Safe Haven: Part One
A/AN: This story is one you may remember. It sort of got deleted, and old computer ate the files through chapter seven which is why I'm going to rewrite it. The premise will remain the same with thorough editing for the chapters which remain untouched. If you're a new reader to this story, then I welcome you. It's been three years since this fic was published, but I longed to bring it back.
It was a cold, dreary night in Storybrooke. Belle had moved back three months ago to aid her father with the burden of his failing business. Moe French was nearly bankrupt, and all of his assets could be seized at any moment. Returning to her childhood hometown wasn't what she aimed to do with her life. She had envisioned to see the world, but sadly she'd been mistaken.
It was past half past ten, and the street lights glared upon the wet pavement. She loathed walking home alone, but as the sole librarian in town, she had much to catch upon. The building had been neglected, and there were hundreds of books which had to be sorted through and shelved. She'd been working late all week to accomplish the cumbersome task and was finally making some headway.
As she passed Main Street, she failed to see the cloaked stranger awaiting her in the alley. He'd been watching her for months and was finally brave enough to make his move. He grabbed her forcefully, muffling her screams with his sleeve.
"I'm not going to hurt you, precious, as long as you promise not to scream," he whispered lewdly in her ear, hiking up her skirt and ripping away her undergarments. Tears fell unbidden down her cheeks as he had his way with her. He threatened to kill her father if she ever told anyone. She hobbled home with a ripped blouse and blood seeping from between her thighs. When she arrived home, she tore off her clothes, and turned on the water as hot she could withstand it.
She scrubbed her skin until it was red and numb, hoping it would ebb away the feeling of her perpetrator's touch. It was futile, and Belle fell into bed that night as sobs wracked her body. Forcing herself to go to work the next day was impossible. She stayed in bed nearly a week, wallowing in her misery. She couldn't go to the police or tell anyone without risking her father's life, so she suffered in silence.
She buried herself in her work, hoping she would eventually be able to put it all behind her and move on with her life. Two months after the incident, she fell ill. She pushed the possibility of being pregnant to the back of her mind, but she was already five days late. There was no point in lying to herself any longer. She was with child, and it was time to face the consequences. One afternoon while her father was working late, she stopped by Clarke's Grocery and purchased every brand of pregnancy test available.
Two intricate pink lines showed up on all five tests, confirming her worst fears. She was going to have a baby. Storybrooke was a conservative town, and women of ill repute were scorned. Belle found herself in another trifling predicament. There were places which took care of problems like this. She held the phone in her hand, ready to dial the abortion clinic and make an appointment. The closest one was two hours away, just outside of Boston.
The more she mulled over it, she found it impossible to go through with. Murdering an innocent child seemed barbarous. Her strict protestant upbringing prevented her from doing so. She had no other choice but to come clean with her father.
She grabbed her black handbag and stalked out the door. She sucked in a deep breath as she walked the three blocks to her father's flower shop. A brown Cadillac was parked outside, but she paid it no mind. She clutched the plastic bag in her hand which held a positive pregnancy test, the one she was going to show her father.
A man with graying hair and deep sable eyes, clenching a gold tipped cane, gazed pointedly at her father. "It's rent day, dearie, and I'm here to collect what you owe me. Are you going to be able to make your payment this month, Mr. French?" he interrogated, full of intimidation.
"Mr Gold, I'm sorry, but things are really tight at home. I'm doing all I can just to keep the lights on in this place," he lamented. Gold cast daggers at the plump man, his demeanor furious.
"It's too bad I really don't give a damn," he remarked callously. "I'm seizing your van, Mr. French, and if you don't pay me by Friday, this property will be mine as well," he warned.
Belle's heart beat with oblivion as she heard the exchange. She respired shallowly as she pushed past Mr. Gold, slamming the plastic bag down on the counter. "Belle, what's going on?" Moe inquired, diverting his gaze away from Gold momentarily.
"Father, I'm pregnant, and I don't know who the father is!" she blurted out, catching both men by surprise. Gold stood firmly planted in front of the pair, observing the tears which cascaded down Moe's daughter's face. He'd heard of her. The mayor had graciously handed her the keys of the rundown library, granting her permission to reopen it to the public.
He'd heard of her successes, and the full ride to Harvard she'd received several years ago in the Storybrooke Mirror. Returning to hole like this town seemed beneath her. As he glanced at Moe French who's color had turned that befitting a tomato, he guessed it correctly. Belle had only came back to help her father with the bills. Selfish bastard.
"How could you do this to me, Belle!? We're about to lose everything, and we can't afford another mouth to feed!" he bellowed, causing her to divert her gaze shamefully. A good whack or two over Moe's head seemed befitting for making her feel inferior. He'd never laid eyes on this woman before, but he had an innate desire to protect her from then on.
"Pardon my intrusion, Miss. French, but perhaps I could be of service," he interrupted the florist. Belle gazed at him intriguingly, thankful for the intrusion.
"And what do you mean by that, sir?" she inquired, pining for a name.
"Mr. Gold," he nodded respectfully at her.
"Belle French," she introduced herself, fixating her gaze on him.
"How would you like to make a deal? Your father would be able to keep his business, and you would be spared from the town's scorn," he retorted.
"And what sort of deal would that be?" she asked, her voice holding a tinge of disparity.
The words rushed out of his mouth before he could halt them. "Become my wife and the caretaker of my estate. Your father's debt will be wiped clean, and you and your child will want for nothing," he proposed, catching her off guard.
"You have yourself a deal, Mr. Gold," she agreed, paying no attention to her father's protesting in the background.
"Excellent. I'll stop your house later this afternoon to retrieve you. We'll be married immediately," he affirmed, grasping her supple hand and shaking it firmly. As her fingers entwined with his calloused digits, her stomach flip flopped with anticipation. She'd either made a deal with the devil or found her salvation. Only time would tell.
