"Damn, he really got you, didn't he?"
Killian closed his eyes impatiently as Robin Loxley inspected the purpling bruise on his jaw. "It's not that bad," he said through gritted teeth.
"Not that bad?" Robin scoffed. "I'm surprised you're still conscious. Say what you will about him, but Cassidy can throw a mean punch."
"Yeah, well…" Killian trailed off as he caught sight of a lean, leggy beauty over Robin's shoulder: Ruby Cassidy, gliding down the hallway like it was a runway. "There's only one Cassidy I'm really concerned about right now."
He'd seen and seduced his fair share of beautiful girls, but none compared to Ruby. She had an innocence about her, completely betrayed by those long, lithe legs and bedroom eyes; sensual lips that curled into a come-hither smile; cream-colored skin that begged to be touched… Neal could throw as many punches as he wanted, but there was no way Killian was giving up on Ruby. He'd dealt with plenty of brothers and jealous boyfriends, and if there was ever a girl worth it, it was this one.
He took advantage of her delay from hallway traffic (some ginger nobody, gaping helplessly after her) to rearrange himself against the lockers: arms loosely folded, head back to show off his earring and the scruff along his jaw. A sultry pose, coupled with his signature devil-may-care smirk, was enough to send most girls into flustered giggles, and he was really counting on it having the same on effect on Ruby.
"…okay," he heard her laugh as the ginger fumbled for an apology for nearly colliding with her. She moved past him, the brilliant smile still dancing on her face as she continued chattering with the blonde at her side. Killian lifted his chin, silently willing her to look over and notice him watching her. It was the first step in laying the trap: girls loved feeling beautiful; and what better way to make her feel beautiful than special attention from Killian Jones?
"…there's a difference between 'like' and 'love'," Ruby was saying emphatically. "Because I like my Sketchers—but I love my Prada backpack." Her eyes flicked to the side, catching sight of him, and pink tinge rose in her cheeks, her smile becoming a little more uneven.
Killian grinned, savoring the effect he had on her. Ah, success.
"Watch and learn, boys," he said to his cronies, raking a hand through his hair. "Watch. And. Learn."
Ruby's head was bent over her locker when he sauntered over; with a flick over her wrist, she swung it up—only to have him slam it shut. She looked briefly startled to see him, his elbow propped against the locker as he leant in, flashing a grin at her—but managed a nervous smile.
"Afternoon, Ruby," Killian said. "You're looking lovely, as usual."
"Um—thanks," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear. She shifted to balance her stack of books against her hip, eyes looking everywhere but at him. "S-so, uh—was there something you wanted?"
"Just to say 'hi', see how you were doing…" He reached out under the pretense of adjusting her slipping backpack strap, his fingers brushing her skin. A heated glow rose in her cheeks.
"Th-thanks," she muttered.
"'Course." Killian let his fingers linger a bit longer, enjoying the blush creeping up her neck. "That's a pretty necklace."
Ruby touched the red pendant at her throat. "It was my mom's," she said. "She gave it to me a long time ago."
"Yeah?" Killian said, rather losing interest in the necklace in favor of the slightly-visible bra strap next to it. "Hey, I bet I can guess what you're doing this Saturday night."
"Um—" she blinked—"studying for that French test I'm going to fail?"
"French, huh?" He grinned, leaning in further. "Maybe I could give you a private lesson."
"Wait…" A bewildered smile spread on her face. "Are—are you asking me out?"
"Now, you're catching on," Killian winked. "I'll pick you up at eight."
"No."
His eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"I can't," Ruby said. "I mean, I can't without asking my gran. She's—she's got rules about dating."
Killian frowned, feeling thoroughly annoyed. Was he seriously getting cock-blocked by a seventy-year-old woman?
"I might be able to convince her," Ruby said hopefully, holding her books closer to her chest. "I'll talk to her, see if I can't get her to bend."
"Well…" Killian sighed, drawing closer; curling his finger around a loose tendril of her hair. "I really hope you can. I think you and I could have a lot of fun together…I'd hate to miss out on all that."
Ruby looked at him with round eyes, hardly breathing. Killian concealed a smirk; he abruptly dropped his hand, stepping away.
"Let me know what happens with your gran," he said, walking backwards. "I'll see you later, Ruby."
He turned away before she had a chance to respond, feeling confident that—provided he could get past the old goat—Ruby Cassidy was his for the taking.
She allowed herself one more minute of primping in the windshield mirror, fully aware that she was pushing the envelope on punctuality—but it was necessary. She'd tried a new lipstick today (a bold red, far more daring than a meek-mannered social worker would typically wear). Risky, but again—necessary. It had been eight months since she'd ended things with Keith, and it was time to get back in the game.
