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Getting rid of Gaston was easier said than done. Over the course of the next week, Belle gave one hundred percent to the effort of doing so, and came out a failure each time. It didn't matter what she did, or when she did it, something always seemed to come up. She didn't even think that Gaston was aware that she was trying to dump him, since, in her zeal to do so, they were spending more time together.
She feared that he was getting the wrong idea about their relationship.
Sometimes, the thwarted attempts were innocuous. Most days, Gaston just didn't let her get enough words into the conversation to be dumped, and then by the time she had her wits about her, he'd be kissing her goodbye and leaving. Another day, he'd walked her to her door, and she managed to get all the words out just as a group of motorcyclists drove by on their way out. He didn't hear, and it was clear that he assumed nothing she said was important, because he just smiled, nodded, and kissed her before leaving.
It was all getting hopeless. The worst had been yesterday, Sunday, when she'd set the goal of getting rid of him before she had to spend another week having awkward lunches with Dr. Gold. They were at the park, because it was an easy place to meet him and have nothing to do but dump him.
"And so, we were sitting on a bench, under this tree, and it was a bit chilly, really nice out," she said. She was sitting across from Hook in a booth at Granny's, having breakfast-for-dinner in an attempt to comfort herself. She needed a break from Gaston.
"This already sounds like a romantic interlude." Hook reached forward and plucked a piece of bacon from her plate.
"I know." She stabbed at her pancake, trying not to imagine it with Gaston's face. "So anyway, we were sitting under this tree, and suddenly, a cat falls onto his head."
"A cat?"
"A cat."
They looked at each other, Belle pressing her lips together while Hook squinted, waiting for the information sink in. After a few seconds, he waved his hand in a circle in front of him. "Please, continue."
"So this cat falls on his head, which is alarming, because cats are usually very graceful, and Gaston picks it up and discovers that its leg is broken."
"Broken cat. Less romantic, still concerned, though."
"So then," she continued. "He tells me that he's allergic to cats, and that I should go get his Epi-pen from the car. I tell him to come with me, because I am, naturally, alarmed by this statement, but he just hands me his keys, because he wants to set the cat's leg first."
Hook's eyes were wide, and his lips were pressed so tightly together, she knew that he was trying not to laugh. He couldn't move them enough to speak, but he nodded for her to continue.
"I ran to get his pen, and when I came back, he was holding the cat, and going into anaphylactic shock. So I stabbed him with it, took the cat, and then drove him to the hospital. He made me take the cat to the shelter as soon as I'd dropped him off."
She watched Hook regain his composure, and it looked to be difficult. After about half a minute of eye-closing and teeth-clenching, he looked back at her. "So, your boyfriend went into anaphylactic shock to save a cat."
"Yes." She sank into the booth. "So I bought him a stuffed dog."
"I understand," he said, and a few snickers escaped. "Can't really dump him right after that."
She shook her head. "There were lots of women flirting with him when they found out he was saving a cat, and I just wanted to pretend to throw a jealous fit, but I couldn't. It was awful."
"It sounds awful," he agreed, but she could tell that he was still putting forth a valiant effort to keep his amusement from spilling out.
"I don't know what to do, Hook. I've tried so hard to dump him. Maybe I'm just destined to marry him." This thought made her so miserable that she dropped her head to the table.
"Hey, now." Despite his ill-concealed laughter, Hook's voice was soft and soothing. He slipped a finger under her forehead to lift it. "We're gonna get you out of this, love. Don't worry. I'll think of a plan."
Belle looked up, and, as she did, caught a glimpse of a black cane. For a second, she remained still, her head a few inches above the table, while Hook's fingers slid down her cheek to rest under her chin. Before he could push her head the rest of the way up, she considered just crawling under the table and staying there until she was sure that Dr. Gold was gone.
Some sixth sense told her that he'd already seen her, however, and so hiding from him was useless. She lifted her face, letting Hook's finger fall, and turned to see him accepting a wad of bills from Granny.
"Did he see me?" Her voice was so quiet, she wasn't even sure that Hook had heard her, but, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him follow her gaze.
"Dunno. Want to make a run for it?"
She did, she really did, but then Dr. Gold sent her a sharp glance, and she knew that this was not the first he was noticing her. Forcing herself to be brave, she smiled, wiggling her fingers in a wave. He didn't wave back, and instead unfolded the roll of cash to count it.
"What's he doing?" she whispered, hoping that Gold couldn't hear her. A normal person wouldn't have been able to, but Gold seemed to have heightened senses, and secret lives. He was probably Batman.
