The wolf girl was late.
Mr. Gold could only imagine the confused humor of an outsider. Him, pacing back and forth before his door. His hands, creaking anxiously around his cane. All this ruckus over one lateness?
Yes. Because this was Storybrooke and as such Ruby was never late. Sullen, cutting, even hungover on occasion, but she always walked through his door at precisely the same time. Lateness was an event in and of itself, but coupled with Belle's own deviation from her routine just the day before...
Belle.
Gold stilled, hanging his head. Things were changing. He could feel it coming like a strong wind, the possibilities singing through his blood at an impossible pace. Belle hadn't just deviated, she'd returned to him. She's walked through his door, reclaimed her necklace, let his hands rest upon the nape of her neck, touch her, kiss her... alive and oh so assured. Gold was still drunk on her resurrection, tempered only by the knowledge that it had come with her old engagement as well.
He scowled. It wasn't entirely unexpected. Their lives here had a tendency to mirror their lives from the forest, a byproduct of Regina's magic attempting to reconcile two existences. They kept similar professions, made roughly the same friendships, and now Belle was being ushered into the same relationship by her father: the princess and her handsome prince.
Gold let out a quick, dry laugh. Maybe Belle's rejection wasn't quite so unexpected though. After all, hadn't she refused Gaston once before?
Ah. If only Gold could make a proposal of his own.
"Blast it all," he muttered to the room, resuming his pacing. So easily distracted. Five minutes had come and gone. Then ten. Then fifteen. Wherewas she? Belle's friendship with the wolf girl must have been the trigger. Everyone else was right on schedule: Snow heading to school, Jiminy puttering past, the shouts down the street that told Mr. Gold that Grumpy was waking up in a foul mood, as he did every morning of every single day...
Gold was just about to throw himself against the doorway—and what a stupid move that would have been—when the bell above his door gave a quick jangle.
"Well, it's about time!" He snarled, turning.
"... didn't realize you were that hungry."
It wasn't Ruby. Far from it. Belle stood in his shop, dressed in jeans, heals, and a horribly wrinkled top. She smoothed a hand down her stomach, like she sensed his observation, and he noticed the bag she held in her other hand. The smell of Granny's breakfast drifted out from the paper.
"My... my apologies," Gold stuttered. He took a step forward... then two steps back. "I thought... well. I suppose it's quite clear what I thought. I fear I'm quite a stickler for punctuality."
"No. Really." Belle drawled. She didn't appear offended and Gold's shoulders sagged. With the air of someone comfortable in her surroundings, Belle marched to the nearest glass case and began producing an obscene amount of food from a seemingly bottomless bag.
What was she doing? Why was she here? They'd agreed to meet again—a promise that had kept Gold awake the majority of the night—but he'd hardly dared to expect another visit so soon. Part of him was overjoyed. Yet a stronger, giggling part pointed out the dangers of the situation. Belle, deviating from her routine. Belle, torturing him by claiming to know him but not knowing him at all. Belle, who was laying out breakfast like this was normal for them both, entirely oblivious to the magic that kept them bound; unaware that she was disrupting a balance meant to hold until the Savior appeared, yearsfrom now...
Belle, who proudly wore his necklace in the dip of a low-cut v.
"I forgot my sweater," she said suddenly and Gold swallowed hard in understanding.
"… of course. So that's why you—"
"Told Ruby I'd deliver your breakfast and pick it up this morning. You know, instead of just telling her to grab it on the way out." Belle turned and gave Gold a look. It made him swallow again. "Just for the record, I'm not in the habit of letting men gift me antique necklaces. Or of letting them touch me like you did last night," (her cheeks went bright pink at her own word choice) "or of coming back the next morning to share breakfast." Belle gestured to the feast laid out on the glass. "Unless you think you can eat all this by yourself?"
"Certainly not," Gold murmured. Delicately, he pulled his stool over as Belle hopped right up on the counter. "Please, sit." He said, a few seconds too late.
"Oh!"
Belle was oblivious. Bending in a remarkable display of flexibility, she swiped something white from beneath the counter. Her sweater. She laughed at the rumpled, dusty mess while Gold internally cursed. How had it gotten there? Dropped and kicked no doubt, some time at the end of last night. What rankled him was that it had been here, for hours, right under his nose. How could he have overlooked a piece of her?
Probably for the best. Had he found the sweater, Gold wasn't entirely sure he'd have been able to give it back.
