Emma Swan reached her "temporary" apartment with relief, glad the day was finally over. She went up the stairs and swung the front door open with a happy sigh, immediately collapsing on a chair by the dinner table, making a pleased sort of sound when her roommate deposited a steaming cup of chocolate with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon.
"Thanks, I needed this... Beats the whiskey I was gonna have if you weren't up," she thanked Mary Margaret, taking a sip of the chocolate and letting it warm her up. Her roommate waited for the blonde to be halfway through the drink to tentatively ask about her day.
"What kept you till one in the morning?"
The sheriff raked her fingers through her hair, exhaling rather loudly.
"Mr Gold beat a man almost to death in his cabin in the woods," she finally admitted "I... I wasn't expecting it, actually. I mean, sure, he's an utter bastard, but I didn't peg him for someone prone to physical acts of violence. He's more the sneaky type."
Mary Margaret nodded, agreeing with Emma. There was no question in anyone's mind that the pawnbroker was evil incarnate, a shadowy figure that delighted in making everyone in Storybrooke miserable or afraid, but he didn't seem like the type to get his hands dirty. Gold was the picture of calm, a man who held it together at all times, collected and cold when other people would lose it completely. There was nothing, nothing, that could ever provoke a reaction of that calibre in the dealmaker, nothing.
... almost nothing.
"Was the man he beat up Moe French?" Mary Margaret inquired, her eyes fixed on her own cup of chocolate. Emma looked up at her, suddenly very intrigued.
"Yes," she finally answered, knowing she was about to get a good insight on one of the de-facto rulers of the sleepy town "The florist. Gold took his cane to him, left him barely conscious. And... his face, you didn't see his face, the raw hatred in it. I'd never seen Gold display so much emotion."
"I bet," the schoolteacher replied, still reluctant to elaborate on what she obviously knew about the matter. Emma, unwilling to let it go, pressed on.
"He kept... repeating something. Something about a woman, about Moe shutting her out, abandoning her, hurting her. About her being gone," she looked at her friend dead in the eyes, completely serious "Come on, Em. What am I missing?"
Her short-haired friend bit her lip, and it was quite clear that she knew exactly what Mr Gold had been referring to. Finally, with a deep sigh, she began her story.
"Mr Gold has always been a bit... unsavoury. Always the scourge of the town, preying on the weak, uncaring and incapable of empathy or mercy. He owns two thirds of the properties around here, and he's always been a ruthless landowner, never forgiving a debt, or willing to re-negotiate a loan. He's always been despised, but he was not quite as ruthless as he is today."
"What happened?" Emma leaned forward, her curiosity getting the better of her "What changed him?"
"Belle French happened," Mary Margaret's voice wasn't accusatory, but it was a bit sad, nostalgic "She was Bae's nanny almost from the moment Gold gained custody of his boy four years ago. She had a talent when it came to dealing with children, and Baden was a rather complicated toddler, raised by an unloving mother and then thrust into the arms of a man he'd never met. Gold had trouble connecting with his son, but the boy took to Belle almost immediately. Gold hired her after trying a string of more experienced nannies, but soon came to rely on her heavily. At some point during that time, no one really knows when, things became... a tad more intimate."
The sheriff arched her eyebrows, trying to put "intimate" and "Mr Gold" on the same sentence.
"Moe French doesn't look very old. The age difference must have been considerable," she offered, having reached the natural conclusion that the florist was Belle's father. After all Gold had said something of the sort a few hours ago. Her friend snorted.
"She was seventeen when she begun working for Mr Gold," Emma almost choked on the sip of chocolate she'd taken "And eighteen when her father caught them in the act. She swore up and down that nothing had happened while she had been underage, and there was never proof of the contrary. Still, it was the town's biggest scandal, it was all people talked about for weeks."
"If that's so how come I'm hearing about this now?"
"No one mentions it anymore. Not after what happened."
"Which is...?"
"Well, no one knows really. Roughly a month or so after Moe French outed them to the entire town they stopped seeing each other. Apparently it was Gold the one to break it off, no one knows why. I mean, the gossip was beginning to die down, and there was no real reason that'd prompt him to do what he did but he simply told her it was over, dismissed her as Bae's nanny and refused to see her again. Ruby's still pissed by that. She's the only reason I know as much as I do, so please keep it quiet," Mary Margaret paused to take the empty mugs to the sink and rinse them before sitting back down "Anyway, Belle tried to mend fences with her dad, since she wasn't in a relationship he disapproved anymore but he went... ballistic. Called her every name in the book in the middle of the street, shunned her completely. A week or so after that she was gone. Just like that. In the middle of the night, with no goodbyes, not a clue as to where she was going. Her High School confirmed she had asked for her diploma early, she had more than enough credits to warrant an early graduation, but little is known other than that."
For a small town in the middle of nowhere Storybrooke had its fill of drama, Emma thought wryly. A torrid and forbidden love affair, a public scene of shame, a broken-hearted girl fleeing in the middle of the night only to never be heard from again.
"What happened afterwards?"
"Mr Gold... changed. We thought he was a monster before but it paled in comparison to how he's been ever since Belle's been gone. It was like, up until that moment, whatever evil was inside him was caged, and then suddenly it was let loose. He became... merciless. Amoral. Vindictive. He's been practically at war with Mayor Mills ever since, and delights in instilling fear and resentment in everyone. Baden is the only person who gets a civil word out of him, or a genuine smile."
Emma frowned, tilting her head to a side.
"I don't get it. He let her go, he practically threw her out, according to what you told me and yet... The man I saw tonight, it doesn't add up. It wasn't a man reminiscing about a past fling he'd ended some years ago. It was a man so miserable his only comfort seemed to be inflicting pain in others. He beat Moe French savagely, Mary, and he kept crying out about how he'd hurt her and that it was the florist's fault..." she closed her eyes, shaking her head to rid herself of echo of Mr Gold's voice, both dangerous and broken, as he said over and over "It's your fault, not mine!"
The school teacher shrugged.
