French Hens and Turtle Doves, an once upon a time fanfic

Title: French Hens and Turtle Doves

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Disclaimer: Do not own!

Pairings: Rumbelle, Red Cricket.

Summary: Christmas Eve at the famed Mills and Associates. Twelve lyrics, twelve memories. Rum Gold thinks back on the courting of Belle French.

Or: the one where Belle is a lawyer and Rum is her nervous, woobie!janitor.

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS! I come bearing gifts! Whatever else you receive this year please accept my humble little present: one rumbelle fic (with hopefully more to come!) Everyone, do me a favor and have lots of fun this season, yeah?HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Once upon a time there was a janitor with a bum leg.

Doesn't sound like much of a hero, does he?

Well, he wasn't.

Instead of dragons and wicked witches of the marshlands the janitor faced trials far more embarrassing, like how to mop a floor without falling, or wash windows he couldn't climb a footstool to reach. Every bit of energy was devoted to managing a trade he wasn't meant to succeed in… but he did. For the most part. The janitor learned to use the mop a bit like his cane—just enough pressure to maintain his balance, not enough for the wet rags to slip out from under him—and he wove intricate patterns across the floor, avoiding the newly wet patches like a spider avoids sticky strands of its web. The windows were accessible with an extension pole, a piece of equipment not provided by his employers. So the janitor put aside money for a month until he could buy it himself… and he cleaned the windows. Just like that. They may have been tiny, embarrassingly simple trials, but he triumphed over them all the same.

So. Maybe he was a little bit of a hero.

However every hero, whether great or otherwise, needs a bit of help now and then. The janitor conquered his difficulties, but that didn't mean that anyone noticed. He limped into fancy offices with distant receptionists, offering his services, and everything was fine… until they leaned over their desks and saw his leg. People didn't want a crippled janitor. Not the most pragmatic hiring decision, now was it?

So the janitor moved around a lot, bouncing from one "HELP WANTED" sign to the next. That is, until he applied for a position at the prestigious Mills and Associates, Chicago's most lucrative law firm. It was a laughable shot in the dark, even if the receptionist this time— polite, red-haired Archie Hopper— looked at the janitor with genuine sympathy. He sheepishly offered him a mint while shaking his head.

The janitor was on his way out when fate, as it does with all heroes, intervened. A brown-haired beauty flew through the door and, amazingly, stopped right before him.

"Are you Mr. Rodenberg?" she asked, all smiles and welcome. Her purple suit was of a tasteful cut and it matched the drops in her ears. Her hair fell in curves over her shoulders, free of the sever buns most lawyers wore, and in that moment the janitor wanted nothing more than to be Mr. Rodenberg. That sounded more like a hero's name.

"No," he had to admit.

"Oh." Her face fell a little, but then brightened. "Are you Mr. Sole?"

"…No."

"Are you… any of my clients?"

"No, ma'am." The janitor could feel his face burning and he gripped his cane, wishing it was a sword.

To his surprise though the beauty didn't dismiss him. "Well you must be someone," she laughed, holding out a hand. "I'm Belle, Belle French. One of the top associates here. You are…?"

Silence. He stared at the hand like it was poised to strike.

"The janitor." The voice came from their left and both turned to see Archie, shyly shuffling papers about. "That is… he applied for the position, but…"

"But…?" Belle prompted and Archie turned the color of his hair, gesturing towards his leg.

"I didn't think Ms. Mills would approve—"

The beauty snorted, loud and derisive and utterly unexpected. "Ms. Mills can't be concerned with anything so plebeian as hiring help." She turned back to the janitor, the blue of her eyes refreshing rather than cold. "You can work?"

"Yes, ma'am. I… manage well enough."

"Great! Then you can work here. I'm hiring you. Archie, draw up the paperwork, and if Ms. Mills has a problem with it then send her my way. Not that she'll even notice you're here. Oh! No!—I only meant that she won't notice, not that you're not worth noticing, it's just that she's a mean, horrible old crone, and god I shouldn't be saying that about my boss should I—" Belle's hands fluttered, finally landing on the janitor's shoulders and patting them heavily, something no one did anymore because no one wanted to unbalance the cripple.

"For a lawyer I'm pretty terrible with words," she admitted while Archie chuckled into his files.

"You're also late," he added, pointing through a glass wall. A man in a Ralph Lauren suit was scowling and tugging at his watch. "Mr. Rodenberg's arrived."

"Oh!" Belle fluttered a little more, dancing in a quick circle, before jogging away. "Thanks! Bye! Fabulous weekends to you both if I don't see you before 5:00!"

Thus, the janitor could only watch the beauty as she ran away, swaying a little against his cane. He could still feel her hands through the cotton of his t-shirt and smell the chai tea she'd had on her breath. He noticed, as she left, that there was a small birthmark on her right calf, shining through her stockings.

"So," Archie asked. His voice sliced through daydreams. "What is your name then?"

"Rum," the janitor admitted. Rum cleared his throat. "Ah, short for Rumford."

"Well, Rum, welcome to Mills and Associates. Enjoy your stay." Archie handed him a stack of applications with an infectious grin. He tried to give a salute and only managed to smudge his glasses.

"Is… Is she always like that?" Rum couldn't help but ask.

"Who, Belle? Oh yeah. God, everyone loves her. Well, everyone but Mills. She's the firm's darling, our odd little princess." Archie chuckled, missing the catch in Rum's breath.

Princess.

Rum wasn't much of a hero. He wasn't a leader or a prince. He wasn't up for saving princesses…

But maybe—just maybe—he could clean the castle of one.

December 24th 2013 – eight months later.

7:01 am

"Good morning, Belle."

"Morning, Rum."

He gave her the tiniest, shyest smile as she strode through the firm's doors, nearly slipping on his own mopped floor—again. Belle grinned back, dramatically pulling off her hat, scarf, gloves, and then her coat, revealing the most god-awful outfit to ever grace the female form. Normally a woman of tasteful, if unique, fashion sense, today she'd opted for something more… vibrant. A red bow in her curls, a red sweater—complete with a white snowman and reindeer whose noses stuck out a good two inches from her chest—red and green checkered skirt, white tights, and red boots, adorned with tiny bells on the back that jingled as she walked. Belle twirled for him and Rum nearly did fall, this time from laughter.

"Tis the season!" she insisted, plucking at his own boring uniform. "I've got extra bows in my suitcase. You want one?"

"Ah…" Did he want a bow? Absolutely not. Did he want a bow from her? "If it pleases you," he murmured.

"Yes. Maybe later. We need you looking festive!"

"I'm not sure if Ms. Mills would approve of such merriment."

"Oh pshaw." Belle hefted her briefcase in one hand and a large bag in the other. The plastic crinkled enticingly. "Female Grinch. Lady Scrooge. She's the one making up work on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve, Rum! I should be making eggnog right now." Belle said it like the current lack of eggnog was a worldwide catastrophe.

"I'm terribly sorry." And he was. Rum squeezed her hand, pleased when she hummed at the contact. Belle deserved nothing but Christmas cheer. Instead, she was stuck spending Christmas Eve with Ms. Mills, other disgruntled lawyers… and him. "Do you have family waiting for you?" he asked.

"Not really. Just Papa, but he doesn't expect me until tomorrow." Belle shrugged, like the fact that someone with her kindness and enthusiasm not being surrounded by admirers on such a day was normal. "You?"

"No," he said. Simple and telling.

"I see. Well then, guess we'll have to keep each other company for a while, yeah?" Belle winked, twirled, and made her way to the elevator, arms laden with bags and clothing. She didn't say goodbye, but instead serenaded him with a rather off key rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas. Long after she'd gone upstairs and Rum had resumed his mopping, he hummed the song under his breath.

"On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…"

Twelve muddy footprints…

Ms. Mills did notice Rum. Eventually. And if ever there was a dragon…

There was a week of her just strutting through the doors, eyes entirely blind to him, and things might have remained that way if it weren't for Ruby. Nineteen and rebellious, the granddaughter the firm's supervising janitor, Mrs. Lucas (and if a 66 year old woman, firecracker or no, being single handedly responsible for battling three stories worth of grime didn't give an inkling as to Ms. Mill's temperament… well, Rum didn't know what would). He learned quickly that Ruby had a long history of digging her heels in, firmly resenting her grandmother's insistence that she follow her into the cleaning service. On the second Tuesday of Rum's employment his coworker went the literal route of 'digging in her heels,' deciding to protest by wearing red, three-inch, highly impractical heels that shrieked her independence. To top things off, Ruby snubbed the labor of the job itself by coating those heels in an inch of summer mud.

Rum cleaned the lobby floor twice a day, at 6:00 am and pm on the dot, so he reeled a bit when, at 8:15, he found a delicate trail of footprints across the linoleum, each about the size of a Ritz cracker. He followed the prints to the restrooms where he found, not a mud monster, but Mrs. Lucas hissing like an angry cat and young Ruby pouting spectacularly.

"—as if there isn't enough work as it is, you ungrateful—"

"Granny, I don't want to be here—"

"Oh yes, girl, because it's all about what you want—"

Neither of them noticed he was there. Ruby stood out by her striking eye makeup, as did Mrs. Lucas through mere confidence alone, but Rum, dressed in the firm's drab uniform, tended to fade into the equally drab walls. Mr. Cellophane and all that.

Though to be fair, Rum didn't notice Ms. Mills sneaking up behind him either, yet she was as obvious as a boil on a fair face. Rum was entirely oblivious, until a manicured nail appeared at his shoulder, pushing him aside.

Conversation stopped. If the three of them were the whispers of the world than Ms. Mills was a shout, her crossed arms and pursed lips as uncomfortable as any scream.

"Why is there mud on my floors?" She drew the words out, tasting them like wine.

Mrs. Lucas straightened, now protective of her kin, but couldn't actually bring herself to speak. Poor Ruby turned the color of the tiles. Jelly-legged, she now wobbled in her heels and Ms. Mill's gaze was drawn to the guilty footwear. A damning eyebrow rose. It was easy to see where this was heading. Ruby was a mediocre employee at best, her familial connection the only thing that had kept her in business this long. She'd had more than her three strikes over the years, so now…

"It's my fault, ma'am."

Rum didn't recognize his own voice. It was strong, the strongest it had been inside these walls and certainly stronger than most of what he'd said in years. The sound was shocking and a little addictive. Ms. Mills thought so too, her head whipping to find its source.

"You?" She drawled. "You did this?"

Rum swayed all his weight onto his right leg so he could lift up his cane. He wiggled the bottom a bit, showing that the rubber sole was just about the size of the muddy prints.

"Planted it in a puddle this morning, ma'am. Stupid of me, really. I washed it clean," he nodded backwards towards the men's room, "but, you know, had to get there first…"

Ms. Mills approached. Prey caught, the clack of her own heels was more threatening than any predator's roar. "You mean to tell me," she said, "That the disgusting mess in my lobby came from some cripple?" She sneered at him and Rum tried his best not to swallow audibly. "Looks more like the tracks of a slut to me."

Mrs. Lucas sucked in a fearsome breath, snatching up her granddaughter's hand. Ruby kept a brave face, but her fingers gripped just as tight— long held anger mixed with just a drop of shame.

"It was me," Rum insisted, voice quiet now.

"Really? Well. Then I suppose I should fire you."

"I've only been here a week…"

"That's not a very impressive performance then, is it?"

Ms. Mills was reminiscent of a reptile and she refused to blink until Rum lowered his gaze completely. That manicured nail reappeared and parted strands of hair as long as her own. Rum shivered beneath the touch.

"Are you really firing me, ma'am?" He whispered. Whatever strength he'd found bled away at the thought of leaving. No more employment… no more Belle.

"Oh, I don't know…"

Mrs. Lucas finally stepped forward. "Ma'am—"

"Oh don't you start. I've heard enough from you for a lifetime." Ms. Mills dropped Rum's hair, snatching up a Kleenex to wipe her hands. "You're disgusting. Do you even realize that? The lot of you are disgusting, but god help me I will nothave you spreading your filth to my beautiful firm. Do you have any idea the kinds of people who'll be walking through those doors today? No? Here then, I'll give you a hint: they're more important than you and, shockingly, they demand perfection, which oddly enough includes mud remaining outside of the building. I realize this might be a difficult concept for you to grasp but you're here to clean up the messes, not make them. I could replace all three of you animals in a heartbeat so understand this, the next one of you who makes a mess, whoever it is, can get the hell out without reference or pay."

They nodded, some more reluctantly than others. Ms. Mills glared at Ruby, hardly fooled, but she settled again on Rum and curled her lip all the way up to her nose. He half expected to see fangs.

"I suppose I should be grateful you haven't piddled on the floor, mutt."

Ms. Mills ignored Mrs. Lucas's spluttering, turning her back. She was done with them and only bothered to throw out a curt, "Clean it up!" before rounding the corner.

A man and two women. They waited… waited… and at the continued silence, finally breathed again.

"None of us got fired," Ruby whispered, and then tacked on a high-pitched laugh. It died quickly enough though, once it met her grandmother's gaze. "Uh, right. My fault. I'll just get the mop—"

"Don't bother, girl." Mrs. Lucas's tone was softer than expected, but she still reached up to give Ruby's ear a vicious tweak. Her voice rose effortlessly over the yelps. "I'll clean up your damned mess. You—get out of those ridiculous shoes and take care of him. The boy's got potential, so long as he doesn't asphyxiate."

