Fic: Rumour Has It - Chapter 7
AU: Because of one little lie, everyone at Storybrooke University now thinks that Belle Charmin is sleeping around, and Professor Gold, the only guy who seems to believe her innocence, is totally off limits. Easy A!AU.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13
Rumour Has It
I have admitted to a lot of mistakes in this crappy little story so far, but I have to admit: going to lunch with Gold was one of the few good calls I made. Even with everything that happened after, all the shit that went down and Regina Mills and her inquiries and… well, I don’t know if he would agree that taking me to lunch was a good idea.
And I let it become a routine. Meeting the pair of them in bookshops and parks, and going for lunches and cups of coffee. To be fair, Bay was there for most of it. But Gold spent more time looking at me than at his stepson: I pretended not to notice, assumed I was making it up.
I wasn’t, but that’s not really the point of the story. Or maybe it is: I blamed anything I couldn’t explain on my overactive imagination.
If I’d given it some real thought, things might have gone smoother.
But again, if I was prone to thinking about things, we wouldn’t have ourselves a story.
“Hey,” Belle turned, and saw Professor Gold a few aisles back in the bookstore, leaning out from behind one of the stacks and holding a volume in his hand, “Do you have this one?”
She frowned, put down the random book she’d been holding and went to see. They had arrived together, this time, met for coffee with Bay beforehand. But Bay had bumped into a friend on the way in, so he had vanished, and for perhaps the sixth time in three days left Belle alone with Gold.
Which was a bad idea, considering everything. Considering how she had an ever-increasing infatuation with the man, and it was Storybrooke U policy that teachers and students not date. He could lose his job, and she could be kicked out if the rumour spread that they were together. And they weren’t: they were barely even friends, really.
She was friends with Bay, and she liked Bay, and the University wouldn’t have batted an eye if they hooked up at some point.
But he only smiled at her in friendship, as brotherly as Jefferson on a good day, and she felt the same about him.
She had had the pleasure, earlier that afternoon, of seeing Gold’s ability to vanish in action.
Because the friend Bay had bumped into was Graham Hunter, the Captain of the varsity football team in Storybrooke, and one of Regina’s closest pet students. That he seemed friendly with Gold’s stepson was neither here nor there: Graham was not known for his brains, and one piece of information slipped to Regina Mills, Belle knew, would be disastrous.
She and Gold certainly hadn’t broken any physical or verbal conduct regulations. But Regina could work with just the rumour, and Belle’s reputation would seal the deal.
Belle knew to move the moment they clapped eyes on the man giving Bay a bear-hug. That they had to hide because of her reputation, where any other student would have gotten away with simply spending time with a professor without any trouble at all, made her ache a little inside.
But now there was no one around they recognised, so Gold had no qualms in standing close to her to hand her the book he’d found.
“The Golden Bough.” She read, frowning.
“It’s a classic for comparative mythology,” he explained, “Should be one of the core texts, of course, but Professor Witz is a-“ she looked at him, smirking: she found it hard not to laugh when he almost slipped up and criticised a colleague, “Is an exalted academic who happens to be of a different mind to myself on what is necessary reading.”
She snorted, grinning, “Right.” She looked back down at the book, perusing the back cover, “But I’m not even taking Comparative Religion this year.”
“You should next year, dear,” he advised, “And just because you’re not getting credit at the end doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be learning something.”
She snickered, rolled her eyes, “Yes, professor.”
“In my day,” he sighed, exasperated, “Young people didn’t roll their eyes at their teachers.”
She smirked, and stuck her tongue out at him, laughing at his surprise and mock-outrage. She must have imagined, she thought, the way his eyes flicked to her mouth and back again. She swallowed hard, and tried to regain her teasing smile, “Yes, well, in your day badly-behaved students could be caned or sent down the mines.” She retorted, “Or possibly sent to hunt a sabre-toothed tiger for supper.”
