Here we go, another new series! I can't promise this will be updated quickly as I've currently got two (and possibly three) other series going on right now, but I will try my best!
I own nothing but my fangirling heart. I hope you enjoy, dearie!
He slammed his palm against the useless machine, swearing under his breath as a single drop of coffee sputtered into his cup.
Previously, hitting the machine had given him a cup of the bitter liquid, but now it was completely uncooperative.
First he'd lost Boyd's daughter, no thanks to the savior, and now it seemed he couldn't have a single cup of coffee without beating the incompetent machine with his fist.
He stared at the styrafoam cup accusingly, as if his magic would return in that instant to give him his proper cuppa. He'd opened his eyes to this world as a man who preferred bitter, black coffee rather than a simple cup of tea. He hadn't had a real cup of tea in ages.
Not since-
No. His mind automatically blocked off the thoughts within the second the memories resurfaced, memories of fondly watching the brunette approach him each morning with his chipped cup full of tea, a coy smile on her lips.
The thoughts of her sent lukewarm pains twinging throughout his chest. As if the tortuous dreams of Baelfire hadn't been enough...
Her dreams were better considered nightmares. So realistic and uplifting that he'd wake from them with glossy eyes and a heavier heart.
Just as he was about to consider using his cane to make the machine comply to his need of a pick-me-up, he noted the presence beside him.
"Let me. She's a stubborn old thing, but if you sweet talk her a 'lil she'll fill 'er right up," the feminine, accented voice spoke, the voice that haunted him, the voice that made him want to tear his own heart from his chest and reduce it to ashes in his fingers.
His body was completely rigid as his eyes locked onto the "o" of scripted word "coffee" that stretched across the machine, refusing to allow them to water. He grit his teeth so tightly that he felt a creak of protest, his fingers gripping onto his cane so tightly that the polished stick wobbled.
Her hand came into view, laying flat against the machine. "Come on, give the man his coffee," she muttered in a sweet, lilting tone before giving the machine a firm smack. Her hand receded, and he caught her scent in his nostrils.
She even smelled the same. Roses and vanilla.
How she had managed to smell so sweet in his dusty old castle had always baffled him.
Her thumb pressed against the dull red button, a small laugh breezing into his ears. "Ah-ha," he could hear the smile on her mouth. Her fingernails were painted yellow. An odd color, perhaps, but she was quite an odd girl to begin with. So odd that the color was fitting in his eyes.
He steeled himself as he slowly drew back a step from the machine, unable to utter a single word. He had to look upon her, but his body felt like putty.
His stomach, on the other hand, churned with nausea. Regina. The dour bitch had lied to him. She'd mocked her death, a smug little grin on her lips.
He'd always assumed that his misfortune had amused her, but she'd been amused by her little lie.
He wanted to find Regina Mills. He wanted to find her and beat her until her face was disfigured and unrecognizable.
"Are you okay, buddy?"
Buddy. This girl was certainly not Belle. Even so, this girl occupied her body. The real Belle was surely in there, somewhere hidden.
He took a long breath, steeling himself before taking the full cup from the dispenser, turning to look at the woman he'd once believed to be dead.
She wasn't Belle.
At all.
Her hair was blonde a shade that reminded him of the dirty hay that he once would spin into gold, one that didn't look right at all on the brunette's head. He squinted to see her former chestnut brown seeping back in through the roots of her hair, her shorter hair. It only reached her shoulders now, her tresses still curled and soft.
She wore a simple, gray long sleeved shirt, covered with black butterflies.
Of all the things...
Butterflies. He almost laughed aloud.
She wore plaid pajama pants that matched with her top, the under-laying color being gray and the overlaying black stripes criss-crossing across the cotton pants. He cringed internally at the thought of his Belle feeling comfortable in such clothing in public, but the slippers were what had him no longer cringing inwardly, but right there before her.
They were huge and green. With claws.
Plush crocodile feet.
She wore these with such ease, that he found himself realizing that only Belle would feel so content in the audacious slippers.
"You okay?"
His head jerked up to her impossibly blue eyes, his own growing blurrier and blurrier with tears as the seconds ticked by.