Mrs. Lucas followed their boss's example in stalking down the hall, drawing out the supply closet keys like a cowgirl handling her gun. Rum was so enthralled with her exit that it took him a second to realize that she'd been speaking about him.

At some point during Ms. Mill's tirade he'd backed himself up against the wall and now he just shook against it, relying on the plaster to hold him up as he held his cane protectively in front of his chest. When Rum's breathing eased and his vision cleared a bit he found Ruby looking down at him. She really was quite a tall girl, even without the heels.

"You okay?" she asked and Rum nodded. "Really? Because you're looking like you've had a bit too much tequila. Trust me, I know. The girl's room's got a bucket under the sink if—"

"No, no. No. I'm fine." He ran a hand over his face, trying to make it so. "She's just a bit…"

"Bitchy?"

"I—I was going to say 'intimidating.'"

Ruby grinned. "Of course. Now are we talking about Mills or Granny here?"

"Ha. Ah, both?"

"Definitely both."

Rum was surprised when Ruby's hand came up to cover his own, squeezing between the fingers. "Thanks," she said, all at once too serious for his level of comfort. "You know, for that. I cause trouble sometimes, but I don't want anyone fired. I mean, Jesus lady, its just mud!" Ruby swallowed a bit, her throat working thickly. "Mills normally doesn't bother coming in until 10:00," she admitted. "So yeah. Wasn't expecting that scene. I owe you something massive, newbie."

"Don't worry about it." Rum whispered. "I'm generally the one in need of saving, so… um, glad I could help."

"My white knight," Ruby laughed, but it wasn't derisive. "Seriously though, sanding up to Mills in week one? Not bad, newbie, not bad at all. Granny was right. You've got potential. Just stay away from her—both 'hers'—for a while, yeah? No need to get burned twice, least not too soon. Am I right?"

Rum nodded again and when Ruby offered her arm he gladly took it, still feeling a bit shaky. They wandered back towards the lobby leisurely, despite the work that awaited them.

"Mills is always growling at me for one thing or another upstairs," Ruby continued. "I didn't bother dusting under things, just around them—oh no!—there were vacuum lines left on the carpet—the horror! Fucking hell. I once dropped a trinket of Belle's and Mills reamed me out a good ten minutes. You'd think she owned it—"

"Wait." Rum pulled them to a halt. Just ahead Mrs. Lucas mopped away at the last of the footprints. "Belle? Ms. Belle?"

"Yeah…" Ruby was staring at him, a smirk beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth. "I clean her office," she chirped. "Whhhhy?" Suddenly Ruby ducked down to whisper in Rum's ear, far closer than he was used to anyone getting. It tickled oddly.

"Is my knight lusting after another?" she whispered.

Rum jerked back. "Wha—? No! No, no—Ms. Lucas—"

"Oh, you can't hide that from me, newbie." Ruby was grinning like a loon, hop-hop-hopping from foot to foot. "Tell you what, I do owe you big. How about we switch? Whose office have you got?"

Rum stared at her dumbly.

"Come on, newbie! Names!"

"W-well, I've got Ms. Blue's, the reception—"

"Reception?" Ruby turned to grip his shoulders, her long nails piercing sharply through his uniform. "You've got reception? You mean Archie? The redhead? Tall guy? Awkward like aaaalll the time."

"Y-yes."

"Oh." A heat was beginning to stain Ruby's cheeks and with a start Rum realized that he might not be the only one who was… ah… lusting. He and Ruby made eye contact, looked away, and then looked back with a newfound understanding, along with a healthy dose of hope.

"You can have Belle's office if you let me take reception," Ruby whispered, and Rum immediately stuck out his hand. It was stupid, impulsive, but he'd be damned if he didn't take it. The two of them shook on it, grinning.

"So…" they continued on their path towards Mrs. Lucas and Rum glanced up shyly at his new friend. "Archie?"

"Hey, newbie. What can I say? I like red," and Ruby skipped ahead, kicking up her red, red heels.

8:01 am

Ruby popped downstairs just as Rum was finishing. He wrung out the mop and took up his cane, the tasks giving him an excuse to avoid looking at his friend turned Christmas light. Red lipstick, dyed red hair, red turtleneck under her uniform, red nails, the jangling of red bracelets… during a day dedicated to the colors red and green, it was easy to see which of those Ruby preferred.

She flicked his neck as she passed. "You see Belle's outfit? Talk about going overboard!"

Rum choked, but resolutely kept his mouth shut.

Tis the season for not revealing hypocrisy.

Eleven cups of coffee…

If Ms. Belle was surprised that the new, crippled janitor had been charged with cleaning her office, she never said. In fact, for the first few days after his run in with Mills, Rum saw little of the firm's princess. She skipped from place to place, meeting with clients and devoting herself to research for her trails. Belle was tiny in stature, but he never saw her without her body's weight in books. Snapped into brief cases, tucked under her arms, slung in satchels, given to assistants, left in a trails showing the route she'd taken that day… He'd once even seen two stacked atop her head: a copy of Cranford and, below it, a massive hardback with no title along the spine. Even in stilettoes she trotted without the books once wavering, and she probably would have entered her next meeting like that if Archie hadn't snatched them from her head.

Archie met Rum's stare as the books were set carefully next to his planner. "I meant what I said before," he said. "She's always like that."

Indeed, her office was like that too. Though the firm sported a great deal of glass Belle had managed to give herself some privacy by building walls out of books. The first time Rum had stepped inside her office his duster fell to the floor, unheeded. The image of her as princess was solidified, for it was like walking into a fairy tale character's hideaway; a space where parallel universes of law firm, castle, pawnshop, and secret garden had somehow been meshed together.

Her books… they curved in various towers along the parameter of the room, rising and falling, teetering slightly where paperbacks were forced to support thick volumes on law. The coloring varied from somber grays to the vibrant greens of children's literature and oddly, there did seem to be a mingling of practical texts and entertainment—various dictionaries piled next to comic books. Rum wondered if her personal library had simply spilled over, or if she somehow used works like The Velveteen Rabbit in her cases. Trailing his finger along a precarious stack, he wondered if she'd read them all. The space by the door alone was more than he'd read in his lifetime.

As if the books weren't enough, the rest of the office was stuffed with every odd and end imaginable. There were three different chairs besides her own, but the stool in the corner didn't look as if it could hold any weight beyond a toddler's. There was a geometric print pinned to one wall, and a dream catcher hung from her lamp. Belle had set up a menagerie of figurines on her desk, some stuffed, some porcelain, and there was a delicate white teacup that didn't appear to belong to any set. The only object given a bit of breathing room was the vase directly next to her computer, sadly lacking in any flowers. The overall effect should have been one of darkness and clutter, but instead every knick-knack lent more light to the room, brightening it in a manner that spoke of compassionate eccentricity. This was a genius's lair, but a genius who saw the world through color.

"Pretty cool, right?"

Rum jumped at the sound of Ruby's voice and found her leaning against the door, swinging his duster teasingly between two fingers. He flushed, feeling as if he'd been caught peeking into Belle's bedroom rather than her public office. One, of course, that he was tasked with cleaning. He snatched the duster.

"Mills through a fit the first time Belle brought more books than the bookcase could hold." Ruby pointed to the right of the desk and for the first time Rum realized that there was a bookcase under there. "But there isn't exactly a rule about how a lawyer can and can't decorate her office, you know? So Belle would bring just a little more… a little more…" Ruby waved her hands, encompassing everything with a grin. "Mills has threatened to fire her more times than I can count—"It's unprofessional, French!"—not that she ever would. Belle's the best they've got, and Mills knows it." A faint call came from two hallways down—Mrs. Lucas summoning her kin. Most of the lawyers were out to lunch, so the cleaning staff felt comfortable in vocally expressing any displeasure. Ruby winced.

"Gotta run, newbie, have fun. Oh, but a word of advice, try not to break anything, yeah?" Her eyes drifted to an oriental fan that Rum could now see had a tear in it. "And, you know, clean it, but you don't really need to clean it. Belle's running around so much, she hasn't got the time to do more than send emails from here. She won't notice if things get a little dusty. Ta, newbie."

Rum had no doubt that Ruby was right—there were far too many things to clean in this one room alone, not even taking into account his other duties—but he'd be damned if he didn't give it his best shot. He took up his duster, pulled a rag from his belt, and set to work.

It was slow going, especially given his fear that he might indeed accidentally break something, but Rum took each trinket in its time and after a while he began to relax. Cleaning was something he knew well and with sunlight streaming through the high-rise windows, peeking through the towers of books, he couldn't help but smile. Besides, each bauble was a piece of Belle— a lovely room for a lovely woman. Rum picked up a ceramic horse and imagined that Belle was sharing its story with him. Perhaps she had loved horses as a child, or even kept one out in the country. She certainly had the wealth for it. Or perhaps she simply found the little figurine to be pretty. He didn't know, and she'd never tell him, but he could imagine.

Rum was so focused on his imaginary Belle that he didn't notice when the real one snuck up behind him.

"Hi there!"

Rum whirled, jumping and nearly dropping the figurine. Luckily, he had the reflexes to catch it with his other hand. Not so luckily, that meant letting go of his cane and he landed hard on his bad leg, wincing as his knee took too much weight. Before he could so much as cry out though there was a small hand steadying his elbow and a mass of brown curls under his nose. Rum gasped in shock and got a lungful of peach shampoo.

"Shit! Oh god, I didn't mean to scare you. Here just—lean against the desk or something—yeah. Better? That's not better. What do you need? Heat? Ice? I think I've got an icepack in the mini fridge. It's got roses on it if that's an incentive…"

Belle kept chattering on, her hands guiding him until Rum was seated in her chair. He tried to tell her that he was fine—he jarred his knee at least once a day—but her proximity was… distracting. She was dressed in a cream blouse that, while modest, did little to hide her shape. Rum averted his eyes, using all his strength to gently, but firmly, push her away. Instead of giving him space Belle took that as her cue to kneel at his feet, making him blush forcefully at her position. She seemed not to notice the implications either, only tucked her heels beneath her and gently took his knee between her hands. Rum swallowed.

"You okay? You want roses?"

"N-no, Ms. Belle. Thank you."

"You're sure?" A teasing grin stole over her features, blossoming unexpectedly. "Roses have magical properties you know."

"Really?" She was still stroking his knee, a gentle caress through the fabric. It did nothing for the dull ache, but it was doing wonders for his fantasies.

"Really."

"Oh." What else was he meant to say to that? Was she mad? If she was, Rum would happily fall into madness with her. Belle was kneeling at his feet, massaging his knee, and smiling like they'd known each other years, rather than having just met for the second time. A silence settled between them that, alarmingly, wasn't nearly as awkward as it should have been.

After a few minutes Rum's knee went back to it's general state of not-quite-throbbing and he was able to nod his thanks. Belle grinned some more.

"I'll trade you," she said, and held out a hand, palm down, making a little grabby motion. For one wild moment Rum thought she wanted him to kiss it, until her eyes dropped to his own clenched fist. The porcelain horse was digging into his fingers. With a surprised murmur he handed it over.

"You saved him," Belle ran a finger down the horses' back before she replaced it on her desk. In exchange she took up a Starbucks mug, a line of liquid running down the side, no doubt spilled from when she'd scrambled to catch him. Rum could smell tea coming from it. Not chamomile this time, something with more spice. She noticed his gaze and wiggled the cup.

"It's my 'coffee,'" Belle said, making exaggerated air quotes. "I'm the only one here who doesn't drink the sludge, but I'm supposed to at least look like I do. Clients don't like it if they think you're actually sleeping. Means you're not working hard enough." She said it so straight faced Rum couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

Belle rocked and took a long, slurping sip of the not-coffee, humming happily. Her lipstick came away on the rim and she held the cup up to him, one eyebrow raised. "A trade's a trade," she said, and Rum realized she expected him to drink. The image of his lips covering where hers had been was enough to send him back against the chair, legs clamping together.

"Oh n-n-no. I couldn't possibly—"

"That's fine." Belle bent backwards—she still hadn't gotten up off her knees—and reeeeeeeached until her fingers caught the rim of the teacup. It was a white, delicate thing with gold trim and blue detailing. The light bounced erratically over the edges as Belle peered into it.

"You cleaned it!" she exclaimed. Her finger dipped inside and she laughed when it came away free of grime. "It was getting terribly dusty. Good thing too, I wouldn't want you drinking out of that!" And before he could stop her Belle upended her cup, allowing the tea to dribble out of the small hole. She bounced her head impatiently as it trickled, but didn't let up until the teacup was full. When it was Rum took it with shaking fingers.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome." Belle took another long swallow, watching him as Rum tentatively raised his own cup to his lips. It was some sort of rooibos, hot against his tongue, but he barely noticed. Belle's eyes were so blue they made the cup's detailing seem dull.

"This is… unusual," he admitted.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Why? Because she was one of Chicago's top lawyers and he was her janitor, and they were taking tea together. Because she was quirky and beautiful and smart as a whip… and he was just… Rum.

"It just is," he murmured.

"Oh." Belle sat quietly for a minute, her eyes roaming over her own possessions. "So you're cleaning my office now?"

"Yes. If that's alri—"

"Great! We can make it not unusual then."

At first Rum thought she meant for him to somehow make her office not unusual which, frankly, would have been impossible. He wouldn't have changed anything anyway, even if Mills had demanded it of him. This place was perfect, even more so now that Belle had returned to it.

During his musings she had jumped up, faster than Rum would have thought possible. She skipped backwards and shook her cup at him, rattling the lid before tossing it in the trash. Her aim was good and only a bit of leftover tea got on the wood floor. Belle laughed at the drops.

