This is just a test run for now. I originally intended for it to be a one shot, but inspiration is running low. So, at most, a two shot. If anyone has any critique, please do so! I'll probably repost it later, revised and completed and all. Rumbelle ftw!
Stardust
"My stardust melody... the memory... of love's ...refrain"
-Mitchell Parish
Mr. Gold had a house like a museum.
Or at least like one preserved from days when women wore seamed stockings and pearls and men carried canes and smoked cigarettes from small silver cases. That was part of the reason why she had volunteered to take the route that delivered flowers to him every week. She liked the smell of the wooden rooms and the way the early morning sunlight illuminated the stained glass windows and painted rainbows on the floors and walls.
Every room was a mystery and delight, as she did not dare stray from her unspoken path of the foyer and the kitchen. She was lucky enough to be allowed into the house let alone handle a few of his possessions; she did not want to push her luck.
She knew that her father preferred to not have any association with Mr. Gold unless completely necessary, which contributed to the idea that she could save him the trouble and do what she could to make life for him easier. Mr. Gold owned Storybrooke. It was nigh impossible to avoid association with him.
As for the man himself, she was rather intrigued by him. She liked the fact that he carried a cane. It seemed to bring an instant sophistication to his already sophisticated person. The stiff colored shirts and ties as well as the gold pocket watch he kept in his coat made her think how easily he could step into an old movie and carry a scene with the likes of James Stewart or Dana Andrews.
As far as she was concerned, he did not mind her presence. In fact, he left the back door open for her. She could not be sure just when he started to leave the door open, all she knew was that it was open and he left a tea tray on the counter for her with a note that said, 'Be my guest'.
On one particularly fine morning when the sky had cleared from a night of stormy weather, she let herself in through the usual way, sliding the scarf off from over her head and setting the flowers down on the table. She picked up the teacup left for her and went to draw open the curtains from above the sink where the sun was reflecting tiny rainbows through the running trails and droplets of water on the window when she caught sight of the cane lingering in the middle of the doorway leading out to the foyer. She whirled around, dropping the teacup onto the rug in front of the stove in her surprise.
"Oh, Mr. Gold," she pressed both hands to her chest and drew a breath, closing her eyes for a moment.
"So sorry," he stepped into the kitchen in a sort of swinging motion, going from one foot to the other without bending his knees. "Didn't mean to frighten you."
"No, it's quite alright," she said. "This is your house after all." She bent down to pick up the cup.
"Yes, but your are welcome at your convenience, Belle," he said.
"Oh, no," she winced as she lifted the cup up toward him, still kneeling on the floor. "I'm afraid it's chipped." She turned the cup, running her thumb along the crack in the porcelain. When he said nothing, she felt her breath hitch in panic. "You can hardly see it," she looked up at him, chewing on her lower lip.
"It's just a cup," he shook his head, giving her an ironic smile before turning and strolling out of the room. "Why don't we bring the flowers in here for a change."
Belle leap to her feet, tucking her hair back behind her ears and setting the cup back on the tray, as she gathered the flowers into her arms. She followed Mr. Gold into the drawing room, a room she had often admired but never dared to set foot in. The leather books in the glass cabinet looked to be as enticing as the stack of records laying on the flower next to what looked like a viola and a Victrola. Little trinkets and collectable items cluttered all the nooks and crannies of the room, each gathering dust and fading from a lack of care and exposure to direct sunlight.
Mr. Gold ran a finger along the length of a table, drawing a clean line within the layered dust.
"Why don't we put the flowers here," he looked over at Belle, a rather harmless and gentle smile on his face. "What do you think?"
Belle blinked, tearing her eyes from the Victrola and nodded at the directed spot. "Yes. Very nice. I'll go get the vase," she hurried out of the room to retreat back into the kitchen as Mr. Gold mumbled something about putting on a little music.
She had just thrown away the old flowers and was rinsing out the cream and pink vase when she heard the orchestration of a tune so sweet and familiar she paused and switched off the faucet. It sounded like a purple meadow leading into the fairy realm below a twilight sky. Arranging the flowers into the vase, Belle made her way back into the room where Mr. Gold sat in a chair, his cane enfolded between his clasped hands and his eyes shut, perhaps imagining the world Belle so clearly saw.
The clack of the vase being set onto the table startled Mr. Gold out from his daydream and he looked at Belle in suspicious curiosity. He watched as she used the corner of her cape to dust off the table top, lifting the vase then setting it back down. Although aware of his eyes on her, she tried her best to remain unassuming.
"Why do you come here week after week, Miss French?"
She turned her head, meeting his unblinking stare without flinching. "To bring you flowers, Mr. Gold," she said.
"Is that all?" he asked. "You're not trying to butter me up for when your father next misses his rent, are you?"
Belle winced. "Well, honestly, Mr. Gold, he doesn't quite like you and would rather have no association with you unless he absolutely has to," after she had said it, she rather wished she had not.
Mr. Gold, however, much to her surprise merely laughed. "Please," he said. "Don't hold anything back."
While still wary, she allowed herself to laugh lightly along with him. "Besides, I like your house and looking at all the things you have,"
"I have a proposition for you, dearie," he said, ignoring her last comment. "A proposition that may… aid your currently financial situation." Mr. Gold smiled in such a way that gave her the chills. "What say you to being the caretaker of my rather large estate?"