A/N: FINALLY HERE! Thanks to everyone for being so patient! I started a new job this August and life is crazy, so I write whenever I can/when I get inspiration, so I finally pumped it out! Have a great read, and again, thanks for being so patient and wonderful!
The drive back was silent.
Belle did not venture to speak and neither did her current chauffer. They didn't have anything to say to one another. Belle knew he didn't have any power, none that really mattered, anyway. He was a lackey, sent to do the bidding of the hand that fed him, and she was at their mercy – perhaps even more than he was.
She wasn't going to start sympathizing with him, of course, she didn't feel bad – obviously he was going to get out of this alive before she did – barring any egregious errors, but Belle couldn't see the point in feeling bad for someone who had gone to the painstaking task of acquiring the same exact car as Gold just to drag her to the middle of nowhere where a mobster threatened her.
She also doubted that one with such attention to detail was going to make any mistakes in bringing her home either.
Belle could dream, of course. She could wish he'd crash the car and she'd be able to escape and run. She could even wish he'd drive into the river after he dropped her off – then she'd be able to play it off like her own doing. Pretend to send a message back. No one would question the girl who escaped from a sinking car and didn't save the man who was driving.
It was all fantasy though, and Belle couldn't decide to ignore reality. It was going to exist whether she wanted it to or not. The message was simple: avoid Gold. Don't distract him. If you do, you are going to get hurt.
Her first instinct was to do exactly what they asked. As they neared the city, the buildings standing in stark, lit contrast to the dark sky, the weary and exhausted bunny knew what was in store if she didn't listen. She wasn't only looking out for herself. Belle wasn't stupid. They would stop at nothing, and killing her wasn't the first solution they'd go to. It was the easiest, to be sure, but it didn't make her useful. Her loved ones were first: her father, her friends – everyone.
Being absolutely exhausted and petrified wasn't helping. When the car finally pulled to a rolling stop in front of her building – no directions required – they knew where she lived, Belle was gruffly told to get the hell out and remember what she was told. If she weren't half convinced it would get her killed, she'd have pointed out that it wouldn't exactly be the easiest thing to forget.
The car rolled away, taking all of the light with it, leaving Belle standing cold and alone on the middle of sidewalk just before the sun was scheduled to rise. If she didn't feel so overwhelmed to the point of numbness, she might have cried. Instead, she stared straight ahead as her tired legs carried her to the door and her hands unlocked the door, then climbed and climbed to their floor.
She didn't even make it to her bedroom.
It was nearly four in the afternoon when Belle was jolted out of sleep by the shrill trilling of the telephone's bell. Scrambling, all knees and elbows, across the room, Belle breathlessly grabbed the receiver and held it to her ear, sputtering out a confused, "Hello?" as she tried to catch her breath.
The line crackled – whoever was calling wasn't doing it from a home phone – pay phone, most likely – and there was a delay in the answer. "Where are you?" It took Belle several blinks and a couple of head shakes to realize who the voice belonged to. Regina.
Babbling incoherently, Belle coughed – trying to clear her throat and give herself a moment. "Regina! I – I'm sick today!" she lied immediately, scrunching up her face in embarrassment – that was the worst lie she had told to date. Poorly done.
But, now she had no choice. Belle had to go with it. The tense silence on the other end was almost tangible. "You have a shift."
Time to act. Belle immediately lowered her voice, trying to insert any gravel worn sound that she could into her speaking voice, and groaned a little. "I know – I meant to call, but I've been sick to my stomach all day whenever I tried to pick up the phone…" and she did the most obscene thing she could think of: burp on command.
The action itself actually aided in making Belle legitimately queasy. She put a hand on her stomach and waited, holding her breath, for Regina's reply.
"You haven't been yourself, Bunny Belle," she commented. Regina didn't just make idle comments.
"Well, I think I've been coming down with this for a couple days," Belle continued the lie. She needed to deflect. It was bad enough this was a lie, there were so many other things she had done that could easily get her fired much more quickly than faking a sick night. Hell, one of the other girls would definitely want the extra shift. Regina wouldn't have trouble filling it.
"Take the night. But I'm docking the day out of your salary, and you know the rules. Twenty-five dollar fine for being late is still going to apply, since you failed to call." All business, Regina.
And Belle had to sigh with relief, even though that twenty five dollars was going to hurt on top of missing a shift. At least it wasn't fifty for taking the suit home on top of not going in. Belle rubbed her forehead with her free hand. "I understand," she purposefully weakened her voice, though not as much as if she was lying under normal circumstances.
"You know, Bunny," Regina added, a strange lightness in her voice, "take two nights. Don't need you passing on whatever it is you've contracted to any of the other girls."
Belle opened her mouth to reply, but the dial tone met her voice. Regina hung up on her!
