#Oh yes not to mention that he reported directly to Winston Churchill when he was a spy.

[sixth-doctor]

I just found out that Jon Pertwee might’ve been one of the inspirations for James Bond, thanks to the fact he was a spy in the Second World War, and worked alongside Ian Fleming, who wrote it. And he played the Doctor, in an era that was supposed to be inspired by James Bond. He was also told to be authentically himself when playing the Doctor, so Jon Pertwee was acting as himself, as a character… based on himself… Not to mention he rode the wall of death with a fucking LION??? In the sidecar????? When he was younger and working in the circus???????????? Holy shit his life was wild.

[smartgirlsaremean]

Fifth Period

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: T

Summary: High school teacher Mr. Gold isn’t sure what to think when his worst-behaved class suddenly start behaving for the substitute. What kind of dark magic is this Mrs. French weaving on his class of miscreants?

(Not on AO3 yet because my work connection is weird.)

Mr. Gold always knew what to expect. He had learned enough about human nature, he thought, to be able to predict reactions, and he was a firm believer in allowing past events to inform present decisions. History, he was fond of saying, always repeats itself. In his small circle of associates he even had a reputation as something of a seer; he could predict human actions at a local, national, and even global scale with eerie accuracy.

When his son Baeden ended up enrolled in his eleventh-grade Practical Law class, he knew exactly what to expect: cheeky impertinence from him, awed disbelief from the rest. Bae never crossed the line into outright disrespect, and since Gold had a colleague mark all of Bae’s assignments, no one could claim that the boy didn’t earn every one of his grades. They got on well enough, all things considered. Just as expected.

When he had to be gone for a day and put in for a substitute, he knew what he would find when got back: positive reports for every class...except Bae’s. The boys in that class seemed to delight in tormenting their substitutes, sometimes to the point of tears. They were never unwise enough to admit it - Gold hated discourtesy and they all knew it - but he’d caught the glints of triumph and little smirks as he scolded them for their poor reports. As he always did, for what little effect it had.

Mr. Gold always knew what to expect.

So when he walked into his classroom one Wednesday morning after having been out the day before, he read the substitute’s report and was momentarily stymied.

Mr. Gold, the elegant script began, thank you so much for the opportunity to sub in your classes today. They were all very polite and attentive, and I think you’ll be pleased with what they accomplished. If I may, I would like to give special praise to your 5th period Practical Law class. They were exceptionally welcoming and helpful, and we had several interesting conversations about the material you left. If you need a sub in future, please don’t hesitate to call me!

Belle French

She’d left her phone number beneath her signature.

Gold stared dumbfounded at the note as his first period students shuffled in. Bae hadn’t said anything about a giant piano falling on the collective heads of the class and causing massive brain trauma. In fact, when asked about school he’d shrugged and said “fine” as he always did. There had been no recent reports of alien abduction. Had all the troublemakers merely skipped that day? No - her records indicated perfect attendance.

He taught the first classes in something of a confused daze, going back to the note at intervals to try to puzzle out what it could mean. At lunch he thought that the boys had actually managed to break a substitute so thoroughly that she could no longer accept reality. Strange though that the note was perfectly coherent and their assignments, when he dared to check, were completed - and completed well.

Standing before his fifth period class, he had no idea what to do. They were all staring at him, with their beatific smiles and mischievously sparkling eyes. The words from Mrs. French’s note danced in his brain and he wondered how on earth he was supposed to interrogate them about their good behavior without sounding like an idiot.

“Well, congratulations,” he said finally. “For once a substitute teacher did not leave this classroom wishing for death.” Their smirks grew wider and he grew more nervous. “I admit to being curious. Was she an ogre - green skin and rotting teeth and all?”

They said nothing.

“Well. Let’s move on, then.”

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes, Mr. Booth?”

“Do you think Ms. French will sub for us again?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I mean,” the boy elaborated, “she said she’d like to.”

Who were these people, and what had they done with his class? “She left a note to that effect, so I’m sure she’ll be back.”

“Oh. Ok, then.”

