Dance of the Curse

Chapter Ten: A Proposal

Moe French doesn't know what to say to his stormy faced daughter when she emerges from the hospital to join him on their walk back home. He had thought these days were behind him, days when he was stymied with his independent and lovely girl, when she grew out of her teenage years but apparently not. Her mouth was in a tight line, her jaw tense but her eyes were conflicted.

"I spoke with Mr. Gold and he says he's not going to press charges."

Moe nods and tries to look thankful but it doesn't surprise him that Gold is going to let this little scuffle slide. Jo still doesn't know the details of his first hospital stay and he wasn't about to divulge them. After his visit to Gold's pawnshop, after seeing the emotions Gold tried to hide when the subject of the chipped cup was broached, he knew the reason behind the rage. If Moe had his memories earlier, it would have been Gold who had been beaten within an inch of his life. How could he blame the man for loving Belle so much that he was willing to kill her murderer himself? And the thought brings him up short with a groan.

Rumplestiltskin really was in love with Belle. Which means Gold was really in love Jo. He knew it back in the pawnshop but the realization still took his breath away. He saw the way Jo had been clinging to Gold in the deserted library. Her hands on either side of his face, a beautiful smile on her face. She had looked genuinely happy and he was going to have to accept that.

What Belle wants, Belle gets. He just wishes she didn't want someone like Gold.

"I'm going to have to spend most of tomorrow in the library," Jo was saying. "Mr. Gold is stopping by on Sunday to see the improvements."

Moe's hands clenched into fists before the pain in his right hand prevents the motion. "Alright."

Jo's face softened slightly. "You told me that I would know when I loved someone."

"Oh, Jo-"

"He told me that he loved me before I went missing. Is that true?"

At least he could speak the truth and not have it be horrible. "I don't know, my girl. Gold tends to keep things to himself so it's difficult to say one way or another."

"Would he lie about something like that?"

He wants to say yes. He wants to make Gold out to be the black hearted snake that he always believed the man to be, but the image of them twined around each other and smiling stops him. "No, I don't think he would lie about something like loving you."

Her whole body language changes with his statement. She practically skips two steps and her grin boarders on giddy. She is happy and, as much as he hates to admit it, she is in love. But it is the most joyful he has seen her in so long that he can no longer fight against this realization as much as he wants to rail against it. At least he knows that Gold loves her and loves her enough to avenge her supposed death. She picks up his good hand in hers and practically glows under the streetlights.

"What can I do to convince you just how right it felt with him?"

Her joy is contagious and he is so thankful to see a genuine smile on her face, but he is still a father. "Jo, he's double your age."

She huffs indignantly. "Wasn't Mom much younger than you?"

Moe stops suddenly on the sidewalk. "You remember that?"

Her face goes serious and her eyes become unfocused, an attempt to see if any other memories might be called forth. "I do remember that. Mom was ten years your junior, wasn't she?"

"She was, you're right. Do you remember her?"

Jo fights for the memories but after a few minutes of concentration, she is forced to give up. "No, not really. Just a few glimpses of her face but that's all."

"Well," he looped an arm around her shoulder and they continued walking, "she did die when you were very young. Don't be discouraged."

That goofy grin came back on her face. "How can I be discouraged when I've found two men who love me so much?"

He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "Just don't forget that I will always love you no matter what."

Jo looks around the library one last time. She had spent twelve hours straight yesterday painting all the walls and even finishing up the trim. Her father had brought her dinner after the sun went down and then helped her arrange some of the horribly out of date arm chairs in tucked away corners of the building. After a coma like night's sleep, she picked the only dress she owned, grabbed a cardigan and headed to the library.

That morning, she removed all the sheets that covered the tables and chairs, as well as the circulation desk in preparation of Mr. Gold's arrival. The books hadn't been touched yet but most of the hard physical work was done. The floors didn't come up as nice as she wanted and she briefly wonders if she should have asked Mr. Gold if green was an acceptable color for the walls. She hadn't had time to take the coverings off the windows either, figuring that would one of the last things to be done before the opening.

She hears the door open and smooths her dress, tugging at the skirts nervously. Suddenly she's more nervous about what Mr. Gold will think of the simple blue dress she was wearing and how she fixed her hair instead of paint color and furniture arrangement. She tries to remind herself that it was one kiss, one kiss that ended with a hospital stay for him and quite possibly meant much less than what she had worked up in her mind. She could hear the tap of his cane as he made his way through the lobby and the thought came to her that he may have loved before but that was when she had her memories. What if he didn't want a blank slate but the girl that he had first fallen in love with?

Jo's sudden nervousness vanished when Gold came into view and she saw the lingering bruise on his jaw. Even though she had an understanding of her father's protective streak, she didn't fully understand the extent of it in light of seeing the mark of violence in front her.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

He glances around the room, tense and wary, as if expecting an ambush. "For what?"

