Marie French's Return
Marie French was older than she looked.
She was 29, almost 30 according to her birth certificate (a birth certificate that somehow managed to become the front page of The Mirror). She was petite, didn't have too many wrinkles and her smile was wide. She could probably even pass for a new college graduate.
But she was still much older than all of that.
She would be turning 58 years old if the calculations in his head were correct.
28 years.
Gone.
Although it was probably more like 30 years without her presence. 30 years without Belle. Why did he let himself go so long without her?
"Mr. Gold," the woman who freed Marie prodded him with a pen, "If you would sign here?"
He bared his teeth at Emma. She smiled back, "C'mon now Mr. Gold, play nice."
"It's hard to play nice when I'm being bailed out of jail by someone's first name happens to be a month."
He jerked his head over at August who waved mockingly.
Emma, who obviously had a crush on the man, had the audacity to giggle.
He glared at her.
She handed over the clipboard with an amused smirk.
He initial R. Gold without a thought.
"Well, can I go now?" he barked
Sheriff Swan raised an eyebrow before un-cuffing him, "You're free to go Mr. Gold."
He jostled past the two with a scowl, grabbing his cane on the way out.
He even slammed the door for good measure.
When he left Emma glanced over at August, "What, no thank you?"
August shrugged, "That's Mr. Gold for you."
"I guess."
"Don't worry. He just wants to make sure she's safe and sound."
Emma crossed her arms over her chest, "The woman who was being unlawfully locked in the asylum? The one he barreled into the hospital with a loaded gun to get out? That woman? Marie French?"
August quirked his lip, "Yeah, her."
Emma recalled a beating not so long ago of a certain Mr. French. Was this girl the cause of it all?
"So what's the story there?"
August's smile grew wider, "I think you should ask Henry that question, although you might not like the answer."
Emma shook her blonde curls.
What a typical answer.
"So, kid, what's the deal with the girl's Aussie accent?" Emma nodded her head in the direction of the newest member of Storybrooke.
She was sitting on a stool with her father next to her. He looked like he was trying to help her pick out something on the menu, but the girl kept making faces, so Emma assumed it wasn't going very well.
Henry smiled at his mom, "Well it's not really an Australian accent!"
Emma's eyes softened, "What is it then?"
"It's probably from some other country in fairy tale land." Henry's hands cupped his hot chocolate.
"Have you figured out what story she's from yet?"
Henry took a sip. His upper lip was covered in whipped cream and cinnamon when he started to speak again, "I don't know if you're going to like my answer."
Emma rolled her eyes, "August said the same thing."
Henry perked up in his seat. "Did he?" he asked with an eager grin before it dropped completely, "Wait, when did he join Operation Cobra?"
The question startled Emma, "I, uh, I'm actually not really sure." She matched Henry's frown, "He didn't really mention Operation Cobra… he just said you would know."
"Huh."
Emma examined her son. He didn't look nearly as perturbed by this as she did, as he launched into an explanation about where Miss French came from, and who she was in fairy tale world.
"I think she's probably a princess. I thought she might be Rapunzel since- y'know, she was locked away, but she didn't really fit what I thought Rapunzel would be like-"
"And a kickas-butt Snow White does?" Emma gave him a pointed look as she gulped down her hot chocolate.
He made a face, "Well yeah."
She almost choked as he continued, "Snow White had to live in the woods and off the land and stuff. It makes sense."
"Sure it does kid."
"Anyways, I think she's Belle."
"Belle from Beauty and the Beast… with the talking candelabra?" Emma smirked, "So where's Lumiere?"
Henry gave her a pointed look. She smiled cheekily back at him.
"He's not in the book. But Belle is and so is the Beast! There's not too much in there about them though. There's only a small reference to them because the Queen hates the Beast. It's like they're rivals or something."
Emma resisted a snarky comment and gave a weak smile instead, "Rivals huh?"
"Yeah. But I think that's because the Beast is Rumplestiltskin."
"What?"
"Yeah, in the book, they're the same person."
Emma's forehead creased. She was getting a headache, "But how is that possible. They're two different characters…"
"Not in the book," Henry said. He shook his head dismissively, "Forget the other versions, this is the real version."
