Notes: sorry if it took a lot of time, but something wasn't right in how I planned this story and, as soon as I fixed it, this chapter came to life.
As usual, please let me know all the mistake you'll find, and if you have suggestions or comments, please drop by!
Chapter 2
Mr. Gold is walking to the florist's shop. In the inner pocket of his suit, just over his heart, there is a envelope. He feels it even if the paper is not in direct contact with his skin. He knows that somewhere, inside or outside his chest, a scorching flame is burning his flesh and painful blisters will explode in any moment.
But he is a man that keeps his word, he offered her a job and, surprisingly or not, she agreed.
And now he is doing this right, for once, with a proper contract that has his name and her name on it.
Together.
He has already signed it, a few traits of pen in his scruffy handwriting sealed his end of the bargain with his name in this world.
In a little corner of his mind he wonders how would be her handwriting. He aches to see her sign the name Isabel French near his own. Even if those are fake names, they still means something even if they have no power.
He knows he must restrain himself while he is in her presence. But later, in the solitude of his shop, he is damn sure he will stroke the little piece of paper that will soon bear her name.
He will never let himself indulge in this thought, or analyse it, but he has written this contract for one, simple reason.
Not for giving her, and all the other people in town, a proof of his goodwill, nor for doing this right in front of sharp eyes of the law – sheriff Swan acts like a godmother towards her little protégée, Isabel, and had watched him suspiciously after he offered her a job.
Deep inside he knows there is only one reason he made this contract. He want something hers, something he could hold dear. He wants to posses a little part of her, even if it is just a signature on a contract, even if it is a fake name, a name Regina has invented. Even if it is not her name, he knows he could claim this piece of paper with her signature his own, forever.
Gold takes a deep breath and enters quietly in the florist's shop. The bell rings, but nobody comes. He ventures over the plants and flowers, trying to not mind much the smell of several cans of long-stemmed roses that are near the counter. He tries not to look in their direction, too. (He can't stand the sight of roses. Immediately after Emma came to Storybrooke and he regained his memories, he had eradicated a luscious bush of deep red roses that was in his garden. The florist's apprentice said it was a pity to kill – yeah, Gold recalls the boy has used exactly this word – such a strong and healthy bush, with some of the late bloom flowers still blossoming in the chill of November and filling the air with a delicate scent. But Gold wanted it out of his view, and when he wants something he is used to have it).
He can hear voices from the back-room. They become louder and clearer as he approaches. It isn't just because he comes near, but mostly because they start shouting: Belle and her father are arguing, getting louder and angrier with every sentence. And they don't notice Mr. Gold approaching.
"No you can't".
"Why not? Give me a reason".
"I don't allow you to work for that man, I'll never allow you", Moe French's voice is firm.
"Papa, please, listen to me...", on the other hand, Isabel sounds a little exasperated, and Gold wonders how ling this quarrel is going on.
"I said no, and that's all".
"Papa, you can't be serious. Is just a job.."
"I forbid you! I will ground you in this house, Isabel". Now Gold can see the two in the little kitchen, each one on one side of the table, leaning towards each other. Moe French is practically shouting in his daughter face.
"You what?", her expression is something between furious and baffled, while she stares at his father
"You heard me, girl, I forbid you to put even a foot in that man 's shop".
"That's utterly absurd, papa. Listen to me, I need to work, we can't live on this shop alone".
"Shut up", Moe barks, "Don't tell me what we can or cannot afford, Isabel. I am your father and I order you not to go near that evil man ever again. This is my house, you are my daughter you will do what I say". Moe French looks at Isabel enraged expression, and he adds, in a firm tone. "You wouldn't dare to defying me, girl..".
"You order me?", her voice trembles with rage, but is clear and loud. "He is the only one in this shitty town who is willing enough to give me a job and you dare to forbid me to accept or even go near him?".
"You. Will. Not. Work. For. Him. Dammit!". Moe French slams his hand hard down on the table and belle jumps in surprise. "That's my last word, Isabel, or.." he trails of, not knowing what to say next. But Isabel is quick with her remark.
"Or what? You will disown me? Kick me out of the house?".
Before the florist can answer, Gold steps in the little kitchen, unable to stay back after hearing these words.
"Well well, if it is not a pretty much heated argument", he says in a matter-of-fact, business-like tone.
