The Enchanted Forest, 29 years ago
"So...she needs...a...a...home?" Rumplestiltskin stutters, his face at war between looking completely hopeful and maintaining the careful disinterest required when dealing with this particular client.
Regina, her back to the imp, smirked. She knew taking the girl had been the right move. Rumple thought he could hide her away from everyone but he had trained Regina well. Especially with her impending curse, she wanted to have extra cards to play.
"Her father was cruel to her," she explained, spite coloring her tone, "He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower."
Regina paused, gleefully watching a myriad of emotions play across the Dark One's face. "She died."
"You're lying." Rumplestiltskin spit out.
Regina's smile grew wider and colder at the same time. "Am I?"
"We're done." Rumplestiltskin squeezed out, crossing the room to open the doors. He needed Regina out of his hands, right now.
Regina set the cup down and strode across the Great Hall to the doors. "Fine - I have other calls to make. The place is looking dusty, Rumple. You should get a new girl."
She heard Rumple shut them behind her, probably off to rage and throw things. That wasn't her concern. She hadn't come here for tea. She'd come here for something much more important, and after the exchange with her teacher, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
Rumple had an incredibly easy life ahead of him in this new land, the curse had made sure of it. He'd have all the comforts he could wish for, well, all the comforts except the one he actually seemed to desire. Not that he'd remember she was dead, allegedly, but he'd still find himself even more alone than he was now.
Regina grinned to her black knights, waiting dutifully next to her ornate black carriage. Her footman swung the door open without a word, offering his hand for balance as the queen hoisted her self and voluminous skirts into the small space. If this Belle needed a home that was exactly what she'd make sure she wouldn't have.
Storybrooke, Maine
Belle peaked through the bushes surrounding the gardens of a large, rather pinkish, Victorian style home. She paused, the greenery doing their part to keep her hidden from any wandering eyes. Not that there were any wandering eyes, not at this time of morning, and never in front of this particular house. No one would dare to come within 100 yards of this particular house and that was the exact reason Belle had sought it out.
Unconsciously holding her breath, she heard a soft click and the front door to the house swung open. She saw the back of an extremely well tailored suit fill the doorframe as the door was then pulled closed. Another click as the key was turned in the lock and the man set his gold tip cane on the floor and turned. Mr. Callum Gold. The owner of the incredibly odd coloured home, the owner of most of the town, as a matter of fact.
A man with a reputation that preceded him before you thought to think of him. Not that most people didn't have Mr. Gold somewhere in their subconscious at all times. If someone crossed his path, there was a high probability they'd walk away with a much higher rent. He was calculating, manipulative and shrewd. He owned the pawnshop and spent most of his days in his lair reworking paperwork or inventory. Every aspect of his life was meticulous. He also lived alone.
Those last two characteristics were the selling points for Belle when the weather of the small, coastal Maine hamlet had chilled her for the last time. Belle didn't have a home, something she constantly had to remind herself. She couldn't remember exactly how long she'd been on the streets, but she felt like it had been a long time. She couldn't even pinpoint exactly what had gotten her on them in the first place, but that detail seemed rather unimportant now.
Surviving was her only goal.
For a long time, the park bench on the most Northern point of the Storybrooke Public Park had been the place she called "home", though she shared it with any number of people during the day. It was a sturdy bench, not too terrible to sleep on, or under, depending on the weather. Belle was a diminutive woman and considered herself lucky in that aspect. Many small nooks had become beds over the years.
The bench had served her well until a group of teenagers had stumbled upon her one evening, during their nights of supposed adulthood complete with cheap beer pilfered from unsuspecting parents.
They had paused to sit down and ended up sitting on Belle. Not the best way to wake up. They prodded at her enough to make her seek out a new shelter and she'd found herself wondering about seeking out an actual house. If the occupant of the house was gone on a regular schedule, Belle could find herself with access to things she hadn't had in years, like a shower.
There was only one resident in town she knew she could count on to stick to a schedule: Mr. Gold. She found herself outside his house the next morning. It was fairly easy to figure out Mr. Gold's schedule. He left his house every morning at 7:00 am on the dot and returned at 6:30 pm like clockwork. That gave Belle almost twelve luxurious hours utilizing things even Mr. Gold didn't in his home.
Getting in the first time had proven to be a tad trickier than she'd anticipated. Mr. Gold wasn't about to do something as pedestrian as hide a key outside the front door but a little investigating had revealed that Mr. Gold left his bathroom window downstairs unlocked. Belle was able to shimmy it open and, being so small, squeeze her way in.
