A/N: How do you think Gold will take the news of his sudden demise?

Saturday Afternoon

"You told her what?" Gold looked up from the cup of tea Miss French was pouring and stared at her through the wisps of steam. The hot, damp air made tiny tendrils of chestnut hair cling to her dewy skin.

"I told her you died," she repeated, calm as you please. She set the filled teacup at his elbow. "Milk?"

"A splash," he heard himself reply.

"Sugar?" She nudged a flowered porcelain bowl in his direction and passed him a dainty spoon.

He dumped in four spoonsful of raw sugar and stirred with the ridiculously tiny spoon. He took an experimental sip. Orange peel and vanilla. It was delicious, but he wasn't about to admit it to this strange, ethereal creature who had accosted him in his own home.

He'd been too far away from Zelena and Miss French to make out their conversation, but his neighbor had said something to send the harpy scurrying away. A sharp wail reminiscent of a wounded seal had rung out, and he'd observed Zelena fleeing Belle's porch, her hair a red streak as she ran across the grass. She ducked into her car, and drove away, the engine screeching as she rounded the corner.

Crisis averted, he'd unlocked the back door and gone inside to fix himself dinner, then Belle barged in behind him shouting his name at the top of her lungs. "You have to come with me! We have to hide you!" She had turned off the stove and slammed the refrigerator door closed, clasping both his hands in a tight grip. Flabbergasted by her urgency and the outline of her breasts in a soaked tank top, he abandoned his leftover pot roast, grabbed his cane, and followed.

Now they were sitting her house in a cozy white and yellow kitchen, where she'd informed him that he was a dead man walking.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now, Miss French?"

Belle stood at the counter and blew on her tea, watching him above the rim with guileless blue eyes. "Fake it?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, pretend. If you're already dead, she can't kill you herself."

"You think she wants to kill me." Gold ground the butt of his cane into the white linoleum while Belle puttered around the kitchen, gathering plates, napkins, and utensils. She was being completely nonchalant about the entire situation, as if she hadn't been the one to get him into this ridiculous mess. From somewhere she produced a cake, the smell of ripe peaches, cinnamon and burnt sugar perfuming the small kitchenette. His mouth watered against his will.

"She had a gun!"

He banged his cane on the floor. "So does half the population of the state of Maine. The town florist has a gun!"

"Well, you don't have to shout at me." She set a piece of cake down next to his teacup. "I thought you had a problem. I was simply making it go away for you."

"Faking my death." He waved a mocking hand. "Like it's really so bloody simple."

She blinked her long dark lashes. "You wanted me to get rid of Zelena. Isn't that what you were begging me to do when you ran away to hide behind your house? I was doing you a favor."

Indignant, he grunted. "I did not run away. And announcing my death to the town blabbermouth isn't on an equal plane with dropping off a plate of sugar cookies, dearie." Disgusted, he pushed the cake away.

"I'm so sorry. I was…trying…I was being neighborly," she said, hands outstretched. "I thought I was doing the right thing! Would you have rather I said we were dating?"

"Dating?" Gold sputtered, choking on his tea. "God, no."

"Maybe I should have let her see you, then." Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared in her pale face. "She's already buried three husbands, do you want to be number four?"

He scoffed. "Hades is next in line to marry Ms. Kelly. He follows her around like a stray."

"Whatever." Belle crossed her arms and looked away, tapping her small foot on the floor.

He squirmed in perverse fascination as she worked herself up to a full boil. Without even trying, he'd made his annoyingly cheerful little neighbor angry.

During the three years since she'd come to Storybrooke as the resident librarian and bought the house next door, he'd lost count of her spirited attempts to engage him. A blueberry crumble left on his porch. An invitation to join her for coffee penned in a loopy, elegant script on crisp blue stationery. The offer of seeds called across the wrought iron fence on the rare occasion he was outside in the yard. The only overtures he ever accepted were the sweets, and he never offered her anything in return except for a washed plate.

She was a pretty little thing and his monstrous sweet tooth adored her baked goods, but he wanted nothing more. He preferred his quiet, uncomplicated, womanless life.

"There's a great book at the library on pseudocide," she offered, interrupting his thoughts.

"I have Amazon Prime." He forked a bite of cake.

"We're on something of a time constraint and ordering a book on how to fake your death is a giveaway. Zelena is on her way to the sheriff's station now and will be tracking every move you try to make."

