#ravensinflight

She started, gasped, and stumbled back a couple of steps - directly into the cauldron full of ruined potion. Too late Rumplestiltskin reached out to stop her - the cauldron splashed and fumed and finally tipped over, drenching her from the waist down. She gasped and leapt away, tugging at her skirts, which were now clinging to her legs, and Rumplestiltskin groaned. The mess would clean up easily enough, but there was no telling what the effects of the potion would be. It had been meant to be a tracking spell, but with nearly ten times the required amount of frangipani, he couldn’t predict what -

He grunted as something small and soft hit him square in the chest, and he looked down to see that the girl must have tripped or stumbled and was now grasping at his waistcoat for balance. He took her by the shoulders and helped her to stand upright, careful not to mark her bare arms with his claws.

“I’m sorry,” she said shakily. “I’m not sure what happened.”

“You made a mess,” he snapped, “after barging into my tower uninvited.”

Her face grew red. “Your tea was getting cold.”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes and turned away, gesturing with one hand to dry her dress and vanish the spilled potion from the floor. “I trust after this little adventure,” he said, striding across the room, “you’ll take my warnings seri...oof!”

Something had collided with his back, and when he turned around he saw Belle standing before him, her face pale and distraught. He looked up across the room to the cauldron, which was still lying on its side - he’d walked at least ten feet away from her, how had she...

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said shakily. “I was standing there one moment, and the next…”

He held up a finger to silence her, considering the possibilities. Without a word he transported himself across the room, and watched in astonishment and alarm as Belle, her eyes terrified, swept through the air and directly into his arms. Rumplestiltskin set her aside and sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?” Belle asked. “What’s happening?”

“That spell was a tracking spell, dearie. It returns objects to their rightful owner. Normally it’s only strong enough for the object to travel to its owner’s immediate vicinity, but this spell - well, it appears to be a bit stronger than most.”

“Object? Owner?” Belle drew herself up to her full height. “I am not your possession, Rumplestiltskin!”

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. “Well…”

Pure fury flashed in her eyes and she stalked up to stand directly in front of him, her finger pushing into the center of his chest. “I am a person with a mind of my own,” she hissed. “I spent quite long enough being viewed as some man’s rightful property, and I will not have you…”

“You gave up your freedom to save your people,” he said coldly. “A noble sacrifice, to be sure, but you cannot be both imprisoned and free. Besides, I never said I considered you my possession.”

“Then why…”

“The magic, dearie!” Rumplestiltskin took a step back from her and gave a flourish. “Magic is ancient - primal - elemental. It doesn’t consider nuances or give exceptions. When you agreed to come with me forever, it interpreted that as a simple exchange of goods. Your life for theirs. Like it or not, the magic sees you as mine.”

Belle crossed her arms, her expression mutinous. “Well, what do we do now?”

“We break the spell, of course.” He took her by the arm and pulled her outside the door. “Stay here,” he commanded. He closed the door and locked it, and then stood just on the other side. “Alright?” he called.

“Fine,” Belle said. “What are you trying to do?”

“I want to see how strong the compulsion is,” he said. “Try to stay put.” He backed up one step, and then another, and then another, listening for any sign that the spell was weakening. When he was a mere three feet from the door, he heard a muffled thump, and he sighed.

“Rumplestiltskin, please open the door!” she called, and he waved one hand. When the door swung open, Belle tumbled into the room, having been pressed up against the wood. She huffed and stood, brushed off her skirts, and looked up at him, troubled. “I don’t think that helped.”

“Apparently not.”

“Don’t you have an antidote or counter-spell or...something?”

“There is no known counter-spell for a tracking spell,” he snapped. “It simply wears off with time.”

“How much time?”

“Usually about a day. In this case, however…could be weeks. Months, even. Perhaps I could create a counter-spell, but that will also take time.”

To his astonishment, a light flickered in Belle’s eyes, and her lips quirked up in a little smile.

“What are you smiling about?” he snapped.

“Well...you’re always leaving the castle,” she said. “To meet with royals and dignitaries and to make deals and trades.”

“And?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the world, and now I will.” Her eyes were positively sparkling now.

“Who says you will?”

“Wherever you go, I go, isn’t that right? If you leave the castle, I’ll have to come with you.”

He scoffed. “I am not taking my maid on any deals. What would my clients think?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem as if you have much choice.”

