Summary: Marie French, otherwise known as Belle, hosts a dinner for Mr. Gold. Things don't go as planned.
Part 2 of the Marie French Series
I initially wasn't going to do a sequel to Marie French's Return but I decide heck with it and so here it is. I hope everyone likes it. I think there will be either one or two more parts depending on how long it takes me to write it.
Prompted by my friend blackholeseason: Real World Belle is recovering under the care of Mr. Gold after leaving the asylum. She breaks his chipped cup by accident. Prompt: His response to this.
Marie French's Return (2/4)
It was hard for Mr. Gold to believe it but the end of summer was nearing.
He was quite glad for the season's ending, as Miss French wore too many frilly dresses that looked like they belonged in Ruby's closet for his liking.
When he commented upon this, Belle just smiled. Her eyes twinkled more often every day but they especially twinkled when he scolded her.
He was glad to see the only thing that had really changed was her name and her memories.
He wished he wasn't so happy about her replacement memories, but it was giving him a second chance. He could start over their story. He could possibly even get it right.
Not that she would be very happy about the lies he spouted to keep her off the track of her real memories.
Sometimes he thought he would see flashes of something in her eyes but it would flee too fast for him to really tell.
"Mr. Gold."
"Yes, my dear?" He filed his blank cards, one by one. It was quite a bit of fun to masquerade as the Pawn Owner sometimes. Especially when it came down to filing cards that had nothing written on them, or salvaging another piece of magic that was treated as if it were an empty soda bottle- especially if it actually was an empty soda bottle.
"Um." Belle was nervous. She was never nervous. Mr. Gold wondered if he should also be nervous when she spoke again, "I was wondering if you'd like to join me at my house for dinner."
He stopped filing. The smirk gathered up in the corners of his mouth.
"Now, Miss French, I don't think that would be a good idea-" he looked up and was startled to realize she was right across the counter. She was just wiping the front windows…
"Please Mr. Gold. I'd like to make you a dinner to thank you for, for everything that you've done really." Her eyes were eager and Mr. Gold was reminded of a younger Belle who had been so willing to know about his son.
He swallowed.
She smiled and he knew then he had just lost the battle.
"My dear, your father and I aren't on the best of terms-" which was putting it mildly, "and I"
She placed her hand on his and the words stopped flowing.
"Then, my dear," she whispered with a wiggling grin, "Let me cook for you at your place."
Rumplestiltskin could not trust his voice so he nodded.
The blue in her eyes shone and he knew this was what she had wanted in the first place.
Belle had beaten him at his own game.
Again.
Marie worried over the stove. She still wasn't used to these modern conveniences (modern - where had that thought come from) but she was not going to set Mr. Gold's house on fire.
Well, he was watching her very carefully, so she had assumed even if she started a fire that he would take care of it with magic.
Or rather, a fire extinguisher.
Where was her head today- obviously not in Mr. Gold's kitchen.
She took a peek at him. He was leaning on the counter lightly kicking his cane with his good leg.
There was no expression on his face.
She shivered.
She still wasn't completely sure why she had insisted upon cooking him dinner. The thought had entered her head one evening when she visited Ruby at the diner. Per usual, she had sat alone just watching the world drift by.
It had been a very quiet evening as it had earlier been a beautiful day. One of those days where everyone is outside, walking, swimming, running. On her way over to the diner Marie had spied Henry playing tag with Ava and Nicholas.
It was just that kind of night. Quiet, sweet . . . a night where bittersweet memories are made.
Yet Marie sat watching Ruby flirt with one of the customers instead of making memories of her own.
She thought the man whom Ruby had her eye on may have been August, one of the men who helped her out of her dungeon (no, cell… that was it) a few months before. But she wasn't altogether sure.
She sipped her Chamomile tea, idly wondering what her employer was up to.
Mr. Gold had been a godsend. Every day she was thankful for his company.
He had been the only one who didn't treat her like she was a freak. Even Ruby, who had been kind enough to lend Marie half her wardrobe, sometimes gave her pitying looks anytime Marie said something funny.
