Summary: Gold awakens to a surprise. Later, Gold and Belle take their relationship to the next level and Belle takes a stand.

Hey guys! Lots happening in this chapter. I hope some of your questions will be answered and that you're happy with the direction of the story.
HUGE NEWS: I am incredible excited to announce that this story has been nominated in The Espenson Awards (TEAs) on Tumblr in both the categories of Best Trend and Best Fic. I cannot tell you how humbled and grateful I am that you nominated All of Me in both these categories! If you would like to vote for this story (and I really hope you do!) voting begins on Tumblr on January 29th, 2017 and ends on February 4th, 2017 11:59 PM (CST).

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post/156247608340/masterlist-of-nominations-pt1

We are a thousand voices strong
We are each a girl who sings this song
We are a beauty that's our own
and we are, and we are
So Beautiful
—Superchick

Gold awoke surrounded by warmth and softness, reluctant to stir. Never had his bed been quite so comfortable.

Brushing away the cobwebs of sleep, he blinked and nuzzled his cheek against the pillow. It was the softest, most luxurious pillow he'd ever lain his head upon. Content, he closed his eyes again, savoring the last vestiges of sleep before he faced the sunlight streaming through the windows. But his limbs were boneless from slumber and he couldn't have moved if he tried.

Lavender. He breathed in the sweetness of lavender and vanilla, then nuzzled deeper into the pillow and groaned, wrapping his arms tighter around its middle and mapping its curves with his palms. He wanted to hold her for just a few more minutes.

Her?

Gold snapped to consciousness. His head was cushioned not by a pillow covered in Egyptian cotton sheets, but by Belle's soft, generous breasts. The robe she was wearing— his robe—was gaping open from neck to waist. The thin grey t-shirt he had loaned her last night dipped and stretched over her glorious curves. Dark spots of moisture dotted her chest.

Oh God—he had drooled on Belle.

He lifted his head from her chest, prickles of embarrassment tinging his cheeks. He swiped a hand over his eyes and peeked beneath the blanket. Their legs were tangled together, but they were both fully clothed. Good. Not that he was complaining about waking up with his beautiful girl—no, Belle French in his bed was a sight he would welcome every morning for the rest of his days.

One question remained, however: what were they doing in his bedroom?

There had been a storm last night, he remembered that much. Belle's car had broken down nearby and she'd come to his house to wait out the rain. They'd shared a quick soup and sandwich dinner, watched a movie, and succumbed to sleep on the sofa. From that point forward, his mind was a blank slate: he had no memory of coming upstairs and bringing her into his bed. Yet looking at her now, her face flushed from sleep, her long, dark eyelashes shadowing her creamy cheeks, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Gold knew he should rise. Lying half-sprawled prone across Belle's body was rather undignified, but the selfish part of him refused to leave the luxury of her embrace. However, he did need to do something about his breath. He ran his tongue over his teeth, the taste of last night's movie popcorn a sticky film on his tongue. A grin pulled at his mouth—he had spent more time admiring Belle than viewing the movie, her face alight with joy and her gentle laugh filling the room and warming his heart.

"I don't get to watch much television," she had confided, "so this is a treat."

He'd frowned at that comment and silently vowed that he would sit through movies and television shows with her every night for the rest of their lives if it pleased her.

Stop. His brain had already fast-forwarded to forever, but a woman like Belle couldn't be rushed. She had to be wooed and courted properly. He wasn't about to scare her away and lose her like that idiot Sean had. Besides, he was enjoying the slow, easy pace as their relationship unfurled. It had been ages since he had shared witty conversation with another adult who wasn't in his family or the subject of an interview. When was the last time he'd spent time with any woman other than Emma? He loved his family, but he'd been lacking in companionship for too long.

Gold may have been out of practice, but even he knew better than to subject Belle to his morning breath.

He rummaged in the nightstand drawer, fingers hunting for the package of mints he'd been storing there since Henry's last sleepover at his house. They'd spent an over an hour sitting in the dark cracking mints between their teeth, trying to create the elusive spark of light produced by the mixture of sugar crystals and nitrogen. Thank God for Henry.

