What about Travis and Laura fucking in an elevator ? Pushing the stop button between two floors just because it is the only private moment they can have. Trying to fix their clothing in a rush and trying not to look like they were screwing their brains out two minutes ago. Trying to leave the other not looking thoroughly fucked.
Dude the poor person coming into that lift with them… the smell of sex in the air, Laura shuffling in place cause certain things are dripping down from her fjsnfjsjdalgksbgg Travis is staring very hard at the door, praying their floor comes faster 😂😂😂😂😂
Ffa!Gold : how would you react if you saw that Belle had tattoos ? Like would your brain disconnect ?
I suppose I’d be surprised, but not overly so. Tattoos have become a more common form of self-expression lately, more so than in my youth. It’s art. I imagine a splash of color on the right canvas, the inked lines accentuating a body’s natural architecture, could be quite... stunning.
Belle and Gold have The Talk. Time for some much-needed clearing of the air, and for Gold to pull up his big boy pants and tell her how he feels.
Prompt me from this list or this list :)
[AO3]
x
Belle slept better than she had since before the accident, waking only to go to the bathroom. By the time she was dressed, she could smell coffee brewing, and she wandered through to the kitchen to find Gold preparing breakfast, his silk robe open and the ends of the belt brushing against his legs as he walked from the fridge to the counter. Sunlight was shining through the windows, the radio playing a pleasant classical tune, and he smiled at her, a carton of milk in one hand. He was looking very good, and she wondered if he had slept as well as she. Perhaps opening up was giving him some peace. She hoped so.
“Morning,” he said. “You’re looking well. The bruises are starting to fade.”
“No, they’re not,” she said flatly. “I still look as though I lost a fight with a monster truck. But I did sleep well.”
“Good. Take a seat, I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“What are we having?”
Gold shrugged. “Pancakes?”
“Perfect.”
Belle took a seat at the table, reaching for the teapot and pouring herself a cup while he began making the pancake batter. She added milk to her cup and stirred, closing her eyes and listening to Gold whisk the batter. The spring sun was warm against her skin, and she stretched and yawned, enjoying the feel of it and thinking ahead to the summer months, when they would have a baby to care for and take on walks in the park. The thought made her smile.
“I - ah - I was wondering if you’d spoken to your father recently,” said Gold, and Belle frowned, opening her eyes.
“Not since he pretty much cut me off, no,” she said. “Why? Did you see him while you were in Storybrooke?”
“No.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, still whisking. “Not to speak to, anyway. I saw him outside the shop as I drove past, that’s all. It made me wonder if he knew you had been injured.”
“No.” She hunched her shoulders a little, picking up her cup. “He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to speak to me.”
“You think he’s still as angry as he was?”
Belle sat back in her chair with a sigh.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe not. Maybe he’s just too proud to pick up the damn phone.”
“Does he know you live here now?”
“No.” Belle sipped at her tea. “I didn’t give him the address yet. Maybe I should. The baby will be here soon, and - and maybe he’ll pull his head out of his arse and get involved in his grandchild’s life.”
“Maybe so.”
Gold carried the bowl of pancake batter to the fridge and put it inside.
“We’ll give it half an hour to rest,” he said. “Unless you’re starving.”
Belle sighed, putting down her cup.
“Weirdly enough, talking about my father just stole my appetite.”
“In which case, I’ll be sure not to mention him again,” he said lightly, and she smiled.
“No, you’re right, I do need to talk to him. I don’t want my first conversation with him to be in the delivery room.”
“Well, there’s still time,” he said diplomatically, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. “I can always deliver a message the next time I’m in Storybrooke.”
“I think that would go down even less well than me approaching him,” she said dryly, and Gold pulled a face.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
He took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips as he set down the cup. Beneath the silk robe he wore a smooth grey T-shirt that clung to his chest, and she could see the points of his nipples pushing against it. It made her remember how it felt to run her tongue over his skin, how he tasted, how he felt inside her. Sunlight was catching on the hair at his temples, silver strands glinting. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through it, and caught herself, burying her face in her tea cup. Not the time, Belle, for crying out loud.
“Did you have any plans for today?”
His voice made her start, and she looked up, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks as she tried to shove away her inappropriate thoughts.
