A/N: Okay, sorry I have been MIA for a while. Finals are approaching and I just have so much to do my writing has been rushed and I have not enjoyed it. And that is the whole point right? This is a one shot. There is this wall in my mind with all of my stories and I think it is because I have been repressing my Lacey/Gold feels. Maybe this will turn into a fic in the future, maybe not.
The idea came when I was listening to the "Lie to Me" album by Jonny Lang. Very bluesy, simple rock. I highly recommend it. The entire album gives me a Lacey/Gold vibe and this fic is set to the title track. Thanks for your patence guys. Much love.
Lie to Me
Mr. Gold stood in the door way of the Rabbit Hole and snarled his nose at no one in particular. Of course, the snarl would have been more intimidating had there actually been someone to snarl at. The place was vacant, most likely for the first time in the 28 years of its existence and quite frankly, Mr. Gold thought it was a vast improvement.
He walked further into the establishment, putting his cane in front of his foot and allowing the 'clomp' of each step to echo firmly on the wooden floors of the empty bar. Since the curse had hit he probably could have counted the times he had been inside this sad excuse for a business on one hand, most of the times being in the last week. His more frequent visits could be pinned on one thing, make that one person. Belle. His Belle. However, she wasn't his Belle anymore, and the thought alone made his cold heart ache with a want like he had never known. After Regina had worked her wiles on his darling beauty, Belle had vanished. Innocent cornflower eyes were replaced with devious cerulean ones, long flowing curls were restrained to give the wolves of this godforsaken town an unperturbed view of a gorgeous neck and creamy skin. All features he had previously coveted, gone in the blink of an eye.
Gold gripped the edge of the bar, leaning against it heavily as the memories alone caused his knees to buckle. It wasn't fair. All magic came with a price; he knew that, he probably knew it better than anyone. So, why did it seem he was the only one who still had to pay?
He walked behind the bar and flipped on the light that illuminated under the glass, showcasing all the different spirits the establishment had to offer its patrons. Bottles of every color cast almost a stained-glass effect which most likely caused the likes of people like Leroy to salivate at the sight. Being a business man himself, Gold could appreciate the display and he gingerly plucked a bottle of bourbon from the center of it and grabbed a short glass from under the counter. The brown liquid warmed his tongue and he threw it back before it had a chance to burn. Setting the glass down, he looked up.
Small, round tables, covered in black throw cloths littered the middle of the room, surrounded by high rises and the occasional booth attached to the paneled walls. Each table had either a small green lamp or a matching candle that glowed dimly in the center. It allowed for a false sense of privacy which was good enough for customers who had a few shots under their belts. Beyond the small tables was a half wall, more of a ledge really, that dipped down onto a dark dance floor, that when in full swing was an erotic glen of gyrating adults and pop music. The image alone wanted to make Mr. Gold lose his lunch. But that was only on Thursdays; every other night of the week it was filled with more laid back clientele, interested in games of pool, mindless chatter and the music was a tossup between the Jukebox in the corner and a small stage in the front for a live band.
All in all, the Rabbit Hole was a disgusting excuse for a place to relax and yet this is where Belle now chose to spend her time. Not Belle, he mentally corrected, Lacey. The last few weeks the town library had remained closed, its owner having found a new way to occupy herself. After a few days he had locked the doors and hung up the closed sign. He couldn't handle Storybrooke's sniveling children inquiring about their beloved Miss French, asking him to give her their home made get well cards and pleading with him not to delve out fines for their overdue books. He tried to blame it on his disdain for children, but the truth was, he missed her just as much as they did and his old heart couldn't bear turning them away.
Gold picked up the bottle, left the glass behind, and walked across the room and slowly up the tiny stairs to the stage. With his good foot, he kicked the piano bench aside so he could squeeze in and sit down in front of the surprisingly nice instrument. Taking another drink and holding the foul liquid in his mouth until it hurt, he swallowed hard and winced as he lifted the lid on the piano. With his right hand, he moved the hair from his eyes, poising his left above the keys. He slammed them both down on middle C, his cane sliding to the floor with the movement, but he didn't have the heart to care. Gold adjusted his foot and played his emotions out on the keys with a vigor that he hadn't had in many years. Trilling the top most keys between his calloused index finger and thumb he bit his lip and tried to recall songs of days long gone.