"Most people believe that the humiliation of having his affair paraded in front of the whole town left him even more bitter than he was before. Some others think... I think, that there's more to the story than anyone knows. I think he genuinely cared for her. Mr Gold has always been a monster, but when Belle left she hurt him deeply. And there's nothing worse than a wounded beast."
She stood up, rummaging through her small bookcase for an old photo album, opening it and quickly turning the pages till she came across the picture of a girl, around seventeen, with curly chestnut hair and vivid blue eyes. She was smiling, a rare full-blown smile that seemed to indicate a candid moment rather than a staged photograph. She was petit, and still had some of what people commonly called "baby fat" but all in all she was lovely. Emma stared at it, glad to have a face to associate with "her". It was rather difficult to link the sweet girl in the picture with the Machiavellian Mr Gold.
"Pretty girl," Emma commented, setting the photograph aside, determined to relax a little with her friend. Gold could keep for a few hours.
Malcolm Gold reluctantly drove to the outskirts of town, still in his suit from yesterday, wanting to pick up his son and go home to soak in the tub for hours, forgetting the sterile stench of the Sheriff's jail. He parked near the monstrous house almost outside of the town's limits, knowing that the owner was well aware of his presence and would soon come out with his little one on tow.
Over the last few years he had grown not to completely and utterly despise Jefferson Madden, mostly out of necessity. Four years ago he had come to him, bleak and sombre, uncomfortable but with no other option that being there.
"You know where she is," he had said the moment the younger man had poured him a cup of tea, which he did not touch. Jefferson was strange about tea, among other things.
"The wounded rabbit I saw hopping away from here weeks ago, you mean?" he had replied, all false nonchalance and smiles. He had dropped the pretence a second later, his eyes glaring at the older man in front of him "She's not your concern anymore, spinner" the Hatter had names for almost everybody in town, and was particularly fond of Gold's. He had once explained it, something inane about the pawnbroker spinning the thread used to pull everyone in town, like puppets on a string.
"Belle. You know where she is," it hadn't been a question, so the Hatter hadn't answered.
"What do you want?" he had asked instead, intense and serious for once.
"I want you to play messenger boy, dearie" the pawnbroker had replied "Tell her... tell her that if she wants to contact Bae I won't oppose it. If she wants to write him a letter or call him or whatever, I won't object. And if it has to go through you then so be it."
The so-called Hatter had thought about refusing, but the father in him recognized the glint of desperation in Gold's eyes. The child, little Baden, was hurting and it wouldn't do to get in the way of a solution to that. Besides Belle loved the child like her own and would be more than thrilled by the prospect of having contact with him again.
"You will not use this to fish the rabbit out of her cosy little hole, I expect," he had warned, his eyes boring into the pawnbroker's, alert for any sign of deceit. When he had found nonce, he had nodded.
"I'll arrange something and tell you when to have your little boy dropped here."
No other word, no further explanation. Just that. But Gold had taken it gladly, swallowing his questions in fear of letting the opportunity slip away. He had done as the Hatter had asked, trying to remember that, as obsolete as he was socializing with his peers, the man was extremely good with kids.
The visit's to Madden's house had done the trick. Though still reserved and rather serious Bae had begun to laugh and talk more, and whatever rift Belle's departure had created between them, a rift made more of Gold's guilt than Bae's recriminations, was mended. His child was truly too good for his own good.
He brushed off Jefferson's many quips about "the slammer" and his questions about Sheriff Swan's handcuffs, deeply glad that Bae wasn't paying close attention to the two adults. He felt immediately better when he got into his car, Bae safely in the back and the chipped cup carefully nestled inside the glove compartment. It had been worth it. He'd beat Moe French a thousand times, if only he could.
Emma shifted in place, already bored to tears. Why her presence in town meetings was required was still a mystery to her. No one ever misbehaved, or caused the least bit of trouble. The council members went about their business with little fuss, discussing whatever issues needed to be addressed publicly and then privately making the decisions that actually mattered. Everybody knew that yet everyone came all the same, without fail.
Out of all the council members she liked the treasurer, Mr Midas, the most. Quiet, calm and friendly he was usually the voice of accord and peace. He was close friends with the DA, Albert Spencer, but the blonde didn't particularly like him. There was something dark and unpleasant about him that got on her nerves and he was quite a bit snobby as well. In a corner, lounging like he didn't have a care in the world sat Jefferson Madden, dressed a tad strange with his vest and ascot and trying very hard to pretend he was comfortable in a room full of people. The illusion was almost perfect but over the last few months Emma had come to know the town recluse enough to see through his pretences. He was all-too-eager to leap out of his seat and back home to Grace and their solitude, but it was very difficult to tell. She almost wished she couldn't pick up on his subtle hints, because it meant acknowledging she had become closer to the "Mad Hatter" than she cared to.
On the other side of the wide table sat, as always, Mr Gold. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit and shirt, both tailored to perfection, he sat ramrod straight in his chair, a dark, unfriendly presence in the room. No one dared meet his eyes, and when he spoke it was in the most muted of tones, everyone straining to hear him, afraid to miss a word and suffer the consequences.
The sheriff stifled a yawn, unwilling to give the mayor, sitting at the centre of the table, any reason to berate her after the meeting was over. One by one the matters needed to be discussed were brought up and dealt with, mostly extremely boring stuff no one was interested in. Regina seemed eager to reach a particular matter on the agenda, and Emma realized, with more than a bit of distaste, that it likely had to do with the recent death of Mrs Shoeman, a kindly old lady that owned some property, mainly the dilapidated Storybrooke Library, that Regina had had her eye on for quite some time. Mrs Shoeman had always expressed a desire to bequeath the building to the town upon her passing so it would be of service to the people but, as far as Emma could glean from the rumours, Regina planned on tearing the old building down and relocating the offices of The Mirror there, no doubt to ensure the owner of the paper would forever be in her debt.
'Ugh, politics,' she thought, shifting on her feet, her legs aching. She threw a dirty look at Jefferson, who had tipped his chair back to get a look at her and he winked in return, a manic smile spreading across his face.
