That Ravenclaw Bitch

“You really love her, don’t you?” Emma said. Gold’s eyes cut across to her and she almost regretted saying it. It was evident in his every breath how much he cared for Annabelle. She still couldn’t reconcile it with how he’d cut her out so many years before. 

“Of course I do,” he said finally, and then softer. “Anyone would.”

“I don’t understand you, Gold,” she said with a shake of her head. He was the most powerful man in town, a holy terror willing to start fires and who knew what else to get his way. He probably had more skeletons in his closet than she could count. And yet he was completely devoted to Annabelle French.  

“That’s probably to your credit, Miss Swan,” he retorted, getting up to resume his pacing. Emma just rolled her eyes, resigning herself to his nervous energy.  

There was a knock on the door and Gold spun on his heel, crossing to the front door and throwing it open unceremoniously. Without missing a beat, he slammed it closed again and locked it. 

“What?” Emma said, leaping up from the settee. 

“That’s the last person I ever want to see,” Gold said, jabbing his finger at the closed door as it rattled, the person outside clearly trying to force it open. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Gold said, stalking off down the hallway. 

The door rattled even more violently as though someone were throwing themselves bodily against it. She was beginning to fear for the stained glass panels in the door. 

“Gold! If you don’t open this fucking door!” Emma heard a familiar voice yelling from the porch. 

She gave a sigh, heading to the door. Dr. Hopper would be done with his assessment soon. They’d have all their ducks in a row for having Annabelle exonerated. They might as well have this confrontation now. 

Emma slid back the deadbolt, opening the front door a crack. 

Regina Mills looked as disheveled as Emma had ever seen her, her hair askew and her face red with fury. 

“Miss Swan,” Regina said with a smile as sharp as jagged glass. “What on earth are you doing here?” 

Emma squeezed herself out on the front porch, shutting the door behind her. She was certain Regina was the last person Annabelle would want to see. 

“Gathering evidence,” she said, shortly. 

“What kind of evidence do you hope to find here? Have you recovered Miss French?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Emma said with a nod. “She showed up at Gold’s the night after she went missing.” 

Regina’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“And you’re telling me this now because?” 

“Because Annabelle French was falsely imprisoned in a hospital basement and kept drugged for years on your watch. I needed time to gather the resources needed to make sure she never goes back there.” 

“She’s a murderer,” Regina hissed between her teeth.

“We both know that’s not true,” Emma countered. “Gold will verify the truth of Annabelle’s story. Her fiance’s death was a tragic accident, nothing more. My question is why you wanted her locked up so badly.” 

Regina blanched, her face going from red to white so quickly it was almost comical. 

“I believed she was responsible for murder,” Regina said, her voice a hiss. “I had no reason to believe she was anything but a psychopath. You didn’t see the aftermath of that fire she set. The town was on edge for weeks.” 

“Uh huh,” Emma said unconvinced. “If that’s your official statement on the matter, Madam Mayor.” 

“It is,” Regina replied. “If you can prove otherwise, do your best.” 

She turned to stalk off down the front porch steps when Emma called out to her.

“He loves her, you know,” she said, stepping to the edge of the porch. “And you took her from him. I don’t know much about Gold, but I know enough not to want to be on his bad side. I don’t envy you right now, Regina.”  

Regina’s shoulders stiffened, but she gave no other indication she had heard a thing Emma said. 

*

Dr. Hopper was kind.

That was the first impression Annabelle had of the bespectacled doctor. She’d known him by reputation, seen him around town before, but she’d never visited him in his capacity as the town shrink. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn’t be here now, the convicted mad woman of Storybrooke. 

Because Dr. Hopper was soft spoken, earnest, and listened to her entire story without judgment. It was his job, she supposed, but it made it easier to talk to him, to trust him. Annabelle didn’t trust easily and she wasn’t entirely sure she should trust anyone ever again, but she didn’t have much choice in the matter at this point. If Dr. Hopper could vouch for her sanity, it was one step closer to clearing her name and hopefully putting Storybrooke and everyone in it in her rearview mirror. 

Even Mr. Gold. 

After repeating her story to Dr. Hopper and answering his many tests and questions, she was feeling quite tired. Despite having the best night’s sleep of her life the past few nights, wrapped up in Gold’s arms, she was still recovering. She’d have liked a nap. But as soon as she opened the door to Gold’s study she was met with the man in question, his face anxious. 

“Are you done?” he asked.