“Oh, just stumbling around the apartment, having you wait on me hand and foot, maybe a little light reading...” she said, with a wry smile. “You know, the usual.”
Gold grinned.
“I thought I’d do laundry,” he said. “And later I might do some baking. So, if there’s anything specific you want, let me know.”
“You’re a pretty good roommate, you know.”
His grin widened.
“Well, it’s been a long time since I had to care for someone,” he said. “I’m actually enjoying it.”
“You’re good at it,” she said. “I think you’ll be great with the baby, when it comes.”
“I’ll certainly try my best.”
“Three a.m. feeds and cleaning up puke and poop?”
“It’ll be worth it.”
“Trips to the playground and Any Given Sundae and getting your suit covered in mud and ice cream?”
He shrugged.
“Storybrooke’s dry cleaners will appreciate the extra custom.”
“The fearsome Mr Gold, out in public doting on his child,” she teased. “Your reputation will be ruined.”
“Maybe I don’t mind too much.”
He looked highly amused, his eyes sparkling, and she wanted to lean over and kiss him. It was painful to remember that they were not together, and that he was only there to help out because of her broken arm. She could feel her smile slip a little, and so she reached for her tea to hide her face. Gold sat back, picking up his coffee again.
“So,” he said. “Baking, as I promised. Any requests?”
“Can you make chocolate cake?”
He bowed his head a little.
“Consider it done.”
x
He did make a cake, filling the apartment with the scent of rich, dark chocolate that made Belle lift her nose and sniff the air whenever she entered the kitchen. He covered it with chocolate ganache, spread thick with a palette knife and pulled into soft, glistening peaks, and Belle licked her lips each time she passed the cake on its plate. Her appetite had well and truly returned since Gold had moved in, and she ate every scrap of the dinner he prepared (lamb cutlets with potatoes and a sauce made with red wine and rosemary). A thick slice of the chocolate cake followed, and Belle drew a finger through the ganache frosting, putting it in her mouth and letting out a low moan of appreciation. Gold grinned from across the table, a piece of cake balanced very properly on his fork.
“God, that’s obscenely good,” she said thickly, and sucked off the last traces of chocolate. “Pretty sure it has to be illegal.”
“Perhaps it’s the way you’re eating it,” he suggested, and Belle chuckled.
“Well, okay, if you want me to be polite and use cutlery like a loser…”
His grin widened, and he popped the cake into his mouth. He pursed his lips, nodding as he chewed.
“Okay, that is pretty good,” he said. “Not that I want to blow my own trumpet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll blow it for you,” she said, and almost choked as she realised what she had said, a blush rising in her cheeks. Gold inclined his head.
“Well well,” he remarked, cutting off another piece of cake with the edge of the fork. “This conversation has gone straight into the gutter.”
“I blame you for making sexually-arousing cake.”
“The secret ingredient is your dirty mind, it seems to me.”
She giggled, and he speared the piece of cake with his fork, popping it into his mouth and grinning at her. He reached for his glass of wine, taking a sip, and there was silence as they ate. Belle popped the last piece into her mouth with a contented noise, and Gold put his fork down and reached for his wine.
“I had another call from my lawyer while I was on the way back from Storybrooke,” he said, and Belle glanced up, suddenly wary.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” He took a drink, watching her. “She wanted to know when we’re likely to be coming in to discuss the paperwork.”
“Oh.” Belle dropped her eyes, one finger pushing crumbs around on her plate. “Well. I don’t know. Not yet, I guess.”
“We held off on going because of your accident,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, I know.”
“But you seem well enough to at least leave the apartment now.”
“Did you miss the part when I said I was covered in bruises.”
“Does that prevent you from leaving the apartment?” he asked.
“I suppose not,” she said cautiously. “I was thinking of going into college. I’ve decided I’m going to stop studying once I’ve finished the paper I’m working on, but I’d like to talk to Professor South when I drop it off, let her know I won’t be back until - well, until I’m back.”
“When did you want to go?”
“I don’t know - Monday?”
Gold took another sip of his wine, setting down the glass and licking his lips.