He popped a breath mint into his mouth and chewed, the freshness of wintergreen washing away the remnants of last night's popcorn and wine. Unable to resist, he leaned down and feathered a kiss across Belle's shell pink lips.

Her eyes opened, wide and clear.

"You're awake," he blurted stupidly.

"Good morning." She lifted her arms over her head and smiled, a slow, perfect, lazy stretch of her lips that made his heart slam against his ribcage. She was so beautiful, lying there in his bed with her hair spilled over his pillow like a Grecian goddess. Heaven help him, he was a goner.

"Morning," he echoed, his gaze fixed on her mouth as her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

"I taste mint," she accused. She craned her neck and sniffed his mouth, narrowing her eyes. "You wake up with minty fresh breath? Did you sneak out of bed to brush your teeth? Because that's not playing fair."

Sheepishly, he opened his palm to reveal the roll of Breath Savers. "No, I cheated. Henry's mints."

She laughed, soft and throaty. "Are you sharing, cheater?"

"For you?" he teased, "anything."

She giggled and popped the proffered mint into her mouth and crunched on it. Gold's heart fluttered again—Belle ate mints the way he did. Every little detail he uncovered was a delight. Knowing she took her tea with a splash of milk and two sugars, the way she snapped a mint between her teeth, learning that blue and purple were her favorite colors—all the special pieces of Belle that made her a unique and beautiful soul.

Unable to tear his eyes away from her, he absorbed every stretch and sigh until Belle sat up and patted her tousled hair. "What are you staring at? Is my bed-head that bad?" This time her laugh was nervous, reminding him that she was probably feeling as self-conscious as he was.

He swung his gaze around the room, then looked back at her, feeling like an utter fool. Gold knew what he wanted, but their blossoming relationship wasn't just about his desires. His pulse thrummed a nervous beat.

What on earth had he said or done last night to coax her upstairs with him and into his bed?

"Gold?" She picked through her auburn curls with her fingers. "That bad, huh?"

"No, sweetheart. You're lovely. Forgive me for staring but I'm a little surprised. I wondered"—he swallowed heavily—"I can't really remember how we ended up here. The last thing I recall is falling asleep on the couch."

"Oh, that." She shrugged. "You seemed restless and uncomfortable, so I suggested that stretching out in bed would be better. We walked upstairs together and I tucked you in." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "You asked me to stay here. With you."

His mouth dropped open in horror. "I'm sorry, Belle. I hope I didn't...I didn't mean to imply…that is to say, I wasn't myself."

"Please don't apologize," Belle said firmly. "I'm your…I wanted to."

"You're what?"

"Nothing."

"What were you going to say?" he persisted.

"Only that I wouldn't do anything I don't want to do. You didn't force me or make demands. You asked, and I was happy to stay." She glanced down at the bedspread, nervously fiddling with an errant thread of silk, then met his eyes once more. "Lying next to you, holding you…it was the best night of sleep I've had in years."

"Oh, Belle." His chest swelled with happiness and he drew her into his arms. "Me too."

"I'm actually really glad you brought that up, about not remembering what happened last night," Belle said, her voice muffled against his chest. She lifted her chin, her perceptive gaze roving over his face as if searching for answers. "You were having, well, I'm not quite sure how to characterize it. It felt like a nightmare and an anxiety attack at the same time."

Understanding dawned: he'd had an episode, brought on by the storm. They had been routine in the years when he was on location, covering crises and wars, but the attacks had since receded. He hadn't had one in years, not since before he and Neal moved to Storybrooke.

"It happened in the park too, a couple of weeks ago," she reminded him as she stroked his back. "I didn't want to say anything, but I was worried."

Yes, the noise of the crane had startled him and Belle had drawn him out of his panic with her tender touch and sweet kiss. No one had ever done anything like that for him before. Through the years, he had become adept at hiding the attacks from Neal, though of course his son knew about them. Perhaps he should make an appointment with Dr. Hopper to revisit his coping strategies. No. Gold shoved the thought away. He didn't want to see a shrink. He wanted to be with Belle and be happy. He wanted, needed, to be strong for them both.