"It's rent day." Hook shrugged.
"Did you know that it was rent day?" She cast another furtive glance at Dr. Gold, who seemed to be upsetting Granny with the fact that he was taking forever to thumb through the bills.
"Of course I didn't know it was rent day. Do I look like I care about Granny's rent?"
Belle pursed her lips, displeased with the way her day was going. At least she hadn't had to see Gaston. She didn't think she could handle it.
"I'm going to go say hello," she said, figuring it best to get the confrontation over with now. If she waited until tomorrow, she would just be taking the coward's way out, and she knew that Dr. Gold wouldn't appreciate it.
A minute later, she was waiting outside for Dr. Gold, huddled into her coat to stave off the wind. Anyone could misinterpret Hook's casual affection, especially someone who hated him as much as Gold did. Since the night in the cemetery, they had somehow been both closer and more on edge, and Belle feared that this might tip the precarious balance they'd achieved.
When he stepped out, Belle felt her cheeks heat. It didn't matter how much time she spent with him—in his overcoat and gloves, he looked almost edible. Belle didn't think she'd ever thought this way about a person she knew from more than a movie screen. He didn't seem to see her, so she stepped forward.
"Raphael."
He looked up, and only the slight clenching of his jaw indicated that he was surprised. "Belle. I thought you'd disappeared."
"I did." She forced a smile, stepping closer, unable to keep her hands from twisting in front of her. "I disappeared out here, to wait for you."
"Well, dearie, here I am." He spread his arms, as if to say 'ta-da,' but he did not look pleased.
She didn't like being called 'dearie.' He was mad at her, and this was his way of pretending that he simply didn't care. She knew better.
She also didn't want to pick a fight, right here, outside of Granny's Diner, while she was supposed to be inside, figuring out how to dump her boyfriend. She needed to say something, though.
"I wanted to tell you," she began, hoping that something would come to her in the second it took her to say the words. "That—" She pressed her lips together, trying to make it look like she wanted to create suspense, rather than that she was trying to think. Dr. Gold watched her, one eyebrow raised, hands crossed over his cane.
"Yes?"
"That my birthday is this week."
His lip twitched, and he looked down, letting out a snort. "And you're looking to get showered with gifts?"
"No, you fool," she said, stepping closer to make it more intimate. "Ruby's decided that I have to have a birthday dinner, even though I didn't really want one, and I wanted to invite you."
He looked up at her then, mouth half-open in a silent response. She had intended to wait until the day of the dinner to invite him, to give him less time to make excuses not to go, but now seemed to be an equally opportune moment. When she smiled at him, he closed his eyes, not opening them until Belle heard three of her own heartbeats, loud and clear.
"You want to invite me to your birthday dinner? With your friends?"
"Of course." She laid a hand on top of his, and he jumped. "Don't tell me you're surprised."
"Wouldn't you prefer a younger crowd?" he asked, not meeting her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not much fun."
"Raphael." She waited until he was looking at her to continue. "It's my birthday, and I want you there. Besides, I don't have many friends my own age. Mostly, it'll be people you already know, because they're all in the department."
He didn't seem to hear much of what she was saying, but he was now searching her face, like he expected something unpleasant to pop up if he wasn't careful. "You want me there? You're sure?"
She squeezed his hand. "One hundred percent."
He looked down, but she could see that he was smiling now, and she was lightheaded with relief.
"All right. You'll tell me when and where tomorrow, then? At lunch?"
She nodded. "I'll get all the details. And I'll see you tomorrow." She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, letting her hands slide away from his as she pulled away.
"Tomorrow," he repeated, and she had the impression that, had he been wearing a hat, he'd have tipped it to her. Instead, he turned and started away, and Belle was sure that she could see a bounce in his step.
She rushed back inside, sliding into the booth with enough force that she almost hit the wall. Hook raised both eyebrows, and gave a low whistle.
"Well, love, looks like you've got it bad."
"I know," she said, and it was almost a relief to admit this out loud. She wasn't willing to say anything more concrete than that, though, and so instead turned to the more immediate problem. "I really need to get rid of Gaston."
"All right, I am on it." Hook leaned back in the booth, stroking the stubble on his chin. Belle's foot tapped under the table, until his free hand appeared on her knee to still it. "Calm down, we'll figure this out."
"I've invited Dr. Gold to my birthday dinner, which means I have to dump him by then."
"When's that? Friday?"
