The call came sometime toward morning. Belle cracked one eye open and noticed that there was a little bit of light coming in through the window. She had managed to crawl back to her room sometime during the night. She still had no idea exactly what had happened there. One moment they were in such beautiful communication and he had done things to her body she never even imagined were possible.
The next he had run from the room like a scared rabbit, afraid he had done something wrong, afraid of…her? She still couldn't make sense of it. She ultimately had spent most of the night trying to figure out just what he was sorry for. Did he think she didn't want it? Did he think that his advances were somehow unwelcome? She had started that little thing after all by confronting him. Maybe he thought the whole thing was a big mistake.
But Belle couldn't deny that it had been heading there since that kiss in the library some time ago. And it should have ended up with them collapsed in each other's arms, wonderfully sweaty and sated.
There still would have been much to talk about. But at least they both would have ended the evening sated, instead of Gold rushing off still in a state of arousal and Belle left alone and confused.
She finally managed to crawl out of bed and grab the phone, her heart going into her stomach at the number that was lighting up the screen. She almost didn't want to answer it, wanted to toss it across the room. A phone call from that number at this hour did not bode well.
Her father did not call at 6:28am.
"Hello?" She hated the way her voice sounded in that moment, mere seconds from tears.
"Miss French?" came the sure, quiet voice of the nurse from the other line. It wasn't the doctor. That was at least some spark of hope.
"Yes?"
"Your father's conditioned has worsened." She felt her stomach hit the floor, felt the lump form in her throat.
"How bad?"
The pause on the other end of the line did not leave her feeling any better. "He's asked for you."
"I'll be there as soon as I can." She shivered as she hung up the phone and fought back the tears that pricked at her eyes. She would not cry. Not yet. She could cry after she saw him. She could cry when she spoke to the doctors and the nurses about his condition. She could not cry when she saw her father and so took a deep breath.
Then another.
And then she got dressed like she did any other day, warm comfortable clothes, her bit of armor against the world. She thought briefly about putting on a skirt and heels, but she expected a long day at the hospital and a lot of tears. There was no sense dressing up for tears.
When she stepped out of the room, she didn't expect to find Gold just beyond the door. He was watching her and he looked wary, trapped. After a moment, he finally seemed to be able to find his words. "Did I hear your phone ring?"
She nodded. "My father…" She waved one hand uselessly in the air.
"Say no more," he responded with quickly and she was surprised by the compassion in his voice. She gave him a tight smile and started to move past him. "Do you…" He stopped there and there was such an awkwardness to his voice that she felt it deep inside her. "Do you need a ride?"
"No. I'll be fine."
"Take all the time you need." He left her then and she wasn't sure if she should breathe a sigh of relief or beg him to come with her. She needed someone to lean on. She just didn't know if she could lean on him.
"Thank you," she said and she knew he heard her only by the way he hesitated for a moment as he walked away.
When she stepped into the hospital and gave her name to the woman at the front desk she was almost immediately buzzed through. The nurse that met her was a quiet woman and the calmness around her made Belle's heart beat at least a little slower.
"Can I see him?" Belle asked as she followed the woman to a small sitting room.
She turned to her and there was still that look of calm about her. Almost unsettling calm, Belle realized. The kind of calm that means there's bad news but she can't tell you and she doesn't want to watch you fall to pieces. "I think it's best you meet with the doctor first."
He arrived not long after the nurse left. The woman's complete opposite, he came into the room in a huge bustle, shouting orders over his shoulder and good naturedly teasing the nurse who had just left her. He was large, his accent heavy, Middle Eastern she thought though she wasn't quite sure.
When he turned to her, the smile he had on his face faded away and she was left with the serious face of the doctor who had the news. Bad news, she knew and she took a deep breath, steeled herself for this conversation. "What's going on?"
The doctor took a deep breath and Belle reached for one of the tissues. "The experimental drugs we've had your father on aren't working."
"Not working how?"
"The drugs we had him on were intended to retard the growth of new cancer cells. They were unique in that we could pattern them to someone's DNA and work within that structure to stop the cancer in its path…"
"I know that," Belle cut him off with. "I remember all of this. What has happened?"
"The cancer has not slowed down." The words were grim, no nonsense. "It's spreading at an alarming rate."
Belle put her hand to her head, took another deep breath. "Is there anything else we can do?"
"There are other drugs," the doctor started to say and then paused. Belle knew what that pause meant.
"But?"
"It's costly. Insurance won't cover them."
