Belle had known for a while that something was up with Nick. It had been obvious from the get-go, just as it had been very clear he didn't want to tell her anything about it. She had decided early on not to pry, but to watch out for any signs indicating that whatever was bothering him was escalating.
His mood got increasingly sour after the food-poisoning, but she could hardly blame him. He'd spent an awful night retching and sweating and hadn't managed to hold anything besides ginger-ale and crackers down for three straight days. He had come out of the episode thin and gaunt, and she had made the effort to take time from her increasingly-busy schedule to spend more time at his flat and prepare him light soups and simple steamed rice dishes until he had gotten better.
She had thought the picnic at the park a lovely off-handed gesture meant to thank her for her patience and attention during his ordeal, so she hadn't really found it odd. And then the little girl had appeared, crying and looking so hopeless and so very sad that ignoring her hadn't really been an option. The look on his face as she had cradled little Susie close had made her head spin. She could see her future in those eyes, and it took her breath away.
It had to be more than their spectacular bout of bad luck, however. Nick was above all a pragmatic man; such trivial bumps in the road would not upset him to such an extent. He was a believer in the idea that men made their own luck, and had a knack for turning unpleasant or negative situations in his favour.
It felt awful not being able to sit him down and force him to confide in her, but she was afraid of giving herself away, and subsequently getting caught up in an emotional moment and blurting out her own little secrets.
The pictures at first hadn't been a shock. Mal had mentioned she would start being photographed more and more after the big announcement, and not only in the conventional places - a function, a cocktail, a charity drive - but whenever she went out in public. The people in charge of PR at Uni Global had been ordered to keep her in the loop constantly, providing her with copies of almost all pictures before they ever made the printed page or the Internet in case there were any she'd like to have...detained. She didn't really want to delve into the details of things, knowing it went beyond offering some money for them. It had been a little disturbing to see mundane moments of her life captured on film. A visit to the stylist, a shared latte with friends, window-shopping down Fifth Ave or even taking the subway to go visit her father (the town car never sitting well with her when going to have lunch with her old man).
She hadn't liked it, but she had borne it rather well, in her opinion. She had gotten used to remembering that the streets were now a public forum, and that she needed to keep her guard up at all times when out in public. She had been tempted, oh so tempted, to let Nicholas' magic touch with the media solve her problem. She knew she had but to utter a word in his ear and all the pictures would stop, and no one would dare even look at her funny ever again.
But that would be the easy way out, and Belle wanted to walk her own path on her own two feet. And Nick (to his credit) had always been rather marvellous at respecting that, even though his instincts in any sort of situation were usually to take charge, to be in control. But she couldn't allow him to do that, nor be insensitive enough to tell him of her problem and then force him to watch from the side-lines as she tried to cope.
Not telling him was a kindness, she repeated over and over again. Even when the pictures had gotten more invasive, or when someone had started e-mailing her some shots - none of which ever made it to the public - that depicted her through the windows of her tiny apartment; as a result, she now kept the curtains drawn at all times. It was part of the deal, a price to pay for the life she wanted to live and the things she wanted to achieve. She couldn't take the good without the bad, and she needed to do this by herself, to prove Mal's faith in her and honour Nick's efforts to let her fly solo. She would conquer this small bump, and meanwhile devote herself to her new position at Uni Global.
Her new position didn't exactly mean more work per se, since Mal had been getting her used to running things by herself ever since James "Isn't his ass delicious?" Hook had appeared in her life. She had checked him over with care before trusting him with Mal, Jefferson's expertise coming in useful for once. Ever since Mal had met him she had spent less and less time in the office, but Belle knew it couldn't have been just the new man in her life making her act this way. This had been in the works a long time before James - he was just icing on the cake. Delicious icing, according to Mal's unwelcomed comments. Spectacular icing with great stamina. The truth was Mal had gotten to the top and had found out she had no desire to shut herself off and dedicate the rest of her life to jealously defending her little patch of land. She loved her company with a passion; it was the child she had never had, her most precious possession, the sum of her life, and she knew what it meant to the thousands upon thousands of people it employed, but she didn't have the drive to give it her all, like she had been doing so far. She was ready to delegate, to take a tiny step back and share the burden, free up enough of her time to live life and, just perhaps, make amends with her past. She had been born in England, but her only fond memories of growing up as the privileged daughter of landowners were of Unicorn, her pet pony. Her parents had been perfect strangers up until the day they had died, and she had left her old country home in the hands of the very capable steward and promptly forgotten about it - until Belle had taken over enough of her responsibilities to allow her the time to reminisce and ponder. She had decided early on to go back, and meeting the perfect English gentleman with complementary dark humour and a rather lovely wicked streak had only made things easier.
