"What's wrong dearie?" He asks her one morning. He can tell that something is off, because Belle has her usual sunny smile, but she's quiet, not eager to tell him about Ruby's latest drama or what book she's reading now.
"Nothing." She flashes him the brightest and biggest smile she can, before focusing very intently on his knee as he does exercises.
"You know, doctor-patient confidentiality can extend both ways." He offers and that makes her actually smile, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
"Does that mean you'll keep my secrets?"
"So long as you keep mine."
"I'm bound by law to keep yours." She reminds him lightly.
"And that's how I like it." He smirks. She gives him a disapproving look halfheartedly then sighs heavily. "Now please tell me dearie, I can see something weighs on your heart."
"Mold." She admits, after a long pause. "My apartment complex is infested with mold. Apparently, now it's so bad that the city has stepped in. We have 60 days to vacate and I've already wasted two weeks trying not to think about it. But with my roommates moving out, I'd be an idiot not to see the inevitable. So I'll be essentially homeless in a month and a half."
"Stay with your father. Or Ruby." He suggests and she smiles, handing him a resistance band so he can switch exercises.
"I thought of that too. But Ruby has five roommates even more dramatic than her." She muses and he raises an eyebrow at that. "And my dad is so far out. It's not that I don't love him, it's just that… I love being in the city more. I love being close to my studio and places to eat and stuff. I hate being that far out."
"There is a charm to the city." He agrees and she hums in agreement.
"So I guess I'm on the hunt for an apartment that I can afford in addition to paying all this off," She gestures to the studio around them. "And my student loans and living in New York in general. No wonder the last place had mold." She gives him a rueful smile and he watches as her gentle hands take his knee, monitoring it, feeling for strength and weakness.
"Live with me."
"What?" Belle looks like he's burned her, staring up at him with wide eyes and a shocked expression. He shrugs, trying to be casual, while his insides are screaming bloody murder.
"It would give you time to find a suitable place without the fear of encroaching mold, and it would give me a personal therapist and masseuse on hand at all times. It… Gets worse in the winter." He admits, twitching his leg.
"We can't live together." Belle looks scandalized, wringing her hands and it's rather endearing, so different from her normally unflappable self. "You're my client, I'm your physical therapist!"
"Plenty of rich men employ personal physicians." He says innocently. "I assure you Miss French, you'd have the utmost privacy if you chose to stay with me. I can give you an entire wing."
"A wing?" She says faintly.
"I wouldn't impose in any way. You could even take my car with me into the city, since the studio is mere blocks from my work and we already arrive at the same place most mornings." He's scared how well he's thought this out. "You'd have use of my chef and driver, and it would be completely free. You could repay me by letting me use your services more often."
"You're going to let me live with you." Belle states, as though she's heard him wrong. "For free. You're going to feed me, drive me, give me a wing of wherever you live, in exchange for me massaging your knee when it hurts?"
"Perhaps tea every now and then." He adds in as an afterthought and that does nothing to stop her stunned expression. "Miss French, I find you to be funny, smart, articulate, feisty, endearingly sweet, and most of all, a good human being. As you can imagine, I encounter few of those in my line of work. You are a good person and you deserve good things to happen to you. If you are in need, then I will help you. It's as simple as that."
"I just…" Belle tilts her head. "How long?"
"However long you need." He assures her. "And if you need help finding a place, I may have a few connections in the area."
"Thank you!" Suddenly, she launches herself forward and is hugging him tightly, swaying side to side. He hangs onto her, not so much to return the hug to but to remain upright. "I promise I will be on my absolutely best behavior. I'll only be there a couple weeks, tops. You'll hardly know I was there!"
"I'm sure." He mutters and she untangles herself from him. He lets her go, just a little reluctantly.
"Ok." She's beaming, shaking a little with excitement. "Ok, I have so much to do. First, let's finish you off."
"Yes, that would be nice." He says distantly, her words killing him, in disbelief of what he's done.
"Good morning sir." Mary Margaret says cheerfully, when he strides into his office, still in a daze. "Do you need coffee this morning or have you already had tea at your appointment?"
"I have done something very stupid." He announces, without looking at her, and she leaps up, following him into his office.
"What? What? Is everything ok? Are you ok? What did you do? Mr. Gold?" She demands worriedly.
"I need your help." He's surprised at how easily he admits it, and he can tell how stunned Mary Margaret is, but he knows when he's in over his head and this is that moment.
"Ok, with what?" She asks eagerly. He sits down with a heavy sigh and rubs his temples, trying to figure out where to start.
