So, this is something I've been working on for a while and thought I'd finish up and post. I suppose it's a good time of year for it: Happy Valentine's Day :) Comments always welcome!

Once Upon a Time is the property of Adam Horowitz, Eddy Kitsis, and ABC.

Inspired by Beauty

Gold sat in the booth at the back and pulled his sketchbook from his inside pocket. Sitting with his cup of coffee in front of him and an unobstructed view, he was able to sketch a few details about the object of his inspiration without anyone being any the wiser. Nobody in town knew about his passion, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He'd dabbled in drawing and painting all of his life, but it was only in the last year that it had become something of an obsession: only when he met her. It was a combination of her warm smile, the guileless, fearless look in her beautiful blue eyes, and the charming way she spoke to him in that pleasantly lilting accent that caught his attention. And her kindness and friendliness too, even to one so disliked as he, had made her beautiful in his eyes. That first night, he'd recorded what he remembered of her face, and every day since then, he'd been trying to perfect his work, trying to make his art reflect the beauty that was Belle French.

She sat at the counter, as always, a book open in front of her, as always. She paused every now and then to take a bite of her sandwich or a sip of her iced tea, but nothing else distracted her from her reading. Even Ruby conducting a gossipy conversation with a giggling Ashley couldn't pull Belle's attention from her book.

She shifted position now, one elbow resting on the counter and her hand coming up to her mouth. She bit her thumb, a sign that she was gripped by her story, and he turned to a fresh page and sketched out the gesture, intending to capture it in more detail later. And now she bit her lip, a sign of excitement, and he wondered what she was reading that excited her so.

He wondered if anyone else noticed these little things about Belle. He knew that she would likely be disturbed at the way he studied her in such minute detail. He would never go so far as to follow her around, preferring to capture her likeness in person only here in the diner, where they both ate lunch every day, but he was aware that his interest might be seen as obsessive. That was why she could never know the inspiration she provided for him: he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or afraid. He valued her warm smiles and the fact that she spoke to him without fear of his reputation, and he didn't want to lose that: he would die if he lost that.

He watched as Belle closed her book and paid Ruby for her lunch.

'See you tomorrow, Ruby,' she called. Ruby waved and then Belle was gone.

Gold finished his coffee quickly and made his own way back to work.

It was a frosty day, his breath turning to mist on the air as he walked. He spotted Belle ahead, slowly making her way back to her library. He smiled to himself, realising she was reading as she walked, a regular habit with her.

A voice across the street called her name and she looked up and saw Ariel Marin. She looked both ways and was about to step off the path to go and meet the redhead when a truck hurtled around the corner, paying no attention to the stop light.

Ariel screamed, but Gold had already reached out, grasped Belle by the elbow, and spun her around. She collided with his chest, which was a damn sight better than colliding with the truck. His arms went around her as her hands clutched his upper arms. Her head was tucked under his chin and she stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, as was he.

'Belle!' Ariel cried, rushing across the street. 'Oh, Belle, are you alright?'

Belle looked at Ariel. 'I'm fine,' she said, 'thanks to Mr Gold.' She looked up into the Scot's brown eyes and smiled. 'Thank you so much.'

'No matter,' he said, realising that he was still holding her, but she was still holding him too, so he didn't let go.

'You saved my life,' she said, grateful. She'd always seen more in Mr Gold than the ruthless businessman most people believed him to be and this just validated her feeling that there was more to him than most people saw.

'Well, I was happy I could be of assistance,' he said, and she knew he meant it. 'I think perhaps you should sit down: maybe a cup of tea to settle your nerves.'

'He's right, Belle,' Ariel said: 'you do look very white. Why don't you let me take you to Granny's?'

Belle thought for a moment and then nodded. 'Yeah, I think that would be a good idea.' She looked up at Gold again. 'Thank you again, so much: I owe you.'

He shook his head at once. 'You owe me nothing: I'm just glad you weren't hurt.'

She smiled. She'd have liked to hug him or something, but she settled for smoothing down the lapel of his coat with her hand instead. There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn't find the words. She looked up at him again and smiled again.

Gold released her and stepped away.

'Have a good afternoon, ladies,' he said, and walked away quickly, wondering about that little gesture with his coat. She was a sweet little thing, was Belle, but it wasn't a good idea to think on that for too long lest he start to want things he could never have. He told himself to be content with worshipping her in his art; besides, he had a phone call to make and a dangerous driver to have arrested.

