SMOKE AND ASHES

With marked trepidation, Gold allows Milah to do a makeover of Belle and she succeeds in disguising Belle to the point that Gold has difficulty recognizing her (and is very uncomfortable kissing her due to her markedly altered appearance). The makeover opportunity allows Milah and Belle to come to terms with each others relationship with their enigmatic landlord and to understand and respect each other.

Regina confronts Gold, suspecting there may be more to his desire for the fifth scroll than is apparent at first glance and learns that his goal is to obtain all five scrolls (two are already in his possession). Gold also encourages Regina and lets her know that he has faith in her ability to protect The House while he is gone.

Chapter 19

Avonleigh

Regina had offered to drive them to the airport south of Asheville. From there, the itinerary was for them to take a flight to Charlotte, then to Paris, then to Avonleigh. Emma, Jefferson and Archie were all excited. None of them had ever flown before, much less flown out of the country. They had packed a couple of changes of clothing and purchased some plugs they could use in Europe to charge their phones and plug in their computers.

Belle was not nervous about flying but was still clearly uncomfortable with returning to her homeland. Even with her total disguise as a bland nondescript graduate student in ancient literature, she was still obviously unsure and worried about her safety. Jefferson kept reassuring her that she was not easily recognizable . . . unless she opened her mouth.

Gold had surprised everyone when he came down the stairs to the van. He was dressed in jeans, a sharp white shirt and a tweed jacket. He was wearing small gold rimmed glasses and looked every bit like the college professor (the one with the literature class in which myriads of co-eds would sit, all the while failing to take notes because they were so entranced with his accent and his shy infrequent smile). He carried a well-traveled leather soft brief case and a small weathered leather suitcase.

"You look very nice," Belle told him softly. "This is yet another look that you manage to pull off so well."

"Well I actually did teach at a college for a while but it was a while ago, a long while ago . . . and it was math."

Belle almost asked how long ago he taught but thought better of it.

They loaded the van and all piled into it with Archie riding up front next to Regina, then Belle and Gold and finally Jefferson and Emma. As they rode in the van, getting closer to airport, south of Asheville, Gold began to become increasingly fidgety.

"What is wrong with you?" Emma asked him as he sat in the luxury van staring out the window and drumming his fingers.

"I . . . I have some problems traveling over water," he muttered. "I get dizzy and ill. . . very ill."

"It's because he's Dark-aligned," Regina said over her shoulder from the driver's seat. Gold glared at her. Regina continued, "He has problems traveling over running water."

Emma looked at Regina, puzzled.

"You know, like Ichabod Crane in Sleepy Hollow. The evil Headless Horseman couldn't follow him over a stream," Regina explained.

"So," Emma turned to Gold. "You're like the Headless Horseman?"

"Do I look like the decapitated ghost of a Hessian fighter?" Gold was irritated. "It's just something that I have always had problems with."

"But I thought that you sailed the world," Belle recalled him telling her this earlier.

"Yeah, but I was a lot younger then. The sea sickness has gotten worse as I've gotten older and . . . more powerful. I don't know why but it seems to be worse in a plane. I've got some medication," he held up a bottle of over-the-counter pills. "I'll be all right once we get across to Paris."

"Of course, darling," Belle comforted him.

They checked in and boarded the little commuter plane. The flight to Charlotte was without incident but on the plane, Gold began to pop the Dramamine before they got to the big city. There was a short layover and Gold bought a vodka martini from the bar. From there they boarded the trans-Atlantic flight and once he got on board the larger plane, he began washing down far beyond the recommended dosage of his anti-nausea drug with copious amounts of alcohol.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to drink so much and take a medication that will make you sleepy," Belle whispered. They were in first class and Belle was sitting next to him.

"Oh, but that is my plan," Gold told her honestly.

"Being drunk and nauseated does not sound like a good combination to me," Belle gently scolded him.

"That's why I have to get sufficiently drunk so that I pass completely out," he explained patiently.

Belle gritted her teeth. Gold was determined to be his most difficult. "There is something I need to share with you," Belle began hesitantly. "It is rather important."

"Go ahead," he directed her, lying back in his comfortable seat with his eyes closed. The plane was approaching the ocean.