She steps forward and brushes her fingertips over the discolored portion of his face, carful not to cause him more pain. He relaxes slightly, turning his head and planting a soft kiss into her palm.

"War wound," he smiles before leaning down and gently pressing his lips to hers.

Jo wondered why she had been so nervous. That feeling of belonging, rightness, pushes away any and all doubt as she twines her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. His hand splays across her back, encouraging her even closer. All to soon, he pulled back from the attention he was giving her lips but thankfully didn't release her from the safe harbor of his arms.

"I thought you wanted to see the library," Jo smiles up at him.

"I did see the library." He kisses her on the cheek. "And it is quite lovely," and he bends down, pressing another kiss directly under her ear, eliciting a shiver from her. "But I would much rather see the Librarian."

Her breath escapes her somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. "You'll still be charged for overdue books."

He laughs against the column of her neck. "My little book tyrant."

She pulls back from him sightly, just enough to encourage him to lift his head. She stares into his eyes, runs her fingers across the planes of his face, searching for something, anything familiar. "I really wish I could remember you."

Ever since she had opened her eyes after that first kiss, she had seen nothing but adoration and wonder in his face. But now, at her words, a sad, small smile tugged at his mouth. "And sometimes I wish you could too."

"And the other times?"

He leans forward and rests his forehead against hers. "And the other times I wish you would never remember."

"I would certainly like to remember exactly what it was that I did to make you look at me like that."

"And that is why you don't need your memories." His fingers mimick what her own had done and dance across her cheekbones. "I love you, just you."

She doesn't know why she wants to cry when he says those words. If feels as if her mind and body remember something but refuse to make her conscious self aware of it. Instead her eyes burn, her throat constricts and all she can do is kiss him again to show her gratitude for his kindness. She wonders how she ever could have thought something like this could have developed between her and Geoff. There was a fire contained in her ribcage, a possessive, tender little dragon of a thing that had awakened when he first kissed her and not before, never before.

He breaks away with a slight whimper. "Perhaps we should, uh, do some discussing of the library."

She has to laugh at the semi-dazed look on his face. "Yes, I think we should."

He finally looks around him, actually taking in his surroundings. "You finished all the painting."

"Yes, I did." Now that there was space between them, her nervousness returned. "I wasn't sure if I needed to get your approval on the paint color. I hope it's to your liking." She picked what she thought was a calming color of sage green but perhaps he had other ideas for the building.

"I think it's perfect."

Suddenly she had a sense that she could have painted the place purple with pink stripes and he would have thought it was perfect. "I'm going to get slipcovers for the chairs."

He stops by the small grouping of the overstuffed chairs and looks like he wants to poke at them with his cane. "Why don't we just get new chairs?"

"Slipcovers are cheaper."

He gives her an incredulous look but slips his arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. "When you close your eyes, what do you see in this space?"

She starts to tell him that this is his library, not hers and based on how he dressed, he probably had more taste in his pinky than she had in her entire body. But she looks up at his face and sees what he's trying to do. He's giving her a gift, a thank you, for what she's not entirely sure. So she does what he asks and closes her eyes. She tries to imagine this little back corner decorated with chairs but she is no interior decorator. Instead, she concentrates on the pressure of his hand on her back, the warmth of him standing next to her and a smile creeps across her face.

"I see a fireplace," she said, "with tall leather wingback chairs with individual reading lamps and an persian carpet." She feels his breath ghost across her cheek and she keeps her eyes closed, indulging in the mental image she has created and pretending that this is his home, and he's giving her part of her own space in his life. His lips press against her cheek and that little sleeping dragon in her rib cage wakes up and stretches.

Jo turns in his arms and presses her mouth firmly against his. She's dimly aware of hearing his cane clatter to the floor but she wraps her arms around him, taking the weight against her gladly. She opens her mouth under his and he deepens the kiss with a moan. It doesn't take long before the tenderness that they had started with turns toward desperation. Jo may not have memories but she trusts how her body reacts to this man, how it keens into his touch and longs for his proximity. She also trusts the emotion that runs through him, that causes him to tremble under her hands.

He pulls back from her with a gasp. "Marry me."

"Yes."

Her eyes snap open when she realizes what she's just agreed to and finds the same shock mirrored in his own brown eyes. Maybe he hadn't meant to say it and the thought troubles her far more than it should, but his arms tighten around her and hope starts to take root under the mask of shock.

"Will you?" He still looks flabbergasted. "Would you really?"

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at his expression, as if his entire life hangs on her answer. But how could she say no when she had found that small place in Storybrooke where she felt at peace and at home. But she's not a fool, she doesn't know him that well yet but she knows enough of what it is to be found when you are lost.

"Yes," she repeats, more mindful of the answer. The joy that breaks out on his face is almost painful to watch, as if he too had finally found his own way home. He moves in for another kiss but she holds up a finger and stops him. "But we have to tell my father."