(Tuesday Evening)

Belle was in a tizzy.

In two days, the Queens of Darkness interview would take place on live international television. Finally, after nearly twenty five years, the world get their answers.

The answers to what happened to Rum.

Since that faithful Monday morning at Granny's, Belle has been driving herself mad over anticipation and excitement, feeling thrilled and terrified all at once. What if the answers she's been waiting for isn't what she expected? What if it is everything she's expected? What will she do then, when all mystery is finally put to rest?

The russet haired woman chewed her lip as she passed her library, shooing glances at her iPhone that sat silently on the checkout counter.

Today Belle was expecting a call from her parents. She last spoke with Papa last week, before the interview's announcement was made. He told her he'd call when he could; he would call when Mum was feeling better.

Just then, like magic, the phone rang. Belle bolted like lightning to the phone, snatching it up as if her life depended on it.

"Hello?" she managed to say, blindly answering.

"Petal!"

It was her papa. Smiling in relief, Belle began walking around the shelves. The library had already closed for the day, so it was just Belle.

"Hey, Papa! How's Mum?"

A pause, and the crinkling of a paper. "Baby!" her mother's worn voice rang through the phone, and Belle couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

Belle and her parents moved from Australia when she was barely done with middle school. They had come for business, or something, but not long after arriving, her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. To put a long story short, her parents live in New York for treatment while Belle moved here to work.

"Mum! How are you feeling—? Oh, have you seen the news lately—!?"

Mum's voice laughed ruefully, weary with exhaustion. "Yes, yes, I have. Exiting, isn't it?"

"I can't stop freaking out! Ooh, exited is an understatement. But, really, how are you? Can I come visit?"

"Baby, you can always visit us. You don't need to ask. And I'm hanging in there…"

Belle and her parents spoke for a good while. She talked about her job and her friends, random things that popped into her head. Books were put away and things tidied up. At some point or another, while Belle was running her fingers across the counter, she noticed a figure walk by the front doors.

It was Mr. Gold. Dressed impeccably, the man spared her a small glance as he passed. Belle smiled softly when his dark sable eyes met hers, and it took a small pinch on her hip to keep her from pouting when he just glowered disapprovingly.

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Petal, you stopped midsentence…Very unlike you. Everything alright?"

"Oh, I did? Yeah, yeah, everything's alright, its just some guy."

A grumble from her father was heard, but her mother cooed softly. "A guy? Tell us! Is he your boyfriend? What's his name?"

Blushing, Belle adamantly denied it as she circled her desk. "There's nothing to tell, Mum. And he's not a boy. He's nearly dad's age. He's just… some guy. I don't know him very well."

"Some guy," Papa groused, "doesn't make my baby girl stop dead in her tracks. Who is this bastard?"

"Maurice!" Mum tutted, making a swatting sound at him. Belle heard a plastic chair scrape tial and a hospital monitor beep. "Don't you want to be a grandfather?"

"Not because of a man who's 'nearly my age'! Belle, you're too young—"

"Twenty five is high time she find her special someone. We won't be around forever."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Yeah, well, at least make sure this guy's not some ax murderer."

"Haha," Belle deadpanned. "He's not my 'special someone', guys. Like I said, I don't know him."

"Oh honey," Mum sang, "a mother knows. Tell us about this man of yours."

The young librarian chewed her lip. How did one describe Mr. Gold? "He's… Scottish."

Her mother squealed. It was no secret that either woman had a thing for accents.

"I don't know his first name, but everyone calls him Mr. Gold. He's the landlord here—not my landlord. But he works as a pawnbroker… and a defense attorney. Um, he walks with a cane, but to be honest, he moves like he's an Olympics runner. Wears suits, all day every day. Dark brown eyes. Longish hair… Mid-forties? Oh, yeah, and he hates me."

Mum made a hum of recognition. Papa bristled, "Forty? Hates you? Why, I ne—"

"Why do you say that, beautiful girl?"

Belle fumed and found herself ranting about it all. "Mr. Gold never visits the library, but I could count on one hand a number of times he's barged in here to tell me off for playing my music too loud; he judges my music choices; he never smiles; he always puts me off when I say anything remotely friendly toward him. He's just so… Ugh, I don't know. I am interested in him, but no matter how many times I try getting somewhat close the man practically growls at me. Oh, and he downright despises Rum and The Queens!"

