Who: Belle and Gold What: Running into each other for the first time since Belle found out about what happened to her father. When: Early Sunday morning Where: Back kitchen Ratings/warnings: Some magical-accidental (but totally deserved) violence on Belle’s part, a bit of language. Status: Complete (Gdoc’d)
Five days.
It had been five long days since Belle had found out about Rumpelstiltskin’s attack on her father. Five days since she’d exiled him from their room. Honestly, she had intended for it to just be for that one day. She’d thought talking with the Huntsman would have helped enough considering all the time she had spent defending him to her guard. But when she’d tried to message him the next morning, the anger had bubbled up in her chest again. When a book had flown across the room, Belle decided that it would probably be best to keep her distance awhile longer. She knew she would have to be the one to bend first (which hardly seemed fair when he was the one at fault), and as much as she wanted his arms around her again, she wasn’t going to chance seriously hurting him. Which was why she’d had Jaime show her how to set up wards around the room, so she could be alone while still feeling (mostly) safe.
She was trying very hard to pretend things were normal. That the Queen was not here, that her true love had not maimed the only family she had left, that she wasn’t carrying a magic she was still unsure and somewhat afraid of, that she wasn’t once more plagued with nightmares that left her gasping, shaking and tearful. None of these things were easy, of course. But Belle never did enjoy easy things.
So she was doing her best to go about her life as it had been before his arrival. It would have been so easy to just curl up in bed to try to dream away the pain, but she didn’t. She got up, dressed, ate, wandered to the library and observation cars to throw herself into things that were familiar and safe. Sometimes she thought of asking to borrow a wand to try and practice her magic, but oftentimes she was still too worried of her emotions to feel safe with it.
Right now she was making breakfast. Belle would likely never be any great cook, but she had improved from the clueless lady she had been when she first arrived at the Dark Castle. The devices here still baffled her, but she’d learned enough to feel safe around them even when she was only half awake as she was now. She covered her hand to hide a yawn as she got the eggs from the fridge. One thing that kept making her reach for her device and write swiftly-deleted messages to him was her desire to sleep all the way through the night once more. Rubbing her eyes, she grabbed the carton and walked over to the stove.
With or without Belle, Mr. Gold never slept well. But this time, knowing that she had magic made him forego more sleep than usual. In their world, all magic came with a price. It made him uneasy, to say the least. After all, neither of them had ever been exposed to good magic - not really. As the Dark One, the price of his power seemed to cost his humanity and his mind. It wasn’t hard to see what magic had done to him, or the Evil Queen.
Even knowing that Belle was protected by the Huntsman did little to ease his nerves. He’d owe a favour, that much Mr. Gold was willing to admit. But a small favour was nothing - Belle was everything. What he owed would have to wait for another time, as now, Mr. Gold was limping back to the room he and Belle shared. He’d been careful to stay out of her vision until now, as he had no doubt that she would react badly to seeing his face. Not that he blamed her at all. No, this, much like everything else, was entirely his own fault. But some tiny part buried deep within Mr. Gold knew that she would forgive him eventually, as she always did. As he never deserved.
When he came at last to their door, he saw no sign of the Huntsman nor his wolf. Unease settled in his bones unbidden, though he tried not to dwell. He had only asked for her protection for one night, and it certainly wasn’t nighttime anymore, as the brightness about the train indicated. There was a chance that Belle might not even be there. Still, he tried to open the door, just in case. To his surprise, the handle did not budge. Did Belle lock it? he wondered. The trip had cost quite a bit of energy, and Mr. Gold thought that a stop at the kitchen car was in order. His stomach agreed.
When he got there, he could hear humming and singing that could only be Belle. As he wasn’t sure how she would react to seeing him, he decided not to call much attention to his arrival, and focused on grabbing a few things for his own breakfast. First things first: tea. Of course, the things he needed were near Belle, so he sighed and decided to say something:
“Good morning, Belle. I didn’t mean to startle; I’m just here for a cup of tea and some food, and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ve got a tea cup, but if you’d be so kind as to pass me a tea bag?” He pulled the chipped cup out of his pocket, where it perpetually slept, and set it on the closest table. He then put both hands on his cane and stood absolutely still. He would see how this would go, first; would Belle make him get everything himself and allow him to stay as he made his breakfast, or would she hand him what he needed and chase him out?
