"Dad's different."

Belle turned suddenly, almost lost her balance, and gripped the counter she was standing in front of. "Are you always up at this hour?" She turned to face Baedden, who had somehow managed to creep up behind her. It was nothing out of the ordinary for her to be up this late at night, sneaking down for a midnight snack or a glass of water.

The boy shrugged, but said nothing else.

Belle turned back to the mug of hot cocoa that she had been making. "So are we always going to meet like this?" She said the words with a small grin. She didn't know what else to do really. Children were not her forte, never having had any herself. And she was still awkward, especially around this almost-teenager who barely seemed to relate to his own father, much less her.

"Maybe," Baedden said and she was pleased to see he was grinning as well.

"Do you want some?"

He nodded once and she found herself charmed by his somewhat bleary-eyed excitement at the thought of sneaking such a treat in the middle of the night.

"Your mom doesn't allow you such things, does she?"

"Nope." He leaned forward then. "I don't think my dad would either." The last was said in a conspiratorial whisper that made her laugh.

"Well then," Belle said and leaned in toward him. "It's a good thing I'm not your father then." She winked at him and pulled out the can of whipped cream from where she'd hidden it in the back of the refrigerator. His eyes opened even wider at that. "I guess that means you want some," she said with a bit of a laugh.

He nodded and held out his cup. She sprayed in a dollop and, at his tiny little nod, sprayed a huge mound on top of it.

"Don't tell your dad."

"Never," he whispered and settled down at the table with his prize.

Belle joined him a moment later, her hot cocoa topped with nearly the same amount of whipped cream as the boy's. She loved whipped cream. Perhaps a little too much. Pie, hot cocoa, strawberry shortcake…they were all just delivery systems for whipped cream. It seemed Baedden shared her opinion of the stuff as he tucked into it with relish.

"So your Dad?" she finally ventured. Gold had changed. She was sure of it. The Gold she had met at her interview all those months ago was quiet, cold. There had been an anger lurking behind every move, all biting sarcasm and lashing out without the least bit of provocation. But that wasn't him anymore. Not really at least. She still hadn't quite gotten him to open up. But she was close. So close.

"He's usually mad at me." The words were spoken with what she could only describe as typical child grumpiness.

"I can believe that."

"Really?" The way he cocked his head slightly to the side and raised one eyebrow was so much his father it made her smile.

"Do you want to know how I met your father?" She had to laugh at the way he moved back and looked rather hesitant to hear her go on.

"I don't know…"

"Oh trust me. You want to hear this. I came here for a job mucking out the barn and doing general farm work and he threw me out on my ear."

"He didn't!" She had to smile at the gasp that accompanied the words.

She leaned a little further forward. "Shhh…"

"Library voice, right." He spoke the words like they'd been spoken to him a hundred times before, as if he had always been shushed in exactly that way.

"Your mother?"

It took him a moment to respond. "No. Mom…she doesn't care about such things. She's not really there much."

There was a sadness to the words, an ache, a loneliness. She knew that Gold had tried to gain custody. She knew that he had lost and that his ex-wife had left with the boy, traveling hundreds of miles away from Gold's little town. Likely, she knew, to keep father and son well and truly separated. Two weeks in the summer was hardly enough time to settle in and get to know each other.

"I'm…"

Baedden shook his head. "Don't…"

"Right." She bit her lower lip.

"You came back," Baedden said after a moment and Belle took a deep breath.

"I did. Stormed right back in and told him he needed me." It seemed ages ago now, a different world, different people. She had been so bold, so brash. She had been so very desperate that she walked right into the lair of the dragon and demanded the job.

"And he did," Baedden said. No question there. He knew. He could see it. The boy was far too wise for his mere ten years. Smart and focused with his father's ability to see past your words and into the heart of it all.

"He did," she confirmed. "He could barely walk at the time." And oh, he had been angry about that. Angry and mortified and grouchy with it. "So you see, I can well imagine that your father is not the easiest man to get along with."

"He's the worst," Baedden started to say.

"Is he?"

And then the boy shook his head. "No," he finally admitted. He fell quiet then and Belle wasn't sure how much more she should press. She suspected his mother, if everything she understood about her were true, was more difficult. Likely angrier. There were hints of neglect about him, hints that perhaps he didn't feel loved. She wondered more and more if Baedden had his choice, where he would live.

There was a love there between him and his father. Muted and distant, but there. As if both were simply afraid to open up to the other, afraid that if they did, it would come with a world of hurt and pain and betrayal.

"Well, kid," Belle managed to get out into the silence. "Maybe it's time for bed?"

He nodded and carefully placed his used mug in the dishwasher before turning back to her. Just briefly, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "My mother's worse." And then he was gone. Before Belle could say another word. He just melted into the shadows the same way his father sometimes managed to. There one moment, gone the next.

