A/N - THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING :D 33333

Belle's cheeks were flaming by the time she finished her performance. The idea of reading this story—this story that she knew no one would associate with her—had been eating away at her nerves since last week, and now that it was over, she wanted to curl up and hide. She knew it was shocking, but it wasn't half as shocking as most of the things that literature scholars studied, and this thought soothed her, since they made up the largest portion of her audience. She tried not to think about the fact that Jefferson had spent most of the reading with his hands over his daughter's ears.

When the applause—tentative, at first, and led by her table of friends—died down, she all but fled the stage. Her father looked dumbfounded, and she couldn't handle that right then, so she instead turned to Dr. Gold.

"Well?" she asked, but he was looking at her like he'd never quite seen her before, and she hoped she already knew the answer.

"Should I be looking for a therapist for you, dearie?"

She laughed, and his knee bumped against hers. He looked away from her face, and she assumed this meant that he had touched her on purpose, and was trying not to draw attention. She almost reached for his hand to squeeze, but then her father's arm was around her shoulders, crushing her to his side.

"Oh, my girl, that was wonderful."

She wrapped her arms around him, trying not to protest when he pressed a kiss to her carefully-piled curls.

"Thanks, Dad. I'm glad you're here."

She wasn't sure that was true anymore, though, because, if Dr. Gold's mocking reaction was to get her a therapist, she could only imagine what her father's real reaction was. He didn't mention it, though. He just pressed another kiss to her head before releasing her.

She turned back to Dr. Gold with an apologetic smile, and was about to reach for his hand under the table again, when her father's voice froze her.

"It's a shame your boyfriend couldn't make it. I wanted to meet him."

There was a dull rushing in her ears as half the contents of her unacknowledged-guilt folder spilled out around her. She was glad that her eyes hadn't yet met Gold's, because she could feel his gaze burning holes into her forehead, and she was sure she would have evaporated if she got the full brunt of it. She forced herself to look at her father, hoping that the smile she stuck on her face was neutral and pleasant, as befitting the question.

"Oh, well, this isn't really his cup of tea. He's—you know—more of a physical person than an academic person." Which, Belle realized, as soon the words left her mouth, was the worst possible thing she could say. She could almost feel Dr. Gold's hand clenching around his cane, and she flushed all the way to the backline of her dress. Her father looked like she imagined any father might, when presented with the idea that his daughter had taken on a physical boyfriend.

"Not to say—that—anything—untoward—I think I need more wine." She grabbed her glass, thanking whatever god was listening that she had finished it before going up to read, and then turned to the rest of the table. "Ruby? Do you—?"

Taking the hint, the other woman tipped her full glass back and drained it, wincing. Mary Margaret followed suit, and then Hook did, as well—despite not being looked at—and then they were all rushing to the bar like it was their salvation.

"Oh my god," Belle said, dropping her head to her hand. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—"

"Calm down," Ruby said, rubbing her shoulder. "You're almost thirty. Your dad can't be surprised you're having sex."

Mary Margaret took up residence on her other shoulder. "I'm sure he'll get over his shock."

Belle wished that was the problem—sure, it was a problem, but that one could have easily been explained away. She felt like a traitor and a coward for not telling Dr. Gold before, and then for not even acknowledging him after.

Hook appeared in front of her, and slid a finger under her chin to tip it up. "He'll forgive you."

She could see the women nodding in her periphery, but Hook was looking at her like he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and she had the feeling that he knew that she wasn't upset about her father.

"I have to leave him," she told him, while Ruby and Mary Margaret each hugged a different half of her body.

He moved his finger. "I know."

For some reason, his conviction soothed her, and she straightened up, hugging Ruby and Mary Margaret so that they would think they had helped. Though Belle didn't want more wine, they were all obliged now, since that had been their excuse, so she stood at the bar and waited. Once Ruby had engaged Mary Margaret in a conversation about Victor and Billy, Belle turned to Hook.

"Yes, love?" He leaned against the bar, looking at her like she was the only thing to look at for miles. She crossed her arms.

"What is going on with you and Dr. Gold's ex-wife?"

She was not expecting the dreamy look that crossed over Hook's face. He wasn't looking at her anymore, and his smile hinted at fond memories and things that Belle was sure she didn't want to know.

"Well?" Did she want to know?

"A couple years ago, we had an affair." His eyes focused on her, and his lip curled in his pirate grin. "And by that, I mean we spent about two weeks in bed, having lots of sex."

Belle wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I know what an affair is. Was she married at the time?" Maybe that was why he and Gold hated each other.

He shook his head, allowing his gaze to drift away from her again, possibly looking for Milah. "I didn't even know she was Gold's ex-wife until tonight."

Well, that did eliminate one possible reason for their feud, but it opened the door to thousands more. Belle wasn't sure how to respond, so she just shook her head at him, accepting her wine glass when the bartender pushed it toward her.

"You ready?" Ruby asked, appearing at her elbow. Belle nodded, allowing herself to be towed back toward the table.

When they arrived, Dr. Gold was no longer in his seat.