Belle had thought she heard his cane tapping--it might not have been a part of their life before, but it was of the person he was now, so it had become familiar--and had very consciously made herself unclench her jaw and keep singing. That, and the smells and motions of cooking, kept her mind more-or-less grounded. Besides, they’d been ducking each other enough so far that she was fairly certain he wouldn’t pass through once he realised she was there. Normally, she was fairly spot on when it came to how his cowardice would show itself.
Not this time. She let out a very small but tense breath through her nose when she heard his voice, both welcome and grating at the moment. She’d be the bigger person, as she always was--always had to be. Switching off the burner, she slid the egg she’d fried onto the plate nearby before turning to grab the box of tea nearby. She relaxed her face as much as she could--she knew she was clenching her jaw and nearly grinding her teeth, and that it must all show on her features--before she turned back with a bag held between her fingers.
When Belle turned around to hand him a tea bag, Mr. Gold kept his face carefully in check. He murmured his thanks, and went about making his tea as quietly as one can on no sleep, and in the same room as your true love - whom, he might add, you have caused great offense. He had intended to keep silent as he went about his tasks, but when he sat down with his tea and toast, he couldn’t help but ask.
“I...only went to check, but did you lock the door to the room?” he asked, hesitantly and softly. He knew that she probably didn’t want to have conversation just now, but he could not mask his concern. Imagining Belle or Bae with magic was not something Mr. Gold liked at all. He was the one who would pay the price for power, and to save them. Belle was all light and goodness, and if the magic had tainted her... He decided to leave the thought unfinished, and instead regarded the liquid in his tea cup.
Belle was silent for a moment, focusing on cutting into and then chewing on the egg, leaning against the counter opposite him as she did. At some other time, she would have either gushed about how interesting it all was, how really it was nothing like the magic of their world and that Jaime said she could set a similar ward to protect them when this all resolved itself, or completely lied. But right now, she was really too angry for the former and too tired for the latter. Swallowing, she set her fork down.
“I...set a ward on the door, with Miss Dorny’s help, so the Huntsman would not feel obligated to spend his nights watching me,” she said, the tiniest tension finding its way into her voice. She was sure she wouldn’t have to say that she knew who had set the Huntsman there in the first place.
Mr. Gold’s entire body went still when he heard about the ward. He had thought - had hoped - that Belle’s own experiences with magic would keep her from using her new powers. Magic comes with a price. Everyone in their homeland knew that. He tried to focus on the good aspects. First, Belle now had a way to protect herself, and secondly, he didn’t owe the Huntsman any more favours. One night of guarding meant something of equal value, but also for a limited time. That was how his deals worked.
By the tone of her voice, Mr. Gold knew that Belle would have only needed to see the Huntsman guarding the door to know who had sent him. Relief and dread filled him, making quite the potion indeed. It was unsettling, to say the least.
“As long as you’re safe. Just...try not to use the magic too much,” he managed, though it was just barely above a whisper. He was trying very hard not to let his concern for Belle ruin his efforts to not further upset her. “You know what it could do.” He didn’t need to say it aloud, but old demons were knocking at his door and he did not want to let them in, not again. Belle had no need for power, not like him. But still, magic had a way of making you depend on it, making you need it...
Belle bit her tongue for a moment, thinking at first to just tersely tell him that of course she knew what magic could do, she’d seen more than enough of it first hand. But she wasn’t about to let his fears, groundless here, hold her back. Not if, as Jaime had cryptically hinted, the train took advantage of the fact many usual magic-wielders were without their powers.
