The evening spent at the Nolan's had been strange, enjoyable, but very strange, indeed. Rumald had remained on the outskirts of the living room, listening to the conversations, weighing up everyone as they talked and discussed different topics. He had shared a look with Mary-Margaret, when she had finally ventured out of the kitchen, announcing to her guests that dinner would be served in five minutes. He had known from the look in her eyes, he had not been welcomed into her home, he had been tolerated for the evening. Though, Rumald had conceded that the meal had been eatable and after two weeks, he was more than sure, she had not poisoned his meal.
Wrapping the larger end of his tie, around the small end, Rumald watched himself in the full length mirror as he fed the larger end up and threw the knot he had created with his tie. Drawing it down, he adjusted the knot and pulled through the rest of the larger end, eyeing the perfectly formed knot. He held the smaller end and pushed the knot up to the collar of his shirt, turning his head to the side, still eyeing his appearance in the mirror. With the knot snugly positioned, Rumald turned down the collar of his shirt, while he swept his gaze down the length of his reflection.
He was meant to be meeting Belle after her practise session at Regina's. A pot hole and a flat tyre had stranded him on a back road to Storybrooke. Without a choice, temper fuelling his reckless and hasty actions, Rumald had thrown caution to the wind, literally, and had changed the tyre himself with mother nature throwing everything and anything at him. The wind had pushed him about and knocked him onto his ass a few times. The rain had soaked through his overcoat, his suit, any other piece of clothing he had been wearing. The winter cold had bear hugged him, the whole time he had been hunched over, knelt on the ground with the cold tendrils working their way into his bones. As he had been doing it, Rumald had known he should have called Dove, or Mike and Billy from the garage to recover him.
Positioning his gold necktie clip, Rumald checked the mirror before reaching for the waistcoat hanging on the front of his wardrobe. He hooked his arm into the waistcoat and reached behind him to hook his other arm into it, and brought it up onto his shoulders, pulling the flaps together to fasten them, whilst he shook his head at himself for losing his temper. His control was getting worse as his anger and nervousness grew.
Two weeks since his encounter with Cora and it was as if nothing had happened. She had not contacted him. No one had seen her around town. Rumald did not like it. He knew the tactic, used it himself. It was simple and very effective: threaten the target and leave them to stew on the threat. The human imagination was a gift, allowing people to imagine their dreams, but it could also be a curse, when it conjured up someone's own personal hell.
Rumald's hell: Knowing his loved ones were endangered and not having the power to protect them. Slowly, it was driving him crazy, but if he could focus on Belle, on Neal and Henry, and on Regina, then he had no choice but to tolerate the madness.
Rumald grabbed his suit jacket from its hanger and left his bedroom, checking the time on his watch as he hastily descended the stairs into the darkness of downstairs. Near the bottom of the stairs, he put on his suit jacket, buttoning the top button, whilst he peeked out through the clear panes in the middle of his front door, seeing it was still raining cats and dogs outside. He shook his head at the weather, turning to go through to the kitchen, and headed into the kitchen to collect the things he had emptied from his pockets earlier, when he had stripped himself of his wet clothes in the kitchen.
Car keys palmed in his hand, Rumald unhooked his old overcoat from the coat hooks and exited his house, eyeing the relentless rain as he stood on his porch putting on his coat. Tightly wrapping the flaps of his overcoat around himself, he jogged down the steps of the porch and across the front lawn to his car. The grass squelched under his foot and threatened to take his feet out from underneath him, when he took one step and slipped on the mud. Glaring at the spot, stumbling a couple of steps to the car, Rumald yanked open his car door, staring at the obscene streak of mud in his front lawn.
Slamming the door shut, he eyed the offending foot, seeing the side of his left foot was smeared in wet, glistening mud. Rumald grumbled as he put the key in the ignition, choosing to ignore his shoe for now, and started the car, kick-starting the window wipers into action, when the engine roared to life. He did not waste any time, pulling the gear shifter down into drive, and pulled out of his drive at a hasty pace.
He drove into town, randomly shaking his head at times, ticked off by how his day had gone. First, he had been woken up at early by a tenant calling him, 'The boiler's not working!'. With Dove off on his secret errand, Rumald had been forced to crawl out of bed, drive across town and sort out the problem – Pilot light had gone out. The tenant's poor excuse of 'It's your boiler. I'm not touching it.' had begun the first swirls of his temper. Secondly, the courier had been late collecting the packages he had waiting, making him late for the auction in Bath. The third annoyance, had been some bald, little prick, who had decided to outbid Rumald, driving the price of the lot well over the listed price. He had shared some words with the four-eyed snake, wanting to introduce him to the clench fists he had kept in his pockets. Then, of course, his flat tyre on the way home had nearly taken the preverbal biscuit. Another shake of his head, dislodged some droplets of rain from his hair as Rumald cursed the tenant, the up bidding prick and the God awful weather.
