Disclaimer: As you can probably tell from the fact I'm writing fanfiction, I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters.
"I wish there was a way to get him out of my head," Snow said wistfully. Red glanced away nervously, "…wait, is there?"
"Of course not," Red lied, "That would be-"
"Red, what do you know?" The girl in the hood continued to fidget and Snow knew she'd have to hit below the belt to get her to talk, "Come on; I helped you when no one else would. What do you know?"
Red winced, glancing around, "Well, there are whispers. Whispers of a man who can achieve even the most unholy of requests…"
"If you're talking about Rumplestiltskin, forget it," Snow sighed, shaking her head, "It's not worth my firstborn…"
Red bit her lip. She hated to see Snow White so miserable. And after everything she had gone through as Red tried to get a handle on this whole wolf thing? She made dogs look unloyal.
"…if you don't want to deal with him…" She began slowly. Snow perked up, "…there's always his wife."
Snow raised her eyebrows in disbelief, "He's married?"
"They say she was the most desperate of souls, that she'd do anything to save her village. So she agreed to be with him…forever," Red twisted the end of her cloak up in her hand, "Over time her soul corroded away until she was just as evil as he is. People still say it's easier to deal with the Caretaker than the Dark One, but she's…choosy about who she sees."
Snow lifted her chin, face set in grim determination, "I guess I'll just have to take my chances with her, then."
That night, Snow drafted a letter, pleading for an audience with the Caretaker. She did not explain her plight, figuring her and Rumplestiltskin had both heard their share of pleas from brokenhearted fools like her. Against her better judgment she signed it "Snow White"; perhaps the name would tantalize the woman who called the most feared man in all the realms her lover. She sang the bluebird its instructions and then the letter was out of her hands.
She was surprised when her bluebird returned the next day, looking well-rested, well-fed and cheerful. An old bit of parchment was tied to its leg with a gold thread and Snow scowled. So wealthy she could use gold for a tie while entire kingdoms starved… The letter was brief.
Dearest Snow,
Of course I will help you. Meet me tomorrow night at the place where you first told me my husband's name.
Love,
The Caretaker/The Devil's Bride/The Harlot of Hell/The Chosen One/etc
"Dearest Snow"? "Love"? "Of course I'll help you"? Who was this woman, and how did she know her? She doubted she was this intimate with everyone… Snow sat back and pondered where on earth this chick was asking her to meet her at. If she didn't know her, then how was she supposed to know where she had said the name "Rumplestiltskin"?
Then, it hit her. All Hallow's Eve. She had told every girl in that library the name of the Dark One. It wasn't definitive, but it was all she had. Question was which of the hundred or so girls had been so desperate she had married the evil of all evils?
III
Belle woke to the sound of a blender and something yowling in agony. Her first fear was that he had stuck Figaro into the blender. Her second was that he was sticking Kit bit by bit into the blender. She leapt out of the bed and ran downstairs, painfully wide awake.
She came in just as Mr. Gold started up the blender again and Kit screamed obscenities, doubled over the counter and clutching at her head. Belle stormed over to the blender and pulled the cord out of the outlet.
"What in gods' name are you doing?!"
"I felt like making a smoothie this morning!" He proclaimed, his face a mix of anger and derangement.
Kit let out a weak moan, forehead to the counter, "My skull…is cracking…like an egg," she mumbled.
"Nasty hangover?" Mr. Gold asked menacingly.
"I want to die…"
"You should be dead, with the amount of alcohol you consumed," he muttered, then smiled serenely at Belle, "Would you like some, dearie?" He gestured towards the blender.
She shook her head at him, going to the cabinet, "Sadistic bastard…" Mr. Gold frowned, feeling shame for a brief moment before he poured himself a glass.
Kit slowly raised her head, propping it up with her hands, "So, the hell you want me to do today?"
"I'll have a list ready for you when you return from school."
Kit snorted, "There is no way I can go to school with this."
"Oh you will," he said, "Everything comes at a price; getting drunk's no different. You have to pay up."
"Motherfucker…"
"Oh no no no no," Mr. Gold held up a finger, "We're nipping this habit of profanity in the bud. No more of that kind of language."
Kit narrowed her eyes, "You don't control me."
"Actually, I do," he sipped at the beverage, surprised that whatever fruit he had thrown in during his little tantrum worked well together, "For two weeks, I am your employer. Any behavior I deem inappropriate you must strive to change."
"This is bullshit," she growled, "I have rights about freedom of speech."
"You're a minor; your rights are extremely limited at best," he said, gesturing towards the clothes she slept in, "So put some food down your gullet, don some appropriate clothes and get ready for school."
Kit looked pleadingly at Belle. Belle shrugged, "I think they're reasonable requests."
Kit snarled like a wild animal, then stole the remainder of the blender's contents before retreating to the guest room. Mr. Gold watched her go with a frown.
"I don't like being her parent," he decided. Belle sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.
"She'll only hate you until the curse breaks," she said, standing up on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder.
He sighed, holding his drink up to the shoulder, "I don't think I can hold off killing her that long." Belle took a sip, made a murmur of approval, and then he lowered his glass again, "Our entire dynamic has gone sour… I kind of just want to punch Regina in the face for this."
"Only if I get to watch," Belle kissed his collar, "Emma might've been the catalyst, but that doesn't mean she's the only one who can change things around here."