"So who is Rumplestiltskin then?"
Henry peeked at Marie French, "I don't know yet."
Emma hopped out of her Bug. She wasn't looking forward to this visit but she knew she would have to do it eventually.
The French's home was small. It was a single story ranch style home. It was generally really plain and boring with its cream shutters. The only thing of interest was the giant Sycamore tree looming over the house with a tire swing on it.
The tire was dangling off the rope; Emma was half-tempted to kick it just so it would die. However, she was the Sheriff and she should be behaving better than that.
But her foot still itched.
She forced herself to face the house again. She really didn't want to do this.
But it was her job as Madame Mayor so nicely reminded her when she tore Henry away at Granny's Diner this afternoon.
Emma was just grateful that Miss French had left before the Mayor got there.
"Sheriff Swan, I would have you know that you should be interrogating that young woman. She's been held unlawfully for years, and a citizen had to go undercover to steal her? For shame, Sheriff. How did you not find out about this first?"
Emma had wanted to say that she had only been Sheriff for a few months and Graham was the one who should've realized it, but as soon as she thought of him, the thought died.
So here she was. Asking a woman who had been locked away for who knows how many years if she could even remember anything.
Maybe she could find out how the hell Mr. Gold fit into this mess.
"Hello? Are you alright there Sheriff?" a gruff voice broke into her reverie.
"Oh yeah. Sorry to bother you Mr. French."
"It's no problem Sheriff. I'm assuming you want to talk to Marie."
Emma nodded, relieved that she didn't have to ask, "If that'd be alright?"
He held the door open for her, "Please, come in."
The door opened up to a small entryway. There were no pictures of Marie as a little girl, no family portraits, just dark wooden walls.
"Where is Marie?" she asked Mr. French. He pointed towards the end of the hall.
"She's in the kitchen,. She's attempting to make brownies." His voice softened, "She loved brownies when she was a kid."
He limped into the kitchen, still suffering from the wounds Mr. Gold inflicted a month or so back Emma noted.
He seemed like he loved his daughter. And when she interrogated him that awful night when Marie was discovered, he didn't lie. He knew nothing about her imprisonment.
That was the only reason she'd let Marie go with him. That and the poor girl looked so happy to see her father.
"Marie, Sheriff Swan would like to ask you a few questions."
Marie looked up at Emma and smiled. Her smile was soft and kind, Emma thanked God that whoever did this to her didn't kill her spirit completely. She already looked better than she had a few days before.
"Hello," she said as she licked a spoon full of the dark brownie batter.
"Is it alright if I, uh, ask you some questions about your time there?"
When Marie didn't answer immediately, Emma broke into her prepared speech, "If you want I can ask Archie, I mean, Dr. Hopper to mediate between us. He's going to want to meet you anyways-"
"I'm fine with answering your questions Sheriff." Marie's voice was quieter than it had been greeting Emma, but it was still strong.
She really hadn't broken.
Emma couldn't believe it. She'd be broken. Hell, she was broken. But this girl wasn't.
How the hell did she pull that off?
Henry's voice ticked the back of her mind, the same way she tamed a beast. She ignored it.
"Miss French-" she began but Marie interrupted her.
"Please don't call me that," the girl swallowed, her blue eyes watering.
So maybe she was a bit damaged. But she definitely put up a fight.
"They called me that there. Miss French. Or 'The Patient'" Marie giggled awkwardly, spinning the spoon in her hand around and around. Emma watched her transfixed at the sight.
"The Patient?" Emma asked. What the hell did that mean?
"I know, it's so silly, I couldn't have been the only patient there," Marie looked into Emma's eyes, "I couldn't have right?
Emma scanned the other girl's face, "We looked around, there were a few other people there, but we're not sure who they are yet."
Marie's jaw jutted out and a frown lined her eyes, "But, if that's true, why would they call me 'the', emphasis on the the, patient?"
Emma shrugged, helpless, "I don't know. Do you have any idea who did this to you?"
Marie put down the spoon she had been twirling. "I remember-" she hesitated.
"Remember what?" Emma prodded.
