tinuviel-undomiel prompted: Belle hears Gold singing a song and compliments his beautiful voice.

A/N: A HUGE shoutout to tinuviel-undomiel! I needed prompts, and you gifted me with them! Thanks a bunch! :)

At the start of the week, Belle was refreshed and ready to start her day. The weekend prior was rocky and wild; flood damage was evident throughout the town like an unwelcome full-body bruise. Help, however, was not lacking, and every available helping hand was at the ready and waiting. Storybrooke made a speedily recovery from the storm, to put a long story short.

Today things would be going back to normal. Belle would reopen the library, Granny's B&B back to its former glory, the nuns to their convent—even Leroy was returning to work today.

Invigorated by her thoughtful outlook this morning, she gathered her things so she could run down to the library below, and did so with a soft smile on her face. She was wearing her favorite blue dress with a beige belt, black flats and a delicate rose-gold necklace. It would be a good day, she decided, and she would not let silly things like her crush's indifference or unwelcome flirtation from jerks get to her.

She cheered, "Good morning!" to each and everyone of her patrons, who smiled back brightly as they entered her library throughout the day. Everything went smoothly that morning, with her usual peeps coming and going, checking out or returning books. It left her feeling satisfied with the day's work, and she hummed to the tune of "The Tragedy of True Love" by RATQOD as she puttered down an aisle, pushing her book cart along as she returned the tomes back to their rightful places.

Distracted by her current task and the peppy song whispered from her lips, Belle did not notice the figure looming behind her until the tiny hairs on the back of her neck shot up. The creeping feeling of being watched filled her gut, and she turned around with wary eyes.

A strange young man was behind her, younger by a few years, posed to touch her in a way of getting her attention. When they made eye contact, he smiled boyishly and put his hand down. "Hi," he said, "but I couldn't help but notice the song you're singing. Rum and the Queens, right?"

"Oh, yes!" Belle said, her uneasy feeling vanishing into pure delight. "I'm a ridiculously big fan."

It seemed like no one in Storybrooke knew anything about RATQOD. It was odd, since during their short time of fame in the music industry they were widely known. Almost like the Beatles, though RATQOD was more alternative punk than anything else.

The boy was taller than Belle, and had a few piercings along his face. He had shaggy blonde hair that was dyed with purple tips, and he wore a black T-shirt with a faded image of RATQOD's main album—a black-and white photo of Ursula and Cruella sitting back-to-back, with Mal kneeling behind him wearing her dragon mask, and Rum sitting impishly in front of them with that devilish glint in his eyes.

Immediately recognizing a kindred spirit, she leapt up and beamed with excitement, and he did the same as well, even clutching her hands in his own. "Oh my god, I can't believe there is like, actually another RATQOD in public! I thought it was some huge secret!"

"I know!" squealed Belle, letting him go. "I'm literally the only one here who likes them. You don't look familiar—are you passing through? No body visits Storybrooke."

"Yeah, actually," he said, smiling widely. In the light, and in both of their visible elation at finding another nerd apart of their little fandom. "Headed up to Boston for the convention."

"Convention?"

His happy expression melted away into shock. "You don't know? The Rock-n-Roll Convention. Rumor has it that the Queens will be there!"

"Get out!" Belle exclaimed, gabbing the young man's hand. Too thrilled and shocked to care, she pulled him to her desk, where she backed him against the corner. "What convention? When? How did—"

Chuckling, he said, "It's happening in two weeks. After the blackout, the Queen said they would try and make up for the let-down. A couple of my buddies in New York said a huge event was taking place at the upcoming music convention. They definitely implied the Queens. I.D.K. about you, but I'm seriously hoping for a performance from them!"

Though Belle felt silly for being a fan who wasn't up to date, she couldn't let herself feel guilty. The blackout was an obvious reason for her lack of involvement, and baking and helping Storybrooke get over the storm damage had taken up a lot of her time… Not to mention a certain silverfox across the street. All in all, Belle had not been keeping up with the RATQOD fandom.