"See?" She said. "Plenty to clean. You can come here and we can have tea. If we do it every day then it won't be unusual, right?"

"… Yes?" Rum had no idea what he was agreeing to.

"Yes! Oh," Belle pulled her sleeve back, glaring at her watch. She huffed until the curls around her cheeks began to jump. "I'm supposed to be in a meeting. With Mills." Belle looked like she'd swallowed something foul and Rum couldn't help but chuckle at the expression. Her smile came running back at the sound.

"Right. That's a fabulous plan. I love it. See you tomorrow then?" She asked.

"You did hire me," Rum whispered. He reached for his cane, hoisting himself to his feet. "It would be… rude of me, not to show up."

"That it would." Belle grabbed her briefcase and what seemed to be a random book from the endless pile. "That's good, Rum. I don't like rude people."

For Belle, that was apparently all it took. They were friends now, regardless of what society had to say about their positions and how never the twain shall meet. Rum cleaned her office daily and, when he was done, they sat for a few minutes over tea—just shy of long enough for Mills to throw a fit or Mrs. Lucas to come looking for him. Belle always had one mug from Starbucks and she always poured half into the white teacup for him. For a long while that's all they did: drink tea, with Belle chattering and Rum sitting tongue-tied.

On the third day Ruby punched him on the arm as he filled the bathroom towel dispensers, laughing and making gestures that left Rum the color of a tomato for half an hour.

The seventh day Rum came into Belle's office to find that her small collection of first editions—lined up on a gold stand—had been moved to the bookcase and his cup had taken their place; prominently on the right-hand side of her desk.

The ninth day Belle touched him again, brushing a hand over his neck and cooing that he looked tired.

Over their eleventh cup of not-coffee Rum finally found the courage to start a conversation.

"You… like horses?" he asked.

The answer was emphatically 'yes,' and Rum listened happily about how only the best fairy tale princesses got to ride cavalry into battle.

9:01 am

Finished with the downstairs— for now— Rum headed for the elevator, pausing by the firm's enormous windows. The day's first snow had just begun fall, big, fat flakes settled against the glass. Rum smiled at the sight but forced himself to move away, joining Mrs. Lucas in the elevator.

"It's snowing," he observed.

"Really, boy? Well now, I sure as hell didn't notice."

Once he might have winced at the sarcasm, but now Rum only nudged the older woman. "If I can enjoy it," he said, holding up his cane, "surely you can too?"

Mrs. Lucas debated for only a moment before breaking into a smile. In the privacy of the elevator she did an excited little bouncy dance that was more appropriate for a five year old. Rum hardly minded. With no one to know, he may have even joined her.

Ten pissy clients…

Mills had a gift for managing the clientele. Meaning, when push came to shove, she preferred to foster the whiney, the difficult, and the verbally abusive ones off on Belle.

The Nolan's took the brunt of it when they could. A phenomenal team, they could calm or chastise any client, depending on what the situation called for. During his third week Rum had watched them lead some CEO up from the lobby, apologizing for the wait with such elegance that soon the burly man was nearly purring between them, all deep belly chuckles and tobacco stained smiles. When the elevator had closed on two sets of dress shoes and one pair of heels Rum noted the talent to Mrs. Lucas, theorizing that Mr. Nolan must play bad cop while his wife provided the mothering.

Mrs. Lucas had only snorted. "You've got it backwards, boy," she said, and went back to scrubbing between the tiles.

Indeed, a week later Rum got to see the couple in action. Their office was close to Belle's and the glass walls provided a crystal clear view. He couldn't hear anything of course, but seeing them was more than enough. Mrs. Nolan was a spitfire, leaning over the desk to hiss at whatever idiocy their client was spouting while shaking numerous papers in his face. Mr. Nolan stood behind the man, periodically patting his shoulder or pursing his lips sympathetically. Rum had to admit—he was good. Any time the client glanced up Nolan had a look of male commiseration in place; whenever his wife caught his eye it was frustration with the fool sitting between them. The man knew how to keep ahead.

Yet for all their gifts the Nolan's preferred family law. Rumor had it that they were trying for a child themselves, but until then they'd make due by helping the rich gain or retain children of their own. Which meant that, no matter how much they liked helping out Belle, not every case fell within their purview.

The thoroughly creepy banker with a habit of smelling girls' hair? Give him to Belle; she's odd too. The web designer with shady ties to Chicago's drug dealers? Belle can take him; she's sweet enough that no one would actually suspect her of anything. The ancient man who fell asleep in reception—so old no one knows what he actually did way back when, too rich to turn him away—Belle. Let her deal with it. Basically anything that was potentially harmful to a career, immoral, inconvenient, or even just boring was tossed in her lap. Mills threw it all Belle's way with a false smile and a simper of how wonderful she was at her job.

The worst part was, Belle was wonderful. She handled each new client with enough grace to set Mills' teeth on edge and that skill had Mills giving her twice the number of cases next time around.

It drove Rum mad. It drove everyone mad.

"She'll snap. One day. I'm telling you, Rum." Archie whispered the words across his desk, mindful that Rum was supposed to keep a low profile during office hours. He smiled as two women passed by, inquiring if he could assist them. They tossed their curls at him and didn't even notice the janitor. Nothing new. Rum just kept cleaning broken wax leaves out of the potted plants.

"Who'sgoing to snap?" he whispered when the women had passed.

"Belle. Mills is in full Evil Queen mode, or haven't you noticed? I don't know what's gotten into her, but she's nearly tripled Belle's workload."

Rum snorted softly, confident that Archie couldn't hear him. "Evil Queen?" he asked. "I thought she was the dragon."

"Depends on the time of day, and how much coffee's she's had." Archie scowled down at his paperwork. For such a timid, gentle man his hackles certainly rose when it came to Mills' treatment of her employees, especially Belle. Then again, most of them were protective of their little princess. Rum hadn't been blind to her recent spike in work. They still took tea each day, but Belle didn't skip about the office with the same energy that she'd had a month before. It was no secret that Mills disliked Belle, exploited her, but it was undeniably getting worse. Maybe her animosity was just coming to a head. Or maybe Rum had even played some part of it—the crippled janitor Belle personally hired, pissing the boss off his first week there. It wasn't an entirely farfetched theory either. More than once Mills had stopped by, hissing about how unprofessional their little "tea parties" were. Belle had just smiled and shrugged, but it left an acidic taste in Rum's mouth along with the urge to simultaneously defend Belle and run for the hills. It was an uncomfortable feeling to say the least. But whatever Mills' game was, it was taking its toll. Rum could see that in the circles under Belle's eyes.

"Can't she do something?" Rum whispered. "Complain?"

"To who? Mills owns this place."

He didn't know much about law, but Rum wasn't so naïve as to think that one woman literally owned the entire firm. He opened his mouth to enquire, but Archie was already shaking his head.

"It's Mills and Associates. Regina may be the only Mills here, but she's not the only one involved. Her mother, Cora, she ran this place years ago—groomed Regina to be just like her. Her husband, Killian, he's got a share, as does Sidney Glass, some poor guy Regina has wrapped around her finger. They're all technically partners—"

"But they don't truly have any sway," Rum finished.

"Right. Cora does I'm sure, but she's happy so long as Regina is making money. Which she is." Archie pouted, scrubbing at his eyes. "Sometimes I can't believe that woman pays my bills."

Rum wasn't much of an optimist but he felt that a little hope was needed, especially if Archie, of all people, was feeling low. He came up behind the desk, nudging the man's leg softly with his cane.

"Belle can handle herself," he murmured. "I've learned that much. And who knows? Maybe Mills will—"

"You two haven't heard, have you?"

Both turned to find Ruby scurrying out of the elevator, slightly out of breath. "Look busy," she prompted Rum, and snatched up Archie's paperweight, making as if to polish it. Rum didn't miss how the receptionists' face turned the color of his hair as Ruby rubbed her hands over the glass ball, the movements distracting and oddly sensual. Archie coughed.

"Ruby, ah what—"

"There. Busy, Rum!" He grabbed a spray bottle to fiddle with just as the elevator dinged again. Rum needn't have bothered. Like everyone here the group that flowed out was too involved in their own affairs to notice the likes of them. A good thing too, given how he stared. No less than ten men tumbled out of the elevator, all in various states of shouting or gesturing aggressively at one another. One man viciously tugged at his neighbor's tie, another pulled a pocketknife from his belt and proceeded to wave it at both guys to his immediate left. They only batted the blade away, yelling at him with such fervor that Rum couldn't make out the words, only growling and grunts. Heading this pack of unruly men was Belle. Dressed in a light yellow skirt and green jacket, she was ridiculously colorful next to their somber suits. She gave the three of them a wink in greeting before walking backwards down the hall, leading the men like a college tour guide.

"This way, Mr. Rolin… ah, that is, deca-Rolin? Mr. DecaRolin? I don't even know. Just—all ten Rolins! Yes, this way, this way, just like follow the leader, right foot, left foot, forward march…"

Correction. Belle's tone changed from that of a teacher dealing with college students to one handling preschoolers. The group of Rolins didn't seem to notice though. They just kept bickering amongst themselves. They did follow Belle past them and towards her office, even distracted as they were. Rum couldn't see Belle's office from here, but he heard when she managed to corral them inside and shut the door. It sounded like a herd of elephants being muted.

Archie starred around bug-eyed. He didn't seem aware that Ruby was still fondling his paperweight, hugging it to her chest.

"Ooooh, Mills' is nuts-o, guys!" In a fit of excited anger Ruby shook the glass ball at him, forcing Rum to stumble back. "She's insane! I heard it all downstairs. Granny and me, we both did. Those creeps are a client—one client! They're brothers, and apparently they're all suing their dad for some kinda family fortune, but of course, none of them trust the others not to screw them over so they're doing it together. That's a thing now. Apparently!"

Rum winced. "Yes. Well, it is a tad unconventional—"

"Unconventional! Rum, in case you didn't notice they all look like guys pulled straight from The Godfather!"

"Or Terminator," Archie murmured, and Ruby nodded like a bobble head. If they hadn't all been fearing for Belle's safety Rum would have laughed at how Archie preened, basking in her approval.

"Mills." Ruby hissed the word like it was a curse all its own. "Sometimes I just want to, want to…"

"Walk across her pristine white floors in muddy stilettoes?"

"Yes."

Archie choked. Whether at the disrespect or the image of Ruby dressed in such a way, Rum couldn't be sure. Rum did, however, nod his own agreement. He'd given Belle as much support as he'd been able to during their time together, but stuttering compliments from one's janitor weren't exactly top line support. The first time he'd expressed admiration for her work, her patience, everything, he'd nearly taken the words back the moment they'd left his mouth, sure that Belle wouldn't want to hear such things from a crippled man nearly twice her age. But while he was still working out an apology she'd smiled, clasping his hand and asking him to repeat it. If he meant it. And when, stunned, he'd obliged her, Belle's smile had only grown.

Of course he meant it. The fact that Belle could doubt her worth, even for a second, made Rum sick with disbelief. It also drew up a fire in his blood that had never existed before; one aimed directly at Mills. No doubt she was largely to blame for any uncertainty Belle possessed. He wanted to do something.

It was as if Archie had read his mind. "You know," he groused, plucking at his stack of papers, "I've been tempted sometimes to redirect these." He shrugged at their raised eyebrows. "I'd be easy enough. A stamp here or there to make it look like the form absolutely needs a partner's signature. I could bury her in paperwork. Like I said, it's been tempting lately." Archie continued to ruffle the stack gloomily and he missed the mischievous look that flew across Ruby's face. Rum, however, did not.

"Ruby—"

"Why don't you?" She pulled herself across the island, coming so fast at Archie that he jumped. "Do it, Archie! Bury the bitch so deep she'll need a snorkel to breathe!"

"Ruby!"

"C'mon." She rounded on Rum who threw his free hand up defensively. "We can all get back at her. We've got access to her office, her food, she even sends jackets to be dry cleaned sometimes, right?" Archie nodded hesitantly. "Think of the damage we could do!"

"Think of the jobs we'd lose." Rum fidgeted under the younger girl's stare. "Ruby, that's a terrible idea."

"Not if we're careful. Not if we do little things. Just… quirks of fate. An endless string of really, really bad luck." She spun in a circle, practically vibrating. "Granny doesn't need to know. It'll be fine! Besides, if we've got a man on the inside she'll never suspect just the staff." Ruby eyed Archie until he bowed his head.

"Ruby, I'm not sure—"

"Please?" Big brown eyes, a whisper, and one manicured nail trailing across his cheek. That was all it took to break Archie Hooper.

"O-of course," he stuttered. "I'd be glad to help."

"Atta' boy!" and Ruby tossed the paperweight like a baseball, catching Archie in the stomach. He doubled over but she was already hoisting herself over the island again, kissing him on the cheek and leaving the poor man breathless in an entirely different manner.

"Rum?" Ruby turned on him as Archie floundered. "I know you're in, newbie. It's for Belle."

She was right of course. Anything for Belle.

Rum gave his own small smile, shifting awkwardly. "I… suppose… yes. Okay. For Belle."

"All riiiiight! Mission make-Mills'-life-a-living-but-inconspicuous-hell is a go. But for god's sake don't let this slip to Granny. She'll repaint the walls with our blood and reupholster the leather chairs with, you know… "

Both men grimaced, then nodded solemnly.