Marie swallowed, her eyes bright, "There was a woman once. A woman other than the nurse you arrested. She had dark eyes… and a dark soul."
"A dark soul?" Immediately Emma thought of Regina and her cruel smirks but brushed the thought away. "When did you see this woman? How many times?"
"Once. A few months ago. Once was enough. I felt like I remembered her though… as if from another life…" Marie ended her thought with a troubled look on her face.
"Maybe you upset this woman? Maybe she's the reason you were imprisoned there?"
Marie's mouth twisted as if she were sucking on a sour lemon, "Maybe."
"I guess I should line up all the brown eyed women in Storybrooke huh?" Emma said.
Marie smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "I suppose so!"
Emma bit the inside of her lip. Now for the question she really didn't want to ask.
"So about Mr. Gold…"
"Who?" Marie questioned.
Emma stopped and stared at her. Marie was the image of innocence and Emma realized that she was not lying. She had no idea who Mr. Gold was.
Her mouth felt dry, "Uh he's the man who saved you."
"The one who smelled like leather?
"Well, I don't really tend to sniff him but yes, I guess? He has a cane, dark hair, brown eyes, five foot eight inches tall…"
Marie looked down at her hands. "I don't really remember much of the escape," she confessed, "I remember the smell of leather, someone picking me up and the rush of sound and noise. It.. It was a lot to take in, you see."
Emma nodded. God, maybe Archie should've come with her. She had no idea how to handle this situation.
"Um, are you comfortable living with your father?"
Marie's head popped back up and she brightened the room with her smile, "Oh yes, it's so nice to be back with papa… I mean dad." Her hands turned into fists and the smile dimmed.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know. I keep saying things that feel right but I know are wrong. Or are right but they feel wrong. I'm… I'm all mixed up."
Emma gave her what she hoped was a sympathetic smile, "Dr. Hopper will be able to help with that."
Marie bit her lip.
"I hope so."
"Mr. French, I'd like to have a word," Mr. Gold limped into Game of Thorns shop with a grim smile on his face.
Moe French winced. His ribs still weren't 100 percent after Mr. Gold's attack a few months back. He sometimes wished he pressed charges on the man, but it was hard to stand up to a man like Mr. Gold.
And Mr. Gold had given the truck back so that helped a bit. Well, more than a bit. It had helped a great deal.
But that didn't mean he wanted to be around the man ever again.
"What is it Mr. Gold?" he asked politely as possible.
Mr. Gold plucked out a rose from the basket and twirled it.
"I believe we had a deal, you, me, and your daughter some time ago."
Moe's mouth dropped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You-you" he spluttered.
"Yes, me, Mr. French." Mr. Gold gently placed the rose on the counter in front of Mr. French and leaned in.
"Now that your daughter has found to be alive and well, and not dead and buried like we both presumed, I would like her back working in my shop just as she did before."
"But she doesn't even remember you," Moe half-shouted.
Mr. Gold's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, "Be that as it may," Mr. Gold swallowed, "She is still under contract. And you know I don't break contracts."
"But she's sick," Moe protested.
"If she's under my contract, she gets free healthcare, which means free trips to the otherwise very expensive psychiatrist," Mr. Gold hissed.
Moe knew he had lost then so he said nothing.
Mr. Gold smiled, "Glad we still have our deal. Now, in other business I would like to buy this rose."
"Just one?"
"Just the one."
Be-no Marie French, looked out her window and sighed.
She felt like she was sixteen years old again forced to stay inside while there was a ball-a dance, she corrected herself mentally, happening outside.
Nothing interesting was inside the plaster walls of her home. There weren't even very many books around, which felt strange to her. She remembered books from everywhere before, books piled by her bedside, by her closet, by her window, in the dungeon. She shook herself, no that wasn't right at all.
There weren't any books by her window now.
She sighed again. She missed the years before her imprisonment, or at least what she remembered of those years. Although she wasn't even sure if what she remembered was right, she had asked her father about a boy named Gaston the night she came home and he just stared at her.
She stopped asking him questions then.
"Marie, I need you to come here," her papa's voice carried into her bedroom.
She thought it again. Papa. Who says papa?