"Are you crying?" the girl questioned, eyes widening. "Woah, woah, come on."
And in an instant, she was holding his arm in her hands Belle was holding his arm, tugging him down the irritatingly bright hospital hallway before he could even muster up a gruff reply.
Belle had her hands grasped on his arm. Belle jerked her head back to look back at him as he meekly followed her down the hall.
He no longer was peeved at losing Ashley Boyd's child, but he was almost thankful that the girl had stubbornly held onto the child and made it necessary for him to come to the hospital. If he hadn't come here, would he have ever even stumbled upon the girl?
Belle eased her way through the various staff members as they flipped through their charts and spoke to their coworkers. She moved with such a fluid familiarity that Gold questioned if she was here volunteering.
Of course. Belle loved children, she loved reading. Surely she wore the slippers and pajama pants to make the children she read to feel comfortable. Surely.
They reached the end of the hallways, standing before a beige elevator. Belle quickly glanced around them, as if she was making sure they weren't being followed before pressing the up button and stepping in after they waited a short moment, tugging Gold with her. She pressed the button to take them to the top floor, the fourth floor, before releasing him.
He immediately planted himself as far as he could from her, as if she were a siren, simply taking on her figure to catch him off guard long enough to impale him.
"I mean, I know it's hard if she's sick, but you just have to be strong, you know? At least she has someone there for her."
He jerked out of his haze of thoughts as he heard her speak, his brow furrowing. "Who?" he questioned, his voice coming out much too harsh. He cursed himself, knowing that he had already ruined the woman's life once before. He certainly wasn't off to a good start in this life.
"Your wife, girlfriend, mum, daughter. Whoever's sick," she shrugged, fumbling with the chain-linked bracelet that hung loosely from her right wrist. "Unless someone died, then I s'pose that's okay to cry about."
Gold's eyes locked on the bracelet, finally noting the plastic bracelet below it reading "B. French, Room 112."
How had he missed it before
"I have nobody here," Gold answered, clearing his throat and wishing so very desperately for his magic so he could erase the recollection of his tears from her mind.
"Why were you crying, then? Did Sheila offend you that much?" she frowned, crossing her arms.
"Sheila?" he questioned, his brow permanently knit together from the constant confusion that this form of Belle seemed to cause him.
"The stubborn machine down there, I had to name her since I use her so much. I'm Belle, by the way," she extended her hand across the elevator to him, the start of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Of course. Regina hadn't even tried to cover up the girl's existence with a mockingly obvious title, perhaps Isabelle or Rose. The woman clearly wanted to flaunt that Belle was alive and well by leaving her with her name, but to leave her out on her own where he could find her...what was the woman playing at?
"Gold. Mr. Gold," was his reply as he found the strength to keep himself from trembling any longer. He knew he would never become accustomed to seeing Belle standing across from him, breathing and healthy, but it was a comforting thought to know he could easily protect her in this world.
"Mr is your first name?" she crossed her arms from across him, her upper half arched towards him and a teasing grin on her lips.
"No," he replied, still trying to grasp his wits. He was accustomed to having the upper hand, he was the one that was supposed to be shooting out quips. With this form of Belle, however, he was thrown completely off of the playing field."Why are you here, Miss French?" he finally questioned, his voice much too soft.
"That's what they all ask," she snorted, rolling her eyes to stare off to the side. "Brain tumor. They don't know if it's malignant or not, but they're putting me on chemo anyway, just to nip what they can in the bud. Sucks, yeah?"
She acted as if it was nothing at all. Like a few stitches on the cheek or even a small cut that would scab and heal.
It was a tumor.
They don't know if it's malignant or not.
Possibly a cancerous tumor.
People died from tumors.
People died from cancer.
He felt bile rising in his throat, followed by a cold sweat that caused his sight to blur. His heart no longer seemed to be beating at all as he stood there, leaning entirely against the wall.
His Belle.
His Belle was on the border of death.
That bright smile, those inquisitive eyes...
He'd only gotten her back.
"I found out a few days ago. Same day the clocks started working. I thought it was ironic," her voice wasn't amused at all by the coincidence, but bitter, as was her gaze.
