Chapter Text
“It’s strange but since I started working for you, Mr. Gold, I found easier moving around people and talking with them”.
Gold looks up from the desk, frowning a little. Isabel is leaning on the door frame. She was polishing some old silverware in the back, she still has a spoon in her hand and he can smell the chemicals she is using. What needed to be said so urgently to stop mid-work? At loss of what to think about her behaviour or her words, he just waits for her to continue. And she does.
“Because, you know, everyone describes you… well, they say..”, she blushes , searching frantically for a way to continue her thought without insulting him.
Even if he recognizes her blush his lovely, seeing Isabel distressed is not a view he would indulge himself into, not now. So he comes in her rescue.
“They weren’t exactly praising me?” He teases, a grin in his face.
She grins too, it’s a tiny thing, just a reaction to his own. He knows what people thinks of him, in detail, and he wonders what could she have heard.
“Go on, dear. I don’t usually listen to rumours, but I’m eager to know every one involving myself. And the more scary it is, the more pleased I am. So, ask away, I wouldn’t be upset if you want to know if some gory detail it’s true or not, but I warn you, I might not tell you the entire truth”.
“Why not?”.
“Well, but to preserve your innocence or,” he adds with a finger pointed towards her, “to prevent you to steal all my secrets”.
She smiles at his mock concern, walking near him and carefully twisting the silver spoon in her hand. “I’ve heard tons of stories about you, I don’t wanna know if the stories are true or not. I don’t think I have the rights to judge you or anyone else. I’m pretty certain they use you to scare children who misbehave, saying ‘Mr. Gold is coming if you are not a good boy’. But maybe now they are using me as well, but I don’t think I mind, not anymore”.
She stops talking and turns around leaning on the counter and looking at the shelves in front of her. “They told me dreadful things about you, and things that were just too strange to be true. When I met you in the street it took me a moment to recognise you, and I did just because Ruby was so quick to drag me away. And then I met you properly, i talked to you and I started working with you. I know it’s silly, but I think I don’t mind so much what the others could think of me. I mean the people in the streets or even in this entire town. Before, I was so afraid they would call me names, and I had fears and nightmares. One day it would be too much and I would collapse on the street or cry or shout and then they would say ‘see, I knew she was mad, they ought never have release her from the…’” she gulped, the word asylum dying in her throat. That she is unable, even after months, to say the word aloud left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She raises her eyes and looks at him, “I was polishing the silverware and my mind wandered around, and I thought ‘I don’t care what people think of me’. Maybe, if I’m not so afraid of them they would not be afraid of me, if I am just me and not trying to act like someone else, they would just let me be. And I thinks it works, you know, and it’s already happening, even before I realised it. I could actually talk with some of Ruby friend’s last night, and it was… good. A little awkward, but fine”.
She smiles at him, a true smile. And he can’t help but smile in return. Happy that his girl is happy, and secretly thinking that this Isabel is just as brave as his Belle, facing her fears and not giving a damn about what people would think.
“So you made new friends?” He asks and she nods, “Good for you”. He adds, turning back at the old clock he was working on, hoping to seem busy enough to fix up his expression and stop smiling every time she smiles.
“Well, I don’t know if they can be considered friends yet, but I hope so. I’ll meet them in a couple of days”, she says, going back to her polishing, even if the spoon is practically shining like a mirror, “One of them, I think he said his name was Gas, or something like that, planned a trip at the beach for Sunday, and invited me and Ruby”.
Golds’ smile, that was still lingering on his lips despite all his efforts, freezes and so does his hand, working carefully on the tiny pieces of the dismantled clock.
Gas. The bloody knight. The stupid, superficial fiancé. Gaston. Gold he is almost sorry the man wasn’t transported here in his rose form by the curse. The unanimated form suits him better, both he and a rose don’t have a brain, but the rose has the advantage of being something made of beauty and for beauty. And something useful, too, to decorate an house, a garden, or a woman’s air. To makes girls smile and sigh.
