A/N: Hey everyone! My has it been a long time! I'm so sorry - life seemed to get in the way of everything, between one job and then getting another, I've just been working so much and haven't had a spare moment to write. However, today, I polished off another section! It might not be perfect, but it's done and I'm just glad I got back into writing something, believe me - it was a struggle! I hope the wait was worth it - enjoy!
It didn't seem as though it would be too difficult to maneuver the cigarette box for the evening. They were all organized in their boxes, there was a lighter all set in the tray, and the refill boxes were in the backroom where they picked up the trays in the first place. It was a job she could handle. Her hands trembled as she worked the lighter the first time, Ruby laughing as she squeaked and the flame burst from the lighter.
Assured it got easier with time, Belle let Ruby lead her out and onto the sparsely populated floor. It wouldn't pick up for an hour or so, but it gave Ruby a chance to show her how cigarette bunnies worked and what she was supposed to do. Observing would have been easier if Belle's eyes weren't anxiously searching for Gold's entrance. She found it hard to think of him in terms of his first name, so Gold he would remain, unless, of course she was angry, then Robert flashed pretty visibly in her mind.
She hadn't seen him yet though, wondering if he had fallen asleep at his desk – or worse, hadn't done any work at all – and was going to be late. She wanted to see him, but she had to be in this section, handing out cigarettes instead. It really wasn't fair, but Regina was not truly known for her fairness. She overheard Winifred saying that she was going to be covering Belle's section for the night and she hoped to high heaven the brash, but sensitive young woman wouldn't take her place permanently.
Pursing her lips together, fixing her lipstick, after the first fifteen customers she watched Ruby attend to, smiling and apologizing for gawking to every one, she could branch out on her own. She hadn't seen any VIPs so far, and she somehow doubted it was a secret celebrity. If someone important was here, they'd know. News travelled fast from willing lips, and Belle just didn't see anyone out of the ordinary, no one to have a special move for her.
Maybe Regina just said that to get her to agree. Belle wouldn't doubt it. She had wanted her to move more than once in the past week. Was it Belle she was punishing? Or was it Gold? Maybe it was her way of figuring things out. Belle wasn't even halfway interested in lighting cigarettes as she walked around with her fake smile and empty words. Sure, the section didn't vary too drastically from her own, with one notable exception, which apparently, made all the difference, as Ruby walked up by her side, "Just a head's up, Belle, but you look absolutely miserable – and if I can muster looking thrilled with this headache, you better pick it up. Regina will rip you a new one."
Ruby was looking out for her, Belle knew that, but it didn't mean that she was happy about it. She had Ruby to compete with, she wasn't making the tips she was used to making, and she didn't know these men or their preferences. She felt silly, not knowing their favorite brands when it seemed so natural to Ruby. Belle felt foolish, and she wanted to go back to her space where she knew drink orders and wouldn't falter and go slow. The least Regina could have done was keep her on drinks.
She was so far out of her comfort zone, it was asking for failure. If Belle did not have so much pride, she probably would have walked right up to Regina and quit, but that wasn't the way to go about things. She'd give it her all. If she was going to get fired, at least let the person who messed up have to do it. She could also use whatever tips she could get before she was driven out.
Making sure she adjusted her smile, Belle went about her business again, delivering cigarettes to patrons – Reds seemed to be going awfully fast – and chopping the ends off of cigars for the patrons who wanted those. Belle hated them, personally, they smelled and she didn't really enjoy cigarettes either – the lie that almost had her caught the other day.
As she finished lighting up the cigars – and fantasies of one table – Belle moved away, not really wanting to take the nose-full of smoke that would inevitably follow. Apparently all of the terrible and droll comments that could be made about whiskey and drinking were made twice as bad with cigarettes. Honestly, men had one thing on their mind, and they weren't getting it with her. None of them seemed to grasp that concept.
Looking for Ruby, Belle spotted her leaning over a table, brushing her hand across the jaw of some young man with a healthy beard and a clever smile. Maybe it was the August fellow that Ashley had mentioned. It certainly wasn't poor Archie. With a shake of her head, Belle decided she was going to have to handle the riff-raff on her own and made her way around the tables of a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces.