Gold pursed his lips, then took another bite of cake. He avoided the public library like the pestilence. Libraries, he reasoned, were for children and poor people. And if he went to the library he might have to talk to people. He was a self-proclaimed loner, and moving between his home and his shop with the occasional lunch at Granny's suited him fine. His home library boasted an extensive collection of literature, and he was flush enough to order anything that struck his fancy. Thanks to Miss French, however, his days of writing checks and using credit cards were over.

He went for another bite of coffee cake, but his fork met porcelain. He'd devoured the entire square. He looked accusingly at the empty plate, then at his neighbor, and cursed himself again for his terrible judgment. Now he was stress eating and it was all her damn fault. He should get up and leave, but Belle was staring at him with those bright, sympathetic eyes, as though Zelena was waiting outside with a Saturday Night Special, ready to end him the moment he crossed the threshold.

"Would you like another piece of cake?"

"No!"

"Faking your death doesn't have to be so bad, you know," Belle's voice was light, as though she was recommending a new diet plan instead of ruining his life. "It works for female dragonflies. They—whoosh—drop out of the sky and then pretend to be dead to escape being coerced for sex. They lay motionless on their backs until the male gives up, and then they go about their lives once more." She smiled. "I read it last month in New Scientist."

He ignored her coaxing smile and looked away. "Of course you did."

"But she—"

He held up a hand in protest and moved to rise from the table. "I don't want to hear anything more."

"I see." She smirked at her teacup. "You don't want to risk finding out what she has planned for you."

"Excuse me?" He smirked right back at her and pushed back his chair. The little minx was trying to trick him into going along with her charade, but no one outsmarted the great outsmarter. Contracts and loopholes were what he lived for.

"It's just rather ironic, isn't it? You don't want to admit you're afraid of her, yet you're angry with me for helping you."

"You think I'm afraid of Zelena Kelly?" He bristled. "On the contrary, Miss French, the only thing that frightens me about this entire scenario is that I would kill her myself and wind up in the state penitentiary." He was pleased by the stunned look on her face. "Yes, that's right. With my bare hands. Choke the life right out of her."

"So do it," Belle dared, her azure eyes as wide as the sea, her breath quickening. "Threaten her."

He laughed, low and menacing. "You still don't get it, do you? Women like Ms. Kelly thrive on that kind of sick chase. It would only intrigue her more." He rose and walked to the kitchen doorway. "Thank you for a most entertaining afternoon. I'll see myself out."

"Wait!" She scrambled toward him and laid a hand on his arm. "You should think this through. Zelena is unpredictable. She won't give up until she gets what she wants—whether that's you at the altar or in a casket. And then there's me...she thinks I caused your death and she wants revenge. Yes, it was a reckless decision to tell her you were dead, but the way I see it, both our problems can be solved if we keep up the charade. Unless I'm wrong—" she paused—"and you are afraid."

The challenge hung in the warm, sugar-scented air. His clever little neighbor had twisted the situation, transforming him into the victim and presenting a fait accompli in one fell swoop. Few people surprised him and he was amused by her efforts—enough to see how far she was willing to go. "I'm listening."

The doorbell rang before she could speak again.

"Hurry! Hide! It could be Zelena!"

He rolled his eyes and gestured at the tiny kitchen. "Where do you suggest I go?"

"I don't know, be creative. Oh, I know! Squeeze into the pantry!" She looked at the front door. "I'll see who it is and get rid of them."

xoxo

Belle tried to keep her steps calm and slow as she moved to the door, but she could still feel the sensation of Gold's hand in hers as she'd swept him out of his house and into hers, his palm cool and firm. His spicy-sweet scent of cardamom and bergamot was making her lightheaded in the small, warm kitchen, and she was thankful for an excuse to answer the door and get those haughty, knowing eyes off of her. He was compact and wiry, only a few inches taller than herself, but he seemed larger than life in her small house.

Every time Gold was anywhere near her vicinity, she turned into a sweaty, nervous mass of feelings—anxious to please him, yet always falling short. She had a pathetic crush on a man who scarcely acknowledged her existence.

But for once, he needed her.

Belle peeked through the keyhole and thank goodness, it was only Jefferson standing on the porch. If it had been anyone else, she would ignore the visitor, but Jeff was her best friend. Her car was in the driveway and if he knew she was home he would stand there, pounding and calling her cell phone, until she relented. She darted a glance toward the closed pantry, and opened the front door.

"Belle, good afternoon." Jefferson tipped a straw-colored fedora in her direction.

"Hey, Jeff."

"'Hey Jeff?' What kind of sour greeting is that?" he complained. "Where's my kiss?"

"Hello, Jefferson." Belle stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "What can I do for my dearest friend?"