"I haven't been entirely truthful about my past with you. I haven't told you any lies, but I haven't exactly told you the whole truth," she started.

"I knew that," he managed to mutter finishing up his third, or was it his fourth, drink.

"I'm actually rather well known where we're going. Uhm. . . pretty much everyone, maybe everyone, in Avonleigh is familiar with who I am," she confessed.

"That's nice . . . and rather remarkable," Gold told her and shifted. He shuddered and went very still.

Belle reached over and felt his forehead. She leaned in and whispered, "Darling, are you awake?"

He didn't respond and his steady breathing answered her question. He'd gone on to sleep . . . or passed out.

Well darn.

Belle shrugged. Oh well, he'd find out soon enough.

By the time the plane hit the French coast, Gold was a boneless somnambulant. When they landed, Jefferson took one side and Archie took the other to help walk-drag the drunk and drugged-out sorcerer off the plane. They got him to a seat under one of the long rows of lights in the Orly airport while they waited for their small connecting flight to Avonleigh. Emma went to look for coffee to try to help sober the man up.

Gold blinked his eyes open. He felt terrible. His mouth was dry and his head hurt.

"Did I make it? Are we 'cross de Ocean?" he asked, still blinking his eyes against the lights.

Belle held his hand and tilted his head up, "You did darling. You made it. How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Like cra. . . " he looked up at Belle, "Pretty badly. I know I did this . . . to myself, but . . . the Dramamine and the alcohol thing . . . it's easier to deal with . . . than the horrible water sickness," he spoke slowly, having to work to form sounds into words.

"Emma's brought you some coffee . . . and a pastry," Belle told him brightly as Emma returned with her hands full.

"Oh god, not food," he protested, but he did reach for the coffee and, with some effort, managed to cradle the cup in his hand and sip from it.

"We've just got a little time here," Jefferson told him, "before we catch our connection."

"I sorry Belle. I would think you mi' like to see some o' Paris," Gold told Belle.

"I've already seen Paris several times. Of course it's all just been the touristy stuff," she told him with a smile.

"Oh, there are some lesser traveled parts of town . . . that would remind you o' Asheville. Little shops, restaurants. You like that type of thing." Her words suddenly sunk in and he sat up, struggling against the drowsiness that still penetrated through his system and shaking his head to clear out the cobwebs a big mistake that turned out to be. "When did you see Paris?"

"A while ago. Before I came to Asheville," she told him lightly and hearing their flight called, she got up.

He pulled himself up with Jefferson's help, "Come on boss," the tall young man encouraged him. "We're on."

"Well, of course it was befo' you came to Asheville," Gold was trying to walk but found his upper body pushed forward while his feet remained still – Jefferson caught him.

"Step, boss, step," Jefferson reminded him.

Gold nodded, remembering how to walk. Once he got his feet moving he tried to continue his conversation with Belle. He was slurring his speech and trying desperately to figure out and pull together what she had just told him. She'd been to Paris. "Where else ha' you been?" he asked her over his shoulder.

"Oh, London, Rome, Dubai, did a little tour in Australia, parts of India, New York City. . . " she was going on and on and he wasn't sure if she was being truthful or sassing him.

The little private plane that Gold had chartered sat only ten people at capacity and they were the only passengers. Gold kept trying to question Belle about her earlier travels but kept getting distracted by the seating arrangements, questions from his 'students' and various internal conditions clamoring for his attention mostly the after effects his self-medication regimen had wrought upon his usually acute focusing abilities. He finally gave it up and dozed off as the plane began the steep climb up over the Alps. It was near sunset and everyone else sat looking out of the windows at the majestic scenery. Belle was able to point out several different peaks, naming them for her other traveling companions.

"This place, Avonleigh," Archie began. "I'd never heard of it. Is it like Monaco or one of those other little principalities?"

"It's been many things but is now a little kingdom," Belle shared. "They had actually begun as an anarchist state with no government, but that hadn't worked out. They realized that they needed someone with the appearance of authority to deal with other governments so they anointed one very affable fellow as their king and the line has passed unbroken from one generation to the next to the oldest child, whether male or female."

"Rather forward thinking on their part," observed Emma.