"Woooee," Belle laughed. She shook the article out—luckily away from the food. "Guess I'd better take this to get cleaned, huh?"
Gold nodded his head. "My apologies."
"Don't worry about it. It's fine. You could always help me drop it off—oh." Belle's eyes drifted to the door, letting out a nervous giggle. "Oops."
Oops indeed.
"No matter. You're remarkably chipper today, my dear."
"I am." Belle popped a strawberry in her mouth, smiling around it. "Had a lovely night with Ruby. Well, I say 'night.' 'Early morning interrogation' might be more apt, but" Belle waved a hand. "Everything is just... falling into place I guess. Remember the story I told you?" Her eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Turns out the is ending just as I thought: the girl is moving out. Forging her own path! And the guy isn't causing nearly as much conflict as she expected. Hardly any at all." She smiled even wider.
"Really?" Gold said faintly.
"Yep! Hey, aren't you going to eat any of this? I also believe I was promised tea..."
"Of course,"
Gold stood, still bemused, but faithfully moving to fetch his kettle. Gaston, no longer an issue? Surely the boy didn't have the respectability to just let Belle go? Short of the wolf girl tearing out his throat (or someone turning him into a flower...) Gold could hardly think of a resolution. Still, his Belle was here, she was smiling, and Gold was desperate to enjoy every moment of it.
He fetched English Breakfast, honey, sugar, the last of his milk, and a few chocolates he still had stashed away. He hurried back.
Gold chuckled at the grabby hands Belle made.
She cocked her head, popping another strawberry into her mouth. "You know, I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh."
"Because we've known one another so long," Gold retorted, only half serious. In truth, he wasn't sure Belle had heard him laugh in the Forest either. Nothing beside his giggle.
"Fair enough. So what's your name?"
Gold startled while plugging in the kettle. "Sorry?"
"Your name." Belle nodded her head side to side. "First name. 'Mr. Gold' seems a little too formal now, don't you think?"
For a moment Gold was frozen. His name? He didn't have one, at least not in Storybrooke. It had seemed almost fitting when he'd realized. No last name in the Forest, no first name here. Why grant one to a man who couldn't leave and who everyone else had no desire to visit?
"It's Rumple." The words were out before Gold could catch them.
"Rumple?" Belle repeated. Her tone was more than a little incredulous. Even though, underneath that, Gold thought he detected just the thinnest veil of recognition.
"I fear so," he shrugged. "And the nickname is far better than the original: Rumplestiltskin. My parents were... eccentric."
His father was eccentric. And a bastard to boot.
"Does this mean I can do away with Ms. French?" Gold asked, hurrying the conversation along. "Belle?" he tried, tasting the name once more.
"Belle," she agreed.
"Belle."
They ate in silence then, hardly daring to look at one another, even though Gold was still starved for her. The real food before him had no appeal. But still, Gold ate. When the water boiled he poured them both tea, steeping the bag and adding the perfect amount of honey—just as he remembered. For a moment his fingers traced the lip, searching for a crack. When it wasn't found he handed the drink off.
Other portions of their meal were shockingly familiar though. Gold looked upon toast, bacon, slices of sweet peaches... he recalled another meal, so similar, and resolutely pushed it from his mind. That has been his last happy moment—or what he thought passed for happiness with him—before their kiss and everything that came tumbling after.
A meal shared there. A meal shared here. In many ways they'd come full circle.
If only Belle could remember.
She twirled the necklace round her finger and the movement jarred Gold back to the present.
"So," he said, clearing his throat. "This... protagonist. Where will she be moving to?"
Belle grinned over the edge of her cup. "Top floor of the library."
Silence.
Understanding.
And everything tumbled again.
"That..." Gold stumbled over his words, taking in a breath. "That's... not possible, dearie."
"Hmm?" Belle was hardly listening, swirling more honey into her tea. "No, I checked the records. The library is public property."
Gold closed his eyes. "Was."
"Sorry?"
"It waspublic property, Belle."
Her name sounded almost obscene on his lips. Gold watched, feeling sick, as her eyes finally rose—moving from confusion to shuttered distress as she took in his confident tone. How was he to have known though? It was a year past. Gold knew because he was probably the only one left in Storybrooke who was even aware of the passing of time. A year, when Regina had sauntered in—maintaining her own routine of periodically bugging him. She'd wanted information on adoption, of all things, and in return Gold had asked for a "family heirloom" (an orb he suspected of having the tiniest remnants of magic left inside) as well as ownership of the library. He hadn't had a reason, other than wanting a connection to Belle and, more pressingly, something else to weasel out of Regina's grasp. How was he to have known that soon after Belle would want to live there?