"Well, now we come to the matter of the abandoned Storybrooke library, promised to the town with the unfortunate passing of dear old Adele Shoeman," Regina's voice was artificially sweet and cloying "The floor is open for suggestions and general discussion."
There never was much discussion so Emma, and the rest of the people gathered in the room, were quite surprised to see a rather old man stand up. It was Alan Rainer, Adele's lawyer and old friend, looking quite dapper in a light-coloured morning suit and carrying a briefcase. He went to sit by the table with a microphone and some chairs in front of the council's own, placed there for occasion such as that one. He moved slowly, which Emma knew must have been killing Regina.
"I'm sorry to say, Madame Mayor, that there has been a most regrettable mistake. Adele, God rest her soul, didn't quite leave the library to the town, though she indeed contemplate the idea of it being of use to the people of Storybrooke."
Regina's smile froze, her hands clenching.
"Excuse me?"
Mr Rainer put on his glasses, smiling apologetically at the members of the council. Out of the corner of her eye Emma saw Mr Gold smirk and lay back, clearly pleased with the Mayor's anger.
"Yes, indeed, I'm afraid that before dying Adele drafted a new will, leaving all of her possessions to a close acquaintance who has asked to retain my services. My client must be running late but I'm sure it won't be long now. I do apologize"
Light chatter filled the room, accompanied by much more fierce whispering amongst the members of the town council. Regina spoke in harsh murmurs, trying to get all of the other members on her side, already looking for a way to get the situation back in her control. Their heads bent together out of necessity they paid little attention to the rest of the people in the room, dropping the pretence of inclusion and openness they usually strived for. Regina even disregarded poor Mr Rainer when he announced his client had finally arrived and it was only after he repeated himself twice that she snapped, not even looking up:
"Alright, alright. State your name for the record."
The council members did not pick up on the shift in the mood of the room, but the sheriff did, trying to get a closer peak at the newcomer who had set the tongues of everyone present wagging, one or two people pointing out and whispering. The woman looked unaffected by it all, choosing perch herself lightly on the table next to Rainer, her red-painted lips curving into a smile before lightly bending down to get close enough to the microphone.
"Isabelle Marie French," she said in a slightly deep, lilting voice, her too-blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, staring at the council members with the utmost calm. The sheriff had a split second to wonder at the familiarity of the name before her eyes darted across the room looking for hints as to the sudden buzzing chatter in the room. Her gaze moved past Jefferson's glint of amusement and Regina's perfect goldfish impersonation to finally settle on Mr Gold's suddenly-ashen countenance. He sat frozen in place, barely breathing, his eyes glued to the woman's small frame, taking her in like he'd die if he didn't do so. He looked, if it was possible, both stricken and starved. She followed his gaze as he took in everything from the newcomer, from her shiny red pumps, past her tailored black skirt that flared at the bottom, almost but not quite brushing her knees and cinched at her waist, to the scrap of silky fabric that covered her torso, with wide straps and a modest neckline that compensated for all the bare skin of her arms and legs. He looked at her like she was a stranger and the most familiar face on Earth, one of his hands clenching against the gold handle of his cane, fixated on her in an almost predatory manner. He looked ready to pounce and to bolt at the same time and, above all, incredulous, unbelieving.
"Belle," she saw his mouth form the word and, a second later, it all dawned on her. It seemed that after four years away Belle French had finally come home, against everyone's expectations.
She certainly did not look the way Emma had pictured her. There was a maturity that she hadn't been able to imagine from the one picture Mary Margaret had showed her. The clothes helped, of course, sophisticated yet looking comfortable, far from a girl playing dress-up. Her make-up accentuated her features, particularly her rather stunning eyes and lovely smile, and Emma could appreciate how her face had sharpened, having lost the last of the baby-fat a while ago. She seemed calm and collected, her eyes assessing her environment without looking unwelcoming or wary, but the sheriff noticed immediately that Belle resolutely kept her gaze away from the far left side of the council table, where Gold sat, still in a sort of daze. The illusion of serenity was almost perfect, but the sheriff's rather developed instincts picked up on the slight trembling of the woman's left hand as it gripped the table, and the tell was enough to give her away.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she continued, her voice pleasant and neutral, surprisingly strong while addressing the great powers of Storybrooke "The drive here took more than expected. I tend to... drive slow."
The council members all seemed rather speechless for one reason or the other, Jefferson being the only one silent in order to contain some sort of boundless glee. At last the Mayor snapped out of her trance, lips curling into a barely-hidden sneer as she tried to stare the young woman down.
"That is... quite understandable, dear. I'm sure everyone here remembers your unfortunate car accident. It was such a huge deal, some years ago. The talk of the town, you could say."
It was clear Regina was not aiming for subtlety, but it only seemed to make Belle French smile all the more, casually tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, the rest still secured in a lose bun that allowed the natural curls to show.
"You're very kind to remember, Madam Mayor," there was a faint touch of steel in her voice, and it was then that Emma realized she might very well grow to like the brunette quite a lot if she stuck around "But I don't wish to take up any more of the town's time. I have here," Rainer handed her some papers, which she glanced at before making her way to the council table to present them to Regina, carefully still not looking at the far left corner "A copy of Adele Shoeman's will. Though it does indeed state that her wish is for the old, abandoned library to be of use to the people of Storybrooke it also makes it very clear that all properties are left to me," she paused, a flicker of sadness crossing her face before it was gone and she hastened to add "Of course I have every intention on following through with her wish. I want to reopen the library to the general public."
More whispers rose behind her but she paid it little attention, pouring a glass of water to her coughing lawyer as she let her words sink in.
"Well, I'm afraid that's quite impossible, dear," the mayor said the last word like it was the greatest of insults "After all the regulations clearly state the need for a certified librarian from the local populace to run the library and it's been years since we've had one."
Isabelle French smiled and it was clear to Emma that the woman had been waiting for Mayor Mills to say exactly that. Yes, she was definitely gonna have a drink with the florist's daughter if she stuck around.
