Before he leaves for work, Gold sets her up with some more tea and her antibiotics, reminding her that she needs to take the next dose soon, and telling her that he'll be back with some lunch in a few hours. On his way out the door, he leans over her on the couch and presses a kiss to the crown of her head, his lips warm and soft against her skin.
Belle pretty much can't remember the last time anyone cared as much about her as he seems to, taking care of her and worrying about whether or not she's safe and comfortable. Probably not since her mom died all those years ago, and her whole life seemed to just fall apart.
She knows that she should probably just enjoy it while she's here, let him be kind to her and not question it too much. But there's a part of her - a much bigger part than she would like to admit, the part of her that's spent the last year getting beat up and kicked around and passed from john to john - that knows this isn't going to work out like she wants it to.
Men like Gold don't just magically fall in love with street whores like her, she reminds herself.
And yet, Belle can't stop thinking about the feel of his skin against hers, the look on his face when she touches him, how when she's with him everything seems brighter and more alive. So she tries to ignore all of the ways that this could go wrong, and instead takes another sip of her tea, settling into the couch and opening her book again, trying to forget about her life outside of this apartment.
By the time Belle finishes the book, only an hour has passed, and the morning is still stretching out in front of her, long and lonely.
It's incredibly quiet in the apartment, the silence almost oppressive, and Belle turns on the television, out of desperation more than anything else. There's nothing on but infomercials and morning talk shows, but at least it feels less strange in the apartment once there's some noise
It's sunny again outside, the storm passed, and she walks over to the window peering out wistfully. She can't remember the last time she spent more than just a couple of hours inside, and she's already starting to get antsy, being cooped up like this.
For one brief, insane moment she thinks of going back out there, of finding Ruby or Ashley or, hell, even Jefferson, someone from her real life, and getting back to what she's used to. The thought is short-lived though; even if her cough isn't as bad and her fever's down, she shouldn't be traipsing around in the cold, hanging out on street corners with a bunch of hookers and runaways just because she's bored.
So, she looks around her, deciding what she should do.
Gold's apartment is warm and homey, but it's also kind of a mess. There are piles of laundry on pretty much every flat surface and their breakfast dishes are still sitting in the sink, dried egg crusting on them.
So she decides to make herself useful and gets to work.
She starts with the dishes, washing first the breakfast plates and then her teacup, being particularly careful of the chipped rim, making sure not to break it. The last thing she wants to do is drop it and have it shatter into a million pieces.
After that, she moves on to the laundry. Her old clothes - the ones she was wearing that night Gold picked her up - are still laying in a dirty pile on the bathroom floor, and she's been wearing the same t-shirt and sweatpants for almost 48 straight hours.
There's a hamper in the bathroom, and she drags it over to the small laundry room off the kitchen. She feels a little weird going through his laundry, but she figures he probably won't mind. He mostly wears suits anyway, so she basically just ends up with a pile of dress shirts and boxers.
While she washes the clothes she's been wearing, she puts on one of the dozens of dress shirts Gold has hanging in his closet, figuring he won't mind too much. Most of them are silk, brightly colored and patterned, but she finds a solid blue one tucked away in the back. It comes down almost to her knees, and she has to triple-roll the sleeves just to get them to stay up past her wrists, but it's soft and luxurious against her skin, and it smells like him, clean and vaguely herbal.
She spends the day cleaning, dusting the bookshelves and scrubbing the counters and and vacuuming the floors. The dust makes her cough and sneeze, and the fumes from the cleaning solution makes her throat burn, but she still feels better somehow now that she's actually doing something besides just lying in bed all day, being sick and pathetic.
By the time Gold comes home for lunch, the apartment is looking pretty good, all of the counters shining and the smell of bleach and lemon hanging heavy in the air.
When he walks through the front door, two shopping bags held in his hands, Belle's just finishing the last of the laundry. She's still just wearing his shirt; her old clothes are still looking a little grungy even though she's run them through the wash twice already, and she's started to like wearing his stuff, this feeling like he's with her even when he's gone.
"Hi," she says, setting the basket of laundry down on the couch.
"Hey," he says. He's got a bunch of shopping bags held in one hand, and he puts them down on the kitchen counter as he glances around the apartment, a look on his face like he's not quite sure what's going on.