He shook his head, but his smile was uncontrollable and infectious, “We were sent to hunt mammoths, dear,” he corrected her, mock-sternly, “Sabres fight back, and they’re all stringy and chewy muscle when you get to cooking them.”
“Oh, yes,” she nodded, seriously, “How could I have been so stupid?”
“Read more.” He instructed, tapping the book with one long, slim finger, “And you’ll come across less foolish next time.”
“Right.” She nodded, and turned from him to go back to her perusal of the higher shelves of the fiction section, clutching the book he’d given her in both hands.
“Hey, professor?” she called, having clambered up the ladder to reach the highest shelves, and he looked up from perhaps seven or eight feet below, eyebrows raised.
“What’re we reading next semester? I might as well find them now.”
He didn’t even have to think, “We’re doing the Gothic. You’ll want Carter, Bronte, Stoker, Shelley, and Wilde.”
She giggled, “Just the essentials, then?”
“Wider reading is important,” he told her, sternly, “So no, I won’t tell you which’re essential and which’re background. Read them all.”
She stuck her tongue out again - if he would act like a grumpy old man, when he wasn’t, then she would be a silly little girl and wind him up - and he smiled fondly, rolled his eyes and went back to his browsing of the shelves beneath her.
The familiarity was beautiful and warm, and her cheeks ached from smiling.
The Bloody Chamber was stuck between two other books: Belle had to pull hard to wrench it out. So she made the mistake - nearly fatal, she realised later - of pulling with all her might to free it.
She was so wrapped up in her tugging and pulling, that she didn’t remember either the drop beneath her or her own lack of balance, stood on that ladder. Her stance was precarious at best, but she didn’t notice the small warning wobbles as her balance slipped.
The book came loose, and she with it. She fell backwards, crying out in dismay as suddenly the ladder was gone and she was tumbling through midair, the ground beneath fast approaching.
Her heart raced, certain that she would meet her end splattered on the floor of a Boston bookshop.
But then, her landing was soft, and she was held firmly in a pair of strong arms.
She glanced about, dazed, and saw that it was Gold who had caught her, and his eyes were locked on her face, boring into hers for just a moment. His expression was so bewildered, as if he didn’t know at all what had happened, how he’d come to be cradling his student safely in his arms, so close that her head could tuck comfortably in the crook of his neck.
He smelled like cinnamon and tea, she realised, and some kind of cool, fresh cologne. His body was warm and strong, and he seemed to like holding her, if his racing heart - the beat that matched her own terror-struck pulse - was anything to go by.
“Thank you.” She said, after a moment, to break the aching, tense silence that had settled over them.
His eyes flicked to her lips as she spoke, and she wondered for a moment if this would break him, if this would be when he would kiss her as he hadn’t the night of the party, and break every rule and regulation in the book on impulse.
But he just set her back on her stumbling feet, and moved away, his hands seeming to dance in the air as he awkwardly tried to put some daylight between them.
“No matter, dear,” he brushed it aside, “Wouldn’t like to get your blood all over the books.”
“No,” she laughed, shakily, “That would be a pity.”
“You’re alright?” he checked, coming a little closer again now he seemed to have regained his equilibrium, “Nothing hurt.”
“You saved me from damaging myself, I think.” She said, gratefully, beaming at him.
“Alright then.” He nodded, looking her over all the same. She was suddenly very aware of the low cut of her v-neck t-shirt, as his eyes swept and lingered on her chest, and then her hips.
He licked his lips: she thought she might die from the heat in his eyes, when they met hers for just a moment.
“No more ladders.” He decided, nodding, “You need something from above the ground, you get someone else to fetch it. Deal?”
“Deal.” She nodded, more than happy to keep her feet on the ground after her almost-accident. Even if she knew that his arms under her shoulders and knees, his chest pressed to her side, his face inches from hers and soft, cool breath on her face had been the happiest moment of her entire year.
They didn’t mention it to Bay, and she bought his coffee for him later as a thank you. She didn’t ask him how he leapt to catch her so fast, or why the books he’d been collecting had been scattered on the floor when he stepped away from her.