She let go of him as her toast popped up. Mr. Gold glanced over at her, amazed as always by her sheer confidence. Where did that even come from? How could she be so bloody sure of some things the way people could be sure of facts? It was like she had a sixth sense…
Belle started up the staircase to shower as Kit reemerged in the kitchen, their heated conversation drifting up with her.
"Go change."
"This is my uniform."
"One you've obviously outgrown. Go put on one that fits you."
"I like it like this."
"I don't. You look like Ruby on a Saturday night."
"It's my body."
"Go change before I make you."
"You're such a pervert!"
…Belle was going to get ready as quickly as possible, then sneak out before she became an accessory to the fight. She would, as she had always done, wash her hands of what went on between Rumplestiltskin and The Puss in Boots.
The mothers of Storybrooke's young students (the ones fortunate enough to have one) had an easy, low-stress routine for dropping their kids off. They entered one end of the designated drop-off lane, said their goodbyes and gave last minute reminders before their offspring departed. They then exited through the other side, the lane smoothly letting them back out onto Main Street.
It was peaceful. It was typical. It was a soothing start-of-the-day ritual for parent and child. No one ever even entertained the notion of the most feared man in Storybrooke joining the carpool mothers without so much as a warning.
It was Mary Margaret Blanchard's turn for drop-off patrol, a fairly boring vigil that rotated weekly between all the teachers. She stood absently making sure no parent lingered too long or that traffic wasn't blocked. Her mind was elsewhere though, mulling over the dilemma between her and David Nolan. He was married to a lovely kind woman…but all the rationalizing in the world couldn't stop Mary Margaret from wanting him, coveting him greedily. She was drawn out of her lewd daydreams by a black Cadillac pulling up, a screaming teenage girl in the passenger's seat. Miss Blanchard recognized Kit Pettigrew, a girl infamous for spending more time in the principal's office or playing hooky than actually attending class.
Kit stumbled out of the car, struggling for balance without arms. Said arms were crossed over her chest as she was restrained in a… Mary Margaret squinted to be sure. A strait-jacket. A strait-jacket and an ankle-length black skirt. Kit continued to screech at him, strategic car horn honks drowning out her profanity.
"You-" Beep. "I'm gonna-" Beep. "Your-" Beep. "You piece of-" Beep, beep, beep.
Mr. Gold leaned over, smiling sweetly at the bound enraged adolescent, "Have a good day dearie!"
Knowing better than to hold up traffic, Mr. Gold pulled away leaving Kit fuming. Had Mary Margaret been more positive that what she had just witnessed had occurred, she might've done something about the situation.
Mr. Gold was feeling pretty good about himself. He had set a clear guideline ("dress like a student in uniform, not like someone sexually roleplaying a student in uniform"), had told her the consequences of not following this guideline ("I will change your outfit as though you were a giant Barbie doll"), and then followed through (dressing her up as Mormon Asylum Barbie over her uniform). He had driven her to school like a good parent, and had dropped her off early so she could socialize with her friends before class. He wasn't as rusty as he had imagined; he could totally be a father again.
His delight faded when he entered the shop, Belle glaring at him. He stopped in his tracks, fighting down a whimper.
"…where are we?" She asked coolly.
Mr. Gold shifted uneasily, "…the pawnshop?" He offered.
She arched an eyebrow, "We aren't in the Dark Castle?" He shook his head, "You're certainly acting like it."
Mr. Gold lowered his gaze to the floor.
Belle made her way towards him, "We aren't isolated up in the mountains anymore; we are not free from society. All they see is you taking a fourteen-year-old girl from gods-know-where and abusing her without just cause."
"I'm not abusing her… I'm just not being particularly gentle," he muttered.
She leaned her hip against a counter, "I think you should work the shop today," she suggested softly.
Mr. Gold gave a reluctant nod, feeling a stab of pain in his chest. Belle was right; he was not immune to society here, no matter how despised. His methods with Kit were not appropriate.
III
Snow stood in the center of Winter's Pass Finishing Academy for Young Ladies library, the room empty due to the late hour. Somehow it was even spookier now, this place the past instead of the present, reality versus a story. Every sense was strained, waiting, preparing for whatever menace she agreed to meet.
Snow's stomach lurched as she suddenly heard footsteps in one of the aisles. She spotted a gold gloved hand caressing the book spines of the philosophy section.
"Look at us," A voice murmured, "Two of the finest bred women in the lands, one living with seven men in the woods and the other soul-bound to the Dark One. Headmistress would be ashamed."
Snow's heart skipped a beat, hope clawing upwards from the pit of finality.
"…Belle?"
The woman the gloved hand belonged to ventured out of the aisle, her smile barely fitting her face, "Hello, Snow."
Caretaker or not Snow squealed and ran to embrace her. Belle laughed as Snow ran into her open arms, hugging each other so tight their arms quaked.
"They told me you died!" Snow's words were strangled with emotion, "That you threw yourself off the tower…scourges and flaying…"
"Vicious rumors…well, the death part anyway," Belle amended, "I just got married is all."
Snow pulled away, looking over her former roommate. Belle had always been dressed in the finest her kingdom could offer, but even those dresses paled in comparison to the golden gown she wore now. Details so intricate it would take more than even a seasoned seamstress to accomplish, jewels crafted flawlessly and sewn into the dress that Snow had a sinking suspicion had once been a bale of straw. Belle blushed at the scrutiny.