'Thank goodness Gold was there,' Ariel breathed, her arm around Belle as she escorted her back to Granny's. 'Thank heavens for his quick thinking.'

'Yes,' Belle agreed quietly, remembering his warmth and how it felt to have him hold her close like that.

'Belle? Are you alright?' Granny asked, seeing her pallor the moment the two friends appeared in the diner.

'Some jerk almost ran her over,' Ariel declared. 'If Gold hadn't been there to pull her out of the way…'

'Oh, my God,' Granny breathed, coming out from behind the counter. 'Here, Belle: sit right here. Ruby, bring Belle a cup of hot, sweet tea.'

'Sure thing,' Ruby called, hurrying to fulfil the request.

A few minutes later, Belle was sipping at the hot drink and chewing on the brownie Granny insisted she have too.

'How do you feel?' Ariel asked.

'Better,' Belle said, and she did have some colour back in her cheeks. 'Thank you all so much,' she said, smiling at Ariel, Ruby, and Granny.

'You're welcome, dear,' Granny said, patting her shoulder.

'We should report that driver,' Ruby said.

'I didn't even see his licence plate,' Belle said.

'I'm pretty sure Gold did,' Ariel said: 'he's probably called the sheriff.'

'At least Gold was there,' Granny allowed: 'Lord knows he's not my favourite person, but he did a good thing today.'

'He's a good man,' Belle stated: 'people would see that if they looked beyond his reputation.'

'Well, call us if you need anything,' Ruby said, as she and Granny went back to work.

'I picked up your things for you,' Ariel said, taking Belle's book and notebook from her bag.

'Thanks,' Belle said, reaching for them. 'Oh, this isn't mine,' she said, looking down at the notebook.

'It's not? It was on the ground with your book: I thought…'

'It must be Mr Gold's,' Belle said: 'he must have dropped it in the commotion. I'd better return it to him: it's probably important.'

Ariel smiled. 'Maybe it's got all his plans for world domination in it,' she quipped.

Belle laughed. 'I very much doubt Mr Gold would be likely to have such plans, but even if he did, he'd be too smart to write them down in a notebook that anyone could find.' She held the notebook up as she spoke, but it slipped out of her hand onto the floor and, rolling her eyes at herself, she leaned down to pick it up.

As she was leaning, she saw that the book was open and she didn't mean to look, but the drawing caught her attention and she gasped.

'Belle?' Ariel asked.

Belle stared at the drawing for a long beat, mesmerised by what looked very like her own face, beautifully rendered, looking down, with a soft smile. Indeed it was her own face: her name was written at the bottom in Mr Gold's handwriting. She couldn't take her eyes off the exquisite drawing.

'Belle?' Ariel asked again, loud enough to draw her out of her reverie.

Belle picked up the notebook – sketchbook – quickly and snapped it shut.

'What did you see?' Ariel asked curiously.

Belle shook her head. 'I didn't mean to see it: it's Mr Gold's property and I would be wrong to share its contents.' She felt that he wouldn't want anyone to know, but at the same time, she felt that everyone should know and admire his talent.

Ariel didn't press for details, knowing Belle wouldn't give them.

'I'm going to return this to Mr Gold,' Belle said, and she stood.

'Alright, honey: I'll see you later?'

Belle nodded and hugged her almost absently, and then she was gone, starting up the path towards Mr Gold's shop.

What should she say, she wondered. Should she acknowledge that she'd seen the drawing or just return the book without making mention of it? The thought of not acknowledging it bothered her, she realised: she should praise his wonderful talent. She thought that he'd guess anyway if she tried to hide it: he was smart like that, could read people's faces.

She wanted to know if there were any more drawings of her in this book, wanted to know how long he'd been drawing, if she could see more of his work. She'd always been intrigued by Mr Gold and now there was another layer to this enigma of a man. She so wanted to know him.

She reached the shop and walked straight in, only to find Mr Gold in the process of leaving, hastily shoving his arm into his coat sleeve. He stopped dead as soon as he saw her, and his eyes locked onto the book in her hands, his face draining of colour.

Belle closed the door behind her and took a few steps towards him.

'Ariel picked it up,' she explained: 'she thought it was mine. She only just gave it to me or I would have returned it sooner. I'm so sorry, I–'

'You looked at it,' he interjected. His tone wasn't accusatory: it was more resigned, but Belle felt guilty anyway.

'I didn't mean to,' she said. 'I dropped it accidentally and it fell open. I only saw one drawing and I brought it straight here.'

