Sleepless in Storybrooke Chapter two, an once upon a time fanfic

Hello again and welcome to chapter two of Sleepless in Storybrooke. Thank you so much for reading and to those of you who took the time to leave a comment: it's very much appreciated.

Just to let you know, these 0 mark a change of scene/viewpoint.

Again, I don't own anything and I'm not making any money from this: it's purely for my own amusement, and hopefully yours :)

And now on to the chapter. Comments/observations welcome :)

Sleepless in Storybrooke

Chapter two

'Are you ok?' Ruby asked as she wiped down the counter where Belle was sitting staring into space. She'd been quiet since she got back from her dad's the day before and Ruby was worried.

Belle looked up at Ruby and opened her mouth to speak, but Ruby held up her hand.

'If you say you're fine one more time, I'm cutting you off,' she threatened, motioning to Belle's iced tea, which she loved and usually drank multiple glasses of.

'I'm sorry, Ruby, I'm just a little distracted.'

'Your dad didn't bug you about Greg, did he?'

Belle shook her head. 'No, he didn't even mention him. I was just thinking about something that happened before I got to Dad's: on the drive down.' But she didn't say any more and Ruby was curious.

'So, what did happen?'

'It's silly,' Belle said, shaking her head again.

'If it's got you distracted, it's not silly,' Ruby said seriously.

Belle smiled a little, grateful for her friend's understanding. 'You didn't happen to hear that show Conscience Call on Christmas Eve, did you?'

Ruby shook her head. 'I went out with Peter right after you left: why?'

'It's just: there was a man on talking about love. It…' she trailed off, not knowing how to explain her feelings. 'Forget it: I told you it was silly.'

Ruby grabbed her friend's hand. 'My shift's over in ten minutes: we'll go grab some snacks on the way home and when we get there you can tell me everything.'

Belle smiled. This was why she loved Ruby: she was so understanding and she didn't make judgements.

'I just felt like I knew him, like I understood him,' Belle said, having explained about the man on the radio and what he'd said about love. 'Am I crazy?' she asked.

Ruby looked thoughtful. 'If you were anyone else, I'd say yes, but, no, no, you're not crazy, Belle.' She smiled.

'Really?'

'Really. Maybe you should write to this guy.'

'What? I don't even know his full name or his address.'

'So you write care of Hopper's show.'

'Sleepless in Storybrooke care of Dr Archie Hopper?'

'Mhm, and then Hopper'll forward it on.' Somehow, Ruby knew this was something Belle needed to do, and she wasn't letting it go: her friend deserved to be happy, and, she didn't know how she knew, but she knew this was Belle's path to happiness.

Belle thought for a moment. 'But what would I even write?'

'Write what you felt when you heard him talk about love.'

Belle stared at her friend. 'You really think I should do this, don't you?'

'Sure I do. Look, Belle, I know this isn't normally how men and women meet, but from the way you just talked about this guy, it sounds like you've gotta see where your feelings take you. What is it you always say about bravery?'

'Do the brave thing and bravery will follow,' Belle recited, remembering her mother's advice from so long ago.

'Yeah, so follow your own advice. It can't hurt to try, can it?'

Belle smiled. No: no, it couldn't hurt to try.

About a week later, Tristan Gold arrived home to a ton of letters and his son grinning like a loon.

'What's all this?' he asked, eyeing the piles of letters.

'They're all for you, Papa,' Bae said excitedly.

Tristan picked one of the letters up. 'Sleepless in Storybrooke care of Dr Archie Hopper? You gave them our address?'

'They called and asked for it,' Bae explained.

'Of course,' Tristan said, rolling his eyes.

'Can I help you open them?' Bae asked, dying to dive in.

'I don't think that's such a good idea, Bae.'

'Why not?'

'Because there could be anything in these letters: there are a lot of strange people out there, son.'

'But you might find one you really like,' Bae protested, 'and then you could meet in person and fall in love and–'

'Bae, that's not how you fall in love with someone,' his father interjected.

'How then?' Bae demanded.

'I don't know, you…you see someone and if you like them, you ask them out and get to know them.'

'You can get to know someone from a letter,' Bae insisted, not letting it go.

'Bae, I'm not gonna spend my time poring through hundreds of letters: I've got much more important things to do,' Tristan said impatiently.

Bae glared mutinously at his father. 'Fine,' he snapped, turning and running up the stairs to his room, slamming the door when he got there.

Tristan called after his son, but in the end figured it was best to let him cool down. He sighed and glared at the piles of letters he had absolutely no intention of reading.

'So, what's up with Bae?' David asked, as he handed Tristan a glass of Scotch the following evening. The Golds were having dinner with David and Mary Margaret Nolan and their daughter Emma, and Bae had been sullen all evening. He was now in the den watching television with Emma.

David and Mary Margaret were Tristan's oldest friends: they'd seen him through a lot, and he knew he could trust them.

He sighed. 'It's a long story.'