Damn it all, she was right. “Well, I - I simply won’t make deals until this,” he gestured to her, “is settled.”

“You plan to ignore the calls of desperate souls?” Belle asked incredulously.

“Yes.” In the face of her skeptical silence he frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of ignoring them.”

“Very well.” Stepping up to his worktable, Belle carefully moved a few items aside and slid up to sit with her feet dangling, as she would sit on the table in the trophy room. “Would you like me to help you, or should I keep out of your way?”

“When have you ever kept out of my way?”

Belle pursed her lips, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was trying not to laugh.

“Just...sit there and don’t touch a thing,” he grumbled. “With any luck, I’ll be free of you by nightfall.”

Unfortunately, his estimate had turned out to be rather...optimistic. Nightfall had come and gone and he was no closer to finding an antidote. The spell showed no sign of weakening, and Belle was currently seated on a chaise he’d conjured for his own comfort, but of which she had immediately taken full possession. She was poring over a spellbook she’d found in one of his bookcases, and he scowled at his latest concoction, which had proved to be as ineffective as pure water.

“There are a lot of flowers that represent separation or departure,” Belle said suddenly. “Do you have cyclamen? Or sweet peas? In the garden, perhaps?”

“This is the Dark Castle,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out. “I don’t have flower gardens.”

Belle opened her mouth - no doubt to question him about this - but all that came out was a loud, long yawn, and Rumplestiltskin glanced at the clock.

“I suppose it’s time that troublesome little maids were in bed,” he said.

“I can sleep here,” Belle said, closing her book and setting it aside. “I know you don’t often sleep, and I don’t want to disturb you.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged and turned back to his books and cauldron, watching out of the corner of his eye as his maid slid further down on the couch, curling on her side and folding her hands under one cheek. It seemed to take her some time to find a comfortable position, but after awhile she ceased to stir and her breaths became deep and even. Every now and then she gave a soft snore, and he smirked.

She hadn’t been a terrible encumbrance, he admitted to himself as he ground a few herbs in a mortar. At times her company had even been rather pleasant; she was certainly far cleverer than he’d expected a woman of her age and station to be, and she had a way of smiling when he snarled and giggling at his dark humor that was - well, it was downright endearing.

There was a rustle behind him and he turned to see that she had turned in her sleep, her brow puckered, and a small whimper escaped her lips. A tiny shiver ran up his spine and he frowned, turning away, but she stirred again and made another sweet little sound, and he abruptly set the mortar down on the table. With a thought he transported them both into one of the many unused bedrooms in the castle so that Belle was comfortably tucked into the large bed and he was sitting in a chair drawn up before the fire. Summoning his books from the tower, he settled in to research until his little maid had awakened.

He’d read approximately three pages when a loud thud sounded behind him, and he glanced back to see that Belle had fallen out of the bed and was struggling with the blankets.

“What’s happened? Where are we?” she asked, blinking slowly.

“A bedroom,” he grumbled. “You were sleeping too loudly.”

Belle rolled her eyes and rose, attempting to climb into the bed, but some invisible force pulled her back. Crossing her arms, she turned to him and glared. “You’re too far away,” she said. “Can’t you just...sit on the bed and read those?”

He blinked owlishly at her. “On the bed? With you?”

“I promise not to kick you,” she said, waving an impatient hand. “At least if you’re on the bed I know for certain that I won’t fall out of it.”

He considered. He could move the bed closer to the fire, but then she would be too warm. Besides, it wasn’t as if he actually needed the firelight to read. When she gave a very long, pointed sigh, he snatched up his books, stalked to the side of the bed, and threw himself down on the side closest to the fire. Belle hummed in satisfaction and nestled on the other side of the bed; within moments she was fast asleep.

The firelight flickered on the pages of his book, and the words began to swim before his eyes. He blinked rapidly, surprised, and realized that his head was feeling a bit fuzzy and his eyelids were drooping. A wave of exhaustion swept over him, and he fought a yawn. With a thud, his book fell to the floor, and his head dropped back against the headboard as he slipped into his first true sleep in centuries.

Chapter 2

When Belle awoke, she was at first confused. A glance around the room proved that she was not in her own chamber, but one very like it, and she distinctly remembered falling asleep in Rumplestiltskin’s laboratory. Moreover, there was someone in the bed next to her. Belle sat up a little and smirked at the sight of the Dark One sleeping propped up against the headboard, his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open.