Every day since then she had been able to gain access to the house the same way. She looked up from her vantage point in the bushes, watching the taillights of Mr. Gold's Cadillac fade from view. Taking a deep breath and counting slowly to ten as a precaution, she pushed herself up from the dirt and took off across the lawn. Just because she'd never seen another person around the house didn't mean she could afford to be reckless.
She reached the window and heaved a sigh of relief as the window slid open. She hoisted herself into the bathroom, landing squarely in his downstairs shower. This bathroom was apparently for guests as it was stocked with exactly one towel and nothing else, but Belle would have felt awkward breaking into Mr. Gold's actual shower.
She climbed out of the stall, pausing briefly to use the toilet. She glanced up, while washing her hands, looking intently at herself in the mirror. She almost couldn't tell she was homeless anymore. Spending her days at Gold's had allowed to her bathe regularly, eat somewhat regularly, and sleep somewhere without being completely exposed to the elements.
She knew what she was doing, breaking and entering, stealing was wrong, but at the same time couldn't bring herself to stop. Mr. Gold had plenty of money, that much was clear, and Belle made sure to never leave a trace of herself behind. No one was getting hurt and just knowing she was inhabiting the same space as another person did, even if it was at different times, made her feel a little less alone.
She left the bathroom, turning down one of the long hallways towards the kitchen. If she was lucky, Mr. Gold had gone grocery shopping, or had someone deliver groceries, and she could sneak something for breakfast.
She couldn't afford to be too obvious in her choosings. Mr. Gold would surely notice if his food started going missing. She reached the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Luck was on her side, it was full. She felt a smile steal over her face and she crossed to fill the kettle with water. Mr. Gold did have wonderful taste in tea. She'd always adored a nice hot cup of tea warming her insides, but rarely got to partake in the beverage. Hot tea wasn't something one just found on the street.
While Belle waited for the water to come to a boil, she turned back to the fridge. The egg carton revealed that 5 eggs out of the dozen had been used. One more probably wouldn't be noticed. She snagged the egg and grabbed the block of cheddar cheese sitting next to the carton. An egg with some cheese would be the perfect breakfast before she took her morning nap.
Belle smiled thinking of the purple guestroom she had found at the back of the house. She'd been perfectly okay with the couch but the guest room's bed had been too soft to pass up. The entire room had a thin layer of dust letting her know it wasn't a place Mr. Gold came to often and thus he wasn't likely to notice it was being used.
The bed was the softest she had ever felt and even an hour cradled in it's plush pillows was better than twelve hours on the couch.
She pulled a small skillet out from the drawer full of pans and turned the heat one next to the kettle. She returned to the fridge, this time seeking butter, quickly finding and sliding the piece over the pan, just so her egg wouldn't stick.
She cracked the egg into a small glass bowl that was always on the drying rack and scrambled with a fork. She hummed softly to herself. This was nice. For a moment, she could imagine she had just seen Mr. Gold off to work and was merely adding onto the breakfast she had already shared with him.
She didn't know Mr. Gold per say, but living in his space had given her a connection with the man and the more she had seen had solidified her gut instinct of him not being the dangerous man as he was known around town.
His house screamed loneliness, something Belle could definitely relate to. It was tempting to knock on the door while he was home, simply to ask for some food or a roof, but the fear of him looking at her with disgust before rejecting her was too overwhelming.
She tipped the egg into the skillet, setting down to the task of shreding some cheese when she heard it; a click at the front door. She froze. Mr. Gold had never come back so much as a minute before 6:30 in the months Belle had been using his house. He'd never returned for so much as an umbrella. She glanced outside. It wasn't even raining.
She looked at her mess. He'd know someone was in here but he wouldn't know it was her. She turned the heat off the stove and turned, taking another deep breath. The back door was on the other side of the kitchen, she'd be gone before he got to her.
The front door crashed open with a bang, causing Belle to jump three feet in the air. Mr. Gold would never do something so crass. Unless he was extremely angry. Belle needed to get out of there. Now.
Every muscle in her body was screaming in panic, but she found herself rooted to the ground. If it was Mr. Gold, and he did catch her, maybe he'd allow her to stay, maybe she could have someone to talk to.
She didn't know what she'd do if it was someone else. She felt a strange flash of protectiveness for a house that wasn't even hers. This wasn't her home. She didn't have a home. Let Mr. Gold deal with a break in.
Her brain was at war with itself, and she still hadn't taken a step either way.
All of a sudden, the door frame to the kitchen was filled with a body. A body that was not Mr. Gold.
Belle gulped. She knew exactly who was staring her down.