She put the receiver down and leaned her head back, letting out a long, strangled groan of frustration. Two days? Regina wasn't pleased – and what would she do for two days? She supposed, as she sagged back into the cushions of the threadbare couch, that she could – and would – start with sleeping.
Unfortunately, as much as Belle wished to sleep, when she dragged herself to her room and crawled into the double bed, it was cold and uncomfortable. She closed her eyes, but couldn't manage to let herself relax. She had lied to Regina, was stuck in this dingy excuse for a home for two days, and couldn't contact Gold – or anyone, really. The girls would know she was lying. And if she got caught talking to Gold…
Vivid memories of the way the men looked at her, the dull throb that was still occurring in her now lightly bruised wrist kept her from achieving even a light doze, what with all of the tossing.
She felt trapped – like a prisoner in her own home – restless and afraid. And not for the first time, she wished she could tell her father all about what was going on in her life. But, he wasn't here – Omaha seemed like an unthinkable distance, and he wouldn't want to know his little girl was a living fantasy, fooling around with lawyers, running into the mob, and putting them both – and others – in danger.
He'd already lost her mother, and that had almost killed him. Belle didn't need to put another nail in his coffin – he wasn't getting any younger, after all.
She pushed herself out of her bed and sighed, walking back to the living room – looking at the black phone with the keypad. It was begging her to call. She needed to do it. She reached into the end table drawer and pulled out the little cards with numbers on them.
It was hard enough, looking for it, but actually dialing her uncle's number… her heart stopped every time she heard the ring on the other end in her ear, holding her breath and counting – three, four, five rings – ready to hang up – until the ringing stop and "Hello?" greeted her.
"Dad?" Belle's voice quivered, feeling suddenly very much like the little girl who would call him at the shop from the neighbor's apartment when she got home from school and not the adult who was living a hundred different lives all at the same time.
A throaty chuckle sounded on the other end. Belle wrapped the phone cord around her fingers, biting her lip as her uncle's voice even sounded like a smile. "Belle! It's good to hear from you, Sprout," she cringed because she knew he was grinning as he used her childhood pet name. "Your dad is out back on the porch. I'll get him."
She sighed. "Thanks, Uncle Moe." Her grandparents hadn't been especially clever – Maurice, their older son, and Moe the younger. And she heard the receiver hit the counter top or table and steps grow fainter and fainter as they moved away. She thought she could even hear the creak of the hinges on the door in the background.
Belle's heart was thumping in her chest. She had no reason to be afraid of her father answering, she wasn't going to tell him anything that would wreck his heart or make him run home right in the path of whatever it was that was going on.
When she heard someone fumbling with the receiver, Belle's heart rate increased – if that were possible, and the corners of her eyes prickled with tears that she didn't even know were there. "Sweetheart?"
Belle couldn't breathe for a moment. It was just so overwhelming to hear a voice that was so removed from everything. "Hi, Daddy," she breathed, unable to stop smiling from ear to ear.
"I didn't expect to hear from you," she could practically hear him smiling too. They were the only people the other had – for sure, forever. It felt like ages since Belle had talked to her father, and she laughed, shrugging her shoulders to adjust the black receiver against her already hot ear.
"I didn't expect to call – but I had the day off," another lie. "How are you?" that was sincere, at the very least, and Belle leaned further into the phone, as though she could get physically closer to her father by doing so.
There were noises in the background; the phone must have been in the kitchen and Aunt Patty must have been fixing food. It was around dinner time. "It's been good. Your Uncle Moe got me a job at his shop while I'm here. How are you?" the tone of his voice changed, and Belle's throat hitched.
It was hard to be away from her dad, and apparently it was hard for him too. "I've been busy," if that weren't the truth, she wouldn't know what was. And no matter how much she wanted her dad home with her, Belle wasn't going to let him. "I just wanted to let you know the apartment isn't done yet, unfortunately."
"Not done? What's wrong with it?" his voice was nervous. They didn't have extra money, Belle knew that - and she needed an excuse, a good one. It seemed it was all she was good for recently, excuses.
"While they were fumigating, apparently they found problems with the pipes. Don't worry, it's a building expense – just… we can't come home for a while." They both sighed at the same time, a habit she picked up and one they both used when they were disappointed. She tried to smile. "At least you get to spend more time with Uncle Moe. Aunt Patty, and little Phil?" However optimistic she wished to sound, it wasn't' going to fool him.
The silence between them lingered. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, but Belle knew neither of them knew what to say. "That's true," he agreed half-heartedly and Belle could hear him shift his weight from one side to the other, standing uncomfortably. "You know, Philip is more and more like you every day," he informed her, "he's 13 now."
"Make sure you bring home pictures," Belle smiled weakly, imagining the cousin she only distantly remembered running around with a wooden sword in his pajamas, pretending to slay dragons now a 13 year old boy. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled lightly. "Well, I better let you go."