"Do you remember when I began these appointments?" He says tightly and she sits down carefully in a chair across from him, looking at him imploringly. "You asked me what they were."
"I did." She says slowly.
"And I told you self improvement. And I was not lying. But it's something more. I've been going to…" He trails off, not noticing that Mary Margaret has a small smile, hiding it with her hand.
"Yoga." She says, when he doesn't seem able to say it for himself. He looks at her in astonishment. "Oh, don't get all huffy about how I am encroaching on your privacy, I had Belle's contact info that you gave me. I just looked her up. I've been taking a couple classes of my own there."
"You're what?" He can't quite wrap his head around what's going on, but Mary Margaret is grinning.
"I go to Belle's yoga classes, usually after work. She's lovely. Yoga is lovely." She says cheerfully.
"Yes, she is." He says, a little dumbly, forgetting for a long moment what he brought her in for in his irrational jealousy that he has to share Belle with Mary Margaret. "And I've invited her to live with me."
"What?" Mary Margaret leans forward, amazed. "Why?"
"Her apartment has… Mold." He says jerkily, replaying the conversation in his head. "She needs a home. And…"
"You offered her one." A smile the likes of which he's never seen before graces Mary Margaret's lips. "That's very kind."
"I don't know what to do." He admits frankly. "It was impulsive and rash and stupid and… Ms. Blanchard, I think you know very well that I have no idea how to live with a woman, much less a woman like Miss French."
"Yes, your dispositions are quite… Opposite." Mary Margaret comments and he gives her a look but it lacks bite.
"I need advice. If she is going to live with me, no matter how temporarily, I cannot… I just cannot." He puts his head in his hands and Mary Margaret gives him a pityingly smile.
"Alright, fine, let's discuss." She clasps her hands together. "For one, you're going to want to cut down on the yelling and bellowing when you take a call, especially when you come home from work to keep working."
"I don't get many calls at home." He protests and she levels him with a look, before carrying on.
"And you have to be nice. Actually nice, not just tolerable. Talk to her, sit down for a dinner or tea, and take an interest in what she says." She advises and he frowns at that.
"I am interested in what she says." He defends himself and she raises an eyebrow. He adds, carefully, "She is… Very smart. And very opinionated. And I find that I can converse with her on a number of topics. And I have no doubt that I will find any matter of conversation a delight."
"Well than that's good." Mary Margaret tilts her head slightly, giving him a strange look. "You already know you get along well enough and you shouldn't be worried there. What are you worried about?"
"I don't know." He grumbles. "I don't know why I did it, why I suggested it, why she agreed. It was a terrible idea."
"No, it wasn't." She says firmly. "You did the right thing. And I know why you did it, and I know why she agreed."
"Do enlighten me." He says dryly.
"Belle is an amazing person. She really, truly is." Mary Margaret's smile softens. "And if you've been doing physical therapy with her three days a week, and yoga, and I'm assuming that was who you got lunch with, I can completely understand why you'd want to help her. Because under the big, scary façade of Mr. Gold, there is a good man."
"I am not a good man." He corrects her.
"Yes you are. You have a heart of gold, once you've decided someone's worthy of it. That's why you send him to the best school and give him everything he'd ever want, even if you don't go about it in the right way." Her tone moves from admonishing to sweet. "And you kept me around even when most of New York thought I was a scarlet woman, a harlot, and a slut, not because I'm the only person that knows how to keep your calendar but because you think I have gumption and loyalty, and you value that." She cuts of his protesting. "We don't have to talk about feelings, I know you hate it, but whatever you're scared of, don't be."
"Very well." He folds his hands. "If there's anything I can do before her stay, please let me know. I think you should be in contact with her to arrange that, I am a very busy man." He picks up a pen, to let her know that their conversation is over and she's dismissed.
"And I'll leave you to your work." Mary Margaret gets up, smiling. "I'll let you know if Belle needs anything."
"Very well." He repeats, not looking up, and Mary Margaret eases the door of his office closed.
He spends the rest of the day working on deals and agreements and bids, steadfastly ignoring the pounding of his heart every time his phone rings or Mary Margaret pokes her head into his office. He's on edge, wondering when Belle is going to call and cancel or back out. He's not sure if he's hoping for or dreading it. But it doesn't happen and eventually he has to resign himself to going home. He packs up his things and heads for the door.
He stands in the foyer, looking around at it with a critical eye. He'd never paid much attention to his home, not really. He'd paid an interior designer to come in and have her way with the place. It is tasteful enough, for him, with lots of rich dark woods and classical art, with just a touch of modern. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but now everything seems strange.