Belle was truly happy for Mal, but everything was clouded by the looming threat of the mysterious e-mail photographs that seemed to follow her wherever she went, prompting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It kept her silent when she felt Nick toss and turn during the night, restless and clearly upset. It stilled her hand when she saw him with his head bent, almost slumped against his mahogany desk inside his study, worry lines etched across his face. It made her swallow any objections when he called to let her know he'd be working late in the office and wouldn't be able to join her for dinner.
She wanted to pry. She knew she needed to, as it had gone far enough and he was clearly not up to sharing. But she also knew that she didn't have the strength to deal with it, with whatever seemed to be upsetting him. At any other time she'd have made all the tiny little gestures that seemed so small but made such a difference in people's lives. She felt awful, being reduced to absentminded pecks on the cheek, half-listening to half of what he said, her mind busy tormenting her - less with the new workload waiting for her at Uni, and more with the looming threat that checking her e-mail had become.
When his mood seemed to pick up, she still felt awful, because she was a bit more relieved for herself than she was for him. It made life easier when Nick was in a better mood and she found herself without the strength to care about the original cause of the problem or its apparent solution. He started sleeping soundly through the night again, and she went back to snuggling against him, seeking at night what she couldn't in the daylight: his comfort. Then, all of a sudden, the e-mails stopped. No explanations, no reason. They were gone, like they had never existed and though every bone in her body, every cell in her brain urged her not to simply shove the matter away like it had never happened, to maybe seek help or confide in Jefferson (who was the soul of discretion and the most loyal of friends), but to open up would be to keep the matter fresh, to keep it present. Belle was tired, so very tired. The job change, however welcomed, had taken a toll on her and she found herself mourning the life she'd had, a life of relative anonymity and far less stress. And though she didn't really regret all that her hard work and talent had gotten her, she found herself with no energy left over to be brave.
So Belle did what she would never have recommended anyone else do. She burned all of the pictures, copied the e-mails to a blank DVD and deleted all the original files from her computer, stashing said DVD in the depths of the bottom drawer of her office desk, the one that she always locked before leaving. And, just to be on the safe side, she dodged all of Jefferson's text messages, afraid she'd be too tempted to go back on her decision to let sleeping dogs lie.
A week later, when she got back from an afternoon of meetings with the R&D Department to find a big Dior bag occupying most of her desk she realized she had done the right thing. She smiled, for the first time in weeks, and rolled her eyes when she noticed the note taped to the bag had only once sentence written on it: "The car will pick you up at seven".
"Nick, you silver-tongued devil," she muttered, taking the time to peek into the bag enough to realize the patent leather pumps she had stashed in the closet would be perfect. She took her time freshening up her make-up and styling her hair, feeling giddiness well up inside her, an intoxicating feeling only Nick could produce. A dash or two of perfume and she was ready for Dove (Gold's personal driver), a tall lurch of a man with no facial expressions and the biggest heart in Manhattan. As she expected he did not tell her anything other than how lovely she looked, and since she felt generous and happy enough not to press him for details that could get him all sorts of fired, she slipped into the back seat of the town car without protest. When they arrived at the destination it was too dark to properly recognize anything, but she still let the poor driver follow orders and cover her eyes with a blindfold before escorting her the rest of the way. The cream, slightly rose, stiff fabric of the Dior dress felt cool against her skin, the tulip-shaped skirt flaring around her, making it an easy dress to move in and the heels of her shoes, though impressive, were manageable. She tripped twice, her hulking companion catching her deftly both times before delivering her safely to her destination.
"Ah, the colour looks lovely on you, my dear" Nick's voice, brogue thick and pleasant, cut through the sudden silence and stillness. Belle would have rolled her eyes, but the blindfold was still firmly in place.
"I'm sure it does, Nick, but I'd be able to truly agree with you if I was able to see. Can I take the blindfold off now?"
She felt a shift in the air, and when she inhaled she caught the faint scent of sandalwood and Scotch that she adored. She trembled when she felt the slight, almost phantom touch of the tips of his fingers down her right arm, skimming her waist and then moving up her spine.
