Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, plots, etc. pertaining to SGU or Once Upon a Time. Just borrowing them for a little fun and entertainment (o:
Summary: Little ficlets in my Another Chance verse pertaining to Rush and Belle's life before Destiny. Prompts welcome (o:
PartyintheTARDIS12 wrote:
Not that you need anything else to write about at the moment, but rereading Another Chance gave me an idea. You mention about a time when Belle discovered Rush in his office drunk, and other tidbits of their life before Destiny. I think you should write little ficlets of those happenings, including the time Belle first met Rush as a professor, and how she freaked out because he looked so similar to Rumple. Just ficlets on how they grew close. Things like that, cause that would be awesome!
***First Meeting***
Belle French hurried down the hallway, dodging all manner of students and faculty as she made her way to the dean's office, tossing her planner into her bag. She drained the last of her coffee from her travel mug and threw that in there as well, the sharp clicking of her heels on the linoleum mocking her with every step. She patted her hair down - her rich chestnut locks hidden beneath a shade of Clairol's nondescript mousy brown and coiled into a bun at her nape – and pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Glancing down to make sure she hadn't picked up any stains on her long-sleeved navy button up and cream colored knee length skirt, she nodded in satisfaction, happy that she looked professional enough for the meeting ahead. She tried to take even-measured breaths, not wanting to seem winded as she yanked on the outer office door and confronted the dean's secretary.
"Miss French, right on time," the woman greeted her, rising from behind her desk and leading the way to the dean's inner sanctum, rapping sharply on the door.
Belle pasted a demure smile on her face as she strode forward, having to remember her new persona as she reached out to shake the man's hand. To Mark Stanton she wanted to appear a professional student with a keen mind – which she was – but also a bit shy and reserved. It was who she'd been for the past six years and she wasn't ready to change that anytime soon. She'd survived on her own this long without notice and she was determined to keep it that way here at her new school.
"Miss French, please have a seat," Dean Stanton said, gesturing to one of the plush leather chairs before his desk. "I have to say I was surprised when you cast your name into the hat for the position as Dr. Rush's teaching assistant."
"Is there a problem? It hasn't already been filled, has it?" she asked, a small wrinkle of concern forming between her auburn brows. The job had intrigued her from the moment she'd read the requirements, knowing she was more than qualified and the course credits she would receive from such a position would only help her in her academic achievements, advancing her far sooner than without the job.
The man looked downright uncomfortable as he shook his head. "No, that's not something you have to worry about, Miss French. This isn't the easiest TA job on campus and actually …" He pulled at his collar as if his tie was choking him. "…we have a difficult time getting anyone to stay on more than a week." It was more like a day, but he wasn't about to tell her that and scare the poor girl off. "Have you taken any of Dr. Rush's classes?"
"Unfortunately, no, I haven't. I arrived late last semester as I was closing up my flat in preparation for the move and I was forced to settle for Dr. Clark's quantum physics course." She hurried to amend that statement, not wanting to sound disparaging of one of her professor's. "Not that there's anything wrong with Dr. Clark, he's wonderful. I would have just rathered have taken Dr. Rush's class instead."
"Erm…" he stammered, toying with the gold pen lying on his desk. "What do you know of Dr. Rush?"
"Regrettably, not that much," she admitted. "From what I've heard, he's very strict and doesn't suffer fools at all. He's also known for booting you from class if you can't keep up with the course requirements. He's rude, sarcastic and a downright arse … or so I've been told," she said, letting the man know she had no illusions as to how the student populace viewed him. "However, he's the most brilliant mind in his field."
The dean regarded her steadily as she in turn peeked at him from beneath her lashes, a shy smile on her lips and a rosy tint to her smooth cheeks. "Miss French, I'm not going to lie to you … he's an asshole."
"I beg your pardon?" she murmured in surprise. It astounded her that a man in his position would say something like that about one of his professors.
"You heard me right. He's the most difficult man I've ever had to work with, but his record is unquestionable. He has the highest test scores in the physics department and he has a god given talent for seducing backers to fund his research. He does not, however, think he needs a teacher's assistant and tries his damnedest to run them off. The man is overworked and is going through quite a bit in his personal life and truly needs someone to help lighten his burden," he said, trying to make her see just what she was signing on for.
