SMOKE AND ASHES

Belle has shared with Mr. Gold that her emerging talents were interpreted as indicators of mental illness and she spent much of her adolescent years in an institution. She also has shared her concerns about impressing him with a homemade meal (to pay him back for taking her to breakfast nearly every morning that she's been a tenant of The House); he has tried to assure her that it is her company he looks forward to and she should not feel pressure to impress him with her cooking abilities (in truth he is already quite impressed with her many other talents and abilities).

During her final preparations for their evening meal, Belle is continually interrupted by other tenants who bring her food and decorations, including a dress, to augment her meal (in the hopes, shares Jefferson, that associating with Belle may mellow the intense, demanding Mr. Gold). Startled by one of the interruptions, Belle cuts herself while prepping the food. She cleans up, but has unknowingly and unwittingly left an infinitesimal droplet of blood in Mr. Gold's food. The meal is lovely and they linger over it, preventing them from sharing the chocolate cake Mr. Gold has brought for dessert.

As they begin to go upstairs for Thursday Night Magical Sparring practice, Mr. Gold doubles over, experiencing a resurgence of the poisoning symptoms he endured while a 'guest' of the Fae. He recognizes the poison as Fae blood and erupting in anger and suspicion, he blisteringly accuses Miss Belle (who is unaware both of her Fae ancestery and his suspectibility to Fae blood) of trying to poison him.

Chapter 15

Trust

Just a little smuch (more than smooch but less than smut in this chapter)

What had happened?

Jefferson looked over at Belle and just barely, she could tell, he shook his head. Don't argue with him. Don't approach him. Not just now. Jefferson continued helping the other man to his apartment.

Belle wasn't sure what had just happened, but she wasn't about to walk back to her apartment. She followed the two men.

Jefferson was barely able to get Gold back to his apartment before the vomiting started. Gold retched on the marble floor of his entryway. Jefferson was able to get the man into his bathroom. Gold was sweating profusely, his shirt already soaked. Jefferson helped him undress down to his boxers and made sure he had something to puke into.

"Get you anything else?" he asked Gold after depositing him on the facility and stepping outside to try to preserve what he could of Gold's dignity while the man weathered the intestinal storm.

"I'll be sick for about . . . for at least twenty minutes, getting all the poison out of my system," Gold gasped out and then stopped to spew into the trashcan Jefferson had given him. He coughed several times. "I'll be cold afterwards, freezing cold. And weak as a kitten. I'll need your help to get back to my bed. And see if you can find more blankets to put on the bed." Gold retched again and spit. "Thanks, man."

"Hey, I'll be out here," Jefferson told him. "Call if you need anything and I'll be checking in on you in a bit."

Jefferson saw that Belle had followed them into the apartment. She had spent her time cleaning up the marble foyer with paper towels. Jefferson went over to her and whispered, "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. Everything was going well, really well. We hadn't got to the dessert and were going to come back to my apartment after practice to eat it. When we were on our way up to the roof, he collapsed in pain. He told me to get you. And then he turned on me, started calling me names and. . . well, you heard him."

"Do you think he blames you for making him sick?"

"I guess. But I don't think it was anything we ate. I'm feeling fine," Belle was well and truly puzzled and worried.

Jefferson listened and shrugged. "I don't know. I've never seen him like this. He wanted me to find some blankets."

He and Belle searched the apartment and found a tidy linen closet with three blankets folded neatly on the top shelf. Jefferson pulled them down and disappeared with them into Gold's bedroom.

"I'm going to check on him," Jefferson told her.

Belle could hear the two men talking but resisted the urge to put her ear to the door to try to make out what they were saying. She idled around but was uncomfortable touching anything in the man's apartment. She settled anxiously in the living room.

"What happened?" Jefferson asked the older man.

"Poison. In my food. It's been done to me before. I recognize the symptoms. Terrible stomach pains, violent nausea, vomiting, upset stomach, sweats, fever, body ache all for about twenty, maybe thirty minutes, then chills that last hours. You'll need to put David in charge of practice. He's one of the few who's good at working with everybody."