"Very much so," agreed Belle. "The royal family has prestige and a lot of responsibility but not a lot of real power. Any time anything needs to be done, the king's most important job is to call for a general vote from the entire populace."

"So it's a true democracy," Archie realized.

"It is, with some elements of a republic. There are elected officials with the power to make decisions on day-to-day planning and procedures. There's not a lot of drama there. Things run pretty smoothly most of the time," Belle told them.

After the plane crossed the mountains it rapidly began to drop altitude and all the passengers on the small plane felt their ears complain about the change in air pressure.

As they flew into Avonleigh with just enough evening light to allow discernment of details, Emma was still looking out the window. "Gosh, it's beautiful down there. It's all green with little white houses. And there's a big-ass castle in what looks to be the center of town. It looks like we're going into an enchanted kingdom," she told the others.

Belle looked out over the country of her birth. It was beautiful.

The plane circled the small airport and touched down. It taxed down the runway.

Belle was now visibly nervous. Emma glanced over at her and could see the other woman was shaking.

"Jefferson, Archie, you two take care of Gold," Emma directed. "Belle come on girl, you're with me. You're going to be all right."

They went down the stair ramp and onto the concourse which was now well lit up with lights. Gold was able to walk at the moment, but was closely shadowed by his two male tenants. Emma had taken Belle's hand and the group whisked through customs and were officially welcomed to Avonleigh.

The group then walked on into the small, tastefully decorated airport terminal building.

And there on the wall . . .

In front of them . . .

Impossible to miss . . .

Was a large banner . . .

Over twenty feet high . . .

Hanging from the top of the terminal . . . .

It was a picture of Belle.

Underneath the banner was the caption, "Our Beloved Princess."

The group stopped moving.

All heads turned towards Belle who (after wincing) looked down at her shoes and kept walking.

Gold's knees buckled underneath him and only Jefferson and Archie quickly reaching out saved him from hitting the pavement.

Emma regained her senses first. She pulled the group together and kept them walking after Belle through the terminal.

"We should have a rental car waiting for us so we can get to The Avonleigh Grand Hotel," Emma told them. She settled them in seats and went off to pick up the keys and get them all to their next destination.

Belle sat, still looking downcast at her shoes, the ugly brown clogs that Milah had found for her. Gold was staring at Belle, anger, confusion and hurt on his face. He was however together enough to realize that the airport terminal was not the place to have a discussion and he kept silent. Belle did not meet his eyes.

Archie and Jefferson left to gather their luggage from the carousel and bring it over. Many of the women that passed by gave them smiles, usually catching the eye of the attractive young Jefferson. He would often smile back at them. When Emma arrived back holding up car keys, he managed to look guilty.

They were able to load the large Cadillac with their sparse baggage and put Belle in the middle of the backseat flanked by Archie and Gold. Jefferson sat up front while Emma took the wheel. She set the GPS to guide them to the Hotel. Jefferson, Archie and Emma looked around on the drive at what they could see of the picturesque countryside.

Although increasingly dark, they could still make out a series of neatly manicured lawns with flower and vegetable beds. Gradually houses grew closer together and larger as they neared the center of town. There were an increasing number of street lights marking the way. The road changed from a paved affair to cobblestone, marking their passage into the oldest part of the town. On the way to The Hotel they passed The Library, a grand stone building with bars on the windows. It was in walking distance to their hotel.

The GPS took them right up to the front of The Hotel, a very old world yellowish stucco'd building with white quoins. The staff was quick and courteous, helping them unload and get their baggage up their rooms. The plan had been for Emma and Belle to share a room and Archie and Jefferson to share another. Gold would have his own room as befit the leader of the expedition. Gold had pulled himself together enough to gesture to Belle. They had checked in and were standing at the hotel desk where there was another large portrait of Belle hanging behind the concierge.

"I need to see you Miss Dupont," he used her fake passport name. "Right now."

"Yes sir," she answered softly, not speaking loudly, not meeting his eyes. She followed him up to the third floor and into his room. She sat in one of two chairs that were set in front of a balcony at the foot of a large king-sized bed. The curtains were open and they looked out upon the city.

"I tried to tell you," she began. "But I didn't quite get it out."