"He insists I dress the part in public."
Snow shook her head in disbelief, "The girl who wouldn't even give her firstborn to him…"
Belle shrugged helplessly, "Things change. I got to know him. But…" She grabbed Snow's hand, dragging her to a set of chairs, "I'm not the only one who's smitten."
Snow frowned as Belle gently guided her into a chair, bringing her own closer. Her eyes lit up as she grinned mischievously.
"I've heard that there's a certain Prince Charming on your radar, hmm? A nice chivalrous piece of eye candy?" Belle teased, nudging Snow's knee. Snow stared down at her lap.
"That's what I wanted to speak to the Caretaker about… I don't want to love him anymore."
The joy vanished from Belle's face, "But…why?"
"It was just a day in the woods; he wanted his ring back, a ring for his fiancé. It meant nothing to him."
"But what if it did?" Belle urged, "I was engaged too. It didn't mean that I loved him."
"It doesn't matter," Snow met her eyes, "I'm a princess on the run, not exactly marriage material."
Belle clenched her jaw, "There's always a million reasons why we shouldn't fall in love. Letting them stop us is just an excuse to give up."
"I didn't come here to be preached at, or talked out of doing this. I came here for a cure to my broken heart," Snow insisted. Belle flinched, "Now either you help me, or I go to Rumplestiltskin."
A tense moment passed between them, Belle glowering and Snow standing her ground.
Eventually Belle sighed, "I know better than to try and talk you out of anything… Maybe one day you'll heed my advice."
There was a puff of purple smoke before Belle held a vial in her hand. Snow stared in disbelief, shocked at her old friend's new abilities.
"May I?" Belle asked, gesturing towards her hair.
Snow blinked, "Sure…"
Belle promptly pulled a few strands out of Snow's head. Snow winced.
"Drink this…" Belle said, putting one of Snow's hairs into it. It dissolved immediately, "…and you will forget you ever knew him."
Snow's eyebrows furrowed, "Seems a bit extreme."
"Love is the most powerful magic. It fuels our dreams, gives us hope. The…cure," Belle's mouth twisted at the word, "Must be extreme."
Snow stared at the vial, "…what's the price?"
Belle held up the extra strand, "This."
"Seriously?"
Belle shrugged, "That's what the boss wants."
"Why?"
"Not sure," she smirked, "What do you need it for now?"
Snow looked between the vial and the strand of her hair. She sighed, "Deal…"
Belle offered her the vial and Snow took it hesitantly, "Do me a favor and make sure he doesn't, like, make a doppelganger with it or something."
Belle snickered, "I'll make sure no ill will befalls your tresses," she pulled out a small bag and tucked the strand away, "But Snow?"
"Yes?"
She took a deep breath, "…I haven't been in this long, but I've seen plenty of people who thought they wanted something but it ends up they only thought they wanted it. Think long and hard before you drink that," she smiled wistfully, "Personally I find it's better to have the memory even if you can't have the person."
Snow met Belle's eyes, "I won't drink it on a whim if I do it at all. I'll pretend it'll cost me my firstborn." Belle smiled at the mention of their late night heart-to-heart. How things had changed.
She stood, resting a hand on Snow's shoulder, "It was good to see you again."
"Yeah. Good luck with the Dark One," Snow joked.
"Good luck with your seven men," Belle teased.
As Belle walked away, Snow found herself glad she had summoned the Caretaker, if only to see that her childhood friend was alive and even appeared to be doing well.
III
Belle was tempted to turn off her phone after this morning; it seemed like everyone on her contact list (and a few off) had texted her asking about what Gold had been doing to Kit/Miss Pettigrew/a fourteen year old girl. Belle hadn't replied to most of them (save Regina, whom she had told to mind her own business), and had been dodging concerned looks most of the day.
She was tempted to ignore the message that had just popped up but, reasonably, she couldn't. It could even be an apology from Rumplestiltskin…well, one could hope. She was surprised to say the least when she saw Mary Margaret's number.
Hey, are you free tomorrow for coffee or something? Seems like forever since we've hung out.
"You have no idea," Belle murmured. The last time had to be Emma's baby shower, or in Mary Margaret's mind high school. It had just been one of those falling-outs that happened when lives took different directions.
Belle frowned. That was mean of Regina, not at least giving her a community college education. Hell, Mr. Gold had a Master's in Law…
I'd love to. Granny's after school?
A stream of profanity came from the utility room and Belle tucked her phone away, rushing over. She was greeted with Kit frantically trying to shut off the washing machine, said machine starting to overflow. Belle reached over and pulled the correct knob. Kit's face went red.
"…thank you," she muttered.
"No problem," Belle stood up on her tip-toes, looking into the washing machine, "I think you just put too much in at once."
"I wanted to get it done," she mumbled, crossing her arms, "I've got a shi-ipload of other stuff to do."
Belle noticed the correction, but didn't comment on it, "I don't think he really expects you to get through all that in a few hours."
Kit shrugged, "All the more reason to try for it." With a sigh, Kit started to pull out some of the wet clothes, setting them aside, "I think he picked the shiddiest person to be a maid ever, though."
Belle laughed, "I'm pretty sure I had you beat."