As if he’d been watching her closely, and literally dropped everything in order to save her from her fall.
That was a little too much like caring, like something more than an eager student and indulgent teacher, and Belle wasn’t willing to open herself to that kind of hope. Her life was messy enough at that moment, without the added complication of her crush on her teacher being reciprocal.
I found out later what had happened on his end, that day in the bookstore. I also found out where Bay had disappeared to, and why it really wouldn’t have mattered if Graham had seen Gold and I together in public, even just as semi-friends on a shopping trip.
But again I’m getting ahead of myself.
I was in Boston another week after the bookstore, and I have to admit that it was a wonderful week.
But then it ended, and on my last day in the city things took a turn for the unbelievable. And painful. Yes, that last day hurt like a bitch, and not just because it was snowing pretty hard and I didn’t have gloves.
It’s weird the things you remember of the important days, isn’t it?
“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Bay started, and Belle looked up from her ice cream with a frown. He had set down his spoon and everything, his sundae sat neglected on the table before him. His tone wasn’t usually so serious: she had learned over the past five days that the young man was rarely - if ever - serious.
“You’re not…. I mean, of course you’re not, but I need to know for sure and asking seemed kinder than…” she knew what he was going to say, and anyone else she would have hated for it. But he was Bay, and they’d grown somewhat close over the past week or so, and she could see the logic.
“Go ahead, ask.”
He looked miserable, “You’re not actually a hooker, are you?”
“Okay.” He sighed, beamed at her in relief, “Thank god. I just… I mean, if you were, I’d be alright with that I guess since you’re lovely and all, but… yeah, this makes things easier.”
“You believe me?” she smiled in amazement, “Really, just like that?”
He shrugged, “Of course. I didn’t think you were, but we’re all going back to school in a month and he’s… he’s fond of you. Rum will defend you if people start making trouble: I needed to make sure you’re in the right, first.”
“Rum?” she asked, frowning, knowing who he meant but puzzling at the name. She still had no idea of Professor Gold’s forename: she’d got by on just ‘Gold’, ‘professor’ when teasing him.
Ridiculous, really, but it kept her mind focussed on boundaries.
“You know, my stepdad? Slight, skinny, grumpy guy, wears a lot of suits?”
“I know who you mean, I just… I guess I never asked what his first name is.”
“Huh.” Bay eyed her closely, “Why would that be, I wonder?”
“Because I have to look him in the eye and be all respectful in classes come January, and it’s easier this way.”
“Uh huh.” Bay nodded, but his eyes were piercing, “Okay. Respect. Gotcha.”
She sighed, “Is it short for something, then, or did he just have pirates for parents?”
Bay laughed, shook his head, “Yeah, Rum is just a nickname I made up when I was thirteen, and over the years I guess it stuck.”
There was a gleam in his eyes, mischief, and she gave him a dull look, “He hates it, doesn’t he?”
Bay smiled, “Make sure you always call him that.”
“It’ll really piss him off, won’t it?”
“You have no idea.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, “Although, coming from you he might even like it. You never know.”
He winked at her, and her jaw fell open, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What is what supposed to mean?” Belle was getting a little tired of hearing that voice over her shoulder, at the worst possible moment. Gold came around and Belle scooted around the booth to make space next to her.
It took Belle a moment to pull herself together and stop staring. It wasn’t her fault the man looked so good in dark purple, collar open without his tie, relaxed and smiling. She was only human: she couldn’t help but notice.
Gold, of course, didn’t see. Bay, however, caught her eye and raised his eyebrows, looking away pointedly.
“I was just filling Belle in on correct terms of address,” Bay replied, easily, “Really, papa, I’m sure it wouldn’t kill you to share your forename once in a while. ‘Gold’ sounds like some kind of codename”
Gold didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but then his eyes narrowed, ”So what did you tell her instead?”