“I could take you on Monday morning, if you like,” he said. “Perhaps a walk in the park to get some air, have a little lunch…”
“That would be nice.”
“And then we can go to my lawyer’s office before your usual hospital appointment,” he added. “Did you speak to your own lawyer yet?”
Belle sat back with a sigh, her good mood evaporating.
“No.”
There was a moment of silence. Gold held her gaze with a flat stare that made her want to squirm. The fingers of his right hand curled inwards, as though he wanted to drum them irritably, but he seemed to catch himself and spread them out on the table top, poised on their tips.
“We’ve been talking about this for weeks now,” he said patiently.
“I know.”
“I can give you the names of some excellent firms, if you don’t know who to approach,” he went on. ”I realise that you broke your arm, but that shouldn’t stop you speaking to a lawyer.”
“I know.”
“You really ought to get some advice on this.”
“Alex, I know!”
“I’m only saying this for your own good, Belle, and I don’t understand why you’re fighting it.”
“I’m not!”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, and she pushed up from the table and stomped from the room, irritation making her heart thump and her skin tingle. Damn the man! I’m gonna have tell him, I can’t stand this!
She could hear the scrape of chair legs in the kitchen, and she tightened her jaw, waiting for Gold to join her. He looked puzzled and wary, and she threw up a hand before he could say anything.
“I haven’t looked into getting legal advice on our bloody child support arrangements because I don’t want to think about it,” she said flatly. “There. I said it.”
“Okay.” Gold’s forehead creased. “But - you do realise we need to come to an arrangement, yes? I’m happy for your lawyer and mine to discuss the terms but I want everything agreed before the baby is born: signed, witnessed - everything. I won’t leave this up to chance, Belle, you know that.”
“I know!” She began pacing. “I know that. I get it. I get that you’re terrified I’m gonna run off into the night with our baby and that you’ll never see it again, I understand. But every time I try to read through that - that thing you’ve drawn up with your lawyers I feel sick!”
He was silent, still watching her with that wary look in his eyes, and it made her want to scream!
“When I think about those papers and this agreement we’re supposed to come to, it’s like my whole life is laid out in front of me and it makes me want to cry, don’t you get that?”
She was rambling, sentences falling over one another, but it was as though she had opened the door to her inner turmoil, and she couldn’t have stopped if she had tried.
“All this time I’ve been in love with you, and I’ve been scared and - and angry, and pregnant and alone and telling myself you were a bastard who didn’t care about anyone or anything,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth, “and - and then you come back into my life and you want this baby and I know you’ll love it so, so much, and all I can see is what our lives could have been like if you loved me, and it kills me!”
He was staring at her, and the wariness had gone from his eyes, replaced by something that she couldn’t interpret. It was almost a look of pain.
“I know you’re only here temporarily,” she said, “and that once I’m well and the baby’s born and we’re settled, then you’ll move out and you’ll go back to your life and I’ll have mine, and - and we’ll just be another couple who didn’t make it and who have to see each other because of the child they created.”
His jaw had tightened, but whether through pain or anger or something else she didn’t know.
“And so we continue,” she went on, gesturing between the two of them. “We carry on with this - this forced politeness and stepping around each other and meeting twice a week to do the handover of our child and alternating Christmases and birthdays so that every other year feels strange and empty, and ten years down the line I wake up one day and realise that I’m still not over you and I probably never will be and you don’t feel anything for me and I die a little more inside, and—”
“I do.”
The words, spoken so quietly she barely heard them, cut across her rant, and Belle swallowed the rest of her sentence as she stared at him. Gold wasn’t quite looking at her, his eyes darting to hers before flicking away again, as though he was ashamed.
“What?” she snapped.
“I - I feel,” he said hesitantly. “You say I don’t feel anything for you, and that’s not true, Belle. It never has been.”
“Oh, well yeah...” She flicked her hair out of her eyes. “I know you definitely felt something. Let me try to remember how you let me know you were interested in me in the first place. Something about taking me to bed and fucking me hard?”
He closed his eyes.
“I - I realise that wasn’t perhaps the most—”
“And then later, when you were done with everything we had, when you wanted me gone, when you broke my bloody heart, you said—”
“I know!” he said sharply, looking up again, his eyes flashing. “I know what I fucking said, alright? Those words have bloody haunted me! They’ve played over and over in my head ever since.”