"I know. I have this vague memory of having taken about four or five Dramamine and I believe I was finishing off my third glass of vodka when you decided it was an opportune time to try to tell me," he sat down opposite her.

He leaned back and looked over the young woman. She looked wretched.

"I never meant to mislead you," she whispered.

"I know. But you understand that finding out that my little desperate, destitute . . .delicious Empath is actually a princess is a rather . . . great shock. "

Belle nodded.

Gold continued, "I thought that the differences between us were my age and my wealth. But now I find that you are of royal blood whereas I was born in a hovel with a dirt floor."

"In Avonleigh, the royal house has a long history of marrying for love and not for political or monetary gain," Belle spoke up. "We are very democratic here. The circumstances of someone's birth aren't as important as what they've done with their life."

He gave a bitter laugh, "So you think your family would welcome an illegitimate scion of an arch demon as a suitable companion for their little precious pure and bright princess?"

Belle looked up, "Your father is an arch demon?" she asked dumbly.

"Yeah. I tried to tell you about that but I didn't. Quite. Get. It. Out," he mirrored her words, biting them out. He was obviously angry. He rubbed his face. "So, this explains why you were so sheltered."

"I was never left alone growing up," Belle told him. "There was always at least one person with me, usually several. Everything I did was perused and controlled and scrutinized. I was taught languages, how to dance, how to do fine embroidery, which fork to eat shrimp with, but not to cook or sew."

"Well, that explains some things," he observed.

Belle continued slowly, "When I was ten, possibly even younger, I began feeling things, not quite like hearing voices, but I became overwhelmed, distracted, unable to think clearly. I remember that the library was one of the few places I could go that it was quiet. That was part of why I liked it so much, that and all the books. Often the only person there was Monsieur Luminere and this big white cat, Whisper."

Gold's ears perked up, "A big white cat?"

"She's was a large pretty thing, very friendly, at least with me. I remember when I would be really upset and overwhelmed, she would come and sit by me and make me feel better . . . ." Belle paused. "You don't think, Whisper was like Lovecraft, do you?"

Gold shook his head. "Unlikely, probably just a cat."

"She was always so comforting," Belle told him.

"So how did you get to Asheville?" he asked gently.

"Well," Belle sniffed. "You know they hospitalized me when I began collapsing under the constant battery of feelings. They thought I was schizophrenic or . . . or possessed. They did a lot with medication and I was pretty zombied out by the time I was seventeen. The doctors and my father thought I was doing better and they decided that I was well enough to get out of the hospital . . . with supervision mind you. I went on a tour of Europe and Australia and eventually the United States. It was all diplomatic and political and . . . and boring. For a while I was able to manage, to cope. But it began to get too much. The longer the tour was, the more I began to get overwhelmed. The feelings began to build up again. My father . . . he shared with me that he thought that when I returned to Avonleigh, it might be good for me to consider getting married. He thought it would give me something else to think about, especially if I had a baby."

Belle stopped talking for a moment. She had tears streaming down her face and Gold felt like a heel drawing the story out of her. "I guess, I just. . . I just . . . broke. I couldn't live with it all. We were in . . . I don't even remember where we were when I realized I had been left alone for a moment. I just walked out of the hotel we were in. I had gathered up some money - which is harder for a princess to come by than you might think. I got some clothes and I walked out. I just started making my way south and ended up in Asheville."

"Your father's people looked for you?" Gold was sure of this.

"There were a couple of times they almost caught up with me. But they didn't want to advertise that I had run away, so they put out the illness story . . .

A memory came back to Gold and he finished, "I remember now. Some foreign princess from a country no one had ever heard of was doing a whirlwind tour but became sick and had to return home. It was in the news at the time, but I don't remember seeing your picture."

"I don't think my picture was displayed much outside of Avonleigh. I think my father wanted his own people to find me. I think, the same story about my illness was told everywhere, including Avonleigh. My people think that I am in a hospital somewhere."

Gold sat across from Belle for awhile, now more hurt than angry. "You couldn't trust me. You thought that I might recognize you and turned you in for a reward." He said.

Belle sniffed. "I thought more likely that you wouldn't want me if you thought I was a crazy woman."

Gold looked at her. There were still tears. "Oh Belle. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't think I could tell anyone who I really was."