"Oh, I don't know, dearie" he said, his voice a caressing murmur, "Having you here now, in a dress I picked out, blind and helpless... Well, it's giving me ideas. Great, wonderful ideas." He paused and she felt his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs drawing circles over her skin. It had been too long, and they had both been so distracted...
What a waste.
"Someone is in a better mood," she teased, not bothering to hide the problem she was having with breathing. She raised a hand, tentatively plunging it into Nick's thick mane of hair, drawing his face closer to her neck. "I missed this. I missed my lion."
She felt his smile against her throat and her skin sang with relief, and whatever stress she had still been harbouring melted away. It had been necessary to distance herself from Nicholas, but right now she couldn't fathom how she had managed to do so.
"You smell like heaven," she felt him nuzzling her and only the certainty that they were in an open, public space kept her from turning around and pouncing on him. She knew he could feel her eagerness radiating off her in waves. "I have this whole night planned out and I thought it was spectacular, and interesting and romantic... Now it just seems long," he sighed against her shoulder, his hands spanning her waist before he kissed the nape of her neck and removed her blindfold. "Still, it'd be a waste not to go through with it now that we're here."
The moment her eyes adjusted she knew where she was, easily recognizing the imposing building in front of her. She turned to look at him, puzzled.
"Well, more than half the members of the Board of Trustees owe me favours, pet. And my donations usually make up at least 5% of the annual budget. I was bound to be entitled to some perks."
She stared at him for a while longer before turning her eyes to the beautiful medieval-style building towering in front of them.
"You got them to open The Cloisters just for us?" she enquired, disbelief lacing her tone. He took her hand and walked her towards the side entrance.
"I got them to do a bit more than that, love," he confessed, sheer pride in his voice as he took her hand and led her inside. The Spartan interior of the building was softly illuminated, the sound system delivering a steady supply of soothing choir music. Belle knew the place like the back of her hand. Though it was a ways from where she lived, she visited Fort Tryon Park and The Cloisters every chance she got. There was a lovely cottage-styled café, The New Leaf, that served amazing hot chocolate and had a great selection of Argentine Merlots, and the Alpine Garden was one of her favourite walks. She'd been pestering Nick forever to come with her but so far he'd always had something better to do.
"We have the whole park to ourselves, as well as dinner waiting for us by the stone fountain you're always talking about. I toyed with the idea of musicians, but I wanted there to be no other people except us."
It was a strange sight: Nicholas Gold looking relaxed and romantic, smiling softly at her. Whatever had been up with him seemed to have been resolved and she felt happiness and relief at the thought. She let him guide her to their secluded little table, admiring the fairy lights scattered around trees and columns, adding to the atmosphere. She wasn't surprised to find her favourite dish, chicken in white wine sauce with rice and mushrooms on the side, accompanied by champagne.
"Whatever you did you're forgiven," she teased as they both sat down, digging into their food with relish. "Though part of me feels I should hold out for more. Maybe a pony."
He laughed, looking younger and happier that she'd ever seen him before. Belle's heart skipped a beat and she felt like she was falling in love with Nick all over again. He took the hand that wasn't holding the fork and brought it up to his lips, kissing it fervently.
"You'll have a veritable herd, if it'd make you happy."
Cutthroat, devil, monster... beast. That's what everyone called him; only the bravest directly to his face, but everyone behind his back. Belle couldn't understand them, though. How could they not see the softness hidden, the gentleness, the utter vulnerability of the man? To her it was plain as day and she had to blink back tears, not wanting to upset him with her silly emotional moment. He was so open, and she didn't want to do anything that'd make him shut down.
They talked about everything and nothing, commenting on the beauty of the place, the books they were reading and the plans for a small weekend escapade as soon as they could be spared by their respective companies. Nick surprised her with natillas for dessert, a Spanish custard dish made with milk, sugar, eggs and vanilla. Then he took her by the hand and asked her to show him her favourite pieces. She led him around, pointing out gobelins, paintings and statues, leaving the rooms that featured the Unicorn Tapestries for last. As they saw each panel she told him the story, pointing out the heavy symbolism in the images. They wound up in front of the last tapestry, the unicorn alive again and in captivity.
"The tapestry before this is incomplete but hints at maidens bringing the unicorn back to life. Though collared and imprisoned the animal doesn't look quite as sad. I like to think that, though the encounter with the hunters has scarred him, the maidens have not only healed him, but given him hope."