Although, Belle reflected, nervously straightening the blue ascot around her neck, there was no need to rush into the game. Perhaps eight months wasn't quite as much as she thought it was: she and Keith had been together for almost a year, maybe it was too soon…
"No," she said out loud. "No, you are—" she grit her teeth, determined to put those self-help books to use—"you are a strong, independent, beautiful woman. You don't need a sleazy bastard's approval to make you feel good about yourself—you only need your approval. Right?"
She tapped her fingers on the wheel, waiting for herself to come back with an enthusiastic, "Right!" A silent moment passed, during which she tried to remember chapter three (How To Stand Up To Your Own Reflection!), but she was running late as it was. There simply wasn't time to work on self-esteem now, she had a wayward teenager's school records to review.
Belle sighed heavily and gathered up her files, all of which were labelled: Emma Swan. She smiled faintly at the photograph pinned to the top: a blonde girl with mischievous green eyes and a slightly crooked-toothed smile. Frustrating and life-consuming as the life of a social worker was, Belle loved her work, and she loved her kids—Emma, in particular.
Belle wouldn't have admitted it to anyone—least of all twelve-year-old Nik Gardner, who nursed quite a crush on her—but Emma was her favorite. They'd been together for a long time, and while the last eight years had been filled with a lot of heart-warming moments, they had also been filled with—she sighed exasperatedly, heading up to the building she was far too familiar with—shenanigans.
Emma had a reputation as a troublemaker, in the school system. Nothing illegal (at least, nothing she'd been caught for), but she was rather dreaded by the teachers and office staff. She'd become well-known in the disciplinary office, and by extension, so had Belle.
It did nothing to endear her to Regina Mills, who gave only a curt nod as she passed her secretary's desk; and as for the guidance counselor…? (Belle swallowed, reading the plaque just outside his office, emblazoned: R. GOLD, GUIDANCE COUNSELOR.) Mr. Gold was another problem altogether.
She raised her hand, hesitating only a moment before knocking.
"Entrez-vous…"
Belle bit her lip. He sounded distracted; and the last time he'd been distracted, he'd granted her entry to his office without realizing he was still audibly muttering the filthy erotica he was typing into his laptop. She'd heard words like "voracious" and "frenzied" used alongside poorly veiled euphemisms—which made her blush for a solid week. Gold had offered a genuine apology, but Emma was laughing too hard for Belle to catch the whole thing. Which was a shame, because he seemed very eloquent, and she imagined it would have been quite lovely.
"Who is it?" Gold snapped. "I haven't got all day, you know! Either get in, or get lost!"
Damn it. Belle closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and tentatively pushed the door open. "Mr. Gold, i-it's me—Belle French? Emma Swan's social worker?" she added.
"Belle? I mean, Miss French?" Gold immediately stood up, his hands nervously slamming his laptop shut. "I-I didn't realize you were coming! Please, take a seat—" he indicated the chair in front of his desk with one hand, hastily gathering papers with the other.
"Thank you." Belle carefully smoothed her skirt as she sat down, only just now realizing how visible her legs were. Why she'd only noticed that when she was directly in front of Mr. Gold, far too late to do anything but be embarrassed about it, she didn't know: sure, she'd had plenty of time to consider her lipstick, but whether or not she was dressed appropriately for a business meeting wasn't a priority? Good, Belle. Real good.
"So, uh—" Gold coughed into his fist; his hair swinging into his face as he bent his head, rummaging for a pen—"how can I help you?"
"I'm here for Emma's quarterly evaluation," Belle said, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Make sure her grades are up, that she's socially engaged, behaving appropriately…"
"Emma…Emma, Emma, Emma…" Gold muttered to himself as he turned to the desktop computer and pulled up her files. Belle watched as he scrutinized the screen, hoping he didn't have anything too terrible to report.
"Let's see…She's got a problem with tardiness…occasional detention…Did get a little mouthy with a teacher, but Booth's an ass, so maybe he deserved it." Gold perused Emma's files a bit more, his eyebrows lifting in slight approval as he reviewed her grades. "Not bad. Calculus could be better, she's pulling a C-, but the rest are B's—even a couple A's."
Belle let out a relieved exhale. "Good," she said, nodding her head. "That's good, that's very good."
"Her social behavior, I'm slightly concerned about, though," Gold said, finally breaking away from the computer. "She's a bit of a loner. You'd think, going on year four, she'd have settled into a group by now—found a club, or at least a steady lunch table—but she keeps to herself. Now—" he spread his hans, shrugging—"I wouldn't say anything, I get a lot of introverts. It's just something to keep an eye on, so I'm letting you know."
"I understand," Belle nodded, taking out a pen. Pulling her own files toward her, she scribbled a few notes on Gold's report; then skimmed through some papers, a slight frown on her face. "Mrs. Nolan is aware of the tardiness?"