Ruby's grin diminished a little though. "So, boys. More power to us, but until then how do you think Belle is going to fare against these Rolin cree—"

Just then there was a crash, a shockwave that sent the whole floor trembling. The glass walls vibrated and Archie's glasses skittered across his nose, very nearly flying off. The sound originated from Belle's office. Something big had just fallen. Big and heavy.

"That sounded like the bookcase," Rum whispered, horrified. But before any of them could run off to check a voice rose above the crash's echo, shrieking like a banshee. It pierced the eardrums with a potent mix of fury and grief and it was loud enough to draw all the interns, Ms. Blue, and both Nolans from their offices. Even Mills flew out of the conference room, pale as milk with her cellphone still pressed to one ear, forgotten. Everyone just stood, wide-eyed as they slowly recognized the screech as Belle's normally soft timber.

"—can't lean against a bookshelf like that! Did you lose all sense? Pick them up or—DON'T STEP ON THEM."

"Belle is very protective of her books," Ruby whispered and though Rum had never been one for sarcasm he gave her a look that he sure hoped translated to, no shit.

"Yeah." Shakily, Archie urged them behind his desk, hunkering down to weather out the storm. "Seriously, guys. I think Belle will be just fine."

10:01 am

It was only a moment—barely a second spared for him in between errands—but Rum cherished any attention Belle gave him, no matter how small. She brushed by, noticed who she'd passed, and immediately turned back with a grin. Belle dug into the pocket of her checkered skirt and pulled out a very wrinkled red ribbon. With a mischievous chuckle she ducked down and tied it on his cane, creating the world's most lopsided bow.

"Ho, ho, ho!" she said, and ran off.

Nine dirty tricks…

Granny found out.

Honestly, Rum was surprised that they'd kept it secret as long as they had. That is to say, all of two days. After the Great Bookcase Disaster—in which a few trinkets were lost and a whole slew of pages bent—the firm was a tad preoccupied with the appearance of Belle the Dominant—slayer of all those who dared threaten her library. The rest of that afternoon was spent watching, astounded, as Belle tore into the Rolin brothers, chastising them for everything from their manners down to their attire. No one was subtle about their fascination. Even Mills had just lounged in the halfway a good hour, looking torn between admiration and vicious fury that, once again, Belle had turned a bad situation around. By 5:00pm she had all the brothers wrapped around her finger, meekly filling out forms as she watched over them with a cool, unforgiving gaze.

Rum had leaned heavily on his cane, as bewitched as all the rest. He'd understood then how smiling, polite, quirky little Belle had flourished in what was undoubtedly one of the most cutthroat of businesses. It also gave him an entirely new appreciation for her. Every time Belle snapped at the brothers to keep quiet Rum tightened his own lips, already firmly closed. Each time Belle flicked one to get his attention Rum could feel it on his own skin— stinging and sweet. Her eyes held little but anger that day and Rum shivered along with the Rolins, but his shivers certainly weren't out of fear.

Even so, all shows must come to an end. By the next morning Belle was all smiles again, chatting about the work she'd done on the case late into the night. Perhaps it was the humble work ethic that bit into Mills' patience because she was as vicious as a viper that morning. Demanding coffee, making snide comments about how tired Belle looked—their little princess didn't seem to mind, but it set the three of their bloods to boiling.

By 10:00 am Archie made good on his promise and had flooded Mills' inbox with over seventy-five forms that needed her attention "immediately." He'd also piled her desk with nearly half as many hard copies. When Mills stormed out at noon Archie only shrugged and cowered in a way that didn't need to be faked.

"I don't know, Ms. Mills. Really. I get that it's weird, but everyone's just interested now in getting a partner's opinion. It must be your reputation, as such a splendid lawyer…"

The flattery didn't help. Everyone knew that Regina Mills had a reputation, but it certainly wasn't for being "splendid." If Mr. Nolan happened to snort into his drink while walking past the sound was, luckily, covered up by Mills' own screaming.

Belle poked her head out at the noise, right as Rum was squirting the glass with cleaner. A bit misted against her cheeks and she sneezed.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"No worries. Ah… is Regina okay?"

They both turned to find their boss purple-faced and huffing like a true dragon. Archie ducked as if he expected flames. When there was finally a lull in her wrath and he only used the time to push more papers towards her, Mills threw her hands up with a cry, stalking back to her office. They could see her there, throwing a very adult temper tantrum.

"… No?" Rum ventured. "I don't think she likes paperwork."

"Really? That's too bad. I feel so sorry for her." Belle didn't look sorry though, and she tossed him a wink before getting back to work. Rum finished that particular glass wall with a spring in his step and a hum deep down in his throat.

Archie well and truly got the brunt of it the first day, but there was little Mills could do other than shout at him when she found the breath. It was bearable. Not all that unlike a normal day at Mills and Associates. Ultimately, as the three of them just happened to bump into one another in the firm's parking lot, Archie was grinning.

"This is… kinda fun," he admitted.

Ruby slipped her arm through his and twirled her keys. "Hell yeah it is. Wait'll you see what I've got planned for tomorrow."

Rum saw. Dragged by the ear into Mills' private bathroom he saw well and good. Mrs. Lucas took hold of him like a naughty schoolboy while Ruby stood by the toilet, cringing. Rum was tempted to take the blame on her behalf—again—until he saw the roll of plastic wrap she carried. A scrunched piece was stuck to the toilet seat.

"Saran wrap?" Rum gapped at her. "That's your idea of inconspicuous?"

Ruby scowled. "It's one of the best tricks in the book!"

"It is. It's also one of the easiest to trace back to us since we've got the duplicate key to her bathroom!"

Mrs. Lucas stared between them, the hand not holding Rum—which has thankfully migrated from his ear to his collar—planted firmly on her hip. "You two fools want to tell me what's going on?"

"No," they answered. Mrs. Lucas sighed.

"Well hell if I need you to. A little retribution on our dear old Queen, eh?" She huffed at Rum's surprised look. "I wasn't born yesterday, boy. This also isn't the first time I've resorted to… juvenile means, to get my due. Sometimes it's all we've got in our line of work. No respect, little pay, but hell if I can't make a white collar's life a living hell if I so choose."

Ruby's jaw was unhinged and Mrs. Lucas smirked, suddenly looking young and dangerous.

"You forget you're related to me, girl? Where'd you think you got that devil's streak in you? Damn thing's hereditary. You've got a lot to learn though. Newbie here hit the proverbial nail on the head: don't get caught. Besides, didn't it ever occur to you kids that any mess made with that," she gestured to the mangled saran wrap, "would be one that we would be cleaning up? I don't know about you, but I get enough of Mills' shit without touching the real thing." When neither of them responded Mrs. Lucas rolled her eyes, absently giving Rum's hair a sharp tug. He yelped. "That's enough, you two. Stop looking at me like I've grown horns and an extra head. Ms. Regina Mills had this coming a long time now. Just trust me. You idiots do as I say and you won't be the worse off for it. Now go loosen all the light bulbs in her office. Not all the way mind, just enough to cause some flickering."

So they did, with jaws dropped and disbelieving glances exchanged. The lights in Ms. Mills' office wavered randomly over the next week and, despite their best efforts, the custodial staff simply couldn't find the cause.

Wednesday Rum returned to the downstairs restrooms when neither Ruby nor her grandmother was to be found. Sure enough, the younger Lucas was huddled outside the girls' room, palms pressed up against her nostrils. She was as green as Rum's spray bottle.

"Granny's gone to war," she said, her voice throaty.

Peeking his head inside Rum was instantly assaulted by a smell so pungent it rocked him back on his heels. It was a thick scent, reminiscent of rotting fish and stale garbage; it coated his mouth and pooled his saliva, leaving him with an urge to spit. Rum caught a glimpse of Mrs. Lucas determinedly pulling stitches out of a plush pillow before he had to pull back, giving ardent thanks when the door swung shut. Even then though, the smell seeped through the cracks and Rum stumbled away like it was noxious gas that pursued him.

"Old recipe," Ruby coughed, scrunching her cheeks. "A whole slew of really foul herbs. Granny used to place satchels of the stuff by my head when I got sick."

"Clears the sinuses." Mrs. Lucas clamored out into the hallway, charging like a bull with three pillows stuffed under her arms. The third she was re-sewing even as she walked. Rum staggered away while Ruby curled against the wall, whimpering.

"It certainly does," he admitted and struggled not to gag.

"And now it can help out our dear Ms. Mills." Without ceremony she shoved a pillow into each of their arms. Rum could feel the handfuls of herbs poking through the material. "Put 'em back in her office, make sure you don't get caught. Place will smell real nice by the time she gets at 3:00."

It certainly did. If by 'nice' one means that Ms. Mills' office smelled like a sewage plant with no discernable cause. Their entire stock of Febreze did nothing and Ms. Mills threw a lamp at Rum's head. It missed—and of course later she claimed that she hadn't spotted him there—but it was worth it for her discomfort, and even more for attention Belle gave him, alternating between glaring at Mills and checking his hair for fragments of glass. He assured her that he was fine, so when her fingers remained just a second longer, it meant all the more.

Thursday they gave Ms. Mills a break—except for the bit of itching powder Archie slipped into the jacket she had him dry clean. They didn't know when she'd wear it again, but her reaction would be worth the wait.

Friday, all four of them were shocked when Mrs. Nolan arrived at 5:00 am, joining them up in reception. Her husband hung back, looking disgusted with the early hour, but Mrs. Nolan was all smiles, bearing coffee, and, strangely, apple pie. She dropped the pastry on Archie's desk with a satisfying thunk, just like she was presenting a conquered beast's head. Upon closer inspection Rum found that her smile was appropriately chilling.

"Morning, everyone. You all had good nights?"

"…Yes?" he ventured, when it was clear that no one else would speak.

"Great! Me too. I actually spent the night baking." Mrs. Nolan gestured needlessly to the pie. "This is ah… this is for Ms. Mills."

Behind her Mr. Nolan let out a snort, placing his forearm against the wall and curling his head against it. If Rum didn't know better, he'd say he was laughing.

"That's… great, Mrs. Nolan." Archie looked to Rum and the Lucas's but they were of little help. He shrugged hesitantly. "Uh, we're proud of you?"

"You will be," she chirped. "Given the… odd… week we've been having, I thought I'd contribute."

"Odd?" Mrs. Lucas said, a hard glint in her eye. At the same time Ruby's eyes brightened and she repeated, "contribute?" Mrs. Nolan urged them into a huddle while Mr. Nolan shook against the wall.

"We're not blind," she whispered, "and we're certainly not mad about it. If anything, you lot are brilliant." Mrs. Nolan grinned and hitched her thumb at her husband who nodded violently, still turned from them. "So… we wanted to help. I made the pie, but I thought that you'd like to do the honor of placing it in her office. A gift from a grateful client perhaps? Just make sure not to sample it, yeah? It's… special."

"Now, Mrs. Nolan, would we do that?" Ruby grinned maniacally.

"Good, good. Oh, and I think that given the circumstances you can call me Mary Margaret. Nothing forges friendship like a shared enemy, right, David?"

"Absolutely, sweetheart." Mr. Nolan—David—nodded again. His voice came out muffled but still laughing. "Oh god. You guys are gonna want to avoid her private bathroom for a while."

Nerves and suspicions brought on from a comment like that still weren't enough to deter them, and Archie happily presented the pie to Ms. Mills when she came in, along with an anonymous, forged note. Their boss was all prideful smiles as she devoured a slice of the treat at lunch, never once offering to share it with her colleagues. Though certainly unkind, that selfishness was for the best, because just thirty minutes later—right as she was about to leave for a consultation—Ms. Mills rushed into her private bath and didn't come out. All they heard after that was a draw-out, frustrated, agonized scream around 2:00 pm that cut itself off as quickly as it started. If Rum hadn't a good idea about what was going on in there, he might have been tempted to rush in and help. Ms. Mills sounded like she was dying.

Mary Margaret passed him on her way out the door at 6:00 pm, arm in arm with David. She pulled from a canvas bag a tinier Tupperware than the one she'd come in with that morning. Inside was a miniature apple tart.

"A little something to have with your dinner tonight, Rum." She said. "This one's laxative free. Promise." Mary Margaret winked and hushed David's crowing. "See you Monday."

"Yes. Monday." Rum balanced the carton against the top of his cane so he could wave them goodnight, his movements just a tad stunned. "Night. And… Thank you."

Saturday they came up with ideas individually. Sunday found them engaging in a three-way phone conversation—the Lucases fighting over one cell phone—and by the time they hung up over an hour later, the custodial staff of Mills and Associates had decided that simplicity was, and would always, be best.

They'd go out with a bang. Literally.

"Belle."

Rum saw her leap a foot in the air at his whisper. Belle spotted him quickly though, head poking out of the janitor's storeroom, and with a happy little squeak she trotted over. Monday afternoon found Rum tugging one of his employers into a closet with him and if Belle was at all uneasy about the situation, she certainly didn't show it. She willingly tucked herself in among the vacuums and mops, pressing up against Rum's back. Her head came to rest on his shoulder and he swallowed thickly. The small space demanded that they scrunch together, but Rum hadn't realized they'd end up this close.

"What are we doing?" she whispered back, and for a moment Rum thought numerous things they could be doing. It was a pretty dream, but quickly discarded. Belle didn't want that with him, no matter how willingly she pressed against his back.

"Watching," Rum managed to croak.

"Watching?"

