I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm on vacation but I couldn't wait to get this up :) I was without a computer for three days, so a notebook and pen became my new best friends...
Anyway, this chapter is written from Mr. Gold's POV. I hope you love it!
Pieces by Red is the song for this chapter! Because it's simply amazing and fits Rumpelstiltskin so well.
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Mr. Gold was a quiet man. He was known for being extremely private. Reclusive. He didn't like noise, he didn't like crowds. Quite frankly, Mr. Gold just didn't like people very much at all. But they were good for one thing. They were very good at being used for Mr. Gold's own personal amusement. People were perfect for toying with. He was a cat and they were all mice. He was a large cat. The cat. The lion amongst the gazelles.
If there was one thing Mr. Gold enjoyed more than anything else it was making deals with the desperate. The most joy he ever had came from watching men and women squirm with discomfort as they fought to avoid his eyes, all the while knowing that they were selling their souls to the devil. He didn't mind that people called him a demon behind his back. It was all the better to inspire fear in the hearts of the multitudes. And fear was power.
Power was everything to the mysterious, reclusive, fear-inspiring pawn-broker. Had been for as long as he could remember. Mr. Gold had lived in the small town of Storybrooke, Maine for many years, more years than he could recall. He had worked hard and had eventually climbed his way to the top. He was the top. He even possessed more influence than the Mayor herself. Mr. Gold was in charge, and that was just the way he liked it. Storybrooke was a peaceful place, one that Mr. Gold, in his own special way, enjoyed. But it was certainly a strange place. For one, in all the time that he had been there, no one had come and no one had gone. Something was definitely strange about this place, something about it had always left a part of Mr. Gold's mind alert. But from day to day, Mr. Gold simply lived.
He lived a lonely life. Rarely anyone ever visited his shop, and he did most of his living at the shop. The large home that he owned on the outskirts of the town was too large for him. He had known this when he has purchased it, but he only slept in it anyway. That was all.
So, it can be guessed that Mr. Gold didn't associate himself much with people. Only on special occasions, when it was absolutely necessary to make a public appearance, and every Friday night when he had supper at Granny's Diner. It was a weekly tradition for him. And even though he didn't enjoy the snarky and snide remarks from Granny herself, he did have to give the place some credit. The made one hell of a burger.
Mr. Gold perused his menu as he always did, even though he already knew what he was going to choose. It rescued him from having to sit and stare at the nearest wall or the customer across from him, neither of which were very good options. But he didn't have to wait for very long. He felt a presence beside him and turned his head, expecting to meet the powder-caked and heavy mascara-eyed face of the scantily-clad Miss Lucas. But he was surprised when it wasn't her. Instead, he found himself staring into a pair of delicate china-blue eyes.
"Miss French?" He asked, trying to fight the confusion and curiosity from leaking into his voice. "I confess I didn't expect to see you here. Gotten a night job to help pay the bills, I hope?" In his heart of hearts, Mr. Gold found himself grateful that she was not dressed in the same fashion as Ruby was known to parade herself in. He knew that such a thing shouldn't make a difference to him, but Mr. Gold found he just couldn't imagine the quiet and quaint Miss French wearing anything less than modest. She had a decent style, something that was more subdued and simple.
"I'm afraid this isn't just a night job, Mr. Gold."
"Oh?"
Belinda raised a brow. "I thought you would've heard. The council's shut down the library."
Mr. Gold's ears perked up at that information. "Shut down the library?" Now that was news he had not expected. In all his years of living in Storybrooke, it had never even been considered the the library should be closed down. "Why on earth would Regina do that?"
She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." Belinda shook herself then. "Anyway, I'm so sorry. Is there anything else I can get you?"
"I'll have my usual," he grinned snarkily. He knew that she had no idea what 'his usual' was. Her look of confusion was priceless. She also looked slightly apprehensive, as if she was tying to decided whether or not to ask him what he usually ordered. Deciding to spare her any embarrassment, he supplied the answer. "Classic burger, cooked medium. Lettuce, no tomato or onion. Extra pickles. Provolone cheese. And a water."
She finished jotting his order down and nodded her head. "Right. Of course." Then, she walked away and into the kitchen.
Mr. Gold took out his book and began to wait and read, as he did ever Friday night.
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"Here you are, Mr. Gold," Belinda interrupted his thoughts as she placed his platter of food before him. With a nod of his head, he thanked her and snapped his book shut.
"You enjoy Shakespeare?"
Mr. Gold looked up and raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
Remembering her position and, more importantly, who she was talking to, Belinda bowed her head submissively and apologized. "I'm sorry, it's just...not many people enjoy the classics anymore."