Isabel and her father turn around startled by this sudden appearance, and they look at him. Belle cheeks turn beet red, almost crimson. And Gold knows she is mortified, wondering how much he has heard and understood, if he knows that they were, in fact, talking about him and the job he offered the girl. And of course he knows: the job he created for her is the explanation of this father-daughter fight. And his chest aches a little, knowing that his very existence is he only reason the two fight, in this world or the other.
But he doesn't indulge in these thoughts, and stares at the two with an hard gaze. Belle looks down: just a glance at his face is enough to realise that indeed he had heard and understood everything.
"What are you doing here?", Moe asks, frowning
"Good morning to you, Mr. French", Gold tone is scoffing, even when he turns to Isabel, "and to you too, Miss French".
"Good.. Good morning", Isabel gulps, still looking down.
"As for your question, Mr. French, I'm here to collect the rent, as always. Did I ever come here to buy some flowers? I don't think so, and, in fact, I don't have a use for some silly plants and stupid flowers".
Isabel's eyes widen at his words, and all the lovely colour is drained from her face as she lifts her head to look at him, while her father mutters something intelligibly. Gold doesn't take notice, the florist most probably has just cursed him under his breath, and instead he takes a long look around the small, clean kitchen. It is a professional look, an evaluating one. Gold knows the effect this long stare has on his tenants, they become afraid of losing their things, the little valuable or dear they have. And, soon or later, they start shouting, or crying or cursing or begging. He has the power to ruin their life: he knows, they know. And if this Isabel French didn't know yet who he really is, well, now she surely has a taste of his medicine.
Mr. Gold keeps his in voice a low, threatening and oddly educated tone when he talks again.
"May I ask the reason of your quite loud, how to call it..., disagreement?", he smiles, "But I suppose the word fight would be more appropriate".
Isabel starts to speak, and Gold hopes she wouldn't lie, he can't stand the view of his Belle, even this cursed shell of his lost love, lying. But her father stops her raising a hand and says, sternly "It is none of your business".
"Oh, no", Gold smile is vicious, "I do believe it is my business as far as my relationship with your daughter is the very issue". His voice is chilling, layering the word relationship with every possible meaning.
Moe French's hand grabs Isabel arm, yanking her "I will not allow you near him!", he shouts. Gold is startled by the man reaction, he expected the florist to shout at him, not at her, so he is still for a moment before moving forward to help the girl. And that's exactly when she struggles and breaks free, bumping with her shoulder against his outstretched arm and yelling at her father.
"Shut up. I'm 25, and I need a job, and I won't stop just because you order me. It's only me who decide what to do with my life, not you".
She is so fierce, saying almost the same words his Belle said the first time they met, that Gold is taken aback and grasps his cane tightly, knuckles white.
And, like the last time, when he speaks his gaze is fixed on the florist's eyes.
"I think the lady is right. We have a contract, and she came to me in search of a job. Be assured, Mr. French, that I would never have interacted with your daughter otherwise." his tone is full of annoyance, "I don't have the time to spare to keep track of every little puppy in town".
From the corner of his eye, Gold sees Isabel flinch slightly at his words. Or maybe he just imagined her doing so, he thinks, turning on his heels and limping out of the little kitchen. He stops at the door and turns his head to face Moe French, a vicious grin on his face.
"And about not allowing her to step inside my shop, am I to remind you I own this very shop?", Moe's features tensed, and Gold hears a soft gasp from the girl.
"No, I can see you do remember correctly. This very place is mine, and mine are most of the others activities and houses in this town...", he trails off, scrutinising the place once again and carefully avoiding any contact with a certain pair of blue eyes, before adding.
"I will come next week to collect this month's payment, Mr. French. And I think it's about time we discuss the very terms of your rent".
Gold smiles, licking his lips and observing the man's face become paler and paler. He hears Isabel sighs softly "Papa", while the girl's hand reaches for the florist arm. Gold forces himself not to follow the path that from her hand leads to her arm and shoulder and then her neck and her face. She surely wears a disgusted expression, and he certainly doesn't want to see the repulse on her delicate features.
Still, he can't help himself and he adds, "Yes, it is time indeed to rediscuss your rent", while he walks away from the two.