Well, as much of a laugh as Mal would get from it, Nick couldn't help but compare himself with the unicorn. He too had felt trapped and had lashed out, and in turn had been given new life in the form of love. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, knowing the perfect time had come. Hopper had told him he would know when he was ready and he'd been right.
"Belle... there's something I need to ask you. That I've wanted to ask you for quite some time..."
The sound of her cell phone caught them both by surprise, the intro to Into the Woods cutting through his speech. She excused herself with a tiny, apologetic smile.
"There's a deal I've been monitoring closely at work and I've got to know if there's any progress. Do you mind?"
He waved her off, wanting her to get take the call so she could then focus her undivided attention on him. On them. Five more minutes wouldn't kill him, if it meant he had Belle forever.
She hurried towards a secluded side-room, one of the many that littered the building. Though Mal had promised she wasn't going to call, Belle knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself if the DreamCorp deal got finalized. Belle could barely believe the day had come when her boss had finally stopped feuding with the Dormers - the founders of the company. She expected Mal had gotten completely drunk and was calling to berate Belle for forcing to end her petty but entertaining squabble.
The voice on the other end of the phone, however, did not have Mal's trademark crispy British accent. It was low, succinct and unknown with a hint of a brogue. It barely let her speak, taking charge from the get go by bringing up her father. Belle tried not to panic, not to let the fear that was creeping up on her show in her voice. The anonymous person went straight to the point, explaining his leverage against her and the price for his cooperation. Though her hands shook violently her words were strong and clear as she requested some time to think it over, which the voice grudgingly granted. She quickly ended the call after that, going on to pull up her contact list and pressing Jefferson's name.
"Jeff... do you remember that problem I had that I talked to you about a while ago?" she couldn't help the tears as they bubbled to the surface. "I think I need help. Big help. I'm scared, Hatter."
Madden might have been almost certifiably insane, but when pressed he took charge with impressive aplomb and calm. It was almost disturbing, how easily he changed his entire demeanour.
"Get to my office right now, Rabbit. This cannot wait another second."
She sniffled out an "Okay" before hanging up, shoving the phone back into her pocket before she dropped it. The ornate bathroom mirror let her know what a mess her make-up had become from the tears and she dabbed at the runny mascara with a wet paper towel until it became clear that the damage was not going away without remover.
She couldn't go back to Nick like that. He'd ask her what was wrong and she'd blurt it out. This was her problem, not his. He was so happy, after being so troubled for so long, that it'd be selfish of her to burden him so. Besides - and this she admitted with a hint of shame - she'd hate herself and him if she ran to him with her problem and he fixed it for her. In her mind it'd leave them on unequal footing; it would tip the balance of their relationship in his favour. Nick had always had more than her, ever since they'd started dating, and she hadn't much cared. She could hardly blame the man for his success, so she had decided that, as long as there were certain rules in place, a healthy relationship was more than possible.
Now everything inside her told her that she needed to do this alone, or she'd resent Nick forever for taking care of it for her. She needed to deal with it on her own. Then they could go back to being happy and carefree. Just one last thing.
She quietly slipped to the side-entrance of the Cloisters and requested one of the employees there to hand her her coat and purse. It wasn't too late to take the subway, and it would be the fastest way to get to Madden's place. She asked that they give her a ten minute head start and then notify Gold that she'd had a work emergency and had had to rush out. They looked at her funny (of course they did) but thankfully no one objected, especially after seeing her red eyes.
She hung up on him four times before she arrived at Madden's place. He had a cup of tea ready for her as well as a hug and a disapproving look.
"You've been keeping things from me, Rabbit. Let's see what the damage is, shall we?"
When the waitress had timidly approached him, telling him Belle had left for a work emergency, he had been convinced the incompetent chit didn't know what she was talking about. Belle wouldn't have ran off without telling him, particularly when it was patently clear that it was a special night. He was half-convinced she knew what he was up to, being so profoundly obvious, especially in light of the last thing he'd said before the call had interrupted them. So he looked everywhere, walked up and down the bloody building until his leg throbbed and he had to stop, sit and rethink. Dumbfounded he called her cell phone over and over, finally leaving her several messages, each sounding more and more unhinged. In a final act of fury, he smashed the plates and glasses they had used minutes ago, feeling an odd mixture of fear and anger grip him.
