She was the sunlight, the sun is gone.

Unexpected.

Sun, 18 Nov 2012 00:45:00 -0500

So this is a thing I wrote tonight. It’s not over yet. I just wanted to give you guys this bit tonight. I’ll probably write some more on it over Thanksgiving (pray for me and my massive amounts of school works!). Let me know what you think and what kinds of feels it induces in you! :P Also, it takes place directly after “This is Not America,” and I wrote under the idea that Annie wasn’t actually in love with Simon (because I thought it was wrong for the writers to do that anyway).

So, yeah, please enjoy. :)

<3, A.

Feeling as though she had no other options, Annie pulled out her phone and dialed his number. “Eyal?” she asked when he answered. “My flight’s been cancelled. Looks like I’m not going to be leaving Israel today. Mind helping me out?”

“Of course not, neshema,” Eyal responded, and Annie could hear the smile spreading on his lips. “I’ll head back to the airport right now.”

Annie checked her bag to make sure the file on Simon was still tucked away as she headed back out into the Tel Aviv sun. Would Eyal be taking her to a hotel…or would she be staying with him? Auggie had said the Agency wouldn’t mind paying for a hotel room since her flight was cancelled, but did she really want to spend the night alone in a hotel…when she could be with Eyal? It was no secret how thrilling it was just to be around him, how her pulse quickened each time she caught his eye or felt his touch.

But what about Simon?, a little voice asked in the back of her mind. Annie told it to shut up. Simon was work, nothing more. Eyal was a completely different matter. From the first time she’d met him in Zurich, she’d felt an undeniable attraction and affection between them. She didn’t, however, know if he returned the sentiment.

Just as she was thinking these things, Eyal approached her again, taking her bag and directing her to his cab. “I’ve picked out a great place for you,” he told her as he put her bag in the trunk. “A little cramped but quite nice.”

A hotel it is then, Annie thought, a little disappointed. She nodded as she slid into the cab. “Thank you so much for helping me out, Eyal, you’re the best. I could have found a hotel on my own, but…”

“Who said anything about a hotel?!” Eyal asked. “You will be staying with me, Annie Walker, not some hotel. You’re a guest in my country!” He gave quick directions to the driver, and they were off.

On the inside, Annie was grinning from ear to ear, but she managed to keep her cool. “Oh, really, I don’t want to be any trouble! Thank you, but that’s really not necessary.”

“Neshema. You are my guest,” he said seriously. “Stop it. Unless you really just don’t think you can handle spending the night with me…”

Annie rolled her eyes and tossed him a sassy look. “Oh please.”

“Oh, yes, you’ve got that whole Fischer situation to worry about,” Eyal said, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t want to mess that up!” He grinned at her.

“Or maybe I’m just not interested in you!” Annie challenged, deciding to ignore the reference to Simon. “Did that ever cross your mind, or are you so convinced of my affection for you?”

Eyal was about to respond when the cab stopped. As he haggled with the driver, Annie retrieved her bag and scoped out their destination. They were in a nice part of town, nothing fancy but still respectable. The apartment building was white and clean. It looked newer than some of the surrounding area but not exactly modern. Eyal led her through the front door and to the stairs, taking her suitcase as they headed up to the eight flights of stairs.

“Isn’t it a little risky? Living on the top floor?” Annie asked as she followed Eyal down the twisting hallways. “What if someone discovered your apartment, and you had to escape? It’s a long way down.”

“You make an excellent point, but you haven’t seen the view yet,” Eyal told her as he opened the door to his apartment. He deposited her suitcase by the door on their way in and motioned down the hall. “Go, see for yourself.”

Skeptical, Annie walked towards the living room, taking note of the apartment. It was rather Spartan. Well-furnished but without a lot of trinkets and mementos. It was obvious the occupant was a loner and travelled often. It almost felt like walking through an Ikea catalogue, except for the books and clothes strewn about. Eyal was in desperate need of a housekeeper. Her thoughts on his living arrangements, however, were silenced when she reached the living room.

Annie looked out over Tel Aviv in awe as Eyal came up behind her. He draped an arm over her shoulder, and she laced her fingers with his. “This is really, really beautiful, Eyal,” she said, soaking up the setting sun. “I can see why you risked the security issue for this. Although, truth be told, from the state of the place, I take it you’re not here often.” She playfully bumped his hip with hers.

“Well, you know how it is, being a master spy, no roots, always going where the current takes me, all that,” Eyal replied with an exaggerated shrug. “Better than living in my sister’s guest house.” He bopped her hip back with a grin.

She turned to him in mock shock. “Oh, I see how it is, maybe I’ll just grab my things and go to a hotel,” Annie exclaimed. She slipped out from under his arm and headed back to the door for her bag.

Eyal grabbed her around the waist from behind and pulled her back close. “Oh no, you don’t, Annie Walker,” he whispered into her ear. “I’ve worked very hard to get you alone like this. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Ah, so you now have the power to cancel international flights, just to keep one American woman in Israel for the night?” Annie replied. “I guess I didn’t know what kind of powerful man I’ve been dealing with all this time!” The Mossad agent was not only handsome but capable of such funny banter.

“This is my country, neshema,” Eyal told her, sliding his hands from her waist and up to her shoulders, slipping off her pink cardigan. “A few words to the right people, and I could have anything I wanted.”

Annie turned to face him. His dark eyes twinkled at her mischievously “Is that so? And what is it you want, Mr. All-Powerful Master Spy?” She leaned in towards him a little, so close she could almost hear his heart thudding in his chest.

“Right now?” Eyal asked, craning his face down towards hers. “To cook dinner for you, of course.” He grinned devilishly at Annie as headed into the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes. At the rate the two of them were going, they’d eventually probably build up so much sexual tension, they’d both combust.

Look, everyone, I wrote a ficlet. I’ve been trying to cope with my massive Annie/Eyal feels,...

Thu, 01 Nov 2012 20:34:00 -0400

Look, everyone, I wrote a ficlet. I’ve been trying to cope with my massive Annie/Eyal feels, but there is so little fanfiction about them. So I wrote some. At 3am. When I should have been doing research. Whoops.

Be Not Lonely

As the door thudded closed, she blinked back a couple of tears. All through dinner, Annie had half-hoped he would stay, had wanted him to remain there with her through the night. She felt as though she was finally crashing down from the adrenaline that had been steadily pumping through her since Simon was killed. And it wasn’t a great trip down. Spending the night alone in a strange apartment wasn’t the best solution either.

Annie sighed deeply and headed back into the kitchen, cleaning up the counters and stealing herself for the long night ahead of her. With the kitchen faucet turned on, she didn’t hear the door open again or Eyal slowly come back towards her. As she turned back around, she let out a yelp of surprise at seeing him there.

“God, Eyal, what the hell?!” she said, her heart racing a little, both from the shock and her confused excitement at seeing him again. “You usually pull the weird disappearing act, not reappearing!”

“Well,” he said, reaching over the island to turn off the faucet. “I was just getting out of the elevator when it occurred to me…you might not want to be alone, after everything you’ve been through. I thought it best I come back, just to make sure…” Eyal shifted nervously on his feet, hands now shoved firmly in his coat pockets, his usual sense of calm confidence shaken.

“I, um, well,” Annie began, wanting desperately for him to stay but also feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and not trusting herself. “I’m, I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry, Eyal. I’m fine.” She nodded her head sharply for emphasis, but she knew he could see the tears brimming in her eyes, how the corners of her mouth strained to stay upright. Crossing her arms tightly over chest, Annie began to feel even more exposed.

Eyal walked towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You do not need to be so brave with me, neshama. I am here for you. Always.” He moved a strong hand to cup her cheek, staring into her big hazel eyes.

