SMOKE AND ASHES

Belle and Mr. Gold have shared a pleasant breakfast and confessed to each other that their developing relationship alleviates their mutual feelings of loneliness.

At a Sunday afternoon get-together, an attractive young woman who is to work with Milah has been introduced to the group. Gold has told his tenants that they need to begin sparring in groups so they can learn to work together.

Belle has spent the rest of the day with Emma, Ruby and another tenant, Mary Margaret, and has learned that her kindly Mr. Gold is seen by the others as reclusive and dangerous. She leaves the group to work with him on her shielding which he has seen as lacking.

Chapter 10

Shields Down

Belle had managed to stand. She swayed a moment. She was dizzy and felt a little loopy. She thanked Mary Margaret for the tea and the snacks and then found her way out of the apartment. She went on up the stairs to the roof. She had to lean on the banister to keep her balance.

"Mr. Go-old," she called out as she came out onto the roof. "Mr. Gooo-old."

"Well, my dear, on time, I see," he said stepping out from the shadows.

"How did you do that?" Belle asked him. "I was standing here and I looked for you and then . . . Poof! there you are. How did you do that?"

"I was here all along, Miss Belle. You just didn't see me."

"Nu-uh," she told him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Miss Belle, are you all right?" he asked. She didn't sound like herself.

"I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle. Sharp as a tack," she told him and then blinked and swayed.

"Miss Belle, have you been drinking?"

"Just some tea that Mary Margaret gave me. I drank a lot of tea," she told him, giggling. "It tasted funny," she added.

"No doubt it did." He shook his head. He recalled seeing Belle go off with Mary Margaret, Ruby and Emma, and was thinking about just what kind of tea those three witches might have poured into this innocent possibly under-aged child. "Well you're in no condition tonight for a lesson. It'll have to wait."

"You're not gonna teach me stuff?" she asked, her face mirroring her disappointment.

"I think you're three sheets to the wind. No, I'm not going to teach you anything. Not tonight."

"Oh," she sighed, clearly disappointed, and just stood in the center of the roof.

"Why don't I escort you down to your apartment?" he asked and offered her his arm.

"You're a nice man," she told him, taking his arm, stumbling and righting herself, then allowing him to lead her down the stairs.

"No I'm not, but it's nice to know you think so," he told her.

Halfway down the stairs, Belle started giggling.

"Is there a joke you can let me in on?" he asked her.

"They said that you ha' feelings fo' me and that we needed to get you offa your leash," Belle told him, slightly slurring her words. She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Gold didn't respond. Did he have feelings for the girl? He would have said no, that she was just his latest protégé and he was having to spend time with her, learning about her unique talents.

He would have said no.

He kept telling himself no.

He didn't have feelings for her.

He didn't.

Did he?

Well, he certainly liked her. He enjoyed her company, her joie de vie, her deep insights into others.

But just what the hell had they meant about getting him off of his leash? His leash?

They had arrived at her door.

Belle had put her hand into a pocket and managed to fish out her key. She struggled to get it into the key hole and finally his hand folded over hers.

"Let me help you with that," he offered and overlaid her hand with his, steadying her shaky coordination. Together they were able to unlock the door. It swung open. Belle straightened up. He had put his hand on her shoulder to guide her into the apartment but before they could move, she lurched into him. He was almost thrown off balance, but somehow he was able to catch her and himself and stay upright. Her face was buried in his jacket.

For a long time she didn't stir and he was momentarily afraid that she had passed out on him.

Then her head came up, "You smell good," she told him and abruptly she stood on her toes and kissed him in the hollow of his neck. It wasn't much of a kiss, just her lips pressed together, making contact on his neck just above the point his necktie began. She pulled back and then kissed him again a little higher up on his neck . . . then she kissed his chin . . . then she kissed his mouth. He was standing absolutely still when her lips made contact with his, pressing against them for the tiniest moment.

A tiny, perfect moment that he wanted to freeze in time so that he could enjoy it forever.

But then she pulled back. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have! It was just that you smell so good and I. . . and I. . ." She was about to turn away.

"Belle," he stopped her from turning away, lifted her face to his and this time it was he who gently pressed his lips to hers. He felt her body relax in his arms and with little effort on his part, he was able to nudge her mouth open.