"And I don't make enough," Belle finished the sentence for him. Even with all the extra money from Gold, all the money she was setting aside, it wasn't enough. Her father was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it, no recourse left open to her. She sometimes wondered what she did to make the universe hate her. Her mother died when she was quite young. She barely had memories of her. Her father was only 65. She had thought she'd have years with him, that he'd someday walk her down the aisle. Instead he was dying in a hospital bed, with only her visits to cheer him. She took a deep breath. "So what now then?"
"Hospice care?" the doctor asked and his voice was gentle, even if the words were not ones she needed.
"He's really going to die, isn't he?" She closed her eyes for a moment, willed any tears to stop so she could face the doctor with some sort of dignity. The doctor didn't have to say a word. She knew the truth. "How do I set up getting him transferred?"
She listened with only half an ear as the doctor outlined who she would have to talk to, the calls she had to made, what local hospice places were available. Her father was going to die. Her father was going to die. He was all she had left in her world, her mother gone long ago, no siblings, aunts and uncles and cousins simply too far away to be any sort of comfort.
"I need to see him." It needed to be his decision as much as it was hers. She had no place to take him home to, no place hospice care could come watch over him from a distance. And so he had to be comfortable with wherever they chose for him to go.
"Of course," the doctor responded and nodded at her as she rose and departed from the room.
Her father was propped up on the bed, eyes closed when she walked into the room. She hated to see the creases of pain evident on his face. The nurse had warned her that they had put him on a bit of morphine, the sort of last resort to keep patients calm and pain-free when all else failed. "Papa?" She spoke quietly. If he was sleeping, she didn't want to disturb him.
"Belle?" His response was weak, the booming voice of her childhood reduced to a mere whisper. His eyes opened and they were bleary, unfocused as he looked around the dim room for her. She rushed to his side and sat down, her hand coming out to grasp his much weaker one.
He was just a shell of the great man he had once been. She always remembered him as larger than life, as a huge presence in her childhood. Belle had been tiny, taking after her mother's side of the family and getting to just barely above five feet tall. Her father was massive, over six feet, and with a personality to match his large size.
Now he had lost several pounds, his flesh hanging on his large frame. She had noticed of course, but he was still so much larger than life that it was easy to overlook. The drugs would do their part, he'd get better, he'd regain the weight and be his old self. But now she knew that wasn't true.
"I told you I didn't want you to see me like this," he said and his voice was strained.
Belle fought back the tears. It wouldn't do them any good for her to start crying, to make him anxious. "Well, tough luck Papa. Sometimes you just don't get what you want." She said the last bit with a smile and squeezed his hand.
"They tell me I don't have too much time."
And there were the words. The words she didn't want to hear. She bowed low and pressed a kiss to her father's hand. "I know. They told me the drugs aren't working anymore…"
He gave her a slight smile. "It seems it's time for this old body to move on, my girl."
"I'm not ready to lose you," she whispered.
"I know," was his only response. His eyes were closed when she looked back up and for a second she felt the panic rise. But then his eyes opened again and met hers.
"Papa, they want me to set up hospice care for you." She let the words hang. This had to be his decision after all. The fighting was done. They had no more money to keep going and his health, already so fragile, would crumble if he were forced to do something against his will.
"I know."
"And so…"
"Do it, my dear. I can't stay here. And you can't take care of me. It's for the best." His eyes shut then and his breathing evened out and Belle choked back a sob. It wasn't for the best, not really. But it was all she had left.
Sitting in the office at the only local hospice care center in the area, Belle felt adrift, as if she'd simply been let loose like a helium balloon and was floating somewhere high above the room. Watching. Not really all there.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
Without thinking, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gold's number. She didn't know when she'd be back. She supposed he deserved to know that she was going to be longer. And if she really wanted to be honest with herself, she wanted to hear his voice. That made her pause for a moment and she almost hung up the phone, not even sure what she was going to say. But then Gold's voice was on the other end of the line and she felt her stomach settle just slightly.
"Belle?" He sounded concerned and despite everything, that made her smile.
"Hey," she responded with and she wasn't sure where to go from there.
There was a pause, then finally. "Is everything ok?"
She wanted to laugh. Of course it wasn't. But he knew that. It's just, what does one say when someone's world is crumbling all around them and they're desperately trying to stay afloat anyway? "No," she finally answered and her voice was small.
"Do you…"
"They're suggesting hospice care," she cut him off with.
He didn't speak for a moment. "The experimental drugs?"