Annie sighed deeply, a sigh that was half-mixed with a strangled cry, and buried her face in Eyal’s chest. His hands cradled her neck and the small of her back, keeping her close, letting her feel the strength of his presence with her. Trembling a little, Annie fought not to start sobbing openly on his chest, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself. Eyal only kept his hands on her, moving them in gentle circles, comforting her, taking in the scent of her hair and the silkiness of her blouse.

Breathing another huge sigh and backing away from the warmth of his chest and the steady thump of his heart, Anni pulled back to face Eyal, feeling the wave of panic and sadness had passed for the time being. Her hands clenched fistfuls of his shirt; her eyes swam with a million emotions at once. How simple it would be to just bop up on her tippy toes and kiss him. Subconsciously, Annie moved towards him, her lips poised for his…

Almost as if he sensed her intention, Eyal quickly moved away from her slightly. “So… would you like for me to stay, Annie? Just so you will have someone here with you?”

She nodded, her head lowering, eyes sinking to the floor. She wasn’t quite sure she trusted herself alone all night with this handsome Mossad agent, but Annie trusted Eyal more than anyone except Auggie. He had come for her when she’d felt all hope was lost. No matter what, Eyal had proven himself an extraordinary friend.

It was approaching midnight, and Annie and Eyal decided to head to bed, with Eyal insisting he would be on the couch if Annie needed anything, despite her pleas that he take the bed. She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and when she came back to the living room, Eyal was stretched out on the couch, completely asleep, clad only in boxers with a blanket sloppily twisted around his legs. Annie headed back into the bedroom, burrowing under the blankets and curling up near the edge of the big bed, still feeling strangely alone. She ached to feel Eyal next to her, to hear him breathing and feel his heart beating. It was even worse having him so close but still so far away. Sleep would be impossible while she felt so isolated.

Quietly, Annie padded back to the living room. She stood over him for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action. She settled for just pushing him over slightly to make enough room for herself on the relatively wide couch. As she shoved his shoulder gently, Eyal stirred, moving his back flush with the back of the couch. Annie curled up next to him, relishing the feeling of his body conforming to hers. He draped an arm carefully around her waist, not too low, not too high, and she twined her fingers with his.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Eyal mumbled from behind her.

“No,” Annie whispered. “I just felt so…alone.” Her voice cracked a little as she said it, but when she felt Eyal inhale deeply beside her, she felt strangely peaceful again.

“I am here, neshama,” he whispered. “I am always here.” And with that, Annie could have sworn she felt his lips glide over the familiar scar on her shoulder. She snuggled closer to him, wanting to feel every inch of him she could. “And with that, I think we should move to the bedroom.”

“What?” Annie asked, a little confused and excited.

“You expect me to sleep all scrunched up on this couch all night?” Eyal inquired, moving to sit up. They both scrambled to get upright again without falling over each other. He stood quickly, and, before she could protest, scooped Annie up in his arms and carted her off to the bedroom. He dumped back onto the bed and leaned over her. “Isn’t this much more comfortable?”

He was bringing his face dangerously close to her own, sliding his hand over her soft t-shirt. Without even really thinking, Annie arched her back slightly, encouraging him to roam over her curves. She tilted her face towards his. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, smiling playfully. She tilted her lips closer to his, inviting him to make the first move.

Eyal hesitated. His eyes shifted from her willing lips to her daring eyes, trying to decide the best course of action. His mind was made up when he remembered how he’d felt when she re-entered his hotel room in D.C., the way he’d felt his stomach turn in a way he’d almost forgotten. Ever since that moment, his attachment to Annie had been growing. When he’d pulled her from the hole the Russians had buried her in, he knew he would rather die than ever see her look so scared and vulnerable again.

But Annie did not look so scared and vulnerable right now. “Are you gonna kiss me or not, Eyal? Now’s your chance.” She was enjoying playing with him.

His answer didn’t require words.

Becoming Belle.

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 17:24:41 -0400

Hi! So, the other day, I was listening to “Porcelain Fists” by Ingrid Michaelson, and I heard the line “so I walked into your eyes without a raincoat on.” That inspired part of this little story. Then, I needed someway to get Belle into Gold’s eyes. So, I just built around the middle! I also wanted to write something that demonstrated what it must be like for Storybooke Belle to be remembering everything and dealing with all of those emotions.Anyway, hope you’ll like this! :)

<3, A.

“Ruby,” Izzy began one spring night at Granny’s Diner. “Do you ever feel like you have memories you…don’t remember?”

“What, like déjà vu?” Ruby asked as she fiddled with one bright red peek-a-boo streak and flipped through the diner’s ledger, her brows knit in concentration.

“No, not like that,” Izzy said. “More like…you have memories of things from…before. You remember things that happened before now.”

“Oh, like past lives and stuff? Reincarnation?” Ruby closed the ledger, tucked it back into its place behind the counter, and propped her elbows on the counter, chin in hands.

“Not like that either,” Izzy replied, dismayed. “I don’t know how to describe it. Like, memories from a life before this one, but…you were still…yourself. Just different. Everything was different.” Izzy stared at the mug in her hands, feeling foolish for bringing the subject up at all.

Ruby laughed, a little nervously. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about, Izz,” Ruby told her as she untied her apron and emerged from behind the counter. “I swear, sometimes you can be so cra–“ Ruby stopped short and an expression of guilt came across her face. She cleared her throat. “Sometimes I don’t know where you get these ideas.”

Izzy smiled at her, trying to put her old friend at ease. Everyone was always so tense around her, but usually Ruby didn’t walk on eggshells so much. She still chose her words carefully though, in a well-meaning effort not to upset Izzy. “It’s okay. I don’t either,” she said with a laugh. She jumped off her stool and put on her sweater for the walk home.

Ruby flipped off the lights, locked the door as they exited, and the two young women parted ways with a promise to see a movie the next night.

That night, Isabelle French dreamed she lived in a dark castle with a dragon. Or a man. Or a dragon-man. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was. He had the physique of a man but with the glimmering scales, fearsome persona, and scorching temper of a dragon. She awoke with a start, his face still burned across the inside of her eyelids.

Izzy knew this vision of climbing and subsequently falling off walls, only to be caught in the arms of the dragon-man, was somehow connected to the very alien memories reawakened in her by the psychiatric drugs and treatments during her stay at Storybrooke General. It was all in bits and pieces. Sometimes, a few images would coming rushing into her mind’s eyes (towns and villages destroyed by huge creatures with massive clubs and faces like melted wax…a spinning wheel constantly working some bright gold fiber… deep red roses, leather, and bloodied purple lips smiling at her). Or, words, snatches of phrases, would bubble up in her ears (“Love is hope. It fuels our dreams”… “I expect I’ll never see you again”… “Walk with you for a spell”) Faces were blurry, situations often without necessary context, and names unavailable.

Until now. The dragon-man’s face had been so painfully clear to her, it made the dream feel impossibly real. The context was less murky than usual, too. She knew he’d saved her (but why on earth had she been…climbing on the wall?), and that in that moment, that tiny sliver of time, the life of her former self had changed directions entirely. The name, however, still eluded Izzy. She felt as if it were on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach.

Lying in the last bits of moonlight, Izzy closed her eyes and called the dragon-man’s face back to her. Yes, she knew this face. She’d glimpsed it in Granny’s Diner, between the stacks at the library, in the pages of The Mirror. She’d never actually spoken to the man, but she knew him well.

Quietly, knowing she would be unable to return to sleep now, Izzy extracted herself from her warm blankets and set about her day, showering, brushing her teeth, slipping into her favorite jeans and shimmery gold tunic, and heading downstairs to start baking Papa’s favorite muffins, all the while trying to quiet the strange, rejuvenated fluttering of affection in her heart.

As Izzy busied herself with an arrangement of red roses (“just an old women, selling flowers”), she tried to plan how she would go about what her heart was now pleading with her to do. She would need to leave the shop early, which would mean giving her father a convincing lie. He’d never let her out of his sight again if he knew what she intended to do.