"Oh. My. God." Belle gasped. Impulsively, she grasped his wrists and leaned in close. "I don't know how I've missed this. You have to give me more information about this music convention you amazingly beautiful, wonderful man—"

"Miss French."

Belle yelped in surprise and let go of the younger male, and spun around to face none other than Mr. Gold, who was standing in front of her desk staring at her and her companion.

He glowered at them both with unreadable and hard eyes, and a small, thin frown upon his lips. The Scotsman held several books in his arms, which had pictureless covers and worn spines. His silvery brown hair fell to his shoulders, wavy and thick as she remembered, and overall groomed and well-put together. He wore the same red tie he had on the day they met, and she could have sworn she smelled something akin to men's cologne about him. In Belle's opinion, Gold always looked nice, but today he was especially so.

Pinning her with dark sable eyes, he muttered, "I'd think that snogging should be reserved for afterhours… and behind closed doors."

Immediately, an embarrassed blush bloomed across her face, burning her eyes and ears. A strange sense of panic filled her gut, nearly rendering her of words, but once her racing thoughts caught up to her she exclaimed, "M-Mr. Gold! I didn't see you come in! Are you here to check out or—"

"No, no," he said, sniffing as he turned his face away from her. "None of that nonsense. I came to drop this off." Gold, his expression not changing, unceremoniously dropped his load of books onto her desk. They landed with a bang, dust flying as the little tower of volumes lost balance and spilled across the desktop. Belle flinched, and held back a passionate spiel to explain herself.

Yet, why should she explain herself? She'd done nothing wrong. This young man she was interrogating was someone she'd just met, despite having cornered him behind her desk, and by his dress and hand motions, this blonde young man was openly gay. That thought didn't sooth her sudden burst of anxiety, and she still felt the need to explain her platonic relations with her new friend.

"Um—" Before she could get a word out, Gold cut in smoothly, effortlessly, and tipped his head to her in a impassive farewell.

"Old books I have no use for. Have a good day, Miss French," he said, and then left before she could chase after him.

The young man's name was Nicki, and he managed to give her some more details on the convention before he had to leave with his boyfriend. The three of them chatted for a while, eventually swapping numbers for their shared love of Rum and the Queens. She was still overwhelmed by the growing re-awareness for RATQOD when the nice young couple left, and by her terse encounter with Gold. She decided to close early for the day.

The books Gold had given her—no, disposed of upon her—were first-addition classics. Belle, having locked up before the sun went down, was already on the verge of tears by the little misunderstanding that took place here. Yet again she felt a choking swell of emotion in her chest and throat, squeezing her throat muscles. Gulping, she placed dusty copies of Clarissa, The Woman in White, Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations, The Scarlet Letter, Birds of America, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, For Whom The Bell Tolls, and The Illustrated Man into the library's backroom to be dealt with later. They were all in excellent condition, not to mention brilliant books in and of themselves. Belle had read Great Expectations twice around, and she adored everything by the Brontë sisters—and who didn't know anything about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

Having new books always thrilled her, and she paced the library several times until she couldn't pace anymore. She wanted to run to Gold and thank him for the books, but shame held her back. This angered her, frustrated her to the core, and ruffled all of her feathers. Belle finally settled on slinking back to her apartment and calling her parents to see how they were doing, taking the new books with her.

"The library's doing fine," she said, eating ice cream out of the carton, barefoot and emotionally seeped in self-misery. "Met another RATQODer today… There's going to be this huge music convention in Boston in two weeks. I would go, but I don't think Mayor Mills will let me off work for that long."

"That's stinky," Belle's mother sighed on the other end. She heard the sound of a rumbling machine, and possibly wind, and checked it off to the hospital monitors and an open window. It sounded like her mother was feeling better, and Belle smiled because it comforted her beyond words. Moe had left to go to the cafeteria, according to Colette, just before Belle called. "Can't take a sick day for a few days then?"

"Haha, okay Mum, I'll just plan to get the flu two weeks in advance."

"Mhmm… Now, enough idle talk," Colette said, voice lowering to a serious tone. "Tell me about this man of yours."

"W-what?" Belle stuttered.

"Sweetie, it's just us chickens here. I would like to know a thing or two about the man you're hung over."