Her mother grunted. Her father mumbles, "Sounds like a real charmer, petal. When's the wedding?"

"Papa," she deadpanned.

Mum says, "Sweet cheeks. If you honestly feel attracted to this man, enough so that he gets my little chatterbox to speechlessness, you have to do the brave thing. That's what Rum taught us, remember?"

How could Belle forget?

"So, you want me to pursue him? He—"

"If Mr. Gold hasn't explicitly said he dislikes you, or is not interested in you, than you should try. Maybe he's just as nervous around you as you are to him. Maybe acting like an ass hat is his way of handling stress. You don't know until you approach him. Do the brave thing, baby, and bravery will follow."

Belle nodded solemnly, as if her mother could see her now. "Okay."

They talked a little more, mostly with her papa demanding a picture of this "cradle snatcher" so he knows who to lyntch whenever he visits. Belle and Mum tried keeping the RATQOD references to a minimal.

Before they signed off, Belle's mother caught her attention. "Hey, Baby… I just remembered something."

"Yes?" Belle asked, pacing the library still.

"The night we met Rum, he shouted something to us before we left."

"Oh?"

"He said we should come back in a few years with a hot daughter for him."

Belle's squeal of excitement and elation couldn't be kept calm even after saying goodbye to her parents. The fact that Rum, her idol since the day she discovered him, indirectly flirted with her over a course of nearly thirty years was exhilarating. Yes, Belle was definitely obsessed.

Unable to keep herself from it, Belle logged on to her account on the RATQOD fan page's fanfiction site.

To her delight, wickedwitch13 had updated their Rum x Reader story.

~.~.~.~.~

"He comes into the room with a prance
His stance is sure, so sharp and quick,
He's no nance,
He's not France,
He's the trance you cannot understand, lass,
You're too artless for tha',
But look, he's caught your glance,
The dance is so sure,
Oh yeah,
It's so sure,
He invites you to his manse,
He tells you to take the chance,
Kisses the virgin apple hues of your cheeks,
Says he'll know how to care for his lass,
And it's then you realize,
With inexplicable uncertainty,
In the gentle hold of his loving arms,
That he's no prince charming,
No knight in shining armor,
Not one of the boys,
He's the cradle snatcher,
And he's snatched you,
Now baby please don't cry."

"The Cradle-Snatcher", RATQOD

~.~.~.~.~

(Wednesday Afternoon)

"Hello, Mr. Gold?

Belle opened the pawnshop's door with a gentle push, tentatively looking around. The bell above the door rung cheerfully; it was a cute little normalcy, for any store, but for Mr. Gold's, the town beast, it was a painful contrast.

At first, Belle didn't see anyone, but heard the soft strum of a string instrument. The second thing she notices in the soft yellow light of the pawnshop was the large array of knickknacks and ornaments decorating the store. Paintings and a large spinning wheel decorated the walls. Belle approaches one of the glass cases at the counter where priceless jewelry was kept safe inside. Admiring raptly, the russet haired woman wondered why on earth she had never ventured into Mr. Gold's shop before now.

The music stopped almost immediately once Belle called out for Mr. Gold. She heard the shuffling of a man in the backroom—which was hidden behind a curtain—followed by a few colorful curses in a foreign language. The tapping of a cane sounded, and the man himself pushed passed the curtain with a raised eyebrow and visibly irked expression. When his dark sable eyes fell on Belle, however, the small-town tycoon's face fell.

"Miss French. What a surprise."

"Hi, Mr. Gold! I, um, I was wondering—"

Oh fudge. What was Belle wondering? Was she wondering if Mr. Gold truly hated her or not? Wondering if he wanted to go to Granny's with her? Wondering if he wanted to show her that mysterious back room of his and snog like no tomorrow? Why was it she came, again?

"Yes?"

Belle, paralyzed with anxiety, mentally slapped herself a few times to pull her britches up. She refused to show him her nervousness. Do the brave thing.

"Do you have music?"