"Well, that's no longer a problem," Rainer fished out another set of papers from his briefcase, which Belle again presented to the entire council "I happen to have a bachelor's degree in library and information studies from the City University London. Rather new but it qualifies."
The papers were soon passed around the table, Regina practically shoving them at Spencer so he could get a close enough look, inspecting them no doubt to see if they were in any way suspicious or defective. William Midas, in the meantime, seemed more interested in the financial side of things, asking about the money that would be needed for repairs and new books.
"I know the town budget has some money left aside for improvements such as this, but I doubt it will be enough, Miss French," he told her kindly, opening a folder he always brought to town meetings to check the numbers on the budget. Belle leaned close to look, grateful that the treasurer was seating on the right side of the table, next to a smiling Madden.
"Oh, you needn't worry about that, Mr Midas," she finally answered as she handed him another paper "I took the liberty of going over some figures," she smiled sadly "Adele left me quite a bit of money, more than I could possibly need, and I intend to cover what the budget won't. It won't be a problem, as long as I have the council's approval."
She stepped away from the table again, almost tripping when a hand wrapped around her forearm, quickly spinning her around and making her collide against someone's chest.
"Little Rabbit!" Jefferson's maniacal laughter was tinged with a warm touch of affection as he squeezed the air out of Belle's lungs, unapologetically swinging her around by the waist "You're back! I haven't heard from you in weeks, you devilish little creature! Grace was starting to worry, you know?"
Belle smothered a giggle as she squirmed in his arms, demanding he put her down. Out of the corner of her eye Emma could see Mr Gold seething, his laboured breaths indicating he was very close to snapping. For a second she felt worried for the Hatter. Blessedly he soon set the girl down, looking a bit less kept-together than before but a lot happier.
"We'll catch up another time, okay? I don't wish to waste everyone's time just so you can swing me around like a rag doll."
He stepped away reluctantly, waltzing back to his seat after casually glancing at the other side of the table, towards a barely-contained pawnbroker who was glaring at him, hands clenched around his cane. Belle turned to look at the rest of the council members, her heels clicking on the floor as she went through her proposal in minute detail, looking like she didn't know what everyone else was thinking about. Emma could see people following her with their eyes, still pointing and whispering, but she had a hard time reconciling the image of the disgraced runaway teenager with the poised, articulate woman talking about structure repairs and shipping orders. The mayor, psycho bitch that she was, interrupted every five minutes with a question or a veiled reference to the girl's past.
Emma had begun to think that nothing could possibly faze the girl when the doors at the back of the room opened, a non-committal young woman moodily pushing a small child along, aiming to seat on one of the few empty chairs. The boy, pale and short with a mop of unruly hair, paused in the middle of the aisle, his eyes big as he stared, unabashedly, at the florist's daughter.
"Ma..." the boy's voice died down, a faint look of distress crossing his face before he tried again, this time stronger "Belle?"
Isabelle French froze, the placid look vanishing from her face. She almost tripped, catching herself on the edge of the council table before turning to look at the six-year-old.
"Bae," she whispered, a smile spreading across her face, tentative and tremulous. She turned back to look straight at Mr Gold for the first time since she'd entered the Hall, a silent question in her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment before his eyes darted towards his son and then back again and then nodded. It was all the permission Belle needed to practically sprint, not an easy feat in her lovely stilettos, towards the little boy, picking him up with a bit of effort before practically crushing him against her, his short little arms, thin but strong, slipping around her shoulders to link behind her neck. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, smiling against the skin of her throat and recognizing the smell instantly. It was peace, and warmth and love.
It was Belle.
"My little boy," he heard her murmur into his ear, uncaring if the rest of the town was getting front row seats to their little reunion "My perfect little boy."
He squeezed harder, feeling content and giddy. Belle kissed his hair and forehead while he repeated her name over and over, sniffling a bit. Her arms eventually grew tired so she knelt on the floor and set him on his feet, pulling back to get a proper look. Bae was thin and rather short, but healthy-looking, with a floofy mop of chestnut chair and vivid brown eyes, almost hazel like his father's.
"Look how big you are," she gave him a watery smile, her hands framing his face "You're a little man now."
Bae smiled, showing a missing tooth.
"I started school," he informed her proudly, gesturing to his Storybrooke Elementary uniform in blue and grey "I play soccer and all, though papa hates it when I call it that."
Belle laughed, her fingers combing through the child's messy hairdo. She was crying, but her happiness was almost palpable. She kissed both his cheeks, then his nose and his hands. It had been such a long time since she had seen him she almost couldn't believe he was real and in front of her. Bae had a similar problem, his vague memories of Belle's voice and scent paling in comparison to the reality. No one ever spoke to him about Belle directly, and mentioning her in front of his father always made the older man taciturn and unhappy, so he usually kept his thoughts of her quietly tucked away, sometimes confiding in Mr Hatter when he was in one of his less manic moods. Belle had been, for almost as long as he could remember, a secret, his secret. Now the time for hiding was over. She was back, and he was sure this time she was staying.
"I'm sorry to interrupt this... idyllic scene, but we all have other matters to attend to, Miss French. If you'd be so kind as to give us a second of your attention we'll be forever grateful."
Regina Mills sounded oily and saccharine, was quite effective at commanding everyone's silence. Isabelle French hoisted Baden up once more and made her way to the front of the room again, sitting the child next to her lawyer.
"I'm going finish this real quick, darling, okay? You just sit quietly here and I'll be right back."
Bae nodded, smiling once at Mr Rainer before locking eyes with his father, a knowing look in his face. He knew she'd be back, she had promised him so. Remembering the promise he looked into his shirt pocket, fishing out a thin object.
"Wait, wait!" he stepped on the chair, holding the pin up in the air "The promise. I kept it."
Belle reached out for the hairpin, recognizing it instantly as her mother's favourite. She had given it to Bae for safekeeping in order for the child to have tangible proof of her promise to come back to Storybrooke. She tucked it on the base of her loose bun, the blue jewels glittering in the light of the room.