As Lacey walked up to the Rabbit Hole, she couldn't help but notice the absence of cars. There was also an absence of noise, music and people in general. She huddled in her short black coat as she hurried across the damp road, her heels clicking against the sidewalk. Mr. Gold had sent her a text earlier that evening that simply read 'Rabbit Hole, 9:00'. When she had received it, she had smirked to herself. After a few short weeks, she had finally cured him of texts filled with sweet nothings and pet names. Not only were they pointless, they weren't for her; she knew better than that. His affections were for Belle; a woman who no longer existed, and the sooner he got that though his stubborn mind, the sooner they could both move on.
She opened the back door to the bar slowly and looked around. There was still not a soul in sight, but there was noise, the noise of a distant piano. Inhaling deeply, finding comfort in the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap scotch that wrapped around her and buried itself deep in her clothing, she hung her coat on the hook and pulled her dress down a fraction of an inch, the black material only hitting her mid thigh. She crossed her arms over her breasts and tip toed into the main room, laying eyes on the source of the only noise in the eerily empty building.
No one touched that piano in years. It had remained on that stage, empty of love for as long as Lacey could remember. Yet now Mr. Gold was sitting and playing like it was his swan song, the last thing he had left on this Earth. She walked closer, Gold too far gone for the soft sounds of her heels to distract him, and just watched. Lacey couldn't play to save her life, but the music was beautiful, that much she knew and the way his hands stroked the porcelain caused her to shiver slightly. Up the keys, then back down, softly, then with a force that threatened to break the craftsmanship. Her imagination ran rampant as the very sight made her body tighten slightly. She coughed, loudly, anything to make him stop moving like that.
Gold froze, hands tensed in mid air, and turned, blushing like he was caught doing something more devious than showing of his musical talent.
"Am I interrupting?" Lacey said, biting her lip and stepping closer.
For a moment, it was if he forgot how to breathe. Sitting alone in the pub with Belle standing in front of him looking ravishing, he couldn't form words. To him, she always looked ravishing. He shook his head and leaned over, grappling for his discarded cane.
"I didn't know you played." She prompted again, trying to start a bit of dialect that his silence seemed intent on keeping at bay.
"I…uh…" he gestured to the keys and shrugged, putting his cane in his right hand and letting the thought go unfinished.
She bit her lip gently, taking in the bar, and Gold's heart fluttered in his ribs. No matter what Regina had done, his Belle was still in there. Lacey uncrossed her arms and surveyed the place with a curious expression. Widening her stance, she hooked her thumbs in the hidden pockets in the seam of her cocktail dress and quickly blew her bangs out of her face.
"Look Mister Gold, you asked me to come here. And well, I'm here." She widened her elbows, hunching her back slightly, giving off her impatience.
He was losing her. If he didn't pull himself together she was going to walk out that door, possibly for good. Limberly, he pulled himself to his feet, shifting his weight to one hip and placing his cane in front of him firmly.
"Bit dodgy don't you think?" he opened his left hand outward. "The Rabbit Hole?"
Lacey shrugged, "You say dodgy…I say homey. Be careful Mister Gold, I like it here."
"You see that's the thing. I know you do." He adjusted his jacket and walked back down the steps to be level with her on the dance floor. Feeling more confident, closing the walls around him, he walked straight up to her and didn't stop till they were about arms length apart. "We may sit in our library, and yet be in all quarters of the Earth." He breathed gently.
She paused. "What?" as she asked, her face turned to one of borderline disgust; she was tired of his games. However, he saw it, the spark; a quick flash in her blue eyes that he would have missed had he not been watching for it.
"Nothing. Nothing." He shook his head and held up a thick bangle, with a handful of gold keys attached to it. "You love this place?" when she nodded he continued, "Then it's yours."
"M-mine?" she faltered. He had to be joking. He had to be barking mad. Perhaps both. She shook her head firmly and held her hands in front of her. "Look, if you think you can buy me-…"
"No, no, that's not why I'm here." He cut her off, mind racing to make it from one sentence to the next. He hadn't bought anything. Each business in Storybrooke was privately owned; the owners simply went through him when they ran short, needed a loan or defaulted on city ordinances and building codes. It had been easy to scan a few documents, dig up a few transgressions, a couple noise violations and before the owner even knew what hit them, the bar now belonged to Mister Gold himself. He could handle a disgruntled citizen if it meant he now held the keys to finally unlocking something within the woman standing before him.
"I want you," he paused and let the key ring fall from his hand, gracefully catching it on his index finger and dangling them in front of her. "…to have it."
Lacey looked from the keys to the man, then back again. He offered her the only thing she enjoyed in this overpriced, sea legged joke of a town and for what? A few dates? Which he always paid for. A handful of awkward conversations? Which always ended badly. Surely not. She searched his face and found no signs of misplaced intent, no snake hiding in the grass, just a man, a man offering a gift.