"Yea, I guess so," as half-hearted as it came, and it broke her heart. She didn't know when, specifically during their stilted conversation she had started to cry, but there were certainly silent tears trickling down her cheeks now. "Take care of yourself sweetheart. You're still staying with that Ruby girl and her grandmother, right?"
If only. "Yes," she lied again. "They're really understanding, and before you ask – I've been contributing, don't worry." It almost didn't sink in that lying had become so easy until she heard her dad chuckle softly – believing her.
She had always been so trustworthy. What happened? Oh, right – just about everything had changed in her entire life in a matter of weeks. "Be good, Sprout, and…" she heard him clear his throat, choked up too. Maurice French wasn't one for feelings, he had never really got the hang of it, even when she was a little kid, and he had to explain about mom, and things were just a little too hard for everyone involved. "I miss you."
Belle covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her desire to sob and run – straight to Omaha and live with her family, be with them and forget everything. "I miss you too, Daddy," she tried not to let him hear how her voice broke in the second syllable, "tell everyone else I say hello, and miss them too."
"I will, Sprout. Call when you have time," he sounded hopeful.
Belle couldn't disappoint him. "I'll call, Dad. Don't worry. I will talk to you later."
"Bye Sprout." She hurried with her goodbye and hung up the phone.
Bowing her head, Belle rubbed her eyes, pushing the wetness off of her cheeks and tried to calm herself. Her father was happy; he was with their family and safe. Even if they weren't together - he was safe. That's what mattered. She just had to keep reminding herself of that fact – she missed him terribly, wanted him with her, as though he could protect her, but the truth of the matter was, she couldn't protect him by doing anything other than keeping him away.
Belle had never felt more alone in her entire life.
She pushed herself off the couch and felt as though she was crawling back into her dark bedroom, diving beneath the covers to try and push the weight of life away for a while. She was conflicted though, her father hadn't kept any alcohol in the house. It might have been that much easier to forget, but then again, her mind jumped to the evening she blocked Gold from the cabinet. It was the easy way out – a temporary escape. She wouldn't do it.
Though, her mind countered, indicating that pulling the covers over her head as she was doing now wasn't really about to solve a problem either. But, at the very least, in the dark confines of her bed, she could think.
It was a laborious task, thinking. Her head hurt with a lack of possibility. Perhaps she would leave. She could go to Omaha. It wouldn't be so bad, and demons didn't fly that far out of the city. The thought, at the very least, cleared her mind enough to fall asleep once again – body and mind weary as though she had not slept properly in years.
The deadness of sleep, a complete lack of feeling and dreamlessness soothed her in ways she could not fully know until she woke up the next morning before the sun even had a chance to peek over the tops of buildings, refreshed and light for at least a little while.
Until she realized that she was still stuck in her apartment, with no contact in the outside world, and putting her friends and family in danger by the very nature of being here. Up in her apartment, alone and overlooking the world from shaded windows, however, she couldn't hurt anyone.
So, she stayed. There was no food in the cabinets, but Belle didn't feel much like eating, much less preparing it. Even reading, there was a certain listlessness that accompanied it, and even though she knew she was reading pages, it seemed like every time she flipped the page she forgot what was on the page before.
It was impossible to concentrate.
She couldn't even switch on the tiny, black and white television in the living room without just finding the noise grating, an inefficient way to annoy herself. She looked at the clock, wondering what the girls were doing – if they even gave a thought to her being away from the club.
Her mind couldn't help but wander to Gold as well. Did he even notice she hadn't been there? Would he have even gone back after he stormed off without even letting her have half of a say in it? Her chest clenched at the thought. Logically, she was aware he wasn't going to give a second thought to her. Whatever he had been told, it wasn't as though he had feelings for her beyond their brief stunt cohabitating, and even then most of it was as simple and shouldn't have made her chest hurt every time she thought about him.
But, he made her knees weak, and no matter how he infuriated her, even in such a short time, Belle wanted nothing more than to reach out to him – let him know. It felt like he was the only one she didn't have to protect. She could tell him everything, and he was indispensable, they'd never hurt him.
Belle flopped on the couch, eyes closed, with fists balled over her face. A frustrated half-scream, half-groan ripped in her throat and she just wanted to know what to do. She wanted to stop caring, and she wanted to be able to follow their directions without feeling like she might vomit every time she realized she could never speak with him again.
Being alone wasn't helping. Hiding wasn't helping. She had to get out. With a new fervor, Belle jumped up from the couch and started to get ready. She'd go somewhere – anywhere – to just clear her head while she could.
She bathed and primped, put on a dress that wasn't threadbare and even slipped on her kitten heels. Make-up was done, curls prepared, everything set like there was nothing amiss. Belle could pretend, even for a short while.