He got up and went over to her, pulling her up from the chair, pulling her into his arms. "Sweet girl, my poor sweet girl." He gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'm surprised you were able to survive. I guess your empathic skills served you well."

"Are you very angry at me?" she asked him nestling into the heat of his body.

"Now that I understand, not at all," he patted her unruly hair. "Perhaps you should take out those contacts and we can take a nap. We've got seven hours of jet lag to deal with, so morning will come way too soon," he told her.

She nodded. "Do I need to tell Emma where I am?"

"I think she'll figure things out," he muttered.

Belle pulled away from him and dug through her well-worn bag. She got out her lens accoutrements and removed the brown lenses.

"How are you doing with those?" he asked.

"I hate them. But they really seem to put the disguise over the top. I thought Milah did a really good job," she told him.

"Milah did a great job," he confirmed. "I was afraid she would do something daft or just plain tacky, but she came through."

"She's really very creative and has a lot of ideas. She's just a little rough around the edges."

"And a bit of a tramp," he finished. He had another thought. "She was in a nice little green dress at the restaurant. Did you. . . ?"

"When she was helping me out with the shopping, well, I saw that dress and thought it would look great on her, so she got it. I thought it gave her a completely new look."

"It did look good," Gold confirmed. "And you toned down her makeup, too, I assume?"

"I just made a couple of suggestions. I guess she thought that if I could get a new look, so could she."

Gold turned the lights off and moved in to help Belle remove her cardigan, the dumpy top and then pulled off her skirt, leaving her in her always serviceable white cotton undies. While he was working on stripping her, Belle was pulling his jacket off and had begun to unfasten his shirt. He was kissing down her neck, delighting in her little shivers.

"Think you're over me not looking like myself?" she asked him.

"Uh hum," he told her reaching around to unfasten her bra while she pulled his shirt off. They were bathed in a soft darkness with the lights from the city shining through the large balcony window.

He led her to the large bed and gently set her down on it before sitting down next to her. He trailed his fingers over her, kissing her on the mouth. His hands settled on her breasts. "These are perfect, you must know that," his fingers explored the shape, the heft, the softness.

Belle didn't respond at first. She was too busy running her tongue along his neck. "So glad you decided we didn't have to wait until we got back to Asheville," she said breathlessly.

He didn't answer, too engrossed in savoring the soft, smooth texture of her skin. He pushed her back onto the bed and became focused on examining the hardened peaks of her nipples. He deliberately ran the pad of his forefinger around each rosy bud. He leaned down to tease the tips with his tongue, first one, then the other, relishing her little whimpers. She had dropped her hand to his head and was running her fingers through his hair.

"You like this?" he asked her.

She had to smile at him, "You know I do. I like you touching me. I like touching you."

He gave her a sensuous grin and shifted his weight, beginning to slowly work his way down her body, kissing her stomach. He had looped his fingers on the elastic of her panties.

"Oh," Belle said suddenly. "You can see my father's room from here," she announced, surprised.

"What?!" he stopped and looked up at her.

"Through the window. The castle. We're looking right into his study," she told him and pointed out the large balcony window which was at the bottom of their bed.

"So. . . your father could be looking out at this room," he said slowly glancing around.

"Well, he could be," Belle agreed. "My father has never been much for managing the affairs of state. He really prefers to spend his time dabbling. He 'invents' things. He often loses track of time when he's in the middle of one of his projects," Belle shared. "I suspect he's up working. The light in his study is on."

"His light is on," Gold repeated and he shifted and lay back on the pillows. After a moment he gave a bitter chuckle. "I finally think I'm ready to move on with this relationship but, now I'm worried about what the girl's father will think of me; her father who is in spitting distance from us at the moment." He glanced over at Belle. "I never thought I had any boundaries but apparently, debauching a girl under her father's study is a line I'm not comfortable crossing."

Belle sighed and then giggled. "So you do have some scruples."

He groaned, "Apparently."

"Well, I guess, we'll just have to cuddle," and she rolled over to wrap her mostly naked body around him, lying on top of him, her head on his shoulder. It didn't help him. He reached around her, his hand on the back of her shoulder.

"Cuddle, huh?" He shook his head. "Not what I'd intended," he admitted. Belle snuggled in around him. "But I'll settle for it."