“Well, join the bloody club!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how many times I cried alone thinking about that night? Especially after I found out I was pregnant?”
“I’m sorry.” He seemed anguished, that almost helpless look in his eyes again. “Truly, Belle. I am so, so sorry!”
“Then why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why? If you regret it so much, if - if it’s haunted you so much, why the hell did you do it?”
He was silent, his mouth working a little, as though his throat was jammed with words he couldn’t speak, and she shook her head and began pacing back and forth. Hadn’t meant to have this out now, but screw it! I need to talk about it. We need to talk about it.
“So I've worked out that you had started to feel something for me," she said. "Not much, clearly. Not enough to let me down gently, but something. Was that why you pushed me away?"
Nothing. Silence. She could feel her anger growing.
"Did you even mean those terrible things you said to me?” she asked. “Did you mean any of it?”
His mouth twisted a little, his eyes wide and pleading, as though he would cry, and he shook his head.
“No,” he said softly. “No, I didn’t mean any of it. None of it. I - I wanted to push you away, I admit that, but everything I said was a lie.”
His admission was like a blow to the heart, a sharp stab between her ribs, piercing her soul, and Belle put a hand to her mouth, a sob bursting from her as she turned away. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, not wanting to let them fall and open the floodgates.
“How could you do that to me?” she whimpered, her voice tiny, broken. “If you cared for me even the tiniest bit, how could you do that? Do you know how much you hurt me? The things you said…”
“I lied,” he said desperately. “I stood there and I lied to you, Belle. I thought of the worst things I could possibly say to you, and - and I said them. But none of it was true, not - not one word. I - I know you can’t forgive me, and - and God knows I don’t deserve it, but—”
“Forgive you?”
Her grief was a lake, a river, a raging torrent, and she hated that he would see her break all over again. She turned back to face him, trying to summon her anger, and the illusion of strength that rage could give her.
“I loved you!” she said, her voice shaking. “I told you I loved you! And - and you took that and twisted it and turned it against me! You made everything I felt seem like - like garbage, like nothing! You went out of your way to say the most hurtful, most damaging things you could, and now you turn around and tell me it was all bullshit, that everything you said to me was a lie? You want me to forgive that?”
“I’m sorry!” His lower lip trembled, his expression desperate. “I was wrong, I know that. It was a terrible thing to do, and I’m so, so sorry!”
“But why?” she pleaded. “Why did you do it? Why - destroy - everything between us?”
“Because I was afraid.”
It was barely a whisper, and for some reason it made her angrier than if he had shouted.
“You were afraid?” She stared at him incredulously. “Yeah, big surprise! I bloody well called it! You were afraid of someone getting close to you! You’re still afraid!”
“Yes.”
His admission, short and blunt, his voice calm, stopped her in her tracks, and for a moment she simply stared at him.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m a coward. I’ve always been afraid, Belle. I still am.”
“Of what?” She glared at him. “Of me? What do I do that’s so terrifying?"
He opened and closed his mouth, glancing around as though someone would come to his rescue and speak the words that seemed to elude him.
“It - it wasn’t supposed to happen!” he said eventually. “You were leaving, you were going. I was ready for you to go, I wanted you to go, and - and then you told me that maybe you’d stay.”
“So?” she snapped. “Would that have been so terrible, seeing each other? Being together?”
“I didn’t want that for you!”
Belle put her hands on her hips, feeling her jaw tighten.
“So you thought ripping my heart out was somehow better?”
“No!”
He growled something under his breath, beginning to pace just as she had, back and forth, his mouth working.
“I couldn’t give you what you needed,” he said. “I knew that. And - and you would have seen that in time. You would have seen what I am, and I couldn’t bear it. Better to end it before it started. Better for you to go, to live your own life, to be happy.”
“I was happy!” she insisted. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“But I had nothing more to give you!” he insisted, tapping against his chest, fingers splayed against his shirt. “Inside, there’s - there’s nothing! Just a - a void! You wouldn’t be happy with that. Not long term.”