She settled on a simple, unadorned falsehood, and at 4pm, she set out from the florist shop under the guise of needing to return a library book before 4:30. As she slipped out the door and headed the opposite direction of the Storybrooke Library, the sun was shadowed by grey clouds and thunder rumbled overhead. Izzy quickened her pace, hoping not to get caught in the fast-approaching storm, but she had no such luck. She could just make out the shingle over his door when the downpour began, soaking her clothes and hair. She bolted down the street, roughly yanked the door open, and threw herself inside, letting the door slam behind her.

“Dear god, woman,” Gold said, dropping the silver tray he’d been polishing. “Don’t you own a raincoat? Or an umbrella? You’re dripping everywhere!” He reached under the counter and came towards her with a dry towel, moving to wrap it around her shoulders. “What message from your father could possibly be important enough to warrant these antics?”

“Don’t you dare touch me, Rumpelstiltskin,” Izzy snapped suddenly, without even realizing what she was saying.

Gold stopped dead in his tracks, dropping the towel. He gaped at her, eyes and mouth wide, before he managed to choke out, “Belle? You…you remember?”

Isabelle French suddenly felt very shy, hearing this other name, seeing Storybrooke’s own beast rendered speechless by her outburst. Her aquamarine eyes wide, she looked at him sheepishly. “…Yes? Sort of. I’m not entire surely. Do you?”

He made no words in response, but instead moved towards her and took her in his arms, his cane leaning forgotten against the door behind her. Why would he need a cane now when he had her to support him?

When Gold was satisfied that the small of her back, the curve of her neck, her everything felt the same, that her hair still smelled vaguely of wild berries and morning dew, that her skin was still soft and supple, he pulled away to look at her. Izzy wore an amused, affectionate, mystified smile.

She let out a small gasp. “Oh, your suit! It’s ruined!” She tried to brush the cold rainwater off of his silk tie but succeeded only in making a further mess of him.

“Suit be damned!” Gold told her, taking her slender cold hands in his large, warm ones. “I’d give up a thousand suits for you.”

That stirred something in Izzy again. “Wait,” she began quietly, gently slipping her hands out of his. “No, you wouldn’t! ‘My power means more to me than you.’ You said that. Remember?” Gold flinched, proving he remembered all too well. “I’m…I’m angry with you, Rumpelstiltskin!” She walked away, picked the towel up off the floor, and tousled her hair with it before wrapping it around her shoulders. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the store, not knowing what else to say or even really what to think anymore.

Gold’s eyes were gentle and apologetic on her, and when he spoke, his voice cracked. “I know, love,” he said, grabbing his cane and heading back toward the counter to sit down. “I’ve spent decades wanting to make it up to you, wishing I could find some way to earn your forgiveness. But…I thought it was a hopeless cause…”

“Why?” Izzy asked simply. Even she didn’t quite remember why she was angry with him. She knew the woman she had been before had loved him, had tried to save him from something, but that he had shoved her away, cast her out. After that, she’d known only four walls and a small window…

“She told me you were dead,” Gold said simply. “The evil queen, Regina, as you know her here, had told me you threw yourself off a tower to escape being tortured by your father’s priests. I thought you were lost to me forever.”

“She…Regina, the evil queen, whoever she is…she found me. She took me away after I left,” Izzy said carefully, pulling the towel tightly around her to stop a small shiver. “She locked me up…”

“I know,” Gold said, pathetically, wishing he could wring Regina’s neck for everything she’d done to his Belle, to Izzy. “Belle– Izzy, I’ve had a long time to think about things, and…you were right. I was a coward. My power was the only thing left, and I couldn’t lose it. But then, I did, and I realized it was just as fleeting and impermanent as anything else but far less satisfying…than the love of a woman like you.” His voice was calm and gentle, his eyes pleading with her. “I know it will take time for you to forgive me. I know you might not feel the same way as you did that day in the Dark Castle. But, I’m asking you, I’m begging you, to please let me try to be the man I should have been for you before. That’s all.”

Izzy looked him over carefully, in his damp suit with his fancy cane, his sad eyes and worried expression. She could tell this encounter was unlocking more memories within her. She knew it was only a matter of time before she remembered everything about being the woman named Belle. Trying to channel what little bit she knew of her former self, she pulled herself up to her full height and considered her words judiciously as she spoke them.

“I don’t know what I want right now, Mr. Gold, Rumpelstiltskin, whoever you want to be,” she said. “I just know that right now, you’re the only person who knows who I used to be, who can help me figure out this mess in my head. And because of that…I, I need you in my life.” She left out the bit about the strange butterflies in her stomach. There would be more than enough time to figure out her feelings for him. “Right now, I need a friend.”

Gold sighed happily and smiled at her. “I could not hope for better, dearie,” he replied as he extended a hand towards her. “Friends?”

“Friends,” Izzy said, grabbing his outstretched hand gently. “I have a question though.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “Were we in love?”

A smile, beaming and unaccustomed on his face, was Gold’s only response.

Turning Pages.

Wed, 28 Mar 2012 10:31:00 -0400

Hi, guys! So, I had a strange process in writing this little piece. It started off with the scene in the shop, but then I had a different idea for it. I remembered my brother telling me about he’d won a first kiss from a girl in the exact manner Gold wins this kiss. I’ve always thought that was terribly sweet, to ask permission before kissing a girl, and to ask for it in such a romantic way. So, I made Gold do it because I think he’s a romantic at heart! :P Enjoy! <3, A.

In the wake of her unplanned release from the psychiatric ward of Storybrooke General Hospital, Isabelle French had found making friends in a town filled with people who thought you were a raving lunatic to be quite the challenge. Sheriff Swan was compassionate and concerned, but Isa could always see the suspicion in her eyes, how she was constantly on guard in case the timid but steely Ms. French suffered another breakdown. Even her old friend Ruby had an air of distrust whenever Isa would laugh too loudly or start daydreaming for too long. The kindly schoolteacher, Ms. Blanchard, was probably the closest thing she had to real female friend; town outcasts have to stick together, after all.

The only person she knew was really, seriously, honest-to-God her friend was, oddly enough, fierce and untrustworthy Mr. Gold. Again, there’s something about being a pariah that brings people together, despite completely opposing natures.

Although, Isa French was not entirely sure their natures were so very divergent, as the rest of the Storybrooke populace believed them to be. To everyone else, Mr. Gold was a man to be feared. He was powerful, and he wore that power as a mantle to reign over everyone else. He was quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and hard-hearted. He was the embodiment of greed and misuse of power. Everyone saw him as a true beast among men.

To Isa, Gold was all of these things but also so much more. Underneath his more-than-prickly exterior, he was a gentleman. He had a sort of old world charm about him that most people failed to notice due to the general quaking from fear they felt in his presence. He could be very compassionate and even tender, despite the murmurings in Granny’s Diner that he was a heartless wretch of a man who cared for no one but himself.

From the time of her release from the psych ward, Gold had been a fixture in her life. He’d stopped by her father’s home every Sunday afternoon to check on her in the immediate weeks after her release. He would bring her small gifts, flowers, books, small trinkets from his shop. Somehow, he always knew her favorite blossoms, which books she would love the most, and which kitschy items would bring her the biggest smile.

As the weeks turned into months and Isa regained more and more of her old strength and vitality, the visits became more frequent, the gifts more thoughtful and generous. Her father swore up and down that Gold was courting her, but Isa remained firm in her position that he was simply being nice, taking pity on the poor mad librarian. As the months passed and the weather grew colder, Isa began working in Gold’s shop during the afternoons when her father released her from the flower shop. By this point, the entire town was buzzing with gossip about cruel Mr. Gold and the sensitive, fragile, pitiable Isabelle French. The fact that she often spent the hours after the shop closed at his home made for even more salacious stories.