Belle tried to push down the tiny bubble of panic that rose in her throat, keeping her movements slow and steady so that no one would find her scan of the room odd. Her father was talking to her, and she hoped that she was giving him normal answers, but she wasn't paying much attention. After a minute of searching, she spotted the back of Dr. Gold's head off to the side of the room, near the bar. He was standing with his ex-wife, and the mayor. Though he was too far away to see clearly, she thought that his shoulders looked tense, and that he was standing as though prepared to pounce at the slightest provocation.

Satisfied that she had found him, she turned back in her seat and devoted her attention to her tablemates. This lasted all of a minute before she was straining around again to see him. She expected him to come back when he finished his conversation, but that didn't make the wait any less torturous. She missed his presence at her side, missed being able to share secret glances and snide looks. She was so stupid.

A few minutes later, he still hadn't returned, and when Belle turned to check on his whereabouts, she found a mass of her composition students standing in front of her. A few of them were carrying large bouquets, and they were all clustered around the flower-bearers in a clear display of who had chipped in for which. Belle pressed a hand to her heart, a smile spreading its way across her cheeks.

"You all came!" She hurried to stand up, accepting the first bouquet from a group of jocks, and then the second from some girls. These joined her other bouquets on the table, and then she accepted two more from them, and then the congratulatory hugs and handshakes started.

"Belle, you were brilliant!" one girl gushed, squeezing her side.

"Yeah, we wanted to tell you sooner, but we were afraid of Dr. Gold," a boy said, rubbing the back of his neck. A closer look revealed that all of the boys in the group were either doing something to occupy their hands, or gazing at her in unabashed adoration. She felt a rush of pride—and ignored whatever she felt at their mention of Dr. Gold, who she could no longer see.

"In the future, you are welcome to come and talk to me no matter who is there," she said, unable to keep from grinning anyway. "And thank you all so much! This is more than I expected."

They stayed in their cluster for a few minutes before people started making their excuses to leave, and then Belle had to accept more hugs and handshakes. She expected some stragglers, but anyone straggling was deterred by Hook wandering over and sliding his arm around her back. Trying not to laugh at the sad puppy look on their faces, Belle waved her goodbyes.

"Do you need something?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth, still smiling and waving because people were turning back to do so as they walked out.

Hook said nothing, just patted her on the arm. Belle would have been confused, but she was now back on her visual room circuit to find Dr. Gold. At this point, it was ridiculous for him not to be there, and if she dragged him back now, it would look less strange than it would have before. She just needed to find him again.

Then, she found Regina and Milah, and realized that Dr. Gold was gone.

Hook saw the moment that she realized this—she wasn't sure when he had become so perceptive, or so supportive, but she wasn't complaining—and squeezed her shoulder.

"Did he leave?" she asked, looking around in vain.

"Just stepped out a minute ago. Looked about as ugly as usual."

Belle had nothing to say to that, so she sat back down, folding herself into her chair like the disappointment she felt was a physical entity, and she needed to avoid it with her body. Hook took Dr. Gold's seat, and her father squeezed her around the shoulders again, as though nothing had transpired since the first time he'd congratulated her.

She didn't care how late it got. Once this was over, she was going to find Dr. Gold, and apologize.

Though it made her feel guilty, Belle was having difficulty paying attention to her father while she drove him back to the hotel. She was keeping enough of an ear out to be able to make plans for tomorrow, but other than that, there were standard answers and standard questions. She wanted to ask about the shop, but that would have to wait until tomorrow, after she'd made amends with Dr. Gold.

She didn't notice when her father fell silent. When she checked out the window, she saw him twisting his fingers in his lap, but she just took it as him being nervous about not being drunk after dark. She hadn't let him touch any alcohol that night, and she had the suspicion that he would be at the hotel bar as soon as she dropped him off.

It wasn't a long drive to the hotel—or anywhere in Storybrooke—but even Belle realized that the silence had stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time by the time she pulled into a parking space.

"All right, I have to go to my office for at least a few hours in the morning, but I'll come pick you up around noon?" She hoped that his nervousness was due to lack of drink—she had never hoped this before, but it would appease her curiosity about the way his eyes darted from side to side like a nervous dog.

"Dad?" she prompted when he didn't answer.

"Belle—my girl—why don't you just come home?"

Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't that. She blinked, too taken aback to know how to react, and her father seemed to take her silence as some sort of signal to go on. All of his words spilled out in a rush, each chasing after the previous as though afraid they would get trapped in his throat if they didn't exit now.

"It's just—you've been gone for so long—and what are you really doing here, Belle? In this nothing town in Maine? Studying books? You should be back home, with the people who love you, doing something respectable."

Belle still didn't know what to say, so she latched onto the one question to which she had a definite answer.

"I'm getting my doctorate."

The look on his face told her that this was not a good enough response, and Belle felt the color rise in her cheeks.

"Belle, a woman your age shouldn't still be in school. You should have a real job—you could have been a teacher, Belle, or a nurse. Why don't you just come home, and you can work in the shop until you're back on your feet—"

"Dad, I'm on my feet right now." It was important to convince him. She would never listen to him about this, but she wanted him to change his mind. She wanted to be here.

