All told, Gold spent three days in the hospital recuperating from the fall they had taken. Well, he had taken, really. Belle had felt a little banged up the next day, a little sore if she turned her body to the left too fast. But a good soak in the tub and a little work in the barn to loosen up tight muscles had cleared that up nicely.
But Gold had been laid up in that hospital bed, foot in a cast again. He didn't need surgery this time at least, but the doctors had apparently informed him that he had undone some of the healing process that had been going on. The bones had cracked in a couple places and he would have to be on crutches again.
The look he had given when he told her that had been inscrutable. She wasn't sure if he was proud of what he had done, plucking her out of the air and injuring himself to save her. Or if he was angry at her for doing ridiculous things like climbing ladders and leaning out too far to fetch hay.
She was fairly certain it was a bit of both.
In his absence, Belle had been preparing the house for his return. He couldn't make it up the stairs in his condition and so she had brought down blankets and a pillow, his slippers though really he could wear only one. She dug through his closets and brought down a few changes of clothes. She even brought down Taz's beaten up old dog bed. She was sure he'd want it.
Glancing around the room, she decided everything was set there.
She had made sure the bathroom was set too. There was a small plastic stool in a closet that she was sure was used when he needed to take a shower. There were towels upstairs and his shaving supplies, soap, toothbrush. Everything she could think of she had brought downstairs in preparation for his return.
She wanted everything to be perfect.
This was her fault after all and she could not brush that thought from her mind. If she hadn't been so clumsy…if she hadn't been so adamant…if she hadn't been so bloody stupid…
Well, there was no use dwelling on that. Gold would probably do enough of that all on his own. She had gone to visit him a couple times in the hospital and while he hadn't outright said anything that indicated he was angry to be laid up again, there was an edge of pain and a bit of sarcasm that told her it was there in his mind.
He hadn't fired her at least.
And he hadn't kicked her out of the house.
Yet.
David had left a little while ago to get him. How Gold was supposed to get into his big truck, she had no idea, but apparently he had brought him home the first time and could do so again. Gold liked him at least. Oh, he pretended to be annoyed by him, pretended that David was somehow beneath him. But she could see the truth between the two men, a sort of grudging respect that meant they often kept their distance but at the same time had each other's backs.
It was an odd sort of friendship and she was pretty sure Gold would not even call it a friendship, but it worked nonetheless.
She heard the door open and heard a muttered curse coming from the front hallway. Rushing out, she found David attempting to help Gold through the door. "I don't need your help," the latter was snarling at the former. But then he looked up, met her eyes, and she saw his face soften. "Belle."
"You sound surprised to see me."
He shrugged, or at least attempted it while holding onto his crutches and leaning rather heavily against the door. "I thought you might…"
"Abandon the animals?" She crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow.
"She's been taking care of everything while you've been in the hospital," David pointed out. And Belle was amused to hear a bit of annoyance behind the words. He knew how hard she'd been working to prepare the place and though he had only stopped by to lend a hand with getting the sheep back in the evenings, he had been around to see enough of her hard work.
"Has she now?" Gold turned to look at her and there was a moment there, a connection, before he smiled.
"David helped bring the sheep in every night." She met his eyes squarely. "I'm not quite ready for that yet."
He let out a small laugh. "I would think not."
Belle stepped back and let Gold lead them into the living room. David followed close behind him and she could see the way his hands rose every time Gold stumbled slightly and snarled with each misstep.
The odd processional finally made its way to the living room and Gold slumped down in his recliner. Throwing the crutches to the side he pulled the foot of the chair up and leaned back.
Belled stepped forward. "Do you need…"
"No," he growled at her.
"I brought down your…"
He snarled something incoherent and Belle backed up a step. She hadn't seen him act like this before. He had been cantankerous, a bit rude, but never quite like this.
"He was like this the last time," David murmured, close to her ear.
"I can hear that," Gold said. "If you would kindly get my Scotch from the cupboard and pour me a glass and get out, I would appreciate it."