So she was grateful to Mr. Gold. When she messed up and opened with words that made little sense, he smiled at her. Sometimes he even encouraged the tangled web of thoughts that fell out of her mouth.
And sometimes she felt like she could remember everything again.
He felt so familiar. She knew they had been close before the time of her imprisonment, but she still didn't know how close or why they had been close to begin with.
He was twenty years older than her, that did not really encourage any thoughts of friendship but she supposed he couldn't have been lying to her before. He didn't look like a man who thrived on lying. Omitting the truth perhaps, she had seen it for herself once or twice already, even though he attempted to hide his deals in the back room of his shop.
But a liar- never.
She sometimes believed that they could have been in love. Mostly this was due to her father's peculiar looks when talked about Mr. Gold mixed with her own affection and suppressed attraction to the man.
But any thoughts of a torrid love affair stopped when she realized he never touched her. In fact he often reeled from even the most innocent of brushes.
She cried after realizing this fact. The storm outside her bedroom window the night she dreamed about loving him matched her heart and mind's feelings on the matter. But- life went on.
And instead she smiled and swept, chatted and cleaned, watched and wiped.
She did this over and over until the night when he sent her off with the barest of grins. It had been a long evening for him- Mayor Mills had come around glaring at Marie and Mr. Gold as if they were witches plotting her doom.
Marie had been hanging around Henry too much.
But that particular night she went over to the Diner, watched Ruby giggle wide-eyed over the writer and realized she wanted to do that too.
She wanted to giggle at Mr. Gold openly with him smiling back as if he were head over heels in love.
"So, tea in the evening… how very British of you," August slid into the booth across from her.
"I'm Australian," she automatically answered but it didn't feel right. Her mother was Australian. Her father was …. British?
She was American right?
That also felt wrong but she couldn't dwell on it long as August launched into one of his speeches.
She noticed he did this often with a gleam in his eyes. She had never been a receiver of one of these pep-talks but she'd seen him do it often enough. Usually they were directed at the Sheriff.
"What's bothering you?"
"Who says anything is bothering me?" she took a bite out of her biscotti. She wanted him to stop already and he hadn't even begun.
He smiled in return.
"Your shoulders are sagged and instead of dancing around outside with the kids like you'd normally do, you're inside watching Ruby paint her nails."
"And sipping tea," Marie added with a twisted smirk.
"And sipping tea," he agreed.
They sat there in silence for a moment; Marie stared at her half-bitten nails while August just continued to smirk.
Marie was beginning to see why Mr. Gold avoided August.
"What is it you want Mr. Booth?" she sighed.
"How about we go out for a drink?" he asked with a quirk of his lips. Marie reeled back in panic, dropping her disinterested act entirely.
"No!" she half-shouted. He raised an eyebrow and she flushed, "Um, I'm sorry, I just don't think we'd work out."
He leaned in and whispered, "Good, that's what I wanted to hear."
Marie gazed at him wide-eyed. What on earth was he smoking?
She tore away from his eyes and took another slow sip of her tea.
"So, who do you like?" August whispered with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
It was as if he already knew. Marie chugged down the rest of her tea as if she was Ruby at Ladies' Night and glared at him.
"I like no one."
"Is it Dr. Hopper? You have to careful with him, he can bug some people."
"No it's not Dr. Hopper."
"How about Dr. Whale?"
"What is it with you and Doctors?" Marie hissed.
His eyes danced, "Should I say who I really think it is?"
Marie's eyes widened and before she could stop him August handed her a cookbook.
"I find the best answers in life are in books," he grinned.
Marie took the book and glanced at the title, "I would have to say I agree with that," she breathed. It was a Julia Child cookbook.
"Just give it a try, would you?"
Before she could ask what he wanted her to try August slid out of the booth with a wave.
She smiled down at the book and that was when she had come up with this insane plan.
And that was why Mr. Gold was berating her.