"Are you? I mean, tonight was wonderful, Belle, but where are you going now? An apartment not even big enough for guests? I don't think—"

The fog in Belle's head disappeared like he'd shot it. Belle smacked the wheel, whirling in her seat to face him. "Oh, my apartment's not big enough? What about your apartment? Where would I sleep if I came home, Dad? Another apartment like the one I have, or would I sleep on your couch, and wake up every time you stumble home drunk?"

She knew she was at the top of the mountain in her rant, but she found herself petering out instead of descending, guilt filling the spaces from which her anger was retreating. Moe didn't speak, just looked through the windshield and twiddled his thumbs in his lap. He opened his mouth a few times, but closed it soon after. Belle sighed.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm just tired. It's been a long night. Why don't you go up, and I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded, still twisting his hands in his lap with such vigor, Belle was afraid he'd hurt himself. After a second's pause, she put her hand over his, and they stilled.

"Goodnight, Dad." She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and he nodded again.

"Goodnight, my girl."

Belle forced herself to wait until she knew he was inside and safe before peeling out of the parking lot. After their fight, she was even more resolved to see Dr. Gold, and she fumbled with her phone for a few seconds before managing to get the right number.

It rang five times, and then went to voicemail. Muttering under her breath, she hung up, and focused her attention on getting home as fast as possible. Usually, when she had to walk anywhere near her apartment at night, she was on her guard enough for three people. Tonight, she barreled up the stairs without even putting her hand on her pepper spray.

She was freezing, having only brought a shawl for the short walk from car to ballroom, so she wanted to change before going on a wild Gold chase. The temperature was approaching 30, and her skin was numb from her brief jaunt outside. She pulled her jeans on before she'd even gotten her dress off, hardly able to feel the cold denim scratching up her even colder legs. She had the presence of mind to put a bra on before tugging her sweater over her head, mussing her curls a bit. Her strappy heels were exchanged for the Uggs she kept around as outdoor-savvy slippers, and then she was pulling on her blue coat and racing for the door.

She tried Dr. Gold's phone again while she hurried down the stairs, and when he didn't answer, she slowed. With no idea of where he lived, looking for him was a fool's errand. She assumed he was awake and running from his problems, but for all she knew, he was at home, in bed, hating her more and more each time her calls awakened him.

She consoled herself with the idea that Dr. Gold would never let a nuisance go unpunished. No, if she was waking him up, he would answer his phone and give her a piece of his mind.

The third time she called, she was on her way to campus. She left a brief message, trying not to tell him that she was worried, but sure that he would be able to tell anyway. His car wasn't near the English building, but the ballrooms were close enough that he might have just walked.

She tried the door, though, and it was locked, which meant that he could have been inside, but she couldn't be. For a minute, she just leaned against the door and tried to think. It was hard, because she was cold and frantic, but she forced herself to figure out a new plan. The only other place that came to mind was his shop, so she set off for her car again with the intent of making it there.

She called him three times in the five minute drive. The third time she reached his voicemail, she snarled, "I know the beast never sleeps," and then hung up, feeling foolish.

When she reached the pawnshop and saw his car parked out front, her heart all but stopped. She let out a squeak of triumph, hardly paying attention as she lurched her car into a spot. She was only briefly deterred by the absence of light through the windows, and was soon pounding on the wall near the locked glass door.

"Dr. Gold!" She beat her fists against the paneling, not noticing when the wood started to bite into her fingers. What if he was somewhere in the back, dead? She didn't think he was suicidal, but he was the saddest, loneliest person she'd ever met. Perhaps seeing his wife had sent him over some edge?

She refused to believe this, and continued calling his name and pounding. After two minutes, however, she was forced to accept the fact that he was not inside. She turned, and sank to the sidewalk, propping herself against the door. As she dialed him once more, she couldn't shake the thought that something had happened, that she would find him in a million little pieces, like whatever it was he built in his free time.

He didn't answer, so she called Hook, because he was the first person she could think of.

It was noisy when he picked up, and she had to strain to hear him. He must have gone to a bar or something when they left. She wouldn't have been surprised if Ruby was with him.

"Hi," she said, once he had managed to get out a coherent greeting above the noise.

"Belle? Are you okay?"

She considered the question, watching Dr. Gold's car. "No. Not really."

"What's—hang on, one sec." There was a lot of hustle and bustle, and what sounded like glass breaking, and then there was a silence so abrupt, she thought the phone cut off.

"Hook?"

"Here, here, I'm here, sorry. I think I inadvertently started a fight on my way out. Oh well. What's up?"

"I can't find Dr. Gold." Belle felt her cheeks flush. It was silly of her to call Hook—just because he had recognized why she was upset earlier, it didn't mean that he wanted to be the recipient of all of her insanity.

"Well, it's late, and he's old. He's probably asleep."

"He's not asleep." She was sure of this—she had to be sure of this. If he was, then all of this frenzied searching was for naught, and she didn't think she could handle that.

"Belle, love, I know you've got some weird crush on him, but that doesn't make him any younger. That man is ancient and ornery. He's asleep."

"I found his car," she said, stung by his assessment. "And he's not that old."

"You found his car?"

"Yes, it's outside his shop."

"Well, maybe he's in his shop, then."