“You needn’t worry,” she said, voice a little clipped. “Their magic isn’t like ours. I asked, before I was even sure I had anything at all. Jaime said it doesn’t--corrupt. It sounded like many of them have it, as children.” She’d not asked nearly as much as she should have, too overwhelmed by the whole business. “I’ve no intention of using it much--I can’t, really, nothing I can control at any rate. Not without a wand, and obviously few are willing to part with theirs. But if...” she inhaled slightly, sure this would take a turn that would be far than enjoyable, but unwilling to withhold things from him now. “If anything from their world or somewhere else arrives that could be a threat, while the usual magic wielders are powerless...” she felt he knew her well enough that she’d not have to finish that sentence.
Of course Belle would want to protect those she cared about. Because she was the flicker of light in his darkness - the goodness that Mr. Gold had lost in himself as the Dark One. But his unrest would not quiet. What if it started with that desire - to protect - as it had with him? He’d only wanted to spare Bae’s life. If the child was taken to war, he surely would have died. And then he would have been left utterly alone in the world, his last light snuffed out. But what if the same thing happened to Belle? She’d want to protect him, powerless as he was now, against the Queen. But the power Belle had now would certainly not be enough. She’d have to become more powerful and more practiced with her magic to defeat the Queen, or whatever other evil came their way. By then, it’d be ingrained in her, slowly becoming a part of her life without notice. Mr. Gold grew visibly anxious then, his fingers gripping the cup tightly. “Have you been casting more powerful spells, then?” he asked. She probably had practiced, knowing Belle’s curious nature. Maybe once or twice, just to make sure she could protect the ones she loved. “Even if their magic isn’t like ours, you could still grow to become dependent on it. I’m just worried about you.” He hadn’t meant to stress the word ‘worried’ as much as he did, but there was no taking it back. “I don’t know how long this will last, but just...be careful.” He knew that telling her that never did much good, but perhaps it was more for his own reassurance.
Belle tried to stay calm as he spoke. She understood his fears, normally would have wanted to soothe them. But right now, it was very difficult to find it within herself to care much what he thought or felt. Not on three hours of real sleep, the same pattern of the last four nights, and the anger that simmered throughout the day. It wasn’t surprising, then, that the plate in her hand began to levitate--not the wild flying done by her books and pencils or the exploding of the mirror, thank the gods, but still noticeable as it went half an inch above her hands. Belle glanced at it, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes until she felt it fall back against her palm. “Yes, I have. Once. Jaime mentioned some...very powerful, vile creatures from their world that she feared the train might bring, to take advantage of so many being without their powers. She also wanted to see if she could possibly tell who’s powers I had gotten by what I could do. So I tried and...I was able to do it.” Another time, she’d have brimmed over at that--how it worked, how she’d had to wrap her happiest memory around herself, what that memory had been. But right now, she found it very hard to even feel that memory’s presence, much less its power.
Mr. Gold saw the plate in Belle’s hand float and, out of habit, he reached for his cane with his free hand. The tendons on his arm tensed...and then relaxed as it settled back into her hands. He sat forward at the mention of ‘vile creatures’, and stared at her. “You see? Magic, like power, darkens the soul. Even though their magic is not like ours, there are still those who use it for evil. I understand if it’s for your own protection, but it’s foolish to put yourself at risk for so many strangers.”
For Belle and Bae, Mr. Gold would do anything. Other people didn’t matter - that’s why it was easy for him to craft the curse and help the Queen. He’d give up more than the people on this train to find Bae; he had given up their entire homeland. He knew that Belle didn’t agree with his reasons, but that had always been a part of him. Even as the cowardly peasant, he had still been able to set fire to the Duke’s castle to retrieve the Dark One’s dagger. Because it was for Bae’s sake. And he would easily do the same for Belle.
Belle clenched her jaw for a moment, focusing on breathing and calming the angry tingling in her fingertips before she spoke, through teeth that were still locked together. “These creatures, from what she told me, were never human. They were not corrupted by magic. And if they come here while I am able to do something, I am not going to just hide myself away while they hurt innocent, powerless people. If I can help them, I will. And honestly, the fact that you think I would even for a second entertain such a thought is deeply insulting at best. I’m not a coward like you.”