Moe French. The town florist. The man was a lot larger than she was and holding a baseball bat.
She knew, as did everyone else in town, that he was a raging alcoholic, turned onto the bottle after losing his only daughter Lacey in a car accident. His wife had died long ago.
He could barely hold onto his flower business due to missing rent payments left and right. If he was breaking into Gold's house, he was truly desperate.
"What are you doing here?" He spit out.
Belle took a breath and decided to lie.
"I'm Mr. Gold's housekeeper." She stuttered. "He's not in at the moment."
Moe sneered. Bringing the bat up to play with it in his hands.
"That's a lie," he growled, "Gold doesn't have a housekeeper. No woman worth anything would waste her time working for him. I'll ask one more time. What are you doing here?"
Belle swallowed. This man had the manic gleam in his eyes that the streets had taught her usually meant something bad was right around the corner. She had to think quickly. She had to get out of this.
"What are you doing here?" She fired back. This man had just as little reason as she did to be in the house.
"Well that's none of your business." He sneered back. "But, perhaps you can be of use to me if you are tied to Gold, send him a little message."
Belle felt herself backing up, trying to put as much space between herself and this man. She got two steps in before feeling the counter poke her back.
Belle raised her eyes to Moe's defiantly meeting his gaze. Just because he was bigger didn't mean she'd already lost.
Moe chuckled. The sound grossly echoing between the two of them.
"I think you'll make a wonderful message. Even if you're lying." He lunged towards Belle, one hand extended to grab her, the other raising the bat above his head.
Belle watched him coming choosing the right moment to duck beneath his arm. Moe was a big man, he didn't move with any agility. She darted across the kitchen throwing one of Gold's dining chairs behind her. She laughed to herself. This had been far easier to get out of than expected.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw Moe had tripped over the chair. Not watching what was in front of her, she ran into another body filling the doorframe to the foyer.
Belle rebounded off the body looking up into the eyes of Gaston, Moe's only employee though thug would be a more appropriate title. She hadn't seen him. She glanced to her left and saw Moe rising from the floor.
With Gaston blocking her right and Moe on her left, she was trapped.
She felt tears prickle at her eyes. All she'd wanted was an egg. Belle swallowed the self pity in a heartbeat, latching onto the anger coursing through her veins instead.
Gaston grabbed her by the arms, squeezing tight enough to leave bruises. Belle opened her mouth and let out an ear piercing scream, hoping someone would hear. Moe chucked, walking slowly towards her.
"You know as well as I do that no one's going to hear you scream. Well, no one that would be able to help you." Gaston laughed cruelly in her ears as Moe raised the bat and brought it across her legs.
Belle screamed again as she felt the wood connect solidly with her leg bones.
"Gaston," Moe panted, already sweaty from his movements. "Tell me you brought your favorite toy."
Gaston laughed more openly this time.
"Never leave home without it, Moe." He replied. Releasing one of Belle's arms he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a hunting knife. "How shall I mark her?" He asked.
"However you desire." Came Moe's reply.
Belle struggled harder against Gaston, the burning in her legs protesting the movment.
"Settle down!" Gaston roared and Belle felt the cool of the knife pressing against her throat. She stilled. "That's better," he sneered.
Belle felt the blade caress her skin gently before the stinging started. Gaston dragged the knife just hard enough to make her bleed, the blood pooling on the collar of her ratty tshirt.
Satisfied that she wasn't going to struggle, Gaston threw her down on the floor.
Belle groaned as her head hit the hard tiles of the kitchen floor. She struggled to sit up trying to crawl away from the men and towards the door.
"None of that!" Came Moe's voice and Belle felt the bat across her back, crying out at the pain.
"Look around," Moe commanded, "Gold has to have something we can use to tie her up."
Gaston nodded, thankfully taking the knife with him as he went to search.
"Now," Moe began. "We can't have this be the message. No, this isn't nearly strong enough."
The smile on his face was causing Belle to shake harder than she already was. She could see where the front door was still open. She could just glimpse the grey sky beyond the front porch. She thought she saw a bird fly by, oblivious to the horror going on in the house.
Moe laughed again before bringing the bat down again and again. Belle cried out struggling as much as she could against the attack.
Moe was relentless landing blows to her arms, back and legs.
Belle could taste blood in her mouth from biting her tongue and the wound Gaston had caused had begun to drip onto the floor. She groaned as Moe seemed to pause, flicking her eyes again towards the door. The bird had been real and was now perched on the front railing. It was a bluebird.
Belle thought it was lovely.
Moe resumed and the world went black.