"I'll take care of it," Jefferson told him. "How about Belle? She's very concerned. She thinks that you think that she poisoned you."

"She did. I'm sure of it. It was Fairy magic."

"Belle, you think it was Belle? It wouldn't have been Marilyn?"

"She's gone. Left yesterday. It was Belle. She's trying to steal my magic," Gold told him.

"Maybe it was an accident?"

Gold snorted. "Right. People put their blood into your food all the time."

"Her blood? Her blood did this? It's not a spell, then? Man, she could have cut herself on something when she was fixing the meal. That happens all the time. It could've been an accident. Didn't you tell me that she was kinda clumsy?"

"Leave me alone," Gold dismissed him, unwilling to hear him out.

"I'll stick around a little longer," promised Jefferson and left Gold in the bathroom. Out in the living room, Jefferson sat down and made a call to David. He then spoke to Belle, "He thinks you tried to poison him," he told her.

"What? Of course not. Why would he think that?" Belle asked distraught.

"Well, I've known him a long time and I'm only just finding out about this. Belle, apparently he's very sensitive to blood. You didn't cut yourself when you were fixing supper, did you?"

Belle stood a moment, "I did, but I cleaned it up. I thought I cleaned it up. It could only have been a part of a droplet."

"That must have been enough," he told her. "But you didn't do it on purpose?"

Belle was appalled. "Of course not! I didn't have any idea. Oh Jefferson, I care about the man! I would never do anything to hurt him!"

"Good enough for me," Jefferson replied shortly. "You know he thinks you were trying to hurt him, steal his magic. He wants you to go."

"I know, but I don't feel right leaving him, especially now, knowing that I was the one that made him sick. I need to make sure he's all right. I need to apologize and explain."

"He won't be happy to find out you've stayed," Jefferson warned her.

"I know he's upset now, but I know he won't hurt me."

"You sure?" Jefferson did not seem so sure.

"I'm sure," Belle told him and she was, wasn't she?

"Well, stay out here and I'll hang with him until he thinks he's finished expelling the poison. He told me he'll go into chills and will need help getting into the bed. Then he'll need to be piled on with blankets," Jefferson directed her.

Belle nodded and settled into his throne chair, as she called the large yellow velvet chair with the mahogany wood that he had sat in when he'd had first had her to his apartment . . . what was it now? just a few days ago. The place was as plush as she'd remembered it to be. She turned on one of his probably authentic Tiffany lamps. It lent a soft light to the elegant room.

It was then that Belle felt it. That same plain, dark wood box. It was sitting on a small table all to itself. It reminded her now of the Artifacts Room. Clearly it contained something magical, something powerful, something very powerful. It felt very old.

No way was she touching it. If the Artifacts Room had given her the heebies, this thing gave her the jeebies. And, she figured, if Gold had put the item up in his apartment rather than keeping it with the other magical items, that was good enough for her to allow that it should be left alone.

But is still called out to her.

Belle turned away and curled up in the large chair. It smelled like him, strong, slight spicy and so comforting.

What if he was so angry with her that he did send her away? Where would she go? What would she do? She knew so much more now than when she had first come to The House. She had a little money now and some identify papers. All of that would help her set up anew.

She also had these powers, she, herself, Isabella Lacinda du Francais le Coronet Roi, she, Belle, had these powers.

But she also now knew that boogiemen were for real.

She realized that she had been crying. He had to understand that she had never meant to make him sick. How could she have known that blood would make him sick? It was all a terrible, horrible mistake.

She must have dozed because the next thing she was aware of was Jefferson leaning over her, calling her name softly, "Belle, princess. Sorry, honey did you go to sleep?"

"I must have. How is he?" she asked sitting up and stretching. "What time is it?"