"Thursday. They have a jazz band at Blue Moon on Thursdays." Ruby had wanted to go somewhere more spirited, but she had allowed Belle the final say in the location of her own birthday dinner.
"Oh god, you're old, too." Hook shook his head, and Belle kicked him under the table. "Okay, okay. Tell me about Gaston again. I need to make sure I have every detail."
Belle sighed. She had the irrational fear that using his name would summon him, as occasionally seemed to be the case with Dr. Gold.
"Well, he's a sports management major, studied biology for a few semesters as an undergrad. He's been coaching teams for awhile, and just decided to go back to school to learn the ins and outs better so that he can start building a fortune in owning. He, like everyone else in the world, hates Dr. Gold, but he likes women, and he's glad that I'm 'his.' He talks a lot, mostly about himself, and he's sort of beefy. Also, he's allergic to cats."
This elicited a snicker from Hook, who tried to cover it with his hand. "So you're not having sex with him, right?"
"Right." She shuddered at the thought.
"Okay, I've determined the problem." He leaned forward, and Belle was almost afraid of what the next words out of his mouth would be.
"Yes?"
"You need to have sex with him."
She groaned. Of course that was what he would say. Hook was always in favor of sex, as he was so keen on reminding her. "Weren't you the one who told me not to have sex with him?"
"That was when I thought it would be better that way. Now, I realize that you have to let him nail you."
He wiggled his eyebrows, but Belle was unwilling to rise to the challenge. Instead, her shoulders slumped.
"Why?"
"Because, Belle, he has to win."
Belle wasn't sure what this meant, and she felt a bit like punching Hook in the face for taking advantage of her unusual surliness to be cryptic. "Win what?"
"The game, obviously. You're a challenge, Belle. As long as you keep spending time with him with your clothes on, the challenge is going to get bigger. This is why he has to nail you, and not vice versa. He has to win, so that the intrigue is gone, and he is free to move on to the next challenge."
Belle stared at him, trying to find some trace of joking-Hook, but he looked serious, for once. She groaned again. "This is ridiculous. I'm not going to sleep with him, Hook."
"Belle, it's not like you're eighteen, fresh out of girlhood and looking for a suitable deflowerer." He leaned forward. "Sometimes, you have to make some sacrifices."
It was logical, and a few weeks ago, Belle might have agreed, but she couldn't now—not after Gold had been so upset over the idea of her having a 'physical' relationship. "No. Not this. There has to be another way."
Hook sighed, but leaned back and began stroking his chin again. After a few seconds, he snapped his fingers. "All right, I've got it. You've got to pretend to have sex with him."
Belle pursed her lips. "Hook, he's a grown man. I think he knows the difference between real sex and pretend sex."
"With all due respect, love, I don't think you have much room to criticize my methods." He grinned at her scowl. "And it's simple enough to pretend to have sex—you'll just have to get him drunk enough to pass out, and then be naked when he wakes up. Easy."
"That sounds so complicated." She wrinkled her nose. "This could get messy in so many different ways. What if he throws up on me?"
Hook huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You are so stubborn. Fine. Think of a better plan."
Belle did feel a little bad, but she couldn't help a tiny grin at his ire. "All right. Um—oh!" She smacked a hand on the table, and Hook, despite looking like he didn't want her to have any ideas, leaned forward to listen.
"What if I make it seem like we're going to have sex, but then we get interrupted? It'll make him think he achieved something, without me having to do anything."
Hook considered this, resting his elbows onto the table and nodding along with whatever he was thinking. "Yeah, I guess that could work. What would interrupt you?"
"You, of course." She shook her head at his inability to latch onto her plan. "Pretending to be a call from the hospital."
At the mention of this cliché, Hook looked delighted, face overcome with his pirate smile. "From the hospital, eh? And what will I say?"
"That my mother's been in a horrible accident."
Hook looked a little taken aback. "Your mother? You're not going to make up an aunt or something? Seems like bad luck, to me."
"Oh, it's okay." Belle waved a hand. "My mother died when I was five, and I think she'd be pleased to help me get rid of a man I didn't want."
Hook shrugged, unable to argue with this. "Sounds as good a plan as any."
Belle, feeling more in control of the situation than she had in a week, found herself smiling again. "Okay, so I'll do it tomorrow night. We'll go on a date, and then I'll take him back to my place, and text you when we're about to get down to it. You wait a few minutes, and then call. Got it?"
"Got it. So Gaston doesn't know that your mother is dead?"
Belle snorted. "Hook, I doubt Gaston even knows my last name."
