So, apparently this chapter name is even more applicable then I could have ever imagined. I was just getting ready to finish this chapter and was doing my final AN at the end when my Microsoft Word shut down and refused to open again. I still am trying to figure out what to do to fix it... Anyway, so this chapter hasn't had ANY editing once so ever... It's rough and probably extremely ...messy.

Chapter 8: Messy

Belle woke the next morning with only a slight headache but an extreme load of guilt as a result of her night of drinking. Not guilt for what she had shared with Mr. Gold, that was good and precious. No, she felt extremely, horribly guilty for skipping out on her friends. Friends that had done nothing but be there for her since forever; friends that showed her kindness and compassion, friends that truly wanted nothing more than to help her.

She sighed throwing back the covers fighting off a shiver. Her small single room apartment had a good draft no matter what it seemed. She grabbed her thick, fuzzy robe and tied it about her as she started a pot of coffee. She might love a good cup of tea but first thing in the morning she wanted coffee. Strong, strong coffee. By nature she was more a night owl, though she was blessed to be an early riser when needed, which was Monday through Saturday, when her shop was open.

Her tiny apartment kitchen was small but it functioned. She laid a couple pieces of bacon in a heated skillet and pondered the events of the night past.

It had been so…bizarre. Mr. Gold coming up to her at the docks, telling her story, drinks at the pub. His story. Oh that dear man's story… She felt tears prickle behind her eyes as she transferred the bacon to a plate and started to fry eggs in grease. She needed the grease today as her stomach was starting to protest. Nothing for dinner and more scotch than she usually drank in a year, yes she needed grease.

How could a woman actually refuse to tell a man if she was pregnant with child, especially if that child was killed? How could you let a man suffer for so many years, suffer so many years wondering. Never mind that he saved her life by taking the hit of the truck, crippling him for life. How could any woman be that cruel and that sadistic?

It took no real stretch of the imagination to picture Mr. Gold as less than Husband of the Year…but, seeing him as she did last night it was even less of stretch to see him as a doting, devoted, loving husband. She also had a strange feeling he would be an exceptional father. Of course she had no evidence of this at all, but something in her gut told her that though he was a loner and fierce man he could be the most dedicated family man.

The man was becoming a problem.

She sat at her square little dinning table under the window and tucked into breakfast. She was trying to remind herself of why she was supposed to hate him. How were you supposed to hate a man doing his job? That didn't make sense. That's like blaming the ball for breaking the window, instead of the kid that threw it.

"I'm quoting White Stripes? Really Belle, get a grip on yourself," she muttered with a laugh. It was coming to that though. There was so much going on. The matter of the enigma that was Mr. Gold was rather small, in the scheme of things. He was the physical representation of her far bigger problem. It was easier to direct anger and pain at something tangible, especially since Rupert and her father weren't really options.

If she lost this, her apartment – her sanctuary and oasis, she would be stripped back nothing again, like she was 17 again and losing her entire world. Maybe it was just a small loft space with rough wood floors, exposed brick and textured walls, furnished with thrift store and hand-me-down furniture, but it was hers and she treasured it.

The wouldn't wait though she knew and waxing sadly over what she was about to lose really did no good so she washed her dishes putting them carefully away before heading to the shower.

She went through her routine just like every other day. She noticed though as she applied her minimal make-up that it wasn't as minimal as normal. A little more mascara, she actually bothered with eyeliner. She even found herself reaching for the red lipstick she had worn maybe twice since she bought it…in college. She bothered to layer lotion and perfume which she had been given by Ruby her birthday last. She normally only bothered a couple times a year, a couple special occasions a year. She left the bathroom hair dry and in big soft curls about her shoulders, she now needed to pick out something to wear.

Her wardrobe wasn't extensive but she had a few things she truly liked. She hated herself a little bit as she spent a little longer picking out an outfit, just as she had taken longer with her make-up and hair. She refused to think she was picking based on what "he" might possibly like. If she was, it was purely accidental and unconscious. Of course.

He seemed to favor dark colors… She wasn't opposed to that. She liked dark colors, light colors, black, and white. She felt a little daring, also completely crazy. This was crazy! She was subconsciously trying to seduce a man nearly, probably, twice her age and was in charge of selling off her world. Oh, and his nickname was Crocodile. Oh, and don't forget a self-proclaimed "monster".

Matching black lace panties and bra were good foundation choices. Never mind she had no intentions of him seeing them; they gave her a little confidence boost. Nothing wrong with feeling a little sexy and confident, she thought.

Shuffling through her clothes she pulled out a fitted, belted, dark brown wrap tweed skirt that had an elegant swath at the mid calf on one side – a gift from Mary Margaret. She tucked in a buttery creamy gold colored silk camisole with antique lace she had sewn to give the low cut a bit more modesty. Finally, a dark beige long, heavy, draped, staggered hem sweater topped the camisole. She surveyed herself happily. She looked expensive, ladylike. She looked like maybe she belonged in his world.