"Thank you, Bae," she kissed his forehead one more time, the boy grinning up at her, infinitely pleased with himself. Belle had promised that the next time she wore the pin she'd be back for good and, throughout the years, he had held on to the memory like it was something precious. Now he could finally let it go. He would have new memories now. And he'd finally stop envying his classmates, whose mothers almost always picked them up after school and cared for them when they were sick. Now Belle was back and, though he couldn't call her mama, he could very well treat her like one. Names were unimportant.
"Sorry about that," the brunette hardly looked apologetic, it was quite clear. She plunged back into her proposal, eager to finish her presentation in order to submit if for review. She knew she counted with at least two of the votes. Madden and Midas would agree to her idea, the first out of love and the second because it was a sound financial plan that would allow the town to reopen the library at a fraction of the cost. Spencer would most likely vote against her if pushed by Regina, who looked like she couldn't say "No" fast enough. That left, in the end, the lone figure to the left. Belle thought it supremely unfair that, four years after unceremoniously letting her know he wanted nothing more to do with her, he once again had power over her fate. She didn't let it show, keeping her eyes averted from him. If he declared himself against it now it wouldn't even go into the next stage.
"Well..." his voice caught her by surprise but she didn't let it show "I suppose it's about time the old library was reopened."
Relief turned Belle's legs into jelly, but sheer force of will kept her from showing anything other than a smile as Madame Mayor reluctantly announced that the project would be carefully studied before a final approval was given. It'd take a couple of days, but the hard part was over. The next order of business was introduced, Rainer returned to his seat and Belle, a bit unsure as to how to proceed, picked up Baden and sat on the back row seats with him, her hands constantly petting his hair or holding him close to her side. He had gotten big, and for some reason that had startled her. In a way she had expected everything in Storybrooke to have remained frozen in time, for people to still be the same as they were when she had left. And though in many ways what little she had seen seemed to indicate little had been altered around her home town Bae was proof of the years she'd been away. She had chatted with him online plenty of times, curtsy of Jefferson's meddling, but, somehow, she had still expected him to be that little toddler who wouldn't eat anything orange or bathe without his battered yellow ducky. The Bae in her arms, cuddling against her side with a smile, was older, both a stranger and a familiar face. This Bae she knew and didn't but she was confident that time would mend everything. For now the feeling of the little boy cuddling close, with not an ounce of reticence, was enough.
Soon enough the meeting was over and, though she felt everyone's eyes on her, no one spoke to her or Bae, or even looked at her directly. Once again she was in the sphere of influence of Malcolm Gold and was, thus, an untouchable.
One person did look at her with keen interest, a blonde woman she hadn't met before, sporting a red leather jacket and, tucked against her hip, the shiny badge of the Storybrooke Sheriff.
"You must be Sheriff Swan," she said when they were close enough to talk. Jefferson had gone on and on about the new sheriff in town and her golden beauty "It's very nice to meet you."
She proffered a hand, which the sheriff shook without hesitation. Seeing as how Baden was quiet she gently nudged him, reminding him of his manners.
"Oh, no, that's fine, the kid hasn't really warmed up to..."
The next thing Emma knew she was shaking Baden Gold's fucking hand while the kid looked at her with a rather shy air.
"Hi, Sheriff Swan. It is very nice to meet you" he dutifully greeted her before pulling his hand back to clutch at Belle's black skirt. The woman ruffled his hair as a reward, which the little boy seemed to like, letting out a giggle.
'Dear God, I just heard Baden Gold giggle.'
"You have pretty hair," the boy added, his face serious as he looked at her blonde curls. The sheriff smiled, awkwardly accepting the compliment before turning her attention to the brunette, trying not to look like she was sizing her up. She had a feeling she could grow to like her, nefarious connections to the town ogre aside, and it would be rather nice to have someone other than Mary Margaret and occasionally Ruby to talk with.
"Well, I just wanted to welcome you back to Storybrooke. You're here to stay, I gather."
"Oh, yes. That was always the plan. Storybrooke is my home," Belle smiled, wistfully, and beside her Bae nodded, causing Emma to chuckle.
"Well, then welcome back. I'll be seeing you around."
She smiled once more and then was gone, lost in the crowd who wouldn't approach the newcomer. Ruby wasn't there, which was a pity, but she'd swing by the diner later to let her know she was back. The thumping of a cane drew all those thoughts away pretty quickly, though. She had prepared long and hard for that moment. She had picked out the outfit carefully as well as the venue. Though people were already leaving there were still in public, so there was likely to be little conversation. She knelt before Bae, petting his hair and telling him in soft, soothing tones that she needed him to sit by himself for a little time while she talked to his papa. She then turned, almost colliding with a solid, suit-clad chest, and willed herself not to breathe him in. She had forgotten how his mere presence could unsettle her and she hated herself for her weakness.
"Mr Gold," she greeted, taking a small step back in order to be able to look at him in the eye. However short he was, and as high as her heels were, he still had a small height advantage over her.
"Miss French," his voice turned her name into a caress but she was pleased to detect, beneath the smarm and the charm, a hint of vulnerability. He clearly was not very comfortable talking to her. Good.
"I believe we have some... arrangements to make," he continued, looking for a split second at Bae, who was swinging his legs and resolutely not staring at them.
Belle took a deep breath, stepped forward and, with more than a bit of bravery, grasped his chin with one of her manicured hands. She could feel eyes on them, but she shrugged them off. Better to do this in public, she reminded herself. Less of a chance for him to run or lash out at her.
"Let's get this straight, Malcolm," she whispered, pleased to feel him freeze up just a scant inch from her "I made a mistake four years ago. I let you come between Bae and me, my pride too stupidly hurt to think about him. You might go on and on about how Bae's your son, and how I was just his nanny but we both know that that's not true. As long as he wants to see me, Mal, he's going to see me. Get in the way and I promise I'll hurt you."