"I'm not—"

"Young lady, don't act like I can't hear it in your voice. Don't think I can't hear you eating Ben & Jerry's either."

Guiltily, Belle put the small container of cookie dough ice cream down. "Something really stupid happened today."

"What kind of stupid?"

"Ugh, just a dumb misunderstanding. The guy I met today, well, we were talking pretty close and against my desk, and suddenly Gold walks in and—and says 'snogging should be for afterhours'. I've never been more frustrated in my life."

"Hmm…"

"And then he dumped this huge pile of books with me!" Belle picked up Birds of America, and with care flicked through the delicate pages of illustration. "I've got a book here that's probably illegal for me to own, it's that bloody expensive."

"What did he do after?"

"He left. Said "have a good day, Miss French", in that stupid accent of his and left. Just left. What do I even do—? I mean, he basically saved me from getting molested this past weekend-"

"What?!"

"Some guy name Keith. Gold stopped him from hurting me."

"Oh baby, baby, baby," Colette said, her voice tired and weary, but love shining through her pain. "This man... Oh, this man. I already give you my blessing. He obviously cares about you! And how many times must I teach you this? Do the b—"

"Brave thing and bravery will flow… I know, mama, believe me, I know."

Belle felt absolutely ridiculous.

Here she was, yet again, dressed way too careful to just thank somebody for books, standing in front of Gold's pawnshop, and filled with a mix of emotions that fought and swirled within her.

She swallowed, though her mouth was dry, and stared at the handle of his shop. Chiding herself for feeling embarrassed, but determined to show her true appreciation for his act of kindness from the time he saved her from getting, quite likely, raped, and from the books this morning.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the front door.

She carefully slipped inside. Blue eyes immediately arrested by the fascinating items within Gold's shop, she did not step inside with loud steps, rather she tiptoed in, as if one big step could shatter the glass mobiles on display.

The sun shining in her eyes, and the dusty air of the shop, she prepared to speak out and announce her arrival, for the bell above the door had not made any sound or movement within the shop to suggest Gold had heard her.

It was then she heard the singing.

"Love, let me sleep tonight on your couch…"

Puzzled, Belle's interest shifted from Gold's antiques toward the backroom, still covered by a curtain for privacy.

"And remember the smell of the fabric, Of your simple city dress…"

Gold was singing. Singing! Amazed and shocked and stunned, Belle crept to the backroom, where she peeked open the curtain to pear inside.

"Oh, that was so real…"

The small town tycoon was hunched over his worktable, tweaking at a silver pocket watch that gleamed in the yellowish lamplight above him. His lips moved softly as he sang, his voice a low timbre. Something about his voice sparked something akin to déjà vu in Belle, but she was so engrossed with this extraordinary new side of Gold that all she could focus on was him.

Why do you keep giving me reasons to love you harder? She thought dreamily.

She must have made a sound, or said something, because Gold abruptly stopped singing and swung his head upward, meeting her gaze almost instantly. With a muffled gasp, his eyes widened significantly and he bolted upward, his chair shoved backward with a loud screech of it scrapping the floor. He did not make a smooth get up, and Belle cringed in sympathy as Gold's head made sharp contact with the lamp, nearly knocking it to the floor in his haste. He stumbled to a standing position, but limped away from the worktable, still baring the same feral look in his eyes like a fearful wild animal.

He hadn't taken his cane, and visibly winced as he realized he left his stick by the table. Belle, having seen enough of his troubles, took pity and marched over with a surprising amount of grace and took his cane. Handing it to him, pointing the handle in his direction, she said, "I didn't mean to startle you," hoping to rid the wild-eyed look from him.

Gold composed himself quickly, and wiped his hands down his sides and front as if to rid wrinkles off his flawless suit. Sniffing, he replied, "You should make sound, Miss French, when approaching me." The man snatched his cane from her, glaring daggers in her direction.

"Um, okay?"