Mr. Gold bristled at Belle’s last comment, though he knew it to be true. He took a few moments to drink the rest of his tea, now cold, before he answered. “Be that as it may, it’s still dangerous, Belle. Oh, but you relish the thought of being the hero, don’t you? You aren’t being brave, you’re being childish.” His face hardened as he reached for a cloth to clean out the cup, and then stood. “Seeing as you’ve always been stubborn, I shouldn’t waste my breath. I shall remove myself from your sight now, my lady.” They would not come to an agreement on this matter, that much was clear.
Belle felt her face burning when he said that word. How many times had she been called something similar in her youth--’a child’, ‘a silly girl’--when she’d had objections or notions that didn’t go along with those of the men in her life? In that moment, he sounded just like Gaston, not the man she wanted in her bed each night.
“At least I,” she said, clipped and tense, no longer paying any mind to anything outside herself, “wasn’t so stupid as to believe that horrible woman’s obvious lies,” she blinked the tears away as the tears the clouded her vision, “and let them hurt other p-”
She didn’t get to finish the rest of her sentence, distracted as she was by the sight and sound of the pan flying off the stove and--before she could think to even try and get it back down to safety (which she knew probably wouldn't have worked, but she'd have at least tried)--crashing against the side of his face not with great speed or force, but solidly enough to make a horrible sound.
Mr. Gold instantly regretted his words the moment they fell out of his mouth. It was just like the day he chased her out of his castle...only the frying pan flying at his face was new. At first, he stood in stunned silence. Then, when he closed the mouth he hadn’t realized was open, he sank back into the chair. After the initial shock, the pain started to kick in. He gingerly felt around the area of impact, wincing when his fingers touched flesh. It would bruise, but he didn’t deny that he’d deserved that, even if the magic reacted to Belle’s emotions before she got a handle on them.
“Oh. Oh Gods.” Belle’s voice came out something between a gasp and a sob, and she covered her mouth for just a second to try and get herself under control before something else happened.
“Just...stay there,” she said, trying to get her voice to steady without terribly much success. Her fingers were shaking as she nearly ran to the fridge, grabbing a washcloth on her way, and gathered ice in her palm. She was muttering slightly, nonsensically to herself--mostly oaths and half-curses.
Mr. Gold attempted to stand again, leaning more heavily than he normally did on his cane. He felt a bit dizzy, though it wasn’t anything close to the throbbing pain the side of his face was in. At least it wasn’t a hot pan, he thought.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I clearly deserved that, so I’ll go,” he said, grimacing. He shuddered at the thought of what ice would do when just touching his face with his fingers hurt. He muttered a few curses of his own, hoping that they were too soft for Belle to hear as she clamored to tend to him.
Belle set her teeth again before turning back to him, ice in hand. “You are most definitely not fine, you foolish old man. Either you will sit down and let me tend to you,” she said, walking over and standing there beside him, face firm. “Or, you will go to the infirmary and then have to explain to the doctors just what happened. Which would you prefer?”
She wasn’t going to let him out of this. As angry as she still was, her stomach had turned as the pan struck him, and she felt her heart ache at the mark already rising around his eye.
Mr. Gold groaned silently and grit his teeth. There was no way he would go to the infirmary and explain to them what had happened. ‘Good day. I have upset my lady love, and in her anger, her magic reacted and a pan hit me in the face.’ He couldn’t help but smile wryly as he could hear Belle chiming in: ‘He deserved it.’ “Do as you wish,” he said aloud. “It’ll bruise either way.” But he sank back down and steeled himself for the icy-hot sear that was sure to follow.
As if you could ever make me do anything else, Belle couldn’t help thinking, despite the burning that kept rising in her throat as she looked at his face.