"No." She turned her head to peek through the door once more, and her breath fogged the glass. "I checked."

Hook sighed, and she felt a little better knowing that he was resigning himself to helping her.

"Fine. He's an old cripple, so he can't have gone far."

"Hook." There was a warning in her voice, and he let out a scoff of air.

"I like you, Belle, not him. I'm not going to sugarcoat my feelings."

She supposed that this was reasonable enough, and that she couldn't expect Hook to get over his hate enough to help her as well as change his opinion.

"Fine. I don't—oh, my hand." She raised up the hand she'd been using to pound against the wall, noting a thin, bloody line illuminated by the glow of her phone.

"Your hand?"

"I cut it." Too worried about her situation to be worried about that, she let her hand drop, and settled more comfortably against the door. "Anyway, I think you're right, he can't have gone far. But I don't know where he'd have gone."

"What does he like? I think there's a pub somewhere near his shop—maybe he went there?"

"No." She shook her head. It could have been reasonable—he did seem to like his scotch—but she knew, with certainty, that he would have wanted to be somewhere alone. "He likes building things?"

"So, what, you think he went to a lumber yard or something?"

She let out a huff of air, watching it form a cloud in front of her. "No. You asked me what he liked—wait. Wait, I've got an idea."

"What's your—"

"Shh, I need to think." She held a finger up as though he could see her, and she heard him scoffing on the other end again.

"Need I remind you that you called—"

"Shh!"

He fell silent, and she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. Then, she went over the night in her head. First, he'd been happy to see her. Then, they'd seen his wife, and he had become aggravated. From there, she'd said something about a grave, and then Belle had seen her father, and introduced them. He had sat with her and looked happy and proud, until her father had mentioned Gaston, and then she hadn't spoken to him. The last person she saw him with was his wife—maybe he'd gone to murder her?

"Belle?"

Something clicked into place, and Belle gasped. Hook repeated her name, but she cut him off with a yelp of, "The cemetery!"

"The cemetery?"

"Is it near his shop?"

Hook made a humming noise like he was following a map, and Belle waited for him to consider the town layout, hauling herself off the frozen concrete. "About two blocks, yeah. Why? You're not going there, are you?"

"Of course I am. I'm sure he's there now." She wondered how she hadn't thought of it before. "How do I get there?"

He barked out a laugh that was not altogether pleasant. "I'm not telling you how to get to a cemetery in the middle of the night, Belle. It's dangerous. Go home."

"Hook, I'm going to be fine. Tell me where it is."

"No way. It's late. You could get attacked by zombies."

"Hook."

"No. Get in your car or I'm coming to get you myself. I'm not far."

"Killian."

There was silence on the other end, and then he heaved a sigh. "Fine. All right, are you standing with your back to the door?"

Belle adjusted herself until she was. "Mmhmm."

"Take a right and walk until you see Yellow Lane."

"Really? That's what it's called?"

"Yes, Belle, that's what it's called. I hope you're watching where you're going. I don't like this at all. I know the shady people in town and you are just their type."

Belle appreciated his concern, but it was only a hindrance at that point. "Hook, my apartment's far worse than this street. Besides, I have—" She paused, realizing that she had left her purse, and thus her pepper spray, in the car. "—pepper spray." Hook didn't need to know that.

"Oh, good, so you can make them angry while you run away. I hope you're not in your dress anymore."

"Don't worry, I changed."

She hadn't been concerned about being alone in the dark before, but with Hook worrying in her ear, she couldn't help but feel a bit more alert to her surroundings. Storybrooke was well-lit at night, but she was heading off the beaten path. When she reached Yellow Lane, it was like the city itself was telling her to turn back. All of the streetlamps were burnt out, save for one in the middle. It was exactly the sort of place she'd expect to find Dr. Gold sulking.

Without realizing it, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is it on Yellow Lane?"

"Yeah, just at the end."

Of course. Of course it was at the end of the dark, barren street. She wouldn't have been surprised to see coyotes and tumbleweeds. She started forward, forcing herself to take large, confident strides. Confident people did not get attacked.

"Great. This road is so friendly and welcoming."

"Just stay on the phone and scream if anything happens. I'll be there before anyone can take your innocence, love."

"It's a bit late for my innocence," she said, relieved that he was making an effort to joke. Hook said something, but she could see the top of a mausoleum looming up ahead, and some gnarled trees that could only belong in a place of death, so she didn't hear what it was.

"Okay, I'm here. I'm going to go now."

"Don't you dare hang up this phone, Belle. Anyone who lurks around a cemetery at night is not safe, and I don't care who they are. Even if Gold's there, he is old and cripple, and I have no doubts in my mind that you are both going to get mugged—"

"I'll call you when I get home safe. Thanks for your help, you're a peach."

"Belle—"

She hung up before he could finish the thought, gripping her phone tight enough to hurt her fingers. The cemetery was an open expanse of land, not the gated monstrosity she had expected, and walking onto it would be no different than walking onto any patch of grass surrounding the sidewalk. Still, she stopped at the border, staring at the tombstones and statues scattered about.

Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold of the cemetery. No ghosts flew out to greet her and no vampires seemed to have their slumber disturbed, which soothed her, so she took another few steps. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out more shapes—there was a small fountain, a tombstone marked with a dove, and at least three cherub statues.