Kit raised an eyebrow, "You were a maid?"
"For a few months, then I got promoted," Belle smiled at the recollection, "First day on the job, I made tea, and dropped a full cup on a priceless rug. Not only did I chip the handcrafted porcelain, but there was a stain in the rug that took me forever to get out." Kit sniggered.
"Did they get mad?"
"No, surprisingly not; just amused."
Honestly she had expected Rumplestiltskin to get angry, after all the stories of vengeance she had heard. But he had just waved it off, leaning back and smirking as she hurriedly made another cup. Belle's phone vibrated and she glanced down at it, Kit restarting the wash before going to get some towels to mop up the water.
See you there.
There were exactly three people in all of Storybrooke who had any chance of getting at Mr. Gold's soft side. The most successful by far was his lovely Belle, who was the only one who could calm the beast down during one of his infamous tirades. He had also developed a weakness for Henry Mills, perhaps because the kid was bright and precocious, and reminded him of Bae for no particular reason. If it wasn't for Kit being that third person, Mr. Gold might've just beaten her to a bloody pulp when he got home.
Figaro ran to meet him, the cat rubbing up against his leg in hopes of a smidge of affection. Mr. Gold lightly pushed him away with his foot before continuing towards the dining room. He glared in disdain at the set table, three ham and cheese sandwiches set out with some tortilla chips.
"I'm sorry, I must have missed the memo that we were having lunch for dinner," he sneered.
Kit glared at him from where she stood in the kitchen, "Sorry I didn't go to culinary school, master. Maybe you should check the credentials of the chick you decide to have as a maid."
"It's 9:17 and you two are already at each other's throats?" Belle complained, striding into the dining room. She greeted him with a kiss to the cheek before taking her seat, "She made dinner, you ornery old beast, shut up and be grateful."
A low grumble came from the back of his throat, sounding very beastly indeed, before he eased himself down into his seat. With all the wariness of a mouse in a pit of vipers, Kit took her own seat across from Mr. Gold and beside Mrs. Gold.
"So, how was your day at work?" Belle asked, trying to diffuse some tension as she took a bite of her sandwich. She didn't realize the trap she had just set off.
"Well Miss Swan paid me an interesting visit," Mr. Gold began, staring directly at Kit, "Apparently a few teachers heard some…concerning rumors about me prostituting under-aged girls."
Kit looked up at him, chewing her mouthful, "You sent me to school in a strait-jacket, what the heck was I supposed to tell them? You're the most controlling boss ever?"
"Yes!"
"Well I'll know that for the next time I accuse someone of pimping me out!"
Belle looked her husband over, lips pursed thoughtfully. Mr. Gold glanced at her, "What?"
"You do sort of look like a pimp."
Mr. Gold growled, picking up his sandwich and starting to eat it with as much disdain for his dinner companions as he could muster. Belle tried not to smile, and Kit rolled her eyes.
"You probably didn't even do our sheets, did you?"
Kit wrinkled her nose, "Why the hell would I do that? You guys do the nasty there."
Mr. Gold couldn't help himself.
"We've also done the nasty on the dining room table, but you don't seem to be complaining about eating here."
With reflexes that rivaled her old werecat abilities, Kit jumped back from the table as if it had caught fire. Mr. Gold indulged in a self-satisfactory smirk…before Belle picked up her plate and promptly moved to the living room. Apparently he had offended both of them with a single statement.
Belle avoided him the remainder of the evening. It irritated him that such an offhanded remark had irked her so much; was it Kit's business where they did it? No, but it wasn't like he was declaring it to the town… Their private life was still relatively private. Eventually he surrendered, passing by Kit's room on his way towards the stairs. Some sort of noise was coming from within; he supposed it would be called "music", but shouting obscene lyrics over beats wasn't what came to mind whenever he thought of music.
He snaked a hand inside and shut off the light. He was met immediately with protest.
"Midnight, Cinderella," he said simply, "If I catch you still on that laptop you'll be lucky if it just turns into a pumpkin."
He didn't have eyes in the back of his head, but he had a gut feeling she was flipping him off as he walked away.
Belle was already in bed, stroking the cat and staring up at the ceiling. Mr. Gold dressed down, then gave a soft sigh.
"Do you want an apology? I can give you an apology if you want one."
Belle frowned, "I'm not mad, Rumplestiltskin, I'm just…thinking."
They must be very serious contemplations, for her to be so worked up. He slipped into bed, studying her face, "…what are you thinking about?"
The only sound was of the cat purring contently, unaware of the tension in the house.
"I'm thinking about going on birth control."
Rumplestiltskin stared at her, "…why? I thought we wanted kids…"
"I did, but then Kit came," Her head turned towards him, those blue eyes misty with threatened tears, "I mean…is this how you're going to treat our child?"
"Of course not," he insisted, "It's Katja, for god's sake."
"Yet you say you love her, that she's the closest thing you have to a daughter," she gazed back up at the ceiling, scratching the cat behind the ear, "Maybe it's a good thing Ashley wanted her baby. Maybe we're not ready to be parents."