The fact he had not heard from Dove, for over a week, was feeding his irritation. After a week of not seeing or hearing from Cora, Rumald had given Dove the task to find out what the witch was up to. Dove had left Rumald's house on the Saturday evening without saying another word. No messages, no emails, no voicemails. He knew better than to be worried something had happened to Dove. Dove could quite easily take care of himself. It was not unusual, when Dove was off doing these 'special' errands that he ceased communication with Rumald. Throwing himself wholeheartedly into his task. Rumald just wanted to know what the bitch was doing!
Taking the turn onto Main Street a little too quick, Rumald could feel the backend of the Cadillac tittering on the brink of sliding out and countered for it. He breathed out heavily through his nose, using the breath to take a moment, stilling the rampant thoughts before he did something stupid.
At the end of Main Street, Rumald turned left and then immediately turned into the parking lot, belonging to Regina's dance studio, squeezing into a space nearest the building. Shoving the gear shifter into park and turning off the engine, he took in a breath before opening his car door, bolstering himself against the elements, and jumped out of his car, slamming the door behind him, clearing the way for him to sprint to the cover of the building. He ran along the edge of the building, slightly protected from the rain that was caught in a strong gush of wind. At the glass doors to the dance studio, Rumald yanked them open and almost tripped over himself getting into the lobby.
Much like a dog would, Rumald shook his head and jostled his overcoat to unsuccessfully rid himself of the rain water, which was soaking through his overcoat and had moulded his hair to his scalp. He was drying than he had been earlier, but he still grimaced at the coldness and dampness seeping through his overcoat.
"I take it, it's very wet outside." Mal remarked dryly.
Rumald looked up to see Mal behind the reception desk, whilst a drop of water worked its way through his hair to the back of his neck, creeping its way down his back, as he said. "No, not at all. Sunshine and clear skies."
"Good job I brought my umbrella." She ignored his sarcasm.
"If only we all we're as clever as you." He commented wryly, smoothing back the wet hair stuck to his forehead, slowly starting to cross the reception area to Mal.
She grinned at him. "No, not clever." Her eyes glistened with mischief. "I watched the weather report this morning."
"Some of us were working." Rumald told her, unconsciously flicking his hand, tickled by the water running down the back of his hand.
"Work?" Mal lifted an eyebrow at him. "What's this work, you speak of?"
Smoothing his hair back, his face twisted as his hand chased a small of amount of water down his neck, no doubt soaking onto the back of his shirt. "Sometimes I have to wonder myself." Rumald dropped his hand down to his side. "Especially when a tenant wakes me up at six o'clock in the morning."
"Rather you than me." She told him, eyeing him briefly before turning her attention back to the computer screen.
"Are they done?" He asked her, throwing his gaze up to the dance studio above.
"Not yet." For a second, Mal threw her gaze up to the studio above. "Will was late."
Rumald dropped his gaze and met Mal's. "Is he ever on time?"
"Not as far as I'm aware." She told him, turning her gaze to the computer, clicking the mouse button.
"Told her to replace him." He grumbled, peeling his overcoat off his shoulders, shrugging it down his arms, and folded his damp coat over his arm.
"Sadly," Mal squinted at something on her computer, clicking the mouse and tapping the enter key on her keyboard, as she spoke. "We seem to be running out of male dancers. If you have any one in mind, I'm sure, Regina would be interested to hear your suggestions."
He rolled his eyes, reluctant to give a response, and sidestepped around the reception desk to head up the stairs to the studio above. On the small landing, exchanging to the next set of stairs, Rumald lifted his chin, prying into the dance studio, observing Belle and Will performing a box step that quickly changed into a progressive step, finishing with Will twirling Belle. Smiling as he neared the top of the steps, the glass door wide open in front of him, Rumald leant against the windowpane, which sufficed a doorframe, and watched as Will used his hold around Belle to lift her, her legs parting almost into the splits. He had not watched her danced in a long time. She had progressed so much since the last time he had come to meet her.
With Belle's feet back on the floor, the pair whirled round, performing several box steps. Rumald squinted his gaze at them, sensing something was not right before the pair stumbled together. Belle had her back to him, not noticing his presence, and dropped her arms and her head down, letting out an exasperated groan. His eyebrows bunched together.
"Don't blame me!" Will pointed his finger at Belle.
"You slowed down." Belle said in a quiet voice, almost smothered by the music playing.
Will step back, half turning away from her, throwing his hand to indicate the steps they had just performed. "You were moving too fast!"
"You were the one leading." She argued back, lifting her head to meet his gaze.
"When you let me!" He flung his hand at Belle.
"Enough!" Regina bellowed with the music stopping abruptly. "Let's take a five-minute break and cool off."
"You need it!" Will spat at Belle as he stormed by her.
Slightly bewildered by the exchange, Rumald's brow scrunched at Will as the younger man stomped across the dance studio and out of the room, forcefully knocking into Rumald's shoulder. He let the momentum turn him, tempted to pull Will to one side as Rumald watched him descend the steps, taking two or three steps to get away as quick as possible.
Turning back, Belle's folded arms propped her up against the mirror wall, her head cushioned by her forearms. His frown deepened at the sight of her. She looked tensed. He was not used to seeing her like that. His mind was taken back, to when they had been practising for the competition and Gaston had told her she could not dance, undermining her confidence.