“You know, Mr. Gold,” Isa began one afternoon. “There are a lot of rumors going around town about us.” She was standing on a stepping stool, reaching up to a high shelf in the shop for some trinket or another to clean.

“Oh?” Gold said, looking up curiously. “Such as?”

“Well, some people are saying that the reason I’m working for you is to help pay off my father’s debts, which I suppose is half true,” Isa informed him. The French family needed her extra (quite generous for a cleaning lady) earnings from Gold’s shop to pay off their loans, but she also worked for him because she needed the independence having a job, however small, afforded her. “Other people are saying it’s a touch more complicated and scandalous than that.”

“Pray tell, dearie,” Gold encouraged her. He set down porcelain vase he’d been appraising and looked her over, taking in hair pulled up in a loose bun on top of her head, a few unruly curls making a daring escape, the dark wash skinny jeans and simple lavender button-down, the fluffy, bright yellow scarf wrapped around her neck against the Maine chill. She made such a simple, effortless outfit look completely, enchantingly beautiful.

“One of the best rumors is that my father basically sold me to you in exchange for forgiveness on his loans!” Isa exclaimed with a laugh. “And that, before I was…er, ‘committed’ we were having an affair, but then you threw me out because I started demanding you marry me! Apparently, that’s what caused my breakdown!” She kept laughing as she stepped off the stool and walked towards him. “Isn’t that just the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Gold laughed nervously and gave his assent that yes, the residents of Storybrooke were very desperate for entertainment to make up such ridiculous stories. But underneath his shaky smile and careful words, he was hoping that maybe a time when come when some rumors turned out to be true.

As the days grew even colder, Isa began spending more and more time at Gold’s house in the evenings. She could see his very obvious loneliness and wanted very much to reciprocate all of the kindness he’d shown to her over the past months. She would stay late into the evening, preparing hot meals and crafting little baked goods for him, playing board games, watching black and white movies, or simply sitting on the couch, lost in books. Gold didn’t quite grasp the concept of “hanging out,” but it brought him even more joy than it seemed to bring Isa, so he continued to spend his evenings with her, despite how very taxing it was on his self-restraint. He especially loved when they would read together. It afforded him a perfect opportunity to observe this brilliant woman without her noticing.

It was on one such occasion, after months of anxiety and trying to keep himself from doing anything that may harm his friendship with Isa, when Gold’s resolve to keep their relationship entirely platonic (unless, of course, she initiated, and then, well…) crumbled as he found himself mesmerized by the furrow of her brow, the tilt of her head, the curve of her lips as her eyes scanned easily over the page in front of her. Like always, he was planted firmly at one end of the couch, while she was at the other with her legs stretched out in front of her, her fuzzy-socked feet almost-but-not-quite brushing his thigh.

Hesitant but with great purpose, Gold quietly picked up the scrap of paper and pen he used to record reading notes and wrote a new sentence on it. Instead of his usual hurried scrawl, this was in his more practiced, careful hand, neat and legible and completely unambiguous.

When I reach page 461, he thought to himself, I’ll slide it over to her. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, an intoxicating mixture of anxiety, fear, and boundless excitement. He had twelve pages to go before he either achieved a serious boon or suffered a crushing defeat. It took Gold all of his patience and concentration to keep his eyes trained on his book, to read those twelve pages. Somehow, he managed, and by the time he’d reached page 459, he was almost certain Isa could hear his heart beating at the other end of the sofa.

When the remaining two pages were read (or, to be more accurate, roughly scanned), Gold reached out, put his note on the coffee table, and slid it quietly over to her. Isa’s eyes flickered up from her book to his face for a hair of a second before going back down as she reached over to pick up the little scrap of paper beside her. She kept her eyes trained on the book, but her lips were curved into a partially hidden smile of sheepish excitement. As she read the little note (twice, to make sure she wasn’t imagining things), she reached up and removed a pencil tucked into her messy bun. She carefully printed a short response and slid the note back down the table, her heart thundering away in her chest.

Gold gingerly picked up the missive and braced himself for the answer. Reading over it (twice, to ensure he wasn’t just dreaming again, like he had been for so very long), he smiled slightly to himself. He tucked the paper into his book and laid it gently on the coffee table. He reached over and grabbed Isa’s hand, her own tome dropping to the floor as she gasped and giggled in surprised delight as he pulled her into him and into a kiss that left little doubt in either party’s mind as to the rumors which would explode throughout Storybrooke from here on out.

“Your heart’s beating so fast!” Isa exclaimed when their kiss finally broke.

“You should have felt it on page 460,” Gold told her with a grin as he pulled her in for another kiss, feeling her heart leaping in her chest, almost in time with his own.

Later that night, after Gold had reluctantly driven Isa home and kissed her gently on her father’s doorstep like a young lover, he sat back down on his sofa, picked up his book, and ran a finger across the little bit of paper that had changed everything.

Could I please kiss you right now?

Okay.

As he finished the book that night, the scrap stayed right where it was, forever marking page 463 and the moment Isa French started to become his very own Belle again.

Breakfast Date.

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 15:23:00 -0400

I don’t know why I have this strange fascination with RumBelle and breakfast! But this one feels sad to begin with, I know, but it’s hopeful. Because, you know, “love is hope” and all that. Also, I may or may not have named Storybrooke Gaston Justin because of Justin Gaston. He’s very pretty, don’t judge me!

<3,

It had been almost eight months since the fire at Storybrooke General Hospital. Since then, Isabella French had been tightly confined in her father’s home, except for her regular visits to Dr. Hopper, who was charged with ensuring Storybrooke’s librarian didn’t have another mental break, and Sunday breakfasts with Justin at Granny’s.

Winning the privilege of the weekly breakfast was quite the fight for Isabella. Bother her father and the mayor were against the idea, saying that, even after four months without incidence, she could easily slip back into whatever madness it was that had resulted in her being locked up. But it was small privilege Isa had fought hard to win. She needed to be somewhere other than her father’s home and shop and Dr. Hopper’s office. She needed to see people and be seen by people. If she simply stayed locked up, all of Storybrooke would simply continue to write her off as the “mad librarian.”

So, ever Sunday morning at 8:30am, Justin came by in flamboyant red convertible and picked her up. She always begged for them to walk, not drive around in the horribly ostentatious automobile, but Justin never relented. He was a show-off by nature, and showing off the beautiful girl on his arm simply wasn’t enough. He needed a fancy car to complement her. He needed anything to make himself look good.

This Sunday, a warm morning in May, Isa slid into the passenger’s seat of Justin’s car and hoped he wouldn’t try to snake another arm around her shoulders like he’d tried the week before. He just didn’t seem to understand she was still traumatized from her time in the little padded cell. Whatever affection she may have felt for him before her disappearance was a far off memory now. She was working very hard to get back to who she was before her…”episode,” but it was hard to believe that, whoever Isa had been before her breakdown, she had ever felt any affection for Justin, considering what silly, superficial man he was.

Justin dropped her in front of Granny’s while he parked the car down the street. Isa went inside, bracing herself for the stares that were always thrown her way these days. It had gotten better with time. At least now people didn’t gossip about her behind their mugs and menus. She slid into her favorite booth at the back of the diner and tried to pretend none of the other people existed. After absently flipping through the menu she’d memorized ages ago, she looked up to see Mr. Gold staring at her from across the room.

He always sat at the same booth, the one in the front corner, the only one from which the entire diner could be viewed. But instead of watching anyone else in the room, his eyes were fixed solely on Isa. This happened often. Isa didn’t quite know what it was about her that Gold found so repulsive. Maybe he didn’t like madwomen being allowed to roam free in his town. Maybe he didn’t like the way her dress was cut, simple and plain compared to his fancy, well-tailored suits. Maybe he was lecher who enjoyed fantasizing about the girl who spent ages trapped in the sterilized cage. Who knew what ran through that man’s head?