With another bite of her lip, Lacey slowly reached up and slipped the keys from his finger and closed her hand around them tightly. No one had ever given her anything. Life was boring and she came because the beer was cold and the Jukebox was cheap. And now it was hers. She tapped the key ring to her burgundy lips and smirked, "You're a classy guy Mister Gold."
Gold forced a smile and tried to take the compliment. She was happy. He had made her happy. And that is what he wanted. However, his heart sank a bit as she wrapped her greedy fingers around the golden keys and clutched them to her breast. Belle would have wanted to see papers. She would have prodded him for information, demanding the owner be equally compensated as well as happy for handing over his property. On the rare occasion back in the old world that he let her in on one of his deals, Belle strived for his deals to be fair while Rumplestiltskin licked his chops and raised the price. Lacey was different and he had to keep reminding himself that.
She spun around and ran her hand over the bar; inspecting the labels, flipping on the light switches, quickly adjusting the front of the building to her liking. After a few minutes of fidgeting with the controls, all the lights in the house were off save the muted emerald lamps of the tables and the row of unprotected bulbs at the base of the stage now behind them.
Before making her way behind bar, she slipped in front of him and slinked the back of her body against the front of his in order to punch a button on the juke box, filling the small space with a bluesy rock number. With a sharp intake of breath, Gold gripped his cane and suppressed a groan. They had been playing this game for weeks. A sort of slap and tickle, never quite touching, never quite moving past the first date forms of affection and it was about to dive him mad.
"That's better. Would you like a drink? I'm buying." She chuckled at her own joke and pointed to him after lazily dusting her hands. "You look like a scotch man. Top shelf I should think." Putting her back to him, she reached above the bar and brought down an expensive looking bottle of Highland Park. Gold watched as she stretched, the line of her body evident against the black nylon of her dress caused his mouth to run dry. And yet the first thought he had was he would have gladly traded that expensive scotch to hear her order one more iced tea.
She rounded the edge of the bar and held out the crystal cut highball glass for him in the palm of her hand. She smiled, the first real smile he had seen all night that wasn't masked by a confident smirk.
"To us? I think I'm beginning to rather enjoy our dates." Gold noted the slight purr in her voice and looked from the liquor in her hand then back to her face.
He couldn't do it. Not anymore. He knocked the glass from her hand and let it fall to the floor. The cheaply made cut shattering on the hardwood brought a gasp from her throat and he pulled her against him and seized her parted lips. His cane fell forgotten on the ground as he snaked his arms behind her back and slid his tongue inside her mouth, ravishing her the way she liked, the way Lacey liked. He was not the man she thought he was and she was glad. The crippled pawnbroker now stood before her a giant. A man who knew what he wanted and was currently trying to devour her like oxygen, stealing her air with his lips in what she thought was passion but was in fact desperation.
When he finally allowed her to breathe, it was ragged. She fisted her hands in the material of his suit as he nipped and licked his way down her neck. Her chest heaving as she looked up at the dark ceiling and allowed him to support her weight as her knees buckled from his actions. He bit a particularly sensitive spot on the bend of her neck and she groaned. With the noise she straightened her back and turned him, shoving him up against the bar and flicking open the button of his jacket with a ruby red nail.
Gold gripped the bar with both hands, moving his leg out a bit to disperse his own weight and allow himself to stand comfortably as Lacey took control. Dragging her hands sensually down the front of his chest, she set to work on his belt buckle. She loosened it enough to pull his plum colored button down out his slacks, quickly approaching her goal of wanting to see the lion behind the lawyer.
Leaning his head back, he allowed himself to let go of the bar and rest his hand in her hair, gripping slightly as she moved further down his body. He closed his eyes and opened himself up to the feel of her hand through the fabric, the extra layer taunting the fact that although they were headed in the right direction they weren't going bloody fast enough.
She pushed his suit jacket to the floor and his fingers tensed in her hair as her hand ghosted over the front of his upper thigh. "B-Belle…" he whispered and she froze.
The air around them was thick enough to choke on as she rose to stand once more. She breathed quickly and the first inkling of hurt flickered in the irises of her eyes.
"I'm not Belle." She said firmly, unsteady on her heels for the first time as she tried to cool her heated libido.