If Belle had been paranoid about saying his name before, it was nothing compared to how she would feel after tonight. As though repeating it for the third time had summoned him, she heard his booming voice calling her name as soon as she finished speaking.
She yelped, and Hook looked alarmed, glancing from Belle to the behemoth hulking his way toward her. Once Gaston reached them, the pieces seemed to click together, and his pirate grin was back.
"Hello," Belle said, flashing Gaston a weak smile. Without waiting for an invitation, he scooted next to her in the booth, slinging his hairy arm over her shoulders. She thanked god that Dr. Gold was long gone.
"You must be Gaston," Hook said, smiling like a lion about to play with its food.
"Yeah. Who are you?" Gaston's voice was a low grunt, and he pressed Belle to his side like a rag doll.
"Killian Jones. Old friend of Belle's. Don't worry," he said, probably because Gaston looked ready to squish his head between his massive palms, "I'm much more interested in men than Belle."
Belle was certain that Hook knew how much this would unnerve more than comfort Gaston. She wanted to kick him, but it was difficult when pressed to her boyfriend's side.
"So, what brings you to Granny's?" she asked, trying to put this dinner back together somehow.
"I like to eat here before I go running," he said, turning to her. It was clear that he was going to pretend that Hook no longer existed.
"Oh, that's fascinating." She tried to wriggle out of his grip under the pretext of rediscovering her abandoned meal, but he didn't notice, and just pressed her to him.
"Hey, why don't you come with me tonight? It'll be great, we can start work on toning your calves."
The reasons for this being a terrible idea were forming on Belle's tongue, and she was sure that, if she worked enough big words in there, Gaston would agree—but before she could even begin to speak, Hook was answering.
"That sounds great! Belle would love to go running. She's been feeling a little fat lately—which I can say, because I am her gay friend."
Belle blinked. She didn't understand Hook at all, and she also wished a little bit that Dr. Gold would walk back in and beat everyone with his cane. Instead, all she could do was sit there, and gape like a fish, hoping that Gaston would find the whole situation to be ridiculous, and leave without her.
"Great! Let me get some dinner, and then we can go back to your place and change."
Belle nodded, giving a weak chuckle, and forcing herself to remember that this man next to her had risked his life to save a cat. It was the only possible way she would get through the next two days.
The next morning, Belle was sure she was going to die. It had gone from the possibility that it had been while she was running, to an actual probability. She couldn't bend her legs enough to put pants on, so she was forced to wear a dress and no stockings, despite the cold front moving in. Ballet flats or flip-flops were the only shoes she could manage, and she wasn't willing to sacrifice her toes, so she chose the flats. Muscles that she didn't even know existed hurt, and it was torture just to walk the ten feet from bedroom to kitchen.
The stairs made her want to cry, and she was glad that she was only on the second floor. Driving, too, was painful, but she managed to get to campus without causing any accidents. From there, it took her twice as long as usual to get to the building, and she had no choice but to wait for the elevator. She had intended to work in her cubicle today, since she wasn't sure where she stood in terms of Dr. Gold, but the pain in her legs had her pushing '4' instead of '3' on the button panel, and soon she was limping into his office.
He had his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his reading glasses on, while he savaged papers with his red pen. He looked up at the sound of her shuffling footsteps, and his entire face frowned.
"What's wrong?" He set his pen down and started to stand up, but Belle waved a hand to indicate that he should sit still.
She wasn't sure that she wanted to tell him about Gaston just yet, so she settled for the barest explanation possible. "Legs. Muscles. Pain."
"I see that," he said, and then he was up again. Belle reached for him to steady herself, but he ignored her, instead going for the chair in front of his desk. She followed him as he dragged it around, both going slowly because of their legs, and plopped herself into it once he let it stand.
It was only when Gold sat, and patted his own lap, that Belle realized he had set the chair to face him. Her forehead creased in confusion.
"What?"
"It's all right, you can use me as a footrest." He patted his lap again, and so, hesitant, Belle started stretching her legs toward him. "But take your shoes off. I don't want any dirt on my pants."
"Could you get them?" she asked, wincing when she reached forward to remove one.
Looking a bit like he had just swallowed an ice cube, he reached forward and took hold of the heel of her shoe, gentling it off her foot. He pulled that leg into his lap, settling her heel between his thighs, before reaching for her other foot and repeating the process.
It was good that he'd thought of this. Her legs felt much better stretched out, and her mind felt much better with her feet on Gold.