It would have been easier if she would've stabbed him. Mr. Gold sank back, eyes wide in disbelief, "…Belle…"
She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side. Mr. Gold just stared at her back, his mind fighting against processing what she had just said. Belle didn't want kids…because she was afraid of how he'd treat them. She was afraid he'd hurt the most precious thing she could ever give him because he was being a little rough on Kit. He spent the rest of the night continuing to stare at her, swinging between outrage and anger that she would ever consider him hurting their child…and utter self-loathing and pain that she might be right, that maybe he couldn't control himself as easily as he thought he could.
Maybe the gods saw how he handled Bae and weren't about to give him another life to screw up.
III
After school at Granny's was about as private as Granny's could get. Swarmed by teenagers hanging out after school who couldn't care less about adult gossip, adults themselves tended to stay away. Even so, Belle chose a booth near the restroom, having a hunch she knew where this meeting was going.
They exchanged polite greetings and Ruby brought over some tea. It wasn't until they were sure the well-meaning-but-nosy waitress was busy before Mary Margaret spoke.
"It's nice to talk to you, Rose. I mean one on one like this."
"Yeah, it's been a long time," Belle admitted sadly.
Mary Margaret bit her lip, "I'm sorry we didn't stay in touch," she murmured.
"It's my fault as much as yours," Belle shrugged, "You went off to college and I settled down with the town pariah."
Mary Margaret didn't seem to find the self-deprecating joke as humorous as Belle did.
She stared down into her cup of tea and Belle waited for her to organize her thoughts.
"…how do you do it?" She asked softly.
Belle furrowed her eyebrows, "What do you mean?"
"You and Mr. Gold," she shook her head, "I mean if you two can make it…no offense," she added quickly.
Belle giggled, "None taken." She grinned, shaking her head slowly, "What it boils down to is fighting and honesty. Every morning, we wake up and decide we'd rather fight for what we have than give up and start all over again on our own," she shrugged, "It's not perfect, and we argue all the time…hell we're in the middle of an argument right now. But we don't let it ruin us; it's just another form of expression."
Mary Margaret smiled longingly, "It must be nice, knowing that someone's there to stay."
"Yeah, but that isn't always the best thing either. If you know someone's going to stay, then some take that as permission to treat each other worse," Belle smirked, "Fortunately we don't take each other for granted, not after some of the things we've been through."
Ruby circled towards them, asking if they needed anything. They both shook their heads and Ruby reluctantly let them be.
"I think even more importantly, we're honest with each other, almost brutally so," Belle continued, "I made him promise early in the relationship no secrets; whatever he's done I'd rather he tell me than find it out from someone else."
Mary Margaret's fingers curled around her mug, "But what if…what if you can't be honest? What if being honest will hurt other people?"
Belle pursed her lips, "Is this about Kathryn?"
Mary Margaret stared at Belle, as shocked as if Belle had just asked her whether David wore boxers or briefs, "No! …yes… Maybe. How…?"
"I'm just observant," she said flippantly.
Mary Margaret sank back into her seat, "…then what do I do, Rose? I can't stop thinking about him…can't stop feeling that there's this connection between us…"
Why was it the only time Snow asked her for advice, Belle couldn't give her a clear opinion? It was so like her to be so difficult…
Belle crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat, "I believe in the sanctity of marriage…" Mary Margaret immediately opened her mouth and Belle raised a hand in a "hold on" gesture, "…but I also believe that love doesn't always last forever. The man who married Kathryn…he might be gone. If they both have the chance to be happy, then perhaps it's for the best if they separate."
It was hard for her to give the advice, but she had thought about it since she discovered James was married to Abigail in this world. On one hand she knew how it was supposed to be, Snow White and Prince Charming, but on the other… Was it ever right to break up a marriage?
Emotions crossed Mary Margaret's face almost faster than Belle could process; hope, fear, disgust, love.
"Most importantly, though, you have to be honest," she cautioned, "David needs to be honest. Kathryn doesn't deserve to be blindsided," she reached across the table and took Mary Margaret's hand, squeezing it gently, "She's a smart, strong woman; don't demean her by sneaking around."
Mary Margaret nodded, "You're right, Rose. You're always right."
Belle would have to tease her about saying that once she was awake. She'd probably blame it on the curse.
She suddenly stared at Belle in horror as a thought struck her, "If Mr. Gold tells you everything… Did he tell you he was going to put Kit in a strait-jacket?"
Belle frowned, "No, and that's part of the argument, the fact that he did that."
Mary Margaret tilted her head curiously, "What is going on with him and Kit, then? I've never seen him around children, except maybe Henry once or twice."
She sighed, "Darling I live in that house and I have no clue what's going on half the time," she poured herself another cup, "Personally I think he's trying to do the Big Brother Big Sister thing…but has no idea how to go about it."
Mr. Gold returned home that night to a lack of a blue Chevy. Either Belle had been severely sidetracked by her date with Miss Blanchard…or she was more upset at him than he imagined. He had spent the day in silent agony, tortured by her words last night. His mind kept screaming "it's Katja, though, you know how we are!"…but he knew that mattered little in this world's context. The lack of history between Kit and him was another gut-wrenching stab delivered by Her Majesty.
He came in to incoherent screaming and crying, and he hurried towards the kitchen. The cat was trying to console Kit, his little paw reaching up and tentatively touching her cheek. She didn't seem to acknowledge him, the stench of failure in the air as she bent over a pot. Had the smoke detector in the kitchen still been installed (Belle's tendency to forget things in the oven if she got too involved with a book warranted its removal), it would have been wailing, the acrid smell of burnt pasta lingering around them.