Mr. Gold opened his eyes and looked at her. She stood in front of him still the fragile thing he had traded for war a lifetime ago. Her innocence and books replaced by cheap liquor and rock but inside was still the small girl. His girl. Make that his lioness. For it took heart to stand up to him be it in this world or the next. Be he Mr. Gold or Rumplestiltskin, this woman had reached inside his tormented soul and ripped out his heart. But once she held it in her hands she did not constrict it or put it in a box, oh no, she breathed life back into it, only to mend it before gently placing it back inside where it belonged. At least where she thought it belonged. In his eyes his heart would always belong in her loving hands, protected from the world and all those who sought to destroy him.
The thought that Lacey's desires ran for things lower than his heart nearly destroyed him and he gripped her shoulders, jerking her forward as he spoke.
"WHY?" he yelled an inch from her face. He repeated the word over and over to no one and everyone. With one word he asked a million questions, questions no one had the answers to, especially Lacey.
She winced back from the volume of his voice and remained rigid in his grasp as he barred his teeth and brought her closer.
"Why am I not Belle?!" she yelled in response, the privacy of the empty bar broken as they both lost control of their strained tempers. "I'll answer you if you answer me. Why am I not enough for you? Why is Lacey not enough for you?!" Her voice cracked, frustration colliding with her anger at how the man she desired most seemed to be the only one that did not desire her; or at least this version of her.
Gold kept his grip on her shoulders but he stopped shaking her. He looked from the spilled alcohol on the floor to the scared woman in his hands. Nothing he did now would solve anything. But he was out of ideas and most of all he was tired.
"Why couldn't you just lie? Lie to me dearie!" he challenged, digging his finger tips into her exposed flesh. "Tell me…" A brief pause seemed to cool his anger and his amber eyes grew wide in an effort to keep his weaker emotions at bay.
He took her hand gently and brought it to his cheek, releasing a shaky breath as she allowed him to press her palm to his skin. "Tell me everything is going to be alright. Please."
He breathed the last word as he closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. A smell that was still the same as the one imprinted in his pillow. He would rather die than forget the way she smelled. His grip on her arms was his last solid string to his sanity.
"Please." He whispered again and neither one of them was sure what he was begging for. Whatever it was, it was probably something no one could give. Lacey dropped her hands as he released her and she stood limp. Her muscles once tensed to the point of breaking now wobbled as he left her in a breeze of air and limped away. He finally collapsed, seated on the piano bench, unable to make it any further without his cane but refusing to retrieve it, fore it meant being close to her once more. With his bad leg stretched out and his forearms propped on his thighs, his hands and head hung and he accepted defeat.
Lacey looked upon him and didn't see a sorcerer, a deal maker or a spinner. She didn't see a pawnbroker, a lawyer or a loan shark. She saw a very sad, very broken, man. Just a man.
No longer trusting her balance, she removed her heels and placed them on the bar. Picking it up from the ground, she folded his suit jacket and draped it neatly by her shoes. She then tiptoed around the glass in stocking clad feet up onto the stage to join him.
His face concealed by his brown hair, she was made to stare at the crown of his head. She studied the wisps of silver located just above his ears and some part of her longed to run her fingers through it but she refrained. Whoever she was, this Belle woman had loved him. She was certain of that. Loved him so deeply that now that she was gone, there wasn't much of anything left.
"Mister Gold," she started and the slight movement of his head let her know that he was listening. "I could lie," she moved to stand by the side of the piano and continued. "But that is not what you want."
Her words were matter of fact. They weren't comforting or kind yet they were not harsh or cold. They were correct. She wasn't offering to give into his façade, to sate him by playing the part. It wouldn't have worked and he knew that, damn the gods, he knew that more than he cared to admit.
"Call me Rumple." He said deeply, still speaking to the floor.
Lacey bit her lip. It was a start and she took it. She leaned her head down a bit, the absence of light in the bar seeming to close them off to the outside world.
"Do you always get what you want…Rumple?" she said softly.
He straightened his back and placed his hands on her hips. Pulling her between him and the piano, he slid her backside along the keys. She stopped as the porcelain issued a short, chromatic scale and her stomach became level with his face. She was soft, warm and everything he was not at the moment. Deft fingers found the tops of her garters and snapped them before shamelessly putting his hands back under the edge of her dress. His hands cupped her thighs, moving to the swell of her ass before eventually settling on her hips as he laid his cheek against her lap. With closed eyes, he concentrated on his breathing before daring to speak.
"Maybe this time, love. Maybe this time." He gripped her tightly and shuddered as he felt her hands slide protectively over his back, one slightly under his collar. Three hundred years of hoping and as he felt her kiss the top of his head he thought just perhaps he had a few more left in him.