It took her a full minute of silent observation to realize that the man sitting on the bench in the corner was made of flesh, not rock, and when she did, she stifled a scream. She heard more than saw him turn toward her, and she almost tossed bravery to the wind in the interest of fleeing—until she saw the glint of moonlight against the golden head of a cane.

Knees weak with relief, she stumbled toward the bench. She didn't care what Hook said—Dr. Gold made her feel safe, and she knew they would be fine now that she had found him.

"Belle?" he asked when she was close enough to see his face. She lurched into the seat next to him, ignoring the way he stiffened at the contact, turning his face away.

"I found you," she said, triumphant. She scooted closer, until their legs were all but welded together, needing to prove to herself that he was real, and not just a graveyard ghost.

He looked at her, as if not quite sure she was there, and his hand fluttered over her knee for a second before he settled it back on his cane. "You were looking for me?"

"All over." Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, her fingers started to throb, and she realized that her hands and neck and face were all stinging with cold. She wanted to slide his arm around her and burrow into his side, but that would be unseemly, so she stuffed her hands in her coat pockets.

"Why?"

Loss of adrenaline was also bringing back her ability to be reasonable, and his question tinged her cheeks pink.

"I wanted to apologize," she said, voice so quiet, it was almost a squeak. She flushed deeper. He was going to think she was insane once he listened to all of the messages on his machine. He probably wouldn't be wrong.

"For what?"

He looked away, though, and his voice turned gruff—he knew what. The fact that he was pretending not to know strengthened her resolve, since it indicated the real need for this act. She refused to think about what this meant for either of them.

"I should have told you about Gaston. And just so you know, he's not really my boyfriend. He's just—" She paused, trying to find the right word.

"Your fuckbuddy?" Dr. Gold looked away, and his voice was cold and sharp enough that Belle was sure that she would have felt it stabbing through her chest, had she not been too surprised by his sudden profanity.

"No," she said, pouring as much disgust as was possible to pour into a single syllable. He tilted his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and she wanted to believe that she saw hope there, despite the fact that it was so dark, she couldn't see much of anything. "Absolutely not."

"So, a physical relationship with a bit of feelings, then?"

"No." She shook her head. "I don't really like him, but we've been on a few dates, and it wasn't like I was going to explain to my father that I'm just casually dating right now. He already thinks I'm too old to be single."

Dr. Gold chuckled, looking down at his lap. "Your father has interesting ideas about you."

"We got into a fight." She looked away, guilt creeping along her spine. She had come here for him, and now she was unloading all of her problems. Some friend she was.

"What was it about?"

He didn't sound annoyed, and she should have known that he wouldn't be. If there was one thing Dr. Gold hated more than most other things, it was talking about himself. She turned back toward him. It felt safer that way, when she wasn't just looking at the stretch of graves.

"He wanted me to drop out of school and come home. He doesn't think this is what I should be doing with my life, which really means that he still thinks I'm an odd excuse for a daughter." She laughed, a humorless sound, but was cut off when her hand bumped Dr. Gold's. She hadn't realized they'd been drifting closer—or even that she'd removed hers from her pocket—but now their hands had met between their legs. Belle curled her pinky around his.

"You can't expect someone who never had an education to understand why you want to keep having one," he said, settling his other hand on top of hers. He was wearing soft leather gloves, and they were chilly, but Belle felt warmer with them nonetheless. She didn't ask how Dr. Gold knew that her father never had an education—Dr. Gold knew everything.

"I suppose. He said I could have been a nurse or a teacher—like those would have been huge aspirations. What he really meant was that I could have been a wife and a mother, and had a man to lead me by the hand." She dropped her head to his shoulder, pleased when he shifted to allow her more space.

"And you don't want that? A husband? Children?"

She considered the question. "I want to make my own decisions," she said, pulling her other hand out of her pocket to play with his glove and sleeve. "I want to make my own discoveries, lead my own life. And of course I want love, but I don't want marriage just because someone else wants me to have it. I want someone who intrigues me—someone I can know everything about, and still find new reasons to love every day. I want study books, because I love reading, and I don't want anyone to tell me that I'm not reaching my full potential as a woman just because I'm not shadowing a man. I want—are those new cufflinks?"

She raised his hand, pulling his overcoat and jacket sleeves back enough to see the blue fleurs-de-lis. He said nothing, allowing her to tilt his hand this way and that to watch the metal catch the moonlight at different angles.

"You noticed," he said, voice rumbling by her ear. She replaced his hands on his leg, settling her own between them again.

"Well, of course. You always wear plain cufflinks."

"I wore them for you. Special jewelry for a special night."

She felt her ears getting warm, and she was glad that it was too dark to see her face. "So you bought them for tonight?"

"No." He shook his head, his chin brushing the top of her curls, which were still half piled on her head. They had taken damage all night, but it was a mark of Ruby's skill that the general style was still intact. "My son gave them to me."

Belle had not known that he had a son. Perhaps he was estranged, and it was too painful for Dr. Gold to mention, or perhaps he had gone abroad for college and Dr. Gold missed him—

Or perhaps, Belle realized, looking around her, he's dead.