Mr. Gold blinked owlishly. "Music?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Like, records or instruments… Was that you playing back there?"

To her surprise, the man bristled at that and a soft pink blush bloomed at his cheek bones. But, it was fleeting, and Belle wondered if she even saw it at all, with the low light and all. "I was not playing," Mr. Gold said defensively, hesitating ever so slightly. Belle guiltily relished in that small sign of humanness. "I was tuning it. Nothing more."

"Oh! Well, what are you tuning? I've been looking for an instrument to play, but…"

"There is no music store in Storybrooke…"

"Exactly."

Mr. Gold tapped one long finger on the handle of his cane thoughtfully. His eyes only left hers to stare absently at her black flats. He sighed, and then his gaze returned to hers. "Fine." He beckoned her to follow as he disappeared behind the curtain again. Belle beamed, feeling as if she'd won a million dollars.

She trailed behind him with eager eyes. The backroom was filled with all sorts of fascinating items like in the front, but instead of a glass case counter, there was a work desk, a cot, shelves, and a set of draws that looked as if they once belonged to a messy painter. Pungent odors of chemicals and spice gave her sinuses a good knock out, and she winced at the dizzying effect.

"Forgive me for the smell. I do quite a bit of restoration. I assure the smell is normal."

Belle nodded as she worked to get used to the smell. Her eyes finally land on the cot, and what was lying on it.

It was a harp guitar.

Belle gasps softly, never having actually seen one in real life before. She walks closer and examines the elegant shape of it.

The guitar itself was made of dark, gleaming hallow wood that shined in the lamplight. Its first neck was long and black, with beautiful designs beneath the strings. The longer, curved harp neck beside the guitar neck was hallow, with a heart shaped head. It was breathtaking in the least possible words.

"It's beautiful," Belle gave the heartfelt commented, longing to pluck a string, despite being near clueless in the music playing industry. She loved music, yes, but had never actually taken to playing an instrument besides the harmonica or kazoo.

"Feel free to examine it," Mr. Gold permitted, walking silently beside her like a prowling lion as Belle beamed at him, sitting down on the little bed. She felt a bit silly, to be honest. It was just a guitar. Well, a harp guitar, but it wasn't a baby.

The young librarian sat it in her lap and put her arms into position. She calmly strummed a few strings. It sounded lovely.

"You play?"

The Scotsman's question caught Belle off guard.

She laughs softly. "No, to be honest. I tried picking up the guitar in high school, but I chickened out when I discovered I'd get calluses. Besides, I have butter fingers!"

Mr. Gold hummed distantly, and leaned on his cane before him, clutching the handle with both hands. "Are you interested in buying?"

And just like that, the happy moment was broken. Belle stopped fiddling with the multiple strings and looked up. Of course he'd ask that. Mr. Gold was a seller, and Belle was the potential customer. Most definitely, it was why the man was suddenly civil.

"No, just… I'm sorry. Thank you for showing me, Mr. Gold." Belle laid the harp guitar back down and arose, brushing the wrinkles in her blue sundress down. "Can you play?"

Mr. Gold glowered again. "I told you I was tuning, not pla—"

"One has to know how an instrument works in order to fix it, right?"

Those dark sable eyes shifted downward. "One does," he admitted with a sleepy sigh. Belle smiled at that.

Belle was beginning to trudge on dangerous waters. A slightly flirtatious note was growing to her tone of voice, and Belle wasn't exactly sure where she intended whatever "this" between her and Mr. Gold was. What Belle did know was that Mr. Gold didn't look like he wanted her to fall of the face of the earth—for right now, at least. She felt a bit gleeful for that. She wanted to relish it. She didn't want to leave the shop to have Mr. Gold growl at her again the next time they spoke. Belle knew it was possible business that kept the two from arguing. So, the librarian decided to press on that, hoping for the best as she temped the man of her fancy with what he did best: business.

Toped with a flirtatious cherry.

"Then, can you show me? Maybe I'll rethink my choice of buying or not if I can see that it works," Belle says, toying with a curl of her hair.

Mr. Gold looked briefly hunted. However, he leaned his cane against the foot of the cot as he took Belle's previous seat.

He takes the harp guitar into his lap.