He wanted to kiss her longer, more thoroughly, but they were standing in the hallway and anyone might see them. And he couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't risk that anyone else might find out that there was something, anything at all between him and the little half-fae Empath.

Reluctantly he pulled back. Belle's head went back and he had to support her, help her stay in an upright position. He guided her into her apartment and shut the door behind them.

He couldn't stop himself.

He drew her back into his arms and pushed her against the back of the door and for the third time that evening, they shared a kiss. This time it was a real kiss, a harsh kiss, a long-denied joining. He held her still so that he could ravage her mouth.

He felt Belle's hesitation, how she opened her mouth to his only as he pressed her. It was as if she was inexperienced and unsure of what to do and in the haze of his growing passion, he began to realize that she was inexperienced and unsure of what to do.

But for the moment, he didn't care. He poured himself, his bitter, angry self into her and allowed those feelings to be replaced with her optimism and her purity of spirit. It was an unhurried, sloppy kiss with the two trying to feel out what the other wanted.

Belle was intoxicated, not with the Questionable Content Tea that Mary Margaret had been sloshing into her, but with the all-consuming fire the man had ignited in her. She felt as if she was melting, dissolving into him. She was holding onto him, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing in the world.

So this is what a real kiss felt like. It was hot and messy. When he wedged his leg between her legs so that she was riding on his thigh. . . when he used one of his hands to hold her head so that she couldn't evade his amorous attentions – even if she'd wanted to . . . when he pressed his body onto hers so that she felt deliciously crushed by his weight . . . it was nothing like she had ever imagined.

It was better, so much better than anything she'd imagined.

With more effort than he cared to admit, he pulled away, "Belle, I want so much more than to kiss you and hold you, but . . . ."

She was clasping his arms, trying to stay standing. "I want what you want," she murmured.

He nearly smiled. "Perhaps, but you are drunk and I . . . I can't finish this. I shouldn't finish this. Maybe another time, when you are sober and . . . and I haven't swept you off your feet."

She dropped her head but held onto him. "Are you mad at me?" she asked in small voice.

"Oh, you sweet girl, no, no." Now as for those three witches who got you drunk, that's another situation. "But I won't take advantage of you in the state you're in." He helped her on into the living room, not trusting himself to lead her into the bedroom and make it out by himself. "I didn't think I was this honorable, but. . . I guess I am." This time he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest, I'll see you in the morning and we'll get breakfast." And with a supreme effort he released her and began to walk out the door.

"Thank you," he heard her call after him.

He nearly stopped. What to say? He had turned back to look at her. "You're . . .you're welcome and . . . and thank you," he told her awkwardly, stammering like a school boy.

Once outside the door, he stopped and leaned his head against the wall.

What had just nearly happened? He had almost broken one of his own rules – never have sex with a tenant. If the girl had been sober, he would have likely been in her bedroom with her at this moment, stripping her off, revealing every soft curve of that delightful, desirable little body.

No, no. If he was going to bed the girl, this girl, this young woman, he wanted to do it right – candlelight dinner, soft music, an even softer bed. But, of course, he would do no such thing, he told himself. And he began counting the reasons why he could not, would not touch her again.

Belle had stood a moment in her living room.

What had just nearly happened? She had been ready, ready, more than ready to give it up for this man, ready to go to bed with him, drunk as she was. If he hadn't stopped, they would likely have been in her bedroom right now with each of them pulling the clothes off the other – or right here on the living room floor.

When had her gratitude turned to passion?

She was too tipsy to change clothes. She managed to make it into her bedroom, just fell into her bed and went out.

+ + + The Morning After

Gold stood before her door. Belle's door. He had said he would see her this morning but . . . after last night's unusual interlude with her kissing him and him kissing her, he wasn't sure exactly how things stood between them.

He'd spent a miserable . . . and uncomfortable . . . night . . . remembering a soft, yielding body, a sweet, tender mouth opening to his . . . her clinging to him when he'd pulled back. And he'd walked away from all that she was offering? When had he turned into a gentleman?