Her eyes never wavered from his, disregarding for a moment how his skin felt against his fingers. Four years, four fucking years and it took a touch to make her feel seventeen and yearning. The only consolation was how unsettled he looked as well by her proximity and the small contact, choosing to take a step back to regain some of his composure. When he spoke, however, his voice gave him away.
"I know," he gritted out hoarsely "That's why I've been driving Bae to the Hatter's house for four years. Four years, Belle," he had no right to throw that in her face but he did it anyway, barely remembering not to make a scene. They had already given the town enough fodder for gossip "I'm not... if you're here to stay, I won't oppose your involvement with my son. I'll encourage it, even. Bae's never spoken to sheriff Swan before, he finds her intimidating. But you stroll into town and half an hour later he's complimenting her on her hair," he felt the familiar dull stab of jealously, which he batted away "You may take him for the rest of the day. I doubt I'd be able to pry him off of you in any case. After that we'll see."
She couldn't supress the smile of relief and gratitude that spread across her face. He didn't deserve it, but she couldn't stop herself.
"Thank you," she whispered, relaxing a bit. She had expected to have to fight him a bit more, but it was clear he felt differently about Bae and her than four years ago. It unsettled her in part, because a great deal of her anger had been fuelled by that particular memory, his dismissive tone as he belittled her relationship with his son ringing in her ears each time she thought about it. And now, half an hour after meeting him again he had taken the edge away from her.
It took her a minute to realize she needed to go. Quickly informing him she was staying at her old place she grabbed Bae by the hand, letting the kid chatter on about school and sports as they made their way out of the Town Hall, oblivious to any stares of whispers around them.
Mr Gold, on the other hand, drove back to his house as quickly as legally possible. He let the events of the day sink in only after pouring himself a hefty dose of Scotch, feeling the liquid burn his insides with relish. His fingers shook as he poured himself a refill, downing it quickly before succumbing to an impulse and smashing the glass against the nearest wall, shards flying everywhere. He picked up another and smashed it, as he did the next and the next till there weren't any more left. His champagne glasses, unfortunately displayed in a corner of his wet bar, were next, as well as a half-empty bottle of Malbec from Argentina (a pity, it was from such a good year) and a full bottle of Breeder's Choice, a poor joke sent as a Christmas present by the Mayor that he would rather see dripping all over his floors than drink.
After the destruction of the whiskey bottle he lost momentum and simply slumped on his couch, closing his eyes and exhaling. She was back. Belle was back. At that very moment she was cuddling close to his son, every bit as warm and loving as she had been four years ago. It was as if nothing had ever changed but, at the same time, everything had. She had, certainly. He closed his eyes, willing the images to go away. If he had thought her gorgeous at seventeen, Belle at twenty-two was the stuff of dreams. He was pretty sure the stilettos alone, and what they did to her legs, were going to kill him.
But it was not just about the clothes, or the clear physical development. It was the way she carried herself, the confidence behind her movements, the ease with which she talked and interacted. Ruby was a good year older and still looked like a girl playing at being a grown-up. Belle, on the other hand, had looked like she had life figured out. There had always been a sort of quiet maturity about the brunette, visible to those who knew to look for it, but whereas before it had been hidden under awkward limbs and generic clothing now it was displayed for the world to see.
He felt somewhat relieved that her current look appealed to him more than her teenage appearance, even though he had never thought it was her obvious youth what had drawn him to her all those years ago. His tortured thoughts gave way, for a moment, to an unwelcome wave of lust as his brain sought to remind him, in vivid detail, how she'd looked leaning slightly against the table, her legs primly crossed, the crimson of her pumps attracting his attention to her legs, legs he could remember feeling wrapped around his waist, warm and welcoming. Over the years he'd thought he had idealized his memories of Belle, but one good look at her, the first one in years, had him discarding that theory completely. His body's response to the sound of her voice, to the gentle curving of her lips into a smile had been almost embarrassing and it was then that he understood that sometimes the worst clichés had a horrible tendency of being true.
Absence did make the heart grow fonder.
It was ridiculous. He had driven her away, and he recalled feeling particularly pleased by the gesture four years ago. His one selfless action in his entire existence, and he had thought it, at the time, worth the look of complete devastation on her face as he had systematically cut her out of his life and Bae's. Sure, he had thought, she'd hurt now, by be thankful later. Something inane about how if you loved something you had to set it free had flitted across his mind several times.
He had realized very quickly he had made a mistake where Bae was concerned. His boy had been so young when Belle had left Storybrooke that he had at first worried little about him. He'd forget her soon enough, other things would surely quickly catch his attention. That, clearly, hadn't happened, and it had forced him to grovel first in front of that insolent little waitress at Granny's and then at Jefferson Madden's feet, which hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience. But it had gotten the desired effect. Bae's smiles had returned, though not as bright as before. Over the years little trinkets- plush toys, snow globes, toy cars and the like- had made their way into his son's room without him purchasing them and he'd known immediately were they came from. Not one of them ever gave him a clue as to where she was. Bae would never talk about the presents, and he would never ask him. Later he'd see his boy reverently handling all those toys, carefully arranging them around his room. Only the stuffed animals ever got handled with less-than-perfect care. He'd usually sleep surrounded by them, biting the ear of a giraffe and holding fistful's of a wolf's tail. Once, and only once, he had gotten one of those presents before Bae, delivered by a reticent Jefferson so it would make it in time for the child's birthday. It had been a bear, hand-stitched with maple-coloured fur and embroidered eyes and nose. It looked too home-made to be store-bought and, in an act of utter foolishness he'd regret later, he had held it up to his face, inhaling the scent, looking for traces of the typical store perfume all new things carried.
The damn bear had smelled of her.
He'd clutched it close, imagining what a pathetic spectacle he must have made, a grown man sitting in an armchair pressing his face against a stuffed animal and breathing in deep. He hadn't cared about it one whit. Later on he had reluctantly relinquished the toy to his son, feeling nothing but cold envy at seeing the child sleep with his arms wrapped around the plushie. He had briefly contemplated making his sporadic appointments with Archie more of a routine thing after that, but he had soon dismissed the thought. Nothing the spineless shrink told him would cure what ailed him. If time couldn't, then nothing could.