Pushing up the sleeves of the sweater to her elbows she brought out her small, well loved, very treasured bits of jewelry. Most of it was costume jewelry that had belonged her mother, and a few pieces she had collected over the years. She pulled out her mothers pearl necklace and stud earrings, her favorite pieces and donned them. She felt like she could run the world as she slipped on her favorite lace pumps and locked the door of the apartment behind her as she left.

Early morning faded very quickly as she readied teakettles and dusted nearly immaculate shelves. Each minute that ticked by seemed to sound loudly in her chest. She tried to keep from looking out the window every five seconds but was failing miserably. She was torn between being terrified to see him coming up to the store and brining with him the first horsemen of her doomsday and also looking forward to seeing him again. Dr. Hopper would have a field day with that she was sure but she believed that certain people were drawn to other certain people. It was fanciful and the stuff of fairy tales, but still she believed it to her very marrow. Something about herself called and felt at home with his. She wasn't sure what it was yet but it was something. Something that felt right.

Her ponderings had distracted her enough that she nearly jumped out of her skin when the door chimed arrivals.

Mr. Gold crossed the threshold first. Wearing another impeccable suit, this one black, dark gold raw silk shirt with matching tie and pocket square a shade darker then his shirt. She couldn't help notice that he and she were perfectly complimentary. They were dressed like a matched set. It was almost unsettling.

"Good morning Ms. French."

She was already smiling despite herself, "Mr. Gold," she nodded then tipped her head, "But we agreed, you'll call me Belle."

He didn'y seem inclined to smile as easily as he had the night before she noticed. It was somewhat sad, she thought some of the invisible lines of propriety had slipped back up as they slept.

"So we did… Ms. Belle French let me introduce you to my associates," he had moved out of the door to allow two dramatically different men entrance.

"This is Lucian Lumière, he is a book wholesaler, and he is here to look at the inventory."

"Nice to meet you Ms. French," the gentleman reached to shake her hand.

Belle looked up, and up and up. The man was easily 6'6" and so skinny if he turned sidewise you would lose him. Bright red-blond hair and was catching sunlight and glowing like a flame, the hand that he extended was attached to arm ridiculously long and lanky. The man was scrawny giant, but his smile was warm and genuine.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Lumière, please call me Belle."

Mr. Gold quickly turned to the other gentleman, "This is Peter Cogsworth, and he is an antiques dealer and will going over your items for auction."

Mr. Cogsworth was the polar opposite to Mr. Lumière. He was just even with her height, which in heels she was 5'5. As thick and square as a grandfather clock, dark brown hair that was given to curl at the ends, a thick dark brown handlebar mustache. Both men were in suits, which somehow seemed to both compliment and exaggerated their very extreme figures.

"And nice to meet you Mr. Cogsworth," she smiled shaking his hand.

"A pleasure Ms. Belle."

The situation did seem a bit odd. She was welcoming in men that were to begin dismantling her store like new friends but, she internally ruminated, good manners no matter the situation were always in style.

The four of them now stood in awkward silence. She felt she probably should offer to help them find what they needed since that is what she would normally do with people that came through her door but that was obviously just not going to happen. She wouldn't deliberately make life difficult; she would be kind and mannerly but wasn't going to help them sell everything off!

"Belle, why don't we start with the books in back, those are the most valuable aye?" Mr. Gold sought her eye contact.

She looked at him biting her lip and her gaze darted between Lumière and Cogsworth, she had no choice she knew. He had made his request gently, kindly which somehow she appreciated but also somewhat resented. She was a big girl; she didn't need to be coddled. "Of course," she nodded and turned to lead the way.

"I wanted to speak to you about some of these books actually…" she turned around to speak. It was incredibly hard she realized, to form words, to form coherent sentences when all her focus she realized was on the sounds of the two men towards the front of the store moving things about. It was distracting as hell.

"Alright?" Mr. Gold promoted as the silence stretched.

She forced her attention back, "A few of these books belonged to my mother. They are the most valuable volumes I have in the story. I parted with a few when I needed to start the store… I sold them to get stock, the shelves and to float the shop after my father turned the shop over to me. I know from what you said yesterday and I'm aware of the deals that were made that I no longer have rights to any current assets of store…but I am asking, is there anyway that you wait on selling the few books that remain of my mothers so that I might have a chance to buy them?" she rushed her words out, regretting that she probably sounded pleading and desperate.

But she was. "I documented all the books I personally put into inventory and noted which belong to my mother… It is one thing my father was good at all, keep records…" she tried to stop talking, she was rambling, but she couldn't.

He wasn't saying anything! He was standing there hands folded over what she rather randomly noticed was a gold cane today, yesterday it had been silver. What an odd thing to notice, she thought.