Gold glared at the boy, who smiled widely. Was this part of a plot to drive him mad? If so, it might be working.

Two weeks later Bae came down with the flu, and Mr. Gold took the day off. He debated with himself for a full minute before using the phone number she’d left.

“Hello?”

The voice was a surprise. Low, sweet, Australian.

Young.

“May I speak with Belle French?”

“Speaking!”

Why had he thought he knew what she would sound like? “This is Roderick Gold. From Storybrooke High.”

“Oh!” Now she sounded surprised. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid my son is sick and I’ll need to take tomorrow off. Are you available?”

“Oh...oh, sure! Absolutely!”

“I know it’s short notice.”

“No, it’s fine. Your son, you said? Bae, right?”

His brain nearly short-circuited. Not only had Bae revealed their relationship to a sub - something he never did - he’d revealed his family nickname and, by the sound of it, encouraged her to use it. Only the boy’s closest friends were allowed to call him Bae. “Uh...yes.”

“Tell him I hope he feels better soon.”

“I will. Thank you.”

He rang off and stared at the phone for a few seconds, his mind whirling. Walking into Bae’s room he debated bringing it up, but he was too damn curious not to.

“I’ve got a sub for tomorrow,” he said.

“You didn’t have to do that. I’d be fine on my own.” Bae rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Wait. Which sub?”

“Mrs. French.”

“Oh. Lucky.”

“I contacted her, she asked me to. And apparently she can get you miscreants to do your work.” He studied Bae’s grinning face warily. “She said to tell you that she hopes you feel better.”

“You called her?” Bae sat upright, his eyes gleaming. “She gave you her number?”

“Yes…”

“Awesome.”

“What...no. I don’t want to know.”

“Sure you don’t.” Bae let out a laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough.

“Go to sleep, ridiculous boy,” Gold said fondly, ruffling his hair.

Mr. Gold, allow me to say again what an absolute pleasure it is to cover your classes. They’re all great kids and extraordinary thinkers.

Her note detailed what they’d covered, and Gold smiled to himself. She seemed a competent teacher and a pleasant person. She praised fifth period again, and he merely raised his eyebrows at them that afternoon when they asked what Ms. French had to say about them.

“Why would she mention you specifically?” he asked, and a couple of them squirmed.

The next time she taught in his classroom, he left a note of his own.

Mrs. French, I don’t know what black magic you work on my fifth period class to transform them into decent human beings, but may I suggest you bottle and market it? Their work has never been better and I’m grateful that I no longer need to dread leaving for a day.

Her answering note made him laugh aloud.

Mr. Gold, I only dabble in light magic, thank you very much. And what makes you think I haven’t got an online shop selling model student elixirs?

I like your fifth period class. They’re bright and energetic and imaginative and funny. They require more positive attention than the other classes, more obvious encouragement and praise, but those things are easy to give if you allow yourself. They clearly adore you, so you must have got the knack of it. It’s always a pleasure to work with them.

And for the record, it is Miss French.

Well. There was no reason for that last sentence to make his heart thump harder and his smile stretch wider. But there was also no reason for her to correct him, was there?

Two months after he received her first note, when she had subbed for him a handful of times (leaving him delightful notes that he kept safe in a drawer in his desk), Gold found he actually felt comfortable leaving his classes in her capable hands and attending one of the multi-day conferences the district liked to arrange. Miss French was willing to commit to a week, so he took Baeden with him and they made something of a holiday of it. Miss French emailed him a report at the end of the first day, but on Tuesday evening his phone rang and he saw with a jolt that it was her.

“Miss French? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine. I just don’t like email much. Too impersonal.”

He generally didn’t like phone calls much. Too personal. But in this case he found he didn’t mind. “Did the day go well?”

“Yeah, of course. Some of the freshmen are struggling a bit with their research, though. Do you mind if I give them a refresher on primary and secondary sources?”

“By all means. And remind them that they need to have at least one print source on top of their electronic sources.”

He thought he heard her snort. “It’s funny how quickly that’s changed. When I was in high school we were only allowed one electronic source.”