The cat saw him first, and gave an insistent meow to help him comfort her. Kit spun around and stared at Mr. Gold, and the shame on her face knocked him back to another time.
Katja's favorite activity while Rumplestiltskin was away was to mess with his supplies. Countless times he came up to his tower to see Katja pulling at her hair and striking out at the air, the acrid smell of a failed potion in the air. Or sometimes it was a spinning wheel jammed with straw, or a piece of his collection not responding to her the same way it would respond to Rumplestiltskin. There'd be tears in her eyes, a snarl on her lips, and shame when she was caught. She never tolerated her own shortcomings, and was her own worst critic.
"I tried."
It took Gold a moment to realize it wasn't his recollection of Katja who had said those words; it was Kit, the girl who had lost her sense of sanctity in this realm.
"I tried, but I did something wrong," she hissed. Mr. Gold still didn't speak for a full minute.
"…just clean up. I'll be right back," he said emotionlessly.
Mr. Gold turned around and headed out the door again. Kit brushed the tears from her eyes, her frustration morphing into dread. What was he going to do, get Mrs. Gold to make some five-star dinner so she could feel worse about herself?
Belle seemed to be in just as much of a hurry as the White Rabbit sometimes… She wondered if he too lost track of time, and had to chase it back down like she. Musings aside, Mr. Gold was home alone with Kit, and after yesterday she was positive this wasn't going to turn out well. As much as she loved catching up with Mary Margaret, she wasn't sure it was worth a dead body, because that was certainly what she was going to find.
"Where the heck's the teriyaki chicken?"
"Probably still at the restaurant."
"How can you get Chinese take-out without teriyaki chicken?"
"Easy, I don't order it."
"So you got this almond chicken crap instead?"
"Of course, how can you order Chinese take-out without almond chicken?"
"You're disgusting."
"That's what she said."
"…that is so wrong. You should not say that. Ever."
Belle peeked into the living room. Little white boxes with a red dragon emblazed on their sides cluttered the coffee table. Kit was kneeling on the ground while Mr. Gold sat on the couch, both of them using chopsticks to portion out the food onto their plates.
"Next time you should get teriyaki chicken," Kit grumbled.
"Next time don't burn dinner."
And then Kit smirked at him. Mr. Gold smirked back. Belle thought that maybe there was hope for things to be as they had been after all.
Kit glanced up, "Hey Mrs. G. We got Mushu's."
"Great," Belle plopped down on the couch beside Mr. Gold. He handed her a container of sweet and sour pork with a fork. She glanced down at Kit, "Let me guess; you informed her we did it on the couch."
Kit's eyes widened to the size of saucer plates and she started screaming, slamming her face down into an open spot on the table.
"Actually I hadn't. She just didn't want to share the couch with me," Mr. Gold said, trying not to laugh. Belle flushed, burrowing into the corner.
Kit eventually recovered, slipping Figaro some of her food when Mr. Gold wasn't looking.
"Did you do your homework?" He inquired. Kit grimaced.
"You're not my father."
"No, I'm your employer."
"Which means stay out of my personal life."
"Just answer the question."
Kit stabbed an innocent piece of beef, "…no."
"You need to do that then."
"But it's so stupid!" She exclaimed, "How the heck is reading "Frankenstein" going to help me in life?"
"It'll teach you to stay away from both men who steal body parts from corpses and monsters composed of body parts from corpses… You'd be surprised how relevant "Frankenstein" is," Mr. Gold said, taking a bite of rice before continuing, "It's the philosophy behind it that's more important, I think. How we shouldn't play god or go against nature… What makes us human, and what makes a monster a monster. Whether it's consciousness or a soul that makes us alive…"
"Whatever, I don't care about all that. I'm alive, I won't date a mad scientist, I don't need to read an entire book to get that," she shook her head, "Besides, reading's stupid. I hate it."
Mr. Gold whipped around towards Belle. She looked as if she had just been slapped across the face, baby blue eyes wide in horrified astonishment. A small whimpering noise slipped out of her throat and Mr. Gold fought the urge to wrap himself around her for comfort.
"Reading…is not…stupid," Belle insisted slowly.
Kit shrugged, "Hey, whatever floats your boat. I'm just sayin' I like movies more."
Belle set the rest of her food down, suddenly not very hungry. Mr. Gold rubbed her thigh reassuringly, trying to think of the worst chores he could assign Kit for depressing Belle so. It was one thing to tell someone you hated reading…it was another thing entirely for a loved one to tell a bibliophile that they hated reading.
III
Mr. Gold sat on the end of their bed, not too subtly watching Belle in the adjacent bathroom. She was combing out her long dark curls, too lost in her own thoughts to really notice his gawking.
"…are you going to go on birth control?" He asked softly.
Belle paused mid-stroke, then slowly pulled the brush through her hair. She set it down on the counter, flicked off the light switch, and came to kneel beside him on the bed.
"Is it wrong if I'm too selfish to?" She asked, gazing at him questioningly, "Is it wrong that I'd rather take a chance on you controlling your temper than not doing everything in my power to have a child?"
Mr. Gold stared back at her, "Maybe," he said honestly, "But maybe it's just that part of you, that strange calm confidence you have sometimes, knowing that something will be alright even when nothing indicates it."