“So you thought you’d force the issue?” she returned. “You thought you’d make my choices for me, because God knows I can’t be trusted to do it for myself. Stupid little girl who doesn’t know what’s best for her, is that it?”
“I’ve never thought that—”
“But you didn’t trust me to decide for myself!”
“I just wanted—” He cut off with a frustrated exhalation, running a hand over his face. “You deserve more than I can give you, that’s all. I’m - I’m nothing! I can offer you nothing!”
“I don’t believe you!” she blurted. “I know there’s love in you, I’ve seen it! I saw the look on your face when you felt our baby kick, and - and the pain in your eyes when you talked about your son! You tell me you don’t feel anything? You’re lying to yourself!”
“I just—” He lifted a hand, let it fall against his leg with a dull smack, a helpless expression on his face. “I can’t give you what you need.”
“So your answer is not to even bloody try?”
She turned away again, furious with him. Tears were brimming in her eyes, welling up and spilling over. Anger, frustration, and grief, swirling inside her, boiling and seething. She had read something once about tears having a different structure depending on their cause, and wondered what her own would look like. As jagged and broken as she felt, perhaps.
“Belle, please…”
His voice was soft, a low, regretful whisper, and she turned back to face him, her mouth twisting.
“We could have been together!” she wept. “If you’d just opened up to me! Just once! There was no need for any of this! Months of pain, of - of misery! For both of us! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How are we supposed to come back from that?”
Gold shook his head, looking stricken, his lower lip trembling. He reached out hesitantly, his hand touching hers, and she snatched it away.
“Don’t!” she snapped. “Just - just leave me alone!”
She turned her back on him, stomping away to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. She’d wanted honesty from him. He’d answered her questions. But God, did it have to hurt so much?
Gold let her go, wincing as she slammed the door. He waited in silence for several minutes, half-expecting her to come out and yell at him again, but she didn’t. Feeling battered and weary, he turned back to the kitchen to clean up, his body aching and leaden as he wiped down the surfaces and put the rest of the chocolate cake in a tin to keep it fresh. He felt as though he never wanted to eat again, his stomach knotted and painful. My own fault. All of this is my fault. I have to make it better. I have to try.
He drank what was left of the wine in his glass, and after a moment’s hesitation poured another, taking it through to the lounge and sitting down with a sigh. Perhaps she’ll come out again. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her how I feel. Maybe it’ll help. Can’t make things worse than they are.
x
He sat in silence for a long time, his thoughts a frantic, jumbled mess of memories, regrets and broken dreams. So many things to try to fix between them. So many broken pieces to tease back together with clumsy hands. He barely knew where to start. He had heard Belle’s door open once, and then sounds of running water in the bathroom as she readied herself for bed. When her bedroom door closed again, and he realised that she wouldn’t come back into the lounge, he pushed up out of the chair, stumbling towards his own room to change into his night things. Not that he thought he’d get any sleep.
He cleaned his teeth, trying not to look at his reflection as he did so, hating the sight of himself. Splashing cold water on his face didn’t make him feel any better, and he towelled off and slipped on a clean T-shirt over loose pants, followed by his silk robe. Perhaps if he lay in the darkness for long enough, he could think of a decent enough apology.
He was on his way back from the bathroom when he heard a sound from Belle’s room. A sniffle. A muffled sob. He paused outside her door, unsure what to do. Would she even want to see him? God, he wanted to help her, to tell her exactly how he felt, to reassure her. He wanted to prove to her that he could be a good man. Or at least a better one. Starting from zero would surely mean he could be better. Fuck what you want, you piece of shit, start thinking about what she wants.
Hesitantly, he reached up and knocked quietly on her door.
“Belle?”
The sound inside cut off, and he imagined her lying in bed with the blankets pulled up over her face, glaring at the door.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently. “Please. At least let me know you’re alright.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Alright.” He waited a moment. “Can I come in?”
“Whatever.”
Her voice was wobbly, petulant, and he pushed open the door, slipping into the room. Belle was curled in bed with her knees drawn up and her arms around her curving belly, as though she was already hugging their child. It made him feel desperately sad. God, I’ve screwed everything up. I should go. It would be for the best. Give her some space.
"I think we should talk," he said. "You're right to be angry with me, and I don't blame you for it. Just - just tell me what I can do to make things easier on you."