Annabelle just nodded her head, stepping out into the hall. Dr. Hopper followed. 

“She’s sane, correct?” Gold directed at the doctor. “Can we put all this nonsense behind us now?” 

“I have to file my findings with the court,” Dr. Hopper said placatingly. “Emma is reopening the case and my report will be used as evidence. I’m afraid that’s all I can say.” 

“I’m her attorney,” Gold said quickly. 

“Since when?” Annabelle interrupted. 

“Since you need one,” Gold returned. “You’ll need a defense. I’m a lawyer. Do you have a better option?” 

“No,” she said with a small shake of her head. Though she was certain that cohabitating with your defense attorney was probably some sort of ethical violation. Annabelle didn’t much care. It wasn’t her law license on the line. 

“We will have this sorted, sweetheart,” he promised. “You’ll be a free woman soon.” 

Dr. Hopper just looked back and forth between the two of them, the tips of his ears tinging almost as red as his hair. 

“I should go,” he said, stepping around them and into the lounge where Emma was waiting. “Sheriff, if you’d like to discuss.” 

Soon Emma and Hopper were gone and Annabelle was once again alone with Gold. 

It didn’t feel so strange after the past couple of days. Back before, when they were sneaking around, they didn’t spend much time together. It was stolen moments in the cabin or here in the house, when she could get away from Jason and Gold didn’t have something better to do. When the affair first started he’d wooed her, somewhat. He’d given her expensive gifts and plied her with food and wine. There was conversation, and laughter. He was the smartest person in town and she’d loved picking his brain. But it had always ended one way, gasping for breath in bed after he’d had his way with her. And then she was expected to go, retreat back to her dreary life and keep her mouth shut about her secret life. 

Annabelle couldn’t help but feel that something similar was happening here. The only people who knew she was here in Gold’s house were Emma and Dr. Hopper. The rest of the town apparently thought she’d died years ago. She was still a secret. 

Despite herself, she’d enjoyed these past few days in Gold’s house, spending her days with him, and her nights cuddled up beside him. It was stupid, but if she was to leave soon anyway she figured there was no harm in indulging herself somewhat. 

But part of her was waiting for the bubble to burst, to be sent back to her real life as she always was. Only this time her real life wasn’t a rundown house with a faded high school football star. It was prison and drugs and eventually a death no one would know about or mourn. 

“Are you hungry?” Gold interrupted her maudlin thoughts. “I’ll make you lunch.”

“Okay,” Annabelle said, following him down the hall to the kitchen and settling herself on a stool at the kitchen island while Gold gathered the necessary ingredients for a ham sandwich. 

“So you’re my attorney, hmm?” she asked him as he cut up lettuce and tomato before slathering mayonnaise on a thick slice of bread. 

“Why not?” he asked in return. “I’m fairly good at finding legal loopholes. I’m sure I can get you off.” 

“I’m sure you can,” she said, letting the double entendre hang in the air. If Gold noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

“So this is really happening?” she asked. “Dr. Hopper is going to say I’m not crazy and Emma is going to say I was wrongly imprisoned and the whole thing, what, gets thrown out?” 

“Hopefully,” Gold said, slicing her sandwich in two diagonally and then sliding the plate over in front of her. “Other issues may arise, but I’m sure we can handle them.” 

Annabelle nodded before taking a bite of the sandwich. 

“Doesn’t clear me in the court of public opinion though,” she said after swallowing a bite. “Everyone in town still thinks I’m the crazy bitch who killed Jason.” 

“I’ll vouch for you,” Gold said without a pause. “I’ll tell them all the truth.” 

Belle blinked. “You would do that? You’ve said it yourself that you don’t like your private life being talked about.” 

“That’s true,” he conceded. “But I’d do anything for you, Belle. Absolutely anything you want.” 

It was a heady thing, having that much control over the most powerful man in town. What price could she exact from him that he wouldn’t pay? 

And just as suddenly Belle realized, she didn't have a price. She was certainly still wary of Gold. He’d hurt her badly. But the past few days had gone a long way in changing her view of him. He was so changed from the aloof man she’d once known. And she didn’t want to hurt him. She couldn’t stay in Storybrooke for many reasons. Mr. Gold was no longer one of them. He was the one thing that might tempt her to stay. 

*

It was the fourth night in a row that they’d shared a bed and Rumple still couldn’t believe it was real, that she was here, alive, in his bed, coming to him for comfort. It seemed impossible a week ago, improbable mere days ago, and yet here she was, his Belle, constantly surprising him. 

