Hello There! Trying my hand at a No curse Rumbelle. Not sure how many chapters there'll be yet, but I have most of it mapped out in my head. I do bot own any of the characters or story belonging to Once Upon a Time.
Chapter 1 No Apologies
Gold's leg throbbed as he stood over his work table in the back of his antiques shop. He was writing in his ledger, making sure all his accounts were in order after collecting rent, yesterday. Rent. He groaned. He insisted on doing all his collections in person, to intimidate the people he collected from, which caused his bad leg to hurt even worse. It was worth it. Intimidation and power were his companions since he had no others, so he relished in what he could control.
He had come to this small town a couple of years ago, trying to escape the past. He had started investing in the town, buying up properties, and found he enjoyed being the big fish in a small pond. Everyone knew his name, well, his last name that is, no one knew him well enough to know his first. Everyone feared him, and he found that while his existence was a lonely one, no one dared ask him about his past, because no one had dared try to get to know him.
'Mr. Gold?' The little bell announced a rare visitor to his shop, and someone who had never been there before by the sound of the person's hesitancy. 'Mr. Gold, are you there?'
'Well it is my shop.' He moaned, as he limped towards the front, facing his visitor with a scowl that would send most running. Not this person, though. He was met with a tiny woman, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail with curls cascading out the back, simple tee shirt, ragged jeans, and shoes that looked like they had seen better days. She looked like she hadn't escaped her teen years, though he knew her to be in her early twenties and she was smiling. Smiling at him! Didn't she know who he was? Of course she did. She was little…
'Miss French, I believe.'
'Yes sir.' She smiled again! He neither wanted or needed her smiles. He once again glanced her over, taking in every wrinkle, hole, and stain. He despised the French family. The father drank and gambled his way to bankruptcy and yet acted like it was Gold's fault they didn't have the money to pay at the end of the month. His daughter wasn't much better, he had gathered. Hailed as the 'smartest girl in her class' she had gained a full ride scholarship but had left for some reason after only attending a year. Gold didn't care for those who didn't take opportunities given to them (heavens knew he had taken every scrap of opportunity by the throat), and he cared even less for those who wasted their lives on frivolous living. Something he assumed she was doing, as he was always seeing her flitting from one place to another, he rarely saw her in the shop when he came to collect rent. He didn't know much about her past really, but he really didn't really care.
'Sir I've come to talk to you about my father's van.'
Oh yes, the man who had drunk and gambled away so much that Gold was to confiscate his van this weekend.
'You see, dearie.' He glared. 'In the adult world, when you borrow money, you have to put up collateral. That would be your dad's dilapidated old van. I feel I was being quite generous when I loaned him so much for so little return.'
The little Miss French wasn't smiling any more, but fidgeting with her tattered shirt.
'Yes, I understand that part of it, and I know it was his own fault that it happened, but I was wondering if I could take over payments for it? I started a new job and…'
'Ah, finally deciding to join the real world after ditching college, are you dearie? Couldn't handle the work so you decided to come back and mooch until daddy's wallet got a little empty, huh?'
No, Miss French was not smiling at all. Anger shown hot and red behind the clear blue ones glaring at him. She held the anger for a mere second or two before something like hurt replaced it, and all the fire he had seen, seemed to seep out of her.
'It is true that I am not attending college at present, but I do hope to return one day. Until then, is there some sort of way we can work out where my dad keeps the van? If we don't have the van, then we can't make deliveries, and Mother's Day is around the corner, and…'
'No, I don't believe I will. You, like your father, must learn that there are consequences for your actions. Good day, Miss French, I believe you know the way out.'
The spark lit again, mixed with a single tear that the girl quickly willed away before lowering her shoulders and making her way out the door.
Gold turned around and went back to his book keeping, groaning as pain shot up his leg with every step. He knew he had been harsh with the girl, but really, he had gotten so sick and tired of people believing that they could waltz in and have him magically fix their problems that he had sort of taken it all out on Miss French.
Not that she didn't deserve it, surely.
Mr. Gold had lived in Storybrooke a little over two years and if the words buzzing in town were to be believed, Miss French had come home about six months before he had arrived. After only glancing and seeing her from afar for so long, he started to run into her more. Perhaps it was because she had an altercation with him and so he noticed, or perhaps it was only because his stupid coffee pot stopped working the next Tuesday morning.
Grumbling, he walked into Granny's at 7:15am, hoping their coffee wasn't any worse than their lasagna and was greeted by none other than Belle French.