"It's about 11:30. He's finally finished vomiting and . . . the other. . . He's still stripped off down to his shorts and I've helped put him to bed. He's now got the chills so I've covered him up. You sure you want to stay with him?"

"Yes, I feel I should. Somebody should. It doesn't sound like he should be left alone."

Jefferson stood a moment debating. "All right then. I'll check in tomorrow morning. Call me if you need me. Promise?"

"I promise," Belle told him.

After Jefferson left, Belle stood a moment. She looked towards his bedroom. Did she dare?

She had never been in a man's bedroom before, especially one who was livid with her and who had threatened her harm.

She squared her shoulders. The man was sick. She had made him sick even if it had been an accident. She owed it to him to make sure he was getting back to health. Do the brave thing Belle, she told herself.

He wouldn't really hurt her. Would he?

She went into his bedroom.

It was dimly lit with light coming in from some high windows. It was much like the living room. Wood paneled walls. An antique hand-knotted carpet on polished wood floors. A large ornate dresser on one side of the room. A door, probably to a closet, on one wall. And in the center of the room, there was a large, very large, four-poster bed with a huge carved headboard. He was curled up tightly in the middle of the bed, a small frail form shivering despite the pile of blankets on him.

Belle looked around. There was one of those chaise lounge chairs in one corner. Maybe she could lay down there. But. . . there was something on the chair.

Knowing what she knew now of just some of the dark forces that were out there, she drew back, tamping down the fear that rose unbidden in her throat. The shape was large and looming. It was deepest black and moved sinuously with a fluid strength. Belle took several deep breaths, calming herself, not sure what to expect. She stepped back shielding herself.

Then Belle found herself staring into large amber eyes.

"Rerrrrowwrrrrr?" it greeted her.

It was a cat, just a cat.

She sighed in relief.

Mr. Gold had a cat.

"Hello kitty," Belle said, and the single largest cat she had ever seen by far stretched and sat up. It took up the bottom half of the chaise lounge.

"Mmmmrrrrrr?" The cat seemed friendly.

Jefferson had apparently put Gold's suit on the bottom of the long chair and the cat had been lying on it. Great. Immaculate Mr. Gold's suit would now be covered in cat hairs. Would he be more angry at her poisoning him or at having cat hairs on one of his suits?

She sighed.

Probably the poisoning thing would trump the cat hairs.

Belle went over and allowed the cat to smell her hand. The animal rubbed its head against her hand and she patted it a few times absentmindedly. The cat audibly purred, apparently pleased with Belle's attentions.

"You're a pretty thing," she told the cat who had not taken its eyes off of her. She considering ooffing the cat off the chaise lounge but eyeing the large animal, Belle wasn't sure if that would work. She wasn't up to tussling with Kitticus Giganticus. If the cat objected to her taking its bed, Belle didn't know if she would come out on top. She was debating what to do when she heard Gold moan.

That did it.

She had made the poor man sick. She had put him in the bed. She hadn't meant to but she had.

And he had wanted her to leave because he somehow thought she had done this on purpose. It wouldn't be easy but she had to stay to try to explain, to apologize, to make it right again.

If he still wanted her to go after that, well. . . then she would.

But not before fighting for herself.

For him.

The cat was sitting up, watching her. Belle stripped off her borrowed dress and kicked off her shoes leaving her in her panties and bra. She debated only a moment before removing her mother's necklace and placing it on top of the dress. When she dropped the necklace, the cat blinked and settled back down. Belle gingerly climbed onto the bed, crawling under just the top blanket and settling in on top of the other blankets, lying behind him, hugging him to her. She felt him shivering and pushing back into her, seeking her warmth. Slowly, slowly, the shivering subsided.

He melted into her and slowly, slowly, Belle drifted off.

+ + + Warm

Something seeped warmth into him, radiating into his back and then throughout his limbs. The hard, cold places became soothing and softness.