"Miss French, please watch the chicken more carefully," he limped over to her with a scowl and turned down the heat.
"I'm so sorry Mr. Gold, I got lost in my thoughts," she bit the inside of her lip and, not for the first time, wished she wasn't such a klutz in the kitchen.
She turned to look at him and was surprised to see him so close to her but then again they were both at the stove.
Mr. Gold seemed to realize this as well and he quickly backed off, or as quick as a man with a limp could back off.
"I'll leave it to you Miss French- I, uh, have some contracts to look over as it were. Just don't burn down the kitchen while I'm gone."
And then he disappeared.
Like magic.
Again.
Rumplestiltskin glowered at his reflection in the mirror.
Why did he let her cook for him?
Better question, why did he insist on Belle working for him in the first place?
His mouth stiffened. He knew the answer.
She looked so domestic in the kitchen burning the chicken.
It was as if none of it had ever happened. That the curse, the kiss, everything, was a bad dream that Rumplestiltskin conjured up one winter's night.
He pulled at his tie.
The tie was proof enough that they weren't in the Dark Castle.
He eyed his mouth. It wasn't covered in scales or tinged green.
Well, there were some benefits to the damn curse after all.
He wasn't nearly as monstrous in looks as he was before, although he was still just an old man. A lecher they'd call him.
But Belle, wonderful Belle would never think that.
He wished, not for the first time, that she remembered him. That she wasn't fooled by the misdirection's of others, that for once in her life, she didn't believe what she was told.
He wanted her to be curious like she used to. Spy, dig around, find something that proved her dreams right and her reality wrong.
But then again, he wanted her to stay like this forever. He wanted this second chance.
"Mr. Gold?" her voice drifted by his ears.
He turned away from the monster in the mirror.
"Yes Miss French," he smiled one of his goddamned smiles that meant so much and yet so little.
He knew everyone hated those smiles. He knew that because he did too.
She appeared by his side holding two cups of tea with a guilty grin.
He took a cup with a curious glance, "So, dearie," he sipped the tea and winced. It was much too strong, "what went wrong?
"Well," she wriggled under his gaze like a small troublesome child.
He held back a smile. This wasn't the first time he had seen this look.
"The chicken is doing fine, it's the biscuits I was making for dessert- they're completely black and I wanted them to be so good for you-" she rushed.
"It's no matter, tea is fine. Shall we go into the kitchen?" Belle, he wanted to add.
She nodded again looking a little like a bobble-head. He wanted to smirk at the nervous tick but he was too busy calming his own nerves.
Tonight really was a poor idea.
They talk about everything as they eat and drink the dinner and drinks Belle prepared.
Politics- not national as poor Miss French has no idea what is going on there and to be frank neither does Mr. Gold. But then again it's not like he actually cares.
But small town politics were much more interesting than the national scene anyway- at least if your mayor is an evil Queen.
They talk of Henry and his silly book- of the Sheriff and her battle with the Mayor- of the kind Dr. Hopper and Belle's treatment- of August (a topic that Mr. Gold desperately changes for more reasons than he wishes to list) and that is somehow changed into the topic of her father and then to the worst subject of all.
The teacup.
"Why is this cup chipped?" she asks, glancing at the cup he grasped.
His finger grazed the chip and he tried to ease himself into an answer.
"Well, dearie," he broke out a traditional Rumplestiltskin smile. Her gaze ddin't break away from his face.
He sipped from the cup in question before answering, "Traditionally when a cup is chipped it means someone broke it."
Belle raised an eyebrow, "And who, may I ask, broke this beautiful teacup?"
He sipped out of the cup.
He didn't want to stop drinking the tea but it was almost out.
He wanted to run from her face that reeked of adoration and love and future mistakes.
He couldn't tell her she did it. He just couldn't.
"Mr. Gold- are you all right?" her voice shattered his reflections.
Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. "Yes, sorry, Miss French, I was just reminiscing."
"You must've loved her very much."
He smiled at her. A real smile that he only gave to her, "Yes, I did. I still do."