Now she remembered - the tracking spell had pulled her to the floor and she had demanded he join her so that she could sleep in peace. Apparently she was not the only one in need of rest.

Belle glanced down at his bare feet and nearly giggled. For all his fearsome behavior, the Dark One’s toes looked like any other man’s, more or less. She studied his glistening skin a moment and felt a blush creep up her neck. She had often wondered if his scales covered him from head to toe, and here she had her answer.

Slowly Belle’s gaze traveled from his feet up his long leather-clad legs. She did not often have the opportunity to observe him thus - her master was a bundle of nervous energy who found it nearly impossible to sit still, and if he caught her looking he could become testy. But now…

What was he? He had the form of a man, but his strange skin and hair and eyes suggested otherwise. His hands, with their long elegant fingers that were so busy and so clever, were like a man’s, but the sharp black nails were not. They were folded at his waist, now, their greenish-gold skin contrasting with the deep red of his shirt. He was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling with his breath, and Belle flushed still more deeply when her eyes strayed to the triangle of his chest made visible by the open collar of his shirt. Rumplestiltskin was certainly not broad or muscular like the men described in her favorite books, but he had a certain appeal all the same. Belle herself was small and rather delicate, and the thought of kissing or embracing or exploring other...intimacies with tall, imposing Gaston had always rather frightened her. A man of Rumplestiltskin’s stature - taller than she but not by much, slender and wiry, built for dexterity rather than strength - that was much closer to her ideal.

She swept her eyes up the column of his neck to study his profile. If he was or had once been a man, he must have been a handsome one, she thought. He had high, sharp cheekbones and a very distinguished-looking nose, and she tried to picture him with smooth pink skin and soft dark hair. His current wavy locks had fallen away from his face, revealing a hint of silver at the temples, and she revised her mental image. His hair was probably lighter, streaked with gray, and his eyes - what color would they be?

“It’s not polite to stare, dearie.”

Belle started guiltily and met Rumplestiltskin’s cold, yellow-green gaze. “I - I’m sorry, I was…”

“Studying the beast,” he sneered. “Well, go on - which part of me is ugliest, hm? These claws?” He wriggled his fingers before her eyes. “Or perhaps this fearsome mask?” He gestured to his face.

“No!” Belle exclaimed. “I wasn’t - I don’t think -” She blushed when he raised his eyebrows. “I was thinking - imagining - what you would have looked like as a man.”

He froze, his expression a mixture of confusion and dread. “I’m not a man,” he said, and Belle nearly rolled her eyes.

“But you must have been a man once,” she insisted. “You look as if you were.”

He was silent for a moment. “Lifetimes ago,” he said at last.”Too long ago to matter. Why should that be of interest to you?”

“I promised to go with you forever, and it’s not as if I meet many people. If I’m never to know anyone else in my whole life, can’t I at least know you?”

His expression was unreadable as he studied her, and then he gave her a sharp, wicked grin. “Perhaps you just want to learn the monster’s weaknesses, eh?”

“You’re not a monster,” Belle said firmly. “You make your quips and your threats, and you think you’re uglier than you are, but there is good in you. I’ve seen it.”

“My failing to kill a thief and then growing bored of the chase? That’s not goodness, dearie, that’s a short attention span.” He waved a hand. “I grow bored of everything eventually, even nosy little maids who ruin perfectly good tracking spells.”

Belle did roll her eyes this time, but she decided not to push him any further at the moment. After a few seconds of silence she pushed down her blankets, sat up a little taller, and combed her fingers through her tangled curls. “If you want breakfast sometime this morning, we’ll have to go down to the kitchens,” she said.

He grunted and turned away, sliding off the top of the bedclothes and then reaching out a hand to help her climb out after him. Belle bit her lip to hide a smile and kept her eyes downcast. He was always performing little courtesies, handing her out of carriages and magically opening doors for her when her arms were full, all done automatically and almost as if he’d forgotten for a moment that he was meant to be a dark, evil sorcerer with no regard for anyone’s comfort or well-being but his own. He released her as soon as her feet touched the ground, and with a wave of his hand transported them both to the kitchens.

The call came just before tea time.

They were in the laboratory again, Belle reading spell-books and Rumplestiltskin stirring a new potion he hoped might do the trick. Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw his back straighten and his shoulders stiffen, and then he gave a little shake of his head and focused again on the cauldron. A few seconds later his body jerked as if someone had yanked an invisible chain, and Belle sighed, closing her book.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“A desperate princess,” Rumplestiltskin said. “No one of any importance.”