"We've informed her, but it tends to happen more in between classes." Gold shifted his eyes, then leaned forward confidentially. "I'm pretty sure she smokes behind the gym."
Belle looked up in alarm. "What? What makes you say that?"
"Seems like the type," Gold shrugged.
Oh, she does, does she? Belle bristled, straightening in her seat, feeling much braver in the face of defending Emma from unfounded accusations. "And exactly why would you think she's that type? Because she's a foster kid?"
"Because she once offered me a cigarette in the parking lot. Behind the gym."
"Oh." Belle closed her eyes, silently cursing Emma. "Well, I'll—I'll certainly take some action, regarding that. That's completely inappropriate."
Gold waved a dismissive hand. "It's not a big deal. The kids act out here— even the nerds. How many times I've had Neal Cassidy in my office for getting smart…"
"Right," Belle said, though she had no idea who Neal Cassidy was. "The thing is, Mr. Gold, Emma does need to maintain a level of behavior, so even if she's meeting your standards, she's not meeting mine."
"Ah." Gold bit his lip, looking rather like he was the one awaiting disciplinary action, rather than Emma. "Well, that's…understandable. Perhaps we are a bit lax here."
"I'm not here to judge," Belle said diplomatically. "I'm here to do my job. I do answer to a higher authority."
Gold's eyes narrowed. "To be fair, I don't think Jesus would have minded a little underage smoking and teenage rebellion."
"Higher authority, as in the state," Belle clarified. "They're not just my rules I'm upholding."
"Oh."
It was awkward, now. She hadn't meant to reprimand him (but really, the man needed to be reprimanded, this school was running close to anarchy); she knew from her excessive magazine collection that men hated being criticized, particularly by women. If she couldn't get through a simple work function without alienating the male species, how was she going to reenter the dating sphere?
God….
She was going to have to get a cat, wasn't she?
Tabitha's a cute name, she thought miserably. Maybe Chloe.
"Well, I offer my sincerest apologies," Gold went on. "I have a rather rambunctious crowd of youngsters to deal with, so perhaps I do fall a little behind in the discipline, but that's hardly an excuse."
"As I said, I'm not here to judge. My concern is Emma," Belle said. Before they could lapse into another awkward silence, she cleared her throat. "Let's just keep going with the evaluation, shall we?"
In the end, it wasn't a complete disaster: slightly uncomfortable, but Gold had an easy smile and a sense of humor. He may have been less than an exemplary counselor, but he was otherwise pleasant—even charming, at times. And maybe it was the eight-month dry spell talking, but he pulled off that three-piece-suit quite well.
"So…" Belle said, scribbling down the last of her notes. "I think we've got everything covered. I'll speak to Emma about the smoking and the tardiness, but other than that, everything looks good."
Gold followed her with his eyes as she stood up, looking mildly disappointed. "I suppose you'll be leaving, then?" he asked, half-rising from his seat.
"I've got a lot to do today," she sighed. "Paperwork, so much paperwork."
"I hear you," Gold nodded, following her to the door. "Ah, paperwork…Rules and fine lines shackle us like chains. Enslaved to The Man, are we."
Belle blinked, flummoxed. "What?"
"I'm something of a free lance poet," Gold said with a modest shrug.
"Oh, I see…" Her hand was on the doorknob, but she was reluctant to leave things on an awkward note. The minutes stretched by, Gold's smile growing strained and Belle's pretense of checking that she had her phone losing credibility. Bordering on desperation, she finally offered, "That's, um—that's a really nice suit, by the way."
For some reason, Gold looked especially intrigued by this. "Do you think so?" he said, touching a hand to his collar.
"It's nice," Belle nodded.
"…Sexy?"
Her eyes widened, her heart jumping in her throat. "What?"
"Nothing!" Gold said hastily. "Just—Emma was in here earlier—mentioned you—never mind! I'm sorry, Miss French, that was—"
"Extremely inappropriate!" Belle said, still staring at him in disbelief.
"And it won't happen again," he promised. "I'm sorry—it's this new cologne I've been using, it makes me feel overly confident. It's very empowering, very masculine."
"I wouldn't know," Belle said with deliberation. "In the work place, I try to conduct myself professionally."
"I am sorry," he repeated, sounding genuine. Belle softened slightly, but held her purse closer, as if to protect herself. "I accept your apology," she said stiffly, hoping her face wasn't as red as it felt. "Now as I said, I really must be going."
"Of course."
Wishing she'd left sooner rather than later, Belle swung open the door and strode out; determinedly ignoring Regina's curious looks after her; determinedly ignoring the fact that a seventeen-year-old had apparently tried to meddle in her pathetic love-life; determinedly ignoring the fact that under other circumstances, she might have admitted that Gold's suit was indeed…fairly sexy.