His fingers tightened around the handle of his cane.
Regina.
This sick, demented thing was her creation and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to barge into her office and bludgeon that snide face to bits, again and again, until there was nothing left.
And yet the thoughts left as he felt Belle's hand reach out for his. "Come on, it's no big deal," she muttered, almost as if embarrassed.
She tugged him from the elevator, strolling out into a smaller ward of the hospital. "Just act cool and nobody'll even notice," she advised.
Cool. Act "cool" after such news.
"Notice what?" he heard himself question.
"We're not really supposed to be going where we are," was her nonchalant reply as she took a sharp turn down another hall that ended with a single door.
She pushed the door open, the unforgiving Maine wind blowing her dirty blonde locks back against his face, making him realize how closely he was following the woman as her hair tickled at his nose.
The smell made his curdling stomach ache all the more. Her hair smelled fruity and fresh, even in this setting.
The smell of her.
Belle could die.
He paused in the doorway, eyes distant as he leaned heavily against the frame.
Belle had taken a few steps out, pausing as she realized he wasn't with her. "Hey Gold, you okay?" she called, frowning lightly.
She acted so happy. She acted as if it was as simple as taking a pill and being told she was healthy again.
She was dying and she didn't seem to grieve over it.
He felt as if he was the one taking it seriously.
He gave a tight nod, slowly following her to the edge of the roof, where she plopped down and let her legs hang from the edge of the building. "I like to come up here and read when Nurse Ratched isn't on my tail," she commented, staring contently down at the town below.
He watched her with concern, wondering how many times she'd sat so carefree on the edge of death without anyone aware. Gold let his cane drop behind him as he gingerly lowered himself beside her. His leg offered no pain as it was alleviated from constantly supporting his weight as it hung below him, something that he almost marveled over.
He imagined the faces of Storybrooke occupants if they could see him now, the fearsome Mr. Gold sitting next to a pale girl wearing large crocodile foot slippers.
"Nurse Ratched?" he heard himself question in his haze of thought.
"That's not her real name, but she reminds me of the lady. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, you heard of it?" she questioned, cocking her head as she faced him.
"No," was his answer. He wanted to draw the girl to his side and keep her there.
He would've loved the contact to sooth his aching heart, but his real worry was that she would simply push off the roof and fly down towards the concrete below.
"It's a great book," she smiled, fumbling with her fingers. "Good movie too. This nurse was so strict that you just wouldn't believe it."
"She isn't kind to you?" Gold felt his ears perk at the mention of mistreatment.
"No, no, she's all right, just strict. She's afraid I'll kill myself before Dr. Whale finally operates on my noggin," she shrugged.
Of course, Whale. The man did everything possible, thanks to Regina's petty little curse. It was no surprise that he specialized in neurological surgery along with everything else..
"I just..." she heaved a heavy sigh, a sudden look of turmoil washing across her features. "I'm fucking sick of...of the movies and books and the way they show people like me, people that are dying," she spat the words out between gritted teeth, eyes brimming with tears as she looked upwards towards the heavens.
To hear such a crude word pass Belle's lips made him feel all the worse in his chest, but it wasn't Belle. Her accent was harsher in this form, dryer, in a way. The emotion in her voice though, the wavering thickness, it made his heart ache with such force that his breath hitched.
"They make it seem like cancer and...tumors will bring you everything you couldn't have. All your relationships are magically like gold, no pun intended, and all of your dreams come true. Your magical lover boy comes and kisses you and sleeps with you in your hospital bed, but I don't have one of those. Your parents visit you and show you childhood photos of you with birthday cake smeared all over your face, but my mum's long dead and my dad doesn't give a ruddy rat's ass about me. You go through all this shit and suddenly you're in critical condition, yeah? Like dying, and that lover boy cries over you as you're barely breathing and kisses you and boom you're all good again. You marry him and have a pack and life is good again."
She gave a hasty laugh, eyes coated in a sheen of tears as she looked out at the town below, the wind tousling her blond strands about her face. "It's not like that at all, it's lonely. All I do it walk around this place until Ratched throws me back in my room and I reread Jane Eyre and cry and vomit and cry some more. Brain tumors aren't sexy or dramatic. My head hurts, my eyes twitch and I look like a puppet having her strings jerked around when I seize."