This was not like the other times. The other times it had been an uneven, rough stone floor against his cheek and only hard, cold rock to cushion his body. He'd remembered uncontrollable shivering, his teeth chattering, his arms and legs shaking. Hours of freezing agony with fierce fiery pains lancing through his body. The other times the darkness had been complete with no sliver of light to offer him the hope that daylight still existed. Blank blackness. The other times the rank smells of sickness and body wastes and stale¸ rotting food had assailed his nostrils.

This time it was warm and soft, with faint light coming through windows and a pleasant smell of roses and vanilla.

It was nice.

So nice, it had to be a pleasant dream, certainly nothing like this had ever happened in him during his waking hours, there had never been anything comforting, soothing, nurturing in his real life. As his breathing became less ragged, he felt his body relax and slowly, slowly Gold drifted off.

+ + + Waking

When Belle awoke, she was lying on her back. She had shifted in her sleep and was no longer wrapped around Gold. He was, in fact, lying with both a leg and an arm draped across her. He was awake and looking down on her.

"I thought I told you to leave. That I didn't want anything more to do with you." His tone was curt and most unfriendly. His eyes usually warm and soft were hard and piercing.

"I'm sorry I made you sick. I had no idea that blood would make you so ill," she started with an apology.

"Didn't you?" He didn't yell. Instead his voice was deadly soft and calm.

"No," she said quietly. "I had no idea until Jefferson told me."

He looked at her. He looked long and hard at her. Others had fallen back before his hard looks, but not this little slip of a girl.

Could it possibly be. . . ?

"Where's your mother's necklace?" he asked.

"I took it off. I didn't want to risk hurting you with it," she told him.

"You know that's probably the only thing that protects you from me?" What game was she playing?

She met his intense gaze, "I do." Neither of them said anything for a moment, "That's why I took it off."

That surprised him. He was beginning to reconsider. Was it possible . . .?

"Do you want to . . ." Belle didn't know the right words, but she pointed to her head. "You can look inside and see. I'm telling you I had no idea. It was all a terrible accident."

There was another long pause and he raised his hand to her head. He had to be sure. She felt his presence, sure and demanding. She could feel him, his distrust, his hatred, his sadness, his pain, his desires.

He pulled back. No trace, not a single indication that she had any malice towards him. She seemed genuinely contrite and distraught over what had happened.

"So you didn't plan to hurt me?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"No, of course not," she reassured him.

He laid down again onto his back. He was trying to piece things together. "And I guess if you had meant to hurt me, The House would have intervened before it ever came to this." He looked over at her, "I may owe you an apology," he said tenuously.

"Really?" she asked. Darn right you do.

He tried to explain, "When I got sick, it brought back being imprisoned, when they would make me sick on purpose, to weaken me, control me, torture me. It went on and on. I never thought it would end. I lost hope after a while that the pain would end, that I would ever see daylight or breathe clean air, that I would . . . ever know the kind touch of a woman."

Okay, so maybe it's understandable why he'd reacted as he did. She'd had a brief flash of these deeply buried memories. "I remember from the time on the roof, when I went through your shields," she reminded him softly.

"I knew, I just knew you had poisoned me," he said.

"And I had," she admitted.

"But it was an accident?"

"It was a terrible accident," she reiterated. "You don't need to apologize for thinking what you did."

"Oh, I'm not apologizing for that. That reaction was entirely reasonable," he said with a hint of his usual asperity. "My apology was for not believing you when you said it was an accident." He seemed to be sincere.

Belle considered, "But why should you have believed me? I take it that people, especially women, have been lying to you all your life." She was trying to be understanding, to be forgiving.

"Yeah, they have." He looked over at her. "You spent the night in my bed?" he asked this as if it had suddenly occurred to him.

"Yes." By way of explanation she added, "You seemed to be so cold. I thought I could help keep you warm."

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"My underwear," she admitted. "I didn't want to sleep in Ashley's dress and I wasn't about to root around in your drawers for something to wear."

Gold peered under the pile of covers that were on top of him, "Did you undress me?"