Isa look away quickly and went back to looking through the menu. She was just getting back to the breakfast menu when she heard footsteps approaching. She looked up, expecting to see Justin but instead it was Mr. Gold standing before her, leaning on his cane and seeming nervous. Her big blue eyes became even wider than normal as she waited for him to say something.

A pregnant pause passed before Gold opened his mouth to speak. When the words did come, they were tight and constrained. “Good morning, Ms. French,” he said through almost-clenched teeth. “Would you mind if I sat here with you for a moment?”

Isa stared at him blankly for a moment before she recovered. “Oh well, Justin should be here any moment. He was just parking the…” She glanced over Gold’s shoulder towards the door, where she saw Justin outside, leaning against a lamppost with Sheriff Swan, undoubtedly flirting with her. Feeling a little angry but not at all jealous, Isa looked back to Gold. “Sure, have a seat.” She smiled warmly at him.

With a little difficulty, Gold arranged himself in the opposite side of the booth. Isa thought she could see a faint flush of embarrassment rush over his cheeks as he situated his bum leg under the table. She looked away awkwardly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by staring at him during this little moment of weakness…even if he never returned the small courtesy to her.

“So, Ms. French,” Gold asked when he was settled. “Have you been doing well? I don’t see you around town very often, save for Sunday breakfasts.” He smiled his usual tricksy smile at her, but she felt the strangest hint of affection in his words and expression, like he wanted to see more of her but didn’t quite know how to say so.

“Oh, well, I don’t get out very much,” Isa said. “My father…well, he doesn’t like for me to go out very often. He thinks I’m too…fragile still.” She smiled and shrugged at Mr. Gold. “Maybe he’s right.”

“Is that really what you think…? Gold asked, leaving off her name, silently questioning what he should call her.

“You can call me Isa, Mr. Gold,” she told him. “Everyone else does, apparently.” She shrugged again. Isa always felt like maybe she had another name, some other moniker she was known by, but everyone said she’d always gone by Isa. “And…I suppose he’s just looking out for my best interests, but it does get terribly boring being trapped at home or in the back of the shop all day. I wish I had somewhere else to go, someone else to see, but Papa and the mayor…well, they don’t want me…getting into any trouble.”

“Yes, Mayor Mills always has Storybrooke’s best interest at heart,” Gold said, wryly with a pained grin. “Well, if you’re ever in need of some kind of company, please feel free to let me know, Ms. Fre– Isa.” He seemed genuinely anxious to see her, for whatever unusual purpose he might have had. “I’ve been thinking of hiring a new caretaker for my…rather large pawnshop.”

“Oh, Mr. Gold, that’s very kind, but I don’t know –“ Isa began before being cut off by Ruby’s arrival at the table.

“What can I get for you two?” Ruby said, clicking her pen on her (always exposed) hip and looking carefully between Isa and Gold, her eyes curious but confused.

Isa jumps a little, startled, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. “I’ll just have a cup of tea, milk, two sugars, and a coffee cake, please, thank you, Ruby.”

Ruby turns to Gold, but he’s already moving to get out of the booth, “I was just leaving, thank you. “ Ruby shrugs and walks away. Gold is back on his feet and cane in a few moments, studying Isa’s face again. “Just remember, should you need anything, you know how to get in touch with me, Bel– I mean, Isa.” He seemed genuinely pained at his mistaking her name and quickly nodded before hurrying off as quickly as his old knee could carry him.

Isa wanted to follow after him, to ask he why he’d called her by that name and why it felt so oddly familiar, but then Justin was coming in, a self-satisfied, post-flirtation-with-the-sheriff smirk on his face. Isa rolled her eyes and settled in for a long morning of Justin’s usual pointless prattling. She desperately needed new friends. As she sat thumbing through the menu again as Justin rambled, she saw card with a phone number written on it and signed with a flourish.

As Gold hurried down the street back to his shop, he silently cursed himself for his stupid boldness and even stupider slip of the tongue. For months, he’d been simultaneously trying to work up the courage to talk to her and to push her as far from his thoughts as possible. But it would not do. Thoughts of her, so real and alive and wonderfully perfect, filled his mind no matter how hard he tried to sweep her out of it. She consumed his life now, utterly, completely, and without remorse.

And now he’d blown it all by being a creepy old man with a pathetic bum leg, dusty pawnshop, and senile mind. The girl in the diner would never know of the powerful being he was before and how he was anything but senile.

Later that night, after much shouting and angry gesturing in the French household, Isa picked up the phone and dialed the number on a small card in her hand.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice shaking a little. “Mr. Gold? It’s Isa French. I was just calling to talk to you about that offer you made me at Granny’s this morning…”

And as she spoke these words, Isa felt the strangest feeling of déjà vu, and she felt as though she was making a very important decision, something that would change the lives of many people, even though she was just a girl desperate enough for freedom to run off with the town monster.

A Normal Life.

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 08:57:00 -0400

This is something I worked on a couple of weeks ago. It’s actually a little bit longer than this, but I wasn’t really sure about the direction it was going in at that point (hint: Henry and Emma visit the library). And, as much as I love all of the fics about Gold and Belle living happily ever after, I haven’t really seen any that show her wanting to pursue something other than Gold and their life together. So I made it happen. :)

<3,

“I want to go back to work,” she said suddenly one night over dinner. “I had a life before Regina locked me up, and I want to get back to it now.”

Gold set down his utensils, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and cleared his throat. “Love, how many times must I explain this to you?” he began, patiently, like he had so many times now. “You never had a job. You never actually worked in the library. You just think you did.”

“I understand that,” she said. “I understand any of my memories form before I was in the room are just part of the curse, but…everyone has a place here. Except for me. My place was supposed to be the missing, crazy librarian locked in the hospital basement. But I’m free now. You saved me. I don’t have to be that person anymore.”

“You aren’t that person, dearie,” Gold told her. “You’re free, and you’re here with me. We have each other.” He spoke plainly and easily, as he often did these days when dealing with his fragile partner. Despite all of her strength and fierce intelligence, the time she’d spent “away” had made Belle a little nervous and easily upset.

“But that’s the problem. We have each other, but you have things other than me. You have your work, the shop, your deals. And I just have…you. And being in this house,” Belle said, staring at her hands in her lap. “I’m here. All the time. I rarely leave this house, and even when I do, it’s usually with you and never for very long.” She rose from her seat and walked over to him, plopping down on the corner of the table beside him. “I just feel so…” She trailed off, unsure of just what to say to convey her feelings without hurting her lover.

“Trapped,” Gold finished for her, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, Belle, I haven’t saved you from imprisonment at all. I merely…relocated you. Traded one prison for another.” Guilt and self-loathing washed over him. Why had he thought keeping her essentially locked in his home by his own fear for her safety was so much better than Regina keeping her locked up as a weapon to use against him?

“Oh no, Rumpel,” she cried, grabbing and kissing his hands. “You saved me, you really did. You got me out of that hole where they filled me with drugs and lies. I know you’ve just been trying to protect me the last few months. You’ve been doing the best you could.” She smiled at him, hoping to reassure him of how very different her feelings now in his home were from those she’d felt in her padded cell in Storybrooke General.

“I only want your happiness, dearie, and your safety,” Gold said, looking deep into those big blue eyes.

“I know,” Belle told him. “But you see…our…relationship has defined my life here. It caused Regina to lock me up and now it keeps me here in this house. You have other things in your life. All I have…is you.” She paused before hurriedly adding, “And I love you, totally, completely, with everything I have. I never want to be parted from you. But I need something else in my life. I need…a purpose. I need to have something that is my own.”

Gold smiled at his love. “I understand, love. We’ll work out a way to get your job back, I promise.”

Belle stroked one clean-shaven cheek of his face and smiled. “Thank you, Rumpel. I knew you would understand.” She hopped off the table and straightened her skirt. “Now, I have a lovely chocolate mousse waiting for us!”