Some of them, she recognized from her previous section, particularly the young men who thought they were suave in their dark suits with slicked back hair, wearing heavy watches and shark smiles. They were very young, Belle realized, perhaps in years no younger than herself, but sheltered, living in a world where they got whatever they asked for, and seldom actually needed to ask for it. One in particular, the Marco who had cornered her about her pictures – which seemed to be a lifetime away at this point, was sitting with a group of what looked like his peers and Belle was powerless to do anything about the fact they were looking straight at her.
She had to suck it up, she had to go over and play her part, do her job. Glancing at her own section longingly, she couldn't see Gold's usual table from where she was, but she prayed he was there, and prayed that she could get a break sooner rather than later to even just walk by. It'd feel much more comfortable, she was sure. He looked after her, shady as it was, and here, in new territory, she had a strange feeling that although she was with the other girls, they didn't see much use in protecting.
"Bunny Belle, right?" the lilting voice of Marco greeted with a feral grin. It wasn't playful flirting, there was something menacing behind his eyes.
Clearing her throat, Belle reminded herself of her job and smiled, "You remembered," she almost sounded happy – in fact, if she did not know the torment in her own mind over pretending so fiercely, she might have believed it herself, "And – forgive me if I'm wrong, but Michael – wasn't it?" It would seem more realistic if she forgot his name – and he didn't really deserve any of her lasting affection.
Straightening his tie with a dark look, Marco shook his head. "No such luck, Doll face. It's Marco."
"Oh! That's right," she couldn't bring herself to giggle, no matter how hard she tried, especially not for him. "Well Marco," she looked around the table, "and friends – since I'm not taking care of drinks tonight, can I interest any of you in a cigar or cigarette?" she pivoted her foot out like she was supposed to, one side of her hips higher than the other, like Ruby taught her, and grinned like her life depended on it.
Of course, she could, and the men around him wanted their various brands, whatever it was, Belle wasn't very accustomed to the different kinds available, and even Marco seemed placated as he requested a red. Looking down in her tray, Belle bit her lip. "Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen," and walked away feeling entirely unsettled by the experience.
There was nothing familiar about this. Usually, when Belle would have words for her patrons, she found herself lacking and nervous. When she disappeared into the backroom, it felt like it was the first time she could breathe in hours. She sucked in huge gulps of air, not really realizing how much being out there suddenly felt like drowning. Once sated with air, she turned to the shelves and looked for the token red boxes she so needed to see.
Belle's hand froze as she heard a sound – almost inconsequential, but loud enough that she was aware. There was someone else approaching. It was most likely Ashley or even Ruby, coming for something, she told herself. No one really came back here unless they needed to and who would follow her anyway? It seemed ridiculous to even think about.
So, she continued about her task, grabbing several boxes from the very back of the shelf- apparently they needed to be absolutely impossible to get to, even in her heels. But then, there it was again: the sound of footsteps. Belle fumbled, grabbing onto the cold, metal racks to keep her balance.
She lowered her heels down, more stability, and sighed, lowering her forehead against smooth metal. A deep breath and she was ready to just go. She was getting jittery, maybe it was just everything finally processing. It had to be that. "Keep it together, French," she murmured to herself, rubbing her temple while her other hand still held onto the rack.
"Having trouble keeping your stories straight?" another voice – a very familiar voice – piped in. Belle reeled, pulling her head up so quickly that she grazed her forehead on the sharp under-edge of the metal shelf. She tried not to whimper as she reached up, feeling the sticky wetness on her fingers. It wasn't a lot, but more than she was comfortable with, to be sure. Mr. Gold was standing in the doorway, clutching his cane and staring her down – there was very little kindness in his eyes.
"Gold?" she tilted her head to the side – why did he seem so out of sorts? Had something happened? Belle wondered if this was about dealing with Marco – she thought she'd done well, not revealed anything. Maybe it was something about Regina – either way, she was at a loss for what she had done. He let out a bark of a laugh and Belle blinked. "What's wrong?"
He shifted only slightly, eyes still bearing into her. His fingers twitched around the handle of his cane and he rolled his shoulders, just enough that Belle could see the perfectly tailored fabric move on his body. "A funny question for you to be asking," he pointed out, "perhaps you could enlighten me as to what is wrong?"