Bay smirked, “Why, papa, you seem suspicious.”
Gold snorted, “Only because leaving nice young women with you is like leaving milk out in the sun. I’d hate for you to be a bad influence.”
“See, Belle?” Bay looked at her, smiling smugly as if his point was proven, “He thinks you’re nice.”
“I think he only meant in comparison to you.” Belle snorted, “In which case mosquitos and wasps are also nice.”
Gold snickered and smiled at her, “Well put, dear.”
“Thank you.” She smiled back, and tried not to blush.
“Well, there’s no need to be catty.” Bay said, wounded, “I was only trying to help.”
“With what, pray tell?” Gold turned to his stepson.
“Your reputation,” Bay explained, smile gleaming wicked, “Belle seems under the impression that you are some fearsome old don who demands professionalism and respect. I was just clearing some things up for her.”
Gold gave him a look, “I am fearsome, I will have you know, and I would like a little more respect if it’s not too much to ask.”
Bay snorted softly, “I think any chance of that from me is long dead, don’t you, Rum?”
Gold’s face darkened, “You told her to call me that, didn’t you?”
“Well, it is your name, after all,” Bay said, “And after being stuck with us for over a week the girl deserves to be on a first name basis.”
“But why that name, Bailey?” he asked, almost plaintively, and Belle frowned at him in confusion.
“Why, what’s so bad about Rum?”
Gold sighed, turned to her, but his face was far softer when turned to her than on his wayward stepson, “The name itself, dear, isn’t bad at all. It’s the reason he invented it that makes me wish he’d just let it die.”
Bay chortled, “You want to hear this story, Belle, you really do.”
Gold gave her an almost pleading look, “You really don’t.”
“Ohhh yes you do!” Bay crowed, and then glanced at his watch. “And with that little pantomime moment, I’ll be off!”
“Wh-“ Belle looked up at him helplessly as he stood, “Where’re you off to?”
“My date is waiting outside.”
Gold smiled, benignly, “Go, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Bay sighed, “You never let me have any fun.” He waved to Belle, “If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe trip home! I’ll see you in school.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “Merry Christmas!”
Bay nodded, smiled, and was gone.
“I promise he isn’t always that annoying.” Gold grumbled, “I raised him better than that.”
Belle giggled, “You did a good job,” she said, “He’s nice. Friendly. Not mean or brooding.”
“And that would be how you can tell we’re not related by blood.” Gold smiled, “I don’t talk half that much.”
“Maybe if you did, I’d already know this story I’m supposed to be so curious about.” She countered, resting her head on her hand and smirking when he groaned and rolled his eyes.
This was too easy, she thought, being friends with him. Acting as if they could just be friends, without worrying about the fact that he was one of her teachers.
But she caught herself too often staring at Gold’s mouth while he talked, or entranced by his hands as they gestured when he got excited about something. Even if they had been able to be friends, Belle knew she wouldn’t be able to hold that for very long.
He sighed, “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
She spread her hands - a gesture she’d picked up from him, she realised - and shrugged, “Bay’s a bad influence, I guess.”
He shook his head, leaned back and looked at her, hard.
“Okay, why’re you watching me like you’re about to start stroking a white fluffy cat?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, slowly, “I’ll make you a deal.”
He just smiled, nodded, “You explain to me, in full, what’s happening with you at school, and I’ll share my tale.”
She went still, leaned back, heart pounding. Her stomach plummeted, and she felt sick, her skin cold all over. She couldn’t tell him that story: he wouldn’t understand, and he’d hate her for it. Or worse: he’d see her again as a girl in need of saving and not the friend she thought he’d come to think of her as.
“Well, what’ve you heard about me at school?” she asked, cautiously, because she really, truly didn’t want to hate him too.
Anyone else might have looked uncomfortable asking - Bay certainly had - but Gold just held her gaze. “That what I witnessed the night of your roommate’s house party may not have been a one-off.”
“And if that were true,” she said, slowly, “What would you think?”