She had been really drunk last night. Hell, she probably didn't remember what had happened. And being drunk, she certainly hadn't meant for what had happened between them to happen.

But it had been so nice. It had been so long since he had held a willing woman in his arms.

But the last time it had been disastrous, he sternly reminded himself. What he had thought was willingness was a cold, calculated attempt to steal his knowledge.

This young woman, she could be cut from the same cloth as Cora. Cora had seemed so innocent and sweet when he first met her. She had played the game so well. This woman could be doing the same thing. And another thing, Belle was half-fae. She could have been sent by Those Bitches. She could have sent to spy on him, to seduce him, to steal his powers.

He needed to guard his heart, guard his powers, guard his knowledge.

But even with all of his reservations, even so, he still found himself wanting to spend time with her. Today was his day off. He usually reserved it for picking up a few grocery items, balancing his checkbook, getting his dry cleaning ready for pickup, and other such mundane tasks. But today he wanted to change his usual routine and spend time with her.

But did she want to spend time with him? Did she want to have anything to do with him?

He had raised his hand to knock and then dropped it several times.

Get a grip on yourself, man. You're an older, experienced man and she's just a young thing. You've got the edge on her for money, power, everything. Why should you be acting as if you're . . . afraid of her?

Because you know a sweet young thing such as Belle would not really want to spend any time with a dusty old relic like yourself. She was drunk when she kissed you and she just gave you a chaste little peck. You were the Neanderthal that grabbed her and slammed her against the wall so that you could snog her breathless.

He was debating moving on when the door opened and Belle was standing there. She was dressed in her yellow skirt with a white top and her hair had been left loose, combed into lustrous bronze curls. Her face brightened up and without hesitation she threw her arms around him. Then, blushing, she stepped back from him. He considered grabbing her but realized she was talking and stopped himself.

"I wasn't sure how you felt about what happened. . . last night. I know I was drunk but I . . . I still liked it and . . . and. . . I enjoyed it. But I was afraid you were just being nice. . . and I didn't know if we were going to have breakfast together and I. . . " she stopped, fumbling for words, blushing profusely.

"I wasn't sure how you felt," he confessed. "Do you. . . do you want to have breakfast with me?"

Belle grinned and catching him by his tie, she pulled him into her apartment.

"Sit down. I'm not a very good cook, but I think I can scramble an egg and make some toast, and I have this little coffee maker I haven't had a chance to use."

"Breakfast here?" he asked. "If it's not too much trouble?"

"It's not too much trouble," she assured him. "But I don't know how good it will be. You seem to be used to some really posh breakfasts with trout or salmon or poached eggs or other stuff I don't have or can't make." He watched her a moment as she got out a frying pan.

"Let me help, please," he told her and took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Belle stopped a moment, catching her breath in her throat. This was the first time she had seen the man without one of his high-end Armani jackets and she thought he looked exceptionally fine in his vest and dark shirt. She was probably looking at a hand-tailored silk shirt. It certainly fit him well enough. . . and it probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. She forced her attention back to her cooking which given her limited skills did require all of her attention.

Gold had quickly seen that Belle was a novice cook and, after rolling up his shirt sleeves, he took over the scrambling of the eggs for her, melting butter in a pan and beating up the eggs in a cup before putting them in to cook. She buttered four pieces of bread and set them on the rack in the oven and then cautiously, Belle began making them coffee, one cup at a time.

"Oh, I forgot. I do have some tea," she told him.

"I'm fine with coffee, my dear," he assured her.

The toast was only slightly burnt and the coffee almost acceptable. The eggs were excellent. The two ate from mis-matched plates on the small table that Belle had spruced up with one of the linen cloths she had slept under her first night.

"This doesn't count for the meal I owe you, especially since you helped fix it," she told him from across the table with a friendly smile.

"I would have been satisfied to count it as such," he told her basking in her smile.

"You are so nice to me," she told him. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I think I've told you about this house and the mission and what we've been charged with doing," he hedged.

"A little. You, know, last night," she began slowly, "I was with Mary Margaret, Emma and Ruby."

"They got you drunk," he told her with just a touch of disapproval coming through.

"Well, I don't think they meant to," she didn't want to get her new friends in trouble with her boss. . . her landlord?