She didn't want to marry him. She must have known he was going to propose, being so pathetically clear, and, in a panic, had left him like some stupid idiot in the middle of a deserted museum. His careful plan, his grand gesture now seemed little more than mocking evidence of the fool he was making of himself, thinking Belle would ever want to tie herself to him forever. He'd been such an idiot, worrying about food-poisoning and missing brats, confiding in fucking Charmont and that spineless Hopper, arranging... arranging a humiliation, it seemed.
His chauffer, not one of the two usual ones but a newbie who had gotten stuck with him for the evening, had the good sense not to talk to him at all, nor question why he demanded he stop at a liquor store on the way home. There wasn't enough Johnnie Walker in the penthouse to help him cope, he knew. Barely enough at the store, really. He tried calling her again, but every time he got her voice mail he got angrier and angrier.
He forced himself to hold it together until he was safely in his penthouse, away from prying eyes desirous to spy on him at his weakest. He had thought familiar ground would help calm him down a bit. He hadn't factored into the equation just how full of Belle his apartment was. Everywhere he looked, things - ordinary things - mocked him. Her books, the extra laptop he'd purchased for her, a cream-coloured scarf forgotten on the back of a dining-room chair. His home was full of Belle, almost to the brim, except that she wasn't there. She'd walked away from him, from what he'd been trying to offer her. Forever.
He poured himself a hefty dose of whiskey before grabbing the offending scarf and tossing it somewhere where it was not as visible. That served little purpose, since there was plenty of Belle left in the open - taunting him. It took half a bottle to decide to call for empty cardboard boxes to be delivered to him. They appeared without delay and, forgoing the glass altogether, Nicholas took a big swig of the drink before grabbing the nearest thing that reminded him of Belle (a book of course) and tossing it into one of the empty boxes. It took most of the night to tear through every single room.
He had to hand it to her. No one had ever played him like that, making him let his guard down enough to... He attacked their walk-in closet, removing every bit of clothing that wasn't his and, after some thought, the clothes that were his but that she liked to wear. She was very partial to his light-blue and white shirts, which he never wore, and some of his cashmere sweaters would forever smell like her, no matter how many times he sent them to be washed.
When he was done he locked everything up in one of his two guests rooms, wanting to simply get it out of his sight. Maybe... maybe if she really apologized, maybe if she begged for his forgiveness, things could still work out. If she humiliated herself enough perhaps he could get over his own mortification. Pretend that it hadn't happened, that he'd never meant to propose to her and she'd never indirectly rejected him. It could work. It had to work.
In the meant time, there was plenty of Johnnie Walker left.
Once she had given everything to Madden he got down to work. Most of said work consisted of phone-calls and texts to various informers. He had connections in every sphere of law enforcement, from the police to the FBI, CIA and Interpol. He had friends in every government agency, spies in the dirtiest slums and richest clubs. He contacted a trusted group of hackers, known online as the Merry Men, able to uncover anything going on online for a price. It was rumoured most of the money they made stealing secrets from the rich went into the online charity "Nottingham Children's Fund", but no one could prove it. Madden liked them because he could get behind their twisted moral code.
After they exhausted every possible source of information, all they could do was wait. Jefferson herded Belle to his car, deciding he couldn't possibly drop her off at her lonely apartment in the state she was in. When she refused adamantly to be taken to Gold's penthouse or to any of the girl's addresses (it seemed that Emma was on duty, Ruby was with that twitchy shrink and Mary Margaret was visiting her seven distant cousins) he drove home. Grace was thrilled to see Belle and immediately understood she was in a fragile mental state. He watched proudly as his little ray of sunshine took care of the older woman, fetching her one of his old college shirts and some shorts to change into and offering her a glass of warm milk, before urging her to sit with her and watch a Simpsons marathon in the living-room. It seemed to be what little Rabbit needed at the moment, judging by the way she seemed to relax marginally.
Saturday morning he let her sleep in; no sense waking her up only to remind her of the mess she was in without having discovered any lead that could help her get out of it. He was drinking his third cup of tea when the message arrived: the e-mails had been traced back to a K. Jones, a minor thug no doubt, and his bank statement had revealed a hefty sum being deposited about a week or so before the harassment begun. Hood had managed to track the slippery trail of the money to an account in the Cayman Islands that, rumour had it, belonged to an R. Mills.
Fucking Regina.
