Mr. Gold ghosted through the halls of his home. It was Christmas. The twenty-ninth time he'd spent that holiday in Storybrooke. Each time, it had gotten more and more depressing. No matter who you were, you always had friends or family to get together with for the holidays. But Mr. Gold had no one. It didn't necessarily both him, exactly, so much as it was awkward. Without fail, he would always find himself lifting the lid on the alcohol by nine, entirely drunk by ten, hallucinating by eleven, and passed out by midnight. It was clockwork. And as it was Christmas Eve, this was a night to get drunk and get to bed before anything was truly depressing. Mr. Gold popped the lid off a bottle of scotch and set to work.
By the time ten rolled around, everything was strangely sad to him. And it was only now, when he had enough alcohol in his system to stop an elephant that he let himself think on her. Belle, his own Virgin Mary. She was so pure, so innocent and yet strong, that his drink-addled brain couldn't help comparing the two. But he, the Beelzebub in the story, had corrupted the saintly Virgin. He had forced her to dwell in his hell. And so the Virgin Belle was to be cast out of society, stoned for her association with such a frightening creature . And as Mr. Gold wandered through his empty house, he knew that eleven o'clock must have come early. As he walked past his living room, he saw a Christmas tree he hadn't put up. Beside the phantom Christmas tree, sat Belle. She wore a fur-lined red cloak, the beautiful blue dress he remembered beneath it. As he hid outside the doorway, he heard her softly singing,
O come all ye faithful
Joyful and triumphant
O come ye, o come ye
To Bethlehem…
Mr. Gold's rich voice joined in, harmonizing with her light alto,
Come and behold him,
Born the king of angels
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him
Christ, the Lord
Belle's teary eyes met his as they continued singing,
Sing, choirs of angels
Sing in exultation
O sing all ye citizens
Of Heav'n above
Their voices faded away. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. She stared at him, not a hint of accusation or confusion in her eyes. Just simple, unending love. He slowly took a step toward her, his arms held wide and hopeful. Belle stood and took one hurried step forward before checking herself. Then they were both running at each other. Mr. Gold swept her up in his arms, holding her tight like he'd never let her go. Belle cried into his shoulder,
"It's you! Oh, it's finally you." she said. Mr. Gold stroked her hair, tears falling freely as he choked out,
"Yes, it's me, my Belle. My beautiful Bellissima." They stood like that for a time, Mr. Gold clutching her close and Belle unwilling to let go. Then he picked her up, bridal style, and carried her outside. A bit of his magic showed through, covering them in rich coats and providing two cups of steaming hot chocolate. They sat on the porch and watched the snow fall on the jubilant town. Belle turned to Mr. Gold,
"Happy Christmas." She whispered, squeezing his hand.
"Happy Christmas indeed, dear." He whispered back. He kissed their joined hands, then looked into her warm eyes. They both leaned in, equal participants in a kiss long overdue. His lips lightly brushed hers, and she pressed in. He wrapped a hand around her waist and Belle joined her hands behind his neck. It was True Love's Kiss, unchanged from the past and just as tender now as then. It was a happy Christmas for all, and to all a good night.
Little note: 'bellissima' is Latin for 'the most beautiful'. Might not have spelled it right, but I seem to have misplaced my dictionary. And I know this story is…four and half months early, but I wrote it now and my brain is a little fried. I hope you enjoyed it and please review!