"Yeah." Reality came rushing back as he saw Ms. Mills slip into the conference room. It was already stuffed with men and women, a celebratory gathering for a case well won; one that Ms. Mills had consulted on. It was a big day for her. Lots of connections, lots of good impressions to be made. She'd bought a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne.

A bottle she'd entrusted to Archie throughout the morning.

A bottle he'd "accidentally" left in the sun.

Rum gulped as said bottle was lifted—Ms. Mills chatting, shaking hands, pretending she understood humility—and placed on the table. Nothing. Nothing yet. But Rum was patient.

"We're watching Regina's party?" He nearly jumped out of his skin when Belle's voice brushed against his ear, but Rum nodded.

"Yeah. Just… just watch."

Ruby and Mrs. Lucas were tucked away in the Nolans' office down the hall, giving them nearly as good a view as Rum and Belle had. Archie kept passing by the conference room. He was good at pretending to look busy, but Rum could see his eyes straying towards the bottle, still seated innocently on the table. Belle noticed too, eyeing his continued pacing.

"Is Archie—?"

"Hush, Belle."

A brief speech (which, thankfully, they couldn't hear) and then Ms. Mills was taking up the bottle. Rum knew it was coming a second before it occurred and he reached up, one hand clasping against his ear, the other dropping his cane to come up and protect Belle's. Ms. Mill's tugged away the black foil and that was all the champagne needed. With a pop and a crack it exploded in her hands. Not just the cork, that would have been festive, but the whole bottle—champagne and glass flying out in all directions. Ms. Mills shrieked, even as the men she so wished to impress roared at the state of their suits. Pandemonium ensued. Some moved forward to help… only to stop and shrug helplessly. A few began to leave, shaking their heads. Most just stood looking stunned. As more began to realize that their clothes were ruined or that they had nicks on their arms and face the volume in the conference room rose to a wild roar.

Even from the closet Rum could see that a piece of glass had cut into Ms. Mill's palm. Luckily it didn't seem to be deep, certainly nothing that required stitches, but a few drops of blood fell on her blouse. Too bad she'd decided to wear white.

"Oh my god." Rum could feel Belle hopping in place behind him, her hands gripping the arm that had been covering her ear. "Oh, oh, did you see that? Rum did you see it? That's karma right there, at play! Except, oh nooooo," Belle nudged forward until she stood in front of him, her heel wedged in the door's small opening. "You knew that would happen, didn't you, Rum?"

"Mayhap," he whispered. Would she be mad? No. Belle was still all smiles.

"And you made sure I saw. Front row seats. Oh, Rum," Belle cooed at him, stroking his cheek lightly. The tips of her fingers were warm and he shivered into them. "No one's ever publically humiliated and caused minor injury to a psychotic boss of mine before."

"G-glad to hear it."

"How sweet you are," and she tucked herself back up against him, turning to watch the rest of the show. Hesitantly, Rum laid a hand on her shoulder and Belle settled more firmly beside him.

It was an unusual gift to be sure, but Belle was an unusual girl. Both, it seemed, were perfect.

11:01 am

He hadn't come completely unprepared for the holidays. With Belle off doing heaven only knew what—and with a crinkled bow still attached to his cane—Rum hobbled into Belle's office. From the pocket of his uniform he pulled a single tea bag, a ginger spice blend that a woman at the farmer's market recommended, perfect for the holidays. He'd already snuck a mug and hot water from the kitchenette, so all that was left was to pull it all together. Rum left the fragrant drink on Belle's desk, right next to her vase. He hoped the tea didn't grow cold. It would, if Belle didn't return soon.

She did.

Eight quiet moments…

Months passed. The firm eventually fell back into routine after Mill's week from hell, but everyone still had their moments.

Ms. Blue had always come across as quiet and severe to Rum, just a step away from becoming another Mills, but Belle assured him that she could never be cruel. She mostly kept to herself, shuffling papers in the stark box she called an office. Rum probably would have never even spoken to her if he hadn't found her after hours one day in August, leaning against the wall of a darkened hallway, shaking.

He'd been terrified that she was crying, that something had gone horribly wrong in this already stern woman's life. She did cry, but there was relief there too. Ignoring the pain in his leg Rum seated himself on the floor encouraging Ms. Blue to do the same— and shockingly, she actually spoke to him.

She told him of her niece, Tink, whom she'd taken in after her parents had died in a plane crash when she was a child. How her fascination with flying had started early on and Blue, too aware of the unhealthy fixation and now terrified of heights herself, had discouraged the obsession. Discouragement became a habit Blue couldn't break, and their relationship suffered far more than any disagreement over employment should. Tink moved out. Stopped calling. She made it clear that her aunt wasn't needed.

Yet that day Blue had received a letter, one that contained a photocopy of a pilot's license instead of words. It was more of an acknowledgement than she'd ever hoped to receive and she clutched the paper protectively.

"Stupid girl," Blue muttered. "Idiot girl. Always talking about 'getting her wings.' Well you'd best stay in the air, Tink, or so help me…"

Rum spent the whole night listening to Blue's story, tentatively bringing her tea and his personal stash of chocolates when it lagged. Eventually he brought paper. By the time the other lawyers were trickling in they were sleepless, but they'd composed an apology together that would, hopefully, bring a little more light to Blue's life.

Over the months Rum gained a reputation for being a good listener. It didn't matter that he was just a janitor, or that he had a bum leg, or that half the time he had trouble stringing his own words together. None of that impeded him from giving his new family every ounce of attention they deserved.

That included every member. Even Ms. Mills.

Not that she needed someone to listen to her. Generally, the firm wasn't given much of a choice in the matter. Ms. Mills enjoyed shouting—screeching, yelling, growling at a volume that should have proved impossible. When their boss had something to say, she made sure that everyone heard it, whether they wanted to or not.

Everyone had things they wanted to keep quiet though, and Rum had gotten good at picking up on those things. Ms. Mills, for example, had a tendency to mutter under her breath. Not often, but more frequently ever since her string of 'bad luck' a month before; a cause and effect that Rum was keenly aware was largely his fault. He disliked Ms. Mills more than anyone else, barring only his father, but well deserved pranks were a far cry from these little moments of defeat. Most often her mutterings were just curses, but sometimes Rum would catch sentences too. Simple, everyday annoyances that became monumental when paired with an otherwise stressful lifestyle.

A parking ticket she didn't want to pay.

A headache that refused let up.

An unexpected call from her mother…

Rum didn't like her—and he hated her for how she treated Belle—but you couldn't hate someone all the time. So he helped. A glass of water and Advil left on her desk. A packet of tissues slipped into her purse. Once, after a night when she'd clearly been drinking, Rum haltingly asked her to wait before heading upstairs. Ms. Mills actually designing to stop was a miracle in and of itself, and Rum pushed his luck by holding out his packet of gum. He kept his eyes on the floor.

She took it. Scowling no doubt, and Rum didn't miss how she pinched the corner in an effort not to touch his hand—but Ms. Mills did take it. She proceeded up to her office and later that day Rum spotted her, still chewing on two of his peppermint sticks.

Neither of them spoke of these little deeds. Ms. Mills would never, ever need help, and Rum couldn't be shown pitying the dragon, the Evil Queen. It was a secret, one only acknowledged in the transformation of everyday objects into comfort and Ms. Mills' hesitant, angry acceptance of them.

Mary Margaret was pregnant.

This wasn't something that Rum learned in a private heart-to-heart with the woman. Rather, one day Mary Margaret took her lunch outside the office, came back with a shopping bag, went into the upstairs bathroom, and five minutes later the entire firm heard her shout of joy. The mother-to-be came out with the test in hand and her skirt on backwards, neither of which kept her from launching herself into the arms of a very surprised David.

Rum was, as usual, in the way. Mary Margaret barreled past him and the near collision caused him to lose his balance, falling back onto his bad leg. Belle noticed from afar and nearly let out a reprimand before she heard exactly what Mary Margaret was shouting about. Her scowl transformed into a grin.

"You okay?" she asked, taking him by the elbow. His knee was screaming, but so was Mary Margaret.

"Yeah. Never better."

David found him two days later. Washing the downstairs windows, Rum was surprised to find the younger man standing awkwardly behind him.

"Heeeey, Rum. You, ah, got a moment?"

"…Yes." David rocked back on his heels, stuffed his hands in his pockets, took them out, rocked forward and sort of hovered there. It wasn't often that Rum felt more at ease than whomever he was speaking with. Suddenly, David grimaced.

"You ever notice how there are no guys here?"

"Ah…"

"Like, the place is run by Regina, by her mother, we've got Blue and Belle and a million other girl associates. You're the only guy on the custodial staff…"

Rum hadn't really thought about it before, but David was right. They'd somehow fallen into a world dominated by women. The realization made him squirm.

"There's Archie," he pointed out, which only made David wince.

"Already asked him. Jesus." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay. Here it is. Have you got any kids, Rum?"

"No." It took him a second to realize the kind of advice that David was looking for. When he did, Rum blushed harder than he had in months. "No. No, no, no, no—David, I'm not—you don't want—" He shook his head helplessly.

"Right. Got it. Not your area. Just, forget I mentioned it, man. Yeah?" David threw him a salute and turned on his heel, practically running back to the elevator. Rum took some time to calm himself, and then, feeling guilty, explained the situation to Mrs. Lucas. She in turn told Belle. By the next Tuesday David had a stack of books as tall as his wife, the top of which was titled, Hey, Man! You're Gonna Be a Dad! David read the books with a continued flush to his cheeks, but read them he did.

The men of Mills and Associates, few that they were, all agreed that such information was best divulged through the pages of a book.

As the eldest member of the Mills and Associates family, Mrs. Lucas thought it her responsibility to dispense with—what she thought of—as sound advice. She was also very blunt.

"If you like the girl then for the love of god, ask her out!" Mrs. Lucas swatted Rum with her feather duster. It didn't hurt, but that didn't mean that he didn't wince. "Even I know it ain't the 50's anymore, but girls still like being courted. Take her to dinner, newbie. Buy her something sweet. Anything's better than you mooning over her day in, day out."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Rum said. He twisted his own feather duster between his palms. "Belle isn't interested in me."

Mrs. Lucas gave him a look that could wither the ripest of fruit. "I'm not one to speak for another woman, boy, but I've also got eyes. You think she takes tea with every janitor that comes through?"

"I think Belle is a kinder soul than is probably good for her."

Mrs. Lucas's gaze softened. "Aye. I'll agree to that. But you've also got more to your name than you give yourself credit for. You got any courage locked away in there?"

No. No, he didn't.

Rum shrugged.

"I can smell a lie a mile away, boy." Mrs. Lucas sighed. "Well, if you've got one thing down pat, it's being passive. Yep. I can work with that."

"What do you mean?"

"Hush now. You think these shelves are gonna dust themselves?"

Rum thought little of their conversation in the following days. (Another lie. He thought endlessly about suitors, courtship, and how he was very much not a handsome prince) so he was therefore shocked when, on a Thursday right after lunch, Belle tugged him violently into her office when it was time for tea. Instead of their single Starbucks mug in hand she held a half-wrapped book. Her other arm was engaged in choking his neck.

"Thank you—thank you—thank you—thank you, Rum! Oh I know I have too many books so sometimes I try to scale back and I'd planned to pick up the latest Grisham for my birthday, but now—" She held up the book, bouncing it from side to side. "Thank you."

"Birthday?" It was all he could focus on.

"December 16th. Why? You planning to spoil me some more?" Belle grinned and poked his shoulder. As she turned Rum saw a tag—printed—on a bit of the wrapping: "To Belle. With love, Rum."

Apparently he'd given Belle a book.

"I—I… yes. Yes." Confused, but giddy at the strange turn of events Rum hesitantly poked her back. "I… would like to continue… spoiling you."

"Great." Belle breathed. "You can start by pouring us tea." She gestured to the mug and seated herself at the desk, a queen on her thrown.

Rum was happy to act as her humble servant, even if his "gift" meant that Belle spent more time sneaking glances at the prologue than engaging in conversation with him. And if Mrs. Lucas passed by, throwing him a knowing look, Rum could only mouth a silent 'thank you' in return.

Really, Mrs. Lucas should have been more concerned with her granddaughter's love life. If Rum's… thing… with Belle was half as frustrating to the others as whatever was going on between Ruby and Archie… well, he was terribly sorry.

Ever since Ruby had taken over the cleaning of reception, she and Archie had played a game of static tag. She'd move in close with apologies, intent on wiping down his desk, and he would pull farther away than she probably intended. He would stand to run an errand, moving closer to brush against Ruby as he passed… only to pull back at the last second. Archie, like Rum, was a bit too skittish for this world and Ruby, despite her confidence in everything else, seemed incapable of taking the plunge.

Mary Margaret snuck up behind him as Rum watched their dance. Ruby was currently taking out Archie's trash. Slowly… slowly… in the hopes that he'd watch her legs as she passed. He did, but he was back at work whenever Ruby turned to check.

"They're like middle schoolers," Mary Margaret whispered, something like awe in her voice.

"Any ideas?" he asked.

She snorted. "Well yeah. They're gonna act like kids, might as well treat them like such." Mary Margaret opened up a folder and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. She folded it in half and managed to rip it perfectly, much to Rum's chagrin. She snatched a pen from her hair and wrote in big, block letters: WOULD YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME? CHECK YES OR CHECK NO before adding Archie and Ruby's names underneath, respectively.

"Does everyone here forge notes?" Rum asked. Mary Margaret ignored him.