"Are exactly that. They stopped working. And I don't have the money to try anything else." She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but there was a small hitch in her voice. "They're suggesting hospice care," she said again, not sure what else to say
"I see," he responded with and she could almost feel the awkwardness over the phone. "I'm sorry," he finally added and she felt herself at least smile a little bit.
"Thank you. I just…I wanted you to know where I was…"
"Is there anything I can do?" he cut her off with and she was sure he finally managed to find the right words.
"No. But…thank you." She hung up with him soon after. Talking to him had calmed her nerves a bit but she couldn't say she felt better about things. She never would, but with a deep breath she was at least able to face the hospice director and nurse when they came to meet with her.
"What did you do?" The words were out of Belle's mouth before she even managed to get the door shut behind her. "Gold!" she shouted and was rewarded with nothing but silence.
But Taz was there.
And Bandit too.
So he was somewhere inside the house.
She had set everything up for hospice, had shed countless tears as she talked about end of life care, the process, what hospice could and couldn't do. It was heart-wrenching and she felt drained, as if every emotion had simply wrung her dry.
But then she had returned to her father and found them setting up an IV. With more medication. New medication. Expensive medication. There had to be a mistake. They were transporting him the following morning. She had shouted at the nurses, scared, worried. She couldn't afford such treatment.
But they had taken her aside, pulled her into the other room, and told her that everything was covered. Covered. As if her insurance had suddenly decided to play at being nice and took care of the cost. But no, they hadn't. She knew they hadn't. And yet there they were telling her not to worry, that she didn't have to spend another dime.
It was all taken care of.
And she knew. Before she even left the hospital after kissing her father goodbye and promising to come back in the next couple days. She knew.
There was only one person who knew where she was.
And only one person who had the money to do this.
"Belle," he said quietly as he approached. There was a hesitancy in his walk and in his gaze. He leaned heavily on the cane as he moved closer to her and she could see him just looking for a means of escape. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
"Yes, well, as it turns out they can't have me there while they're administering the new drugs." She tried to make the words quiet and calm, but there was ire behind them. He did this. He did it behind her back.
Absolutely nothing the man did made sense.
He took her to bed, but abandoned her before it got very far, leaving himself unsatisfied.
He distanced himself from her, but nearly beat a man to death for hurting her.
He was a study in strange contradictions. One moment acting like her best friend in the world, like he wanted to be so much more. The next running scared, hiding any emotions behind the mask she kept trying to tear away.
What was he?
And what was he to her?
"Ah," he responded with.
"Ah?" she shot back and then put her fingers to her temples, massaging. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
"It's no matter." And she could hear the tentative tone to his voice.
"Why?" she finally asked, shutting her eyes briefly. That was the question that haunted her the entire drive home. Why would he do it?
He didn't respond right away, eyes slightly wider than usual, mouth half open. "I can't have you distracted," he finally said.
Her eyebrows shot up and for a moment, just one damned tiny little moment she wanted to slap him. "You don't mean that." She was sure of that. More than anything else at the moment, she was sure of that.
"No." He gave her a half smile and she felt her stomach flip just slightly. "No I suppose I don't."'
"Then why?" Belle asked and stepped closer. She wanted to reach out, cup his face, make him look in her eyes as he told her. But she didn't. She stayed a couple feet away from him, hands folded together in front of her.
"Don't ask me that." His voice was almost a whisper and Belle had to lean just a little bit closer to him to hear the words.
"But…"
"Don't," he said and the word was sharper, still with that slight edge of pain. She watched as he took a breath, then another, before turning.
"Wait," she said and held up a hand. But he only hesitated for a moment.
"I don't know." He spoke the words clearly, succinctly, his back still turned to her. And walked away, slowly, haltingly, the thud of his cane echoing through the silent house as he moved.
She let him go. She didn't know what else to do, really. He had almost opened up, almost. And then he'd closed up, tight, and left her wondering. He had saved her father…maybe. At the very least he gave him a fighting chance. One last chance to try to beat the demon that was killing him little by little from the inside out.
And yet he couldn't even take credit for it, couldn't even explain to her why he had done it. He just wanted her to accept it and leave it be. She wasn't sure she'd ever come to understand him. Just when a layer was peeled back and she saw something underneath the sarcastic exterior, he'd rip that layer right out of her hands and pile it back on. He hid deep inside himself most of the time and letting her in seemed almost painful to him.
He was an enigma.
And if there was one thing Belle French was fascinated by, it was enigmas.
Oh yes, she was deep in trouble here. There was no doubt about that.