Emma knew she'd been up for more than eighteen hours and should be exhausted. But a combination of caffeine delivery systems was keeping her up. She realized Belle had not returned from Gold's quarters. She briefly considered checking on the younger woman, knocking on his hotel room door and demanding proof of Belle's well-being. Not that Emma felt that he would hurt Belle. But she was still concerned for Belle, whom she thought was quite an innocent, concerned with her holding her own with the worldly Gold. Emma trusted the man, but only to a point. She also recognized that Belle was an adult . . . but. . . at the same time, she thought Belle was naïve and not experienced enough to deal with a man like Gold. Emma thought the man was clearly out to seduce the younger woman. And she didn't know if Belle would be able to manage the aftermath of a seduction – what would he do after he'd had his way with the girl? What would Belle do?

Emma was sitting in the quiet of the hotel lobby, having a late supper/early breakfast of buttered toast, some kind of crab that could be dipped in butter, some plump dried apricots and she was so happy to find it here a Pepsi. Jefferson, in a daze, came into the lobby and saw her.

"Up rather late, aren't you?" he asked her.

"I could say the same thing to you," she replied.

"Jet lag. I know it's time to sleep, both here and at home, but I'm kinda wound up," he admitted.

"Yeah." She pushed some of her repast his way, "Here, have something to eat. Crab's good."

"Not really hungry," he told her but took a piece of toast. "Belle asleep?"

"Probably. She's still with Gold," Emma told him.

"Not the first time," Jefferson shared.

"Really?" she was surprised to hear this.

Jefferson realized he'd spoken out of turn, but it was too late. "Yeah, well, the other morning when I was leaving your room, I met Mr. G in the hallway, leaving Belle's room."

"So he knows. . . "

"That you and I had an evening," Jefferson nodded.

Emma looked disgusted. "That's just spiffy. Gold knows that you and I . . ." she didn't finish.

Jefferson couldn't help himself, "You and I had a momentary lapse of judgment, a shocking indiscretion, an evening of shared passion that spoiled us for anybody else." Jefferson sampled the apricots.

"It was a one-time thing!" Emma protested. "You know I was feeling vulnerable and you were being nice, especially for you."

"I know. You want I should explain things to Mr. Gold?"

"Oh no, the less said, the better," Emma shot back. "If we don't make a big deal, won't be no big deal."

Jefferson nodded and ate some of the crab. "That was my feeling."

The two sat in silence for awhile. "So you've got that big room all to yourself," Jefferson began slowly.

"Don't even think about it," Emma warned him.

"Not thinking about it," Jefferson agreed.

The two sat in silence for awhile sharing the food.

"Crab is good," Jefferson took a second helping.

More silence.

"Not thinking how fantastic things were between us," Jefferson finally shared quietly. "Not thinking about it at all."

A smile flickered across Emma's face. "It was pretty good, wasn't it?"

"Especially that third time," Jefferson was grinning at her.

"Third time for you or third time for me?" Emma asked.

"Third time for me. Wasn't that the . . . what? fifth time for you and we kinda . . . together?"

Emma considered, "Yeah, I guess so. Pretty close anyway." She sat a moment. "It was good."

She looked Jefferson over. Damn, his long legs, his quirky smile, his quick, clever movements, even tired and scruffy, he looked good . . . especially tired and scruffy. "Oh, what the hell. Come on," she stood and gestured for him to follow her.

"Miss Swan?" he hesitated.

"Get your butt up and follow me," she directed him.

Thanks so much to my insightful and very kind reviewers: Cynicsquest, orthankg1, karolprado, Erik'sTrueAngel (17), deweymay, WikiSorcerer, RoxyMoron, CharlotteAshmore, juju0268, jewel415, OneMagician, Robin4, Aletta-Feather, RaFire, thedoctorsgirl42, spacecat, The Prince's Phoenix, emospritelet, Chauchi, Anne Andrews (Guest), Grace5231973 and

Guest (wow): part of my inspiration for Belle's makeover was Amy Farrah-Fowler for sure, also Anne Hathaway's Mia – prior to her transformation into Princess Mia.

NEXT: The Library and the revelations it holds for our little group.