"Your son Baden," she said, voice catching on the final word. She felt like she was overstepping her boundaries by saying a name he had yet to reveal to her, but Dr. Gold didn't flinch or reprimand. She felt him nod above her, and she twined more of their fingers together.

"Yes. My son, Baden."

Belle closed her eyes, running her fingers along the icy metal. "I'm glad you thought to wear them for me. They're beautiful."

For a moment, he was still, and Belle kept up her ministrations on his cuffs, afraid that stopping would startle him. Her fingers were going numb, and she was having a hard time feeling the metal, but she carried on anyway until he spoke.

"I was on my way to his grave, but—ah—I had to stop." He pulled one hand out of hers to gesture to his knee. "Would you like to come with me now?"

She pulled herself off of him so that she could look at his face, but he was just watching the grass. When she was upright, he flicked a glance at her.

"Is saying 'yes' to wanting to go see a grave polite?" she asked, keeping her voice low and soft.

Dr. Gold chuckled, turning to look at her through a sweep of hair. She wanted to reach out and brush it behind his ear. "It is, if that's the answer for which the asker is looking."

"Then, yes. Of course. I would love to meet your son."

She wasn't sure how he would feel about that statement, but the way he ducked his head to hide from her told her that he was smiling, and that she had said the right thing. He pulled himself up, and she waited until he was steady on his cane before taking his arm, and allowing him to lead her.

Leaving the safety of the bench chased away Belle's bravery, and she clutched at Dr. Gold's arm tightly enough that he might not have been able to save her from zombies even if he'd wanted to. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, leading her across the dark grass.

"Something wrong, dearie?"

It wasn't like she was going to admit that she was scared. She may have trusted Dr. Gold with her life, but her pride was a different story—he would never let it go. She racked her brain for an excuse.

"Were you ignoring me earlier?" she asked, figuring she could feign offense.

He looked taken aback. "When?"

"Before I found you. I called you about a hundred times and you never picked up."

"Ah." He stopped walking, bracing himself on her so that he could use his cane hand to pat his pockets down. She flushed at the idea that he would rather stop moving than let go of her. "Must have left it in the car."

"I see." She followed him as he started walking again, taking a turn around a lifeless fountain, into a large expanse of unmarked grass. "In that case, I forgive you."

He was quiet, leading them to the lone grave in the field. He paused in front of it, head bowed, but they weren't close enough for Belle to get a good look, and she was unwilling to start forward until he was ready.

"I forgive you, too." He sounded brusque, and, by the time Belle realized that he was referring to her original apology, he had moved closer to the tombstone, slipping his arm out of hers. She hovered behind him as he knelt down, using his cane for balance, trying not to make it seem like she thought he was an old cripple who needed her help. He didn't seem to notice, so once he was settled, she knelt down beside him.

His silence gave her time to study the tombstone. It was smooth marble, taller than both of them when they knelt, with a top rounded into an arch. She could tell by the size and quality that Dr. Gold had paid a fortune for this memorial. The top read 'BADEN NIALL GOLD' and then, underneath, '15 JANUARY 1990 – 20 JUNE 2007.' Below that was carved an ornate lion, rearing up on its hind legs and roaring, and under that, the inscription read, 'The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.'

"He would be twenty-three now," Dr. Gold said, voice so low that Belle had to strain to hear him. "He wanted to go back to Scotland, study at the University of Edinburgh. He was always so good at science, and I tried to convince him to study that, but his passion was always in art. He drew that." He reached for the lion carving, tracing its mane with shaking fingers. "Found it on his desk after—well, after."

Following his lead, Belle ran the tips of her fingers along the lion, tracing its nose and down its neck, to its clawed paws. Their hands bumped, and Dr. Gold sighed, ceasing his hand's movement.

"I think he would have liked to meet you, even if you only provided a beautiful subject for his work."

Belle wasn't sure if he noticed what he was saying—he was speaking mostly to the lion, hand flat against where its heart would be. She noticed, though, and she had to bite her tongue to keep her bashful giggle from bursting forth. It was not the time—and she was also not twelve years old.

Not trusting herself to speak yet, she twisted herself around until she was sitting on the marble platform holding the tomb up, back against the headstone. This time, as Dr. Gold tried to join her, he did need her help, and she held his arm while he maneuvered himself with the strength of one leg. Once seated, he stretched his bad knee out, resting the back of his head on the tombstone.

"Dr. Gold?"

"Raphael."

"What?" She knit her eyebrows together, tilting to look at him. He lifted his head enough to look at her face, and he looked the way he did any other time that he'd managed to fluster her.

"My name is Raphael. I think you've earned the right."

Belle wasn't sure how she felt about this. Even before she had met him, she had never heard him called anything but 'Doctor,' whether or not his first name was included. Then again, she was sitting with him on his son's grave, and it was nearing eleven on a Thursday night. Perhaps she had earned the right.

"Okay, Raphael." It didn't feel as strange as she'd thought it would. "Could you—would you maybe—well—"

"Come, dearie, spit it out."