At first, he strummed a few strings absently in a tuneless song. Belle, entrapped by the possibility that Mr. Gold truly doesn't hate music, takes the physical closeness they shared to her advantage. His long elegant fingers strum artfully, skillfully. Calluses covers his fingertips, but they seem soft enough, smoothed down through gentle, sure work as of late.

It didn't take long for the pawnbroker to leave his tuneless strumming. And before Belle could process what was happening, Mr. Gold breaks into an actually melody. It was "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd.

And he plays it like goddamn pro.

Belle's jaw dropped halfway to China. She stared at the Scotsman sitting calmly on the cot, seemingly peaceful as he expertly strummed the familiar song out on the strings, tapping the wood occasionally, almost affectionately.

It bewitched Belle like a charm, grasping her attention and her heart. She swayed with the music, lost in the smooth notes he plucked. As he plucked strings, the music plucked her soul. It was like pure gold.

No, it was like magic. The young librarian was already smitten beyond words.

She thought it was simple attraction. Mr. Gold had an accent unlike anyone else in Storybrooke, where everyone was either born here or grew up here for most of their lives. She knew nothing of the man besides rumors of him, and that he wore suits like no body else.

But this was not simple attraction, not now, not with this enigma of a man playing the harp guitar like his heart and soul was being poured into every note.

In this moment, this magical moment, Belle realized that she was mindlessly, hopelessly in love.

And then the magic was over.

Mr. Gold stopped playing, and the spell it was casting over Belle was wrenched away—violently. It felt like someone just ripped her heart out. It leaves her cold and empty.

"Does it live up to your expectation, Miss French? If so, it's price is $850."

Yep, the spell was definitely over.

Belle blinked awake. She met Mr. Gold's indifferent gaze with a lax expression. It wouldn't do to weep in his shop. He'd probably snap at her for "scaring" away business. But, then again, who came to the pawnshop anyway besides the man himself?

She nodded but declined his offer. "That was beautiful, Mr. Gold. But, I don't think I'll get much use out of it."

"If you say so."

Belle smiled tightly and turned to leave the backroom.

To leave the pawnshop.

To leave the man she had literally just fallen in love with.

To leave the man she would never, ever have because—clearly, he had zero interest in her.

Mr. Gold trailed her, close behind, and Belle relished his warmth and his scent one last time before departure. Her space became void and cold again as they put space between them. "Maybe you can show me again another time, Mr. Gold."

"Yes. Another time."

~.~.~.~.~

(Thursday Evening)

Storm and flood warnings had been playing all morning and noon. Traffic was, by sure, terrible. Water flooded the streets like miniature raging rivers, flowing over gutters and drain ditches.

And, of course, Belle had to make a last-minute decision to visit the store. A half-hour before the interview started.

Rain poured down from the heavens as Belle bolted from the marketplace, holding her flimsy umbrella while struggling with her grocery bags. The storm had worsened since she left her apartment, and it watered and fed the panic going within her like weeds. Belle was getting soaked, and her umbrella wasn't helping her as much as it hindered her.

By the time reached her car, she was shivering violently. Sniveling in frustration, she tosses her bags in the passenger seat before situating herself. The umbrella was battered too badly to use again.

Her car had an untimely decision to act out. The young librarian cursed very unladylike as she cranked and cranked and cranked the engine. Finally, after what seemed like years, the car burst to life. Belle drove off, hardly taking enough time to buckle herself. Her only concern was to get home. Getting to the TV.

Which, even given the situation, was a foolish excuse not to watch the roads properly. Belle was positive she had broken a few laws by the time she got home, and all but flew out her cat to get inside.

The television was already on, as she'd left it. Belle settled into her small living room with a happy sigh. Thank goodness she got here on time. The interview hadn't started yet, but the little countdown timer on the corner of the screen was almost up—just five more minutes.

The storm warnings on the news channel didn't go unnoticed. It was important to know, she knew, about possible misgivings with the weather. She just prayed that a blackout or power outage didn't occur.

Belle placed everything that she needed around her; on the coffee table, couch. A few small tubs of dip were arranged on the table, with two large bags of tortilla and potato chips sitting beside her on the couch. She was just snapping open a nice ice-cold root beer when a soft knock came from her apartment door. It was soft enough that Belle wondered if she heard anything at all.