"Yes they did. They were trying to get information from you," he sat back. "About you."

"Well, I don't know about that. But they said that you had never invited anyone into your apartment. And they think that the breakfast thing we have together is kinda like you're dating me." She didn't look at him while this was pouring out. At the end of her speech, she managed a glance.

Sounds like they were trying to get information about me, he thought wryly. "I've never met an Empath before. I have a lot of professional curiosity about you. Plus," and here, Gold hesitated. "I think you were being pursued when you came here and I'm concerned about you leaving this house without some protection."

"Oh," she sat back in her chair. "So you're trying to find out more about me and you're concerned about my safety?"

"Exactly," he told her. Yeah, that sounded good. He sat back, "Now why don't we pick up on the lesson you missed last night?"

Which lesson? she thought – the shield lesson or the kissing lesson? She had wanted to ask him about the kissing. Had he enjoyed it? been embarrassed by her inexperienced efforts? repulsed by her drunken self? But she decided that perhaps now wasn't the time. "Can we do a lesson right after eating? Don't we have to wait an hour?"

He almost chuckled, "This isn't swimming," he told her. "Let's clean up and we'll go up to the roof."

He came into her tiny kitchen to help her with the dishes, drying while she washed up. He seemed very relaxed and at ease, comfortable as if this was the type of chore he did regularly. Belle found the close quarters with the man . . . well, it was stimulating. She felt herself heating up. She had a brief fantasy of throwing herself at him and begging him to make her a woman but she squelched it. He was just spending time with her because he was concerned about her safety. But how could he just stand there drying the dishes, oozing. . . whatever it was he was oozing?

Gold on his part, felt like he was sweating bullets. The woman with her lightness and sweetness, flitting around, cute little skirt and top swirling around skimming her pert little figure, bright eyes, smiling at him from time to time. He could feel his body start to respond.

Get a grip on yourself man. She's just being nice.

They got through the dishes and he unrolled his sleeves and put on his jacket again. "Let's go up to the rooftop," he suggested as he straightened his tie. "We'll be able to put in a little time with practice there."

As they came out onto the roof, Belle looked around. "Can't other people see us?" she asked him looking out on the town, up the hill at the auditorium and over at some of the taller buildings on the hills around them.

"They see a rooftop. We're protected," he waved his hands in a vague gesture. "There's a kind of a shield around us. People see what they expect to see."

"I'm . . . I'm kinda nervous . . .What are we going to do?" she asked him.

"I'm going to have you just stand over here. Now, I'm going to gently try to reach into your mind," he told her.

"What?! I don't like this! I don't think this is a good idea," she protested.

"You would prefer that shadow creature?" he asked.

Belle stood a moment. Her mouth had gone dry. How embarrassing was this going to be? Would he pick out one of her little fevered fantasies with him as the featured guest?

"I want you to keep me out," he told her kindly. "Some people imagine a wall. Some have a light. Some have a shield. Just get an image that works for you. Put it up. I won't go at you hard, I promise. Now, you got it?"

Belle took a deep breath and nodded.

"Now I'm going to come at you," and as gently as he could, he tried a tendril.

It brushed her face and curled around her, stroking her hair. She shivered. This was nothing like the other night! She had thought his forefinger tracing her lips had been erotic, but it had been nothing like this. She had thought their kiss that been arousing, but it had been nothing like this! She leaned her head back savoring the feather-light touch, enjoying the gentle movement of the tendril moving around her body.

Abruptly he pulled back. What the hell? Her eyes had closed, her head was back and her mouth was opened. She was . . . panting? She looked more like a woman entering the throes of passion than a woman being attacked!

"Belle," he called her name and pulled back. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes flickered opened. "Yes," her voice was husky.

"You're supposed to be resisting me," he reminded her.

"But it feels so good," she told him, smiling at him, her speech slurred and relaxed. "Why would I resist that?"

It wasn't supposed to feel good?!

He considered. "Let's try something else. Why don't you try to get into my head? That way you can see what a shield looks like and feels like." He added with a hint of a smirk, "I believe you've tried it before."

