Summary For my 1K follower prompt-a-thon, Leni-ba prompted: Neal isn't that impressed with his father's girlfriend (until something changes his mind?)
A/N: This takes place immediately after Rumplestiltskin and the heroes return from Neverland. Besides the brief moment on the docks, Neal has only ever interacted with Belle as Lacey. From Neal's POV.
Neal crossed his arms over his chest, frowning as his father arranged a bouquet of red chrysanthemums and ferns in a crystal vase. Here he was, the great and powerful Rumplestiltskin—humming to himself as he fiddled with a bunch of flowers.
"Who are those for?" Neal asked, knowing the answer. Jealous rage burned in his gut.
"For Belle, of course."
"Of course," Neal muttered, scuffing the gleaming hardwood with the toe of his shoe.
He supposed he should be grateful to his father's girlfriend for staying behind to protect Storybrooke while everyone else had gone to Neverland to rescue his sorry ass. He should be grateful, but he wasn't.
Mere days ago he learned that he was the father of a ten-year-old boy, Emma had come back into his life, and he was struggling to reconnect with his own papa.
Belle's presence in his father's life added a complication he didn't want or need.
As they'd disembarked from the Jolly Roger this morning, Belle had been waiting for Pop. Neal suppressed a shudder and fought to be as welcoming as possible. At least today she'd been wearing a coat to cover up whatever disastrous ensemble she'd put on that morning. Resigned, Neal had offered Belle French his kindest smile. With his son on one arm and his girlfriend on the other, Pop looked happier than he'd ever seen him.
Still, what was so great about Belle French, anyway?
"What?" White-faced, Pop spun around, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "What's so great about her?"
Neal blanched at the crack in his father's voice; he hadn't realized he'd voiced the complaint out loud.
"I thought you liked Belle. I hoped we were going to be a family," Pop whispered, looking dejected.
"She looks like a prostitute," he bit out. Several days prior his father had planted his shoe in Whale's chest and snarled at the doctor for looking at his girl. But that behavior was to be expected of the Dark One. The worst part was watching this Belle woman stand by, enjoying the show in a dress that barely covered her behind. Family? Didn't Pop understand that this floozy was no good for him? Brought out the worst of his darkness? Hell, Belle French was making his own mother look like a saint.
"She doesn't and she isn't," Pop retorted, his brogue thickened with emotion. "Something happened to her. After losing her memories in an accident, she was cursed by Regina and hasn't been herself. Give her a chance, please."
"Why should I?" he asked. Neal knew he was being stubborn, but he was so damn tired of his father always asking for chances. "And in case you missed it, I'm an adult now. And smart enough to know when my father is making yet another colossal mistake."
"Is this really who my son has become?" Rumplestiltskin snorted. "A man who judges others on the length of their skirts?"
"No thanks to your fantastic parenting skills!" he thundered. "Preaching tolerance from a man who would transform a guy into a snail if he looked at him wrong?"
He waved his hands Rumplestilstiltskin's signature gesture.
"Bae—"
"No!" He jabbed a finger in his father's direction. "Not only does magic mean more to you than I do, now she does too?"
"Stop! Please!"
Neal startled, snapping his eyes in the direction of the cry.
At once Belle was in their midst, standing between them, her small hands outstretched toward his father's chest. Large, earnest blue eyes swung between them beseechingly.
"Rumple, Neal. Please." She worried her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes brimming with tears. "I…the last thing I want is to come between you."
"Belle, sweetheart." His father was trembling, his heart in his eyes. "It was talk you shouldn't have heard."
She shook her head, turning to Pop. "Rumple, I won't allow it. This is your son, your Baelfire. You've been looking for him for centuries. I love you more than anything in this realm and beyond, but nothing is more important than your child." With shaking fingers, Belle shouldered her handbag, turning to go.
"Belle, wait," his father begged. "Please."
"Tomorrow is another day, Rumple," she said, her tone brooking no refusal. "Tonight you stay here. Be with your son."
Neal could tell that the watery smile she plastered on her face was no more than bravado. He faltered, wanting to reach out, but he was at a loss for words. This clearly wasn't the same woman who had laughed and encouraged his father to belittle another man.
Belle left the shop, the only sound her heels clicking on the hardwood, until the door closed with a wistful thud.
As dusk fell over the street, his father's hungry eyes were pinned on the shop window to watch Belle cross the road and disappear inside the library.
"So what is it, Pop?" he probed gently, the pieces of this puzzle beginning to fit together. "What makes Belle special?"
"Besides her unfathomable and unending capacity to love? Or her willingness to do anything to help another, even at great personal cost to herself?" Rumplestiltskin waved in the direction their argument had chased her off to, then crossed the room to sit at his spinning wheel.
"Yeah, besides that," Neal said, smiling softly as his father threaded the bobbin and to fed drafted wool through the leader. From his childhood, his father had enjoyed the soothing whir of the wheel. It had been a great source of comfort to them both in many trying times.
Now his outburst had been the result of Pop's pain, and he regretted it more than he could say.
"Belle always stays," Pop said, his eyes clouded with memories. "Even when everyone else has gone away—my father, my mother, your mother. No matter how many times I've pushed her away or let her go, she never wavers. The closer I am to Belle, the better a man I am."
"I didn't know," Neal said, his mouth dry with remorse.
Pop shrugged. "How could you? You've only just come home, my boy. She loves me, even when I'm at my worst. Belle makes me stronger."
"I'm sorry I misjudged Belle, Pop," he said, feeling sheepish. "If you love her, I know I'm gonna too."
There was an ocean of forgiveness in the small nod of his father's head.
And then Neal knew what he had to do.
"Pop, do you mind if I step out for a minute?" he asked, looking across the street. "I just remembered I have a book to return to the library."
"Now?"
"Yeah. Now." He rubbed the back of his head, anxious to speak to Belle. "I'll be back in just a minute and then maybe we could—all of us—grab dinner at Granny's? I hear the hamburgers and tea are the best in town."
"I would like that, son," Pop said, his voice choked by emotion. "I know Belle would, too."
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