Chapter Four: Why We Call Him Rumple

A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for all of the questions/reviews/messages/favs/follows! I'm so happy to hear that you guys are liking the story so far! The next few chapters have been really fun to write, and I hope that you enjoy reading them as much as I've enjoyed writing them!

The only sound was the ticking of the mantle clock as Belle and Mr. Gold watched each other over the rims of their teacups. They had been sitting like this for more than forty-five minutes. They had been doing this same tired routine every day for two weeks now. Every morning, Belle woke at 6:45 to walk to the Starbucks at the corner of her neighbourhood. Then she took a cab to Mr. Gold's residence, where they typically spent an hour or two each morning drinking tea and going through their strategy for revising the manuscript for that day.

They also frequently discussed his other contracts and paperwork to be attended to, including the ever looming Gellar Awards Night. Belle hadn't mentioned that she had a date – were you even supposed to discuss those things with clients? – but she knew that Leroy had reserved a table for them on the grounds in front of the stage, so they would be within easy walking distance in case Mr. Gold was called up. However, there were usually only so many topics that could be exhausted before they would fall into the inevitable silence that blanketed the sitting room.

"Not that I'm complaining, dearie," Mr. Gold said, leaning forward to pour them both a third cup of tea, "But don't you have anything more exciting to do with your mornings than sitting here looking at me?"

"Guess not," Belle said, propping her feet up on his mahogany coffee table. Mr. Gold frowned in distaste, but secretly he was masking the smile that was fighting to break loose. He wasn't sure why Belle's antics made him smile and laugh so often despite himself… She was without question the most uncouth person that had ever set foot in his home. Mr. Gold was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the buzzer ringing until Belle leaned forward to gently touch the hand that clasped his cane. "Mr. Gold? Your doorbell is ringing…"

Mr. Gold's eyes widened as he realized Belle's close proximity, and with a small gasped he leaned backwards in his chair. When he realized his actions and saw Belle's confusion, he sighed and made to stand up, "Apologies, Belle. Was lost in my head for a moment. Don't worry, it's gone now."

Moving to the phone, he clicked it off and then moved back to the coffee table, where he began to clear the dishes. From her place on the sofa, Belle watched him. "Who is it? I didn't know you had visitors."

Mr. Gold rolled his eyes and replied dryly, "Well dearie, contrary to popular belief, I do have some semblance of a family remaining." Seeing that he was having difficulties between balancing the dishes with one hand and propping himself up with his cane by the other, Belle moved forward and whisked the tray from his hands.

"You answer the door," She said, nodding in the direction of the front foyer, "I'll take care of these."

Mr. Gold looked as though he were about to protest, but then he smiled meekly and turned to the front foyer. Over his shoulder he said quietly, "Thank you, Belle."

Belle was already in the kitchen, and didn't hear.

Once she had finished in the kitchen, Belle made her way back to the sitting room. To say she was surprised by what she saw there would be an understatement. Belle had never seen Mr. Gold interact with anyone, aside from Ashley and herself. She had seen him answer one of Regina's phone calls once, and that had ended with the phone flying out the window.

(And then landing in the fountain. Poor Ashley had to wad in after it, and then call in a specialist to repair the battered old rotary phone.)

So the last thing that Belle could ever have expected to see was Mr. Gold hosting a child – a child! – and speaking to him with such warmth. Belle stood in the doorway with her jaw unhinged, watching as the two sat close together on the sofa, a large, leather-bound journal spread across their laps. They were studying it intently.

At the other side of the room, sitting on the piano bench was a lovely young woman, looking to be only a couple years older than Belle. She had a kind of vintage charm to her, and she reminded Belle of Audrey Hepburn. Retreating back into the kitchen, Belle quickly set about making a second pot of tea, then gathered four cups together.

She was just setting the entire ensemble up on a tray when Mr. Gold entered the room, his face brighter than Belle had ever seen it before. "Belle! Come and meet my grandson."

His eyes caught on the tea tray then, and he quickly crossed the kitchen and began rummaging through the pantry. After a moment or two, he triumphantly withdrew a canister from the pantry and set it on the counter. As he began the task of filling a saucepan with milk, he glanced over his shoulder to where Belle stood watching him.