"I played hard to get with David for a while, but at least he was asking," she said. "These two need a little push." She handed him the note with Archie's name on it. "You give that to Ruby. I'll make sure this one lands on Archie's desk while he's out. We'll see what happens then, yeah?"

By the end of the day both parties proved interested in their invitations, if their frantic nods and silly grins were anything to go by. Mrs. Lucas spotted Ruby's note as she skipped down the hall.

"I'm working in a preschool," she muttered and went back to cleaning.

"You hear about Ruby and Archie?" Belle seated herself next to Rum on the outside steps. His small apartment wasn't far from Mills and Associates, but it benefited him to rest before starting the walk. On this particular night he reveled in the cooling weather. It meant that Belle sat close to him.

"Yes. I'm… glad for them."

"Me too." Belle gazed at the stars that were beginning to peek out until her eyes were drawn to Rum's hands. They unconsciously massaged one another against the cold, his muscles aching. Belle reached forward and curled her fingers under his palms. For just a moment Rum wanted to pull away, spare her skin his own calloused sandpaper, but Belle was warm.

"You always this cold?" she whispered.

"Bad circulation." Rum shrugged. "Cold mopping water."

"You'll have to warm up when you get home."

"My heating leaves a lot to be desired."

"Ah." Belle squeezed and the searing heat of her own palm hurt, wonderfully. "Guess I'll have to do for now then."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

They sat there another half hour, until Rum's leg became stiff the more his hands loosened. Belle didn't say a word, but she threaded her hot fingers through his hair as he rose. Rum took the feeling back to his apartment and his night was far warmer than it had any right to be.

12:01 pm

Mary Margaret enjoyed baking, even more now that she was feeding two. She'd outdone herself this holiday season though, using her David as a mule to cart in pounds of cookies. Anything resembling a healthy lunch was forgotten as everyone vied for that perfectly soft sugar cookie, or the last chocolate confection topped with M&Ms. Even Ms. Mills snuck a few, foregoing her Grinch status just long enough to enjoy Mary Margaret's labors.

Belle caught him right outside reception.

"Open your mouth, close your eyes—"

"—and you'll receive a big surprise?" Rum finished.

Belle stared expectantly, and his eyes fell shut. Of course he trusted her.

Suddenly, there was the cold lip of a mug up against his mouth and Rum opened his lips to let whatever it was flood inside. Chocolate—thick and creamy. The swirl of whipped cream that came afterwards was unexpected though, as was the shot of cinnamon. Rum choked a bit in surprise, his teeth clanking against the ceramic. He opened his eyes when the mug was pulled away.

"Mary Margaret also brought hot chocolate," Belle said, turning the cup so she could seal her own lips over the spot where his had been. Rum swallowed, and it wasn't chocolate he now tasted. "Thanks for the tea, Rum."

"You're welcome."

Seven dating guidelines…

"You think he'll like it?"

Ruby twirled before Rum in the skintight, strapless dress she'd changed into after her shift. Red, of course. The dress certainly made a statement. It clung to the tops of her thighs and ended after about a foot of cleavage. Rum didn't know quite what he thought of the outfit, considering that he'd averted his eyes the second Ruby had strutted out of the girl's room. The heels only made things worse; they were so tall it seemed that he'd only need to glance down and he'd be looking up at her panties. It felt too much like Rum was ogling his baby sister.

"I think," he said, "that if Archie survives the heart attack you'll give him he's going to love it."

Ruby smiled and clapped her hands. It was clearly a response she approved of. Dashing forward she took Rum's arm, just as she had months ago when he'd begun just working at Mills and Associates. She tugged him towards the door.

"You'll freeze out there," Rum murmured.

"Then keep me company in here, until Archie arrives."

They settled against the lobby doors, gazing out onto the street. Archie had left an hour early to get changed and to rent a car. He'd said, dashing out the door, that he wanted to do things right.

"Holy hell, it is cold." Ruby laughed and playfully tugged at Rum until their places were reversed and he was forced to endure the draft. He gave her a smack on her calf with his cane.

"Where are you heading?" he asked.

"The Cricket Club. Dinner, dancing…" Ruby shimmied a little, "Haven't got a clue what it's like but the reviews on Yelp were fabulous." She did a two step turn, shaking her hips until Rum laughed.

"I'm surprised," he admitted. "I didn't think Archie danced."

"Oh, I've got a feeling he's terrible. Really and truly awful." Ruby nodded enthusiastically, like lacking dance skills was the greatest thing a potential husband had going for him. Besotted indeed.

"Well go easy on him," Rum said. He reached out to fix one of Ruby's curls. "He's nervous enough as it is." The slight tremble he felt as he brushed Ruby's cheek told him that Archie wasn't the only one. "He's looking to be your gentleman tonight, so don't fight him when he offers to pay for the meal."

Ruby let out a shaky bark of laughter. "No hardship there. Looks like someone's aiming to take your place as my white knight."

"It's a position I'll happily give up, if Archie is the one taking it. Now, don't drink too much either." That reprimand came out more seriously and Rum held Ruby's gaze until she nodded. "You'll want to remember tonight, especially the details."

"Right. Got it."

"And I know you're an adult, but don't stay out too late. You'll only worry Mrs. Lucas."

"Yes, father." Ruby gave him a quick punch on the arm. "Really, you don't need to worry there. Granny's likely to hunt me down with a crossbow if I'm not home on time."

"Good." That earned him another punch. "Oh…"

Rum pointed and there, sure enough, was Archie, waving from the driver's side of a rented Mercedes.

"Jesus," Ruby turned back to Rum, bug-eyed. "Mills is sure as hell paying reception better than us!"

"All the better for you," Rum chuckled. "Here," he pulled his threadbare cardigan off his shoulders, holding it out to Ruby. "It is cold out there."

"Ah, no offence, Rum…"

"I know, I know it's not the height of style, but just wear it to the car." Rum couldn't exactly go on tiptoe with his leg, but he still managed to wrap it around Ruby's shoulders—after she stooped a bit. "Besides, you've already made your first impression."

Indeed, Archie was practically leaning out the window, the cold be damned. His eyes were glued solely on Ruby and if he was that distracted by a vision of her through the lobby doors, Rum could only hope he regained some sense when he saw her up close. Even wrapped in his ratty sweater, Ruby made for a lovely date.

"Go on," he urged.

With a yelp of excitement she dove down to kiss his cheek, nearly unbalancing them both between the cane and the heels. They remained standing though and a second later Ruby was dashing off, waving to Rum with one hand and reaching for Archie's with the other.

Rum watched his friends share a quick, blushing kiss before driving away. As they left the late day's mist rose up to mix with the car's exhaust, and through the glass the world suddenly wavered, looking dreamlike and full of possibilities. Rum could still see the after images of Ruby and Archie but now there was also another couple beside them: a smaller man, slightly grey, nothing but a bundle of nerves, and at his side a princess of great beauty, hair the color of chestnuts.

The man made of mist hesitantly kissed the girl's hand and she, amazingly, smiled.

1:01 pm

Rum tried to gather the trash, he really did, but he felt sluggish after tea, hot cocoa, and an abundance of Mary Margaret's sweets. He limped heavily around the firm, noting that everyone else was too giddy or, alternatively, too sleepy to bother with work. After leaving her feast out in the hall, Rum had caught the Nolans curled together in their office, David cooing Christmas carols and brushing tentative hands over Mary Margaret's stomach. Blue was on the phone with her niece, planning their holiday meal, Mrs. Lucas was off somewhere, thankfully not yelling at him, and even Ms. Mills was joining in. That's not to say she was actually festive in her mood and her office remained depressingly bare (Rum knew, hers was the only one the staff hadn't decorated), but she typed her emails with a sloth-like slowness that all could appreciate.

Rum forced himself towards the supply closet, determined to gather more garbage bags… and promptly turned away at the door.

A holiday giggle. He didn't want to know what Archie and Ruby were up to in there.

Six common colds…

Winter hit Chicago hard that year. Late November and Rum was already patching up the windows with his amateur knowledge, trying to keep the cold out. The air took on a crisp feeling, letting everyone know that, were it to rain, then yes, there would be snow. The lawyers of Mills and Associates traded in their light suits for high turtlenecks and pea-coats. Belle came in wearing sweaters and thick corduroys that made her look like an adorable, plump marshmallow. Rum lost no time in trying out a new skill he'd embraced since he'd taken this job: teasing.

"You sure that's wise?" Belle was valiantly trying to pull another sweater over, what appeared, to be two other sweaters. Rum equally valiantly tried to dust her collection without laughing at her. It was difficult though, with all the huffing and puffing coming from behind the wool. Rum wiped down a wolf figurine and thought that there must be more than one canine in the room.

The room itself was as bright and colorful as when he'd first arrived—possibly more so. It was warm too, far better than the drafty hallways. Rum found that warmth was the perfect excuse to spend extra time cleaning Belle's office, and Belle in turn was more inclined to work there than she'd ever been before.

"Too cold to go out," she'd said, and smiled. They'd spent the last week practically holed up in her office together. Rum had once thought that he could spent a lifetime looking at her trinkets—to say nothing of her books—but now that he was given the chance he couldn't look past the stuff's owner.

Rum was just about to ask, somewhat seriously, if said owner needed help when a violent explosion erupted behind the fabric. Rum started, half expecting something ominous to appear, but it was only Belle's head that finally popped up from the collar. Her hair was a tangled mess and her nose was twitching like a rabbit's. It was only when he noticed the pink color that Rum understood.

"Was that a sneeze?"

"Yeeeeah." Belle snuffled, unselfconsciously rubbing her nose raw against the sweater. Rum handed her a softer Kleenex from his pocket. "Its been going around. I've been fighting this cold for days." She blinked and her eyes watered. "I think I'm losing."

"Then you should take it easy." With a courtesy he hadn't known he had Rum guided Belle to her chair, pleased when he didn't once stumble or trip them with his cane. She went willingly and he automatically smoothed her hair as she sat. He couldn't say where this came from—this ability to comfort. It wasn't a trait he'd learned. His father had certainly never shown him such affection and though Rum knew, objectively, that his aunts had loved him, they had been as cold towards him as the recent weather. Not that he blamed them. A brother should care for his kin, not dump an unwanted son in their laps every time he wanted to go drink. They'd passed years before and there had been nothing between them and Milah… well, there had hardly been anything at all during his short period with Milah, for she was as cold as his aunts. Since then any touch had come from security guards escorting him out of business who didn't want his services, or strangers' palms as they steadied him on the street. Only that… until Belle and her quick, flighty hugs. Ruby taking his arm. Even Mrs. Lucas's sharp hold on his ear when he'd displeased her. She was gentle with Rum too though. Perhaps it was from her that he'd had learned how to comfort. Belle certainly seemed to appreciate his newfound skill, arching up into his palm like a cat.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, moving to cup her neck. His nails were stained from a new cleaner and slightly ragged, but Belle sighed when they scratched against her skin. No one wanted his touch. Not his father, not his aunts, and not the rest of the world who viewed him as a janitor or a cripple—dirty and tainted. But Belle seemed to crave it and Rum was addicted to the novelty.

"Anything at all?" he insisted.

"Hmm. I've got a cold, Rum. I'm not dying."

"All the more reason to pamper you. You can thank me later."

Belle chuckled at that, but it came out with a wince. She drew two fingers down her throat. "More tea?" she asked. "I'm a little sore."

"Of course, but I think some warm salt water is in order first." Rum laughed at the face Belle pulled. "I'll find more Kleenex too."

"And another blanket? I'm still cold." She shivered dramatically in her three sweaters.

"Oh, I'm sure I can find something. You're not congested are you?"

"Only a little. Why?"

Rum copied her drama and looked stealthily from side to side. "Don't let Mrs. Lucas hear that. She has the most horrible remedy…"

"Really?" Belle's eyes went wide.

"Oh yes. Smells like rotting fish, garbage…"

"Like the mysterious smell that was in Regina's office?" Rum bit his lip… then nodded. "I knew it."

"You don't want that, now do you?"

"Certainly not." Belle put a finger to her temple, her lip, her chin—thinking and thinking. "I would like something nice smelling though, for when I can smell again that is. Flowers?"

"In this weather?"

"I have faith in you," she said seriously, and Rum grinned shyly. "A book too. A good one. One must always have stories when ill."

"Absolutely."

They were quiet a long moment and Rum had just begun to pull back with the intent of gathering these things for her—flowers and all—when Belle's hand caught his. She frowned.

"Still cold," she muttered. "I should buy you gloves."

"I'm supposed to be pampering you, remember?"

"That's right. One last thing then." Belle tilted her head until her throat was bared to him, white and slender. "Kiss it better?" she asked.

Rum didn't know what possessed him. Certainly he should have taken her words as the joke they were surely meant to be. But as his body inched closer on its own accord Belle's solemn face never wavered and her hand remained wrapped in his, loose and trusting. Rum had to lean all his weight onto his good leg, precariously balancing as he leaned forward, absolutely towering over her. He could smell the stuffiness of Belle's winter clothes and the sharp citrus of a cough lozenge. The scents only intensified as he dipped his head and, checking one last time for permission, softly kissed the muscles at the base of her throat. It was quick. Nearly, but not quite chaste, and when Belle didn't pull back in disgust or fear Rum rose with a newfound steadiness. His lips were chapped and the kiss must have irritated her skin. He felt like he'd branded her.

"There," Belle said. "All better."

2:01 pm

Archie was back at reception, embarrassingly raising the collar of his turtleneck. He had a flush to his cheeks not caused by cold or health and he wouldn't quite meet Rum's eye.