He sounded tired in that moment and so David did as he asked, pouring him a fairly decent sized tumbler of the stuff and nodding at Belle as he started to head for the door.
"I'll just…see him out." Belle followed, catching up to David quickly. "I'm sorry."
David gave her an odd look. "Why are you apologizing?"
"Because it's my fault?" She shrugged. "I mean, if I hadn't reached for that bale of hay, I never would have fallen and he wouldn't have reinjured himself."
"It's not your fault." David put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "If you need anything…"
"I know where to find you. Now go. Spend time with your wife and daughter. You've been away too much as it is lately. I can handle Gold."
David nodded and then disappeared out the door, leaving her alone to face the dragon in his recliner.
When she returned to the room, she found him fishing out a pill from one of the bottles he had placed on the table next to the recliner. His tumbler of Scotch was at his side and before she could even say a word, he had tossed the pill in his mouth and chased it down with the Scotch.
"Did you just…"
He looked up at her as she started to speak and his grin turned wicked. "Yes."
"But…"
"I'm fairly certain you're not my mother, Miss French." He sounded belligerent and she wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the pills or the pain or his anger talking. Maybe it was all of them.
She came in and sat on the couch, the same place she sat when she was first interviewed and was just as uncomfortable now. He watched her, choked back a second pill, and his look said I dare you to say something. "Do you hate me?" The words tumbled out of her lips and she hated the way she sounded. Small, scared. She didn't want him to hate her and for some reason that mattered.
Maybe it was because he saved her.
Maybe it was because she cared.
There was a long pause before he spoke again. "No."
She took a deep breath. "Are you mad at me?"
He smirked then, just a small quirking of his lips. "Maybe a little?" And she loved the uncertainty there.
"I'm sorry." The words were sincere, heartfelt.
"I know."
"But?"
"No buts." He shook his head and for a moment both sat in awkward silence, hands folded in their laps, eyes looking everywhere but at each other. She stole a glance at him from out of lowered lashes and saw his eyes studying the room around them.
"Did you do all of this?" he suddenly asked, one hand gesturing to the room around them.
"All of…" His eyebrows lowered. "Yes. I suppose that I did."
"Why?"
"I thought that would be rather obvious." She couldn't help the somewhat sarcastic smile that crossed her face.
"Humor me, Miss French."
"Belle," she said automatically. He still wouldn't call her by her first name. It was always Miss French. It distanced himself from her and she was sure that was why he did it. "This was all my fault." She raised a hand before he could interrupt. "Don't. I know it is. The least I can do is make you comfortable while you're recovering from playing Prince Charming."
He sighed. "I can't say I wasn't mad."
She leaned forward. "At least you can admit it." She tried to smile. "I'm sorry. I truly am."
"You're a walking disaster," he muttered. "But apparently you're my walking disaster."
"Why Mr. Gold," Belle said and batted her eyelashes at him. "I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Oh, don't give me that nonsense." But there was no bite to his words and Belle just laughed.
"Shall I make us dinner?"
His eyes lit up at that but she could tell he was trying so very hard not to look excited. Three days in the hospital meant three days of hospital food and she couldn't imagine that would sit too well with him. Hospital food was terrible. She knew all too well, having sampled what her father couldn't finish while visiting him.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said with a grin and flitted off to the kitchen to get started on just that.
"Belle French!"
The voice that called her name was not a happy one and she could just imagine exactly why that was. "Coming!" she answered with, perhaps just a tad bit too sweetly. Oh, she knew was in trouble this time. "Yes, Mr. Gold?"
He was standing by the cupboard, leaning heavily on one crutch, the other hand pointing one accusatory finger at her. "Where is it?"
"Where is…"
"My Scotch, Miss French. My bloody expensive 30-year-old Single Malt Scotch. Where is it?"
"Haven't seen it," she said with a smile. He glowered at her.
"Really?"
"Really," she answered and she knew that he knew she was lying.