"Coming Dad!" she shouted. She quickly changed out her pajamas and into a blue sundress.
That was one thing she remembered distinctly. She loved the color blue. While everything else was fuzzy or tinged with daydreams and nightmares, the color blue was consistent.
She ran her hands through her hair as a way of brushing it, even though she knew that wasn't right, but brushes hurt her head since they hadn't been brushed in years. She looked at herself in the mirror and made a face. Her curls were everywhere.
"Marie," her dad called out again.
"Sorry, one second!" she yelled as she slipped on some black flats and ran out the door.
She stopped short as she noticed her father wasn't alone. There was another man here.
"Oh hello," she stuttered. She still didn't like seeing strangers. She clasped her hands together and tried to resist the urge to run screaming back into her room and lock the door.
"Marie, this is Dr. Hopper,"
The tall man walked over to her and offered her his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
She looked up. He had soft eyes and a kind smile. She wanted to trust him. She wasn't sure if she could.
She shook his hand, "Thank you."
"I wanted to know if you would like to attend some sessions with me soon."
Sessions, those were the things that were supposed to fix her. The blonde Sheriff and her father had both said that a few times.
She didn't want to be damaged goods anymore.
"I think that might be a good idea."
Dr. Hopper grinned, "I'm glad you think so." He turned to her dad, "Well, since we have a willing patient we can settle the money later."
"Um, actually," Moe spoke, "Mr. Gold is paying for it."
"What?" Dr. Hopper's whole demeanor changed, "Why are you letting him do that? Actually, a better question is why is he doing that?"
"We, uh, have a little deal," her dad shifted his weight between his legs. Marie knew this wasn't good.
"What do you mean a deal?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Well, I don't think you remember this part sweetie, but before your uh, time in the hospital, you worked for Mr. Gold for about a year and a half. But right after that is when you took off and we all got the letter that said you were dead."
She was still for a moment, "I don't understand. I worked for this Mr. Gold… a man I can't even remember. The man who saved me from the asylum… a man who I ran away from?"
"We don't know why you took off. Do you remember?"
Marie was irritated, "No, how could I remember that. I don't even remember who this bloody Mr. Gold fellow is!"
Dr. Hopper looked extremely uncomfortable in between the two Frenches, "Marie, could you call me to schedule a meeting when you have the time?"
Marie shook herself out of her anger and turned back to Dr. Hopper, "Um, yes?"
Dr. Hopper broke into a smile, "Good, I'll see you soon then." He firmly shook her father's hand and then her own again before scuttling to the door.
For a psychiatrist he seemed very uncomfortable dealing with confrontation, Marie noted.
As soon as she left, Marie turned towards her father. She felt full of anger, something she hadn't been full of for a very long time.
"Why haven't I met this Mr. Gold yet? He saved my life after all."
Her dad attempted to avoid her gaze, "Well, he was in jail for breaking and entering the hospital, although Emma made sure the charges were dropped. But it's not only that sweetheart, he's… he's a complicated man that Mr. Gold."
"Should I really be working for such a complicated person when I'm all torn up inside?" Marie's voice cracked and for a second she thought her father was going to hug her like he used to. Instead he stood there, staring at the floor.
The room was silent as each French mulled their options
"Fine. I'll work for him. I know we can't afford my treatment otherwise. And… and maybe this will be good for me. Maybe it will help me separate reality from my dreams," she said, a whisper of a smile on her face.
Her father caught her eye and sighed. She knew he thought she was brave for facing off this fearsome Mr. Gold, but she felt like a coward.
"Maybe."
Rumplestiltskin felt like cackling.
Or giggling.
Belle was alive.
Belle was going to be with him again.
He made a deal with her father just as he had done so many years ago.
He had never been so happy to be a dealmaker.
She'd hate him probably. He'd have to make her hate him. He couldn't afford to have her love him.
He was just glad the Evil Queen's hands were tied. She wouldn't do anything now that Emma was looking into the asylum situation.
He knew with just a few words he could tear down the Queen once and for all. She knew it too.
Which is why she didn't dare touch Belle again.
He was already tempted on ending her existence; he didn't need any more reasons.