He pulled himself back to the present. Belle was back. For good. He hadn't planned for such an eventuality, the same he hadn't planned for her leaving town all of a sudden, vanishing in the night. He had thought she'd go to college, somewhere relatively close but still far enough to get a taste of the world. She'd visit periodically for some years, then graduate and get a job somewhere else, giving him plenty of time to slowly get used to being without her. Instead she had disappeared, never to be heard of again (except by Jefferson, Bae and, he suspected, Ruby) and returning four years later, announcing she planned to settle once more in Storybrooke, taking care of the library. Drunk as he was it was hard to control the mandatory inappropriate thoughts that came from thinking of Belle as the town's librarian. He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, willing images of a primly-dressed Belle French sprawled across the reference desk, an exquisite offering surrounded by old leather-bound books.
He shook his head, clearing his mind as much as he could. Belle was back. It was a reality he had to face. A plan of action was needed. The town was small, he was bound to cross paths with her a dozen times a day. And she had made it clear- and a part of him thrilled at the mere memory of her anger, fuelled by the love she felt towards the boy, his boy- she wouldn't be parted from Bae this time around, not that he'd even dream of doing something so stupid like that again. She'd be a part of his life again, and he needed to decide how he felt about that.
Eager was one word to describe it. Nervous would be another, and terrified one of the most accurate ones. He didn't know what to expect of this strange new variable nor did he know quite yet what he himself wanted, other than seeing Bae happier than he had been in a long, long time.
He concentrated in the short term goal of looking less sloshed by the time she came to deliver Bae, showering and changing, resisting the urge to put on Belle's favourite purple stripped shirt or the pocket handkerchief she had given him as a present years ago, opting for his dark blue shirt and one of his suits, sans the jacket. He cursed himself for his idiotic nerves and, when the doorbell finally rang, he forced himself not to lunge towards the front door.
Under the sterile porch light Belle looked still beautiful, wrapped in a red pea coat and carrying a sleepy but smiling Bae in her arms, nuzzling against her.
"I hope you haven't been waiting long. I fed Bae."
She couldn't quite hold his gaze, her stiff posture and air of unease making him queasy. Once upon a time his house had been Belle's favourite place in the world, a place that would one day become "theirs" instead of just his. Now she could hardly bear to be on the front steps. He took the child from her arms, glad when Bae hardly stirred, quickly settling back to sleep. The tyke was quite heavy at six, but he didn't relish showing how much his knee hurt in front of Belle.
"That's quite alright," he replied, belatedly remembering she had spoken to him. He took a deep breath, looking for the words to invite her in because, quite obviously, they needed to have a little chat. But, before he could, Belle pulled back.
"I gotta go unpack and go see Ruby. Have a nice evening, Mr Gold."
She turned and walked away a bit too quickly for a woman wearing stilettos, and soon the night swallowed up. The pawnbroker shifts the boy in his arms, trying to stomp down the sudden panic that she'd disappear again, like last time. He'd given up the right to care four years ago, willingly. It would be unfair to her to try and get it back. He'd let Belle make the first move, and act accordingly.
It had always been, after all, the very nature of their relationship. She lead, he followed.
Belle approached him the day after, at the pawnshop. She wore a dress, deep blue with a thick brown belt and lovely wine-coloured peep-toe shoes, her hair free and flowing, longer than he remembered her wearing it during her teenage years. She played it casual, her fingers idly ghosting from trinket to trinket, a strange warmth in her eyes as she gazed around. Belle had always loved his shop.
"Belle," he greeted from behind the counter, refusing to call her by her last name as she did him "I didn't quite expect to see you so soon. It was just yesterday, after all, that you fled my presence."
It was unkind of him, but he was quite used to lashing out when wounded. Belatedly he realized she'd notice.
"I'm here because the sooner we resolve this little situation with Bae the better for everyone concerned," she replied evenly, her eyes drifting to him for a second before focusing on an old cuckoo clock, a garish thing he was quite sure he'd never, ever sell.
"Quite right, dearie," it was his time to hurt, his generic nickname for everyone he thought was beneath his interest in town escaping his lips "Well, Bae's school lets him out at three. He usually stays with the babysitter till I come home around seven but, if you can take care of him during those hours, we could find a peaceful way of... sharing custody."
The term was unfortunate, but rather accurate as well, so she let it pass, nodding instead.
"I'll be dealing with paperwork for a week or two, between Adele's state and her business matters, so I'll be home, mostly. The permits and such I need from the Town Hall will take a few days, so any work in the Library will have to wait and, even then, I'll just take Baden with me, if you have no objections."
It was only when Baden was mentioned that she showed doubt and a glimmer of fear beneath the cool steel of her exterior. She was a thing of beauty to see in action: poised and calm, carefully blank when considering her options. But when the boy, her boy, was in the middle, she tumbled and wavered. The amount of power he held over her was as humbling as it was horrifying.
"I won't object to your relationship with Baden. Never. You have my word."
Belle laughed but it was a hollow, unpleasant sound.
"You gave me your word once. It turned out to be worthless."
The bitterness felt foreign coming from her, and it gave him a glimpse of a less put-together Belle, a broken Belle. He almost recoiled from her then, an awful, high-pitched voice inside of him taunting him.
'You broke your little Belle, you broke your little Belle...'
"A once in a lifetime event, I can assure you," he replied, his idle hands toying with a rather ancient Lladro figurine he was supposed to be cleaning. It was a horridly-mocking piece, anyway: a brunette ballerina, stretching on her stomach, supporting her upper torso with her folded arms. The figurine was dressed in blue and white, and her ballet slippers were a deep red. Tillman, the mechanic, had been the one to bring it in and the moment he'd seen it he'd known he had to have it.
The figure wore a rather cruel resemblance to Belle, after all.