“What does she want?”

“How am I to know?” he snapped.

“You know who she is, but you don’t know what she wants?”

He was silent, staring into his cauldron, and then he grimaced as the call came a third time. Legend held that the Dark One would appear if his name was called three times, but Belle had since learned that once was enough to at least catch his attention. Each subsequent call was more irresistible than the last; the more desperate a supplicant was, the more eager they would be to make a deal. Rumplestiltskin drew a sharp breath and one hand clenched into a fist, and Belle knew he’d been called a fourth time.

“Oh, for all the gods, Rumple, answer her,” Belle said.

“I am not taking my maid on a deal,” he growled. “I can ignore…” His voice cut off abruptly and he drew in a deep breath, his eyes closed. “Oh, dear,” he said softly when he’d relaxed again. “Oh, dearie, dear, dear. She is desperate.”

Belle shivered at the hunger in his voice, the longing that seemed to come from a terrible dark place within him. When he opened his eyes, they were glittering more fiercely than ever, and he bared his teeth in a sharp grin.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said silkily. “An opportunity like this does not come around often. We’re going, dearie.”

“Where?” Belle said, leaping eagerly from her seat.

“Agrabah.”

When the smoke of Rumplestiltskin’s magic cleared, Rumplestiltskin shook off his maid’s grip and stormed for the stairs, Belle hurrying to catch up.

“Rumplestiltskin, wait!” she called.

He took the steps two at a time, and she followed, nearly out of breath. “A bloody waste of a trip,” he snarled when he’d reached the laboratory. “All of that maneuvering, all of those promises and deals, for what?” He tossed a brass lamp to the floor, where it rattled around noisily. “Empty! Whoever heard of wishing a genie free? What an idiotic, ridiculous waste of magic!”

“He was imprisoned,” Belle insisted. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to give the lamp to me!”

“But I was the one who found it, and I was the one who cleaned it,” Belle said. “They were my wishes, they weren’t transferable. You heard him, those were the rules!”

“Then you should have made your wishes and then…”

“Rumplestiltskin, are you seriously arguing that I ought to have kept that poor creature a prisoner for eternity so that you could have what you wanted?” Belle’s eyes flashed in anger. “Shame on you!” She stepped right up to him and pressed her finger into his chest as she had done once before. “How would you like someone to find a way to chain you up and use your magic for their own gain?”

He froze, his mind blank with terror at the very thought. He took a quick inventory of his vault and sensed the dagger still safe and sound, still secret and unclaimed. Gods forbid anyone find it - leash him and enslave him.

Oh.

“Well,” he said at last, attempting to ignore the little quirk her mouth gave when she sensed her victory, “at the very least you should have wished for your own freedom before granting him his.”

Belle gave him a puzzled look. “But he gave it anyway,” she said. “Remember? When he was free I asked him to sever the tracking spell and he agreed."

“I meant your freedom,” Rumplestiltskin said uneasily, turning away from her and picking the lamp up off the floor. “You could have wished for an end of our deal.”

“Oh.” He glanced at her and saw that she looked thunderstruck. “I...didn’t think of that.”

“Quite a detail to overlook.”

“Well...I suppose I’ve become so accustomed to the castle and to...to you...that I don’t really think of myself as a prisoner anymore. This doesn’t feel like a sentence, it feels like...home.”

Rumplestiltskin nearly dropped the lamp again in his surprise.

“What would you have wished for?” Belle asked, sliding up to sit on his work table as she often did the dining table in the great hall.

Memories of his son assailed him - rocking and feeding and soothing him, and later playing and teaching and nursing, and at last grasping and crying and begging and falling, falling, falling…

Surely the genie had had the power to travel realms, bound as he was by neither space nor time. Another path closed to him, another hope destroyed by Belle’s too kind, too generous nature - and yet he could not be angry with her anymore. He even admired the purity of her intentions and the steadfastness of her principles.

She would be either the making or the ending of him, and he wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

“Well, the place has been getting dusty,” he said at last, aware that she was still waiting for his answer. “Perhaps I’d wish for a maid.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait...don’t I have one already?”

Belle rolled her eyes and slid off the work table. “I’ll see you for tea, Rumplestiltskin. Try not to be late.”