'So, start at the beginning,' Mary Margaret ordered, smiling, only wanting to help.

So he did, and told them everything.

'Bae called a radio station?' David asked, smiling.

'Never mind about that!' his wife hissed, staring at Tristan: 'you really said all that about love?'

He looked a little sheepish. 'I'm afraid I did, yeah.'

Mary Margaret looked tearful. 'Tristan, do you have any idea how beautiful that is?'

'Here we go,' David said, amused at his wife's expression. Mary Margaret always got very emotional on the subject of love.

Mary Margaret elbowed him in the side. 'Be quiet, David,' she commanded. 'Did it never occur to you that those letters might be people connecting with and responding to what you said?' she asked Tristan. 'You should at least look at them: you never know what you might find.'

The letters were still piled on and around the coffee table in the living room. When he and Bae got home, he asked his son to follow him. Bae obeyed mutely, trailing behind his father into the living room. Tristan picked up a packet of letters and tossed them towards his boy.

'Let's see what these are all about then,' he said.

Bae's eyes lit up and he grinned at his father.

'You were right, Papa, some of these are a little weird,' Bae admitted, making a face at the letter he was reading.

'Aye, but some of them aren't that bad,' his father conceded.

'Did you find any you liked?' Bae asked hopefully.

'I'm still not convinced a letter is the best way to meet someone, son,' Tristan said.

Bae nodded a little sadly, but maybe he could still convince him.

'It's time for bed, son,' Tristan said: 'school tomorrow.'

'Can I take some of the letters up with me?'

Tristan was a little bemused at his son's interest, but he agreed, watching as Bae gathered up a pile of unopened letters.

He spotted one on the floor by his foot and picked it up.

'Hey, here's one for the two of us,' he said, handing it to Bae.

'Sleepless and Son,' Bae read: 'cool! Night, Papa.'

'Good night, son.'

Bae had opened all but one of the letters and, so far, none had interested him. There was still the one that was addressed to both of them, though, so he opened that one and began to read.

Dear Sleepless and Son,

I've never written a letter like this in my life… but isn't that what people always say about writing letters to strangers? Sorry, let me start again. My name is Belle French and I'm originally from Australia, now living in Boston. I love books: I'm a librarian, so it kind of comes with the territory.

My friend Ruby convinced me to write to you. I kind of have this philosophy: do the brave thing and bravery will follow, so I'm doing the brave thing in hopes that bravery will follow. Sorry, I'm rambling.

Anyway, the real reason I'm writing is because I wanted to tell you that I felt the love between you, and that it made me smile. I also wanted to tell you, Tristan, that it felt like you were reading my thoughts when you talked about love. I've always thought that way about love: that it's a mystery to be uncovered. I've never heard anyone use those exact words before and it felt like…I don't know exactly how to describe it. Is it too weird if I say fate or magic?

I'll be in New York on Valentine's Day. I've been there before, but never seen the view from the top of the Empire State Building. I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you'd like to, we could meet there. I know it's an odd suggestion and it sounds crazy, but I can't help feeling that I know you somehow, both of you.

Well, I'll say goodbye and hope to see you in New York on Valentine's Day. If not, then good luck to you, Sleepless and Son: I hope you find happiness.

Yours, very sincerely

Belle

Bae smiled at the letter. This was it, the one he'd been waiting for. Now all he had to do was convince his father to take a trip to New York so they could meet Belle.

'Papa, read this,' Bae called, going into his father's room next morning.

'Bae, can we do this later? I'm running late.'

'It's the letter that was for the two of us,' Bae said, not paying attention to his father's harried demeanour. 'Her name's Belle French: she's Australian.'

'Australian? They get Radio FTL in Australia?'

'Well, she lives in Boston,' Bae clarified. 'She wants to meet us, Papa.'

Tristan sighed. 'Bae…'

'In New York, at the top of the Empire State Building, on Valentine's Day: I think we should go.'

Tristan looked at his son. 'I don't think so, son.'

'Why not?'

'Because she could be anyone.'

'She's a librarian,' Bae said. 'She likes books, like you.'

Tristan sighed again. 'Bae, I don't have time for this right now: I really am running late. I'll talk to you tonight, alright? Now, get going: Mary Margaret will be here in a few minutes to take you to school. Don't make her and Emma late.' With that, he grabbed his briefcase and left, not noticing the bereft look on his son's face.

'Hello, Tristan.'

He stopped walking and turned around slowly. As if this day wasn't crazy enough, he thought, staring at the woman. 'Well, if it isn't Cora Mills.'

The poised and perfectly polished woman approached him, smiling with too-red lips in a way that couldn't be called warm. 'How long's it been, Tristan: five years?'

'Closer to six,' he told her, 'so what brings you here, Cora?'

'I wanted to see you,' she said softly, looking into his eyes: 'hoped we could catch up. Let me buy you lunch?'

'What do you want?' he asked suspiciously.