“I don’t know.” He replied, and while she admired his honesty, it was far from the strong statement of support she had hoped for.
“Then I don’t particularly feel like sharing,” she said, and couldn’t hide the bitter little note in her voice as she said it. That they could have spent so much time together recently, shared what she had hoped was some kind of connection, some kind of friendship, and to have him not trust her even when he knew the truth hurt her someplace deep and vital. “Thanks ever-so.”
“Have I said something to offend you, dear?” he asked, frowning.
“You know I didn’t hook up with Jefferson,” she said, keeping her voice down in public, “And I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
“It needs to be had.” He said, and she stared at him.
“Why?” she asked, masking the odd, childish hurt in her heart with irritation, “Teachers don’t need to know these things about their students, do they?”
He regarded her for a moment, eyebrows raised, “Because when we get back to Storybrooke, you’re going to get attacked, and you’ll need someone in your corner.”
“Oh, yeah?” she laughed, hollowly, “And you think that someone should be you, huh? Is this you playing the hero?”
“You’re in too deep with this, dear,” he said, a little coldly, warningly, “I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help.” She spat, “I need you to just trust me that I know what I’m doing.”
He smiled, but it was shallow and cool, his arms folded across his chest, “But that’s just the thing, Belle,” he said, “I don’t think you do know what you’re doing.”
“Do you actually think I’d…” she shook her head, “No, I can’t even ask that. I’m too bloody scared of the answer.”
She stood, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door without even a goodbye. She heard him scrambling to follow her, but didn’t turn around.
He caught her arm and turned her when they were out in the snow-covered street, and Belle could feel the fight coming on. There were storm clouds and crashing waves in his eyes, and he had never looked at her like that, with such emotion. Something less than fury and more than warmth. Something real and honest.
Good, she thought, the bravery in her winning over the girl scared of that strength of feeling, now we can get somewhere.
She’d had a faint hope that she could make it to the subway station and away before he caught her, but of course that was useless. But here he was, looking down at her, somewhat angry concern all over his face, and she
She reasoned that if she had to be confused and upset, then it was only fair he was too.
Except it wasn’t fair, none of it was fair, because he was treating her like she mattered, like she meant something, when of course it couldn’t be true. When in less than a month she’d have to go back to being just another girl, seen for an hour in class every couple of days, and he couldn’t look at her as he did now.
He couldn’t care about what happened to her, what she did or didn’t do, who she did and didn’t claim to have slept with. Not like he did now.
“Leave me alone, please.” She said, calmly, but her voice was shaking with the anger coursing through her.
“Will you calm down?” he demanded, anger winning over the confusion.
“Why should I?” she asked, tempted to shake her arm from his grasp but liking the feel of his warmth through her coat more. Even now, when she was so ready to cut herself off from him as she had from so many other people since the autumn, she couldn’t help but love that he touched her at all.
“Because you know you’re being utterly impossible.” He snapped, “I’m only trying to help you.”
“Well, what if I don’t fucking need your help, huh?” she was trying not to shout, but it was getting harder with every emotion added to the maelstrom inside her, uncaring that she was swearing at Professor Gold because right now, he wasn’t acting much like a professor at all. He was acting far too protective for that, “What if I made this situation on my own and I like it this way?”
“I don’t care whether you’re over the bloody moon about what people are saying,” he said, “And to be honest, in any other place, I’d not give a damn whether the rumours are true or false. You do as you please, you’re a grown woman after all. But this isn’t about petty students gossiping, and it’s not about your bloody vanity, either. This is about your future, Belle.”
“My vanity?” she snarled, “That’s why you think this has happened? Because I’m a vain, selfish attention-whore?”
He gave her a hard look, “Sometimes, I don’t know whether physically shaking you would help.” He muttered, and then louder, “I have no earthy idea why you have made these choices, Belle, none at all. But I don’t believe for a second that you’re actually bed hopping, or taking money for it, or any of the other ridiculous lies you seem to revel in. Which means that you’re allowing the stories to circulate for their own sake. Tell me how vanity doesn’t come into that mix.”