"Whatever you two have been fighting about, can you just apologise, so we can get back to practising." Regina told him in a hushed voice, whilst she sauntered out of the dance studio and walked off down the stairs, leaving him stood baffled by her comment.
'Fighting?' He mouthed, totally and utterly confused.
A loud frustrated groan brought his attention back to Belle, still stood leaning against the mirror. Discarding his damp overcoat to the handrail, Rumald slid into the room, easing his foot down when he took a step, shushing his footstep. He glanced to different spots in the room – the sound system, Belle's coat and handbag, what he assumed was Will's things – whilst he edged closer to Belle.
Closer, he was able to see the rigid lines of her shoulders, her hand trapped under her arm was made into a fist, the tightness in her calf muscles. Angling his head, Rumald studied her, running his eye up and down her, not recognising the creature in front of him. He had never seen her so tense. Even when she had been with Gaston, dealing with their daily arguments, she had taken it all in her stride. What he saw in her, was something he acquainted with himself. It pained him to see her like that.
A step away from her, Rumald reached out with both hands and clasped her upper arms tightly, whilst he took the step closing the space, pressing his front into her back as she started at the contact, throwing her arms down to her sides. She was trapped, between him and mirror. Her wide eyes found his face in the mirror. Recognition took a couple of seconds and a few more for the muscles in her arms to relax.
Turning his face into the side of her head, his lips by her ear, their eyes connected through the mirror, Rumald whispered to her. "Hello, Miss French."
She shuddered before a small smile eased across her lips. "Hi."
"Bad day?" He asked, loosening his grip on her arms.
"Something like that." Belle mumbled, diverting her eyes down to floor and then back to meet his. "Where have you been all day?"
His hands slipped down her arms to her hands as he answered. "I was at the auction house in Bath."
The side of her head rested against the side of his head. "That explains why you weren't at the shop."
"Did you call me?" Concerned he may have missed her calls, Rumald let go of her hands and pulled his phone out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, checking the display to see no missed called.
Belle stepped round to face him, shaking her head at him. "No, I didn't call you. It wasn't… Well, it isn't urgent."
Narrowing his eyes at her, slipping his phone back into its home, he raised his free hand to cup her face, telling her. "Whatever's upset you is urgent to me, Belle." Stroking his thumb over her cheek, he brought his other hand up to cup her face between his hands. "What's wrong?"
"It can wait until later." She turned her head in his hands, looking towards the doorway. "Will and Regina will be back soon."
"I don't care, if they are." Rumald encouraged her to turn her head back to look at him. "Tell me, what's wrong." He urged her.
Her mouth opened, but quickly closed again with a huff of a breath washing down over his hands. Belle closed her eyes, turning her face in his framing hands to face him before she opened her eyes. Seeing her eyes glisten with a deep shadowy sadness haunting her eyes, Rumald's mind rushed off into overdrive, considering all the possibilities that could have upset her so much. Her father? Gaston? Had someone told her something about him, which could have upset her? It was funny how his mind took so long to come up with the most obvious reason – Cora.
Mentally, Rumald cursed himself for being so stupid as he beseeched her for an answer. "Please, Belle, tell me what's happened? I can't help, if you don't tell me."
"It's nothing, really." Belle bent her head down, avoiding his gaze, burying the lower half of her face into his hands. "Just my job and livelihood." Her shoulders shrugged in a pathetic attempt at humour. "Nothing important."
"Course, it's important!" A bit roughly, he redirected her face to face him again and stooped to put himself in her eyesight. "What do you mean? What's been said?"
Her eyes closed, spilling a tear down her cheek. "I told you they were keeping close tabs on me."
"The Mayor?" He asked stupidly.
"Yes!" She sneered as she pulled his hands away from her face and angrily wiped at her cheeks. "Came by this morning, to tell me that at next week's council meeting, they're going to be reassessing the funding for the library and my position there."
Pulling her towards him, cradling the back of head with his right hand, guarding her head to rest against his chest, Rumald placed a firm kiss into the side of her head. "I'll fix this."
"How?" Belle mumbled into his chest.
"I don't know yet, but I will." He told her, earnestly, soothing his other hand up and down her back.
"I just don't understand it." She began to say, lifting her head off his chest to look up at him. "I've checked the figures for myself. Since I took over at the library, lending is near enough double it was before and people signing up for a library card is the highest it's ever been."
"Sometimes, these things don't make sense, sweetheart." Rumald offered as a poor explanation.
Her head shook, whilst she snuggled her face into the crook of his neck, offering as her explanation. "More like someone's got it out for me."
Squeezing his eyes shut, he lulled his head to rest against the top of hers, tightening his hold around her, as the truth of her words painfully clenched his heart. He should have known better. Being idle had done him, or Belle, no favours. Cora was moving ahead with whatever she had planned for everyone, while he was wasting time, mulling over things and waiting to hear from Dove. Rumald needed to do something. Draw a prominent line in the sand. Opening his eyes, taking in the reflection of them in the mirror, Rumald decided there and then, tightly clutching a handful of Belle's cardigan, it was time to let the darker side of him out to play.