'Mr. Gold!' He glanced at her and noticed that she wore a similar apron that Ruby did, but there were significantly more clothes on underneath for Miss French, thank goodness.
'I see this is the new job you found, Miss French.'
'Oh no, sir, this is my first job of the morning, that was a different job. Can I get you anything?'
'Coffee, black.' Gold tried not to look surprised at Miss French's revelation that she did indeed have at least two jobs she was working after he had accused her of being a lazy mooch.
'You know, I would have pegged you as a tea person.' She attempted to give a good hearted smile, and if he was in a better mood he may have even commended her ability to not hold onto a grudge, as her other town counterparts seemed to do.
'There is much you don't know about me, Miss French.' Was his gruff reply and instead of Miss French walking off, she smirked back at him.
'Yes, I suppose it isn't good to judge people before you know them, is it?'
His eyes shot up at her. She wasn't smug with her sting, but he caught every bit of its meaning. 'Dearie, if you desire a tip, I would suggest you actually go and get my order.' He growled back. She simply smiled and went to complete his order. Unfortunately that wasn't the only time he saw her.
Five days later, he was in the store for his weekly grocery trip. He hated shopping with people staring at him from all angles, so he tried to get everything he would need for the week without having to go back anytime in between. He was about to pick up his favorite muffin mix when he heard a crash from the aisle ahead of him.
'I'm so sorry, ma'am, I hope I didn't hurt you. Yes ma'am I'm new, but I'm also extremely clumsy. Here , let me clean that up, I hope you have a good day. ' That familiar voice rang out from the other side. He needed something on that aisle anyway, so he decided to limp his way to the other side, using the cart as his steadying device.
Miss French was frantically trying to arrange all the canned goods she knocked over into an orderly fashion on the shelves. Again, the collared shirt and khaki pants gave her away as working there. It was 7:30 pm, this time and he wondered, from the bags under her eyes, just how long she had been working that day.
'Miss French, I suppose that this is the job that you spoke of, for you seem to not quite have the hang of it yet.'
'Mr. Gold! I-um, yes, this is the newest job, the one I was hoping would help me, you know.' And she paused in her frantic shelving to glance at him wistfully and he almost felt guilty for having been such a jerk to her. It was obvious the girl worked, and worked long hours to boot. He had imagined she helped her dad some, which got him to wondering…
'I'm curious, dearie, just how many jobs do you work.'
Miss French seemed to have to think on that for a minute. 'If you count what I do at the flower shop, three, even though I don't exactly get paid for that one.' She smiled.
'And when, if ever, do you sleep, Miss French?'
'Oh, so you care about that, now, do you?' She crossed her thin arms across her chest in defiance. He noticed just how thin those arms were, and he also realized that having belted pants made him realize just how tiny her waist was. He now wondered if his next question should be when she found time to eat too, but that was most likely a question too far.
'I'm just curious.' He shrugged trying to put on an air of not caring.' You know, perhaps if you spent more time working at the flower shop, and less time working part time gigs, the place might actually be capable of earning something.
He knew the second the words were out of his mouth that he had gone too far. He couldn't talk like he actually cared how often she worked, so he had to be a beast instead. And he almost hated how hurt the girl in front of him looked.
'Mr. Gold, why do you say things like that? You said yourself we don't know much about each other. You have no idea what is going on in my life, so could you please not try to advise me like you know better than I do on how to run it?' And with that she stormed away, leaving him feeling like he had made an enemy out of the one person in the town that had smiled at him, and he hated it.
The Victorian house seemed emptier that night. Every wall echoed the chant of his lonely existence. His wife died hating him, his son died, believing he was too busy for him. Now he sat alone in his library, with only his books and his tea for company. He had come to this town for a clean slate, but had found himself the town boogeyman once again. At least this time his reputation was better than 'town coward' not fighting for his wife and custody of his child like he should have. Perhaps if he would have fought to keep Neal, he wouldn't be…No, he couldn't think like that, he was told that it wasn't his fault, but one thing was true. Everything that he had ever loved left him, and that was why he was sitting in an expensive chair, in a mansion of a house, in the best neighborhood in the town, alone.
Weeks passed, and thankfully he had only seen Miss French from a distance as she visited the Library on Saturdays. All too soon, however, it was rent day. The day Mr French would give his excuses for why he needed a week's extension. This time, the shop would be under fire for being taken. Mr. French had simply gone too far this time, and between the rent and the loans, he had gotten buried under.
