CH 2. Canary
Elisabeth French, who had once been Belle, woke in the grey light of dawn, slunk carefully across Rumple Gold's sleeping form and paused only a moment to tuck the covers back around him where she had nestled. She dressed in her usual working clothes: heavy denim jeans, a t-shirt (heather grey today), and a sturdy black canvas jacket. She placed her work boots next to the door and tiptoed back into the kitchen in woolen socks.
From the kitchen she glanced back through the open doorway to the bedroom of the studio apartment to make sure her 'guest' was still sleeping. She couldn't help but smile. Though they had been nearly there last night, the reunited couple had not consummated their relationship. After narrowly escaping from Mr. Gold's burning home they had taken refuge in each other's arms, and after stripping off their drenched clothes and washing off the smoke and soot, the pair of them had huddled in Belle's warm, comfortable bed in the tiny apartment above the carriage house – plotting.
With a sigh, she moved away into the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. Truth to tell she would have preferred their first overnight to have resolved itself in a languid, romantic morning that included her making breakfast for him. She suppressed a giggle at the mental images that welled up in her imagination, most ridiculous of all involved him as he had been: the grey-gold menacing Rumplestiltskin of old, sitting at her present, modest kitchen table on one of three unmatched chairs, wearing her fuzzy bathrobe, watching her fry eggs. In her imagination the robe, which in reality was white, became pink. She almost feared that her smirk and the blazing blush that went with it would light up the little apartment. Of course, because this was Storybrooke and not the fairytale world, that did not happen but Elisabeth peeked carefully around the doorframe with a cookie in her mouth and a travel mug full of yesterday's cold chai in hand to check. He hadn't moved at all.
As she undid the deadbolt on the door, she heard him stir. She froze for a moment, cookie in her teeth, travel mug under one arm, boots in one hand and her keys in the other. She exhaled when there was no more sign that she had disturbed him. She glanced at him and found him staring at her.
"Sneaking away in the cold light of dawn, are we?" He teased, sounding very much like the Rumple of old.
It was no good, she was caught. She dropped her work boots with a thud and flopped down in the armchair between the bed and the door. "Ah, you caught me," she remarked, swallowing a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie, "sneaking out of my own place."
He rolled over onto his back with a self satisfied "Hmph," and seemed to study the ceiling.
She rolled her eyes and yanked on her boots before switching from the chair to the edge of the bed. Almost without wanting to she asked, "What is it?"
He pretended not to hear, though he glanced at her to be sure she was looking at him. He grinned and resumed his study of the ceiling.
She took a sip from the travel mug of chai, set it down on the floor beside the bed and leaned in closer. "It won't work, you know."
He glanced at her again, then back overhead. "What won't?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
She leaned over until they were nose to nose. "This delaying tactic of yours; it's not working."
Finally forced to look at her he couldn't help but smile, and when he spoke it was with all the cultured cool he possessed as Mr. Gold; "Seems to be going my way so far."
Belle smiled back and leaned in for a kiss that promised a less innocent reunion – later. "I hate this… but I have things to do."
"I know." He replied, smirking. "You are far more devious than I had imagined."
She pulled away and bent over to tie her boots. "I take it that's a compliment?"
Taking the opportunity to enjoy the view, Gold ran one hand under her jacket and up her back – which also hitched it up enough for him to appreciate the way her jeans fit the curve of her backside.
"Of course," he remarked, "I'm so very proud." He told her with a depth of feeling that bordered on sarcasm.
"I thought we agreed this was the plan." She asked with a pouty frown, "Do you want to change it?"
"Ah, my dear, what I want at the moment has very little to do with taking on what we discussed last night," he told her wanting nothing more than to pull her back into bed with him, "and has far more to do with what we were doing last night. But, that's gonna have to wait I'm afraid."
"Damn." Belle said, standing up.
He grasped her hand as she stepped away and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Just so. But you'd better get going if you want to borrow that chainsaw."
Casting a wistful glance over her shoulder, Elisabeth finally made it to the door. "Change of plan," She told him, "I'm getting my dad's battery powered saws-all. It'll make less noise and I'll have a better alibi."
She could hear him laughing all the way down the stairs. When she opened the door on her battered old hard-top Jeep, she heard him open the kitchen window that overlooked her parking spot. She looked up to find him half-dressed in the ruined black trousers of the previous night and thought that she had much rather have been back in the warm comfort of the bed with him.
Peering down at her as he pulled on his smudged white shirt, his face still flushed from laughing, Rumple called down to her, "I'm so proud of you!"
"I haven't done anything yet!" Belle yelled back. She waved at him happily though and climbed into the Jeep.
At noon Elisabeth parked her Jeep outside the diner and went in for lunch with a spring in her step. There was a bit of sawdust on her collar, but other than that her appearance was unusually dirt free for a working day.
Ruby hollered, "Hey, girl!" and sashayed over to the little table by the window right behind Elisabeth.
"Hi Ruby," She said with a smile.