She offered him a tight smile. "I've never met him personally, Dean Stanton, but I assure you that I will reserve my opinions of his character until I have. I would really like this opportunity, sir, and as you can see from my resume - which I left with your secretary at the beginning of the week - I won't have a problem fulfilling my duties and keeping up with my studies."
"You're more than qualified, Miss French, and are to be commended for your grades. They're exemplary. I just want you to be certain this is what you want. Therefore, I would like you to meet with Dr. Rush before you give your final acceptance on the position," he said, rising to his feet to see her to the door. "We can go now, if you like. It's best to see Rush before lunch."
"Why is that?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in question.
"His unpleasantness doesn't mix well with a full stomach. Take my advice, Miss French. If you accept this job, you'll want to stock up on antacids."
~*~XXX~*~xxx~*~XXX~*~
Belle walked with Dean Stanton to the Science department, curious as to why the man was so nervous. Surely Rush couldn't be that bad. Unfortunately his office was locked, no one in the staff lounge had seen him nor had any of his students and it wasn't looking favorable that the dean's anxiety would improve. Their last hope was the auditorium style classroom that several of his pupils had dubbed 'the lair of the beast'. Stanton ruefully admitted that he'd had to have graffiti depicting such removed from the door more than once.
She still wouldn't let these things sway her from taking the job. She'd been a pampered princess who'd given her life to one of the vilest creatures in the realm in order to save her kingdom. Though she'd come to love Rumpelstiltskin, there was no denying he'd been a beast. Rush shouldn't be any more difficult, in her opinion.
Stanton led her down the steps, where she could see the professor in question, his back to her as he concentrated on the whiteboard – one of many that formed a semi-circle behind his desk – and completely ignored them. "Dr. Rush," the dean greeted quietly, not wanting to disturb the doctor. He knew he'd have to wait before Rush acknowledged him, if he acknowledged him at all.
Rush grunted in answer as he whipped his notebook from the back pocket of his jeans, consulting it briefly before setting the dry erase marker to the board once more. "I'm busy, Stanton."
"I realize that, but I wanted you to meet –"
Belle didn't hear what Stanton had to say, so focused on that voice from the shorter man her hands shook with the effort. His deep Scottish accent, rich dulcet tones and smooth brogue washed over her like a silken caress. It was so warm and familiar it caused all the color to drain from her face, leaving her flawless skin ashen and pale. Dizziness whirled through her head and blackness crept over the edges of her vision as he turned and she got her first good look at him. He arched a brow at her and she realized she'd missed a valuable piece of the conversation, but how could she think when she was staring at Gold … no, not Gold. Gold was gone … he wasn't coming back.
Pull yourself together, you ninny! You're not looking at a ghost, she admonished herself sternly. Yet, she couldn't deny how similar they looked. The same lovely shade of sandy brown hair, streaked with silver at the temples, the same intense ocher eyes filled with secrets and a wariness to trust. What threw her for a moment was the coldness she saw there hidden behind the wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose over thin lips and a light dusting of stubble over his hardened jaw. He was clearly not happy to see her.
His gaze, filled with irritation now, flickered back over to the dean. "I told you, Mark … no more assistants. I don't have the time to properly train one and the people you keep sending me are incompetent at best." He looked at her briefly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "No offense."
"None taken," she snapped stonily, her ire rising just a bit. Too bad she wasn't allowed to show it wearing the persona she'd adopted years ago to protect herself. She wasn't about to let him have the upper hand, however. "I will need a list of duties and a copy of your schedule, Dr. Rush and then I will be able to get to work."
Rush frowned at her, crossing an arm over his chest as he tapped the dry erase marker to his chin. "I beg your pardon?"
"Dean Stanton has already been good enough as to hire me, so I would like to begin if that is acceptable to you."
Rush glared at her a moment before turning his back and facing the dean who shifted uncomfortably under the scientist's stare. "She's highly qualified, Rush. I don't think you'll be disappointed in Miss French. Just give her a chance. With your workload, you could only benefit from her expertise and it will give you the opportunity to spend more time with –"
Rush cursed and glanced down at his watch. "We'll talk about this later …" he muttered under his breath. "Never," he amended, stalking over to his chair and grabbing his jacket. He didn't so much as nod to Belle as he hurried to the stairs. "I don't need an assistant," he growled and stormed out of the door.