"Oh, gotta love the Queen of Hearts." He, like many others, had gotten thoroughly screwed by Regina back in the day. He had gotten over it, but had never forgotten it. He'd learned never to turn his back on her. He surmised Belle was just a way to get to Gold. He supposed Regina had counted on Belle going to Nick for help when the harassment started, and when she hadn't, she had thought to up the stakes by digging into the girl's past. She was clean, of course, but her father... Well, fathers often made mistakes that their children wound up paying for.
He sent a wire transfer to thank Robin for his generous contribution, taking care not to hold out on the zeros. As Uni Global's attorney on retainer he'd get all the expenses taken care of. With the new information he had he went to his guest-room to rouse Belle. She didn't look like she'd slept well and had forgotten to remove her make-up.
"You've got racoon eyes, Rabbit," he informed her seriously, handing her a cup of tea with honey. After all the crying she'd done yesterday she was bound to have a sore throat. She took it gratefully taking a few sips before getting out of bed. Her whole posture spoke of her misery, prompting the Hatter to take the cup from her, set it in the nightstand and enveloped the small woman in a hug. She broke down then, crying into his shoulder, babbling about everything and nothing, mostly about Nick and how she wished she could tell him.
"He'd be most helpful, Rabbit. Maybe it's time we fill him in." He suggested softly, knowing her answer before she spoke. She shook her head, disentangling herself from him wipe her eyes.
"No. He can't know. I forbid you to tell him. Jeff, I mean it."
The lawyer frowned but put his hands up in surrender, motioning for her to follow him into the kitchen for breakfast. They spent the entire morning working on what Regina knew, and the evidence she had to prove it. Apparently some seven years ago, Belle's father - who had at the time been working for an insurance company - embezzled money from it. Belle had known that he had been struggling with accumulated debt from her mother's lengthy hospital stay before her death, but she'd never thought it was that bad. No one had found out, apparently, but Regina (being an SEC agent) had managed to get her hands into some very compromising documents that would guarantee conviction.
"What about the statute of limitations? Hasn't it ran out?"
"Not if they apply the discovery rule, which they tend to do in New York. Regina can manage to get this to trial easily and, unless we want to try and steal the evidence from her, there's only one thing that can be done."
"I won't pay her. Not even if she'd asked for just money and not shares of Imp, Inc. She's not getting a cent, Hatter."
Belle sounded strong, hard, with an edge Madden seldom heard. He knew there was steel inside his Rabbit, but still it pained him to see her usual softness dashed away. To lighten up the atmosphere, he took out his infamous top hat and perched it atop his head at a jaunty angle. He smiled his crazy smile to add a bit of eccentricity.
"No, little Rabbit. What we can do is... fight fire with fire. Regina is an old dog, and she's had her hands dirty for years. I'm sure your dad's... creative accounting is nothing compared to half the things the Queen of Hearts has pulled. It's only a matter of finding the right type of leverage, and I've got some creative ideas about where to start."
His boyish enthusiasm settled her nerves a bit. She knew she was in good hands, Jefferson might be certifiably insane but he was also very, very good at what he did. She stayed for tea but the more time went by the more obvious it was that she was anxious to be somewhere else. She could do nothing to help Jefferson and she was itching to patch things up with Nick. She had seen he'd left her a number of voicemails, of which she'd heard the first two, so she knew he must be worried, as well as more than a little bit upset.
She swung by her apartment to shower and change, feeling like her feet were made of lead. Maybe a quiet night in with Nick, cooking him his favourite meal and watching an old WWII movie would help. He deserved a little pampering; she'd been neglecting him so.
She greeted the doorman and the two security men around with a smile, getting into the elevator and pressing for the penthouse. On the way up she tried to push her worries to the back of her mind. She needed to appear happy and carefree or Nick would know something was up. When she reached the apartment it was eerily dark and silent. The doorman hadn't mentioned Nick going out, like he did whenever she stopped by and he wasn't there, so she knew he was at home. She searched the rooms in darkness, trying to pinpoint where he was. Finally she saw a flicker of something coming from the studio and stumbled inside. The light came from a lit cigarette that seemed suspended in mid-air. When she found the switched and turned the lights on she saw Nick perched on his Bergere armchair, something that looked more like a throne than like regular furniture. He was sans jacket and vest, his deep blue shirt unbuttoned and his tied undone. She could tell by his hooded eyes and body posture that he'd been drinking, but he appeared mostly sober, or at least seemed to have his wits about him.
"Nick, what are you doing in the dark?"
She shed her coat and scarf, looking around. Somehow the room seemed strange.