She couldn't though. That was beginning to become clear to Gold, and it killed him.
How had he missed it?
Belle had some thoughts of her own.
She laughed in a strained manner, high-pitched. The sound made him wince. "Was?" she asked. "Mr. Gold—Rumple—I'm telling you, my records—"
"Are nearly a year out of date," Gold said quietly. "I'm not surprised. You are, after all, the only one in this town who'd be willing to update them. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the public property of Storybrooke is in the hands of the Mayor and it was the Mayor who made a deal with me some months ago. I now own your little library."
"Deal," Belle repeated. She blinked a few times and Gold wondered how much that word still resonated with her. "Right," she laughed again, sharply. "Okay then. New deal. You let me stay upstairs and I'll—"
"No."
Belle's lips pursed, then tightened. It was an expression Gold recognized. "You didn't let me finish."
"That's because there's nothing you have to offer me, dearie." He stood, needing distance between them, distance from the lies.
"Look, I know I don't have a lot, but surely we can work something out—"
"No."
"Would you at least hear—"
"No."
"Stop saying that!" Belle slammed her fist down, causing Styrofoam to rattle. "I get it, okay? I'm poor, dad squandered nearly everything away, but there must be something! I'll take out a loan from someone. Or work here, in the shop, until the debt is repaid. Anything." Belle hopped down, her hands extending in entreaty. "Rumple... I don't think you understand. Gaston... we're not going to marry... but I can't stay with my dad anymore. Not after this. I need space, freedom. And even if I didn't need my own place, there's nowhere else I can turn. Ruby and Granny don't have the room, I hardly know anyone else... you own every other building in town!" Her voice rose at the end, encompassing them both in the accusation.
It was true. He did own nearly all of Storybrooke, this town now more his than Regina's. Which made her control over him all the more infuriating: this space, this power, his for the taking... if only he could walk out that door. It was why he collected antiques in the first place. Why he took from Regina those "family heirlooms" whenever he could. If any more magic had carried over from this world he had to find it. Find a way out before the Savior arrived, and before everyone else woke up, remembered who he was...
Which was exactly why Belle could never move.
He should have seen it before. Blinded… blinded by her return. His Belle was too stubborn to say anything other than what she meant. If she said she was leaving her father, she was, and that was a disruption Gold just couldn't chance. Taking a day off from the library... meeting him in his shop... these were departures, yes, but ultimately small ones. But Belle abandoning her father would be a rather large wave in an otherwise settled pond.
Magic. Volatile and delicate. Maintaining a charade like the one Regina had created required balance above all things—the balance of an old life never overtaking the new. Her spell had managed this by copying reality as exactly as it could—same jobs, same relationships, same interests—in an attempt to make this world appear correct. Nothing could deviate too far from the original... and the fact remained that Belle had only truly lived her life in two places.
Her father's castle and Rumplestiltskin's.
And there wasn't a spare room here to offer her.
A spare room? Ha. Gold barely had room enough for himself in this prison. He could only imagine the conversation. 'Belle? Young and lovely and still a stranger—willing to share a bed a bed with me?' Ha! Ultimately though, even if he was willing to risk the embarrassment, Gold couldn't take the chance. Not until he was free. Not until Emma arrived.
So instead of comforting as he wished to, Gold turned and gave Belle his haughtiest stare. He lifted his cane and shooed at her like a pest.
"No, dearie." He said coldly. "There's not a thing from you that I want."
Gold turned his back on Belle, as decisively as he had once before.
"Go," he said.
He could feel her anger. Betrayal too, at what they'd started just a day before and what she could no doubt feel from their unremembered past. Gold stood still though as Belle angrily gathered her things, the first tears evident in her hitching breaths.
The bell above the door sang once before she paused.
"Ruby was right," Belle said simply. "I misjudged you."
He had to turn then, for one last look, and as he did Gold saw Belle ripping the rose from her neck. She clenched the gold viciously between her fingers.
"Belle," he breathed, eyes widening. "Wait—"
"You can have this back," she spat and threw the delicate piece to the ground.
The last thing Gold saw was his True Love's face, disappearing in a flash of blinding light.