Belle blinked. She had no idea what he was talking about. "I just ran out of cigarettes," she pointed out, a little edge to her voice. This was employees only, and he was asking her about something she didn't really understand in the back room, acting like she had committed some major offense. It wasn't really the time or place, and she was bleeding because he had startled her.
He clicked his tongue. The sound was accompanied by small shakes of his head, his methodical footsteps bringing him closer, and Belle instinctively drew her body up against the rack. "I don't appreciate lying, dearie," his eyes flashed with something Belle could not recognize. "You expect me to believe you're not in your usual section, doing your usual job, because of cigarettes?"
"What?" Belle balked, unsure of how to understand just what he was getting at. Mr. Gold could not be serious – thinking she chose where and when she worked. It wasn't her choice – and even if it were, did he really think she'd request to not be in her usual section with her usual job. "Why wouldn't you believe me?" her voice waved, but there was intensity there – a good deal of anger at the insinuation.
His face was tense, jaw tight, and eyes bearing into her. Belle shifted on her heels and swallowed hard. "You don't need to pretend, Belle," her name didn't have the same resonating warmth as it had that morning – it was laced with accusation, and Belle bristled. "It's not as though I expected anything different, except perhaps courtesy." There was no appropriate reaction to that, Belle realized, as she stared slack-jawed at the most incomprehensible man she had ever laid eyes on. His lips curled into a cruel smirk, "No need to look so shocked, dearie. My business is the truth, after all."
Immediately set back, Belle shook her head. "I don't know what problem you've invented for this," she motioned between them, "but I can't talk about this right now. If Regina finds out…"
"Regina!" he spat, cutting her off. "Say no more," he waved his hand, "I'll be sure to leave you to it, Bunny Belle. Feel free to contact Hongrois – he will take care of whatever you need."
Belle might have let him go – she might have, before, but watching him look at her with purposefully blank eyes, pushing her away. Something had happened – something that he was unwilling to explain, and Belle could see it – if only she could know! Pride, however, disallowed the man she had entangled herself with to admit anything to her, much less speak about his feelings, which were beyond what he was showing here.
This wasn't right – it couldn't be right, not after everything. He started to walk, to leave, and Belle couldn't stand by and watch it. Striding after him, forgetting her cigarette box and chore, she grabbed his shoulder. "No," she wavered at first, "No, you don't get to do this."
A snarl entered his voice, "I get to do as I please," he countered. The space, filled with racks and boxes, dimly lit, it all seemed to get smaller in that moment, his bristling, raised shoulders taking over small space, and Belle felt bigger too, standing taller and angrier. "And it would be my pleasure to see myself out."
Disgust vibrated in Belle's throat, "I don't know what anyone told you – or worse – what you believe, but you don't get to decide this by yourself." Belle could feel the tension building in the pit of her stomach, and for a brief moment – a flicker of nausea bubbled up, "This is my life too – and I make my choices."
He might have looked startled, if not for the practiced swallow of a grimace and setting of his jaw – so calm and collected on the outside that it made Belle want to scream. She knew, however, in the back of her head, was aware screaming would do nothing for her. "You've already made yours – and thus, I've made mine." His hand flexed around the handle of the cane with such control it made Belle uncomfortable, so much so, she stood in silence. "You may collect your things and leave by tomorrow afternoon. I will not be there to see you off."
The brisk turn was made with such ease that Belle briefly wondered if her instincts were off – if he really did care or not. She swallowed hard as the door clicked, leaving her alone, and his footsteps echoing down the hallway. What was the right course of action? Belle's throat constricted with the realization she had no idea, and her shift wasn't even half over.
Her shaking hands grabbed for her cigarette box and she pushed down her desire to flee. She needed time – she needed a plan, and grabbing what she needed, Belle could only do that if she still had a job to do it at. Pushing the door open, her knees still wobbled in her shoes and her breathing was still labored, but she was calm – she could do this. All she had to do was get back into the club. "Bunny Belle – just the bunny I was looking for."
It appeared it would have to wait. Regina called.