"Jefferson did." Mischievously, Belle asked, "Were you concerned that I might have compromised your virtue?"

"Not concerned." Then he narrowed his eyes and added, almost smiling, "Perhaps hopeful that you had."

"Hmmm," Belle responded. "I guess I need to get up . . . ." but as she started up, he laid his hand on her arm.

"Belle," his voice had gone husky and his eyes had darkened. "If I hadn't been up half the night vomiting, I would beg your forgiveness and kiss you."

Belle lay still. He had rolled again so that he was positioned looking down on her. He traced his hand down one of her arms.

"Perhaps, this will suffice," he said to her and gently slipped her bra strap down her arm.

She stiffened. This was new. She remembered that time from the Artifacts Room, when he had touched her and left her. . .wanting. What would he do now? How would he touch her . . . now?

He moved slowly, slipping down the strap and then moving to gently push the bra cup down, revealing the soft, plump mound of her breast.

She couldn't look at him. She was too new to this, not sure what to do, not sure if she could please him.

He cupped the pale round softness, and she heard him whisper, "Beautiful." His hand darkened from outside labor contrasted with her delicate paleness. And then . . .

And then he lifted his head and just touched the tip of her breast with his lips and then . . .

And then, she felt his tongue, rough and sure, teasing her nipple, and then. . .

And then, his lips closed on the nipple, tugging on the tender flesh, and then. . .

And then she felt his hand slowly drawing down the other strap and pulling down the other bra cup, baring her other breast to his hand which gently kneaded the exposed tissue, his artful, clever fingers exploring the weight and texture of her breast only to settle on the nipple, which he tweaked and pinched and teased and then . . .

And then she felt him suck on her nipple with forceful eagerness, pulling out the nipple so that it was engorged and sensitized and then . . .

And then he pulled back only to turn the attentions of his lips and tongue to the other breast while his questing, talented fingers moved to torment the now distended nipple of her other breast.

Belle was beyond trying to focus. At some point one of her hands had gotten tangled in his hair and her other hand had managed to find a resting place holding on to his shoulder. She unconsciously, unknowingly raised her hips in the ancient movement that a woman instinctively engages in to welcome a lover.

He felt the movement and in his post-illness haze, this was all the encouragement that he needed.

"Belle?" he whispered. Was it all right? What he intended to do? Was she all right with it?

"Yes, yes," she whispered. It's all right. It's what I want too.

There was the logistics problem. They were both entangled in several layers, separated by no less than four blankets and a sheet. He began to pull down the blankets trying to get himself and Belle onto the same plane within the blankets.

Then they both heard it, Gold through the haze of growing sexual urgency and Belle through the growing lassitude of sexual capitulation.

"Gold, Belle, let me in! I need to be sure you both are all right!"

It was Jefferson. Gold dropped his head onto Belle's shoulder.

"Damnation," he said.

They both sighed. Outside Jefferson continued to pound on the door.

"If we don't let him in, he'll think one of us killed the other," Belle told him.

"If it's a body he's looking for, I might just give him his own," groused Gold. He hesitated. "I've got wards up. He might be able to pound but the door will withstand a physical attack and the wards will more than stand against any magical attack."

Belle looked up at him and gave him a sweet yet condescending smile. "I somehow think that listening to an ever panicking Jefferson will likely sour the mood," she told him.

More pounding. "Are either of you in there?"

Gold huffed but conceded, "Probably so." He thought just a moment, "Why don't I turn him into a snail, just for while we . . . we. . . do our thing? It would only be for about half an hour. . . " he looked at Belle, "maybe an hour. . . or . . .or . . . three . . . yeah, three hours . . . and then I can turn him back. He won't remember a thing and you and I will . . ." He stopped when he saw Belle shaking her head.

"That would be wrong?" he asked, apparently unsure.

Belle nodded, sadly, "Uh huh."

"I need to go let him in?"

"Uh huh."

