Chapter Text
She watches from her perch, knees drawn to her chest, as he leaves the pawn shop. It’s always the same routine, night after night; lights off in the back room, the main shop following moments later. Always a pause each night and Belle knows from past evenings together that he’s setting the alarms. She’s unmoving through all this, always tucked away behind her bedroom curtains. The dark her cloak from his all-seeing eyes. Night after night, Belle watches, and each night it is always the same.
Until tonight.
She is still perched behind her yellow curtains, the window closed to ward off the April chill, as she watches for Marcus. It has been one month, four days, ten hours, and thirty-five minutes since they parted ways.
His choice – never hers.
The March morning had been frigid, much like the temperature of the bedroom the two had been in. She still wrapped in the loose cotton sheets, hair mused and eyes glittering as she tried to salvage something of their year-long relationship. Tried to tell him that it was a mistake; even if it wasn’t; just a silly little mistake uttered in the throes of passion. He had stood in his impeccable Armani suit, hands gripping the gold head of his cane, eyes cold as he informed her their dalliance was over.
Oh how she had tried to reason with him, almost begging him not to end things. For over a year that had had an arrangement; companionship and sex – nothing more. He had been excessively clear at the start – there would be nothing between them but conversation over dinner, of weekends spent in Bangor at the Symphony or the Ballet, of nights between the sheets in his bedroom or a posh hotel room. Until she had sleepily uttered those awful words.
I love you.
She’d always been so careful. Even with the knowledge that she’d been half in love with him from the start, for weeks and months she had carefully guarded her little secret. Naively she had believed she could exist in the relationship that he had so carefully laid out, loving him while knowing he didn’t love her. Or perhaps on some subconscious level, she had always hoped that he would grow to care for her in the same.
She’d been wrong – so wrong.
And now she is filled with bitterness, with sorrow, and with a broken heart as he leads another woman from his darkened shop. From her vantage point, it’s too dark to make out the woman’s features, just that she’s tall and brunette with an itty-bitty dress. His hand is on the small of her back as he leads the other woman to the Cadillac parked on the side street. She’s leaning into him, this other woman, and while he is touching her, he does not return the gesture. He never did.
Belle watches as they walk along, their pace measured, his gaze never once turning towards the library or her apartment above. There’s a gripping in her chest as they reach the car, as he allows the woman to kiss him before she climbs in, the squeezing making it difficult to breathe as he returns the gesture. It hurts, this further splitting of her already broken heart. The squeezing stops as he pulls away and she can just imagine the expression on his perfectly schooled features – the one he always wore towards her. She can breathe again as he steps away towards his own side of the car, his body leaning on the cane as he rounds the hood. The grip goes away as he climbs in, as he shuts the door, but the pain of the broken heart remains as his tail lights vanish.
For long moments she stays in the window, carefully hidden behind those cheerful curtains. Silent tears track down her cheeks as she stands, as she makes her way across the darkened room to the doorway. Her gaze travels around the room slowly, taking in all that remains. Furniture she had so painstakingly chosen and put together. Brick-a-brack that had made the space feel like home. Sunshine yellow curtains that match those of the bedroom.
All she’ll leave behind.
Her steps are quiet as she crosses the space, stopping only as she reaches the kitchen table. Atop it sits four things – her purse, three envelopes, and the reason she can’t stay. Slowly she picks up the bag, its weight reassuring as she moves it to her shoulder. Next are the envelopes; one for her estranged father, one for her best friend Ruby, and one for the mayor as she turns in her resignation. Each she had written and rewritten, carefully picking the last words she will share with those in Storybrooke. She holds them as she gazes at the last item, her eyes blurring as she reaches for it. For a moment she considers bringing it, tucking it away in her bag as a bittersweet memory, but she can’t.
Just the sight of it feels like a dagger to her heart.
She draws in a breath before picking it up. Were she a braver woman she’d confront him with it – but she’s not. Their last words to each other had been harsh, thrown at each other in passion and in pain; her calling him a coward, him threatening her with a lawsuit.
No, this is one secret she’ll take with her. The test clutched in her hand, she walks to the trash, starring at it a moment longer before dropping it. Before she can change her mind, Belle leaves, flipping the lights to off before locking the door one last time.
~ R&B ~
Gold stands in the open doorway, his gaze traveling slowly around the room. He’s been here before; he’s the landlord after all; but never when she lived there. That had been intentional. His house, his territory, his rules. All designed to keep things between them from developing into anything resembling more than what he offered. Yet she had foolish gone and thought herself in love with him.
Stupid girl.
He’s angry – at himself, at her, at the situation – as he takes in the room. The knowledge that he can charge more for it being furnished does little to squash that anger. His grip tightens on his cane as he crosses into the room, taking in the bits and pieces of her that she’s left behind. The bright curtains at the windows, the mismatched furniture scattered around, the calming pictures on the walls; everything that made Belle Belle. No, he will not dwell on what was.
He wanders the apartment, checking the condition of the bathroom, of the bedroom, and of the living room before heading to the kitchen. Each room he has to remind himself to not think of how each space somehow represents her. If he’s honest with himself – and he rarely isn’t – she meant more to him than the casualness he tried to pass off.
After a year how could she not.
As he stands in the kitchen, his gaze focused on the sunflower crockery on the counter, he lets the pain seep in briefly, letting it sag throughout his bones. Let’s himself feel the loss of their relationship, something he has denied himself these thirty-five days. Just as quickly, he straightens up, shoulders squaring as he gives one last look around the apartment.
There’s not much for Dove to tend to, she really has left the space in excellent condition, but still, there’s the small things he’ll need to do. He steps to the counter, intent on finding a piece of paper to jot down a list of what needs to be done when his gaze is pulled to the trash can at his feet. The color drains from his face as he reaches in to pick up the items on top, his fingers unwillingly trembling as they hold the brochures and test.
She’s pregnant.