"And the only part that's been anything like a movie is this. Me, finding a random stranger to vent to. No doubt it's the man with the pink house that the nurses call the 'town terror', but it's someone."
Gold said nothing, looking down between them and jumping to see their hands, tightly entwined against the rough gravely surface of the roof. She knew where he lived. The image of the girl laying on her stomach, watching the town from her little roof and seeing him tapping along towards his house came to mind after she spoke.
"It hurts," she continued, hastily wiping her face with an open palm. "Knowing that I'm probably going to die and...that I won't be able to get married and have kids. I always felt like there was something missing in my life and...I'll never really know what it was. I thought maybe I needed to get a frickin' dog or something to follow me around and stuff, like a friend, but...I can't do that anymore. My own dad can't even bear to be in here. Says it reminds him of mum, but he's just too weak to even...support me."
Gold's mind was set as he looked to her. He was going to buy her as many dogs and ridiculous slippers as she wanted. He wouldn't cry, nor would he give up on her. He would beat her father to a pulp; Whale too for good measure to ensure that she was properly cared for while in his hospital. He would hold her hand as much as she wanted because she had done so much for him in their other land. It was about time that he stepped from the coward's shadow and took action to repay her for the feelings she had evoked in his barren heart.
He wasn't sure what to say in that moment. She'd spilled her entire heart to him, her secrets, her woes. What was he meant to say?
"Belle," he managed in a weak tone, his brow furrowed as his eyes moved to gaze into hers. "Why, out of everyone, would you tell me these things?"
Of course he couldn't console her, but instead hurt her, make her feel as if she should find someone better.
"Because I know your reputation and I think you're a good man, despite the rumors," she muttered, jerking her hand away from his and resting it on her knee. "Because maybe I remembered how damn lonely you looked walking by yourself and thought that maybe, just maybe you'd like to have a friend too. I'm either going to be dead or alive in a few months after they flush me out with chemo so you won't have to bother with me that long."
"I'm not denying you," he quickly interjected, blinking rapidly. "I'm a very busy man and I-"
"I get it, you're dropping me off, it makes sense," she murmured, eyes dropping to the ground below.
He wasn't sure if it was the fear of her realizing how alone she was and dropping off of the building, or the guilt he felt that drew her into his next action, but soon his arms were snugly around her, making for an awkward hug as they sat side by side. His chin rested on her shoulder, his eyes boring into the side of her face as she resumed staring off, expressionless.
Belle shifted, slowly turning into him, her arms sliding between his and her cheek pressing against his shoulder. "I haven't had a hug for probably seven years, you know that?" she spoke, voice muffled by his jacket.
"You've lived a lonely life, Miss French," he replied, trying to ignore the how blurry his vision was becoming from the tears spooling in his eyes.
"Look who's talkin'," she snorted, inhaling against him. "You smell good, Mr. Gold," she said, voice so serious that he wasn't sure if he should laugh or bring her his bottle of cologne to smell to her heart's content.
She remained where she was, her fingers moving to clutch onto the lapels of his suit as her temple rested snugly against his collar bone. "Why do you worry...about using expensive cologne if you think people are afraid of you? How would they even smell it if they're trying to avoid you?" she slowly questioned, her eyes boring off elsewhere in the distance, a glassy look to them.
"Perhaps I knew you'd be clutching to me like this, hm?" Gold found himself murmuring, a smirk on his lips as he jostled her lightly in his arms, enough for her to tilt her face upwards, her tears still flowing, but a smile on her lips.
"You're crying, Mr. Gold. You're crying just like me," she frowned suddenly, a trembling hand moving to slide along his cheek. She displayed the sheen of his tears on her fingers, almost as if she thought he would need proof of his own tears. a confused expression on her face.
Gold almost laughed. If only she knew how powerful those tears were if used correctly in a potion.
"You're actually going to visit me, aren't you?" she asked, befuddled and quite shocked.
"Even I get bored of being a menace," he quickly excused, the tempting to add in his trademark "dearie" almost overwhelming.