Stanton sighed and perched a hip against the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan at the pressure building behind his eyes. "I'm sorry, Miss French. As I said, Dr. Rush is not the easiest man to work for."
Belle set her bag down on the chair at the desk and began rolling up her sleeves. "Not to worry, I've dealt with far more difficult employers than him. Can you get me a copy of his schedule by the end of the day?" she asked, taking in the mishmash of papers, folders and general disarray on Rush's desk.
"Wait … you're seriously going to stick around … er … take the job?"
"Of course," she said brightly, offering him a smile. "Was there anything else we needed to discuss?"
"Uh … no, I don't suppose there is," he murmured, surprise coloring his tone. "I'll leave you to your work then. Margaret will email that schedule to you before the end of the day."
Belle watched him go and sighed as she surveyed the amount of work before her. It would be challenging, but she had determination on her side and she wasn't one to back down from a challenge. As long as she could get past having to stamp down on her heart every time she looked at her boss's face. Why did he have to look so much like Gold?
~*~XXX~*~xxx~*~XXX~*~
Nicholas Rush slammed the door of his office behind him and tossed the keys on his desk before dropping heavily into the heavily padded chair with a groan. He raked a hand through his hair and leaned back, trying to keep the steady stream of rioting emotions from overwhelming him. His Gloria was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. Their visit that afternoon to the oncologist had merely put a time limit on his vow of 'til death do us part. He didn't want to think that their lives together would be cut short. It didn't work without her and the anguish and turmoil roiling like live eels in his gut only confirmed that. What would he do without her? How would he go on?
He shouldn't even be back at the university, he admonished himself softly with a curse. He should be at home with Gloria, but it felt like the walls were closing in on him, the fear and helplessness choking off his lungs, driving him away until he could come to terms with the inevitable. If he could lose himself in his work for a while, it should help him to clear his head. He turned to the desk, reaching for his calendar to double check the time of his meeting with Daniel Jackson the next morning and froze as his hand brushed against the cool polished surface. It was gone.
He searched his desk, under journals, test papers and scattered pencils, leaning down to look around the floor as well, in case it had toppled off earlier. Where had he put it? Perhaps he'd brought it to class with him, he mused. The last time it had been misplaced it had been the fault of … his … assistant. No, he thought, rising from his chair and stalking towards the door. She wouldn't have seriously taken the job after he'd adamantly told Stanton that he didn't want her.
A low growl echoed at the back of his throat as he wrenched the door of his classroom open, his eyes searching out the low bowl of the room to find her clacking away at the computer on his desk. He made his way down the stairs, his dark ocher eyes flashing hotly. "What are you doing here?! I expressed to Stanton in no uncertain terms that I would not be taking on another assistant!" he hissed, his voice dripping with derision.
"Good evening, Dr. Rush. I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow morning," Belle said by way of greeting as she made a few more clicks of the mouse and pulled the flash drive from the port.
"I wasn't expecting to see you again … ever. Get out! This is my classroom and you have no business being here considering you are not my assistant nor my student."
Her smile faltered just a little. "Well, I can see the rumors about your lovely personality weren't false," she mumbled under her breath as she continued to straighten a stack of folders before her.
"What did you say to me?" he asked, his voice dangerously low as his eyes narrowed upon her.
The girl sighed as her gaze lifted to his, resignation prominent in their cerulean depths. "Dr. Rush, I am not your enemy. I'm only here to help." She waved an elegant hand over his desk to drive her point home. "And from the amount of work I've accomplished this afternoon and evening, you were more than a little needy. Your system – if you'd like to call it that – is not at all conducive to productivity."
He crossed his arms over his chest and shot her a steely eyed glare. "My system is just fine."
"Hardly," she insisted. "You have no sense of filing, your calendar is filled with missed appointments that you were forced to reschedule, your lesson plans are somewhat decent - though I found several that were incomplete – and don't even get me started on your computer records."
"And I suppose you could do so much better. I do not need some eighteen year old freshman to come in here and tell me they know how to do my job more efficiently than I," he growled, stepping up to the front of the desk, the piece of furniture the only thing stopping him from throttling her.
She hummed her displeasure as she regarded him steadily. "I'm twenty four, have my masters in astrophysics and am doing undergraduate studies and trying to earn my doctorate … hardly a freshman, Dr. Rush." She turned her back on him and marched over to the coffee machine he kept in the corner of the room. "Coffee?"