He gave a heavy sigh. "All right. I guess we both need to get dressed. He won't be satisfied unless he sees us both alive and healthy."

Belle sat up, pulling her bra back into place. "Do you have anything I can borrow?"

"Not much on casual attire," he admitted. "Look in the second drawer of that dresser," he pointed to a large antique chest of drawers.

Belle considered wrapping a blanket around herself to get to the drawer, but all things considered, that seemed a little silly. She slipped from the bed and opened the drawer to find some dark blue and white cotton pajamas with an interesting weave. The short pants came with a wrap-around top.

"These are nice," she told him. He was busy putting on a pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt. She turned around and looked him over. Oh my, wow! Different look. Nice.

He glanced over at Belle's selection, "I picked them up in Japan a while ago. Come on out when you've finished dressing."

Gold left her and went out to open the door of the apartment to Jefferson who by now was frothing at the mouth. She could hear them from the bedroom.

"Did you kill her?" she heard Jefferson ask.

"No, she'll be out in a moment."

"Are you all right?" Jefferson was still asking questions.

"Much better. I want to thank you for your help last night."

"Well, you've certainly helped me through some rough times."

Belle made her entrance at that moment.

Jefferson looked incredibly relieved. "Great, Belle, I was so worried about you."

"Well thanks," Gold said sourly. "Had you thought I'd strangled her?"

"Something like that," admitted Jefferson. He turned to Belle, "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Absolutely," Belle answered him.

"Really all right? He didn't. . . he didn't slap you around or skin you? You're not under any threat? Blink if you're under one of his spells."

"I'm standing right here," Gold reminded him.

Jefferson ignored him and turned back to Belle.

"Mr. Gold and I are quite comfortable that what happened was a terrible accident. He's forgiven me," Belle assured him.

Jefferson gave her a hard side-long look and then shrugged, "If you insist, Miss Belle."

"I think everything is under control here," Gold began. "How did practice go last night?"

"David said it went. He set up a few scenarios and they slammed each other around. Usually the magic users would take down the fighters. About like last time."

"So still little teamwork?" Gold shook his head. Nothing to be done about it now. "I'll open the shop up a bit later than usual. I don't think that will hurt anything. Now, Belle, if you will, could you fix us a little breakfast? I find I'm both hungry and in desperate need of a shower."

Belle gaped at him, recognizing his request for her to fix breakfast as a significant signal that he had totally forgiven her and trusted her around his food. She managed to nod and smile, "I'd love to," and she scampered off to the kitchen.

It was Jefferson's turn to gape, "Did you just tell that gorgeous woman to run to your kitchen and cook for you? How do you do that? If I asked Emma or Ruby, or god forbid, Regina, to run to the kitchen and cook for me, they'd tell me where I could stick it, and not in a good way."

Gold sat down in his comfortable 'throne chair' and looked over at Jefferson, "I shouldn't be asking a woman to cook for me? I thought that's what women did." He gave Jefferson his most patronizing smile.

"How do you get away with that attitude?" Jefferson was astonished. "I know you're older than dirt, but gee. Well, as smart as you are, maybe you can advise me. I'm kinda trying to get Emma to go out with me. I'd wanted to give her enough time to deal with Graham's death. What would you suggest?" The younger man had sat down across from Gold.

"You're having a problem getting a girl?" Gold asked. "Don't you just usually ask them out to dinner?"

"Yeah. I guess I could do that. But I didn't think that Emma was an out-to-dinner kind of girl. She's more like coffee and pie in a diner."

Gold nearly smiled, "Then ask her out for coffee and pie and find a diner."

"Excellent, you're a genius, Gold. Thanks," Jefferson told him and got up quickly. "You sure you two are all right?"

"I think we've never been better," Gold told him honestly.

Jefferson let himself out and Gold took himself into the bathroom to shave and shower. Standing in the heat of the shower he took a moment to castigate himself.