Belle shrugged one shoulder, "Maybe."
She closed her eyes and moved forward and Mr. Gold closed his, feeling her lips on his. He always imagined kissing would get repetitive, boring and flavorless if one did it too many times too often with the same person. Every kiss with Belle felt like that first one though, warm and soft and just so goddamn magical. His breathing hitched as she pulled back, the duo only wearing a pair of boxers and a nightgown between them, and he stared at her.
What kind of magic did Belle possess, that every touch and gesture felt like the first time?
She sat back on her ankles, grinning, "If you were a pimp, I would gladly be your whore," she informed him playfully.
Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow, "If you were my whore, I would never pimp you out. I hate sharing."
He moved with an agility that belied his handicapped leg, pushing her down onto the bed and pinning her beneath him. She gave a delighted little giggle and he kissed her, once, twice, three times. Her hand stroked his smooth chest and he found himself wishing he could purr for her.
…shit.
Belle blinked as Mr. Gold rolled off of her with a growl, flopping down on his back and staring at the ceiling. She looked at him questioningly.
"I can't. Not with Katja downstairs."
"Oh for the gods' sake…"
"I'm sorry!"
"So I'm supposed to wait over a week for my husband to make love to me?" She pouted.
Mr. Gold glanced at her, "There's always the cabin."
Belle brightened a bit, "Tomorrow, for a late lunch?"
"Sounds delightful."
She huffed, "Wait, there's supposed to be a storm coming in…"
He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers in hers, "And what better way to wait it out?" He murmured seductively.
Belle grinned at him, "It's a date, then."
III
"Have a nice time with your fellow lovebird?"
"Well it wasn't exactly a social visit," Belle strode up to him, placing the vial on his workbench, "But I got what you wanted."
Rumplestiltskin peered into the nearly empty bottle and cackled his delight, "Well done, well done indeed my pet."
Belle hopped up onto a clear spot on the workbench, swinging her legs, "What are you planning to do with Snow White's hair, anyhow?" She queried.
He picked up the vial and went over to his rack of potions. He had bottled practically everything that could be bottled; luck, fame, death, fertility. He moved towards the only open spot, one marked with the symbol of a heart, and dramatically set the vial in it. Belle lifted an eyebrow.
"True love? From her hair?"
"Well it isn't complete yet, of course," he insisted, spinning back around, "We still need the other half."
"…Charming's," she said.
"Precisely."
"But if true love only takes a couple of hairs, why not just use ours?"
Rumplestiltskin smirked, shaking his head fondly at her, "My dear sweet Belle… Can you imagine what would happen if I tried making a love potion with the hairs of a Beauty and a Beast?"
"You're not a-"
"Save it, dearie. Point stands that while opposites may attract…they make for quite unexpected results," he pranced his way back to her, "Besides, they can do something we can't do."
"…kiss?" She guessed.
Rumplestiltskin giggled, "You're so cute when your innocence shows."
Belle glanced out the window, staring at something even Rumplestiltskin couldn't see. Her legs stopped swinging, and sadness crept into her complexion. He tilted his head at the sudden change of mood.
"…what are you thinking about?" He asked.
She sighed, pausing a moment before speaking, "…Snow would rather forget James than live with the pain."
He shrugged, "A lot of people feel that way."
She glanced down at her hands, playing with the two rings he had given her, "…I was in that tower for weeks before you came. It was so cold I could see my own breath, and I had nothing to protect myself against it. The things I ate, the things I drank…I can't even bring myself to say. There were no windows to tell the time of day, only the long absence of Regina meaning it was night. The tortures I endured I thought would kill me, and most of the times I wish they would."
Rumplestiltskin turned away from her, bowing his head in shame. He may not have known the specifics, but the way he found her had told him everything. He could still see the burns; feel the heat coming from infected wounds. He could never forgive himself for what Regina had done to his love, and he would never let himself forget what had happened when he cast her out.
"Her magic would not allow me to die. I should have gone insane…but I didn't." Her voice lowered, "Do you know how I managed to hold on, no matter what that vile woman did to me?"
He shook his head.
"…you. You kept me from losing myself."
He twisted back towards her, utterly baffled. How had he kept her alive? He had done nothing but mope around his castle, believing that witch's lies and mourning her when he could have been searching for her, if only to apologize. She gazed upon him with the love and understanding she had always generously given him.
"Every smile, every laugh, every accidental and intentional touch. Every word spoken, every minute in each other's company… I held onto those memories as if clinging to you would somehow make you appear. Those moments of happiness, that light we shared… I would have died without them." Her voice faltered.
Sometimes he hated his impulses, but they could not be denied. He reached out to her, knuckles brushing her cheek. She leaned into the touch and even though they were married and she knew everything…he was still surprised that she wasn't repulsed by him.
"…she's going to drink that potion, isn't she?" Belle murmured, "She's going to forget her true love. That light…she's going to extinguish it without knowing how precious it is."
Rumplestiltskin's thumb caressed her cheekbone, "Fear not, my Belle. This is not the end of their story; it's merely a detour. If there's anything you've taught me…" He smirked, "True love doesn't accept defeat sitting down."
III
"It's pretty nasty out here; power's going out every which way, Sheriff Swan's closing off roads… I don't want you out and about, alright?"