Gold smiled eagerly. “A woman after my own wretched heart!” Belle grinned back at him over her shoulder as she glided back into the kitchen.

Regina had initially been very much against the idea of the recently-discharged mental patient, daughter of the town’s laughingstock, girlfriend of the Storybrooke bogeyman returning to her post as the town’s librarian. She could be a danger to the children, after all. But Gold needed only to remind her that, as the richest man in town, he partially owned and funded the library, and would she please return Ms. French to her position? Regina’s lip twitched uncomfortably at the word, but she relented. It was a small boon for Gold and his…whatever she was. Regina would save her ammunition for something bigger down the road.

Before the library was officially reopened, Belle spent a few of weeks fixing it up. She repainted the shutters and commissioned a new sign for over the door. She dusted the stacks and re-familiarized herself with the layout of the place. Before long, she could find just about anything in the place with her eyes closed. She scrubbed the floors clean and rearranged and redecorated the reading room. Several nights, Gold would come home to find her missing and feel one terrible moment of panic before he remembered she was a working woman now. When she did come home, usually long after dinner, she was glowing with purpose and energy.

The first day she officially opened the library, Belle arrived very early at 7am, dressed smartly in a grey pencil skirt, teal blouse, and antique ring Gold had given her the night before as a special present to celebrate. The bright aquamarine teardrop flashed on her hand in the rising sunlight. Her chestnut curls were pulled back neatly, and her kitten heels clicked daintily on the floor as she finished making a few nervous last-minute adjustments to her desk. At 8am sharp, she sat behind her desk and waited for someone to stop by.

Hi-hi-hi!

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 03:49:52 -0500

So, I just wanted to take a moment to say how COMPLETELY WONDERFUL this fandom is. You guys are spectacular! :) <3, A.

PS - if anyone wants to send me a prompt, I AM GAME.

Senses.

Fri, 09 Mar 2012 15:12:05 -0500

I have a very strange love for all of the pregnancy fan fictions I’ve been reading. I don’t quite knows why I like them so much, but even the sad ones just…ugh, they are too awesome! So I made one. It’s happy. woot woot. :) <3, A.

Gold has a long list of things he loves coming home to these days. The smell of “breakfast for dinner” wafting through the house. The sound of her singing, loudly and a little off-key, as she works on sewing a new blouse or dress. The sight of standing on tip-toes in lace underwear and one of his old dress shirts, trying to reach a book on one of the higher shelves. The taste of her surprise kisses at the door, an intoxicating mixture of coffee and peach and blackberry and everything that was good and right and wonderful in the world. The feeling of her hands across his shoulders, removing his jacket, taking his hand, and leading him to whatever excitement she’d concocted for that evening in their quiet home. The sensory onslaught he came under whenever he entered his home that reassured him that she was there, whole and real and full of life, was more than enough to push whatever unpleasantries had passed during the workday to the back of his mind.

It wasn’t always sunshine and roses, however. Some days, he would come home to see the curtains drawn tightly over the windows, dinner half-finished and completely ruined, rooms torn apart, or the sound of her quiet sobs breezing down the stairs from their bedroom. Some days, the demons that had taken root in his Belle during her imprisonment came back to plague her, despite months of quiet reassurance from Gold that no one was ever going to lock her up again. Those days had become few and far between eventually, but, when they did strike, Gold would slip back outside, head down to the florists’ shop, and pick up a few daffodils, her favorite. Moe French would nod silently as he handed the flowers over to Gold, knowing exactly who they were going and what it meant and not saying a word about payment, simply wishing him a good evening.

For whatever reason, the flowers always helped. Belle said they reminded her of the sun, of the light and warmth she’d missed so dreadfully during her time “away,” as they called it. As soon as she took them in her hands, rubbing the bright yellow petals between her fingers, a sense of her usual lightness and cheer began to return, and, by the next afternoon, she was just as unbelievably happy and jovial as she had been before.

When Gold came home that day to curtains shut tight and a dark-haired lump curled up weakly on the sofa under a deep purple comforter, he thought it was another bad day and went to sneak back outside again. But as he opened the door, he heard a soft murmur come from the sofa.

“Wait, don’t go,” she said. “I’m fine, really. Well, sort of. I don’t know. Come back.” She sat up now, her curls piled messily on top of her head, her cornflower eyes looking exhausted and puffy. “We need to talk.”

As Gold walked towards her, his mind raced through all of the possibilities. Like anyone, that phrase terrified him. He didn’t know what to think. What could possibly be wrong? Had Regina come by while he was gone? Had the meddling Sheriff Swann been sticking her nose into their business again? Had her father tried to convince Belle to come home with him again and started another row like last month?

“Don’t look so frightened,” Belle said, rubbing her eyes, her brow furrowed. “It’s not…anything…too bad.” She wore a wear, worried expression as she tried to keep choose her words carefully.

Gold sat down at the other end of the sofa, where her feet peeked out from under the comforter, revealing dusty gold toe nail polish. He placed one hand around her thin ankle. “Well, what is it, dearie?” he asked, his heart pounding in his chest, his voice almost squeaking from anxiety.

“I guess to start…well, I-I’ve been feeling a little…under the weather lately,” she began, looking down at her hands in her lap, fidgeting with a loose thread on the comforter. “At first, I just thought…I figured…maybe it was just a touch of the flue. But now…”

Oh, god, Gold thought, his mind suddenly emptying out and his muscles going weak.

“Well, it turns out that…I’m late,” she managed finally. Her eyes were still trained on the comforter, but she stole a quick glance up to see Gold’s completely blank, shocked expression. “I don’t know for sure yet, and I don’t know how I feel about it, or how you’ll feel about it, or what I’ll do about it, or, or, or…anything really. I’m completely at a loss for what to do…” Her words had spilled out of her and into the room, and now she was even more terrified about the possible implications of this surprising turn of events. She stared into the comforter over her legs, wishing she could just make all of this go away.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Gold rubbed a hand over his scruffy chin, trying to find the right words to say. “Well…” he began carefully. “How do you feel, love? What would this mean to you?”

Belle thought for a moment, trying to quickly sort through all of the feeling swirling around inside of her to pick out the strongest, most prominent ones. “I…um, well, I guess…I’m excited,” she said sheepishly. “I know we haven’t talked about this happening. I know things are really crazy right now, and that I’m…well, not always exactly in the best place.” Those words sent a pang of guilt and anger and hurt through Gold’s chest. “But…couldn’t it be…wonderful? Wonderful and exciting and joyful and just…perfect? But if you’re not – “

Gold cut her off with a quick kiss. “If you’re excited, I’m excited,” he assured her. “You’re right, we haven’t even talked about this sort of thing, bringing little humans into the world. But we’re in this now, and you are all I want, you and any little people who may come from you.”

There were a few tears in Belle’s eyes now. She’d been so worried about how this conversation would go. She’d feared he would be angry; she’d hoped he would be happy. For once, her optimism had served her well. Gold thumbed away the tears creeping down her cheeks and kissed her again, his hands cupping her chin and tangling in her hand.

“Well, you know, it’s not even official yet,” she said when they parted. “It might turn out to be nothing.”

Over the following months, Gold became used to coming home to new things that made him even happier than those things he’d loved so much before, something he’d never imagined possible. The sound of Mozart playing as furniture upstairs was constantly rearranged. The smell of fresh paint drifting down the stairs. The taste of lips that had forgone coffee but had not lost their addicting quality. The feel of her burgeoning bump under his hands and her smile glowing at him. The sight of his Belle, now more full of life than ever before, asleep in a rocking chair, holding her belly tight, preparing herself for many long nights in this room beside the dark mahogany crib.

Mr. Gold no longer merely regulates the stress and trouble of the outside world to a far-off corner of his brain now; he forgets it entirely, letting it wash away under the fountain of love and preparations and untethered excitement that awaits him every evening. When Gold steps over the threshold into his home, he finds his happy ending

A Minor Incident.