When she was gone, he placed the lamp in a curio next to an old ring with a cracked stone and a green glass bottle, and returned to his work, keeping half an eye on the time.

And then, the pestering for a date had started. Neal had suggested a colleague of his, Mallory Ficent, as his plus-one, but Gold had refused, saying he could find his own date, thank you very much. So Neal had smiled smugly and told him to find one. In the end, Gold had asked a business partner of his. Carella Devils, a notorious half-drunk, half art-dealer. The woman could swim in shark-infested parties, she could handle a wedding party on his arm. The promise of free drinks interested her, but Gold knew she was curious about how he would handle the people there. Gold didn't like people and people didn't like Gold. The meal and party had started and indeed, the rule applied. Gold was sitting between his son and Carella. The music was loud and some persons were dancing in front of the fireplace on his lovely persian rug. He sighed deeply, wishing the hours could fly fasted. He hated it. He hated it all. He stood the hellish situation only for his son. To be honest, Gold regretted not having insisted to pay for the meal. Neal had used some shitty catering services and so they were eating lasagnas instead of the fancy meals he could have paid for. "Gold," Carella hissed. "The alcohol is horrendous…" He couldn't even protest, she was right. He made a sad hum and observed the party. Ursula Waters was chatting with Mrs Lucas - the grand mother one. Had Emma invited all of Storybrooke ? He just hoped Granny was not responsible for the mess in his plate or he would raise the inn's rent. He had not let his son leave Storybrooke to eat Granny's cooking at his wedding. The elder woman turned to him and glared. He scowled at her and looked away, angry at himself for letting her see him stare. The younger Lucas was dancing in front of the fire with a woman he didn't know, her new girlfriend probably. She had striking blue eyes, a lovely brown braid descending down her back and a dress that was probably too short. She had legs a mile long and Gold realized he would not mind licking them up. He blushed suddenly and looked down at his plate. What was he doing ? He had no business leeching at pretty lesbians. "Yeah she is cute as fuck, I agree," his 'date' commented. Gold pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering Carella did like women too. "She is spoken for," he replied. "Miss Lucas." "Ah fuck. Well, one never knows… Things do happen during weddings." "If anything happens, make sure it does not in the bedroom. Neal and Emma spend the night here." Carella chuckled and fell silent. She was staring at Ursula Waters. Gold rolled his eyes at the twinkle in hers. She muttered to herself "Oooh and who have we got here…" Before he could do anything, she got up and went to greet Neal's coworker. Somehow, he had the feeling he had just lost his date for the evening. She was right, though. Things did happen on weddings, even to bicoloured tall and rude drunks, Gold thought as he saw the matching twinkle in Waters' eyes. Gold leaned into his seat and helped himself to a glass of bad whisky, hoping alcohol would help make the evening go faster. A makeshift bar had been improvised on the kitchen counter. After the meal, before the dessert, people started to dance. Tables were pushed against the sides and Gold found shelter in the kitchen by the mock-up bar. It was good. It was closer to the bottles. "Congratulations," a lovely voice said after he had developped a nice drunken buzz. He turned his head toward the voice and saw the lovely woman he had seen earlier, Lucas Junior's girlfriend. "You must be mistaking. I'm not the Gold who's getting married." She chuckled and his heart lurched. She had such a beautiful smile. "I know," she replied. "You're his father… The father of the groom. I thought congratulations were in order." "Well thank you…" He knocked back a drink, another whisky and he immediately poured another. It prompted a frown on her face that made her utterly adorable to him. Since when did he find anger attractive ? In his exes, Milah and Cora, he had always found this feature distasteful. "You should stop drinking," she commented. "Or at least, not so fast." "Why shouldn't I? After all, it's cheap, bound to give me acid at some point, and it's the only thing that helps me stand this party." He pointed at the crowd dancing. "Look at them… Ridiculous and…" The cute girl's frown deepened. "They are having fun, sharing the moment. They are feeling good and you are here, all alone and sad. Who's ridiculous?" He stared at her. She had ice in the gaze now and he couldn't stand it. Gold sighed. "Do forgive me, Miss…?" "French, Belle French." "Do forgive me, Miss French. It seems that I am too drunk to be good company." "Even drunks need company, Mr. Gold. However, you should put the drinking on hold." As an answer, he finished his glass. She took it from his hands and put it away from him in retaliation. "Look," she said. "Your son is happy." He