She wasn't sure she would have been able to say anything in response anyway.

"You have to fight for him."

Gold was seated at his spinning wheel, as he often was in the evening. In the past few weeks he had somehow managed to move one of the smaller wheels to the library, setting it up near the fireplace. A warm little cozy area that allowed him to spin while Belle read. It was peaceful, calm, exactly as he liked his evenings to be.

But tonight that peace was shattered by Belle's words.

"Fight for who?" The words were chosen carefully and really, he almost just gave her a look and ignored her. He knew. He knew damned well what she was on about. But he wasn't ready to face that.

"Your son?" She sounded almost irate and he wanted to stand up, to shout. You don't have a right to be irate. "Look, I've been doing a bit of research…"

"Always a dangerous thing." The words come out perhaps a bit darker than he intended. He wanted them to be a little flirtatious, a little light, something to deflect emotions. The conversation was headed into dangerous territory and Belle had barely even walked into the room.

"Tavish, I'm serious." She kneeled at his side and put one hand on his leg. He wanted to flinch away. It was his first reaction to most things. But there was such an honesty, such a quiet earnestness in her eyes that he couldn't bring himself to. "I think Baedden is old enough to talk to the courts…"

"They won't take his testimony into account…"

"He's…"

"He's ten," he cut her off with. "Ten, Miss French."

"Belle…"

He swiped a hand through the hair. "He is ten. The court will take one look at him and ignore anything he might want. And do you know what happens then? My boy is disappointed. Again."

"Tavish…"

He could feel the tears pricking at his eyelids, could feel the old emotions overwhelming him. Hate. Anger. The cold sweat of desperation creeping over him. He had been there. So many times. Lawyer after lawyer, court battle after court battle. He had been dragged through the mud, had dragged Milah through it with him. And through it all there had been Baedden, increasingly anxious, increasingly sad. Until he had finally given in and allowed the boy to be taken off to Ohio with his mother. It was better than his being forced into the limbo he had been living in for so very long.

"I gave up," he finally said. When she started to speak he held up a hand. "Months, almost a year of court dates and postponements and constant arguments and I threw in the towel. It was the only fair thing for Bae." He looked up then and saw the soft smile on his face. "It wouldn't be fair now."

"What if he wants to?" Her voice was quiet, almost too quiet.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to shout something at her, but he felt it drain out at her inherent gentleness. Shaking his head, he spoke almost as quietly as she did, trying to keep his voice steady. "The court has decided. I know." He raised a hand with the words. "They can change their minds. But is it worth it?"

"I think it might be."

He cocked his head slightly to the side. There was something there, something he was missing. She knew something and wasn't quite telling it. "Belle…" Her name came out with just a bit more growl than intended.

"I don't think his mother treats him well," she said in answer.

"Tell me something I don't know." Milah was never the warmest of human beings, not even in the early days of their marriage. But after she decided she was done with him, done with it all, she had gone from just a little chilly to cold. She treated him with disdain, picked fights that gave her an excuse to insult him. And when Baedden wasn't around, when he wasn't looking, she brought her hand hard to his face. A sort of penance, she seemed to think, for not being the man she had hoped he would be.

She had married the gentle spinner, the shepherd. She had wanted…something else. A corporate lawyer perhaps. Or a sailor. Baedden had more than once described Milah's newest paramour as some lay about who treated him poorly.

"You…"

"Know? Of course I do. Milah is an abysmal mother."

"Then why…"

"Why is he with her? That much should be obvious." He gave a self-deprecating grin. He was a bachelor, a loner, the hermit on the hill. "I'm hardly good father material."

She leaned a little closer to him, her hand riding up just a little further, moving from knee to thigh. He tried not to think about that in the midst of the conversation they were having, but he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the bit of lust racing through his system and addling his brain. "I think you'd be an amazing father."

He reached out then, touched her hand, carefully moved it down and away from his thigh. "I appreciate your vote of confidence."

"You're not going to fight." The words were flat and he could see the way her mouth turned down, the furrow between her brows.

"No," he answered, honest to a fault.

She stood then and reached out to squeeze his hand. "I think you should talk to Baedden before he leaves."

He glanced down at their hands and watched as hers left his. She was gone a moment later, the door shutting softly behind her. She was right, he knew. Damn her, but she was always right. Belle French had a rather inconvenient way of seeing right through to the heart of the problem.

He needed to talk to Baedden. And he needed to do it soon. If he wanted to live there, if Milah was turning her abuse onto their son, he would fight. But nothing could happen without Baedden's explicit consent.

He would never put him through that horror again, never again make him stand up in a court of law and talk about his home life. Unless he wanted to. Unless he made that choice

Even Belle couldn't make him face those demons again, try though she might. And he couldn't blame her. He had a sense that she knew something and he wasn't all that surprised. His son had been getting close to her, sometimes he thought a bit too close as he worried that she'd leave and Bae would lose yet another mother figure in his life. And with that closeness came some sort of knowledge about his son.