Belle managed to glance at him no, he wasn't angry. "You mean I should try to read your mind, read your feelings?" She had never really tried to do this before. She had brushed against people but never had she actually tried to get inside of anyone. Before she had always just been the receptacle for the constancy of emotions that spilled out of people, flowing and ebbing around her. "What do I do?" she asked.

"Just focus on getting inside me. Tell me what I'm feeling," he directed her.

"All right," she turned her energies towards him. Immediately she was hit with a tsunami of darkness and a well of hot, deep seething anger. Spinning around and around. She felt as if she was falling. There was so much knowledge, many lifetimes of study and accrued esoteric facts and skills. Spinning. She kept falling. There was so much sadness, so many lost dreams and hopes, so many people who had come and gone. Around and around. She fell into the maelstrom.

Then she was in a place. It was dark and damp and there was so much pain, like sharp knives piercing and slicing the skin. And she felt sick, her body aching and her stomach cramping. Belle felt herself falling further down.

. . . .

"Belle, Belle," someone was holding her up.

"Is she all right?" she heard someone else ask.

"She's coming to. Belle?"

She fluttered her eyes open. She was lying on the roof with Gold supporting her. The woman who had come in yesterday, what was her name, Marilyn? She was standing over them.

"What were you doing?" Belle heard Marilyn ask Gold.

"I was trying to teach her how to shield herself," Gold explained.

Belle felt an odd touch wash over her.

"But her shields are just fine," Marilyn told him.

"No, they aren't. I cut through them like tissue paper," Gold protested.

The woman was silent a moment. "And do I gather that she just cut through yours . . . like you didn't have any?"

There was no immediate response. Belle finally heard a grunt of affirmation.

"Mr. Gold?" Belle asked resting, cradled in his arms. "Are you all right?"

He looked down at her. "Yes, I'm fine. But are you ok?"

She spoke slowly, "I . . . was . . . in a terrible place. There was . . . no light. It was damp and cold. And . . . I couldn't leave. And I was sick and in pain. What was that?"

Damnation. She had gone deep into his mind. The Fae prison, the place they had kept him for so long. Belle had found it. She had gone right to it.

He helped her sit all the way up. "It was a long time ago, Belle," he told her softly.

"But they hurt you," she told him.

He looked and there were tears running down her face. She was hurting . . . for him. Feeling his pain.

"It was a long time ago," he told her again and pulled her against his chest, holding her, rocking her in his arms. She sobbed softly.

"There was so much pain. You were left all alone," he heard her talking so quietly, "except when they wanted to torture you. To hurt you more."

"It was a long time ago," he managed to say it one more time, his voice breaking. No one had ever felt sorry for him. No one. Never.

Marilyn was watching the two. He glanced up at her. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Apparently you two can walk through each others shields as if they aren't even there," Marilyn summarized.

"No shit," Gold responded sharply. "Why? How?" He had never heard of this. And no one, no one, absolutely no one had ever been able to break through his shields. Not Zosa who had taught him dark magics while all the while planning to steal his abilities. Not Mallie, his first student who had been predictably treacherous. Not the Fae when they had him bound and helpless. Not Cora who had seduced him into complacency. No one. Never.

Marilyn shrugged, "Beats me. I've never heard of such a thing. Have anything to do with her being an Empath?"

"I don't think so. Unless shields are irrelevant to an Empath. Belle," he called her name again.

Sniffling, Belle managed to sit up still encased in the comforting cradle of his arms. She wiped the tears from her face and tried to put on some semblance of calmness. "Yes," she finally answered him.

"Good girl," he whispered so only she could hear. "Do you feel well enough to try something else?" he asked her.

"I . . . I guess," she told him.

"Marilyn, come over here," he called out to the other woman. "Marilyn, can you get through her shields?"

Belle braced herself. She could feel a little pressure but nothing like what she had felt with Gold, certainly nothing erotic.

Marilyn shook her head. "She's locked up. Pretty tight. Excellent quality shields, Gold. She's self-taught but those people often have the strongest shields. I would think that as an Empath she would have had to have learned to shield herself or go mad."

Gold nodded, "Well then, let's see if Belle can read you."

Marilyn obligingly came and knelt down by the two. She smiled at Belle.

"What am I feeling Belle?"