"You say that now, but I won't make the same mistake twice," she spat, and a part of him saw her outburst as something good. He'd rather she treated him with contempt and rage than with the same smooth politeness that she used to shield herself from the rest of this accursed town.
"What? Loving me?"
"Trusting you."
The sound of the bell marked her departure.
After that first meeting things got easier to handle. An unspoken truce where Bae was concerned settled over them both. She remained closed off and tight-lipped around him but the rumour mill allowed him a glimpse into what had been her last four years.
Adele Shoeman had financed her departure from town and, really, he should've guessed that. The old lady, with more money than she'd ever need and a soft spot for his youngest tenant, had set her up in her tiny flat in Boston till she could get her thoughts together. She'd helped her apply to colleges everywhere, adamant about paying for every expense. With no children or nieces or nephews, Adele was rather in desperate need of someone to dote upon and Belle had reluctantly agreed. He assumed there was more to the story, he doubted Belle would have let the old lady pay for her higher education. There were a lot of blanks still waiting to be filled but, as says turned into weeks, it seemed rather masochistic of the pawnbroker to hunt for every little piece of information about a woman who spoke to him only to deliver his son safely home. What little joy he could get came from seeing Bae's face and his increasing openness. Though he clearly would never be an extrovert his boy seemed more interested in reaching out to the world around him, or less afraid to do so. He would no longer follow his father's way, the coward's way. He'd grow up brave like he had always wanted.
So he spent his days at the shop or collecting the rent, catching glimpses of Belle whenever fate would take pity on him, and waiting for her to tell him were they stood. Patience was a virtue he had cultivated over his time as a dealmaker, and it still did not seem enough when Belle was concerned. He begun to think she'd happily spend the rest of her life in Storybrooke exchanging two words a day with him when she came into his shop one afternoon, a dark blue dress with white patterns swishing about her legs. Though she caught him by surprised he struggled not to show it, merely waiting for her opening statement.
"I heard you bought Storybrooke Stables from under Regina's nose and burned the whole place to the ground," she said and, when he did not object, she continued "I seem to recall a rumour about the mayor's teenage years. How she'd fallen hopelessly in love with Daniel Warren, the son of the owner of the stable. Poor people, could barely scrape by, but very honest and genuinely fond of horses."
"'tis a true story," Gold commented, pretending to read something on his Inventory list, wondering where this was going "Lovely family, if a bit financially challenged. Owned several prized horses that they'd refuse to sell. And Regina was really quite besotted with their doe-eyed boy, which of course meant Cora moved some strings and got the boy's family to see it would be better for everyone if little Daniel went to spend some time with his aunt and uncle. He died in the way, I recall. Tragic accident."
The glee in his voice was at once disgusting and riveting and Belle hated herself for the goosebumps she could feel forming on her arms and the back of her neck. She'd forgotten how intense Malcolm could be.
"And now the stables are no more. Ruby also said there's a nasty rumour going around town that you bought all the horses and sold all but one, Daniel's mare. They said you killed her."
He shrugged, waving a hand as if to dismiss her words.
"An unfortunate incident while removing her from the premises resulted on a permanent limp. Shooting Apple was a mercy."
Belle snorted, the gleam in Gold's eyes giving him away. She felt a bit elated and, with a sinking feeling of dread, realized that killing a horse was probably the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Except that, the way she figured it, it had been less about her and more about him. As it always was. Malcolm tended to think he was acting selflessly for her sake when in reality he was serving his own purposes. Silly man.
"My father's still in the hospital, by the way," she smiled when Gold dropped his pen and the clipboard he'd been holding, breathing in deeply.
"Oh, yes, Madam Mayor paid me a visit this morning and went on and on about your nefarious assault on my dear dad," she smiled at his incredulity "What, surprised she's playing her little games so soon or that I seem unwilling to dance to her tune?"
There was something wicked about Belle then, a sort of glee at the idea of being toyed with that he found inexplicably arousing.
"Well, my dear, she does like to see all her ducks in a pretty neat row," he rasped out, suddenly eager to crush her to him and hold her down till she spent all her anger towards him and he could finally see if beneath it there was love like before.
"Oh, yes, ducks. But I bet the swan's giving her a bit of a problem," they almost shared a conspiratorial grin, except there was too much between them to permit it. She grew sombre again, something sad flickering across her face. She tilted her head to a side and he prepared himself for whatever question she might pose to him.
"Was it for me? Was it for you? Was it to get even? Was it to send a message?" he voice was tiny, and her eyes huge, and it took all that he had not to react in a way he had no right to anymore.
"What, the stables or your father?"
"Both."
He ducked his head, breathing deeply before answering.
"I was in pain. I wanted them to be, too."
"Well, you are rather good at that," she remarked casually, her tone neutral and impersonal but her body language so closed-off he dared to look at her face, needing to try and read her emotions.
"At what?" he asked, rather breathless. Belle shrugged, focusing her eyes on a globe, making it twirl with a lazy motion of her left hand.
"Inflicting pain," she smiled "It's lucky that I moved on long ago."
She said the word without malice, or resentment, just a plain statement hanging in the air, communicating to him what she expected of their relationship, like he had wanted from the start. But just before she turned to leave he saw it: two glimmers, one in her eyes and the other about her throat: a hint of unshed tears and the sun caught in a thin golden chain about her neck.
It was the necklace he'd given her for her eighteenth birthday. He'd recognize the delicate craftsmanship anywhere, remembered his fingers caressing the delicate links for hours as he changed the clasp for a much more secure one before presenting it to her. Suddenly he had the answer to both his questions: Belle still loved him and, judging by the way his heart had decided to leap to his throat, he still loved her. He didn't know whether she'd done it on purpose or by mistake, but he was quite sure she'd tipped her hand quite clearly. They might have spent four years apart but Malcolm still knew her inside out at the very core of things. So much of Belle would always puzzle him but the base, her centre, was something more familiar to him than his own reflection in the mirror. Funny to think that, had she not decided to try and lie to him, he might have never known.
All alone in his shop, Mr Gold laughed.