She watched as he limped to the other side of the room, visibly trying to be as far away from her as possible. Logic told her that he was indeed pissed at her for intruding on his privacy, and sneaking up on him, but really, his shop was always open, and anybody could waltz in at any given moment. Then again, Belle had not seen many walk into his tiny yet remarkable little shop besides the mayor or some desperate soul seeking a money loan or a rent extension (of which was rarely, if ever, given. Belle was glad he wasn't her landlord). For now Belle kept her distance, and watched with inner wretchedness for Gold looked quite distressed by her presence, and how he breathed raggedly, as if trying to calm himself but having significant difficulty, was equally bothering to her as well. Gold was going to be alright, right?

"I suggest you knock next time," he said once his breath was back. He began to fiddle with something on a shelf, back turned toward her. "Or open the door hard enough to signal the bell."

She pressed her lips together in a thin white line. "The bell did go off, but you were singing… you have a beautiful voice, Mr. Gold."

He sharply glared at her over his shoulder.

"Sorry, but it's true. Have you ever thought about joining a choir?"

"A choir?" He hissed, as if the very notion offended him and his ancestors. "You—" his eyes flickered up and down her figure, making Belle feel hot and in the spotlight all of a sudden. Gold took a deep breath and let it out noisily. With a noticible limp, he sulked to the front room of his shop, beckoning her to come. Belle followed without a word.

"What can I help you with, dearie?" Gold asked her, returning to his spot behind the cash register. He folded his hands together over the handle of his cane. It was obvious, in the young librarian's eyes, that he was making great efforts to appear put-together, but there was a twitch in one of his eyes, and fingers were red from how hard he squeezed I frighten him that badly?

"Um, well, I wanted to thank you for the books—"

"Shouldn't you be sharing them with your young man?"

"My—?" Belle's brain rattled around for the meaning of his words. "I don't have a young man."

His eyes zeroed in on hers, pinning her with his judgmental stare. With a mocking laugh, he said, "Oh, so you just go around screwing any man who will indulge your fantasies?"

Bitter chagrin flushed her pale face, but anger was there too, and Belle felt herself begin to fume at his brash behavior. This would not be the first time Gold had done this to her before. It still hurt, though.

"That young man, who was only twenty, is my new friend. His name is Nicki. He's here with his young man."

Gold's eyes flickered downward to her belt. "His… young man," he echoed.

"Yes."

"So, you—"

"I was fangirling with him, Mr. Gold. Over Rum and the Queens."

"Ah. Fangirling." He deadpanned, as if that answered every question in the universe.

"I'm single."

His eyes shifted back to hers. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I'm single. I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Well, alright then..."

"Mhmm."

Gold's sable eyes became shifty, then, and he turned away from her to face the shelves behind him. He was very quick with his fidgety hands. "Well, that's good. I mean, for you. I mean, good for the library. Your business. Relationships are fickle things! Young women like you shouldn't—I mean—Boys are nothing but trouble—"

Belle's heart filled with affection. Every ounce of her anger toward him subsided into nothingness, replaced by her love. Cheeks still burning, and her lips stretched into a wide, toothy smile, she says, "I couldn't agree more, Mr. Gold. I have always preferred older men. After all, I'm still saving myself for my soulmate Rum."

To her alarm, Gold let out a broken gasp mixed with a whine. He suddenly reached up to the shelf and grabbed a small vintage ceramic egg, and began to be very interested in it. "That is completely preposterous, Miss French."

"How many times must I ask you to call me Belle?" She laughed at his poorly concealed fluster. "And I'm joking. That ship's already sailed. I think I lost my virginity in the back of a SUV in high school. Pretty sure his name was Will."

She heard him go very quiet. "You… you think?"Gold's voice lowered considerably, head turned at a 90 degree angle to his left shoulder.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Sorry, just in a joking mood…" Belle lied. "But, like I said, I'm here to thank you for the books. That was very thoughtful of you."

Gold shrugged his shoulder, still refusing to turned back toward her, but he was indeed looking at her, now. "I was being honest. They took up too much space, and I know they will have better chances of survival with you… Though they will most likely be lost in the mess of your establishment."

Belle couldn't keep in the deep, throaty laugh at that

The song Gold was singing is "So Real" by Jeff Buckly! I do not own it!