Fri, 09 Mar 2012 12:56:00 -0500

Warning: this one is sad, too. I’m sorry. Also, it’s based in Storybrooke before Emma’s arrival (which, of course means a great appearance from SHERIFF GRAHAM!!). I don’t feel like this one is as good as the first. It didn’t come as naturally. But still…I hope you enjoy it! :)

There was a strange commotion going on in sleepy Storybrooke. The town which had so neatly passed just over two decades in a hazy blur was experiencing a “minor incident,” as Sheriff Graham would call it in his official report. A lunatic had escaped from Storybrooke General and was causing a scene outside of the boarded-up library. A distressed Ruby had been the first to call it in, followed by an incredibly angry Regina, who had threatened him with all manner of tortures if he didn’t get the escaped loony back into the hospital before 8am.

Graham had reluctantly rolled out of his messy bed in his dingy apartment, threw his leather jacket over his rumpled t-shirt, pulled on his jeans, and slipped his badge and gun into his pocket. He headed out the door and down the street, not quite knowing what he would be getting into but not expecting anything really dangerous. It was just a crazy girl roaming the streets? Really, what could make that so bad?

When he rounded the corner to the clock tower, he saw the small early morning crowd loitering around, not quite knowing what to do but unable to walk away from such a rare spectacle. There was Ruby, toying nervously with her dark red highlights, and Ms. Blanchard, fidgeting with her ring, clutching the collar of her sweater fretfully. He pushed through the crowd, muttering “Step aside, sheriff’s office, move aside, nothing to see here, just go to Granny’s and get your morning coffee, that’s right, go on now.” The onlookers dispersed slowly, staring back over their shoulders as he approached the figure outside the library.

Sheriff Graham didn’t quite recognize the girl seated on the stoop of the library, toying with her matted brown curls, but he knew there was something very familiar about her. As if maybe he had seen around Storybrooke but never spoken with her, never taken the time to know her before whatever calamity befell her that led to her stay in the psych ward of Storybrooke General. But that couldn’t be possible. He knew everyone in town. Why, everyone knew everyone else in Storybrooke.

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me,” Graham said patiently as he padded towards the girl on the steps. “Could you tell me your name? How did you get here? Is there anyone I can call for you?” He was trying not to ask too many questions or startle the young woman, but he’d never had to bring in a lunatic before.

“My…my name?” the girl asked timidly. “I’m not quite sure. Names have power. My name is…it’s…hm. People keep telling me it’s Bonnie, but I’m not sure I believe them.”

“Okay, Bonnie,” Graham said as he inched forward a little bit more. “How did you get out here? What are you doing here? At the library?” He thought by asking her questions, he could distract her enough that he could move in, grab her, and get her as peacefully into the quickly-approaching ambulance he’d called in.

“Why, I’m the librarian!” “Bonnie” exclaimed as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Now that I’m free, I wanted to come check on all of my books!” Her bright blue eyes were alight with some kind of joy tinged with a painful sadness. “Or at least I was…before…” she drifted off, her voice sounding confused and sad. “You should know who I am, Sheriff Graham, even though I have been gone an awfully long time.”

Again, Graham studied the face of the young woman dressed in nothing but a dirty hospital gown and yellowed socks. She looked so dreadfully familiar, but he knew not where he’d seen before. Yet, she knew his name. But…he’d been the sheriff for…well, as long as he or anyone else could remember. Everyone knew him as Sheriff Graham.

Just then, the mayor’s car pulled up, and Regina came onto the street with a fierce slam of the door. “Thank you, Sheriff, for making sure this patient didn’t come to any harm or cause any harm to anyone else. I’ll take it from here.” She moved forward, he heels clicking angrily on the asphalt. Her red lips were curled into a smile Graham recognized as her attempt to be charming while trying to hide that deep, violent anger she sometimes possessed.

“Madame Mayor, good morning,” he said, squatting near the mad girl now, who had started quivering with fear and mumbling quietly under her breath. “I was just speaking with Miss…Bonnie here. She seems to be quite distraught.”

“Well, Sheriff, she’s a sensitive individual,” Regina said with a voice like butter. Or blood. Smooth and honeyed and trying desperately to slide out of tight situation. “Now, please, I can handle this from here. You can go now.”

Graham hesitantly stood up and took a step away from the girl, who quickly grabbed his arm desperately. “Please don’t let her take me! Please. Not again. Not back to the dungeon. Please, anywhere but the dungeon!” She was sobbing now and rocking back and forth, her free hand running violently through her tangled curls.

“Now, look what you’ve done, Sheriff!” Regina cried, rushing forward and taking the girl’s hand off of his arm. The young woman struggled against her, but Regina held her arms firmly to her sides until she finally gave up and submitted. Regina’s eyes cut back to Graham, and her voice was filled with venom. “Now, please call ahead to the hospital, and inform them I’m coming with a very…delicate patient for Dr. Whale.” Graham stood still for a moment, unsure of what to make of the scene. “Do I need to repeat myself, Sheriff, or are you actually capable of following any orders this morning?”

Graham shook his head. “No, Madame Mayor, you don’t need to repeat yourself. I’ll call the hospital right now.” He hesitated. “But first…could you tell me if maybe you know her name? For the official report?”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Sheriff, I don’t pay you to keep accurate reports. Sweep this incident under the rug as much as possible, and never, ever speak of it again. For all intents and purposes, this girl does not exist beyond the hospital registrar. Do I make myself clear?”

Graham nodded, his brain spinning with confusion and curiosity and even fear. What was making this little insignificant incident so important to Regina? Who was this girl? Why did he need to cover it up? Graham wanted to ask, but after so long as sheriff, he knew never to question Regina in a time like this. He simply nodded and called the hospital.

Regina helped the mad woman into the backseat of her car briskly, despite several cries of protest from the girl. As she drove away, Regina’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her lips taut and blood red. The girl turned to the back window and waved sadly to Graham, who raised a hand vaguely to the girl who was called Bonnie but wasn’t even supposed to exist.

“You’re up early, Sheriff” said a familiar voice from behind Graham. Mr. Gold was standing just behind him now, leaning on his cane. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“Oh, uh, nothing, Mr. Gold,” Graham tried to cover, but he felt Gold’s penetrating stare barreling into him, trying to uncover his secrets. “Just…just a renegade mental patient. Nothing serious. It’s taken care of.” He felt like he’d said too much, but…what had he really said? What could an escapee from the loony bin really mean to Mr. Gold?

“Ah, I see,” Gold said with a nod. “Well, luckily, we have you and Madame Mayor to keep the streets of Storybrooke safe from lunatics.” Gold paused for a moment, wondering if he should press the issue further, try to extract more information from the hapless sheriff, but he decided against it. No need to rush his little games with Regina. They had all the time in the world. “Good day, Sheriff Graham.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Gold,” Graham said. He walked off quickly, feeling like he needed a morning drink to get him ready for the day ahead. He didn’t know quite what made him feel so off-center. Maybe it was how the girl seemed so familiar yet he could not recall her at all. Maybe it was Regina’s reaction to the incident. Maybe it was just having to talk to creepy Mr. Gold. Regardless, Storybrooke was a small town, and trouble was rare, so the sheriff could afford a couple of drinks before 11am.

As the sheriff walked off, Gold took a moment to look around this central street Storybrooke. He took in the stationary clock face, the empty streets. He looked at the closed-up library. The place she had worked. The place where she had sat amongst the piles of books, happy as a clam. It was the only fragment of her in this world. Well, the library and the cup. Beyond that, it was like she didn’t even exist. Gold sighed and headed back towards the diner. It did not do to dwell on these memories. She was gone now, completely out of reach, even from someone as powerful as him.