Yes, he needed to talk to him and soon. He wouldn't face the demons of the court again unless his son gave him permission. And if he did, he'd fight tooth and nail for him.

Baedden's last night came about quicker than any of them could have even anticipated. One moment they were out on the field, Bae working the sheep as best he could, Gold shouting instructions and Belle cheering, and the next they were having a quiet and somewhat sullen dinner.

No one wanted to bring up what the next day brought.

Driving away, putting Baedden all alone on a bus. She knew that Gold hated that, could see the way his shoulders tensed as he watched his son pack up his bags. Milah would never accompany him. She simply didn't care enough. Gold told her late one night after Baedden was asleep that he had once gotten a ticket to accompany him back and what he met at the end, his ex's anger, had kept him from doing it again. Even his own son thought it easier to transition back to his home without his father at his side.

And so now they were there again. Two weeks down, one measly dinner and a night of rest to go. She could see the lines deep around Gold's mouth as their quiet meal stretched on and when Baedden went to bed, there was…something…there in his eyes. A darkness, something haunted.

"I hate letting him go," he said as they retreated to the living room, glasses of wine in hand.

She didn't speak for a moment, finally took a deep breath. "I know."

"It's the same damned story every year. He goes home and he forgets. She won't let him call. And he forgets. And then he comes back next year and he's angry and resentful and feeling like his whole life is disrupted."

They were the most words he'd said in a long time, she realized. He had been quiet the last few days, speaking mostly when giving instructions and otherwise allowing Baedden to carry the conversations.

"But this year…" she started to say and he cut her off with a small swipe of his hand.

"He's different." The words were quiet, but there was a gentleness there, perhaps a bit of awe. He met her eyes then. "It's because of you, you know."

"I don't…"

"It is," he insisted and she was surprised when he reached out and briefly touched her hand. Gold wasn't demonstrative. He never had been. Belle was the one who initiated the touches, the hugs, even the kisses most of the time. She was the one who had invaded his space and he was the one who allowed her in. It's the way it had been since the very first moment they met.

She nodded. "He's a good kid."

Gold remained quiet for a moment, but then finally nodded. "He is."

"Have you given any more thought to…"

"Yes." She watched as he took a deep breath. "I'm going to talk to him before we leave tomorrow. He needs to know that I'll fight for him if he wants me to. But I'm not putting him in the middle of a war between his mother and me again." He clenched a fist around the cane he still held onto. "Ever."

"I think you'll be surprised." She had seen the way Baedden, well, not how he talked about his mother. But rather how he didn't talk about his mother. There were words between those he spoke, silences that indicated things were not all that happy back at his home. She had seen him shutting down over the course of the day, preparing for what she was sure was the worst for a ten-year-old child.

She knew.

And he didn't have to say a thing.

She just knew.

"I hope so," Gold finally admitted.

"You're going to have a long battle ahead of you." There was conviction behind the words.

He sighed. "She won't give up without a fight."

Belle stood then and squeezed in on the couch next to him. One of his arms wrapped around her and she realized she felt safe there. Things were not perfect between them. So much was left to be said, so much still to discuss. She was still shattered, still trying to pick up the pieces after her father had passed on. But there was a support there that she never quite expected to find.

"Are you willing to face that?" The words were quiet, earnest.

He stayed silent for a moment. "For Bae? Yes." There was a conviction there, a certain steel behind the words.

"Then we'll face that road when we have to." She was equally firm in her resolve.

"We?"

"Did you think I would abandon you?" She leaned over and kissed his cheek, felt his arm hold her just a little tighter to him. "Nevermind. I know the answer to that one."

"I'm that predictable, am I?" The teasing note to his voice warmed her right to her toes.

"Well, not that predictable." She was thankful to see him smile. She wasn't sure she had seen that smile all day as the thought of losing his son again was clearly weighing on him. He did his best to hide it, talking quietly, laughing at the things she said. But it was there in every small glance he sent his son's way when the boy wasn't looking.

"I think I should head to bed," she said at length, disentangling herself from him and standing.

"Bed, yes." He didn't meet her eyes and he made no move to leave his seat, instead glancing at the empty wine glass as he turned it slowly in one hand.

"Are you going to be alright?" She'd stay if he asked. She'd stay if he needed her, if he just said the word.

After a time he nodded. "I always am."

It was a dismissal of sorts and she knew that. "If you need anything," she said as she paused at the stairs, letting the words hang.

"Of course," he replied with.

She left him then. She wasn't sure what else to say, really. But more than that, she got the sense that for that moment at least, he needed to be alone. She understood that. She truly did. There were times when she just needed to be alone with her thoughts and her memories.

With a sigh, she turned to getting prepared for bed. The next day was going to be a long one.