaze from her face as he shamefully remembered how he’d raked his claws over her arms, how he’d yelled at her and thrown her into the dungeon. How he’d broken her heart and banished her and left her at the mercy of Regina.
The imp used this opportunity to slip back into his mind. She’s desperate. She was locked away by that witch, and now she wants to be with you because you are more powerful than her jailer. Well, you would be, if you finally brought back magic.
The spinner’s voice, feeble though it was, objected. No, she loves me. The kiss would not have worked otherwise.
The imp cackled maniacally. Lies and trickery! No one could ever, ever love you!
“Rumple?” Belle’s worried voice broke through his internal struggle. He looked back up at her, feeling slightly dazed.
“You fell silent and had such a faraway look in your eyes…is everything alright?” Belle asked.
“I’m fine,” he quickly reassured her. It would not do to have her thinking he was going mad. “Nothing to worry about.”
Belle still seemed concerned. “You’re doubting my sincerity again, aren’t you?” she sighed, sounding resigned. He could see the hurt in her eyes and quickly let his gaze drop into his lap.
No, no, no! The spinner cried.
Yes! Send her away, idiot, the imp hissed, she is nothing but trouble.
“B-belle, I…I never doubted you,” he began, inwardly cursing at his stammer, “It was always myself whom I doubted – or rather, I doubted that anyone, even someone as kind and pure-hearted as you,” he paused, daring to look at her before continuing, “could ever love a monster like me.”
Belle’s eyes softened. “Oh Rumple, you still don’t see it, do you? To me, you were never a monster. To me, you were always a man trying very hard to make others believe you’re a monster so you wouldn’t get hurt.”
Through the loud sound of his heart beat, he was vaguely aware of Snow White and Ruby watching them intently and giving little sighs every now and then.
“I really, truly do love you Rumple,” Belle repeated, and gently cupped his cheek, prompting yet another round of sighs two tables away. “Please trust me this time. And above all, trust yourself,” she whispered, and then leaned forward to press a soft kiss on his lips, ignoring the gasps of shock coming from many of the guests in the diner.
It was a chaste, feather-light kiss, but it was enough to silence the voices in his mind and fill it with bliss instead. In this land, her kiss could not undo his powers, so the darkness in him did not rear its ugly head as it had the last time, and he could actually enjoy her touch – and oh, he did! Kissing Belle was better than anything, better than power, better than magic itself, even.
He would have gladly stayed like this forever, but a loud, obviously fake cough from the old she-wolf who owned the diner broke through his haze of pleasure and forced him back into reality.
Belle, his beautiful Belle, was looking at him expectantly. Waiting for his answer.
I love you, I love you, I love you. She will be your undoing. But I love her. She nearly cost you your magic. Your way of finding Bae. That was Regina’s doing, not Belle’s. And I still love her.
The imp in his mind fell silent, knowing he was beaten – for now. He would bide his time. Rumpelstiltskin cupped Belle’s face, just as she had done with him moments before.
“Oh, Belle,” he sighed, “Of course I trust you. I love you so very much, more than you can ever know.” He gently stroked her soft, rosy cheek, “I want you by my side always. I do believe you promised me forever, dearie,” he added.
“That I did. And I always keep my promises,” Belle smiled.
“So do I, my darling, so do I.”
itschippedcup answered to your post “I need to know, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, a ballpark amount...”
*gulps* You are going to hurt us aren't you beee?
maybe
WWIM Granny: Are Belle and Gold banned from using the restroom ever again at your diner?
I don’t know what that bastard is up to, but if he’s messing around with that sweet little Belle French, I might just give him a piece of my mind. I don’t even want to think about what went on in that bathroom. Gold will be lucky if I ever serve him a hot meal again.