"You don't get to ask that, dearie. Not anymore."
She looked at him oddly, but tried to smile apologetically and pretend she couldn't notice the tension that hung around the room like thick cloud.
"I'm so sorry I had to leave in a hurry the other night, Nick. Everything was going perfect and if I could've stayed I would've, but..."
"Where were you last night?"
His voice was slightly mocking, like he was asking a trick question... which he was.
"I told you, there was an emergency at work and I..."
"Wrong answer, dearie! I checked, called your office over and over when you wouldn't pick up on your cell. Want to try again?"
He was smiling, as if he found the whole situation incredibly amusing. He looked... almost impish, with an underlying layer of malice that she'd seldom seen before. There was something... beastly about him.
"I wasn't at work, I went to Jefferson's office. The problem needed his legal help. Then I went to his home because it was getting late and wound up staying the night."
Surely he wouldn't find it objectionable. Though he professed to detest the Hatter she knew he had grudging respect for the man.
"I called Mal, ready to tell her off for not being able to hold the fucking fort for one day without you. She told me in very colourful language that there was no emergency, or else she'd have known. Seemed genuinely surprised, not to mention pissed off. Told me where to shove my phone if I ever thought of calling her again."
He let out a dry, awful laugh that repelled her. She couldn't tell him the truth so she grabbed onto what she knew to be a lie and threw it in his face.
"What are you suggesting? That we were having a great time yesterday and suddenly Jefferson called and I left you to... have sex with him or something? And all because you planned a nice romantic dinner and something important came up and I had to leave?" She thought to mention that Grace had been at home and two junior partners had been working late at the firm, but she didn't need to offer him tangible proof of her fidelity for him to believe her. She was past having to earn his trust. "Do you realize how idiotic that sounds? Not to mention insulting? If that's really what you think Nick then fuck you."
She went to grab her laptop, deciding it was better to let him stew on things, to allow his to come to the conclusion that he'd been an utter ass and needed to apologize, but the computer wasn't were she'd left it. None of her books were either. She marched out of the study and flipped on the many lights of the living-room. Nothing of hers was visible anywhere. Her things were just... gone.
"Where's my stuff?" She turned around to see that Nick had followed her into the living-room, his gait a little bit unsteady. Outwardly he seemed like the picture of calm, serene and stoic as he regarded her. His eyes, however, betrayed him. She could see the anger in them, the hurt and betrayal, the need to lash out and couldn't understand it.
"It's in one of the guest rooms, packed so you can take it whenever it's convenient to you."
He might as well have hit her. Belle went from affronted and furious to numb and panicky in a second, eyes widening and breath leaving her lungs. For a moment she thought she might need to sit down, but stubbornness kept her up, her back ramrod straight.
"Excuse me? Nick, what the Hell is going on?"
He smiled that shark-smile at her, the one he usually reserved for people he wanted to intimidate or to keep at bay. She flinched but refused to show any reaction besides that, her eyes boring into his, daring him to explain himself. She wasn't about to back down, to cower just because he wished to play the beast.
"Well, dearie, I can take a hint. Never let it be said that Nicholas Gold clings to the unwilling. I'm a big man, there's no need for pretence or pussyfooting. I can see when a relationship is over just as well as any other idiot. You've been withdrawn for weeks now, pushing me away, shutting me out. Being secretive, lying. Can't say I didn't see it coming. You're now successful on top of beautiful, it was only a matter of time before you realized you could do better. Someone closer to your age, with less baggage and more charm. Someone more worthy."
The words were both a compliment and an insult. At any other time she'd have been able to handle things better, to be a voice of reason. But she was scared, and tired, and all her energy was going into not throwing herself into Nick's arms and telling him everything that was worrying her so he could make things better. No. She would be strong. She would handle things herself, decide her own fate. She had to. She marched up to the guest room he'd pointed out, opening the door to see that, indeed, all of her things were neatly stacked in there, from clothes and shoes to books and toiletries. She ran a hand through her hair, refusing to give in to panic even though she was sorely tempted.
"You're blowing this out of proportion. I apologized, Nick, and we are going through a rough patch, nothing to warrant this." She gestured wildly to her piles of things, felling her eyes water against her will. For a moment it looked like she'd gotten through to him. Doubt flashed across his eyes and his posture became hesitant. A second later he was back to being made of stone, unyielding.