She hadn’t even taken the extra step of going to bed in her own room tonight only to steal across the hall an hour later like she had the previous nights. Without even agreeing to it, they’d just gone up to bed together. Belle had disappeared into his en suite bathroom and returned five minutes later in one of his pajama tops, the silk fabric hitting her mid thigh, her gorgeous legs bare beneath it. 

She’d stood there for a moment before slipping between the covers next to him and extinguishing the lamp on the side table. 

And now, here they lay. 

It was a cloudy night, the only light outside coming from the streetlights, tinging the room in an orange glow. Rumple’s eyes adjusted, glancing aside to where Belle was dozing with her back to him. She wasn’t really sleeping. He could tell because the past few nights had proven to him that Belle had an adorable habit of snoring. It was nothing loud or disruptive, but little snuffles accompanied her into sleep. 

“Belle,” he chanced. 

“Yes,” she returned. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, rolling on to his side and staring at the back of her head. “After everything I’ve done, thank you for giving me the chance to take care of you.” 

“I don’t want your guilt and I don’t want your sympathy,” she said, her voice soft in the darkness. 

“I know,” he replied. 

“So if you’re doing all this out of some sense of obligation, know I don’t want it.” 

Belle shifted, turning over to face him on the pillow. 

“Earlier today you said you would do anything for me, but I only ever wanted you,” she admitted, her eyes looking somewhere near his chin, avoiding his eyes. “All the other stuff, the clothes, the gifts, I didn’t care about that. I really loved you.” 

“I know,” he said again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t accept it.” 

“Why couldn’t you?” she asked, finding his eyes at last, her blue eyes piercing even in the orange tinged gloom. Rumple had survived this long by masking himself, keeping his true motives, the real him, under tight wraps. But Belle could always see right through it. She knew him better than anyone else, even in this cursed world she saw him. It used to frighten him. Now he wanted nothing more than to share every bit of himself with her. 

“I didn’t think anyone could love me,” he said. “My own parents didn’t. Every woman who told me they loved me eventually betrayed me. It was never about you, sweetheart. Experience had just taught me that I was unlovable.”

“I never would have betrayed you,” she said, inching closer. “I know that’s a funny thing to say when I’m a proven cheater, but you were it for me. I was happy. I thought I was happy.” 

“I was happy, too,” he said, truthfully. Those scant months she spent in his castle were the happiest of his life. The happiest since Bae had been a child. He’d had something to look forward to, someone to care for. He’d fought against it so hard, but he was a useless thing without something to love. 

“I love you, Belle,” he said, needing to say it as many times as he could before the curse broke, before she left forever. Perhaps if he told her enough, she would know it to be true, in spite of everything he’d done that spoke to the contrary. “I know it’s too little too late, I know you no longer feel the same way, but I need you to know that I do. That I always will.” 

“Who says I stopped loving you?” she asked. “I don’t think I could if I tried. I’m angry with you. I was nearly destroyed by you. But I can’t stop loving you. How messed up is that?” 

“Very messed up,” he agreed, a tear trickling down his nose and spilling onto the pillow unbidden. 

Belle snorted a laugh. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to agree with that,” she let out another little bubble of laughter and Rumple found himself smiling in spite of the tears that wanted to fall. She still loved him. Perhaps she felt it was a curse, and maybe it was. But their love was True, it transcended realms and curses. He’d needed no more proof than that day in his castle, when the Dark One curse itself had fled at the mere brush of her lips against his. She was more powerful than she knew. 

And here, in this realm, there were no voices in his head, no Dark Ones past urging him to throw her out, to crush her heart, to guard their power from such an invasion. He was simply a man, a man who loved a woman so much it knocked him off kilter, even after thirty years without her. 

“You’re handsome when you smile,” Belle said, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing across his lips. It was a tender caress, the softest he’d been touched since their first and last kiss so many years ago and he leaned in to it in spite of himself. “You don’t do it often.”

“I don’t have much to smile about,” he replied. 

“I thought you liked it that way,” Belle said. “No distractions, no connections. Alone with your money and your power.” 

“I don’t.” 

Belle’s thumb stilled against his lip, her eyes boring into his. There was a tense moment, the air seeming to still around them and no sound but the gentle ticking of the clock on his side table. Belle’s eyes traced his face, finally stopping at his lips. And before Rumple knew what was happening, she was kissing him. 