"A touch of anxiety from my time overseas," he explained, easing out of her embrace. "Rarely happens anymore, but loud noises sometimes trigger minor panic attacks. Nothing to worry about."

"You're sure?" Belle probed, her tone gentle. She covered his hand with hers, rubbing their thumbs together in a soothing circular pattern. "You seemed frightened; you called for your son."

"Oh, I was probably dreaming. Dreams have a way of working out my anxieties. He forced a casual smile. "All better now," he said brightly. Thank you for taking such good care of me, sweetheart."

Eager to change the subject, he twined their fingers together and brought her knuckles to his lips for a chivalrous kiss.

"I like taking care of you," she said. "Especially after all the pampering I've received since arriving here last night. Why, Marie Antoinette would be jealous."

"What can I say? I'm a fool for my beautiful girlfriend." He pretended to look under the bed then grinned at her. "There must be some cake around here somewhere."

Belle's jaw slackened and a flush hurried over her face. "What did you say?"

"Cake?" Gold reddened and looked away hastily. Honestly, the girlfriend moniker had just slipped out. He had considered Belle his girl for a while now, but hadn't found the courage to discuss their relationship. Perhaps even now he had spoken too soon.

"I think I need a cup of coffee," he announced, swinging his feet around to the floor and grabbing his cane. He extended his free hand to Belle to help her climb out of bed. "And some breakfast. Would you join me, Belle?"

She smiled and took his offered hand as she stood.

"I would love to."

xoxo

Still clad in Gold's t-shirt and robe, Belle wandered through the dining room and kitchen while he rummaged in the refrigerator for breakfast fixings.

Her clothes from last evening were dry; she had thrown them in Gold's dryer and hung her intimates in the guest bath to air dry. But they were stiff and cold from the rain, and she was so warm and cozy in his things, his musky, fresh scent clinging to everything she wore. Changing into her street clothes now was paramount to breaking a magical spell or awakening from a delicious dream.

Gone were the nerves that plagued her when she'd first appeared on his doorstep in the middle of last night's rainstorm, replaced with contentment, happiness, and a feeling she couldn't quite name. The longer she stayed, the more at home she felt.

The rambling Victorian was relaxed, comfortable, and decidedly unpretentious—nothing at all like the house she shared with her parents. Here, dust was allowed to gather or a book could be left open by the fire. It was an entire house that mirrored her overstuffed room—filled with tchotchkes and welcome clutter, family photos and books. All the things that made it so much more than a house, it was a home.

As she looked around the dining room, Belle caught sight of a dust-covered plaque shoved toward the back of a cabinet. Slack-jawed, she realized it was a Pulitzer Prize. Wow, she mouthed quietly. She swiped the dust from the raised lettering of the large Gold Medal before shifting it back to its hiding place. Belle smiled fondly; Gold was entirely too modest. Emboldened by her newfound positivity, she shuffled back into the kitchen to rejoin him.

He was standing in front of the stove stirring eggs in a pan, and she leaned against the door jab to look her fill. He had discarded his robe; the apron knotted about the lean waist of his black silk pajamas and the boyish tousle of his close-cropped hair decidedly adorable. Belle inhaled deeply; the sweetness of caramelizing onions and the yeasty smell of baking bread sang a seductive symphony.

It was on the tip of her tongue to push him for more details about last night's nightmare, but she decided against saying anything more. If there was anything Belle hated, it was being forced to talk about things she wasn't yet prepared to confront. Erskine—her boyfriend—would divulge more when he was ready.

Boyfriend. True, it had surprised her when he had called her his girlfriend, but she could tell it had surprised him as well. Contrary to her expectations, the label felt good. Right. There was no unpleasant rush of anxiety when she whispered the word out loud in the bathroom, no knot of dread coiled in her stomach like when Sean had claimed her as his own. No, this time would be different—it was different because Gold was a real man; kind and chivalrous and intelligent, not a post-pubescent boy who couldn't appreciate a "real" woman with full curves and dimpled thighs.

And you think you're a real woman?

Of course, her old friend Doubt, never content to leave her in peace. You don't deserve a man like Gold, Big-Belle-y, Doubt snarled from the dark corners of her mind.