"I cleaned," she tells him, tugging self-consciously on the hem of the shirt. "And borrowed a shirt. Is that okay?"
"You're supposed to be resting," he says, looking around the apartment, like he doesn't recognize it. And, okay, maybe she went a little crazy with the dusting and the polishing, but it just felt nice, doing housework like a normal person.
She's about to apologize to him for overstepping her bounds, when a coughing fit hits her, making her head throb and her chest ache. She's been feeling a lot better, but the dust and the cleaning fumes are starting to get to her, she guesses.
Her nose is all red and runny from the cleaning fumes, and she probably looks completely revolting, but Gold's over to her in a heartbeat, shaking a silk handkerchief out of his pocket.
"Sorry," she sniffles, trying to wipe her nose discreetly. Ugh, she's getting his handkerchief all gross and snotty, but he doesn't seem to mind, just rubs his hand gently against her back, touching her like he can't help himself.
Once he's apparently satisfied she's okay, he gets her a glass of water and then grabs one of the bags from the counter, unloading a couple of containers of soup and some sandwiches. A lot of sandwiches, actually.
"Um," she says, looking at all the food on the table. "Are we expecting anyone else or...?"
Gold laughs, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. "I just wasn't sure what you'd like," he tells her. "So I got one of everything."
"Oh," Belle says. It's just...that's really nice of him. Especially since she would basically have eaten whatever he brought. Beggars not being choosers and all that.
She ends up with turkey and ham, and he has the same, the two of them sitting across from each other and eating in companionable silence. All throughout the meal, he keeps glancing up at her with these soft smiles, like he's really glad that she's still there.
Their ankles are touching under the table, and after a little while she starts to nudge her foot against his. He smiles when she does, nudging her back. Belle bites her lip and looks down at the table, smirking a little as she runs her foot up his calf, sliding her toes slowly up his leg.
When she gets to his thigh, he closes his eyes, taking a deep slow breath, and reaching out to stroke her instep, his fingers brushing delicately across the curve of her foot.
Belle gasps and curls her toes into his thigh, leaning closer to him, when he's suddenly pushing his chair back abruptly, standing up and grabbing the empty takeout containers. Belle just sits there for a moment, trying to get her bearings, figure out what she did wrong.
When she starts to get up to help him clean, he waves for her to stay in her chair. "No, no," he says. "I'll do it."
She's about to protest again, when he grabs one of the other bags off the counter. "Here," he says, handing it to her. His voice is soft and gentle, which makes her feel a little better. "These are for you."
The bag is filled with clothes, a couple pairs of jeans and a few sweaters, all of them neatly folded and still with the tags on. For a minute, Belle just looks at them, feeling like she might cry. Everything is so clean and new and soft, and she doesn't know what to say, holding the bag and running her fingers over the soft blue fabric of one of the sweaters.
"I wasn't sure what size to get," he tells her. "If you don't like them, we can..."
But before he can finish, she's launching herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Rum," she says.
He starts a little at the nickname, and Belle smiles as she presses her face against his neck, his stubble rasping against her cheek. Belle can't resist kissing him, just a brush of her lips against his skin. He inhales sharply, his breath catching, so she does it again, this time running her tongue lightly up the side of his throat.
She's still just wearing his shirt, and they're pressed together all the way down to her hips. When she nips at the spot below his ear, she can feel him start to get hard. But when she moves to kiss him for real, he just puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her away gently.
"Why don't you try on the clothes while I clean this up?" he says, turning away from her, his hair falling in front of his face so she can't see his eyes.
Even though he's still not looking at her, Belle nods, trying not to feel hurt or confused or rejected.
In the bedroom, Belle sets the shopping bag on the bed, taking out the clothes slowly. There are two pairs of jeans, the fabric stiff and thick, no holes or rips or fraying spots on the knees, and two sweaters, one navy, one light blue.
At the bottom of the bag, under the sweaters, she finds a toothbrush and a pair of canvas sneakers and socks and even some underwear, just regular cotton ones in plain white and pink, probably the least sexy ones she's ever seen in her life.
As she slides the jeans over her hips, she smiles to herself as she imagines him in the store, trying to find all of these things for her, deciding what she might like.