looked and saw she was right. Neal was dancing with Emma, pressed against her, their fingers entertwined. They were in their own little world, oblivious to the world as lovers should be. Gold softened and smiled tenderly. "Yes…" Miss French smiled at him. "This other one, though," he commented, nodding toward a bearded short man who was looking ridiculous in a suit, and was attempting some kind of a twist dance. "Oh, Leroy is a gem." She held her hand out. "Will you dance with me, Mr. Gold ?" It was tempting. He wanted to hold her. There was something there, between them. "Won't… Won't Miss Lucas mind ?" he asked. Miss French's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would Ruby mind if I was dancing with you ?" "She… She is your… your girlfriend." She stared at him… and burst out laughing. "Oh no, no ! She's just my friend ! Why do you think so ?" "You were dancing with her…" "Oh my god, Mr. Gold, you're too much !" She took his hand, a shiver ran down his back. She led him to the edge of the mock-up dancefloor and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Hold me," she breathed out. He obeyed and rested his hands on her hips awkwardly. They started to sway awkwardly around the area. There was something about her. He had no clue about who she was, yet he allowed her to manhandle him. He needed to get a grip. Knowledge was power, so he needed to know her to demysticize her. "You work with Emma ?" he asked. "I work with her occasionally… I've heard you had an antique and pawnshop ?" "I do." He needed to find the silver tongue he seemed to have lost. "What do you do for a living ?" He managed to ask, wanting to take control of the conversation. "I work in a school library." Gold wondered how a school librarian could help a bounty hunter like his daughter-in-law. "I have books in my shop, first editions," he informed her, figuring out talking about books with a librarian was a safe bet. He hadn't counted on her love of book. She looked thirsty, all of a sudden, and he had the strange feeling of being a mouse on an eagle's menu. Was this what his tenants were feeling when he talked to them ? "What are they ?" She asked. "Mostly Victorian eras books. I have a 'Sense and sensibility', 'Jane Eyre', 'Frankenstein'… 'Le fantôme de l'opéra' if you are into books written in a foreign language…" "Have you read them, Mr. Gold ?" "Of course," he replied. "I would be an incompetent antique dealer if I didn't know my way around books, paintings and furniture." However he was more knowledgeable in furniture and clocks, and books were not his forte. Miss French brought him onto the field of literature debate, discussing the reliability of the narrator in 'the remains of the day'. It left him vaguely aroused and utterly impressed. Sadly, their chat was brought to an end when Neal called everyone out for dessert. Belle went back to her table side. Gold noticed she was sitting next to the ridiculously dancing bearded man - Leroy, as she had called him. They started chatting and Gold frowned. "Something's wrong, Pops ?" Neal asked. "Where's your date ?" "She found someone to finish the night with," he replied, nodding toward Carella and Ursula. "Ah crap, I'm sorry for you. You'll be alright ?" "Of course, Carella is just a friend." Neal gave his father a sorry smile and turned back to his own plate. Thankfully, after the dessert, people started to leave. After all, it was a wedding night, and the bride and groom wanted to be left alone at some point. David and Mary-Margaret Nolan hugged Neal, wishing them the best as if he hadn't knocked their daughter up yet. After a while, only a few people remained, Belle French and himself amongst them. When he got up to take his leave too, his legs felt weird under him, as if they were made out of cotton. He was still drunk. Fuck, it would not be easy to drive. "Neal !" Belle called out his son and came to wrap an arm around Gold's waist. "Your father is drunk." "Pops, come on, not on my wedding day !" Neal protested, whining just a little. "Sorry, son. I will drive myself home, you stay here and have fun." "No way, I'll drive you and come back here." From his face, Gold could tell it wasn't making him happy. Of course not, it was his wedding day. "Maybe I could drive him ?" Belle suggested, Saint Belle, his saviour. Gold beamed at her and Neal looked weirdly at him. Obviously, his son didn't trust in his capacity to make friends during festive events. "Yes !" Gold Senior replied. "She could drive me !" "What about your car ?" Neal asked Belle. "I arrived with Leroy, he can drive it back himself." And so the matter was resolved and the way Belle smiled at Gold made his drinking too much worth it. After asking Belle a thousand times if she was alright in the head, Leroy left and so had the others. The librarian and Gold were the last ones to leave. His cabin was deep into the woods and there was quite a long drive to town. For once, it was pleasant, and it was all due to Belle. She was chatting him up, telling him how she had met Emma at her arrival in Boston, how they