"Hey," he said.

"Good afternoon, Archie. You've been missing."

The younger man cleared his throat violently, trying to temper his blush. "It's not like anything's getting done today. It's Christmas Eve! Even representation needs a break. So if Ruby and I have decided to… ah… spread some cheer then—… wow, would you look at that snow."

Rum snorted. "Falling back on the weather, Archie? Really?"

"No seriously, Rum. Look at the snow."

He turned, following the point of Archie's hand through the Nolan's office to their wall-sized windows. It wasn't so much what there was to see, but rather what there wasn't. The picture was entirely white.

Archie cleaned his glasses and replaced them. His eyebrows rose when the view didn't change.

"What was that they said about two inches?"

Five spring bouquets…

After Belle's request for flowers while sick, Rum took the appeal to heart. He found her flowers that day—wilting pansies from the nearest drug store—and for many weeks afterwards. He was far from a wealthy man, but he had enough pocket money to splurge a bit. He also wasn't a man who knew much of anything about flowers, so he just chose the brightest, most colorful buds he could find. Anything more sever simply didn't belong in Belle's office. It was a far from easy task, given that December was nearly upon them, but his efforts were worth it. For every handful of browning flowers that smelled of their store's linoleum, Rum was given a smile and the brush of Belle's hand as she took his pathetic bouquets. She cut the stems and tucked them into the vase on her desk—a place of pride.

Given how cluttered Belle's office was, it was astounding that anyone noticed the addition but Rum's gifts were met with varying levels of approval. Blue nodded favorably, the Nolans clapped him on the back, Mrs. Lucas rolled her eyes, which was basically a full blown, 'congratulations' from her. Archie took a page out of his book and began bringing Ruby flowers as well, still obsessed with 'doing things right.' They were of a far better quality than what Rum could afford, but Ruby's smile was no brighter than Belle's.

A large part of him still couldn't believe it, that Belle French was accepting flowers from him. Every time she plucked one bloom from its sisters and tucked it into his pocket Rum was struck by the contrast: a delicate beauty taking refuge in the folds of a drab, dirty uniform. Loveliness in the hands of the common, passed to one deserving of it, only to eventually be handed back. Rum kept every flower she returned to him, pressed between the pages of a journal he'd never had reason to fill before.

Of course, it was all couched in excuses. It's not as if they were dating, not as if Belle would even want to date. They just spent a lot of time together and… Rum found reasons to bring her flowers. First Belle needed something pleasant to smell after Mrs. Lucas's herbs (she had found out about Belle's cold. It was a bit hard to miss when it spread to the entire firm. Dear old Granny was the only one the illness didn't dare touch.) Then Belle needed a gift to celebrate getting better, then something to brighten her office as the temperature continued to drop, then bringing the flowers slowly, carefully, became a habit… It didn't technically mean anything. It just was.

Which was why, on December 1st, after nearly two weeks of Belle accepting what was essentially bribes for her attention—without sneers or mocking laughter—Rum decided to actually give her flowers. Not flowers for her office, or flowers for being sick… just, flowers for her.

It was time for their tea and Rum had no bouquet in his hands. For just a second, he guiltily reveled in Belle's look of disappointment.

"Here." He pulled a single, red rose from behind his back, carefully stripped of its thorns. When Belle didn't immediately move to take it Rum winced, pulling it back. "Th-that is, if you'll have it."

"Oh yes. Why thank you, sir." Belle took the flower between two fingers, bringing it to her nose. Eyes bright, she suddenly dropped into an approximation of a courtesy. It was a bit difficult, given lack of practice and high-heeled boots.

Rum laughed and attempted a bow. He only succeeded it bumping his cane into his stomach, but Belle was right there to catch him.

3:01 pm

Rum had long known that weather people weren't to be trusted. Two inches, they'd said. At the most. The fact that he couldn't see three feet beyond the first street belayed that assertion. The world was nothing but white now and soon the snow would be piling up to their waists.

"We should leave now, before it gets any worse," David said.

"It's not that bad." Everyone turned towards Mary Margaret. "Look, the wind's insane. I think most of the stuff swirling around out there is just being picked up from the ground."

"Uh huh. The hormones are making you delusional, hun." David yelped as she pinched him.

Rum felt the press of more bodies at his back. He turned to see Belle and Blue flanking him. Everyone had strayed to the conference room's windows to watch the storm.

"We should go," he observed.

"Should, should, should…" Belle tugged at the fleece peeking out from under Rum's uniform. "Does anyone have someplace they really need to be?"

Silence descended.

"Tink isn't coming over until tomorrow," Blue finally admitted.

Belle nodded. "Same with Papa."

"I'm good," Mrs. Lucas announced. She nudged Ruby, making her squirm happily. Her embarrassment only increased when Archie seconded her grandmother, reaching for Ruby's hand.

"Here, here, Mrs. Lucas." David hugged Mary Margaret from behind, encircling her growing belly.

"Rum?"

He let his finger's bump against Belle's. Almost, but not quite, entwining them. "Where else would I be?" he asked her.

"Well then."

The employees of Mills and Associates had a reputation for immersing themselves in work, driving themselves until there was little time for family or friends—supposedly. What people didn't seem to understand was that their family and friends were right here. They might complain about being dragged in on Christmas Eve, but it's like he'd said, where else would they really be?

They might drive themselves, and this might be a place of business, but now was not the time for work.

"I've got my ipod downstairs," Ruby said. "If we want some tunes…"

Everyone agreed.

Four secrets shared…

It started when Ruby overflowed with excitement and just had to tell someone about her date with Archie. She had few friends outside the firm—only acquaintances she went clubbing with—and she obviously wasn't going to tell her grandmother anything. So Rum once again found himself practicing his listening skills, a difficult task, given how much he didn't want to hear this.

"Ruby! I don't need to know that!"

"Oh don't be such a prude, newbie. Archie's your friend."

"Yes, which is exactly why I don't want to hear about how he—he—"

Ruby grinned. "How he can grind like a madman?"

"Ruuuuby."

"I honestly wasn't expecting it. I mean, hell yeah, he was as awkward as we imagined, but once he got his hips going…"

"Ruby!"

She wouldn't stop. She insisted on helping him clean the windows—"Difficult job, Rum. Wouldn't want you falling, now would I?"—and during that hour Ruby told him every miniscule, horrifying detail of her dinner date. Of course, a great deal of it was actually quite sweet. Archie, for all his social ineptitude, apparently knew how to treat a lady, towing the fine line between being courteous and avoiding anything that would insult his date for, as Ruby herself said, she, "sure as fucking hell wasn't a damsel in distress."

Truth be told, Rum quite enjoyed the conversation. Even the embarrassing bits and Ruby's constant reminders to "take notes for when, you know, you finally go on an actual date with Belle." Rum hid his face in the clean side of his cleaning rag and tried to convince Ruby that he wasn't smiling.

It would have been a nice afternoon, if Ms. Mills hadn't overheard them.

"So, you and my receptionist, huh?"

Rum gasped, rocking the ladder Ruby was standing on. She wobbled a bit but kept her balance, glaring downwards. He wasn't sure if the look was meant for him or Mills.

Rum turned towards his boss, once again struck by the cold picture she painted. December was well underway and everyone was getting into the holiday spirit. Belle's outfits continued to stray from whatever dress code governed Mills and Associates and Mary Margaret had begun to help the staff in decorating everyone's offices. The only room off limits was Ms. Mills' and the woman in question was equally resistant to the invading holiday cheer. Today she wore a severe black dress, so tight it made her appear even thinner than she actually was. Even so, Rum wouldn't be surprised if she'd lost a pound or two in the last week.

"You," she pointed a black nail at Ruby. "Go do something worthwhile."

Ruby's face thundered. "I was helping Rum to—"

"You were gabbing, girl. Now what part of 'get' didn't you understand? I've got horses better trained than you."

With a huff Ruby descended, tossing her hair as she went. Rum didn't miss the sympathetic look she threw him though, hiding beneath the mane. Mills rounded on him the second Ruby entered the elevator.

"I don't like office romances." She announced. Her voice held no inflection. Just the words.

"Oh. Well… perhaps you should tell Ruby—"

"I'm telling you," she said, inching closer, "because that idiot girl would never listen to me. You, however… " Suddenly, Ms. Mills brushed a finger against the edge of his hair, just as she had when they first met. This time though she didn't sneer or pull away. If anything her gaze softened just a bit and Rum could only sway there, confused.

"You think I haven't noticed?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Tea every day, gifts, flowers…" her nail twirled around a strand and Rum shivered. "You're as bad as the Lucas girl. Not that you have a chance. A lawyer of our caliber would never fall for a… janitor. That doesn't happen." Ms. Mills' voice was harsh but her expression was sad.

"I think Belle might disagree." Rum didn't know where the words came from, he didn't even know if he believed them himself, but in that moment all he wanted was to contradict this woman, perhaps wound her as well. To his shock though, Mills nodded.

"You're right. Otherwise I wouldn't feel the need to, shall we say, warn you?" She dropped her hand and tucked it against her chest, her other arm coming up to cradle it. It was a surprisingly defensive gesture and Rum forced himself to hold his ground, allowing her to remain close. He thought, absurdly, that Mills might need that closeness.

"I can't force you away from her, no more than I can keep Mr. Hopper away from Ms. Lucas. There's no rule against office romance, otherwise we wouldn't have hired the Nolans, so really there's nothing I can do. Well, I suppose I could fire you," but Ms. Mills waved him off the second Rum tensed. She came even closer if that were possible, until their shoes met and her elbows were brushing against his chest. For a moment Rum thought she'd rest her forehead against his shoulder. "I'm not an evil woman, Mr. Gold. I don't… despise the holidays. Not entirely. So here's a little Christmas gift from me to you, a bit of advice: Back off. It's not worth it. You'll only. Get. Hurt."

Ms. Mills turned away, leaving Rum cold in the middle of the lobby. She made for the elevator without once turning back, but he was sure that, had she, he wouldn't have liked the expression on her face.

Five minutes later he was explaining it all to Mrs. Lucas, her own expression grim.

"Leave it be, Rum." She said, refusing to meet his eye.

"Granny…" like his own name, her title was used sparingly and quite seriously. The endearment made her turn, if only reluctantly.

"Fine. You didn't hear it from me, boy," she said, "but I've been here a long time. Collected a lot of rumors." Mrs. Lucas threw her rag against his chest and Rum took up her work as she spoke. "You think evil, as she put it, is innate?" She snorted. "It's made, plain and simple. Bad things happen to all of us. Some of us get the hell over it," Mrs. Lucas straightened her shoulders, "some of us close ourselves off for a while," a hand squeezed his arm, "and others become as nasty as the people who hurt them in the first place. With Ms. Mills? You can guess which way she went."

"But what happened?" Rum asked.

"You think she's told me her life story?" Rum continued to stare and Mrs. Lucas eventually sighed. "All I know is that Ms. Mills had a boy of her own once. Years ago, back when Cora was still coming here instead of just pulling strings from the sidelines. Don't ask me for his name 'cause I don't know it. He was an intern though, well below her 'station' if you will, quite a bit like what Ruby's got going on now." Rum nodded, not quite aware that he was doing so. "Apparently Cora didn't approve. Mills was head over heels, but a sweet, hard working boy wasn't good enough for her daughter. Not accomplished enough. Taking up too much of Mills' attention when she should have been working to take over the firm… Cora ended it."

"God. How'd she manage that?"

"Hell if I know. Fired the boy maybe? Like Mills is always threatening to do to us. Maybe she paid him off. Cora's had her share of pretty, dangerous young men, plenty before this Killian fellow. Wouldn't be surprised if one of them offed the boy."

Rum gapped. "You don't mean that!"

Mrs. Lucas only shrugged. "You're right. Probably my imagination getting the best of me, but if any woman has the stomach for something like that, it's Cora." She took her rag back, shooing Rum away. "You leave Ms. Mills alone, boy. She's a heartless bitch if ever there was one and I hold no love for her, but the holidays must be hard enough on her as it is. She doesn't need our hatred too, at least not this time of year."

"I can't believe a mother would do that to her own daughter," Rum murmured.

"Can't you? You don't strike me as coming from a happy home either." He winced.

"No but, it's just… forbidding the match over such trivialities…"

To his surprise Mrs. Lucas smiled, a true grin that rippled the lines on her face. She took Rum's chin in hand and didn't let up until they were eye to eye. "Well now. Imagine that. Someone thinking two people shouldn't be together because of what jobs they've got. Like that's anything important." She changed direction and reached up to take his ear but only gave it a little tweak, more out of fondness than anything else. "Kinda like a janitor not thinking he's good enough for a high class lawyer, hm?"

Rum flushed. "Ms. Mills said—"

"I know what that woman said and yes, sometimes things don't turn out, but I'll let you in on a secret, boy: you're not that intern, and Belle sure as hell isn't Mills."

With a pat to his cheek Mrs. Lucas left.

4:01 pm

They plugged Ruby's ipod into the Nolans' laptop and pulled the rest of the food into the conference room. A good half hour was spent joining their voices in terrible renditions of Christmas carols, when they weren't too busy stuffing chocolate Santas into their mouths. They were thoroughly engaged in a spotty version of Santa Baby when the music plummeted and then cut out completely. They all turned to find Ms. Mills in the doorway, hand hovering over the laptop.

Rum was afraid that she would berate them for their impromptu party, but Mills only stared at the group. She didn't glare, but her gaze was definitely intense, piercing each employee until they squirmed. Finally she tapped the keyboard, raising the volume until the music was, just barely audible.