Wrapping herself in her coat, Belle grabbed her keys and bag, exiting the dingy apartment and locking the door behind her. She already felt lighter, freer, and as she went down the stairs two at a time, the feeling grew less and less oppressive.
She should have done this earlier, truth be told, but she was so busy worrying and thinking and crying that she hadn't even thought of it. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, it was like she was leaving the rock and hard place behind, even for a small while – and Belle knew where she was going to go.
It didn't take long to get to the public library.
Belle was always willing to disappear behind tall stacks and in dark corners for hours, completely alone but totally surrounded by great minds, great ideas. She didn't have much time, in her regular day to day to explore the seemingly endless reserve of books.
Once upon a time, she might have considered a place like the library to be destiny. A sort of undeniable end point – what else did a bookish young lady do, but work in a library? For a moment, as she walked through, cardigan buttoned and heels clicking lightly against the marble floor, she pretended that it was her space, like she knew every inch by heart and each book in turn, from vague acquaintance to dearest, oldest friend.
In the fiction section, Belle ran her hand down the spines of a row of books, not really looking at the titles, just feeling – maybe deciding based on feeling along what she might pull out to read.
Standing in front of the section, Belle let out a deep breath through her nose, soaking in the smell of aged books, which was oddly comforting, even with the tinge of dampness that always seemed to linger in darker places. It was one of the most comforting smells in the world.
Maybe outside of Gold's cologne. Belle sighed, almost getting a fresh whiff of the so utterly masculine scent. Leaning her forehead against the stack, she closed her eyes. Her imagination was too strong, and imagining him, imagining his smell, she could almost hear the sound of his uneven gait – not that you could really hear it anywhere except where it was truly quiet. For a man with a limp and a cane, he moved as stealthily as a cat.
Belle sighed. Men were so hard to forget, men like Gold nearly impossible. And worse, as the one thing she couldn't have – the one forbidden thing in her life, she really, truly couldn't get him off of her mind.
"You seem in distress." Belle almost jumped out of her skin, smacking her head against a bookshelf and clutching onto the stack. She turned quickly, afraid she had imagined that too – that she was losing her mind.
But, when she did whirl around, her breath left her. Standing there, in his dark suit, even with a glowering expression on his face, Belle felt a sudden tinge of elation, mixed with irritation. "I'm not in distress," she immediately countered, back pressed against the books. It was a small comfort, that and she knew no one could sneak up behind her again.
He didn't move at all, just stared at her – unnerving as anything, and Belle frowned. "You look troubled. Sound troubled."
Belle did everything in her power to stop from snorting. "I don't want to know why you're here – if it's some coincidence, though I doubt it," she had enough respect for the library to at least hiss quietly, "or you had Hongrois follow me and alert you of where I am, seems more likely," she had to point out, "but you have no right to sneak up on me."
"I just came to talk." It seemed so simple coming from his mouth – as though it was really just a matter of talking.
Belle rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Absolutely not," she stamped her foot (lightly – not too much sound) for emphasis. "You don't get to talk to me after how you treated me." You don't get to put yourself or my friends and family in danger either, she added internally. It seemed, however, to be much less of a striking point, as his shoulders hunched in reaction to her assertion that he had done wrong by his actions in the club.
It served him right if he felt bad at all. "I know you don't owe me anything -"
"That's right," Belle cut him off, her eyes searching the surrounding area, just in case someone was watching, knowing very keenly it could be someone much worse than a strict librarian coming to hush them. "Look," she narrowed her eyes at Mr. Gold, clearly shut up by her sudden and sharp comments, "we can't talk here."
He blinked, perhaps really only truly shocked by what just came out of her mouth. "My dear, we might have to be quiet, but we're hardly in a place where we can't speak," he pointed out, almost incredulous.
Belle shook her head – he didn't, probably wouldn't, understand until they were somewhere safe – private. "You're going to have to trust me," she shrugged. "If you want to talk that badly, it can't be here."
Mr. Gold didn't even bother to pretend to hesitate. "Where then?"
Biting on the inside of her cheek, Belle let out a deep breath. "The club. Tomorrow night." He opened his mouth, she assumed to protest, but Belle waved her hand, practically wiping the sound of his throat. "Just trust me."
A moment of silence passed between them, "I will have to." Belle nodded and Gold seemed to understand. He turned and started to walk away, glancing back over his shoulder as he did. Belle half-heartedly glared at him and he turned away, not looking at her again as he limped out of the aisle.
It was only as he was gone that Belle realized her heart was practically beating out of her chest. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. She'd have to speak with him tomorrow.
She needed a plan – and only half of one was formed in the deep, recesses of her brain as of yet. Twenty four hours would not even be long enough.