The large, dumpy man looked to be cradling a hangover as he sat over the register, his forehead sweating and his fingers constantly pinching his nose.
'Oh, um, Mr. Gold I suppose you've come for the rent.'
'I haven't come to buy any flowers, that is for sure.'
'Well, Mr. Gold, with the van gone and everything, it's been a rough month for us. I am barely making ends meet. Don't you think you could…'
'Let me stop you right there, Mr. French. You are at the end of the road when it comes to this shop. Either you make your payments or you…'
'I've got it! Please, Mr. Gold, Wait.' And with that Miss French dashed into the shop, brown curls dancing in every direction, cheeks red from running, blue eyes wide with anxiousness.
'Here, here is our payment for this month. You can't close the shop as long as we make the payments, correct?'
He looked at the envelope and counted the money. 'Yes, this will be fine, Miss french, if this is what you want to do with the money.'
'It's my money to give, so yes.' She glared at him, but only for a moment, when she didn't see his own gaze to be vicious.
'Annabelle, baby girl, where did you get that? I thought you told me you didn't have any money last night. I don't like the thought of you lying to me' His face was dark. Mr. Gold felt uncomfortable.
'I didn't, I got paid today, dad.' Seeing Miss French's tense correspondence made him feel even worse. Something was wrong here. He left with the money labeled, 'for Mr. Gold', contemplating all the things he said on their first meeting, and realizing how much he hated that he had been a jerk to her, seeing she had to deal with a jerk of a father as it was.
The next time he noticed Miss French, she was pedaling past his shop on a bike. He hadn't ever seen her with one, as most of the time she was running to and from places as if her life depended on it. Attached to the bike was a small basket and in said basket was a bouquet of yellow roses, wrapped neatly. Summer had arrived in Maine, at last, and he could see her struggling with the heat, and he wondered how good that was for the plants. As he had observed her work ethic and realized that she was nothing like her father, he had a pang of regret as he watched her. If she had her van, this wouldn't be happening, but what was he supposed to do- you could have listened to her proposition when she came to you all those weeks ago, instead of accusing her of laziness! His inner voice shouted at him. Mr. Gold apologized to no one, but he was starting to wish he could make things right with her.
Rent day dawned warm and sunny, and he tried not to smile, as he watched his tenants squirm as they gathered up their payment. It had actually been a fairly smooth morning, and he entered the flower shop much earlier than normal. Always enjoying seeing the fear in people's eyes when he could startle them. If he couldn't be liked, feared was a good second best spot. Mr. French's boisterous voice could be heard bellowing out threats and commands at some poor creature. He hoped beyond hope that it was someone else, other than the one he unfortunately knew it was.
'After everything I've done for you, you treat me like this. If only your mother were here to see this-hiding money from your own father.'
'Don't bring mom into this, dad,' Her voice was firm but so tiny in comparison. 'I had to do this, as you would have wasted it all. If i didn't hide money we wouldn't even be eating this week, so please, stop acting like you actually care about us being a family.'
Gold cleared his throat, hoping to stop whatever retort was about to happen. 'Mr. French!' And the big man came forward from the back, envelope in hand. He plopped it down on the counter and huffed at Gold. 'Here! All there, according to Belle.'
He didn't even give Gold another glance before we walked off to the apartment above. Miss French walked in from the back and her eyes were red and puffy. 'Mr. Gold! I'm guessing you came for the rent, did Dad give it to you?'
'He did, indeed. Are you-Are you alright, Miss French?' Of course he knew she wasn't alright, but he hated to butt into other people's affairs. Belle's arms wrapped around herself protectively as she bit her lower lip in anxiety. She smiled sheepishly at him.
'Not exactly, Mr. Gold, but it's not important. I thank you for asking anyway.'
It was apparent that she didn't feel comfortable sharing personal information with the town monster, so he turned to limp away, feeling all the steps he had made that day.
'Mr Gold?' He turned before reaching the door. 'I-uh-have you ever thought about receiving your rent at your shop? I could run it between work shifts if you would like, you know, to save you from having to walk so far.'
Part of him was mesmerized by Miss French's kindness, wanting to help the same person who had treated her so badly, yet the other part of him was annoyed that she would infer he couldn't manage the steps himself. He wasn't that old, or that injured.
'I'm no invalid, Miss French.'
'I didn't say you were. I was simply trying to help.'
Here he was again, saying things to add hurt to the one person in this town who showed an ounce of kindness to him. 'I'm sorry, Miss French, I didn't mean to snap.' And for the first time in years, Mr. Gold had apologized.