"What did you do to yourself, Belle?" he asked, hands fluttering around her feet for a few seconds, before he reached for his pen and papers.
She was going to have to tell him eventually. Keeping secrets had not yet resulted in anything positive. "Gaston decided that I needed to tone my calves, so he dragged me running."
Dr. Gold stilled, pen poised above a sentence. When he spoke, he sounded like he was afraid he would scream if he wasn't careful. "Oh?"
"It was awful. I think I should be the one to decide if I tone my calves, don't you?" Should she tell him about all the breakups? She didn't want to sound desperate.
"I think your calves are fine."
Unable to hide her blush, Belle instead sought to hide her face, and so dived for her purse on the floor. When she resurfaced, she was holding Blood Meridian, and her blush had subsided.
"Do you mind if I read?" she asked.
He glanced over, squinting to read the title, and then chuckled. "Ah. Now I see where your story came from."
She pursed her lips. "This is for class. That story came from a place where everyone was writing about bondage, so I decided to write about murder."
He chuckled, a single sound, and turned back to his papers. "Go ahead. I've nothing for you to do."
He turned back to his papers, and she turned to her book, only distracted by the slashing and scribbling of his pen for about a minute before she managed to absorb herself in the text.
It took three chapters for her to become aware of the tickling sensation on her legs, and another one for her to realize that it was something out of the ordinary. She could still hear the angry scratching of Dr. Gold's pen, so she peeked over the top of her book to see what he was doing. He was invested in his task, leaning forward and scrawling notes all over some poor student's pages. Belle moved her book down so she could see the rest of him, and found that his free hand was caressing the skin of her left leg.
Should she tell him? He didn't seem to realize what he was doing, focused as he was on destroying the efforts in front of him. Belle was sure that drawing attention to his fingers would only cause problems, so she stuffed her nose back into her book and tried to distract herself again.
It worked so well that she didn't even notice the hum of delight she let out when his fingertips ghosted higher than her calf, just under her kneecap.
He jolted, and the jerk of his hand caused an angry red slash to appear on the paper before him. Belle, too, jumped, dropping her book into her lap.
"I'm sorry—" they both said, and then they both laughed, turning away from each other. When Gold was looking at her again, she tried a tentative smile, and he returned it.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize—" He gestured to her legs, like he was afraid to complete the sentence. "You should have said something."
"It's okay. It felt nice. I didn't want you to stop."
They watched each other for a few seconds, smiles sliding off of their faces. Belle wished she could think of something witty to say, to dissolve the tension—and maybe get him to continue rubbing her sore legs—but her words were leaving her, replaced by a bundle of nerves.
It was lucky that Dr. Gold was a master wordsmith, and could not be silenced for long.
"Right, well, I suppose that you need something to feel nice after your boyfriend's through with you," he said, and Belle felt that this didn't really help the situation at all, because surely, even he could see the double entendre there.
Of course he saw it. There was a steely glint to his eyes now, a shark's gleam to his grin. Belle's blush was replaced by a severe look, and she reached forward to hit him on the shoulder with her book.
"Hey now, none of that, Miss Blue. I am your professor, and I demand respect."
She hit him again, and he bit his lip, chest rumbling with trapped amusement. "You have offended me, Professor," she said, though she didn't sound offended at all.
"Oh, have I?" He pressed a hand to his heart. "My, my, whatever shall I do?"
"There's only one thing for it." She wiggled back in her chair, scooting so her legs were stretched all the way across his lap, heels resting against the edge of his thigh.
"Do tell, for I fear that I shall perish if I do not receive your pardon." He allowed his eyes to flutter closed, hand still pressed to his heart.
"Foot and leg massage."
He opened one eye, as if to check that she was serious, and then returned to his theatrics. "So be it." He dropped his hands to her feet, running them along the soles.
Belle pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, but as soon as his thumb pressed into the arch of her foot, they flew apart to let forth an 'oh!' of pleasure. Eyes open now, he glanced at her, and she was sure that his shark's grin was fighting to be on his face. He continued rubbing, paying particular attention to her heels and the balls of her feet, and she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She had to focus most of her energy on not making anymore embarrassing noises.
He continued kneading her feet, switching between them every few minutes, and Belle almost started to doze off when there seemed to be no danger of him stopping. She didn't know how his hands weren't getting tired, but maybe it had something to do with all of the crafty things he did. She couldn't bring herself to care, not when her feet were being subjected to more pleasure than she was sure they had ever experienced. She'd take a foot massage over sex any day.