She raised a hand and placed it on his chest. He wanted to move away, but he'd always had a bit of a weakness where she was concerned. She was beautiful, but cold, and once he'd been the one who could melt the ice in her, but it always came back, and eventually he'd realised that there could never be anything real between them.

'I just want to catch up,' she said softly, smiling at him in that cold yet seductive way. 'I just want to talk, Tristan: anything else that happens is entirely up to you.'

A few days later, Belle arrived home to a surprise.

'Mulan?'

The woman with the long dark hair turned and smiled. 'Hey, Belle.'

Belle smiled and hugged her friend. 'What are you doing here? I thought we weren't going to see you till February!'

'I called her,' Ruby said, coming to join them. 'I asked her for some help.'

'Is everything alright, Ruby?' Belle asked, well aware of the line of work Mulan was in.

'It's not for me,' Ruby said quickly: 'it's for you.'

'What?' Belle had no idea what she meant: she had no problem that required the help of a private investigator to solve.

'Ruby told me about your mysterious Scotsman,' Mulan began.

'Ruby, you didn't!' Belle protested.

'And I did a little digging,' Mulan continued: 'this is for you.' She held out a manila envelope to Belle.

Belle stared at it. 'Ruby, Mulan, you shouldn't have done this.' She was torn between the questionable ethics and wanting to know what the envelope contained. She held out her hand and then pulled it back.

'Take it, honey,' Ruby prompted: 'go on.'

'Isn't this unethical?' Belle asked Mulan.

'Ruby hired me to find out what I could about this guy: she thought it would help. Take the envelope, Belle.'

'But doesn't Hopper's show have some kind of confidentiality clause? I don't feel right about doing this.'

'Belle, if you don't open that envelope, I will,' Ruby threatened.

Belle glared at her: she'd do it too. 'Fine,' she said, taking the envelope from Mulan.

She sat on the couch and opened it, heart racing.

Mulan had put together a factsheet about the man Belle had heard on the radio and Belle read through it avidly.

Name: Tristan Gold. Age: 42. Profession: Corporate lawyer, specialising in contracts and negotiations. Marital Status: Divorced. (Ex-wife Milah Cassady: currently co-habits with Killian Jones, a model and part-time actor). Children: One son, Bailey or Bae, aged 13. There was an address and some other details listed as well.

'There are some pictures too, if you wanna see what he looks like,' Mulan said.

As much as she didn't like what Mulan and Ruby had done, Belle did want to see what he looked like, so she looked at the photos.

The pictures showed a man with brown, collar-length hair that was grey at the temples. He was slim, not much taller than Belle, and, in each of the photos, he was dressed in what looked to be very expensive suits. He also carried a gold handled cane in his right hand: Belle realised he needed it to walk and wondered what had caused the injury.

She liked his face: it was thoughtful and intelligent looking, much more attractive to her than Greg's vacant expression, and she smiled at being able to put a face to the voice that had so caught her attention.

Her smile faded, though, as she looked at the final photos. They were of Tristan at a restaurant with a woman with long dark hair. The pictures had been taken from behind the woman, so Belle couldn't see her face, but she could see that, in one of the pictures, her hand was resting over Tristan's on the table, so even though they were dressed for work, the vibe Belle got was very different from that of a business lunch. Well, of course, it wasn't as if she actually knew him: it just felt like she did. Of course he wouldn't feel the same way about her: of course he'd find someone.

Ruby had been watching her: she'd seen her smile as she looked at the first few pictures and had seen the smile fade as she looked at the last few.

'What is it, Belle?' she asked, moving to sit beside her.

Belle put the pictures back in the envelope and smiled. 'It's nothing.'

'It's not nothing,' Ruby said knowingly, and took the envelope out of her hand.

'Ruby!' But Ruby was already looking through the pictures.

'Well, he's not my type,' she said, 'but I can see how he'd be yours. Oh, who's this, now?' she queried, holding up a photo of Tristan with the mysterious woman.

'Philip took those ones,' Mulan said: 'I have no idea who she is.'

'You told Philip?' Belle demanded.

'Mulan!' Ruby cried: 'I didn't mean for you to get Philip in on this too.'

'He wanted to help,' Mulan explained: 'he was worried about you, Belle, he didn't want you to get hurt.'

'Well, thank you all so much for your concern, but you don't have to worry about me,' Belle said, feeling her voice begin to tremble. She looked down at the photos and fought not to cry. 'I wish you hadn't done this,' she said softly, and felt a tear slide down her cheek. She turned away.

'Belle,' Ruby called, concerned.

But Belle shook her head. 'I just wanna be by myself for a while,' she said, and went to her room.

Once she'd closed the door behind her, she put her hand over her mouth as she began to sob. She didn't know why she was so upset, or why she felt so bereft, but it felt as though she'd suddenly lost something that she knew she would never find again.

To be continued

So, there you have chapter two. Chapter three will be posted next Sunday.

Happy reading

Kate