“Belle,” he murmured against her pillowy soft lips, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in her kiss. But he couldn’t. “Belle, stop.”

She pulled back, her hand dropping from his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and even in the darkness he could see the blush stain her cheeks. “I…I thought…I’m sorry.” 

She sat up, starting to move away.

“Don’t apologize,” Rumple said, reaching for her before she could scoot away, off the bed and out of the room. “Please. I couldn’t bear it.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked. 

Rumple sat up, holding Belle’s shoulders lightly.

“I don’t deserve it,” he said. “I don’t deserve your love, or your kisses, or your forgiveness.” 

“No shit,” Belle said succinctly. And it was such an incongruous thing for Belle to say that it startled a laugh out of Rumple. 

Belle smiled and leaned back into him. 

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” she asked. “This is for me.”  

And then she kissed him again, and this time Rumple let her. 

He laid back against the pillows, pulling Belle down over him. Her thighs straddled his hips and he wound his hand in her silky soft hair, pulling her closer, devouring her, showing with his body what he’d already said with words, that he loved her, adored her, would never leave her as long as there was breath in his body. 

Belle sat up and away from him, and Rumple let out a truly pathetic sound at the loss of her lips against his. But she just pulled at the silk pajama shirt she was wearing, yanking it up over her head and casting it aside on the bed. Rumple’s heart stuttered to a stop. She was completely bare beneath the top. Had she planned this all along? 

“Belle,” he gasped out, trying not to short circuit at the sight of her completely nude astride him, her dark hair cascading over her pale shoulders, tickling the tips of her pert breasts. 

He’d helped her change her first night here, but she’d been unconscious and he’d not looked any more than strictly necessary, wishing he’d still had his magic and been able to change her clothing without so much as touching her. But now, now she was here, atop him, in all her considerable glory. 

“What?” she said, reaching down to undo the buttons on his own pajamas. 

“You’re exquisite,” he said, not even bothering to stop her attempts at disrobing him. Before he knew it, she had all his buttons undone and his bare chest was on display. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be self conscious about his own inadequate body. 

He was swelling beneath her, and he knew Belle could feel it. She rocked her hips against his, giving a little gasp at the friction. Rumple tangled his hands in the bedsheets, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of feeling, trying not to lose himself completely. 

Belle leaned back over him, kissing him sweetly, and he dared to let his hands come up to trace her bare back, her skin so soft and smooth it made him want to cry. 

“I love you,” he gasped against her lips. Desperate to tell her as often as the thought entered his mind. “I love you.” 

“I know you do,” Belle said, no longer fighting his words. “Take off your pants.” 

Her thumbs hooked on the waistband of his pajama pants, tugging at them, but Rumple stopped her once again.

They’d never done this. Annabelle had a wealth of memories of them being together and, maddeningly, so did Rumple now. But they weren’t real, weren’t true, a product of the curse and nothing else. In real life, they’d never shared more than a single chaste kiss. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, do this with Belle. Not when she wasn’t wholly herself. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispered against her ear. “Let me take care of you.” 

He rolled her on to her back, settling over her, as his hands traced her sides, caressing her perfect skin. He kissed her cheek, trailing down her neck to her collarbone as his hands dipped lower, one settling on her hip as the other found its way between her thighs. 

Belle let out the most precious sounds his ears had ever heard as he stroked her, his fingers working inside her. It was a matter of moments to work her to her peak, Belle crying out as she tightened around his fingers. He kissed her gently, slowly stroking her as she came down from her high, her breath returning to normal. He was fit to burst, but keeping himself in check, burying his face against her neck and thinking of anything other than the woman beneath him, of how desperately he wanted to bury himself inside her and never leave. It would only make it harder in the end, when he would have to let her go. 

“What about you,” she whispered once she’d got her breath back, reaching for his waistband again. 

“I’m fine,” he said, kissing her once more before rolling off her and heading to the bathroom, his whole body aching for release. “You get some rest.” And then he snapped the door shut, leaving a stunned looking Belle naked in his bed. 

*

Annabelle had waited for what felt like an age for Mr. Gold to come back to bed. Eventually she drifted off to sleep wondering if he’d decided to kip in the bathtub for the night. 

When she awoke alone the next morning she had half a mind to check if he was still in there until she noticed the note left on his pillow. 

My Dearest Belle,

I’m sorry to leave before you wake, but I have matters to attend to today. Your breakfast is on the stove. Please don’t leave the house today. I promise it’s the last day I’ll ask. Emma will be by this afternoon with an update.