had become friends, how she had visited Storybrooke each year - hence her knowing townpeople… She had managed to miss him and his shop - a great loss, according to her. She bet his first editions were worth the trip. The car gave a sudden hiccup and the engine died. The vehicule came to a slow stop, 50 yards after it. "What have I done ?" Belle asked in a shaky voice. Her blue eyes were wide and her eyebrows were high. Gold glanced at the lights on the dashboard. One was lit up. The ‘check engine’ one. Well, that's what he was going to do, then. "It's alright," he said, trying to reassure her. "It happens, it must be an engine stall. You reacted greatly, you haven't crashed us, and we are alright." She looked a little better and gave him a tiny smile. "I'm going to go check the engine, to see if a filter is clogged or if a sensor is unplugged," he told her. She nodded. He bent toward her. As he came closer, the something between them rose again. She was smart, pretty, impressive and could hold her own against him. How could he not feel something for her ? He had to stop it. He looked at the wheel, reached underneath and found the button to unlock the hood. He left the car, not looking behind him. The night was cold and the moonlight - three quarters of it - was lighting the car. The headlights were lighting the road in front of it. He lifted the hood, blocked it up so that it didn't fall on him and tried to look inside the engine. It was dark. He took his cellphone out, flipped it open and tried to see again. Barely better. The work, the chill sobered him up. He spent a very long time inspecting the engine block. He had no knowledge of mechanic whatsoever but he understood gears. If anything was unplugged, he could fix it. However, it seemed it was out of his little abilities. He straightened and closed the hood. Belle was observing him behind the wheel and he shook his head somberly. Her mouth twisted and she joined him outside. "So ?" she asked. "I can't find what's wrong" "I can't believe you're trying the old trick about the car breaking down to spend time with me alone, Mr. Gold…" He turned to her. She was coyly looking at him, not looking sorry at all. "You're the one driving, Miss French." "Belle," she corrected. He narrowed his eyes at her for a second. "You're the one driving, Belle…" "Oops, then," she said with a grin. Was she… Was she flirting ? He knew she was not responsible for the breakdown, why was she joking about it ? "I'm going to call a mechanic," he informed her. "At this time ?" "Well…" His mouth twisted. "I'll leave a message on their answering machine, at least." "And what are we going to do until they get it?" Gold swallowed, looking around. "Maybe… We can sit in the car and wait ?" he suggested. "Maybe we can head back to the cabin." He straightened into pure indignation. "My son is currently on honeymoon in this cabin with your friend. Are you sure you want to be anywhere near it ?" "Point made,"" she replied. "We can stay here." He nodded at her and made the call, making sure to describe the place where they were stranded and the number of the road. He paced around, absentmindedly. Nothing would be worse than waiting for the tow truck while it wandered through the forest looking for them and finding them randomly after hours and hours of searching. When he hung up, she had a strange look on her face. Her expression was… intense for lack of a better word, and maybe a little angry too. Well, whatever it was, he was interpreting it as anger. "So… I've left the message and… Hopefully they will get it first hour and they will come for us." She stayed silent. "Maybe we could sit inside, and turn the headlights off to save battery. If we keep the heater on, the battery will die but since the car stalled…" He couldn't finish his rambling. She walked up to him and kissed him. It was a delight. He would never thank the car enough for breaking down. Waiting and kissing a lovely woman was a good way of finishing his night, especially if the woman was Belle. Then he realized he would have done it only with her. His heart started beating stronger. There was something there, he knew. What if he wasn't the only one seeing it ? She tasted of their meal, of the cheap alcohol, of the dessert… It was absolutely heady and intoxicating, and his head swarmed again. "I've been wanting to do it for hours," she said. "Since the moment you told me one could not trust Mr. Stevens because he was not educated enough to realize that his employer was being manipulated by the politicians." "I am glad you did," he breathed out. Belle stroked his back and snaked her hands down to his butt. He gave a tiny squeaky sound when she squeezed it and he thrusted his hips into her. It was the best feeling in the world. He wanted her. He was already half hard. She couldn't have missed it, not with the smirk she was sporting now. Gold could be quite oblivious but even he could see he would be lucky tonight. He wanted her, she wanted him, they had free hours, and no witness apart from a broken cadillac and the occasional wildlife.