He was watching her now, and she chewed her lip, resolve slipping now that she had his attention. She inhaled deeply—Raphael Gold was not scarier than a graveyard at night. She would be fine.

"Will you tell me about your family?"

"Ah." He leaned his head back, looking up through the gaunt trees to the cloudy, black sky. He shifted just enough so that no parts of their bodies were touching, and Belle felt a bit like he'd taken hold of her heart and squeezed. He wasn't going to answer her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry—"

He raised a hand to silence her. "No, it's all right. I'm just trying to decide where to begin."

She drew her knees up to her chest, then tilted sideways until her head rested on his shoulder. He stiffened, but after a few seconds, relaxed again, and touched his head to the top of hers.

"Why don't you start with how you met your wife?" she suggested.

"Ex-wife," he corrected, almost before she could finish her sentence. "But, I suppose that's as good a place to start as any. I've known Milah my whole life. We grew up together, in Glasgow, and our parents were close. We were forced together as children, and I'm not sure that we ever really liked each other. There were a few years that we only saw each other when our parents got together, since I went to an all-boy's school and she went to an all-girl's—"

"Were you rich?" She had to know—family money would explain Gold's insistence and ability to pay for everything in her life.

He shook his head, though, making no indication that he was annoyed with her for interrupting. "It was fairly common. Anyway, Milah and I didn't see each other until we were about fifteen, and all of my friends started bringing dates everywhere. I, being the same charming person I am now, could get no one to go with me, and so I started bringing Milah. Eventually, everyone just assumed we were a couple, so we just became one."

"How romantic." She pressed her lips together when he cut a glare toward her. She hadn't even meant to interrupt—his voice had lulled her into enough comfort that she spoke without thinking.

"I never said it was, dearie." He tapped her on the nose. "Now, are you going to let me finish the story you asked me to tell?"

Wrinkling her nose, she nodded. "I'll try to keep my interruptions to a minimum."

"Good. As I was saying, we became a couple. We got married right out of high school, since it seemed like the logical thing to do at the time, and then I went into the army."

"You were in the army?" She lifted her head up to look at him.

"For a bit."

"Were you in a war?"

"Of sorts." He shifted his legs around, sliding his good one up, while his other hand strayed to his lame knee. "I got injured, and sent home."

Belle breathed. She had always assumed that his knee was the result of some medical condition, not an injury—though she supposed that was foolish of her. She may not have been able to imagine Dr. Gold doing anything physical enough to injure himself now, but he had been a teenager once. Teenagers injured themselves all the time.

"What happened?"

He was silent, tapping his bad knee. "Another time, mm?"

She wished she could press, but he was already sharing so much, she had to give him any privacy he asked for. She nodded. "Of course. So, you came home. Then what?"

"Well, then I couldn't do much of anything that required moving, so I went to college. Milah was unhappy at my arrival—I'm sure she expected me to die—"

Belle gasped, hands flying to her mouth, and Gold looked down at her, eyebrow quirked with amusement.

"What? Don't believe that anyone could wish for my death?"

"I'm sure plenty of your students wish you would drop dead in time for someone else to give them their final grades," she allowed, trying to keep her voice from being hoarse. She was repressing the urge to squeeze him. "But she was your wife."

"Like I said, we never really liked each other."

"But how can you wish death on a person you've known your whole life?"

Dr. Gold laughed, and before Belle could protest his amusement, he had leaned down to kiss her hair. "You are precious, and naïve. Do you want me to finish my story or not?"

She was sure that he could hear the blood rushing to her face, and she no longer trusted herself to speak. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut, and nodded.

"So, I went to college, and got my degree in English. Milah got a job doing PR, and it seemed that we had reached some sort of stasis. I don't know if we were happy, but we weren't unhappy, and so we continued. Eventually, Milah got pregnant, and we had Bae."

"Baden?" Belle asked.

"Mm. I wanted to name him Baelfire, but Milah put her foot down. Said he would get picked on if we cursed him with that, and I didn't want him to grow up like his father, so I had to agree. But I always called him Bae anyway."

"I like the name Baelfire," she said.

"Well, now we know that your children will have cursed names."

She laughed, and felt his shoulder shake with tiny chuckles. "Okay, so Bae was born. Then?"

"Then, we moved to the states for my masters, and Milah became incredibly depressed. I got my doctorate in a year, and then moved on to a law degree, in the hopes I'd be able to pay back my loans and support my family. Turns out I've got a knack for the law, but Milah never believed in me, and she left when Bae was twelve."

Belle reached forward to take his hand and squeeze it. He squeezed back.

"I didn't mind for me. I mean, of course it was sad to lose my life companion, but I'd been alone for almost a decade even with her there. I was far more upset that Bae would grow up without a mother." He shook his head. "I think she ran off with a man, but I'll never know, because she did a damn good job of disappearing. A few months later, I got hired on that Patriot's case you asked me about—just a contractual dispute—and made enough of a nest egg to start building my own fortune."

He shifted around, and when Belle looked up to see what he was doing, she found that he was looking down at her. "Did you know that I can narrow your address down to three buildings?"

She blinked at the unexpected turn of conversation. "Ah—no? How?" Was he stalking her now?