I love you,

Gold

She plucked the note from the pillow, a sense of foreboding settling in her stomach. Despite the lovely sign off, he was pulling away from her.

She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. Clearly, she’d been too forward, pushed for something he was unready, or unwilling, to reciprocate.

But he’d said he loved her so many times. He wanted her, she’d felt the evidence of that herself, but he was holding back. Perhaps it was some stubborn sense of nobility, that he was punishing himself even though she no longer had any interest in punishing him. 

She rather thought the universe had punished him enough. 

He’d mentioned the night before that he’d been betrayed by everyone who ever swore to love him. He’d never let her in on his past back during their affair, never told her anything about his parents or past relationships. She squirreled away the little pieces of himself he’d given her, keeping them like something precious, holding on to the many facets of the man who, despite their physical closeness, remained ever an enigma. He was so different than she’d originally thought. It made her love him even more. 

But their time together was growing short. It’s what had pushed her into his arms last night, one final rush. Soon, her name would be cleared, once and for all. When that day came, she would leave Storybrooke behind forever. 

Perhaps this time, when she asked him to run away with her, he would. 

She dressed quickly in one of her borrowed pairs of Emma’s jeans, cuffing the hem so she wouldn’t trip over them, and one of her borrowed tops. Then she headed downstairs to see what Gold had left on the stove for her. 

There was a large stack of freshly made waffles under tented foil on the stove. They were still warm, which meant she’d only just missed Gold. She wished she hadn’t. Now she had all day to stew over what had happened between them last night with no concrete answers. Was he trying to do right by her? Or was he just not interested in her that way anymore. Perhaps she was too changed, too damaged, by her years in the hospital. Perhaps, no matter his love for her, Gold didn’t want anything more than to make up for what he’d done. She’d told him she didn’t want guilt or sympathy, but maybe that was all he had to offer these days. 

She picked at her waffles unenthusiastically, despite how delicious they were. She found she didn’t have much appetite this morning. 

Once her half eaten waffles had gone stone cold, she made her way to the lounge thinking she could while away the hours with a book or trashy daytime TV when there was a hard knock on the door. She wasn’t expecting Emma until this afternoon and she couldn’t imagine who else it would be. Gold didn’t have friends. Perhaps it was a package delivery or the like. She stayed in the lounge, waiting for the person to go away but there was another sharp knock on the door. 

She creeped out into the hallway with bated breath. What if it was the nurse from the hospital? What if it was the mayor who Gold seemed to think was behind her imprisonment in the first place? What if her father had found out where she was and come to drag her back, kicking and screaming, so ashamed at his daughter that he’d abandoned her when she needed him most?

“Annabelle? Are you there?” a voice called, and Annabelle gave a relieved sigh. 

Emma. It was only Emma.

She made her way to the front door, throwing it open and preparing to greet the sheriff before she drew up short.

Emma was standing there on the porch, but so was an older gentleman in a dark suit and overcoat that Annabelle had never seen before. 

“Emma?” she said questioningly. 

“I am so sorry,” Emma said, her face contrite. 

A frisson of fear shot down Annabelle’s spine, her impulse to run from the house as fast as she could. She tamped it down. Emma said she could trust her. They were clearing her name. Gold promised. 

Annabelle looked at the other man, a severe look on his face.

“Miss French, I’m District Attorney Spencer. We have a warrant for your arrest.” 

“What?” she gasped out. 

“You’ve been ruled competent to stand trial,” Spencer continued. “So now you are being arrested for the murder of Jason Foster. Sheriff Swan, if you would be so kind.” 

“Emma…” Annabelle said, looking to the sheriff. 

“We’ll get this sorted, Annabelle, I promise,” Emma said, producing a pair of handcuffs from behind her back. “But for now I need you to come with me to the station.” 

Annabelle’s eyes focused on the handcuffs in Emma’s hands, her vision tunneling around them. She was being arrested. She would be sent back to the basement. She knew it was too good to be true. She would fade away again, drugged and reduced to nothing. 

Her heart picked up pace in her chest, as though it wanted to flee her ribcage even though her feet were rooted to the spot. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, her eyes fixed on the handcuffs in Emma’s hands, the very thing that would take away her freedom. 

“Miss French,” D.A. Spencer’s voice seemed to come from far away, “Did you hear me?” 

Annabelle’s vision darkened at the edges, her heart racing, her blood pumping in her ears.