Yes, the rose form would definitely had given the silly man a purpose in life, other than ruining Mr Gold’s day. Because he can see clearly what will happen in the next few days. “Gas” would soon court the beautiful girl, as others would, while he, silly old man that he is, could never stake his claim on the love of his life. If he’d do that, she would run away, disgusted by him. And maybe she’ll run away in any case, after the curse will be broken and when all her memories will come back. Her love, his rejection. Her wandering days and all the years she was captive. All because of him. She’ll surely run away from the thing she once loved, the monster who drew her into gods know what pain and endless despair.
The day is really hot, humidity creeping everywhere, even in his shop, usually dark and cooler even in the middle of Maine’ short summer. But this heat wave seems to have no intention of going away, preferring to cook them slowly in a city that now is more like an enormous oven.
It is really uncomfortable.
At one o’ clock Mr. Gold hears the front door of the shop open, but he stays in the backroom, polishing a wooden box with carved roses. He knows exactly who has just entered the place. And he can recognise the sounds of these steps everywhere in town, even in the middle of a crowd. He made himself exceptionally busy today, doing in the afternoon everything he usually does in the morning, so maybe she wouldn’t chat with him about the trip at the beach that silly walking-rose of Gaston organised. He prefers not to hear the painful - for him - narration of that stupid man courtship of Isabel French. Not that she will tell her boss exactly that, but maybe, talking about what she did on Sunday, he would hear the guy’s name too many times for his liking. And his liking his more close to no times at all.
He doesn’t raise his head but keep paying attention on his work even when Isabel enters the backroom and greets him.
“Hello Mr. Gold. Isn’t it hot today? Even here I seem to suffocate”.
He hears her step closer, and a paper cup of frozen coffee is laid down on his table.
“Here, this is for you. Hope you like it”.
He raises his head, not sure if he wants to thank her or say to her he don’t drink those kind of things, when every word dies on his lips.
Isabel French is wearing incredible short… shorts, and such a thin top with spaghetti straps that you can almost see through the thing, given the right light. And heels.
She has never shown so much skin, maybe not even to her doctor. He swallow a noise that he feels surging in his throat and that he is sure belongs to some sort of dying animal. Mr. Gold is struggling for words, any kind of greeting, while she, bless her, is completely and utterly unaware of the mess she made of her boss and walks away giving him and eyeful of her backside. And that’s a new kind of torture, because the top is almost backless, just scraps of fabric crisscrossing on her skin.
Mr. Gold knows that, if this has not killed him, nothing would. Seems like Isabel went shopping with the wolf, and Gold is not sure if he wants to kill Ruby Lucas or thank her or both. Isabel starts humming while she takes the duster. And Gold tries to recompose himself, saying, or better, muttering, something in the line of “thanks for the coffee”.
She just shrugs lightly, before talking again, "I thought you might like something cold. Yesterday was hot, too. But I went to the beach whit Ruby and her friends”. And, yes, Mr. Gold now can see she has a little tan, more like a warm glow on her creamy skin. It suits her, he thinks, this pale golden tint.
“It was fun being at the beach”, she continues, “I never went before. There are pictures at home, from when I was a child an my mother was still alive, but I don’t remember. But I think we, I mean me and my father, never went to the beach again after her death”. She sighs, and then adds, struggling to add a little more cheerfulness in her tone, “But one thing did came back to me yesterday”. She stops expectant, and after a few seconds turns to watch him, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t you ask me what I remembered, Mr. Gold? Or am I disturbing you with my babbling?”
“No, dear”, he says just a second too late, “You never disturbs me”, she narrows her eyes slightly, and he flashes a lopsided grin at the girl. “And yes, I do wonder what you remembered. Go on”.
She smiles widely while saying, “I know how to swim! I remembered it, and it’s fun. I don’t know when I learned how to, Ruby says maybe at school, but I don’t remember half the things they say I have learnt in high school so I don’t think it’s possible. Anyway, I can swim and that was an awful lot helpful when the boys were trying to drown us all the time after lunch”.