"You should all head out," she said. "Storm's about to get worse."

They nodded, hesitantly, and Ms. Mills snatched her coat.

"Happy holidays!" The call came from Belle, shouting it out with a true enthusiasm that no one else could have managed. Ms. Mills stopped—froze really— nodded, and then continued on her way.

It was an acknowledgement at least. That alone was a Christmas miracle.

Three tea cups…

December 16th. Belle's birthday.

Rum had made sure that the next book she received was actually from him. An illustrated copy of Blake's poetry that he'd found in a used bookstore, painstakingly wrapped with the bit of Christmas paper he'd saved from, oh, about twenty years before. When Belle took it and the paper crinkled between her palms Rum couldn't help but sigh in contentment.

"I smell a book!" she cried.

"While I'd normally praise your deductive skills, I fear that the shape kind of gives it away."

"No, no. I mean I literally smell a book." Belle put her nose to the paper, inhaling deeply. "The wrapping has its own scent, but underneath that…" Belle dipped her head again and giggled madly. She tore the paper away in one fell swoop shrieking when the cover was revealed. Rum had gotten used to her impromptu hugs, but even so he barely had time to brace himself before his arms were full of Belle, her arms warm and her chin jutting into his shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're quite welcome, and, uh, happy birthday."

"Mmm."

Belle moved away too quickly for his liking, but it was only to retrieve their tea. She popped the top off her Starbucks mug and, with an exclamation, suddenly replaced it to take up another box. She stuffed it under Rum's nose, shaking it a bit.

"Did you see? Granny gave me these!" Inside the tissue paper there were two teacups, slightly larger than the one Belle already owned. They were also done in blue and gold though the designs were far more intricate, covering nearly every bit of white. With just a glance Rum could see that, like his gift, the cups were second hand, though they were still in excellent condition. He'd normally feel guilty about giving such a wealthy woman what basically amounted to castoffs, but nearly everything in Belle's office, minus the electronics, was quite obviously used. She seemed to enjoy collecting that which no one else wanted.

Himself included.

Now was not the time for such thoughts though. Belle was humming 'Happy Birthday' to herself while she pressed the box into his arms. She turned back to the tea.

"Do you want to try one of those?" she asked. "Test them out for me?"

"Oh no. I… prefer the other cup."

"You mean your cup?" With a grin Belle snatched it from her desk, beckoning him to sit. Rum moved to do just that, but instead of walking forward he suddenly found himself falling forward. Perhaps his cane caught on something, perhaps his leg simply tripped him up—it happened, frequently—but whatever the reason he still went crashing to his knees, the box flying from his grasp. They say that at times of great stress time slows down and indeed, Rum watched, horrified, as the teacups arched through the air, leaving their tissue nests to separate, one to the right and one to the left. The left one hit the edge of Belle's desk and split down the middle, the other landed on a strip of wooden floor—not one of the carpeted areas, of course—and immediately shattered.

What was worse though was Belle's reaction. She yelped in surprise, his own cup slipping from her hands and falling to the floor. They had only a beat of silence.

"Oh, Rum." She seemed to teleport to his side, taking his weight so he was no longer kneeling on his bad leg. Even with the support though Rum moaned at the pain that shot through his knee. He hadn't jarred it that badly in a while.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Using his cane as leverage Rum forced himself to his feet, practically wrenching from Belle's grasp. He didn't want to need her help, and he certainly didn't want it after he'd caused so much damage. Staggering forward he crunched a piece of pottery under his shoe and the sound nearly caused him to weep.

"Belle. Belle, I'm so sorry. Your gifts…"

"Look." She'd given him his space, moving to pick up his cup. She held it up tentatively. "This one made it."

"There's a chip." There was. Right on the lip. Rum tried to smile but he only shook instead.

"It's just a small one. You can barely see it. Quite usable. C'mon, Rum."

"Belle—"

"Rumford." The sound of his full name stopped him cold, and Rum could only watch as Belle approached, hesitantly at first, and then all at once. She knelt briefly to place a soft hand against his knee and then rose to engulf him in another hug. "You're stupid sometimes, you know that?" He nodded. "That was an accident. No big deal. You think Granny is going to be made that you broke her gift? No. You think I'm made that you broke it? Noooo. C'mon now, c'mon. There are far more important things that people can break, Rum, and so far you've steered well clear of those." He continued to shake a while in her arms and she continued to whisper: c'mon, c'mon, like a mantra.

Belle eventually pulled back, only to press the teacup into his undeserving palm. Rum ran his thumb carefully over the chip and Belle watched carefully that he didn't cut himself. "We've been taking tea for a while now, yeah?" she asked. "Been through a lot? Well this cup has been through a lot too, Rum. It's only right that it shows it. This cup is us, okay? Maybe a little damage, a little… off," Belle grinned, "but still whole. Yeah? We're whole?"

"Yeah," Rum croaked.

"Good." She hugged him again, kissing the side of his neck, just a hair's breath from where he'd once kissed hers. "Three cups, Rum. I'm glad this is the one that survived."

5:01 pm

Everyone was gone. Despite their sincere assurances that they'd rather be here, no one actually wanted to be caught in the storm, especially if it was to worsen. David bustled Mary Margaret off soon after Mills left, worrying over her and the baby's health. Blue followed just a few minutes later. Rum went around with Ruby and Mrs. Lucas—Archie tagging along—turning out the lights and essentially putting the firm to bed. When they were finished he escorted the three of them out, promising lock up himself. They left in a cloud of white, raising gloved hands and calling muffled well wishes behind them.

Belle must have slipped out while they were making their rounds. Rum had hoped that he'd get her alone before the holidays, if even for a moment. He had a package tucked into his bag that, sadly, now wouldn't be opened until after New Year's.

The interns gone, the lights off, Rum wandered the lobby, knowing that he should head out but not quite willing to leave. After all, though his family had done much to raise his holiday cheer in the last few hours, there was little waiting for him back at his apartment. If he was to spend his night alone and in darkness, at least let it be in a place that felt more like home.

Rum smiled, just to himself, and decided to do one more sweep. He limped off quietly singing Twelve Days of Christmas under his breath.

Two falling friends…

It seemed he was destined to fall for Belle, both literally and figuratively.

Just four days after the disaster in her office Belle came into work early, right when Rum was finishing moping the floor. They didn't need to say much. Generally, in their busy lives outside of teatime, a smile and soft greeting had to suffice. So that's what they did. Belle said hello, Rum shyly said hello back, and while he was distracted by the gorgeous green dress Belle was wearing he put just a bit too much pressure on his mop, tumbling forward as Belle passed by. It should have occurred to Rum to question why Belle was walking so closely that they ended up in a tangle mess together on the floor, but he was a bit preoccupied with how close she was now.

His knee was still tender from the fall on her birthday, but it suffered no extra damage, cushioned as it was by Belle's stomach. He fell full spread eagle on to of her, his other leg intertwined with hers and his nose buried against her chest. Rum was stunned by the impact and it took him a moment to realize that Belle was too still—relaxed and pliant beneath him. With a gasp he made to pull back, only to feel her arms encircling his chest.

"Oh no. Don't you dare, Rumford Gold. I'm quite comfortable exactly where I am."

"Y-you—"

"Yes. Me. Belle. I'm happy. So don't you move just yet."

"But—"

"No 'buts.'"

Rum trembled, running through every possible issue. He could be crushing her, but Belle didn't seem to be in pain. He knew that he smelled of dirty moping water, but Belle was still burying her nose into his hair. Mills could come in at any moment; as could the others as well, they could possibly be seen from the street, Mrs. Lucas was upstairs with Ruby, but she might come downstairs for any number of reason, and… and…

And Belle wanted him here.

"Okay," he whispered. Sliding so that their bodies lined up Rum tucked his own head against Belle's neck, sighing into her skin. "Okay," he repeated. "Whatever you want. Anything." So for just a little while they lay together. Breathing.

Settling into something to last a lifetime.

Christmas Eve, 6:01 pm – and a princess beneath the firm's tree.

"Hey."

Rum wasn't alone.

He'd spent far longer than he intended, just wandering the firm's halls, unwilling to go home to his lonely apartment. When he heard a voice and turned to find Belle standing beneath the twelve-foot Christmas tree, Rum was half convinced she was a spirit; a tempting mirage.

"I've been looking all over for you." Yet this Belle was too real. She had her coat slung over one arm and her crinkly bag in the other. She walked over to him with boots that jingled with every step. "Everyone left ages ago."

"I thought you had too." As one they turned to look out the lobby windows. It was pitch black now, but they could hear the wind howling and feel the vibrations it made against the glass. A brief shot of light, caused by a sluggishly passing car, illuminated a world that wasn't worth venturing into.

"I think we lost our chance to head out," Rum murmured.

"Good." Belle took his hand then, pulling him back over to the tree. Weeks ago he'd set up a circular base and now that sat themselves down under the lights, the top of their heads just brushing the ornaments. Belle didn't let go of his hand. She stroked his palm with her thumb, trying to warm the chapped skin. It took an effort, but Rum forced his thoughts together, away from the feel of her skin. With regret he reclaimed his hands to pull a package from his bag.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "It's… stupid."

"No. Me? Enjoy something stupid?" Her voice was pleased but hushed, as if they'd entered somewhere sacred. Belle bumped his shoulder and fit a nail under the wrapping. She didn't tear it apart like she had on her birthday, but instead opened it so carefully that there wasn't a rip out of place. By the time she revealed the box the paper was put aside in one, solid piece.

"Ooooo. I always wanted a box, Rum."

"Hush, you." It was his turn to bump her. "Go on."

Whatever he was expecting when Belle opened her gift, it wasn't a gasp and a hum of pleasure. Rum had never been that confident.

"It's a comb," he hastened to explain, nerves rushing through him. "A decorative comb. I know how much you like flowers…" indeed, Belle was already fingering the delicate buds, colored in blue and gold. "But it's also a… crown." At her surprised look Rum rushed on, tripping over his words. "It told you, it's stupid. Really stupid, but when I got here Archie… well, he said you were the firm's princess." Rum swallowed. "I know. Metaphorical, obviously. You a princess, Mills is the Evil Queen, sometimes the dragon…" he was bolstered when Belle let out a choked laugh. "But Belle, I… I believed him. Archie, that is. When he called you a princess. I came here and they weren't going to hire me, but then you showed up and… I'm glad. I'm really glad you did. So… a crown. A crown for the princess."

Rum thought that a tear might have slipped down Belle's cheek, but it was really too dark to tell. All he knew was that she melted against him and a 'thank you' was breathed against his chest.

"Wait," Belle jumped back. "You need your gift too!" and the bag she'd been toting all day was dumped into his lap. "I didn't have a box big enough to wrap it. Sorry."

Dipping his hand in Rum's fingers met with soft cotton. Tugging, pulled out a blanket, white, with cables running the length. Even by the light of the tree he could tell it was handmade.

"You… Belle. You made this for—?"

"Uh huh." Was she blushing? Or was that the reflection of the red ornament by her cheek?

"But it must have taken you—"

"Months? Yeeeah." Taking the blanket, Belle shook it until it covered both their laps. "You're always so cold, so I thought this would be nice. And yes, I knew months ago that I wanted to make you something special. Something long lasting too."

"Oh," he breathed.

The blanket was of a fair length, but even so they needed to slide together to share it. Rum placed his cane on the floor and eased his bad leg until it was flush against Belle's, warming him even more. They sat for a while, hands intertwined and knees touching.

"You didn't notice?" Belle whispered.

"Notice?"

"I added a detail." Forcing herself straight again Belle tugged at the blanket, looking at the corners. The left bottom earned her cry of approval and she pulled it up, showing it to Rum. There, rendered in tiny stitches, was a green leafed plant with white berries. It looked amazingly like…

"Mistletoe?"

Belle lifted the corner of the blanket higher until the stitching rose above their heads. "Now, now," she said, "you wouldn't want to break tradition."

"No. I don't think I would."

Rum was drunk on exhaustion, food, and contentment—a potent variety of liquid courage. He only needed to move a few inches before his lips met Belle's, a light brush that quickly deepened. His skin was cracked from the cold and it stung wonderfully when he kissed her more firmly, causing them both to whimper breathlessly. Rum sucked her bottom lip between his own and tasted the chapstick she'd been applying obsessively; a sharp cherry tang. With a groan Belle opened her mouth to him and Rum was lost, awakening only to gulp air and realize that he was clutching at her sweater, stroking her through the wool.

"That okay?" He had to ask. Leaning her forehead against his, Belle literally laughed in his face.

"That was definitely okay. Long overdue, really. Princess needs her prince, right?"

Something hot settled behind Rum's eyes and in the pit of his stomach. It caused him to tremble beneath her hands. Princes, princess, none of it made sense. He'd just have to ride, it, trusting that Belle would pull him through. "Yeah," he managed.

"Good." Belle leaned up, pressing a kiss to his brow that was equally calming and alluring. "Merry Christmas, Rum." Her words were simple, but they held far more meaning than just a well wish for the holidays. Rum echoed her with every bit of strength he had.

"Yes, Belle. Merry Christmas."

On the twelfth day of Christmas

My true love gave to me:

Twelve muddy footprints

Eleven cups of coffee

Ten pissy clients

Nine dirty tricks

Eight quiet moments

Seven dating guidelines

Six common colds

Five spring bouquets

Four secrets shared

Three teacups

Two falling friends

and a princess beneath the firm's tree