"Miss –" he began, only to get sidetracked by the aroma of the blessed brew filling the air as she poured. "Uh …"
Belle didn't give him a chance to answer, carrying the styrofoam cup over to him. He took it, still scowling at her. She moved back to the desk and proceeded to go through the stack she'd prepared for him. "I've filed away your journals and such in the filing cabinet in your office – which was a nightmare, by the way – but not to worry, I shall get to it." She handed him a stack of five folders. "Here are your revised lesson plans. I took the liberty of completing the ones you'd left unfinished." She thrust a small book at him. "I marked the papers that were buried under there and posted the grades." Another book was thrust into the steadily growing pile in his arms. "This is your new appointment calendar. I've done away with that dinosaur you had on your desk and put everything in here. You will receive email alerts on your phone three hours previous to each appointment and then again one hour in advance. That should cut down on missed meetings. Your answering machine was a bloody disaster. From now on, all your calls will come directly to me so that I can co-ordinate your schedule and when I'm in class they can go to your machine for me to address later."
"Miss French –"
"I took pics of your whiteboards and made a backup on this flash," onto the pile it went, "and I should be able to clean up the rest of your computer files before the end of the week."
"Miss French –"
She grabbed a sticky note off the desk and jotted something down that he couldn't quite see between juggling his coffee and the stack of paraphernalia she'd thrust upon him. She grinned cheekily as she reached out and slapped it to his forehead. "That's my number. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to call."
His mouth fell open in stunned disbelief as she grabbed her purse and set off up the stairs, only the faint scent of her perfume on the air showing she'd been there. He took his seat and dropped the folders to the desk, staring at the door, wondering what the hell had just happened. He grumbled beneath his breath as he began to sift through it all. He couldn't deny that she was efficient. He sat back in his chair and glared at the door again. Bossy little thing, she was, but none of his other assistant's had ever been able to do what she'd done there today in the space of – he glanced at his watch – six hours.
Rush sat back in his chair and sipped at the coffee she'd made, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. What the hell had she done to his coffee? She'd changed that too and he had to admit it was better than the swill he was used to, if not the best he'd ever had. Though he'd never tell her that. That right there was enough for him to consider giving her a chance. Perhaps she'd make it longer than a week … maybe.
~*~XXX~*~xxx~*~XXX~*~
Belle was trembling as she let herself into her one bedroom flat and tossed her keys onto the small table next to the door. Her troubled gaze rose to the mirror hanging on the wall above the table and she frowned, taking in the paleness of her skin and the subtle lines of fatigue about her eyes. She kicked off her shoes and made her way into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cupboard and pouring a bit of wine from the half empty bottle in the refrigerator.
Her thoughts wandered back to Gold as she took a hearty sip. He was always at the forefront of her mind and to see his likeness thrust at her today in the form of the acerbic Dr. Nicholas Rush brought the pain back to her chest with a vengeance. A lone tear slipped down her cheek to splash onto her hand, followed by another and another until she was curled up on the linoleum sobbing out her heartache. Fate was a cruel mistress and apparently she didn't like Belle at all well.
How was she supposed to work with that man – who clearly didn't want her – if she had to look at Gold's face to do so? He was rude, uncompromising, distrustful … everything Gold had been. She gulped down her wine, draining the glass and setting it beside her as she wrapped her arms about herself to hold her fragile measure of control together. Even her façade of shy and timid student had slipped in his presence. He challenged a part of her that she'd thought she'd buried long ago when she'd lost the love of her life and left Storybrooke, but it had come rushing back to the fore. If he didn't have her removed from the building when she reported for work in the morning it would be a miracle.
Belle dragged herself off the floor of the kitchen and trudged into the bathroom, a hot shower being what she needed then to wash away the stress of the day and the memories it had invoked. She needed to come to terms with what hand fate had dealt her. This job was too important to her academic career to let his face stand in the way of her succeeding. He might not want her, but he would just have to deal with it. She wasn't going to let her past prevent her from moving forward. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad … maybe.
A/N: Ok I thought I would fulfill this prompt while I'm working on chapter 19 of Another Chance. I wanted to get you all some Rushbelle goodness while you're waiting. I don't foresee posting on time as I'm still working on the chapter, but I hope this will make the wait a little easier. *love and hugs, my lovelies*