She is leaning towards him on the table, her clot forgotten in her hand, so she can’t miss the dark flash of anger and alert that passed through his eyes at her last words. She hold his gaze and adds in a gentle tone as if she is soothing a child, “Don’t get it wrong, they weren’t really trying to drown us for real. It was just a game, like… like kids splashing each other. No harm done. We girls did that, too, to pay them back. We won”. She smiles, and for once he doesn’t automatically smiles in return. He is trying to not look at the hollow he can see between her breasts. Her skin, too much skin on display even when she didn’t lean forward, letting her inconsistent top reveal too much for his coronaries.
“Are you all right, Mr. Gold? It’s really too hot, today, do you want a glass of water, too?”
He struggles to look only at her eyes. “I’m sorry dear, maybe I’m a little out of focus, today. Low blood pressure again, I suppose”.
The hell with that, he thinks, he can feel his blood rushing through his veins, and he is amazed he doesn’t combust when she presses her small hand on his temple and brushes her fingers along his cheek lightly before she straights herself up and walks toward the little bathroom. “Here, let me get you some water, I think you don’t drink enough liquids. I’m sure it’s the heat wave. Maybe it’s better if you go home and rest?”.
She comes back with a mug full of almost cold water, and forces him to drank it all in little gulps, murmuring something you would only say to a five year old and not a full grow up man with the worst reputation in town who is also your dreadful boss. So he drinks even the second cup she offers him in little sips “like a little bird would do”.
Then, trying to regain as much dignity as possible, and eager to fill the silence, he asks her, “I guess you enjoyed your Sunday, then, and that you didn’t drown”.
“No, I’m safe and sound and yes, I really enjoyed my Sunday. In fact, Ruby and I enjoyed it so much that we planned something for today, too. I’m sure the ever vigilant Mr. Gold couldn’t have missed the size of my purse today, low blood pressure or not”. She says pointing at the enormous bag, almost the size of a suitcase, to be correct, lying on the floor near the door.
“No, dearie, I didn’t notice because I was scrutinising every inch of skin you have in display and even the parts you don’t. I didn’t notice because I was frantically searching in my head for a perfectly reasonable reason I should dress you up with long, heavy trousers and an oversized t-shirt when you go home, because no one should be allowed to see you this… light dressed”. But he sure can’t say that aloud, can’t he? So he settles for a simpler answer: “Yes, I actually did, and I did wonder what have you in there. A potted plant? A huge mirror? An hat rack? Or even a rocking chair? I’m sure they could all fit in that monstrous thing.”
She laughs scolding him lightly, “It’s not so huge! But yes, it’s full of things. Ruby and I have planned to repeat our little trip to the beach this evening. On Friday you told me you wanted to close the shop earlier this evening and that I can leave at five”.
She pauses for a moment, waiting for him to nod that yes, she remembers right, she could leave early today. He does, and so she continues. “Ruby this evening doesn’t work, either. So yesterday we thought, wouldn’t it be nice to have a lovely picnic on the beach one evening, and then watch the sun sets while chatting and gossiping? And then we thought ‘why wait?!’ and we decided it has to happen this evening. So I have my bathing suit under my clothes and the “almost suitcase” is packet with two blankets, drinks, food, a book or two, and a bunch of other things I am sure we will never use, but I couldn’t leave home because, who knows?, maybe we’ll need them”.
“Like what?” He enquires, setting aside the image of Isabel in her bathing suit. Very minimal, if covered by such almost-clothes.
“First aid kit?”, She says tentatively, and a little laugh escapes his lips, followed immediately by her carefree giggles.
He becomes serious again, while asking, concerned, “It would be just the two of you, on the beach, at dusk?”
“Oh no”, she answers, “It’s a girl’s night out, or late afternoon trip. Mary Margaret will come, and so will Ashley with or without the little Alexandra. Ruby told her she has to come or she will hunt her down. And later Emma will join us”. Like any other time the sheriff is mentioned, a fond smile is on the girl’s lips.