"What are we supposed to do, then? Pretend we want the same things when we don't? Make it look like we're both invested equally on this relationship when it's quite clear you've moved on? That you don't have time for me anymore even though I've always bent over backwards to accommodate you, even back when you were a mere assistant and I was CEO of a fucking international corporation?" He was shouting, clutching his cane like he was fighting the urge to smash it against the nearest breakable object. "Are we meant to skip over the fact that you've been hiding something from months and that it involves overnight meetings with Jefferson for non-existent work problems?!"
Had she been a bit less angry she might have become scared. A part of her understood that he was in pain and lashing out, that he was insecure and more fragile than anyone knew and it was that insecurity, not any distrust of her that was prompting him to jump to stupid conclusions. But another part of her, a more vocal part, felt she hadn't done anything to warrant his doubt. She didn't have to constantly prove herself to him just because he'd been hurt in the past. Belle was not about to act like he was the only one allowed to have problems in their relationship, to be damaged. She was going through a hard time and, honestly, it should've been obvious to him.
"Enough! Enough with Jefferson, Nick, I don't have to prove to you that I'm not sleeping around, you should know it already. You should trust me, like I trust you!"
She was crying now, out of anger or misery she didn't know. She was scared and tired and Nick was supposed to be there for her, even if she wouldn't tell him what was going on. He was supposed to know her enough to trust her, to never even think she might be cheating on him. At the sight of her tears he stilled, once again looking unsure and he made a motion to approach her before he remembered they were fighting and he wasn't supposed to comfort her. It seemed to pain him, the distance between them when she was visibly faltering before him and he voice gentled when he pleaded to her:
"Just tell me the truth, Belle. Tell me and I'll apologize. I'll fucking grovel."
He looked years older, and as exhausted as she was. And suddenly the urge to tell him was almost overpowering and Belle had to dig her nails into her arms and bite her tongue to keep silent. He was being unfair, asking her to pay a price for his trust. She was not about to do penance for what other people, other women, had done to him. She walked silently into the guest-room, fishing through her belongings to locate the things she might need right away, and a tote bag to stuff them in. She avoided his eyes as she slipped past him and into the study, to don her coat and get her purse. When she got to the main door he was standing beside it, looking a bit desperate.
"Belle... Belle, just tell me. I don't want to believe the worst but... If you tell me I'll believe you, I swear I will."
It hurt to see him like that, but Belle couldn't find it in her heart to be charitable. He'd hurt her, he deserved what he got. She didn't.
"I'll arrange for someone to help me move the rest of my things out. I'll let you know in advance in case you don't want to be here when that happens."
Her voice was dead, and it almost sounded foreign to her ears. She watched him conceal his emotions behind a mask, harden in front of her at her refusal to yield, to give him what he needed to be secure in her love for him.
"I see. Good bye then, dearie."
Somehow she got downstairs, and the doorman hailed a cab for her. It seemed like the drive was endless but at last she found herself walking towards her apartment door, locking herself inside her home with a sigh. She slumped against the nearest wall, sliding down to curl up on a ball. She wanted to rest for a second, to think and feel nothing, catch her breath. A feverish knock on the door disrupted her peace seconds later, however, and Belle yanked the door open, ready to lash out at whoever was bothering her. She came face to face with an ecstatic Jefferson, top hat and all, with his arms around Mary Margaret's shoulders. The secretary seemed meek and tense but smiled at Belle all the same.
"Rabbit, Rabbit, you gotta hear this. I've uncovered the motherload. Snow White here has the most fascinating story to tell about the Queen of Hearts. You gotta listen to it, Rabbit!"
He was practically bouncing on the spot, beaming and holding onto the raven-haired woman like he was keeping her prisoner. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked much calmer, but also very reluctant.
"Did I ever tell you that Regina Mills used to be my step-mother?"
A/N: I want to make it very clear that, yes, Belle and Nick and being idiots, Nick more than Belle. He's being rash and a bit of a Drama Queen, but I felt it was quite in character. A man with SUCH insecurities tries to propose 4 times and on the fourth one the potential bride just up and leaves? Harsh, even if Belle, poor her, didn't know she was being proposed to.
He's still an ass, though.
I also wanted to apologize for taking so long! And for not answering the people who asked about whether this story was going to be finished, which it totally is. Sometimes I have problems with my FF. Net account, but in my Tumblr I'm much easier to reach so I'd recommend contacting me through there. Thanks so much for your patient and I promise to not take so long with the last chapter!