He swallowed hard. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'What for?' she asked, genuinely confused. Why was he apologising?

'I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.' He looked away, pained, and she so wanted to take that pain away.

'I'm not uncomfortable,' she told him. 'Please.' She stepped towards him. 'I'm so sorry: I didn't mean to look. I just came to return it and tell you that the drawing I saw was very beautiful. It must be so nice to have such a talent. You have a gift, Mr Gold.' She looked down at the book in her hands, smiled softly, and gently stroked its cover. Then she held it out for him to take.

He didn't take it, though, and she looked up into his face, only to find his eyes blazing. She couldn't hold back her gasp.

For a year, Gold had poured his adoration for this woman into his art, into capturing her likeness over and over again, but now he knew that that would never be enough. The way she'd touched his coat, the way she'd stroked his sketchbook, he wanted her to touch him like that, with that tenderness.

'Take it with you,' he said then, pointing to the book. He needed her to see them now, because then she might begin to understand his feelings. 'Take it with you and look at them,' he entreated.

'You-you're sure?' she asked.

He nodded and she held the book close to her, aware that she'd been given a very special gift.

'I'll look after it: I promise,' she told him gently, very touched.

He nodded again: he knew that.

She smiled and then turned and left, hurrying over to her library with the sketchbook.

Her heart was beating fast as she pulled her chair in behind her desk. She was excited to see more of his beautiful drawings, but she was also very touched that he'd trusted her with so personal and intimate a thing as his sketches, which she somehow knew no one else had ever seen. She would treat the book with special reverence, especially because it belonged to him.

She opened the sketchbook and began to look through his drawings. She quickly realised that they were all of her and that both surprised her and made her heart flutter. The sketches were beautiful. Some were just quick line drawings, while others were more detailed, but they were all beautiful. He'd captured her likeness over and over again in sure strokes, a confident, practiced hand: an artist's hand. She could hardly believe what she was seeing: his drawings made her look beautiful.

The library remained quiet that afternoon, the cold weather keeping most people indoors, but Belle didn't mind: she was lost in Gold's sketches, looking through them over and over again, awed. She could hardly believe the way he had captured her: beautiful, glowing: she had never imagined that he might see her this way.

She wondered how long he'd been drawing her. There were dozens of sketches in this book, so she'd wager she'd been his unknowing subject for a long time. He was always at the diner during her lunch break: had all of these been drawn then?

He must have been studying her quietly for months. The realisation might have disturbed some people, but it only excited Belle. There'd been this connection between them this whole time… But why not ask her to sit for him for real? She would have said yes in a heartbeat. He'd said he hadn't wanted to make her uncomfortable, but he had never done that. She had always liked him: she should make that clear.

She turned the pages of his sketchbook carefully, her eyes tracing the lines of his sketches, drinking in the detail. They were truly beautiful drawings, even the quick little line drawings. Were these beautiful, careful drawings evidence of some feeling for her beyond friendship? Oh, she hoped so!

She made herself wait until the library's closing time to go and talk to him. She needed to tell him how he'd moved her, how it touched her to see such beautiful images of herself. She didn't know quite how to express what she was feeling, but she would find a way.

She locked up the library and made the short walk to the pawnshop. There was a light on and the door opened easily when she turned the handle.

Gold looked up as the door opened, holding his breath as Belle French came in, holding his sketchbook in her hand. So, the hour of reckoning had come.

'Mr Gold,' she breathed, 'I hardly know what to say.'

She stared at him and he wanted to dig himself a hole and never climb out of it. God, he was such a fool! How could he have ever thought that she'd be interested in him?

'I understand, Ms French,' he said wearily. 'Please, I really hope we can forget this ever happened. I'm very–'

'But I don't want to forget it happened,' she told him, eyes wide.

He frowned. 'You don't?'

'No!' she cried. She hurried towards him, but made herself stop halfway to the counter. She bit her lip, her cheeks on fire. She stared at him, trying to breathe. 'Oh, Mr Gold,' she whispered.

'Are-are you alright, Ms French?' he asked, alarmed: 'you're shaking.'

She laughed softly. 'You drew such beautiful drawings of me in this book: over and over again. Is it any wonder I'm shaking? Have you any idea how it feels to see such exquisite drawings of myself?'

He stared at her, heart pounding. 'Tell me,' he requested, voice gruff.

She took a step towards him, smiling.