Belle hadn't minded the storm, even thought of it as pretty, until Mr. Gold said that. She glared at the wall, since it was only his voice through the telephone, "That truck is nearly indestructible; a few gusts of wind and some rain aren't going to stop it."
"I mean it, stay in the house," he said firmly, "I have enough to worry about, between upset tenants and property damage; I don't need to add you to the mix."
Belle stuck out her bottom lip, "But the cabin…"
"A booty call is not worth getting in an accident."
"Says you."
Mr. Gold growled, "You're acting like we never do it."
"Twenty-eight years, Rum. Twenty. Eight. Years. We still have a lot of catching up to do."
He sighed, and she could imagine him rubbing his forehead in exasperation, "Could you just…not act like the guy in this relationship right now?"
Belle kicked the leg of the office's desk moodily, "I can't help it. I love you, and I want you all the time."
Mr. Gold hissed, "Don't say those sorts of things, Belle; it's hard enough for me to deny you right now. I'll make up for it, alright?"
"You better," she hung up the home phone with a grunt.
They should've made it lunch, not late lunch.
She rose from the office chair and made her way down the staircase. She'd have to trek out to her library anyhow; she was in the mood for a romance. She paused as she caught sight of Kit in the parlor. She was perched on the windowsill, staring out at the trees bending until they looked about to break, at the opaqueness of the sheets of rain. "Frankenstein" lay forgotten in her lap.
"I could've had to deal with this," she commented quietly. Belle approached her tentatively.
Kit finally peeled her eyes away from the scene, staring at Belle with a sort of lost expression, "Why did he want me here?"
Belle shrugged, giving the old excuse of another lifetime, "The place was filthy."
"No it wasn't," she murmured, "If anything, I've made it messier. He should've thrown me out; especially after all I've said and done to him." Her tone took on urgency, "Why does Mr. Gold give a damn about some juvenile thief who's given him nothing but trouble?"
Belle considered telling her the truth for a brief moment; it was certainly more logical than a lie, in a way. But after what happened to Graham, Belle wasn't about to risk it.
"He had a son your age…a long time ago," she took a deep breath, leaning against the wall and looking out the window, "Ever since then, I think he's been trying to redeem himself. When he saw you, he thought-"
" "Oh that poor little orphan! She must be stealing because she's acting out; she's such a bright girl if only she had someone to look after her"…" Kit mocked in a high falsetto, sneering.
"…he thought he could help you," Belle finished calmly.
Kit tensed, "I don't need a hand-out, or a hand to hold, or whatever! I've managed just fine on my own since my mom left me, and I don't need anyone!"
"Everyone needs someone," Belle murmured.
Kit snorted, "That's a load of shit," she jumped down from the windowsill, "Frankenstein" crashing to the floor, "I'm not your charity case, or a fill-in for your kid, or whatever other reason you've got to keep me around," she clenched her teeth, hands balling into fists, "You picked the wrong girl to "help", 'cuz I don't want you two."
"Well too bad," Belle snapped, "It's too late for us to just act like we never met you! Kit, you matter to us, if you'd just let us in-"
She wheeled around, teeth bared and tears in her eyes, "Don't you dare care about me!"
"Why not?!"
Kit suddenly looked very small and very fragile, eyes wide with terror, "Because the minute a person starts caring about you is the minute you gain power over them…and I'm no good with that power."
III
The storm had finally cleared and Mr. Gold, his priorities out of whack, headed for his cabin in the woods while making a phone call to the power company. He paused on the threshold of their honeymoon lair, noticing two pairs of wet footprints going into and out of the cabin. A man's, and a woman's.
There didn't appear to be signs of a break-in; ten to one odds Belle just forgot to lock it again. He swung the door open and carefully stepped inside. The puddle soaked into the carpet suggested they hadn't been here for any reason other than to stay dry. Still, Mr. Gold did a sweep of the entire cabin, especially the chest in the back of the closet. Nothing was missing.
His paranoia did not ease much, though he knew it should. He did a much more thorough investigation of the living room and found a…feather? A dove's feather. What the hell…
He then spotted a discarded scarf of Mary Margaret's and a pair of gloves that belonged to Mr. Nolan, warming innocently by a fire he did not create.
His afternoon plans suddenly shifted. The complaints and damage could wait; he needed to disinfect the cabin until it reeked of ammonia and cleaner, chasing away any thoughts of what Mary Margaret and David might have been doing in his and Belle's sanctuary.
IIIII
The cabin in the woods…one of the most tantalizing settings that an OUAT writer can use. Does Mr. Gold own it, or does he just take people there to beat the crap out of them? Why does it only seem to be one big room? Did Gold come there at some point after they took refuge and wonder why the hell the door was busted open? What does he use that cabin for? So many questions, so little need for them to be asked…
From what I can gather people are on board with Katja…not so much Kit. Some because goddammit this is a Rumbelle fic what is this chick doing here?! …and others because she's a total punk right now. I'm hoping that some of the readers of the latter are starting to warm up to her with this chapter, even if she's still a bit rough and still developing as a character. For both parties, the mini-story-arc ends next chapter, so just hold tight.
Sneak peek: How did Rumplestiltskin find out about Belle's captivity? And Kit confronts Belle about the issue that reviewers have been asking about since chapter four; why you no make Gold babeh?!