He used that simple "pet" name for many people.
Emma Swan.
Snow White.
Cora.
Regina.
A name used for wicked people and people that he sneered at was not a name to use for someone as special as Belle.
Belle is dying.
He felt as if it was all some cruel nightmare, close to the ones he often had of both Belle and Baelfire.
The realization kept slipping from his mind and he found himself more intent on wooing her once more, but it kept finding him.
Belle is dying.
Each time the thought slid into his mind, he felt his heart squeeze.
He wanted to believe this was some cruel nightmare, some...vision.
And yet this was all very real.
She was dying. Not dying, perhaps, but she was ill. She was on the border of life an death, on a tightrope above a pit of nothingness.
His mind was stuck in a flurry of thoughts, fears, pains.
There he was, trying to make her smile, thinking of her.
Rumplestiltskin only thought of his own gain.
When he made a deal, the only thought in his mind was: "How can this work for me?"
And now he was putting aside his urge to either flee and sob recklessly in some secluded corner or seek out Regina Mills and give her a slow, torturous death to make this woman in his arms smile.
"I'll be here each step of the way," he said, meeting her eyes with a meaningful stare.
Belle only nodded, slowly scooting back and out of his arms. "You really mean it, huh..?" she bobbed her head a few times, eyes glued to her hands, which she wrung in her lap.
"I do," he agreed, pushing himself back and attempting to stand, giving a wince from the ache shooting up his leg despite his best attempt to steel himself.
"Oh!" she cried, quickly clambering to her feet with wide eyes. "No, no, let me!"
Before he could decline, she had wrapped her arms around his waist, giving a grunt as she hefted him to his feet with the help of his good leg.
He said nothing, but openly stared at her, his eyes confused. Belle. Such stubborn wiles...
Ignoring her own state to help him.
His Belle.
She was inside this blonde-haired, slipper wearing, girl.
"Um, now then," she murmured, dusting off her pajama pants. "I guess you've got to go bark at some people, right?" she cocked her head to the side a little, a wry grin on her lips.
"That I do," he agreed stiffly, accepting his cane from the girl after she plucked it from the ground.
"And I'll be, um...here. Like always," she added, with a nod.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he informed. "Don't tumble off of the roof, dear, no need to cut our future visits short."
Dear.
She gave another awkward nod, waving at him with a smile that almost seemed bashful.
He wanted to stay the night.
He wanted to stay the rest of his time on this world with her.
He would sleep in the thinly cushioned chair that most likely sat by her bedside.
He would hold her hand if she was ever scared, or perhaps in pain from an injection.
He would hold her hair as she vomited, rub her back when she was finished and aching.
If she allowed him, he would sleep by her side, find a way around the IVs if they were present.
He would remove her slippers for her, he would buy her flowers each day, he would break her out and take her to the library, he would bring the library to her.
Anything.
He blinked, realizing that he no longer was standing before the girl on the roof, but was in the elevator, the red button that was to be pressed to halt the elevator glowing a dim red.
He blinked, dimly aware that his hands were flaring with pain.
He slowly looked down at his knuckles, red and swollen.
His gaze shifted to the wall of the elevator, which wore an impressive few dents.
He pressed the button once more, leaning more heavily on his cane as the elevator stuttered to resume descending.
The curse.
Belle had mentioned that they had found it after the clock had begun to move once more.
This was surely Regina's fail safe to ruin him.
The savior comes, the love of his life dies.
If he could remove the curse...prematurely...
Remove the curse, regain magic.
Regain magic, remove the tumor.
Gold exited the elevator, an expression on his face that could be read as either grim or concentrated, when it was truly a mixture of both.
For now, he intended upon "visiting" Victor Whale.
The man wouldn't be sneaking into bowels of the hospital for his flask before anything concerning Belle, nor would she be treated as anything below royalty so long as she remained here.
After, he would head to the General Store, watching as a very confused Mr. Clark took the stack of slippers he had selected from his basket.
I hope you liked it! Next chapter we'll meet Belle's friend in the hospital. :)
Though I hope it's worth continuing?
Thanks for reading, dearie!
Review if you wish to do so! 3