He tries to picture Belle here, her bright, sunny smile amidst the heavy curtains and gilded mirrors. He thinks she needs more light to live, not like him, a creature of darkness and habit. He moves deeper into the house, trying to figure out where Belle will stay.
"Mr. Gold?" His housekeeper, an elderly woman named Mrs. Potts, appears from one of the guest rooms. "Good, you're home. I have a question."
"Yes?" He follows her into the bedroom, looking at it. It's got a big window, letting in plenty of light, and a nice comfy bed. If Mrs. Potts would put some flowers on the bedside table, air out the bed sheets, and dust the pretty vanity, it would be fitting for Belle.
"Mary Margaret called me, said that I should be expecting a guest and you would provide me with more details. My question, sir, is who exactly am I to be expecting? Is... He... coming home for Thanksgiving? Should we expect him Thursday?" She asks carefully and his hand tightens on the cane.
"No, he will not be coming home. You may have the day off to be with your family, I can handle my meals for a day." He says dismissively. "But, yes, we will be having a guest. My… Physical therapist Miss French will be staying with me to provide in-home rehab."
"Oh." Mrs. Potts looks surprised. "Well, when can we expect her then? Should I ready this room or would you prefer another?"
"This room will do." He looks around at it, imaging the way Belle will fill the space, books piling up on all surfaces, a yoga mat in one corner. It fills him with a thrill of dread and excitement.
"I'll work to clean it up immediately." She bobs her head and he pauses for a long moment.
"Mrs. Potts, I will also require you to clean the library, thoroughly." He decides and she looks at him, wide eyed.
"The library, sir?" She asks and he nods. "If I can beg you pardon and ask why the library?"
"Miss French is of a very studious nature. Once she discovers my extensive collection, I have a feeling it's going to be very hard to drag her away." He smiles wryly.
"Is there anything else I should know?" Mrs. Potts requests and he muses on that for a moment. "Meals I should cook, items I should provide, anything of that sort for the Missus?"
"I will introduce Miss French to the staff upon her arrival." He gets a small smile when he imagines how Belle will greet everyone, excited to meet them, hear their stories, and become their friends in no time. "If she needs something, I am sure she'll make it known."
"Yes sir." Mrs. Potts inclines her head. "If there's anything else that I can do, please let me know."
"Thank you." He lets her go with a wave a hand and she disappears. He spends the rest of the night wandering through his home, wondering about Belle being here, and if it will result with him pushing her away, like he does with everyone. He can't bear the thought, and finally collapses into bed.
The next day at work, Mary Margaret treads very carefully around him for most of the morning. She brings him his favorite tea and a cinnamon muffin, smiling warmly. He's got no idea why she seems so determined to put him in a good mood, and goes with it, until late afternoon, when she comes in with an apologetic smile and a phone call.
"Mr. Gold, it's Belle."
"Miss French?" He looks up, trying to stay calm, even if his stomach is somewhere 30 stories below him. "Tell her I'll take her call now."
"Of course." Mary Margaret disappears back to her desk and a second later, his phone rings. He takes a deep breath and picks it up.
"Miss French."
"Hello, Mr. Gold." Her tone is bright and bubbly. His spirits are bolstered, even if he's sure she's about to tell him she has decided to pass on his offer. "How is your day going?"
"Good, and yours?" He asks carefully and she laughs.
"Oh, good. You'll never believe what Ruby did yesterday, after your appointment." She says, amused.
"And what is that?" He asks, setting aside his pen, knowing his full attention will go now to the sweet voice on the other end of the phone.
"She brought in Dorothy, and we had a nice little chat. She asks why I was at the studio so early, and I mentioned I was seeing a client." He tenses, ready to remind her of his privacy clause. "She asked me if a client was a code name for something else."
"Well," He responds, stunned. "I'm sure you corrected her that it certainly is not, Miss French."
"Well of course." She teases. "I thought it was amusing, that of course Ruby thinks we'd be involved in some sordid affair. She doesn't even know if it's a guy or girl. Which, I suppose, to her, doesn't much matter…" She muses and he can't help but chuckle.
"I'm glad you've had a laugh."
"I hope you did too. You don't laugh enough." She says thoughtfully. "Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow- it completely slipped my mind yesterday after the whole apartment fiasco."
"What about it?" He asks, trying to appear calm and collected.
"Well, with it being Thanksgiving, I thought you'd like to reschedule." She pauses for a second. "You do remember it's Thanksgiving tomorrow, right?"
"Of course." He says, a little affronted.
"I just checked, because I'm not sure if you observe public holidays." She says it in her sweet way, and he doesn't take offense to it. "So I thought we could move it to a different day."