"Thank you for the thought," He said, nodding in the direction of the tea tray. "I hope that you'll stay to meet them! I just need to whip-up a hot chocolate for Henry first… He has a very particular way that he likes them."

"Henry… You, you have a grandson?" Belle repeated, sounding more surprised than she had meant to.

Mr. Gold glanced back over his shoulder again to look at her, his eyebrows raised, "And what is so surprising about that, dearie? Were you beginning to think that I didn't have any family left?"

Belle felt the heat rising to her face, and she looked down at the ground bashfully, "No, no… no at all. I just… I didn't think that you were old enough to be a grandfather."

Chancing a glance back up, Belle's eyes caught with Mr. Gold's. His eyes were a deep, deep brown; the kind you could drown in if you didn't keep yourself guarded. And caught by surprise as he was now, his shirt all rumpled and his long brown hair in his eyes, Belle couldn't help but wonder what he might have looked like when he was younger.

Mr. Gold's face relaxed a little, and he allowed for a small smile to pass through unguarded, "I'll take that as a compliment, Belle. Thank you."

Belle exchanged a smile with him, then watched as a cloud passed over his face. "What is it?"

"Milah and I…" Mr. Gold glanced over to the dining room wall, where a wedding photo was hung, "we married so young. She was pregnant before we ever really got to know one another… Our son grew up so fast, and once he was gone from our lives… it was as though the last thing holding us together finally faded away."

Belle thought about her own reservations about her previous engagement to Gaston. Hearing Mr. Gold now, she wondered if she had in fact been the wiser to cut her losses and change her mind. Noticing a burning smell, she realized that they had both forgotten the milk on the stove too long. Quickly removing the saucepan from the burner, she poured it into one of the four teacups on the tray she had prepared. Hesitantly, she asked, "If you could go back, would you still marry her?"

Mr. Gold moved to the fridge and removed a contained of whipped cream. Scooping out two spoonfuls onto the top of the hot chocolate, he turned back to the fridge to put the whipped cream back. Coming to stand beside Belle, his gaze fell upon the cup of hot chocolate. Reaching up to his spice rack, he took hold of the bottle of cinnamon and sprinkled a little of the dusty substance over the whipped cream as he said, "You know Belle, I wouldn't change a thing. That boy is the single most important part of my life now."

"Cinnamon?" Belle inquired, placing the teacup back onto the tray.

Mr. Gold smiled then; a quiet smile that almost reached those deep, sad eyes. "He's a special boy."

Making their way back into the sitting room, Belle set the tea tray down on the coffee table. The boy, Henry, was perched on the sofa with his notebook tightly clasped in his lap, and he was writing in it rigorously with a pen. But when Mr. Gold cleared his throat, Henry paused in his writing to peer up at Belle with a smile.

"Hey," he said, his eyes trailing between Belle and his grandfather, "You're the pretty literary agent that Rumple keeps talking about, aren't you?"

Belle tried to stop herself from laughing, clasping a palm over her lips, but it was no use, "R-r-rumple!?" Turning to Mr. Gold, she felt her lungs squeezing tight. She couldn't help herself! "T-they call you RUMPLE!?"

Mr. Gold's cheeks were beginning to heat, and he moved to look out the large bay window without speaking. From the way that his shoulders were all tensed up, this bothered him a lot more than his cool demeanor would care to admit. With an almost wounded voice, Mr. Gold responded, "He says that it's because of my slightly rumpled appearance."

"Yup," Henry said, "See how his hair always looks like fairies are nesting in it?"

"So this is what I get for working so hard to make your cocoa just the way you like it." Mr. Gold retorted, his back still turned.

"It's hot chocolate," Henry shot back, taking a long slurp, "And I can tell that you burned the milk; don't get so defensive!"

Belle watched Mr. Gold's tense back and smirked. It was true; despite his best efforts, taking the form of tailored suits and shining shoes, the eccentric author did have a slightly rumpled aura about him. It's almost cute, in an endearing kind of way. Belle caught herself the, and with a blush, she called across to the young woman sitting at the piano. "There's tea here, if you like."

The woman turned to her with a smile, and made her way over to the tea tray, "Thank you, Belle. Mr. Gold has told me so much about you."