When his hands slid off of her foot, she let out an involuntary whine, but all he did was move them up to her ankles, starting to press the heels of his hands along her calves. He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.
"Enjoying yourself, dearie?"
It didn't grate against her nerves this time, because, even though he sounded like a predator, she knew it was because he was being playful. His sense of playfulness was a bit like a cat batting a mouse around, but that was okay, because Belle wasn't a mouse.
"I think this is the best thing that's ever happened to me," she said, snuggling down into the chair to give him more leg to work with.
"The massage?"
"Mm."
He let out a huff of laughter. "That's either a great compliment to me, or a horrible insult to your life."
"Not sure which." She stretched her unoccupied leg, surprised when the muscles obeyed her with relatively little complaint. Gold's hands were a godsend. "Thank you, though. My legs were killing me."
When he next spoke, his voice was a low growl, and it slid down Belle's spine to pool somewhere in her belly. "It's my pleasure."
She was grateful that her legs didn't need to hold her up, and also that she had a plan. She couldn't remember what, at that moment, but she hoped that it would mean more of this, and soon.
The plan was in motion.
Earlier at dinner, Gaston had mentioned that he was impressed she wasn't more sore. Belle had told him that she'd paid for an hour of massage—she didn't mention that she'd paid with a kiss on the cheek. At this, he told her that he would gladly massage her legs. Belle took this as a good sign for the evening.
She had invited him up, and he'd hardly given her a chance to pour him wine—a cheap red that she never intended to actually drink—before he'd attacked with his lips, as she'd expected. She tried to keep Hook updated, but it was hard with Gaston pressing himself all over her, and her having to pretend to be an active participant in this.
They were in her room now, and he was slobbering all over her neck. It felt sort of nice, but in a way that being licked by a dog felt nice. She was flattered, but not aroused. Still, it was preferable to him slobbering over her mouth, giving biting kisses like a vampire who only drank from punctured lips. She didn't relish the idea of waltzing into Gold's office with kiss-burn.
He fumbled for the zipper on her dress, and Belle knew that it was time.
"Oh," she said, trying to sound breathless and sexy. She had never been a good actress, but it seemed that Gaston mostly heard what he wanted to, and so she hoped it would be okay. "Oh, Gaston, this dress—I need to change into something more—comfortable."
His laughter rumbled along her neck, and she leaned away as he nipped at her, making sure he wouldn't leave a mark.
"Hurry up," he said.
"Of course."
She all but sprinted into the bathroom, exchanging her dress for the fuzzy robe hanging on the door while speed-texting Hook to call in five minutes. Before she left, she deleted all of her texts so that there was no chance of Gaston reading them.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, Gaston looked like she'd just popped out of a cake. He lunged for her, wrapping his sturdy arms around her tiny waist and crushing her to him. She knew she couldn't go the whole night without at least a few kisses, so she suffered this one, praying that her downstairs neighbors were not home to hear all of the thumping.
"Do you want me to get undressed first?" Gaston asked, flexing his biceps.
This seemed like the perfect plan to Belle, since she figured she would be called to the 'hospital' before her own nudity was required, and she nodded. Without warning, Gaston swept her knees out from under her, and she squeaked as he tossed her onto the bed. She thought she heard a creak, but she couldn't remember because she was too busy getting over her terror of being thrown. By the time she had settled her nerves, and wiggled herself into a more seductive position—she hoped—Gaston only had his shirt off, and was flexing again. She forced herself to keep her eyes on him instead of her phone.
"Fuck it, your robe's easier." He leapt for the bed, and Belle held her ground, praying that Hook would call in the next thirty seconds.
That time, the creak she heard was definitely real. Even Gaston paused, thick eyebrows knitting together. When his gaze strayed to the dip in her robe, however, she knew he had deemed the noise safe, and he dove for her again, tightening his hands around her waist.
Then, without further warning, the bed groaned and collapsed in the middle, just as the phone rang.
Belle had only managed to stop screaming because Gaston chose to comfort her with his lips and wandering hands. Once she'd gotten him off of her, she'd babbled something about an emergency mattress specialist and her mother being in the hospital, and it seemed to convince Gaston that he should leave. He parted with an apology that he wouldn't be able to see her in the next few days, but an assurance that he would be there on her birthday, and then planted a kiss on her dumbfounded mouth before seeing himself out.
Hook had called five times, and when she called him back, he didn't answer. She looked at the wreckage that used to be her bed, and felt a bubble of hysteria rise in her throat.