His steps are surprisingly light when he walks across the shop and then out on the street. He can hear the florist cursing him and Belle, no, Isabel, telling her father to stop, to be quiet.
Now he has done it. She knows for sure he is a bastard. And he couldn't care less, he says to himself. It's all for the better: she has seen with her own eyes what a beats her employer-to -be is. This way, she will be best protected form him.
Her employer... maybe, after all this, she will back off. She will never come to his shop and work for him now, right?
That's a relief, and a worry.
Gold knows damn well she needs money, and she needs it bad.
So he starts to think: which string can he pull to make someone hire the girl? And where? Some place suitable, of course, so she will earn her keep and not worry so much about money, expenses, the rent and her father huge debt. He must prevent her doing something foolish like.. he shudders. He knows she is a beautiful girl, and a desperate one: thinking about every possible scenario makes a shiver run down his spine. His Belle bartending, and a bunch of drunkards will hit on her or harass her. Or the strip club, a place always in need of a beauty. But to prevent her form slip down that particular path is easy enough. Mr. Gold, as always, has a hold in that damn place as well. He is walking and listing all the possibilities, good ones and bad ones, when he hears steps following him, and then a voice calling his name. Her voice.
"Mr. Gold! Mr. Gold, Stop, please. Wait!".
She has followed him out of her house, most probably snickering out from the back. She still wears her flip-flops, he observes turning around to face her, and he fervently hopes she wouldn't trip in those damn shoes and fall down on the concrete.
He is sure she will withdrawing, and he braces himself – it stings, this knowledge she is going to refuse a job meant only for her, even if he hoped for this just a minute ago. But, dammit! He has created the job for her, only for her – so he takes a deep breath and says "Yes, Miss French?".
"Please, please, please", she stammers, breathless "don't touch our rent. I'm sorry for my papa... I apologise for the scene you witnessed.. he is just overprotective, and he was caught in the heat of the moment". She gaps, and then coughs, holding out a hand on his arm for support. He just looks at her, in a sort of mute stupor she probably mistakes for rage because suddenly she retrieve the hand and, after a while, she sighs softly and gathers up all her courage.
"I'm sorry. Both for me and for my father. He didn't mean what he said about you. Really, he didn't".
This sentence shakes him, and he can't stop his snicker "Oh, no, Miss French, don't try to fool me. He meant every single word he spoke, and all the words he didn't dare too. But I will share a secret with you: I'm good at my job because I don't give a damn. I don't care what the people think about me. As for the rent, we'll see. Now, dearie", he says, turning around, "I think this conversation is over".
He walks away adding, "See you in town, Miss French, someday".
"On Monday", she replies, softly.
He turns slowly, to face the girl.
"I beg your pardon?".
"See you on Monday, not just "someday", she repeats, looking at him in the eyes.
And he just stares, trying to grasp the meaning beyond these words, because there must be something he missed.
"You remember, Mr. Gold, don't' you?", she smiles, "My job stars on Monday. So, see you on Monday, at your shop".
"I presumed you wouldn't like to work for me, not after...", he gestures vaguely towards her house.
"In that case, I'm sorry to let you know you were wrong, Mr. Gold. And I can see you are not used to that".
Is she mocking him? He doesn't know, and he doesn't care as long as she smiles.
So he smiles, too, in return.
"Indeed I am not", he says, searching for the first time in this brave little thing pieces of his lost Belle. Or even a sparkle of knowledge. How could she be so easy around him if she doesn't remember? Maybe she is just foolish, or maybe just a little innocent girl that was secluded for too long.
But of course she doesn't remember, she is not his Belle, just Isabel French, the cursed, Storybrooke version of the girl he loves. His Belle would remember the beast he was in the Fairy Tale Land, and how he mistreated her. All the pain he inflicted to her, how he hurt her.
But this Isabel French has not strong memories of this cursed place, too. So she doesn't know all the thing this Mr. Gold did during his existence in this world.
He is well aware of that. In this little town whispers and gossip reach even his hears. He knows she doesn't remember much form her childhood or adolescence. She can't remember how she vanished, who abducted her or how the hell she was buried alive in that horrible place, in the basement of the hospital.
He is so overwhelmed he can't possibly talk, so he just nods at the girl, Isabel, and walks away, hearing her say "have a nice week end" and see you on Monday" in a soft voice.