"That's better." Appeased, he grinned. "Believe it or not, this isn't a social call, ma chérie. I'm here on official police business." He flashed a sheriff's badge at her.

"Impressive. You're acting sheriff?"

"Don't sound so surprised." He shook a finger. "Emma left this morning on a trip to the Big Apple and she left me in charge."

"And what sent Emma to New York City?"

"Online dating rendezvous. She's been seeing some Wall Street stockbroker and they're making it official." Jefferson waggled his eyebrows, moving toward the kitchen before Belle could stop him. "Do I smell peach cake and tea?"

"Yes, but I thought you were here on business?" Belle asked, wondering if Zelena had made good on her threat to report Gold's death to the station.

"Oh, that's right." Jefferson walked to the stove and cut himself a large square of cake and took a bite. "There's been a potential robbery in the neighborhood. An antique necklace was reported stolen. Knew it was your day off, so I thought I'd check in with you." He licked cake crumbs off his fingers. "Seen anything suspicious?"

"Not that I can think of, but thanks for stopping by. I was about to take a long soak in the tub. Can I wrap up some cake for you to go?" She grabbed Jefferson's elbow and tried to steer him toward the door.

He glanced at the table where Gold's empty cake plate and cooling cup of tea remained. "There's nothing you want to talk to me about?"

"Um, no?"

"Two cups of tea? Darling, have you taken a lover without telling me?" Jefferson's wink was lascivious.

"Of course not." Belle felt her cheeks heat. "I was just extra thirsty is all."

"Too bad." Jefferson ambled to the table and selected Gold's cup, then took a sip and grimaced. "Wow, you're suddenly taking your tea with a lot of sugar. When did that start?"

"It's this new black orange pekoe," Belle said. "Bitter. I think it's quite bitter. I was considering trying it iced since it's summer but don't you think it's bitter?" She gulped from her own cup, scorching her tongue, and made a face. God, she was babbling like an idiot.

"Too bad." Jefferson frowned in disappointment. "I'd hoped Gold had finally taken the hint that you're desperately in love with him."

She bit her lip and shook her head wildly, begging Jefferson with her eyes to please stop talking. No doubt Gold could hear every syllable of his blabbering from the pantry.

"I mean, how many cakes and cookies can you bake for a man before he realizes you're interested?"

"I don't…I'm not…"

"Yes, you do and you are." He cut himself another piece of cake. "You want him and that tight little backside of his. You have for ages. It's written all over your face, ma chérie."

Belle covered her blazing face with her hands. No, Gold wasn't dead. She was the one dying and she was dead and she was going to stay dead forever.

Jefferson narrowed his eyes. "You're lying to me. I can tell because you do that sexy thing where you bite your lip. It's very distracting."

Belle pressed her lips together. Great. Now Gold thought she was a crazed, lovesick stalker, too.

"Awww, ma chérie, don't stop." Jefferson grinned and took another sip out of Gold's teacup. "You were saying?"

"But it's not like…I'm not Zelena!" she cried.

Jefferson squinted. "Zelena Kelly? Who said anything about her?"

"Well, she was here earlier and I…"

"Belle, if you're going to help Gold fake his death, you'd better get your story straight." He cupped his hands into a makeshift megaphone and turned toward the pantry. "Gold, I can smell the onions you ate at lunch today; you can come out now!"

"How did you find out already?" Belle asked, crestfallen. Gold ducked out of the pantry brushing flour off his lapels, and Belle winced, chancing a peek at his face. How much of Jefferson's announcement about her ridiculous crush had Gold actually heard?

Jefferson hooted. "I heard it from Zelena, who came running into the station to demand I – and I quote – 'Arrest that horrible spinster Beth who banned me from the library. She murdered poor Mr. Gold this morning!'" He mimicked her squawking.

"And what did you say?" Gold asked.

"I told her Belle was divorced so could no longer qualify as a spinster." He rubbed his cheek. "I guess that wasn't the right response, because she slapped me and stormed out."

"Oh." Belle slid her eyes toward Gold to gauge his reaction to the news of her failed marriage, but his blank expression revealed nothing.

xoxo

Gold sighed and brushed more flour off his suit, his ankle cramped from stuffing himself into Belle's pantry and his head spinning from Jefferson's claims of Belle's undying love and devotion. His neighbor was in love with him? Could it be true? He didn't want to think about it. What he did want to think about was getting the hell out of here.

"Can I go home now?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Honestly, Belle, you're an abysmal liar—the worst I know." Jefferson continued to babble as though he hadn't entered the room. "It's a miracle Zelena believed a single word you said."