Mr. Gold's back seemed to tense even more upon hearing this. Belle could almost see a little storm cloud gathering over his head.

"I'm Mary Margaret," The young woman said, calling Belle's attention back to her, "Henry's English teacher. We make these visits once or twice a week, so that Henry's grandfather can coach him in his creative writing projects."

"Oh," Belle said, pouring herself another cup of tea, "I didn't realize that… That's really nice, actually."

"It's completely selfish, I assure you," Mr. Gold said, coming to sit beside Henry again. If he had been blushing, any trace of heat had finally left him in peace. Wrapping an arm around Henry's shoulders, he smiled down at him, "This one writes more complex work than I ever attempted at his age."

Henry beamed back up at his grandfather, and in that moment Belle couldn't help but wonder how a man who was so naturally nurturing towards his grandson could ever have been so far separated from his wife and son. She could feel a warmth when watching Mr. Gold with Henry… his tenderness was something she had never seen in a man before, and had rarely glimpsed with anyone else. What surprised her most was the person that it came from… she would not have guessed that Mr. Gold could be capable of such tenderness, had she not first seen it for herself.

Belle stayed for most of the afternoon, making every excuse that she could to stay longer, she sat in the sitting room and pretended to reread the third quarter of the manuscript, watching over the stack of paper as Mr. Gold spoke at length with his grandson about one of Henry's latest writing assignments, and about junior writing contests in the region that he ought to consider submitting the story to.

When Henry and Mary Margaret had finally gone, the sun was already setting over the trees. Belle shrugged into her long blue overcoat and peered into the sitting room, where Mr. Gold was gathering up the tea tray a second time. Smiling to herself, Belle came into the room and lifted the tea tray for him, carrying it into the kitchen. Mr. Gold hid his smile as he watched her, the setting sun through the bay window settling into a sleepy golden halo around her hair and face. "Thank you, Belle."

"Don't you start making a habit of this," Belle said in a mock scolding tone, "I wouldn't want you thinking that I'm your maid or something."

Mr. Gold laughed a little, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it."

Belle re-emerged in the doorway to the sitting room, her face fresh and relaxed. Standing there now, looking at each other, Belle realized that this was the most at-ease that they had ever been with each other.

Mr. Gold seemed to realize this too, as he hesitantly added, "I'm not unhappy, Miss French, that you don't have anything better to do with your mornings than drink tea with me."

Belle's smile widened, "I'm glad, too." As she turned and opened the door to let herself out, she added, "Keep this up, and you may even get your door back!"

With a laugh, she closed the door behind her and was gone. Mr. Gold watched from the bay window as her back retreated into the oncoming evening, and for the first tie he wondered how she got home, and whether it was a long, cold walk for her. Walking back into the kitchen, he stood in front of the china cabinet and scanned his tea set, until his eyes finally came to rest on the chipped teacup that Belle had dropped on her first visit. Sliding the glass door of the china cabinet open, Mr. Gold carefully removed the teacup from its hiding place. He then walked into the dining room, to the cabinet along the wall below where his wedding picture hung. Placing the cup on the cabinet, he stepped back to admire its new resting place, among some of his favourite framed photographs of his son and grandson. There were no recent photographs of his son, he realized. He would have to ask him for a more recent photograph the next time he saw him. When was that…? Right, that dreadful Gellar Award Night debacle…

All at once, Mr. Gold was looking at the chipped tea cup and thinking about the Gellar Award Night when it hit him… Perhaps the awards night didn't have to be quite so horrible! After all, what would be the harm in asking his literary agent to attend with him? Of course he would be seeing her there, but to actually go out to dinner first, and to arrive together… That would surely make for a more enjoyable evening! Mr. Gold sat down at the dining table, continuing to watch the chipped teacup as his chin came to rest on his palm. She needn't call it a date if that made her uncomfortable… he could just say that he wanted to – what did she call it? – establish a broader communication between them, or something like that.

Mr. Gold was not sure of many things these days, but what he did know was that Belle French was helping him to write again and, more than that, to smile. But now that he had decided to ask her to the awards night with him, there came the difficult part… Now he actually had to ask her. Mr. Gold frowned. He had never been very brave when it came to women.