He smiles too. To reciprocate hers and also because he is actually relieved. If the sheriff is in this “girls’ picnic on the beach” he could be reassured Isabel will be fine and his girl will be back to him next day in pristine condition and with a new lovely memory she will share with him, hopefully.
In any case he takes a mental note to go for a ride this evening and adds the seashore to his itinerary. Just in case. And maybe, after he has finished to do all he need to at the shop that she can’t witness - the very reason for closing early - he will pass by the panoramic view while walking home. His house is in the opposite direction and the walk would be no easy whit his leg, but the view is lovely… and particularly the view of the beach. It’s pretty far, but even a glimpse of her brown curls in the fading light would suffice to put his mind at ease, and maybe more than a glimpse if he remembers to bring with him one of the binoculars he has in the shop. And Emma would join them only later, so checking the ground before the sheriff joins them is just a good thing.
He is so used to plotting in his head while doing or saying something else that he almost doesn’t register his own smooth words. “I’m sure you will have a lovely time, miss French. In such a hot day I’m sure the evening breeze by the sea shore would be delightful”.
“Ah, so it is hot even for you”. There is a note of triumph in her voice that leaves him perplexed. “You’re wearing a suit even with these impossible high temperature and horrid humidity! And don’t say you don’t suffer the hot like you did before or I will have you drink more water!” Her smile is impudent and teasingly. “I almost started to believe you were some kind of cold-blooded animal in human form”.
“A cold-blooded animal in human form?” He smirks, “I’m sure someone might say something like that, only with a different meaning and in a different contest. And never on my face”.
“Oh, shut up”, she is trying to sound harsh but fails to hide the playful undertone. “You know what I means, and I’m sure there is a couple of people that have said worse things right in front of you”.
“Yes”, he admits nonchalantly, “The braves and the fools. Which one are you, dearie?”
She just glances at him, and he is unsure if this is the gaze of a lioness or of a scornful kitten. Or both. They just stare at each other for a while, before he asks “So, dear, may I enquire with animal do you compare me with?”
She accepts his challenge, like he knows she would. She is no afraid of speaking up her mind in front of him, and he relinquishes in the thought she is never intimidated by him. She is never afraid to say something that might upset him or enrage him. This delights him and scares him. It is a sort of intimacy he felt just once since he became the dark one, with the very person she was once, in another land. And he knows damn well what happened to Belle because of him.
He is afraid, but he enjoys it, too. Their conversations are refreshing and free, and, honestly, she could never upset him or enrage him, not truly. And if that will ever happen, he is prepared to crawl at her feet begging her forgiveness and ready to be punished by her.
He is playing with fire, and he knows. Moving a little closer every day. Drinking the smile that spreads on her face every time their eyes meet. He knows this dance -he has danced it long time ago, and with the same woman.
And her answer cools the blood in his veins, because it’s totally unexpected and unpleasantly poignant, “I don’t know”, she muses, “I think something greenish with scales will suit you fine. Maybe a lizard… or is it better a more powerful creature for my boss. Like a dragon?” The shop’s doorbell rings. She wrinkles her nose and she walks to the shop, “But in the end dragons are just big lizards, in a way, don’t you think?” she says at last. A few seconds later he can hear her greeting the costumer.
That night he repeats every single word they shared in his mind. He is glad she never once mentioned Gaston, even later, during the afternoon. He is glad she accepted the little anklet he gave her saying that a party on the beach needs some sort of jewellery - the thing being something he had around the shop and gave her on a whim, not precious and without real importance, not being gold but just plain silver with a little tingling bell. He is glad, too, that when he passed by the beach he saw the women chatting together, and he heard Isabel laughter at something, probably saucy, Ruby has just said.
All this at the first glass of Scotch. While nursing the fifth drink he indulges at the thought of her skin. At the tenth, the glass is caressed by his hand like a tender lover would do, and all he can think about is how she once loved him, cursed, evil and dragon-like scales included.