She had just found Dr. Gold's number in her contacts, and was getting ready to press send, when there was a knock on the door. Assuming it was Gaston, she froze, hoping he would somehow think she had left, but knew she couldn't pretend for long when the knocking became more persistent. With a sigh, she made her way over to the door, not bothering to adjust her robe, and flung it open.
Hook barreled into her apartment like a battering ram, brandishing a pocket knife. Before Belle could react, he had stormed past her, slamming the door behind him so hard, the frame shook.
"Hook, what are you doing?" she asked, still in too much shock to put any sort of force behind her voice.
"I'm going to kill him. Where is he? He better not have hurt you, Belle, or I swear—"
"Where is who?" she asked, skittering over to him. Realizing that she was still in only her robe and her less-than-sexy lingerie, she wrapped her arms around herself.
"Gaston—holy—what happened?"
Hook looked horrified at the view from her bedroom doorway, and Belle didn't like this. She had expected him to be calm, collected, the jokester—she needed him to be himself.
"We broke the bed."
He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, sounding like a manic giggle. "I will gut him, Belle. I will even find Gold, and join forces, and together we will kill him so well, no one will ever find his body."
"What are you on about? He just left, thank god."
Hook turned slowly, and looked at her as though just seeing her. For once, she didn't feel like he was trying to undress her as he raked his gaze up and down, taking in her robe, her ponytail, her lack of sex markings. When he stopped at her face, he looked sheepishly defiant.
"You didn't answer your phone. I thought something happened."
The statement touched her so much, she almost burst into tears. She didn't think Hook would appreciate that, though, so she clenched her jaw until her eyes were under control. She walked over to him and put a hand on his elbow, turning him to face her now-V-shaped bed.
"Something did happen, but not to me."
"So this didn't happen while he was raping you to death?" Hook looked down at her, as if daring her to argue.
"Do I look dead, Hook?"
"Fair point." His shoulders relaxed, and he surveyed the ruins like an appraiser. "So, what did happen?"
"He threw me on the bed, and then it broke when he joined me."
"What, did you get your bed from a dumpster?"
Belle blushed and looked away. "Craig's List."
"Christ, Belle." He rolled his eyes. "You know, mattresses aren't that expensive."
"Tell that to my wallet."
He shook his head in the direction of the ruined bed frame, and then turned to face her instead. Then, the familiar Hook-Look crossed his features, and it was enough to make her pull the robe tighter.
"So, tonight, you'll stay at my place, and then tomorrow, we'll go mattress hunting. I'll bring my truck. You can just wear that."
"No way." She wrinkled her nose. "You have roommates, don't you? I'm not staying in a house full of men like you. That sounds more dangerous than Gaston."
Hook pressed a hand to his heart. "I'm hurt, love. You know I would let no harm come to you."
"And you're poor, too. You can't possibly have a spare bed."
"You'd sleep in mine, of course." He winked.
"No, thank you. I'll sleep on my couch." She almost considered calling Dr. Gold as soon as Hook left, but figured that telling him that her bed was broken and she needed a place to stay would be crossing into dangerous territory.
"Fine." Hook reached for her, and she thought he was going to do something she'd have to slap away, but instead, he just pulled her into a rough hug.
"I'm glad you weren't raped. I really wasn't looking forward to searching out your boy's tiny penis so that I could cut it off."
Belle rolled her eyes, squeezing him around the middle. "Me, too. I'll call you when I'm off work tomorrow?"
"I'll be ready."
She gave him one last hug, and then set about to make up her uncomfortable, questionably-stained couch.
Dinnertime the next day found Belle and Hook lying on a bare mattress, side-by-side, being addressed as husband and wife by the middle-aged salesman guiding them around Sears. Belle was doing her best to dispel this notion, insisting that she only wanted a twin-bed, but the man kept winking at Hook and trying to push the queen size. She should have brought Ruby, but Ruby didn't have a truck.
Hook, however, had taken to holding her hand, and after awhile, she couldn't be bothered to tell him off.
"We like things hard," Hook had said when the man asked about their mattress preference. Belle's nostrils flared.
"I like medium to light firmness, actually."
The mattress they were lying on now was thousands of times more comfortable than the lumpy plank she'd been sleeping on for the past month, and Hook was right—it wasn't that expensive. It was even on sale.
"What do you think, Mrs. Jones?" he asked, bouncing a bit. "Is it a keeper?"
"I think that you should stop pretending we're married." She nestled down into the provided pillows, trying to get a feel for it.
"But it's such fun. Besides, if we don't pretend, the salesman might feel you up, and then I'd have to cut off his hand."