Belle got up before Mr. Gold could stop her, "May I look?" she asked.
He looked up at her. She was by his side staring at the teacup as if it was her teacup too- not even knowing that it was. Her eyes softened and she was grasping her hands as if she needed to touch it.
He bestowed the teacup to her. She was the only one who had the right to touch it.
Or so he thought until she dropped it.
"Oh my God, no, no, no. I'm so sorry." She was on the ground and Rumplestiltskin watched her pick up the teacup- which was not split into two.
"I can glue it back together, I can, please let me do this," her hands shook over the two pieces and Rumplestiltskin had to tuck away his greed or else he would tear the cup away from her hands before she dropped it again.
He kneeled down beside her, "Miss French, it's all right." He stopped when he noticed the tears on her face.
Before his rational side could stop him, he grabbed her chin, "Look at me. It's just a cup," he lied.
She smiled while more tears fell out, "You're lying Mr. Gold. You never lie."
"I think you give me more credit than I deserve."
She shook her head. Her smile didn't break, "No, no I don't. This cup means more to you than your own life. I heard about what you did to my father over it."
He stared at her and she grabbed his hands. Before he could shift away, she gave him the two pieces of the cup.
"It's all right. I know the Mayor put him up to it. I don't think what you did was right but I can't say what my dad did was right either." She glanced down at the cup.
"Mr. Gold, I know I have no right to demand this but who was she?"
Rumplestiltskin wanted to hug her, take her into his arms and inform her that she could demand anything from him at any time.
But more than anything, he wished she remembered.
Any ideas about second chances died when she looked at him like that. He didn't deserve it. Not without her knowledge.
Without taking her eyes off him, Belle leaned into him.
The hug was slow and warm. There was a decent distance from their chests but Rumplestiltskin could feel her bare hand on his back.
Her other hand was linking their fingers together.
"Miss French," he murmured.
He could feel the smile that spread on her face, as they were now somehow cheek-to-cheek, "Shh, Mr. Gold, it's all right."
He pulled away from her.
"What's the matter?"
"My knee is hurting."
"Oh…" her eyes grew bigger, "Oh! I'm so sorry! Let me help you!"
Within a few moments Mr. Gold was standing beside her with his cane in hand and the broken teacup on the table.
"Thank you Miss French."
"It's quite all right."
She positioned herself so that he could smell her vanilla shampoo.
She was becoming much too close for Mr. Gold's comfort.
"Mr. Gold, why do you run a pawn shop?" she asked. She looked up at him as if he could do no wrong and Rumplestiltskin crumbled like an old, weary castle.
Or like the old man he was.
"I suppose I like to collect old things," he attempted to give her a smile.
She gazed at his tie, "Why old things of all the things in the world? And why sell them to people instead of just collecting them?"
He sat in the chair that had been forgotten, "Well, I suppose you wouldn't like the answer of money-" she laughed, "but that'd be the honest answer."
"Good. I like honesty."
He wanted to squirm under gaze but held it in with a pasted smirk, "And to answer the first question, Miss French, I collect old things because I have a fondness for stories- just like you do," he pointed the short end of his cane to her.
She sat down on the table- looking very much like she did a long time ago in a very different place, wide-eyed and beautiful, "You do know me well." She craned her neck around the room, "Are there any old things with stories here?"
"You mean other than me?"
She glared at him and tapped his leg with her foot, "You aren't old."
He licked his lips. If only she knew how old he really was.
"Well, Miss French, I believe I have a collection of curiosities around here somewhere. Why don't you take a look?"
"You mean I can snoop around?" He had never heard someone who sounded so delighted about meddling.
"What's mine is yours. . ." he said but she had already swept away to the other room.
He stared at where she had been moments ago before inspecting the teacup.
It wasn't the same chipped cup that kept him going day after day.
It was broken in half. Rumplestiltskin knew there was a joke in here somewhere about broken (empty) hearts and chipped cups but he didn't want to see it.