Honestly, she had little idea what she was doing. She’d read the smallest bits of medical books, seen her brother’s scrapes tended occasionally, but nothing that resulted in much practical knowledge. Biting the corner of her lip for just a second, she crouched at his side and, brushing his hair aside so she could get a proper look as well, set the ice-filled cloth against the worst of the darkening bruise.
Though he had prepared himself, Mr. Gold had not expected this much pain. A surprised yowl escaped his lips, much to his ire. He muttered more curses, and pulled his face away. “Wait. I’ll do it myself,” he said through clenched teeth. “It stings...” he muttered again.
The knuckles on the hand his cane was in were white from gripping too tightly, and the colour seemed to drain from his face. Now who’s acting the child? he silently chided himself. He would certainly make sure not to make any more undignified noises again.
In spite of the situation, Belle sighed and rolled her eyes. “You will not. I know better. Just hold still, it won’t hurt so much once your skin’s got cold.”
She huffed, looking him over still. At least this seemed to be all she’d done, as bad as it was. But then again, she supposed, there were things she might not be able to see. He hadn’t really tried to walk yet, and she was slightly worried he might faint as it was now.
“Honestly, it’s times like these that make me completely forget that you’re centuries older than I am, the way you behave.”
Despite the irritation that still ran beneath her words, her fingers were touching his hair, far away from the bruise and thus any pretense that she was simply examining. Mr. Gold pursed his lips together, but ultimately did as he was told. Belle was right - she usually was. He did his best to hold still, though the pressure against the bruise still stung. Gradually, it began to subside a little, and he relaxed. When Belle chided him for his behaviour, he could only let out a sigh. “This old man doesn’t have his magic, so it’s been a while since I’ve felt actual pain. Not that I’ve ever been hit with a pan before,” he added. With Belle this close, he could smell her hair, which she’d had up. When he felt her fingers in his own hair, his fingers twitched with the desire to cover her hands with his. But he didn’t move, and instead let his eyes trace the shape of her face. The way her brows knitted in concentration, and her lips pursed in worry... It had been a while since their faces had been so close, and he rather liked the proximity, though he kept that to himself.
Belle made a small noise at that, something between a huff and laughter. “Well, you certainly didn’t deserve to feel quite this much.” She pulled her gaze up to meet his. “I...only wanted to maybe slap you. Not...this.” She sighed in annoyance. “That was really the only reason I’d not asked you to come back yet, because I was afraid something like this would happen. If it weren’t for this, I’d have just yelled at you for awhile. Just because I’m--furious with you doesn’t mean I like seeing you hurt.” Belle felt her eyes filling again and blinked, tipping her head up a little to clear them away.
Mr. Gold felt his heart ache when he saw Belle’s eyes moisten with unshed tears. The way that she loved him so deeply was clear as day, yet it never failed to baffle him. As angry as she was, the love that she felt was still very present. And he couldn’t help but stare at her in wonderment. How could she continue to love him - to forgive him - each time something like this happened? And he knew that she would, over and over again, no matter how many times he ruined it all. It was more than he deserved and more than he could bear.
“You’ve every right to be furious with me,” he said, his gaze falling to his lap. “To be honest, I was being an ass.” He looked up at her then, his remorse and love all spilling out over his features. “I am an ass. I’m sorry, Belle. I shouldn’t’ve--well, there’s quite a lot that I shouldn’t’ve done, isn’t there? I was the one who wasn't acting very mature.” It was just like the time she had come back to his castle after he’d let her go. She knew that he was happy to see her, and the confirmation just sort of fell out of his mouth. The same was happening now, and so he shut it, lest any more come tumbling out. “Just to be...safe, perhaps I should stay out of your hair for a bit longer. Until we’re sure that kitchenware won’t take to the air again,” he chuckled, and immediately regretted the action. The area of impact was still tender.