"Well don't you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?" the glamazon remarked, setting a glass of water an a napkin-wrapped packet of silverware on the table.
Elisabeth blushed a little, trying to hide her grin as she unzipped her jacket and sat down. "I've had a really good morning." She said.
"Really? Half the town's got no power; we're running on Granny's generator as long as it lasts. The roads are terrible and there are trees blown down everywhere!"
"I know," Elisabeth agreed, taking a sip of water, "I've been helping my dad and the guys clearing the mess."
Ruby leaned in and inquired, "Hey, I heard your boss's house burned down in the storm last night! Didn't you have an apartment out there?"
"Actually, Miss French is staying in the apartment above my shop." Gold told the startled Ruby as he joined Elisabeth at the table. One would never have guessed that his entire wardrobe had gone up in flames the previous night: he wore a dark grey suit with faint burgundy pinstripes, a deep red shirt and silk jacquard tie. The glossy black shoes on his feet appeared to be made of alligator skin.
Ruby took in this image and thought in the space of two seconds that she had never seen him look so good, or so frightening. She thought to herself, he smells like trouble for whoever gets in his way today. A part of her regretted that it probably wouldn't be her.
"Give us a minute, would you dear?" He requested, locking eyes with her and catching her in the act of checking him out. Power seemed to crackle in the air.
Ruby looked away embarrassed, but nodded and went to attend to another customer with a murmur of "Sure, okay."
Gold and Elisabeth exchanged knowing a look.
"How was your morning, Miss French?" He inquired quietly, all innocent chit-chat.
She simply nodded, trying not to smirk while replying "Very good, Mr. Gold… and yours?"
Across the diner Sheriff Swan's cell phone buzzed. Emma looked at it, sighed, cussed under her breath, gritted her teeth, knocked back half the contents of her coffee mug in one gulp and left looking as if she had swallowed a bucket of lemons.
Gold spared a glance in Emma's direction, watching through the window as the sheriff stalked toward her office. "Better and better," he smiled as he looked back at Elisabeth. "I'd say things are definitely looking up."
"As in 'upstairs' from your shop?" Belle asked, realizing belatedly that this was probably where his present, exquisite clothing had been hiding. She had to admire the quality of Gold's backup plans and fought the impression that she looked like a drudge beside him. But how should a rich man and his gardener look, she asked herself feeling bittersweet.
"Well, yes." He replied simply, spreading his long-fingered hands in a shrug. "I've moved the things you asked for into town."
Belle frowned at him.
"It will be safer for the time being," he reminded her quietly, though no one was near enough to hear them. "Regina doesn't yet dare attack in the open and risk showing what she really is. It could cause the people of Storybrooke to turn on her en masse, or at least raise more questions than she's prepared to deal with all at once. Though with the extent of the damage from last night…" His voice trailed off as though he were just now entertaining the possible acts that such a storm could conceal as a so-called natural disaster.
"I know we discussed this last night, but I still don't like the idea of being in town when you'll be at the carriage house." She was loath to admit that she didn't want to be alone, and the thought of anything happening to him without her by his side was the stuff of her worst nightmares although she told herself to be sensible; that there was very little that she could do to help him in a faceoff with the Evil Queen in any realm or world.
He was tempted to dismiss her concern with a wave of the hand and a lighthearted 'you needn't worry about me,' but it would only ring false and he knew it. Instead he told her quite seriously, "I've got a solution to that problem as well."
With the merest hint of a flourish Gold placed small velvet-skinned box on the table between them.
Belle French stared at it. "What's this?" she asked, her voice quivering.
"It occurs to me that there is only one way I can think of that I can actually protect you; only one magic I have ever heard of so profound that it has a chance of working even here." Gold smiled, flipping open the small box, "Marry me."
She sat in speechless disbelief, gazing at the engagement ring; a stunning one-carat square-cut, bright yellow canary diamond set above a heavy white gold band. It was simple, elegant and regal. She wondered where he had got it so quickly, speculating that he had secreted it away a lifetime ago in the hope that he would somehow resurrect his lost love, since rumor held that Rumplestiltskin could see the future… or as he had corrected her last night, many possible futures.
The first she realized that she was crying was when Gold reached across the table and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.
"This will never do," he commented wryly.
"I…" she stammered, grinning like an idiot and having trouble breathing.
"I admit, the whole kneeling bit has its traditional appeal," he remarked quietly, scooting his chair neared to hers, "alas, in the present situation…"
Belle dried her eyes and fixed him with a look full of mock-scorn, "You impossible man, will you let me answer?"
"Whenever you like," He murmured, chastened.
"Then I accept," she informed him, "and I like 'today.'"
He very carefully slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.
She beamed at him, but his eyes were on the ring upon her hand and her hand resting in his. When he finally met her gaze he asked grinning, yet sounding serious, "I take it we're eloping, then?"
Belle leaned in to kiss him quickly and told him, "Give yourself the rest of the day off."
Behind them, Ruby caught a glimpse at the ring, and the kiss, and decided to give them a little more time.