Belle sat up slowly, the blankets falling around her waist as she leaned back against the pillows. She hadn't told him to get out, and so he sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers flexing on the handle of his cane
“I could leave,” he suggested. “I - I wouldn’t leave you alone, obviously, but I could arrange for someone to come and help you. A nurse, maybe. A carer. Someone who could do what I’ve been doing, only - well, only not me.”
Belle stared at him.
“You’re offering to pay for someone to come and care for me every day?” she said, in a neutral tone.
“Yes.”
“Which means you’d move out and probably head back to Storybrooke.”
“Well, I’d be back to take you to the hospital…”
“So I tell you I want you to open up, and you do, and we fight, and your solution to all this is to run away, is that right?”
Gold opened and closed his mouth.
“I - I just thought you wouldn’t want to see me, that’s all.”
“I’m tired of you assuming that you know what I want, Alexander.”
He snapped his mouth shut, and Belle sighed.
“Why couldn’t you have told me how you were feeling all those months ago?” she asked wearily. “You didn’t have to tell me you loved me, you just - you just had to let me in!”
He was shaking his head even before she had finished speaking.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” He dropped his eyes, focusing on the blankets between them, where his fingers plucked awkwardly at a fold in the cloth. “Fear. Denial, maybe, I don’t know."
"Fear of what?"
Gold pulled a face, lifting a hand in a helpless expression.
"I can't explain it right now," he said. "It’s - it’s something I’ve started to talk about with Dr Hopper, but it’s not going to be something that I can flip a switch and fix.”
Belle sighed, pushing herself a little more upright and running a hand through her hair.
“I’m not expecting you to,” she said, and her voice was somewhat gentler. “I just - I just want you to be honest with me, that’s all. I want you to try.”
Gold sighed heavily, nodding. Come on. Tell her, you fucking idiot. You owe her the world, tell her how you fucking feel. He looked up, and Belle was staring at him, dark curls framing her face, her lower lip trembling a little. God, she’s so beautiful. How did I ever get to touch her? He licked his lips, his mouth dry.
“I love you,” he said softly. “I love you, Belle. I always have. I think - no, I know - I know I always will. I - I realise it’s probably about a year too late, but it’s true.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Two tears tracked silvery paths down her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss them away.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry that I broke your heart. I’m sorry that I tried to make your decisions for you, and cut myself out of your life.”
Letting the words fall from his mouth was almost a relief, as though a heavy, poisonous growth inside him had been lanced, loss and pain draining out of him, and he could feel his own tears rising, stinging his eyes, threatening to break him.
“I - I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly that you couldn’t tell me about the baby,” he went on. “I’m sorry you thought I didn’t care, because I care so fucking much it hurts, Belle. And - and it scares me, and I - I don't know what to do."
She swallowed hard, glancing away as her mouth twisted.
"I don’t think I’ve ever fucked anything up to the extent that I’ve fucked up our lives, but I can’t say it’s come as a surprise," he added. "Everything that was ever good and pure and light in my life, I’ve lost it or - or destroyed it or driven it away. It was only a matter of time before I did the same to you.”
Belle shook her head sadly.
“You say that like it was inevitable,” she said. “Like it was some - some external force that you had no control over, but it wasn’t. You chose to drive me away.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did. I don’t know how I can make up for it, or - or if you even want me to.”
“I don’t know what I want right now,” she said. Her voice was quiet, subdued, and she shook her head. “God, I’m tired. I’m so tired. Why did you have to make it so hard?”
He dropped his eyes again, cold steel claws of shame and self-loathing raking deep rents in his soul. It hurt, a tearing pain deep in his chest, and he willed himself not to cry. The unexpected warmth of a hand on his made him look up, and Belle was staring at him, her eyes wet with tears, her expression somewhat softened.
“We have a lot to talk about,” she said.
“Yes.”
“We’re not going to fix everything tonight,” she added, and he shook his head.
“No.”
“Do you want to fix things?” she asked, and Gold felt his mouth twist.
“Yes,” he whispered. “God, Belle, I want to fix everything! I - I don’t know how we can, but—”
“Neither do I,” she said. “But maybe wanting to is the first step.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and she squeezed his hand.