Belle actually laughed a little, in spite of herself. “Yes, that does sound like the best idea.” It wasn’t often she’d exercise caution, and she knew well enough that was reckless. He’d been nearly right in that. But whenever she could help it, Belle wouldn’t take a chance with the people she loved, and the idea of hurting him again....a small part of her had felt good, seeing the pan hit his face, but the rest of her would likely sting for days. She wished desperately that along with that strange message, the train had given them some idea how long all this would last. She’d heard people saying things about how these sorts of tricks lasted anywhere from a day to a month, generally. The idea of staying away from him that long...given that there were no guarantees about the length of their stay, Belle certainly didn’t like that. But if it would keep him from getting another black eye or something worse, she’d do it. Belle stood then, about to go and clear things away, when she stopped half turned. Knowing there was a chance--small, she knew, but still a chance--that the train might take one of them away in the time he still kept from her room and...well, they’d wasted quite enough of their time together already. Belle wasn’t going to waste another moment she knew they did have. She turned back towards him, teeth biting into her tongue for a moment while she tried very much not to think about the last time she’d done this. Sucking in a short breath, she closed her eyes and knelt down slightly once more, drawing his lower lip between her own.
Mr. Gold was certainly not expecting this - not after the things he’d said. At first, all he could do was sit still as the grave. He remembered the last time she had kissed him, and the results had...not been favourable. He wasn’t the Dark One now, not anymore. The only thing he had to be afraid of now were his own feelings. Then, tentatively, he returned the kiss. The last time had only been for a few seconds before the hold the Dark One had had temporarily loosened. This one he wanted to last a little longer. His left hand came up to cup her cheek, and his eyes closed as he deepened the kiss. When he broke away from her, he was almost sorry, breathless as he was. Neither of them knew how long Belle’s powers would stay, so this might be the only contact they’d have for anywhere from weeks to months. They may not even have months on the train. All of it scared him very much. He stood, then, albeit a bit shakily. From the kiss, or the pan? he wondered. “I should go, before we inadvertently make a scene.” The corners of Mr. Gold’s mouth turned up slightly. “I’d rather not be the talk of the train. I know that you can take care of yourself, but these powers will never stop worrying me. Magic took Bae from me; I’d hate to lose you, too.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, more than a bit sad to leave her.
Of course Belle had hoped he wouldn’t pull away this time, but she’d not dared to actually believe he wouldn’t. It was better, she’d learned, to expect the least. She told herself it hurt less when it actually happened. So she was incredibly shocked--pleased, but shocked--when his hand touched her face and she felt him drawing her mouth closer. She hadn’t been able to pay much attention to their first kiss, being too caught up in first watching his skin change and then...well. But this one...she tried very much to put as much of the details into her memory as she could. Maybe somehow she’d be able to remember this, instead of the last time, whenever the train chose to return her to the queen’s dungeon. The breath rushed out of her when he pulled away, and she felt her face go even warmer when his lips touched her forehead. Of course, now, she very much wanted him to stay. But she didn’t want the cutlery to get any ideas of going airborne as well, so she just smiled at him, pushing her hair back from her face. “I know,” she said, gently. “I understand. I promise, I won’t use it unless I have to.” Her eyes cast down at the pan still on the floor and she bit her lip. “Well, not on purpose.” She quite nearly left it at that, but the idea that this could so easily be the last time she saw him kept nudging at the back of her mind. With that thought, Belle lifted her eyes, smirking just a bit. “Gods help me, but I do love you, even when you’ve been a complete bastard.”
Mr. Gold had to laugh at that, despite how much it hurt. It’d take time to get used to that bruise, and people were definitely going to wonder. Belle’s expression made it even harder to leave, but he knew he must. He straightened and made sure that the cup was safely tucked away in his pocket, and gripped his cane.
“Says the lady who loved the Dark One,” he replied, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. “And gods, I don’t deserve to have you love me back. Until our paths cross again,” he said, making a mock bow with his upper half, not unlike the gesture he’d made when he’d given her Gast---the rose. He turned and limped away, vaguely hoping that the bruise would be mostly healed next time they met. Or perhaps he could get a doctor or a magic-user to help it along. Or at least make sure it doesn’t scar.