"Miss French," he growled.
"Why do you want it?" She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Because I'm bloody well in pain and you bloody well know that." He leaned forward slightly, but caught himself against the cupboard. "Now give it to me."
"So you can take your pain pills?"
"Yes."
"No."
"No?" His face had gone red and she was fairly certain a vein was bulging in his forehead.
"It's dangerous," she finally managed to get out.
"I think I can make those decisions for myself," he snapped at her. Each word came out hard and precise.
"I don't think you can." She shook her head. So far he hadn't shown very good judgment. She had seen him with the Scotch and his pills on two separation occasions in the days since he returned home from the hospital. She was fairly certain there had been more times that she hadn't caught him.
And he didn't even have the decency to look guilty when she saw him doing it. He just gave her a smirk and knocked the pilled back with the whisky.
Her decision to hide the bottle had been hasty, to be sure. She had stolen in while he slept deeply, so deeply that she was sure it was a result of the combination of painkiller and alcohol. She wouldn't allow him to become some sort of addict, caught in the quicksand that the combination would surely sink him into.
He snarled at her, words she didn't quite understand, and she just shook her head. "I'm not going to let you kill yourself," she said softly. "I care about you too much for that."
The words were plain, honest. He had nothing to say to that, simply stared at her for a moment, silent and still. Belle nodded once at him and departed.
He stewed for several more days and tore apart the living room trying to figure out where she had hidden the bottle of Scotch. And the other alcohol. She had left nothing to chance, daring him to get up and find the stuff if he wanted it so bad. But he wouldn't. She had hidden it rather cleverly and with his ankle in the condition it was in, he wasn't likely to be able to find it.
And so he refused to talk to her, ate his meals in silence, retreated to his living room and informed her that he didn't wish to be disturbed. He was disturbed anyway. Belle brought him tea. She laundered his clothing, prepared his meals, brought him tea and the newspaper that was delivered every day. And when he felt up to it, she brought him his wool to spin.
She was fascinated by that process and could sometimes spend several minutes watching as he lost himself in the rhythm.
But still he stayed quiet, locked inside himself.
It was frustrating to be sure. They had been getting closer and she had ruined it all. First by falling from the ladder and now by hiding his alcohol and refusing him that bit of comfort. But what else could she do?
And so they had come to an impasse, a quiet, very lonely impasse. She missed him. She hadn't quite realized how much she had enjoyed talking to him, hearing his stories about the farm, about the aunts that raised him. He never mentioned his parents and she hadn't pressed for information on them. But his aunts had sounded like tough old women who had ultimately done right by the small boy who had been left in their charge.
It was another three days before he spoke to her. She had arrived in the living room to find him missing and when she couldn't find him on the first floor at all, she almost panicked. But then she heard his voice, coming from somewhere upstairs, calling her name.
She rushed up the stairs, expecting to find him in her room, the bottle of Scotch in hand. But his voice was coming from somewhere else, further down the hallway. Somewhere past even his own room and so she took a right instead of a left.
She found him at the end of the hall in front of a door she had noticed before, but had always been locked. It didn't appear locked now. His hand was on the doorknob and it was pushed slightly open. She couldn't see inside still, but that only whetted her curiosity.
"Ah Miss French, there you are." His voice sounded strangely jovial and she paused for a moment as she approached him.
"Are you quite alright, Mr. Gold?" she asked.
"Yes, yes. Come." He opened the door a bit further. "I have something for you."
"For me?" She couldn't stop the little bit of giddiness in her voice, try to hide it though she did.
"Well, it's not for me, that's for sure. I hardly ever use it." There was the sardonic twist back to his lips, the amusement hidden in the accented voice.
She had no idea where this was coming from, but she wasn't going to complain. With a smile she stepped over the threshold of the room, eyes on Gold. But when he waved an arm around the room and stepped back slightly, she finally got a good look around her.
It was a library.
But not just any library.