'It's…overwhelming. My heart is full of joy, and pleasure, and astonishment. I'm so touched, and honoured, and I just have to know what they mean.' She took another step towards him. 'You captured my likeness over and over with such care: tell me…what does that mean?'

He stared at her. He could say that she was just a pretty woman with an interesting face, but that would be a lie. He could tell her that she was the most beautiful soul he'd ever known and that he'd been captivated by her from the very beginning, but that would leave him vulnerable and open to ridicule and the loss of her friendship.

Oh, just tell her, a little voice nagged at him: tell her and face the consequences. Be brave for once in your life, Gold!

'I… It means that I-I've been captivated by you since the day I met you,' he told her, his voice shaking. 'You're so beautiful and kind: I…' He trailed off helplessly.

Belle couldn't hide her blush or her smile of pleasure. 'I never knew you felt that way about me.'

He nodded, sighing. 'I value your friendship: I didn't want to risk losing it by telling you of my feelings.'

She shook her head at once to reassure him. She took the last step to him and touched his arm.

'I have such strong feelings for you too. They've been growing ever since the day we met. I've often wished to know you better, and now I want that very, very much. I don't have a sketchbook to pour my feelings into, but I do-I do think about you.' She stroked his arm, smiling.

His whole body shook and he had to close his eyes for a moment and breathe.

'You are exquisite,' he whispered, looking down at her, his expression full of wonder.

She blushed and smiled. 'And you are intriguing. There's so much I don't know about you: would you tell me about yourself?'

'What do you want to know?' he asked, rather stunned at the turn things had taken, but it was very pleasant to have her here, looking at him with her beautiful eyes alight with interest and even affection.

'Something simple to start: what is your first name? Your library card lists you only as "T Gold".'

'It's Tristan,' he told her.

She smiled. 'Tristan: I like that. It suits you. When did you start to draw, Tristan?'

'I've always drawn and painted–'

'You paint too?' she asked, awed.

He nodded, fascinated by the light in her eyes. 'Yes. Art has always been a hobby of mine, but it's really only in the last year that it's become something of an obsession.'

'Is that…because of me?' she asked, her face alight with wonder.

'Yes.'

She caught her breath and smiled radiantly, and he wished he had paper and pencil to hand: he longed to draw every new expression on her face. Actually, what he really wished for was to paint her, for her to sit for him.

'You are a very surprising man, Tristan,' she told him, still smiling, 'and I'm very much going to enjoy getting to know you better.'

Gold was rather in shock that she was here, and looking at him like he was someone special to her. He wasn't quite sure that this wasn't a dream.

'Ms French–'

'Belle,' she requested softly: 'please call me Belle.'

'Belle,' he whispered.

She smiled at the look of awe on his face. He'd clearly never imagined that there could be anything between them, and that charmed her: it was so endearing to find a man who didn't assume that his advances would be welcome. There were a few men around town – Greg Gaston and Keith Nottingham in particular – who came on very strong with her. She didn't like that, but she did like Tristan's polite, unassuming manner, and, consequently, she was more at ease with him.

'I was wondering…' she began, but trailed off shyly.

'What is it?' he asked, eager to hear it.

'I was wondering if… May I sit for you, Tristan?'

He stared at her, his heart thumping. He was quite sure he could happily paint her for the rest of his life.

'I would like that,' he said, 'very much.'

She bit her lip. 'So would I.'

Belle's heart was beating fast. As fascinated as she'd always been by Mr Gold, this hidden side to him really piqued her interest. Knowing that he was an artist added to her attraction, and knowing that he was an artist who had chosen her as his muse felt like something out of a romance novel. Practicality and reason told her to get a grip on herself, but her romantic heart wouldn't be reasoned with.

Gold still couldn't believe he wasn't dreaming. She was staring at him as though he was the best thing she'd ever seen and it was overwhelming. Suddenly he needed to touch her to be sure this wasn't a dream, and he reached out tentatively.

Belle smiled and placed her hand in his. She looked up at him, waiting.

She wanted to be here, he realised, wanted to be with him, and suddenly he saw a future in which they were together, and he'd give anything to make that happen.

'Are you busy this evening?' he asked.

'No,' she returned, smiling.

'Would you like to–'

'Yes,' Belle said at once, and Gold understood that she was saying yes to everything: she was saying yes to him, to them, to a future in which he wouldn't have to admire her from afar, a future where she could be his, and not just his muse. Well, what a day this was turning out to be!

So… shall I leave it there or keep going? What do you think?