What the hell was wrong with him? He just made the assumption that Belle was trying to hurt him, even knowing The House wouldn't have welcomed her in or allowed her to stay if she had such an ambition.

And how brave was this woman? She had stayed to take care of him, and even knowing that he was furious with her, knowing that he was capable of hurting her, killing her, she had removed her protective necklace so she wouldn't risk hurting him more.

When he'd awakened to find her in his bed, his first thought was to strangle her and discretely dispose of the body. But there was something about her. His beautiful, innocent face stopped him. She'd curled into him, snuggling up to him. And asleep and helpless, he'd found he could not bring himself to hurt her.

And then, once he became convinced of her innocence he proceeded to force his attentions on the precious girl. He'd wakened with a beautiful, no, not just beautiful, the most beautiful woman he'd ever met in his bed and he acted like a rutting beast. He had been ready to violate and defile the girl.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He took an extra moment to brush his teeth and rinse out his mouth. There was a small mirror in the bathroom, the only one in the apartment. He removed the cover he kept on it to check his appearance.

He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, the crinkles around his eyes more pronounced.

He covered the mirror back up and redressed in his jeans and teeshirt.

He put on some socks and shoes and went out to the kitchen.

She'd already completely forgiven him. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve her.

Belle was bustling about in his black granite and grey stainless steel kitchen. She had already made pale toast and questionable coffee and was burning, er. . . frying some prosciutto. She had another pan ready for some eggs.

"Where your cat?" she asked him, startling him. He didn't know that she had heard him come up.

"My cat?"

She'd seen The Cat!?

"The huge black fluffy thing that purrs and meows and was asleep in your bedroom last night."

He sucked in some air, "So you saw Lovecraft?" She'd seen The Cat.

"If that's the cat, yes. He meowed at me and let me pet him."

Gold hesitated. "He comes and goes."

"I looked but didn't find a bowl or cat food or a litter box."

"Lovecraft comes with The House," Gold explained.

Belle stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "Tell me the truth. Is it a real cat? Or is it something else?"

"I don't think it's a real cat. He's been around for as long as I've lived here. I didn't know that anyone else had ever seen him. I go days and don't see him."

Belle just sighed. "A spirit cat. All right. Yes, of course. Why not?" she said fatalistically. She turned back to the stove and began overcooking the eggs, "I'm just cooking bacon and eggs and making toast with some coffee. Is that all right? Would you prefer tea?"

"Coffee's fine. How can I help?"

"Plates and cutlery," she told him and he dutifully complied, pulling down his Vera Wang Wedgwood graphite plates and setting them into pewter chargers.

"Your kitchen is cold," Belle told him.

"We can turn the heat up," he suggested.

Thank you, thank you (for all the reviews - they never get old) : juju0268,Tinuviel Undomiel, RoxyMoron, EevyLynn, karolprado, RaFire, OneMagician, thedoctorsgirl42, Robin4, orthankg1, cheesyteal'c, Shadow's Echo, Chauchi, Aletta-Feather, MyraValhallah, jewel415, Vampireguardian, Grace5231973, SanSon23, Erik'sTrueAngel, Anne Andrews (Guest), and emospritelet

Special thanks to

Deweymay: who noted that I had Belle put poison on an apple – I have to admit this was purely happenstance, but rather fitting all things considered – apparently my subconscious was at work as I wrote the salad scene.

And to

Spacecats: who, in a series of pm's helped me develop the idea of a house cat for Gold. We were immediately together on making it a Maine Coon, which if you know cats, is a very large, very fluffy, smart, funny and independent cat. I've tried to replicate their unique trilling meow. By the way, The Cat belongs to The House (not Gold).

Asheville was unseasonable cool (65 and a bit rainy), but enormous fun (found a new artist J.L. Merrill and bought some fabulous steampunk looking earrings). And located the perfect place to put the entrance into the Upper Kingdom.

Next: Gold has a signficant realization

The rest is mostly fluff with Gold continuing to find different ways to apologize to Belle for being, well, Gold