His eyes were holding her kindly though the rest of his body language gave nothing away. Lord she wished he'd say something!

"I know that probability is that you could get more than what they'll appraise at if they go to auction but I will, somehow, come up with what ever the books appraise for… Please just let me have the first chance to buy them?"

Gold for his part was still silent.

"Say something…please?"

The fact was he couldn't. He physically could not open his mouth. Never before in his life had he felt like he did at this precise moment. There was a gnawing, almost debilitating need in him to save her. He, if asked, would have personally purchased the entire business and given the deed on a silver platter. In that moment with her blue eyes shinning and trying to hide the pleasing he felt larger than life and smaller than a beetle. No female before had ever rendered him helpless, but it remained that this woman had discovered his Achilles heel.

She was rational. She was kind. She didn't whine or complain. She didn't throw temper tantrums or blame the world like so many did. Never had he come across a person that was this…rational. He had fired, laid off, sold off, auctioned off and personally delivered the news that destroyed lives and every single one lost their cool in some manner. Belle French was a different breed. She was trying to do the best she knew how. She was trying salvage what she could but without excuses or demands. She had welcomed him and his associates in with grace and a smile. She was no asking that she simply be given an opportunity to save her mothers books.

And he could not answer her.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to buy them himself and give them to her. He wanted to say that no matter what she would not lose those books.

But he couldn't. He couldn't because his duty was to his client. His duty was to make every single dollar for his client that he could. To sell the books back to Belle French without letting them go to auction would potentially lose money for Rupert Gaston. He would be negligent if he didn't seek top dollar.

Right?

It would also be a sign of weakness. If he began to cut corners and give in to her… What if this was a ploy? What if she was playing a game? Play upon emotion and sympathy? She was using him surely, that is what this was about.

But dammit he was the damn Crocodile! He was heartless and cold-blooded; he wouldn't, nay, he couldn't be played for a sap, he would not stand for.

He tried to open his mouth to deny her, to call her on her failed plan but he could not open his mouth. His body and his mind…and the damned traitorous heart that suddenly decided it wasn't as dead as it led him to believe, were at war. His entire being was short-circuiting because of this woman.

She was twisting her hands nervously, biting her lip. He saw tears forming and watched as she blinked rapidly to keep them back. He wanted so badly to reach forward and touch her. He gripped his cane tighter, gripped it until the crocodile handle he was sure was imprinted into his skin.

Open your bloody mouth and speak you git! He chided himself. He managed to wet paper dry lips.

It was a start.

"I can give you a week. All items will then go to auction."

Belle must have decided he wasn't going to answer, as she seemed to start by the sound of his voice. He was actually rather startled himself; he honestly was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to get back his speech. He was actually kind of surprised he had come up with a solution.

He saw an emotion he was sure of flash across her face. Anger? Disappointment? Relief? It was something but it was fleeting.

"If that is what you can give me…I'll take it."

He nodded and his body relaxed. She didn't sound angry. He really didn't want to upset her, he truly didn't. The idea of hurting her was truly painful to him. As fickle as his mind was concerning her, it trusted her one minute, came to it's senses the next, he truly wished no ill-will on this woman. He also, though he didn't really think his mind was ready to accept it yet, desired her approval. Desired to please her. He wanted to hand her world in that brief moment she had asked for something so simple…

Why wasn't she asking him to save her? That truly was what was bothering him he finally realized. From the beginning she never asked for reprieve. She asked if she would have the chance at the end to but the business back if the money had…what, magically arrived? She hadn't specified, but she had never asked him to reprieve her. Never asked for a deal from him. People always did, he always denied them of course as they never had any proposition that intrigued him, but they always asked.

She didn't. Why?

You told her that it was impossible…remember? You told her there was no chance and it was no use trying…you stupid old fool.

He frowned deeply. He wanted her to ask. He wanted to save her, give her a deal… But only if she asked, he couldn't do otherwise.

What a bloody, fucking mess.

You guys are amazing by the way...with your reviews and name suggestions. Really after the chaos that was getting this chapter out really made me suffer through. I am sorry I didn't get the chance to reply your reviews individually – I will hopefully get this all straightened out posthaste.

In the mean while... There were two winners on naming Mr. Gold. I love every single one of the suggestions, truly. Robert was honestly what I had been contemplating but I chose the following as winners...and you you'll have to guess which I decided to use in this story ;-)

Roderick suggested by Neferet25. I truly love this name. Awesome suggetion.

And

William suggested by Claire. Both names were excellent, I was first drawn to Alexander but you're right, William does speak more to Gold's character.

Again, everyone had great ideas... oh! And RainMirror, I'll be disclosing the meaning of Baelfire...or at least my interpenetration of it ;-)

Neferet25 & Claire I would love to reward you guys with a story of your prompting. As Belle made sure to note in the last chapter...rewards are pretty important. So PM me when you get your idea or drop it in the review!