Belle looked at her. Then she closed her eyes and looked at the other woman. Like nothing she had seen before, not the raging turmoil of emotions she most often encountered, nor the mushy marshmallow casing she was occasionally met with. This woman had veils surrounding her, bright, colorful veils, muting her image, fogging her senses.

"You. . .you're very different," Belle finally said.

"I am," Marilyn agreed with her. "I'm thinking of someone. How do I feel about them?" the woman asked her.

Belle found that relaxing seemed to make it easier for her to read the feelings. She took a deep breath. It was a long moment before she answered, "He has dark hair and is quite a player. You like him but you don't know you can trust him, you can't trust how he feels about you. But there are too many differences." Something else came flooding through and Belle looked first at Marilyn, then at Gold, then back to Marilyn. "You were there. You saw what was happening. You spoke up. You. . . "

"That's enough," Marilyn interrupted her. She looked back at Gold. "Wow. She is actually able to see through my shields. You should try a number of others here and see if it's just you and me or if there's another pattern."

Gold nodded. "Thanks, appreciate your help here." He helped Belle stand back up.

"Please be honest. I will be able to tell," he said to her with a slight smile. "Do you feel up to any more today or do we need to break and come back another time."

Belle wanted to tell him that she was just fine, but she had been shaken to the core. She'd had a glimpse into the man's past, a dark, painful glimpse. How had he survived without going mad? Who would have done this to him? What was Marilyn's relationship to him?

She looked at him, his eyes filled with concern for her, even . . .guilt for having subjected her to some of his pain.

"I think we need to break for the day," she told him.

"It's fine, darling," he told her and he helped her stand. As he stood holding her firm, young body, feeling her lean into him, he threw caution to the winds. It didn't matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

There was something between him and the little half-Fae.

Screw his stupid rules.

Belle realized that he had called her darling. Not my dear or dearie, but darling. She wondered if he was even aware of the slip.

"Let's get lunch. We've been working hard," he began to lead her toward the stairwell.

"Do we need to ask Marilyn?" she asked him.

He glanced over at the other woman. "I believe Marilyn has some other work to do." He nodded at the other woman and she smiled back at him.

"I'll report to you this evening." Marilyn waved them off.

Belle didn't say anything as they made their way down the stairs. They stopped on the second floor.

"Get your coat," he told Belle. "It's chilly out still."

Belle complied and walked with him down to the lobby. He went into the darkened shop and got his own coat.

They walked in silence, Belle following behind the pawnbroker.

"You don't think that you might have been rude to Miss Marilyn?" she finally ventured.

He stopped and looked at her. "Miss Marilyn is my employee. She does as I tell her."

"But . . . " Belle began.

"She has a job that I have asked her to do," he said, slowly and softly and they resumed walking.

"It just felt awkward," Belle told him. "Like you were dismissing her."

"I was dismissing her. I wanted to spend time with you . . .alone."

It was Belle's turn to stop. "Really?"

"Yes, Miss Belle." He stopped walking and turned back to her and put up his hands to hold her by the shoulders. He looked her in the eyes, "Has it not occurred to you that I . . . enjoy your company very, very much? That I would like to pursue our relationship beyond that of employer and employee?"

Belle gaped at him. "All right. I . . . . All right."

"Last night you were drunk when you kissed me." He looked deep into her eyes, "I think I want to see if you might kiss me when you aren't drunk."

Belle continued to gape at him. He had already turned and was continuing to walk down the street.

When she didn't follow him, he looked back at her, "Coming along?"

Belle shook herself. "Yes, absolutely." He wanted her to kiss him!

Thanks so much to my inspirational reviewers (I keep getting ideas from you people that make my writing better): RoxyMoron, RaFire, celkin, OneMagician, Tinuviel Undomiel, Robin4, karolprado, orthankg1, emospritelet, cynicsquest, cheesyteal'c, Sage of Earth, Anne Andrews (Guest), juju0268, Chauchi, deweymay, Tee-Cup, thedoctorsgirl42, MyraValhallah, Erik'sTrueAngel, and SanSon23

Next: Gold ponders his relationship with Miss Belle

Mary Margaret introduces Belle to Iron Magic

Belle has a little fall