He would just wait for Emma to do her job and destroy the Queen. That's what she was supposed to do.
And if worse comes to worse, he would just ask Regina to jump off a cliff, please.
The store bell ringing interrupted his contemplations.
He turned and faced the door with a smile plastered on his face but it quickly dropped when he saw who it was.
Belle.
The giggling in his head stopped.
This was a terrible idea.
"Hello," she offered with her lilting accent. He wondered if she thought she was originally from Australia like Graham believed he was the son of an Irishman. He wondered but he was too afraid to ask.
She was wearing athletic shorts. His mind stopped. Shorts. Her pale legs were all he could see.
He was just grateful she was wearing a plain t-shirt that covered her chest.
She licked her lips. He wanted to kiss them.
"Are you Mr. Gold?" she asked.
"Yes."
He was drowning in her eyes. They were so blue. When he had been saving her from that awful place, they were dull and grey. Her skin had been too.
In just a short amount of time, she had become his Belle again.
The girl, because she is still so young despite being so old, exhales, "I just wanted to thank you,"
Mr. Gold, for he had to be Mr. Gold now, leaned on his cane, "For what m'dear."
She tucked her chin out before walking towards him. He wanted to back away but there was nowhere he could go so he stood helpless.
"For saving my life Mr. Gold. For paying for my treatment-" she started but he put a finger up to stop her.
"Ah- but that came with a price did it not?" he wanted to giggle at her open mouth. She just looked so surprised.
"But you're offering me a job, no one else would do that, and from what I understand, you're still paying me despite also paying for my sessions with Dr. Hopper."
He wanted to smile at her. She was still so brave. So unafraid of the one person she should be afraid of.
"Plus," she continued, oblivious to the lovesick look that was sliding onto his face, "I think working for you will help me remember."
That word jolted him out of any fluffy thought that had been occupying his head.
"Remember what?" he asked, his grip on the cane tightening.
"I-" she broke away from his gaze. It was one of the only times he had seen her uncomfortable, "Why did you save me?"
The question startled him but he recovered with a smile, "What do you mean dearie?"
She looked back up into his eyes, "You knew me before right? What was our relationship? Were we friends?"
The answer flew out of his mouth, "Yes. The very best of friends."
He knew he should have not said a word but the satisfaction that lit up in her eyes was worth the price.
"But then why does Papa hate you?"
"Papa?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows, attempting to change the subject.
She blushed and looked down at her feet. The pink that it raised looked so pretty on her pale skin. He forgot how much he loved to make her blush, "I'm sorry. I mean my Dad. I've been saying Papa lately… I don't know why."
"Your father and I do not get along. I am his creditor and sometimes he does not pay on time. I do not appreciate that. He also stole from me once. He stole something very precious to me."
"I'm sorry you do not get along."
"It doesn't matter," he waved his hand, "Are you ready to begin work?"
"What do you mean?" When he just looked at her, lines creased her eyes. Her fingers played with the edge of her shirt. She was nervous. Afraid.
The last time he saw this look on her face she had dropped his teacup.
He resisted the urge to grab her fingers and kiss them one by one.
"I mean you should start to work now. Like you did years before."
"Do you think I can?"
"Belle I think you can do anything," he said before realizing his mistake. But she didn't seem to notice.
Instead, she smiled.
"Really?" she asked shyly. He thought she was even batting her eyes, but he knew that was just wishing on his part.
"Yes."
She leaned in and he took a step back.
"Now there m'dear, it's off to work! I need the floors scrubbed, the curios dusted, the files filed, I think you get the drift, you might even remember-" he shot a smirk in her direction. One of these looks and most men would flee.
But she didn't. She never did.
She just grinned, "I think I'll remember soon enough."
And with just a sentence, Rumplestiltskin began to hope again.
"As a welcome back gift, I would like to give you this," he carefully took the rose out of the vase on the counter.
Her eyes brightened and her smile became even wider, "Oh thank you! How did you know roses are my favorite?"
Mr. Gold couldn't help it. He smiled.
"You told me long ago."
She sniffed the rose and shyly looked back at him, "Thank you for remembering."