It was massive. Bookshelves lined every wall and went clear up to the ceiling. There were rolling ladders, though she noticed none were particularly tall. A fall off one of those would most likely mean only a few bruises. But she suspected Gold would stay away from her if she was on them anyway.
"What is this?" she finally managed to ask after stepping closer to touch some of the books. The smell was enticing. New books mixed with old, the exact smell any library ought to have.
"I thought it should be rather self-explanatory," he answered and she noted the amused sarcasm. Her mouth still hung open and so she closed it as she turned to look at him.
"Yes I know…but…"
"It's for you," he reiterated.
"I don't understand." She couldn't meet his eyes, kept staring at the books. There were titles, she noted, of a huge variety of subjects, completely unorganized. Books on science and anatomy placed next to novels, all shoved tightly into the space. There had to have been hundreds of them, maybe thousands.
He sighed and she finally turned to look at him. He looked small there, vulnerable, standing in the doorway while she explored the room. "These past couple weeks since the…um…
"Accident?" she offered. Disaster? Mess of her own making? No need to remind him of those things. No doubt he wasn't likely to forget.
"Yes…since the accident. This can't have been easy on you. Don't think I haven't noticed all the extra work you've been putting in around the house. Cleaning, cooking, taking care of all my needs."
She did understand what he meant, in that moment. She had attempted to do everything for him. Partially out of a sense of guilt. She couldn't deny that. She felt guilty, and horribly so, for what she had done to him. But she also did it because there was some tiny part of her that liked the guy. He wasn't easy to get along with. But she found he challenged her in ways no one else did.
"And so…" She let the words hang, waiting for him to go on.
"This is a thank you," he finally said, voice soft as he met her eyes. "I've noticed you haven't been able to get out to the Storybrooke library and keep re-reading the same few books you brought with you, so…" His voice trailed off as he waved a hand around the room. "I'm sure you can find something in here that's to your liking."
She didn't know what came over here in that moment. She stepped closer to him, stomach alive with butterflies and not totally sure she should be doing what she was thinking of doing. But Belle had always been at least a little bit affectionate.
Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close to her for a hug. He was slightly unbalanced for a moment and she was sure she had made a completely horrible mistake. But then one of his arms wrapped around her and held her there.
They stayed there for a moment and Belle felt him relax into the embrace at the same time she did. But finally she backed away, put a small amount of space between them, and looked up at him. "Thank you," she murmured. "Truly. This is…quite a gift."
She didn't know what else to say and he was staring at her, face almost too close. His eyes met hers and the way they flitted back and forth, the way he seemed to study her, she was sure he was searching for something. Permission, she realized as his hand came up to cup her chin and he moved his face just an inch closer to hers.
And she realized she wanted this. Perhaps she had always wanted this. When his lips met hers, soft and dry, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pulled herself close to him, tangled her fingers in his hair. She heard the other crutch hit the ground and both of his arms came around her waist, hands splayed out across her back. He pulled back, hit the wall, used that as balance as he deepened the kiss, his mouth slanting across hers, his tongue dipping in to taste her.
She moaned somewhere deep in her throat, felt that kiss go straight down to her center. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.
"I don't even know your name." She didn't know why those words came out. But he had kissed her and she still called him Mr. Gold and there was something not quite right about that. He was her boss, her employer.
"Tavish," he muttered. And then he kissed her again and she forgot about everything else in that moment except the feel of his lips and his body pressed to hers. When they broke apart again she tried to speak. "Don't…please."
Truth be told she wasn't sure if she could have managed words anyway.
But then he released her and she backed up a pace. "Tavish," she said and the syllables sounded strange on her lips.
"I'm sorry." He shook his head and retrieved the crutch from where it had landed on the ground. "I'm so…so…sorry." And then he turned and hobbled down the hallway, shutting the door to his bedroom tight behind him, leaving Belle standing framed in the doorway to the library, alone, confused.
All she knew was she hadn't planned for this to happen.
But it had.
And she had no damned idea what to do about it.