"Why are you so violent, all of a sudden? I can take care of myself, you know." She turned so her back was facing him, testing the mattress on that side. Seconds later, he had spooned up behind her, cradling her waist in his arm.
"Maybe I just like you."
Belle was preparing to fend him off again when a familiar voice wafted over, and she groaned.
"I don't want a discount, boy—I want an appliance that works. Is that too much to ask of an appliance store?"
The voice was unmistakably Dr. Gold's, and she cursed herself for not considering that he would be here. At lunch, he had mentioned that his oven was on the fritz, but she hadn't expected him to shop in the same stores she did. She didn't take into account how small Storybrooke was, and how limited his options.
"Or maybe, I saw Gold, and found that I still hated him."
Belle all but growled, but before she could get out of Hook's grasp, Dr. Gold's cane was thundering in their direction. Not thinking, she instead dove for the cover of Hook's jacket, hoping Gold wouldn't see her.
"Don't bother, dearie," came his cutting voice as he stormed by. "I already saw your face."
She closed her eyes, and counted to ten. When she was sure that she was not going to cry—because she hadn't yet, not even in the face of a broken bed, a terrible night's sleep, and the fact that she still had a boyfriend—she opened her eyes and punched Hook in the chest.
"Ouch! What was that for?"
"You—" she began, punctuating each word with her fist, "are—the—worst—friend—ever." She punched him once more for good measure, and then shied away, giving him space to rub his sore sternum. "I thought you wanted to help me."
"I do, really," he said, sounding pained. "I just also want to sabotage Gold a little bit."
"Well, you can't have both," she said, sitting up and folding her arms. Somewhere off in the corner, their salesman was hovering.
"Of course I can have both." Hook struggled to a sitting position. "I just have to help you more than I hurt him. It's simple."
"No." She shook her head. "I need you to choose. Either you want my trust, or you don't. I won't think less of you if you choose Dr. Gold, but I need you to make that choice. Right now."
Hook looked like he was wrestling with himself, so Belle sighed.
"Okay, fine, can you at least tell me what he did?"
"No, wait, Belle." He reached for her arm and squeezed it. "Of course I want your trust. You're the only female friend I've ever had, and you're something special."
Belle flopped back against the bed. It was a relief to not have to deal with Hook leaving her in a mattress store, and she even decided to hug him when he flopped next to her.
"You want to run after him, don't you?" he asked.
He barely waited for her to nod before he was hoisting her up and out of the bed, taking her hand and dragging her off in the direction they'd last seen Gold.
"So, why do you hate him so much?" she asked, pulling her hand out of his.
"Because he's a cranky old jerk."
"Killian."
It was amazing the power his real name had. He turned to glare at her, and then sighed. "Fine. When I was a teenager, I used to egg his house."
Belle stopped walking for a second, letting this sink in. "So, wait. You have a vendetta because you used to prank him?"
"Let me finish the story, yeah?" He beckoned her forward, and she hurried to keep up.
"Sorry, sorry. Go ahead."
"Anyway, I used to egg his house, because he's always been a total tool, and he deserved it. Then one day, when I was twenty, I'd had a few beers and I went driving with a couple of friends. I was still under the legal limit, so it wasn't technically a DUI, and I guess it was sort of deliberate on my part, but I crashed my car through his garage."
"So you are entirely at fault in this war," Belle said, folding her arms.
"Would you just listen?"
She nodded, and he waved his hand as if to thank her.
"So after, he took me to court, and sued me for everything I am. My parents paid his damages, and half the charges, but they refused to keep me on as a dependent after that. They cut me off, kicked me out. I haven't seem them since, and I still write monthly checks to Gold." He turned to Belle, brows drawn together. "He ruined my life, Belle."
Belle was sympathetic, but only a little bit. She wanted to say that Hook had ruined his own life, but instead, she just laid a hand on his wrist. "I'm sorry. Did you see where he went?"
With a sigh, Hook stopped and looked around. "No, sorry, my Gold-senses aren't tingling. Maybe the doorman will know."
The greeter at the door did know. He had, in fact, seen Gold storm out, and he knew for a fact that it was Gold because the man was his landlord. He was also almost certain that he had seen him drive off in his Cadillac, but he assured Belle that it was better off if she never found him. Instead of rebuking him for his insensitivity, she thanked him for his trouble, feeling like her insides were crumbling. Having no more protest in her, she allowed Hook to lead her inside and pretend to be her husband for the rest of their sales experience.