She glanced at the time. The interview would begin soon, but not this very minute.

Sighing, Belle stood up and went to the door. She peeks out the peephole. And then she gasps.

"Mr. Gold." Belle stated bemusedly, opening the door to reveal a very drenched town tycoon. The man was posed to walk away, but turned his head at her greeting to give her a slightly embarrassed/surprised expression. The young librarian suddenly felt very contious about what she was wearing—a tight faded RATQOD band t-shirt and booty shorts.

"Evening, Miss French."

"Evening. What—Is something the matter?"

"Yes. Someone has slashed my tires, and God has decided to give our most exquisite town a bath. Consequently, my shop is on ground level, and the flood…Well, my fault for not having efficient weatherboards. " Mr. Gold trailed off, raising a steady, willowy hand to gesture sadly. He exposed a golden ornament ring on that hand that put much more emphasis on his wealth and statues than it should.

Belle shook herself out of her thoughts, opening the door wider. Of course Mr. Gold couldn't go driving home carless. In this weather, no one could even come out to fix said car or give Mr. Gold a ride unless it was an absolute emergency. Plus, given Mr. Gold's reputation, Belle doubted he'd get a willing helping hand anytime soon. And who would stay in a shop that was or was going to get flooded? Concluding, Mr. Gold had to swallow his pride to get a little shelter. Belle, having an apartment above the library, and possibly the closest in rang, was logically his first approach.

Belle smiled at him. The bitterness of yesterday hadn't quite left her, but Belle would never deny anyone, not even her worse enemy, a place to stay during nasty weather. "Come in, I'll give you shelter from the storm."

The businessman jerked as if she'd slapped him. He gave her a narrowed eyed glower and grumbled. It would probably be intimidating, but with him looking like a drowned rat, Belle was trying not to laugh. "Is that supposed to be funny?" he snapped.

Belle blinked in genuine confusion. What had she said now to offend this man!? "Excuse me?"

Mr. Gold quirked an eyebrow as his scowl faded into a sharp incredulous look. "The song."

"What song?"

He raised a hand and gestured figures in the air, giving a look of genuine puzzlement. "You know…. The Dylan song."

"Who's Dylan?"

Mr. Gold's expression changed yet again. Now, he looks at her like she's grown a second head. The man opens his mouth to speak but pauses, shutting his mouth. He humphed at her before mumbling a quick, "Never mind. Are you going to let me in or not?"

Belle, a little confused, nodded and stepped aside to permit the tycoon to enter. He gave his surroundings a deeply suspicious and doubtful glower as he stepped inside. "I thought the library was below your apartment, not in it."

"Haha," she laughed, smiling as she closes the door and locks it. "I just like to read. A lot. And these are all my own books. Do you want to get cleaned up while I find some fresh clothes? The bathroom is down the hall."

Mr. Gold frowned. "Miss French, I asked you for shelter. Not room and board."

Belle waves her hand, unfazed. "Same thing in my opinion. Besides, I'm not going to let you drip rainwater all over the place!" The man scowls at her again, but nods a stiff thank-you before slipping away to lock himself in the WC. The young librarian takes the time to scamper about her apartment like a madwoman on a mission, trying to make it the least bit presentable.

Belle was anticipating a quiet night for crying and fangirling. Not having her crush spend the night.

After, Belle goes to find a towel, the biggest pair of sweats she owns, and a loose band t-shirt. She goes to the bathroom's door and gives a loud knock, hearing the water run.

"I got some clothes and a towel!"

"Just set it outside the door."

She does as he requests and rushes to her own room, where she fixes her attire.

A cheery announcement from a male news reporter makes Belle forget about her unexpected guest for a brief moment. She dashes away with a squeal, throwing herself down on the couch, cursing as she'd forgotten about the open bags of chips. They spilled onto the floor, and she frantically cleans up as the program started.

Tonight, Belle would finally know what happened to Rum—the man responsible for her very existence. Tonight, Belle had a chance to get a little closer to the man she's fallen head over heels for.

Belle was not going to sleep anytime soon.