"Yes, of course." His heart sinks, just a little because he's found himself looking forward to their sessions more than he would ever care to admit. "You have a lovely holiday, Miss French."
"What are your plans?" She asks, before he can hang up.
"Um," That causes him pause, thinking about what he will be doing tomorrow. "The offices will be closed, I'll likely be working from home. A small dinner, perhaps. A quiet day. And yourself?"
"Oh, dinner at Granny's." She sounds contemplative. "Ruby will be there, maybe Dorothy, my father, the rest of little family. If you'd like, you'd be more than welcome to come."
"Thank you Miss French but I hardly think that's necessary." He says quickly, before she can get any ideas. "And hardly appropriate for a patient to attend your holiday celebrations."
"Sure." She seems casual, dismissing his rejection. "But for a friend to attend my celebrations seems fairly appropriate."
"Well." That throws him, unsure how to react to her calling him a friend. "Then I do appreciate the offer, but I still respectfully say no."
"Well, alright then." There's a long pause from Belle and he very nearly takes her up on her offer, but then she speaks again. "Then I'll see you this Sunday at our next session?"
"Of course, Miss French. And if you'd like to discuss the details of your moving at that time, perhaps that would be best." He is cautiously optimistic, and is further reassured when Belle gives a little hum of happiness.
"That's a great idea. What are you thinking?" She asks curiously and his heart leaps into his throat.
"Well, if you'd like, I could send someone to help you with your things Sunday morning. Help you move to my home, perhaps get supper, and then head to our session?" He's picked up a pen and is clattering it about in his fingers, twiddling with it frantically, terrified of her answer.
"Well, that does sound great." Belle pauses and he can hear typing on her end of the phone. "Classes are canceled for the holiday weekend, so I'll put everything I don't need into storage. Do I need to bring anything? Furniture? Bedding? Anything like that?"
"No, no." He assures her. "Just bring yourself, Miss French, and anything else you'd like."
"Well that sounds good then." Belle is grinning, and even the thought of her smile makes him smile as well. "I'll see you Sunday then, Mr. Gold."
"And you as well, Miss French."
"Oh, and have a happy Thanksgiving!" She adds quickly, before he can hang up. He thinks about the empty house, the quiet phone, the plate of leftovers Mrs. Potts will leave in the fridge for him to reheat in the microwave.
"And you as well, Miss French." He repeats, quietly. With that, she hangs up, and he gently sets the phone back down, going back to his work. When he finally packs up for the day, Mary Margaret is still sitting at her desk.
"Sir." She stands when he exits, looking at her in surprise.
"Ms. Blanchard, what on earth are you still doing here? I thought you would've left at 5 like the rest." He comments.
"I wanted to talk with you and I know better than to disturb you during work." She tells him. He doesn't say a word, just gives her a sly smile. "And I don't have anywhere to be tonight, so a couple extra hours organizing my desk before a break isn't too bad."
"Nowhere to go?" He raises an eyebrow. "Where is Mr. Nolan?"
"Oh, home." She smiles just slightly as they get on the elevator. "Tomorrow his mother will come over for a meal. But tonight we don't have anything. Small families, you know."
"Yes." He says simply. He does know that both of Mary Margaret's parents have passed on, her mother at a young age and her father far more recently. She's an only child, and with both David's father and twin brother having left after a falling out when the twin boys were in college, he can imagine that their Thanksgiving table will look much like his own this holiday season. "What is it you wanted to talk about then?"
"You know who I'm talking about." She states and waits for his inevitable blowup. Instead, he heaves a long sigh and gestures for her to carry on. "I know you didn't bring him home this holiday break, but Christmas break won't be far behind, and it's weeks, not days. You really should bring him back."
"He will be quite content at school." He says tightly.
"No, he won't." Mary Margaret says flatly. "And you know that. He wants to come home with you."
"Well, he has studies." He grips the cane a little harder, bracing himself for the cold that will come once they set foot outside.
"And you are lonesome." Mary Margaret comments back, pausing and holding the door for him. "And even when Belle is there, you'll still be missing him. Besides," She gives his driver Jefferson a small wave. "I think those two would enjoy meeting each other. Have a good Thanksgiving."
"You too, Ms. Blanchard. And tell Mr. Nolan and his mother hello from me." He requests and she nods, disappearing for a taxi. He climbs inside the car, heading for home, trying not to think that if Belle does stay, just what she may see. For a man who thinks of everything, he truly did not think this through.
AN: Oh, now we're cooking... I have so enjoyed reading reviews, keep sending them by that boatload, and if you have any moments you'd like to see, I'll do my best to write them!