"Well," he replied, "I've read many different classics but never Shakespeare. Never had the time."
"A Midsummer Night's Dream is my favorite."
"Really?" He indulged in the conversation, "I would have seen you as more of a Romeo and Juliet fan."
Belinda smiled and sunk down into the booth across from him, completely subconsciously. Mr. Gold watched her curiously; no one had ever wanted to sit down with him, much less have a conversation. Yet, here she was. She rested her head in her hands as she quoted: "'What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title.'"
"That is impressive," Mr. Gold praised with a smirk before adding, "'To be or not to be'."
Belinda laughed. "That's from Hamlet, not Romeo and Juliet, I'm afraid, Mr. Gold." Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she watched him shrug and chuckle good-naturedly.
"I did tell you I was just beginning to read Shakespeare."
"That is true," Belinda agreed and she smiled genuinely for the first time in quite a long while.
Mr. Gold watched her and grinned to himself, choosing to ignore the strange glances the pair were receiving from the other customers at the sight of the normally solemn and fear-inspiring pawn-broker laughing and sharing in a pleasant conversation with the known librarian, turned single mother, turned waitress.
"Well," Belinda placed her hands on the table top and spoke with that unplaceable but irresistible accent, "I suppose I should be getting back to work." She stood up and gave him a smile, a real smile. "Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Gold."
She left him speechless. There had to be something really wrong with her if she actually allowed herself to have a conversation with him. Either that or she wanted something. The latter, Mr. Gold knew, was more than likely. No one ever approached him unless they wanted or needed something in return. And Belinda was poor, single, alone, and quickly becoming more and more desperate. There was no doubt in his mind. Miss French needed something from him, and perhaps, just perhaps, he would grant her her wish.
He wasn't hurt by the realization that the kindness was just a sham. A facade. Mr. Gold was used to it. People cared only when he had things to offer.
Mr. Gold finished his meal and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Impatiently, he began to drum his knuckles upon the table. Everyone knew that he liked to have his bill given to him within seconds of his placing his napkin down upon his empty plate. No use in sitting idly around. Well, everyone knew that except for the newly-hired waitress.
She appeared nearly a good five minutes later than Mr. Gold would have wanted, and he decided that her tip would suffer duly for the mistake. Not even her small smile could change his mind on that matter.
"I hope you found your meal to your liking?" Belinda inquired as she reached for his plate and gathered all other items from the table.
"It was just fine, Miss French, but in the future kindly remember that I do not like to be kept waiting," he scolded coldly, "I like to have my bill as soon as I finish."
Belinda's smile faltered and then twisted into a frown. "I understand." Mr. Gold nodded his head, assuming that the conversation was over, but the woman surprised him. "But I don't think you're going to suffer too much if you're left to wait like the rest of the customers."
He tried not to look baffled. Where did this little spurt of courage come from, he wondered, that she dare speak to him so? "Excuse me?" He was offended.
Belinda seemed to remember her position then and bowed her head. "I'm sorry." Mr. Gold could tell that she wasn't. "It's just been a long day."
"Just make sure it doesn't happen again." Mr. Gold dismissed her with a nod of his head, and then he grabbed his cane and slid out of his booth. He turned around towards the door but was stopped when he heard a commotion behind him. When he turned back around, he saw Miss French laying on the ground, a pile of broken porcelain all around her. Miss Lucas was standing over her. It would appear that Belinda had been moving too quickly and had crashed into the other waitress.
"Lind, are you okay?" Ruby asked with concern. She offered a hand to help the woman up, but Belinda refused it.
From where Mr. Gold was standing, he couldn't see her face, but she was stuttering, and, if he had to guess, her cheeks wee probably flushed from embarrassment. She shifted to her knees and began to pick up the broken pieces of plate with her bare hands.
"Oh, Rubes, I'm so sorry." She apologized as she frantically began gathering up the mess. She seemed frightened, as if the little mistake would leave her officially unemployed. "I swear I'll pay for it."
"Don't worry about it, Belinda," the other woman leaned down and made her stop so that she could listen. "No one's first day is perfect."
Mr. Gold could barely contain a snort. He knew, just from observation, that Belinda French would never be cut out for waitressing. That gave him an idea. She was desperate, even more so now, and she would never last at this job. One broken plate and she was nearly sent into hysterics. Question was: did he really want to have to be the one to deal with that? Mr. Gold decided it was worth the try.
"Miss French," he interrupted and she spun around, all courage was gone and had been replaced by absolute fear.
"What?" She snapped.
"I think I have a proposition for you," he explained with that crocodile smile of his. "Be at my shop, 9:30 sharp, tomorrow." Then, he left. Belinda was too shaken to question or argue with him.