"Shut up," Belle hissed under her breath.

"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" Gold turned toward her, sliding perfect, golden omelets onto two plates.

"Great." Belle nodded and flopped down at the kitchen table.

"You seem a bit more relaxed at this breakfast than you did at our first," he said, eyes twinkling.

Belle's ears burned, thinking of how klutzy she'd been, dropping her journal open on the floor, and how suspicious she'd been of poor Gold. She had spent that lovely morning wishing for it to be over, and now she regretted not enjoying their "first date." She shrugged her shoulders, silencing Doubt and its companion Regret, and vowed to not to repeat the mistakes of that fateful first breakfast.

"Tea?" Gold's low voice and closeness brought her out of her musings as he leaned down to press a kiss beneath her ear and fill her teacup.

"You have a way of putting me at ease," she admitted, turning her head to press a kiss to his whiskered cheek.

"I make you comfortable?" His smile broadened. "I'm glad to hear it. Try a croissant?" He waved a plate piled high with the butter-laden pastries in front of her nose.

Belle's mouth watered at the heavenly smell. Without granting even a fleeting thought to calories, she plucked a warm croissant off the plate and shoved a large bite into her mouth. Flaky pastry and buttery goodness melted on her tongue, and Belle moaned in ecstasy. "These are incredible. Like eating angel's wings. Did you make these?"

Gold flashed a guilty smile. "No. All I did was warm them in the oven. I order them from a French bakery I frequented when I was in Paris. They've been making them this way for four generations, a closely guarded family recipe. They don't ship product but"—he shrugged—"I'm a very good customer."

"Of course you are," Belle said with a teasing smile.

"Just don't tell Mrs. Lucas, all right? If word gets out, protestors will be marching in front of the Mirror demanding that Granny's receives a splashy and flattering restaurant review." He rolled his eyes. "One bloody time I made a crack about her lasagna and I do believe I'll never hear the end of it."

"Your secret is safe with me," Belle swore, tearing a piece off the croissant and offering it to him.

"Preserves?" he prompted around the mouthful, edging a ruby jar in her direction.

"They don't need a thing. They're perfection." Belle scooped up a steaming bite of eggs flavored with goat cheese and chives, then another.

"I'm glad you're enjoying everything," he said, beaming.

"I am." Belle noticed Gold shoving his eggs around on his plate and frowned. She was shoveling food in her face and he'd scarcely taken a bite. "Aren't you?"

"Belle, about what I said upstairs. Are you comfortable with that?" He picked up his croissant and tore it in half, then dropped it.

Belle set down her fork. "With being your girlfriend?"

He nodded, looking a bit stricken.

He meant it. He truly meant it. Belle's heart leaped with the knowledge that he wanted her, exactly as she was.

"I'm okay with it. More than okay." She reached across the table to grasp his free hand. "Erskine," she whispered, choking on emotion, "you've made me very happy."

"Good. All I want is your happiness, Belle," he said seriously. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and his eyes were moist.

With the matter of their relationship status decided, they spent the next several minutes holding hands and eating in companionable silence, until a sharp knock at the door interrupted their peaceful interlude.

Gold dropped his fork and muttered, "I'll get it."

Belle gingerly sipped her tea as he strode toward the front of the house. The heavy leaded glass door creaked open, and an all-too-familiar voice filled the foyer.

Daddy.

Belle's blood ran cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at herself in Gold's bathrobe. This didn't look good, and appearances were everything. She closed her eyes, praying that Daddy had come alone.

"Ah, visitors," Belle heard Gold say. No such luck. She hovered in the kitchen doorway as Gold stepped back to admit Daddy and Edith, who elbowed her way past her father. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. French."

"Good guess," Edith bit out, clutching her purse against her side. She was perfectly coiffed, dressed in a clinging navy dress, and the sickly sweet smell of her perfume overwhelmed the entryway.

"Proper introductions are tradition," Gold chided. "Among civilized people, that is. I'm Gold." He held out his hand and Edith stared at it like he'd contracted leprosy en route to the door. Nonplussed, he turned to Maurice, who had the grace to pump Gold's hand once, earning him a nasty glare from his wife.