"Because, my dear, I own all but three apartment buildings in Storybrooke. I also own most of the stores and restaurants."

Which explained a considerable amount. Belle wondered that she hadn't realized it before, what with the way people bent over backwards to please him.

"Bet your wife wasn't pleased when she found out you got rich without her."

At this, he chuckled. "Not at all. I don't know if she ever really knew until recently. I haven't seen her since she left."

"Not even—" Belle paused, remembering the conversation from earlier. "No. She wasn't at the funeral, was she?"

He shook his head, and Belle was afraid that he was about to tell her that he hadn't even let his wife know that their son had died.

"By the time Bae had his accident, she'd been gone for five years. I had no idea how to find her, and I wasn't willing to spend the money on a detective to hunt her down. So, since I had her parents' address, I wrote to them. By the time they got the letter and told her, the funeral was done, and all she could do was call and scream at me."

"That's awful. To not even make yourself available to your own son." Belle shook her head, but Dr. Gold shrugged.

"Screaming at me used to be her favorite pastime. I'm sure she was glad to at least have that."

"So then," she started, struggling to figure out what she wanted to ask. "So, this was the first you've seen her?"

"It was. I know the mayor invited her just to get under my skin. Guess I ought to return the favor somehow."

"The mayor doesn't like you either?" She felt like she was meeting a whole new person—one who owned the town, and had enemies in strange places. How had he hidden these things from her all this time? She fancied herself a good character sleuth—this was ridiculous.

"We have a bit of a long history."

She tried not to consider the implications of his statement, or the fact that it made her cheeks flame with something like jealousy. She didn't realize how long she was quiet, until Dr. Gold looked at her, but then she was saved by a violent gust of wind. Her hands found ways to bury themselves in his side, while she thrust her nose into his shoulder, fearing another gust might break it off.

"Oh, god, I didn't realize how cold it was. You must be freezing. Why aren't you wearing gloves?" He wrapped his arms around her, and it didn't help much.

"I was in a bit of a rush. You may have noticed that it's late." She was muffled by his shoulder, and she could feel his chuckle reverberating around her sinuses.

"Come on. We should go."

Even though he seemed like he wanted to help her up, she had to be the one to stand first, allowing him to use her arm as support on the side without the cane. Even Raphael Gold's pride didn't extend to trying to get up from the ground sans assistance.

She looped her arm through his again when they started walking, clinging to his side as the wind picked up.

"I've got some good herbal teas," he said, tapping out a dull rhythm with his cane. "Would you care to join me for a pot?"

He wasn't looking at her, and for a second, Belle was confused about why he was nervous to ask. Then, it occurred to her that he was not inviting her for tea in his office or his shop—he was inviting her into his own kitchen, in his house, with him. Alone. She flushed so warm, her cheeks started to sting.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she murmured. "And it's getting late. I should just go home."

He was quiet, and she wished she could see his face, but he was looking down just enough that his hair obscured her view. "Of course. You've had a long day."

She nodded, searching desperately for something to say. Instead, she found a reason to scream, and all but leapt into him with the effort it took to stifle it. He froze, raising his cane like a weapon, head twisting around to look for danger.

"What? What's wrong?"

There was another person coming toward them, a tall, square person—Hook had been right, they were going to get mugged, and she was going to die trying to save Dr. Gold, and then Hook was going to find her and kill her. He would never let her live this down. Also she was going to die.

She lowered her voice to the point that she had to speak directly into his ear for him to catch anything. "Nothing, nothing, it's nothing."

He saw the figure as well, making its way right for them, but he didn't seem bothered by it. It was only when Belle made out long hair that she realized why, and relief that it wasn't some murdering rapist almost sent her into a fit of laughter. She held it in, though, having to bite her lip to do so when they paused in front of the woman.

"Milah." Dr. Gold inclined his head, and Belle followed suit.

"Raphael. I see you've brought her to our son's grave."

She eyed Belle, and Belle clenched her teeth together. Armed with all of her new information, how could she not hate Milah a little bit more? She was a hypocrite.

"No." He shook his head, and for a second, Belle was afraid he would tell Milah about her insane search. "I brought her to my son's grave."

He started to walk forward, leaving a glowering Milah in his wake. Belle, however, was determined to have this last word—she wasn't going to let him fight a battle on her own behalf. Before Milah could continue past them, Belle reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, pleased when the woman turned.

"It was so lovely to meet you," she said, and she hoped she sounded earnest. Milah looked confused, but nodded her assent. Belle let her hand drop before she continued. "And by the way—Killian is younger than me."

For once, she understood Gold's glee at destroying the composure of others. Milah's stunned expression could have been carved from glass, and as Belle walked by, she had the satisfaction of knowing that Gold's ex-wife was rooted to the spot.

"What was that?" Dr. Gold murmured once they were out of the cemetery, and out of earshot.

"Oh, nothing." She could no longer keep a triumphant grin from stealing across her face. "Just something I forgot to mention earlier."

Gold chuckled, and, though she could tell he was still confused, placed a hand over hers. "You're so good to an old monster."

"I'm just trying to find your weakness so that I can destroy you," she said, squeezing his arm, pleased that he laughed again at this.

It was definitely time to get rid of Gaston.