The clothes are a little big, everything hanging off her too-thin frame, but they're new and they're clean, so Belle isn't about to complain.
When she heads back out to the living room, Gold is finishing up in the kitchen, putting the leftover sandwiches in the fridge. "Everything okay, then?" he asks, nodding at the clothes.
"Perfect," she tells him, and he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in this way she's starting to find almost unbelievably endearing. "Except," she holds up her arm, showing him the tag that's still hanging from the sleeve. She didn't want to just yank it off, worried that she might rip the sweater. "Do you have any scissors?"
"Drawer next to the stove," he says absently, pulling his suit jacket over his shoulders.
The drawer is a mess, full of plastic utensils and batteries and papers, and she rustles around looking for the scissors. There's a folder inside, and when she moves it some of the papers spill out, and it takes her a second to recognize her father's name, and - what?
She takes out the folder, scissors forgotten, and flips it open. There's a picture of her father paperclipped to the inside front cover, and his name is all over the papers - arrest records, she realizes dully. She sees her name there in a few places as well, and Belle bites down hard on her lip, forcing herself not to cry.
"Why do you have this?" Belle says, her voice coming out strange, high and tight. It takes Gold a moment to realize what she's got in her hands, and when he does, his face closes off, his expression guarded.
"Belle," he says, but doesn't say anything else.
"What is this?" she asks, even though she's pretty sure she knows the answer.
"Belle, please. You're..."
Belle cuts him off, not interested in whatever excuses he's got lined up. "No, Rum, just tell me."
She tosses the file on the table, and another set of papers slides out of the folder. When she sees Gaston's name, she gets a sick feeling in her stomach. It's just - how the hell does he know about Gaston?
"Why do you have this?" she says again.
He just looks at her steadily, not answering her question, his expression dark and hard.
"Tell me," she finally shouts, her voice sounding shaky and pathetic.
She expects for him to yell back at her, but instead his voice is low and dangerously quiet. "He hurt you, Belle."
"He's my father!" she yells, not sure why she's even bothering to get so worked up over this, after all the horrible things her father's done to her, proof of half of them sitting on the table in front of her.
Gold smirks, this twist of his mouth like he thinks she's an idiot, just some dumb pathetic kid who doesn't know anything. "And yet I seem to care more for you then he does."
Belle flinches, swallowing hard and looking away from him. "You don't know anything about me," she says, quiet and angry. "And you can't just buy me with a sandwich and a couple of new shirts. I'm not that cheap."
He scoffs, and Belle feels her face flush hot with shame. The tags are still on the clothes, dangling pathetically off the sleeve of her sweater. She wants to pull it off of her, show her she doesn't need him or his stupid charity, but she's not wearing anything underneath and so she's stuck.
"I'm not trying to buy you, dearie," he says, his voice low and cold. "I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't need your protection!"
"Is that right?" he asks, reaching out and taking hold of her arm. He grabs right where the bruises are, tightening his fingers until she flinches, whimpering pathetically before she can stop herself.
He lets go of her immediately, a stricken look on his face. "Belle," he says, sounding legitimately horrified. "I'm sorry, Belle."
She just pushes past him, tears pricking her eyes as she heads for the door.
"Belle, I'm sorry," he says again, desperate. "I am."
But she doesn't turn around, just wrenches the door open and heads out into the hallway, not wanting to hear anything else from him. She knew this wasn't going to last, knew this was too good to actually happen to her.
She just storms out, not even knowing where she's going, just going. Fuck him. He doesn't know anything about her.
Belle's not sure why she expects for him to follow her, but she does, and she stands outside of the building for a few minutes, trying to calm down. She tells herself she's not waiting for him, but she's got no other reason to stand here like this. What she really wants is to go back inside, to tell Gold he can investigate her father, Gaston, whoever he wants, while she curls up in his bed with a book and her chipped cup of tea, and pretend like that's her life.
But he doesn't come chasing after her, and the air is frigid, making her chest ache as she stands alone on the sidewalk. Her feet are already going numb inside the thin sneakers, so she starts walking, trying to keep warm.
She starts shivering after about a block - even though the clothes are new, they're not particularly warm - but she just wraps her arms around herself and keeps walking, her head down, no idea at all of where she's going.