So rude. Belle wanted to expire on the spot. Biting back a gag, she steeled herself for the approaching confrontation.

"We know who you are. Where is Belle?" Edith demanded.

Hearing her name—why else would they be making a social call at nine o' clock in the morning?—Belle hurried the rest of the way to the door. She positioned herself next to Gold, drawing strength from his confident posture.

"Daddy, Edith, I'm here." Belle cut her gaze guiltily toward the den where her dead cell phone lay forgotten at the bottom of her handbag.

"Belle and I were just enjoying breakfast," Gold said pleasantly. "May I offer you a croissant?"

Edith wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"No? Perhaps coffee then?" He looked back and forth between her parents.

Belle inhaled sharply, willing them to respond.

"I would love a croissant," Moe piped up.

"We're not staying," Edith cut in icily, then jabbed her elbow into Moe's rounded stomach. "And neither is Belle. Get your things, dear. And change out of that gentleman's robe into some decent clothes."

"No," someone said in a bold, authoritative tone. It took Belle a moment to realize the voice had been hers.

"Excuse me?" Edith pursed her lips.

"I said no," Belle threw her shoulders back and drew up to her full five-foot one-inch height. "Gold and I are having breakfast. I'll be home when I'm finished."

Edith sucked in her cheeks like a fish; she didn't seem to know what to do with this information. "What about your car?"

"I'll call for a tow," Belle said. "I would have last night but with the weather so terrible, no one was going to come out and rescue me. Then my phone died."

"And that's exactly why you need us, Belle," Edith clucked. "Your poor judgement is constantly getting you into scrapes. Has ever since you were a little girl. Remember the time your bike had a flat tire? Instead of walking it home you propped it against a tree and left it behind. We never saw it again!"

Belle sneaked a look at Gold, gauging his reaction to this ridiculous family drama, but his face was closed, impassive.

"It's my life, Edith," she said in a quavering voice.

"That it is." Her stepmother nodded briskly and raked her cold gaze over Belle's body. "And you're determined, it seems, to make poor choices."

Belle pressed her lips together, fighting against tears. Edith was blowing this entire situation out of proportion. She wanted to scream that she hadn't done anything except accept some harmless hospitality, sleep in Gold's arms, and eat a freaking pastry, but she wasn't a child. She refused to explain her actions or decisions or make excuses for her boyfriend. "That's not fair. I'm a grown woman. I decide how I spend my time and who I spend it with."

"Coming to a safe place to seek shelter from a storm isn't a poor choice," Gold interrupted. Belle felt him step behind her and rest his hands on her shoulders. "Belle did a brave thing."

"Fairness is an interesting concept," Edith continued, ignoring Gold's comments. "Most of the time, Belle, we leave you to your own devices to hole up in your room to read your books and flip through decorating magazines and scribble in that journal of yours—but a courtesy call to let your family know you're all right is hardly setting high expectations. One might even say it's the fair thing to do."

Belle swung her eyes to Daddy, but he was eyeing the floor and toeing at a scuff mark on the floor. She sighed in defeat; there would be no help from that quarter.

"Mr. and Mrs. French, my breakfast is getting cold," Gold said. His tone had switched from cordial to businesslike in the blink of an eye, slicing through the tense atmosphere. "I would like to return to my meal. You are welcome to join Belle and me, however, I must insist we continue this discussion in the dining room." He gestured broadly, the invitation punctuated by a small bow.

Beyond the twitch of her jaw, Edith didn't move a muscle. Moe twisted his fingers in front of his paunch, a sheepish look crossing his bloated features, while Edith's face was set in a line of indignant refusal.

Belle smothered a hysterical laugh. Here was Gold, behaving like a perfect gentleman, when he had every right to toss her parents out on the street.

"Daddy, Edith. I am sorry I didn't call last night. But as you can see, I'm perfectly fine." Belle's stomach pitched and roiled with nerves, but she held onto her dignity. "I will finish my breakfast and dress, and Gold will bring me home. You know your way out?"

She gestured toward the door and without waiting for a response, Belle spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen.

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