“I’m trying to help people!” she protested, “Not that it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do.” She have a bitter, empty little laugh, “Hey, for all you know, the rumours are true and I’m Storybrooke’s favourite whore. What would you do then?”
“Even then you’d still be the best student I’ve had in years, and one of the strongest, bravest, most bloody-mindedly stubborn young women I’ve ever met!” He was right up in her face, eyes on fire and searing straight into hers, but she didn’t flinch.
“If all of that’s true,” she snapped back, “Then why won’t you let me make my own decisions and live with the consequences?”
“Because I can’t stand to see you get hurt. And if you face this alone, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“If I get hurt then it’s my own fault,” she said, her voice dropping but no less fierce as they came so close he could have rested his forehead to hers, had he been so inclined, “And you are not my father so why do you care so much?”
He took her completely by surprise, crashing his mouth against hers, his hands clutching at her forearms to hold her close against him. She gasped in surprise, his lips soft and warm against hers for all their ferocity, and he took advantage of her parted lips to sweep his tongue inside and plunder her mouth.
She was shaking all over, but her body took over from her startled mind and brought her hands to tangle in his hair, to hold his mouth in place as his lips slanted a little and caressed hers, almost tenderly. She couldn’t contain her little moan when he nibbled on her lower lip, sucked it into his mouth as he pulled back and ran his tongue along the bitten flesh.
She was breathing hard, face flushed and head reeling, as he released her with hands that suddenly flailed awkwardly, entirely unsure, it seemed, of what to do next.
She leaned up, kissed him again on impulse, her heart singing with every brush of his mouth against hers, but as her hands came to cup his face he pushed her away, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice, gravelly and low, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” she asked, softly, desperate that he not ruin their moment together, that he not take what she had wanted for so long and tear it apart.
“We can’t… no, I’m sorry, I should have just left you alone.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“I can’t help you if I’m part of the problem, Belle.” He snapped, harshly.
“I never asked for your help.” She pointed out, “And I bloody well don’t need saving. Not by you or anyone else.”
“You need someone to pull you out of this childish, horrid mess you’ve created. And I can’t do that if I let other feelings get in the way.”
Her heart turned to stone, even as the idea that he had any feeling for her at all made her want to cry with happiness. He still thought she needed saving, and she knew enough to know that that was not where she wanted to begin. “Then stop trying to rescue me. Let me sort out my own problems.”
“Belle, if anyone found out for a moment that we so much as spent time together, much less the fact that-“
“That you kissed me just then like you planned to push me against a wall and take me right there?” she suggested, anger warring with something else, something far deeper and scarier in her chest, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He gave her a dull look, “One kiss is a reversible mistake. Anything more would prove correct every other stupid story you’ve allowed to circulate, and then there’s no more plausible deniability.”
“I never wanted to deny it. Any of it.” She pointed out, “And I don’t plan to.”
“One day you will,” he assured her, “One day you’ll grow up a bit and realise that there’s a difference between integrity and infamy.”
“Get lost, Professor.” She said, quietly, her voice as cold as the snow falling all around them. “We’re done.”
“Belle, I only want to-“
“Help. I know.” She nodded, “But even when that’s needed then you’ll still be the last person I call. You want me to grow up? Fine. No more stupid little girl crush on a bastard teacher. You need to leave now.”
He didn’t move, just stared at her, his expression too stunned to hold much of any other emotion. “Belle-“ he reached out for her, but she shook him away.
“Fine. I’ll leave.”
She stalked away from him, and didn’t look back. He didn’t follow, and she was proud that he would never know about the hot, fat tears that started rolling down her face the moment she turned the corner to the subway station, and he was out of sight.
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- calonari said: THEY WERE SO HAPPY FOR A MOMENT AND THEN, FUCK IT, BRING EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS AND SHIT !
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