“It’s late,” she said. “We should sleep.”
“Alright.”
She tilted her head, her eyes gazing into his, as though she was searching for something. He wondered what it was she saw. If indeed there was anything to see.
“Will you stay?” she asked then, and he blinked.
“What?”
Belle sat back, patting the bed beside her.
“Stay with me,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He stared at her for a moment, surprised by the request, but then nodded.
“As you wish.”
Hesitantly, he moved to the other side of the bed, lying down on top of the blankets.
"Alex?"
"Yes?"
"Get in the bloody bed, you idiot."
"Oh. Right."
It felt awkward, shrugging out of his robe and draping it over the chair, and he caught the end of his cane in the trailing corner of the blanket, almost falling on his face. Belle didn’t seem to notice, curled on her side with her back to him. He leaned the cane against the corner of the nightstand where it met the wall, lifting the edge of the blankets and climbing in beside her. The bed was unfamiliar, the scent of Belle’s perfume on the pillows, and he lay on his back for a moment, reluctant to move and disturb her.
“You can put your arm around me,” she said, making him start.
He turned onto his side, eyes following the dark curls of her hair in the dim light. Shifting a little closer, he kept his arm above the blankets, wrapping it around her waist so that his hand was on the curve of her belly. A smile curved his lips at the thought of the child that would soon be in the world. He would try to make amends, to be the person that Belle and their child deserved. He would try his best to fix things. For all of them.
Belle just gave Ruby a look, because for all Ruby’s own romantic dreams, she knew that Belle’s boyfriend was the least romantic person ever and his idea of a date night was asking her to help him grade his students’ papers and think up scathing comments for the worst of them.
Ruby and Dorothy always went overboard for Valentine’s Day, with flowers and chocolates and slushy cards, the full works. Belle didn’t mind that the fourteenth of February was just another ordinary day for her. The whole thing had become so crassly commercial that celebrating it felt like pandering to Hallmark’s particular brand of emotional capitalism.
Although, that said, it would be nice to have some romance in her life. She tried to remember what it had been like when she and Nick had first started dating, before realising that they had never really dated the in traditional sense of the word.
They’d argued a lot, and they’d spent long hours puzzling out the mysteries of the cosmos together whilst consuming copious amounts of coffee, and eventually they’d started having sex as well. They’d only come onto each other’s radars when budget cuts at the university had forced them to share an office and learn that there was not enough space for both of them and all Nick’s whiteboards.
They’d also learned that neither of them were very good at compromise. At all.
There hadn’t been evenings out in restaurants or cinemas. They’d just happened, without any real attempt at courtship on either of their parts. The classic enemies to friends to lovers. Belle wondered if they would ever have got together if fate hadn’t put them in the same space. Nick certainly wasn’t the type to seek out a relationship with anything other than complex numbers.
Still, they were together now – miraculously still together over a year after they first fell into Nick’s bed. Belle was moving in with him gradually; she wondered when he would notice that she had more of her stuff in his place than in her own apartment.
“Ok, ok, I know that you think it’s all a waste of time but come on, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not even a card? Nice restaurant? Candlelit Chinese takeaway? Something, anything to convince me that there’s the faintest spark of life in your relationship.”
“There’s plenty of life in our relationship!” Belle protested.
“Belle, arguing about Nick’s terrible handwriting being the reason that his maths is off does not count.” Ruby reached across the table and patted her friend’s hand in a worryingly motherly fashion. “I just don’t want you to get stuck in a rut. You need spark! Passion! You’re a passionate soul, Belle! You need to surprise him! Lie down on his desk stark naked with a rose between your teeth. Hide that little notebook of his down your panties and make him find it.”
“Ruby, there’s nothing wrong with our sex life, I promise you. Sex and romance are two different things. We’re just… practical, rather than romantic. We don’t need all that stuff.”
“Needing it and wanting it are two different things,” Ruby said sagely. Belle just sighed.
And she wished that Ruby hadn’t put the idea of romance into her head.
What she’d said to her friend had been true – she didn’t need that kind of gesture. She knew that Nick loved her, and he showed that in his own unique way. Well, he told her often enough, and she knew that he was telling the truth. She shouldn’t expect more from him, not when she was just as bad at the whole thing as he was.