Across town, in a dark cell, a girl with eyes like sapphires was pricked with another needle as she whispered the same name she always did as the drugs took over her body, “Rumpelstiltskin.” As the girl drifted back into oblivion, Regina told the orderlies to double the dosages of her medications. This girl was far too precious a pawn to risk her getting out again. Not until the time was right, at least.

Oh, you guys.

Fri, 09 Mar 2012 06:58:04 -0500

I like that you people have liked my little story. I think I shall write more things. I had another idea while at lunch today, and it’s really sad, but I just can’t resist! D:

Surrender.

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 14:47:08 -0500

Hi, guise, so I’ve never actually shipped ANYTHING in all of my Tumblr-life, but…Rumbelle just really touches me! It has such great potential, and I’m really excited to see where it goes! And I’m so desperately in love with the fan fictions I’ve been reading, I just really felt the need to write something of my own. I don’t know if it’s any good, and I literally JUST finished writing it, but I hope you enjoy! <3, A.

At his usual booth in Granny’s Diner, Mr. Gold, the most fearsome man in Storybrooke, sat staring at the cheap mug in between his laced fingers. It was a cold day in Maine, and the hot coffee warmed his hands, helping to shake off the lingering chill from the snowy weather. However, nothing could shake off the other chilliness inside him, the one that followed him wherever he went, whoever he was. He stared into the plain porcelain mug, noticing a small chip on the rim. His eyes focusing on the chip, he remembered other cups with chips, and his mind began to wander away from this cup, this booth, this town. This life.

“And all you’ll have…is an empty heart…and a chipped cup,” she said, her azure eyes filling with tears and voice cracking but still holding strong. She straightened herself up and swept out the door, her robin’s egg skirt rustling behind her.

Rumpelstiltskin felt his jaw drop a little, the finality of her words and his own finally sinking in. He could hear her shoes clicking up the stairs out of the dungeon, their steps light and quick but still purposeful and steady. She wasn’t running away. She was taking her dear sweet time marching up those steps. Then, he heard the creak of the heavy wooden door leading from the stairwell into the castle proper.

She was slipping away from him. This beautiful girl who had washed his clothes and swept his floors and served his tea and stolen his heart was leaving him now, as he stood awed and dumbstruck in a barren dungeon. He felt a distinct, painful feeling in his stomach, knots tying and churning and untying, and he knew he needed to the sound of those footsteps on the stairs. The warmth of her smile in the morning over pancakes. The sound of her voice as they chatted while she cleaned. The way she sat beside him at the wheel, constantly, annoyingly, wonderfully bothering him with incessant questions and giggles.

He needed her.

The impact of what had occurred that day finally hit him. She was leaving. She was probably already out of the castle. She was leaving him completely alone again. And even worse, he had told her to do it! He had sat there and said his power meant more to him than she did, told her to get out. He hadn’t just pushed her away; he’d opened the door and basically shoved her out into the cold.

Before Rumpelstiltkin quite knew what he was doing, he was moving. He was storming out of the door of her dungeon room, bolting up the stairs she’d marched up moments before, retracing her every step. His bum leg slowed him down, kept him from catching up on her quickly, but he was completely oblivious to the pain. What leg? There was no leg. There was only the agonizing feeling in his stomach that things had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and he needed to keep moving in order to fix it. So caught up in the urgency of the moment, he forgot that he could have simply willed himself to appear before her in a wisp of smoke, wherever she was. All he knew was that she was getting away with every passing second, and he needed to move.

He ran through the castle, barely even noticing all of the foolish trinkets he’s kept around, the spoils of a million deals. It didn’t matter anymore. The prize of his best deal yet was slipping out of his reach. He didn’t stop moving as he reached the main hall, waving the first set of grand doors open, then the second, charging through with more purpose than he’d felt in lifetimes.

She was within his sight now, her bright gold and blue cloak shimmering in the fading light against the barren landscape. Soon it would be spring, and he could not imagine sitting in his now well-lit castle without her there. Now reaching the massive iron gate at the end of the courtyard, she paused, her slender fingers curling around stem of an icy iron fleur-de-lis. He could see her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed deeply, and he could imagine her lips pouting slightly as she braced herself for the final exit.

But then…she turned around, taking in the Dark Castle just one more time, admiring the architectural wonder of her former prison, wondering if she would ever see the lonely man who called it home again. Her eyes swept over turrets and took in the ornate windows and finally came to rest on the gardens of the courtyard she’d so longed to see blossoming into springtime. As she came back to the main gate, she saw him, still running towards her, reaching out a hand as if to grab her and pull her back. Belle’s hand slid off of the iron as her entire body began to feel limp and useless, her mouth slack-jawed and her eyes scarcely believing what they were seeing.

Rumpelstiltskin slowed now that he had her attention, now that she was standing just as dumbfounded as he had been only moments before. He straightened his shirt as he approached her and ran a hand through his scraggly hair. They both stood silently staring at each other, shifting awkwardly on their feet, knowing exactly what they wanted to hear but without a clue of what to say.

Belle pulled herself up to her full, proud height suddenly, looking very strong and prideful. “If there’s something you want to say to me, Rumpelstiltskin, I suggest you say it now and then let me leave in peace. That’s what you want after all.” Her words were fierce, her stance proud, but her watery eyes and quivering voice betrayed her intentions.

“Don’t, dearie. Just…don’t,” he said weakly, reaching a hand to her. He took one chestnut ringlet in his hand, twirling his fingers around it lovingly.

She reached up and grabbed his hand gently. “Don’t…what?” she asked quietly. “Leave? Kiss you again? Spit it out, Rumpel.” Her eyes, still brimming with unshed tears, were smiling again, daring him to reveal his vulnerability and let her in.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled back at her. “You said you would come with me, forever. Last I checked, it’s only been a few months, dearie,” he said with a grin, feeling his old cocky humor returning now that he was near to her again.

“Well, you should learn to control your temper,” she said, lacing her fingers with his now and kissing his knuckles gently. “You were the one who told me to leave.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have called me a coward!” he retorted. She opened her mouth to spit out another reply, but he started before her. “Let’s just forget what I said, eh love? Pretend this whole event never happened?”

“No, I don’t think we can do that, Rumpel,” she said, causing his face to fall in dismay. “Why would we ever want to forget the day we found true love’s kiss?”

And at that, he smiled and pulled her close to him, doing what he should have done before. As her lips slid over his, warm and soft and full of dreams of the future, Rumpelstiltskin surrendered to the knowledge that, yes, someone could learn to love a beast…

Gold let out a sudden cry as he brought the chipped mug to his lips, feeling the slight ripping not only of his bottom lip but also the dreamy reverie he’d drifted into. He brought a hand to his lip to wipe away the coppery blood.

The waitress was standing beside him with the check. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold!” Ruby exclaimed, setting the check down on the table and reaching for the mug. “I meant to throw that old mug out last night! Here, let me take that. Your coffee’s on the house today. I’m so, so sorry!”

But Mr. Gold was hazily running a finger around the rim of the mug, his eyes still looking a little far-off. “No, ma’am, there’s no need to apologize. My fault, really for being so careless. I’ll pay for the coffee, thank you. Just leave the check, yes, right there, thank you.”

As Ruby walked away, Gold resumed staring into the mug in his hands. How many times had that scene played in his head? How many different versions of it were there? How many different ways had he concocted of how he could have made her stay that day…but didn’t? Innumerable times, that’s how many. The memories and fantasies of that day haunted him, everywhere and with every breath he took.

With a heavy sigh, Gold grabbed his cane and slid out of the booth. He dropped some cash on the table, and, just as he was walking away, grabbed the chipped mug and slipped it into his coat pocket. He didn’t really need mementos to keep her memory alive to him. In his mind’s eye, he could always see her, whether he wanted to or not. But the chipped cup had always been her cup. He needed something equally flawed and wonderful and devastating for himself.