"What was I supposed to do? She had a file, some bobby pins, and a gun! I saw her trying to break into Gold's house!"

"Proves nothing."

"Ha! That's what I told her," Gold said, shooting Belle an accusing glare.

"An eye witness of an attempted breaking and entering is proof. You said something had been stolen. Jewelry. Zelena had a pricey piece around her neck today—a massive emerald." Belle crossed her arms. "Can't you just arrest her?"

"Not without probable cause." Jefferson sniffed.

"See that on one of your television crime dramas?" Gold asked. "On one point I agree with Miss French: I can't believe Emma Swan left you in charge."

"This is Mayberry, freakin' Maine, Gold. Nothing ever happens here. Less than nothing. Until now. But Belle has the right idea…faking your death is a sound plan."

"Are you crazy?" Gold asked.

"My sanity is beside the point. Just give this arrangement a few days, till I can figure out what Zelena's up to." Jefferson locked eyes with him over Belle's head, humor glinting in his friend's murky grey depths. "Besides, if you don't cooperate, I'll have to arrest you for fraud."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Gold snarled.

"Word's already made it around town about your untimely demise, and since I see you are very much alive…" Jefferson tapped the pair of handcuffs hanging at his belt.

"Blame her!" Gold pointed at Belle. "She's the one who started this!"

"I was being neighborly!" Belle roared.

"Now, Gold, don't be hasty. Stay here with the nice young lady," Jefferson urged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "She's cute as a button. A terrible liar, but that's what you've got me for. You've been griping for months about wanting a respite from all the Storybrooke busybodies."

"It's not everyone," Gold retorted. "Just Zelena. She's telling everyone she slept with me. I wouldn't take her to bed if she were the last woman on the planet and the propagation of the species was dependent on my efforts alone."

"Thank God!" Belle turned tomato red. "I mean, uh, not like I care. You can sleep with anyone you want."

"Thank you for your permission," Gold told her dryly.

"So give the bitch something else to talk about. She loves to play the grieving widow. Had plenty of practice." Jefferson chuckled. "Stay here with Belle. I'll corroborate your death in town. Think of it as a nice, long holiday weekend."

The faintest prickle ran over Gold's neck. He reached up to brush it away. Holiday indeed. Certainly he didn't like the idea of staying with Miss French. Not one bit. He glanced around the untidy kitchen. The place was small and messy and being the houseguest of this wishy-washy, sweet and sunny manipulator was not his idea of a vacation. If he was going to lock himself up in a house, he wanted it to be his own.

"But my things…" He whined, wanting his suits and his aftershave and all the comforts of home. He cast a longing look out the window at the spacious Victorian; he was maybe twenty feet to freedom, if only he could outrun Jefferson.

"I'll bring you a suitcase and a garment bag with all your fancy duds. You can't go home. Crime scene and all. It's taped off. Law enforcement only." Jefferson patted his shiny badge.

"Come on, Mr. Gold." Belle's small hand squeezed his forearm. " Jefferson's your friend and—"

"My ex-friend is the worst person I've ever met," he growled, jerking out of her gentle grip. "And my nosy neighbor is running a close second. When I get out of this mess, I'm doubling the rent of every tenant in town and telling them you two are responsible!"

"We'll both feel so much better if you stay here where Zelena can't hurt you. And who knows? It might be fun," she said, choosing to ignore his tantrum.

Gold clenched his fists. Must she be so damned cheerful all the time?

"Or I could keep you safe from Zee from behind bars." Jefferson leaned against the kitchen cabinets and shrugged. "The choice is yours."

Gold threw up his hands in surrender, making their teacups rattle. "Fine!" There was little he could do against the two of them in the face of Jefferson's outrageous threats and Miss French's well-meaning concern. "I'll stay here, pretending to be dead. Just until I decide on a more permanent solution," he added hastily.

"Excellent choice." Jefferson turned to Belle. "And you? If you were an egg, ma chérie, you'd be sunny side up. Tell her, Gold."

"Wouldn't want to interrupt your flirting." Gold rolled his eyes as Jefferson made a show of kissing Belle's hand. His friend was an outrageous philander—the town's male version of Zelena, only infinitely more appealing. Gold had zero interest in Miss French. But why did Jefferson have to turn on the charm with everyone?

"Be back with your Armani and jammies in thirty minutes, my friend. And that ratty brown bathrobe with the holes." Jefferson threw the words over his shoulder and banged out of the house.

"Well, Miss French." Gold raised an eyebrow at his unflappable hostess. "Now what the hell do we do?"

She grinned. "If we're going to live together for a few days, you really should call me Belle."