Well, it wasn’t really that so much as she had no idea what kind of romantic gestures Nick would appreciate. If any. Lingerie didn’t really seem to do anything for him; he’d certainly never made any comment when she’d showed off new stuff for him so in the end she’d decided to stop wasting her money. He wasn’t the flowers and chocolates type.
Ruby was right – Belle was a passionate soul at heart, but the only thing Nick ever really got passionate about was theoretical physics. Normally so grumpy and taciturn, he turned into a completely different person when he got onto his pet topic, his eyes bright and his words animated, bold gestures all over the place as his marker flew across the whiteboard, sketching out the equations that would solve every conundrum in the known universe, and some in the unknown universe as well.
She smiled at the memory of his last breakthrough. She’d been in the middle of cooking dinner and he’d rushed into the kitchen and dragged her into his study, explaining it all to her and making corrections as he went along. He had been so excited to share the discovery with her, and he’d been happy all evening, even though dinner had burned, and they’d had to order pizza instead.
That was how he showed her that he loved her, Belle realised. He was passionate about his subject, and he always shared that passion with her. Although their specialisms and fields of study differed – Belle was far more interested in the here and the now and the provable rather than the theoretical – he always wanted to share that things that made him happy with her. It just so happened that the thing that made him happiest was physics, so that was what he shared.
They were both complete nerds when it came down to it, but they were nerds in love, and they didn’t need Valentine’s Day to prove that love to the rest of the world. Feeling much happier and more confident in her romantic relationship, Belle set off for home. Well, for Nick’s home. Her home from home.
“Nick?” The house seemed to be empty, and Belle padded through the rooms looking for her boyfriend. “Nick, are you here?” It was ridiculous to be asking an empty house that question, but there was always the off chance that he was hiding – for what reason she couldn’t fathom – or that he was lying in a heap somewhere having broken his ankle. There was no response to her call, and Belle resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t home yet.
It was strange, he never really went anywhere aside from his office in the university and his home. Maybe he’d just got side-tracked and was late leaving campus. It certainly wasn’t the first time, but this was late even for Nick’s standards. If he was going to pull an all-nighter up there then he could at least have told her.
She texted him to ask if he wanted dinner and went into the kitchen to see what was in the fridge. Plenty of leftovers she could shove together and make something of. They were both terrible cooks, so fancy candlelit home-cooked meals were definitely off the menu for Valentine’s Day.
Her phone buzzed with the arrival of a message. Yes. Be there in 15 mins. Got held up. Left a note in the study.
Belle raised her eyebrows, because the study was the first place she’d looked for him when she began her search of the house and she hadn’t seen any note, but Nick was meticulous and if he said he’d left one, then he’d left one.
She went into the study again, looking over the paper-littered desk for something explaining his absence. Coming up short, she moved on to the post-it notes stuck all over the whiteboards reminding him to do things. Most of them had been put there by Belle herself and consisted of basic things like have you had breakfast yet, you workaholic?
Again, there was nothing new. She was about to call him and ask where his note was, but then something caught her eye at the bottom of one of the whiteboards, some tiny text packed in tightly. She bent down to read it.
If E=MC2 then U+ME=heart. I love you, Belle, please come and live with me permanently.
Belle had to sit down on the floor in shock, vaguely registering Nick’s key in the front door.
“Belle?” The study door opened, and Nick peered in. “Are you ok?”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Yes, I’ll move in with you, you wonderful nerd.” She scrambled up off the floor and threw her arms around him, making him stagger back out into the hall.
“You found the note, then?”
“Yes.” Belle kissed him. “So, what held you up?”
“Oh. Yes. This.” He held out a Barnes and Noble bag. “They lost my order and had to go out the back to find it. Happy Cohabitation. This is for you.”
Belle looked inside the bag to see a hardback copy of For The Love Of Maths. She’d been talking about the new book ever since the publisher had announced it.
“You remembered.”
“I remember the things that make you happy. And it seemed fitting, given the season.”
Belle just pulled him in close and kissed him again. Who needed Valentine’s Day, anyway?