“When I was in high school we got our information directly from the horse’s mouth,” Gold quipped.

“Oh, I’m sure. What was it like to hear Winston Churchill speak in person?”

Caught off-guard, Gold sputtered for a moment before he realized that she was teasing him. “Very funny.” He couldn’t quite keep the smile from his voice.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You were talking like an octogenarian.”

“In my day young people had more respect for their elders,” he groused.

“You’re not that much older than I am.”

“Oh? How would you know that?”

“The kids told me, of course. They’re very free and easy with your personal information, I should warn you.”

“Why? What have they told you?” His amusement abated somewhat, and he now felt a little afraid of what his boy’s nosy friends would reveal to their substitute.

“The basics, really. Age, height, marital status.”

She made his class sound like a bloody dating service and suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped in his brain, he realized why his loathsome students had been so kind and welcoming to this particular substitute.

They were matchmaking.

He was tempted to fail them all.

“You’re welcome to give them all detention if they’re bothering you,” he told her.

“They’re never a bother,” Miss French insisted.

Gold couldn’t help laughing at that, but he was grateful that she allowed him to steer the conversation back to the plans for the rest of the week and how she would modify them to accommodate the changes she had planned.

He rang off as soon as he could without appearing rude and cornered his son when he came in from the pool.

“Baeden Neal Gold,” he growled.

Bae’s eyes widened. “What?”

“What exactly have you been telling Miss French about me?”

His son had the grace to blush, though his expression was unrepentant. “Just, like...normal stuff.”

“How is discussing my age normal?”

Bae shrugged.

“My height? My marital status?”

Sighing, Bae pushed a hand through his wet hair. “We just thought she might like to know you were single.”

“What - how - why would you think that?” Anger had now faded, to be replaced with bewilderment.

“Cuz when she reads your notes she gets this big dopey smile on her face.” Bae glanced at him. “Kinda like the one you get when you read hers. You like each other. What’s wrong with letting her know you’re available?”

“It’s...wasted effort.”

Bae rolled his eyes. “Says you. I need a shower, I’m pretty sure they just dumped a bottle of bleach in the pool and called it good.” And he was off before Gold could think of anything more to say to support his position.

On Wednesday night, he emerged from the bathroom to discover that Bae had answered his phone and was chatting with Miss French as if they were old friends. He glared at his son and held his hand out for the phone. Bae grinned and handed it over, but not before saying loudly, “Jeez, Pops, put on some pants, would ya?”

Glancing down at the robe he wore, Gold raised an eyebrow at Baeden and turned his attention to his phone.

“Miss French?”

“Um...hi, Mr. Gold.” Her voice sounded a little breathless. “Is - is this a bad time?”

“Not at all. How did class go today?”

She was distracted throughout the conversation, but she assured him his classes were doing well and that she had no questions about the material for the next day. She hung up rather quickly, and Bae grinned at him from his own bed, where he was sitting up and watching soccer.

The boy was acting very strangely.

They had talked every day for a week, but Gold still wasn’t used to the little thrill that went through him when his phone lit up and her number appeared on the screen. He was actually sorry that it was Friday, because on Monday he would be back in school and there would be no more calls from his favorite substitute. He answered and they chatted about the conference for awhile before she brought up the day’s lessons.

“The practical law lecture went well, but I wonder - have you ever considered using interactive presentations?”

“What?”

“Like Nearpod or something?”

She might as well have been speaking Greek. “I...uh…

“Here, I’ll show you. Are you near your laptop?”

She had him go to a website and enter a code, and then she was taking him through a presentation that appeared on his own screen, interspersed with polls and quizzes and activities.

“The kids can access this on their phones and tablets,” she explained. “It’s much more engaging than sitting and looking at a projector screen.”

Fifth period would go wild for it. He just didn’t know how to use it, and he said so.

“Oh.” Her voice went a little higher in pitch. “I could, um. Show you sometime. If you like.”

He frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, we could...get together...maybe for dinner or something...and I could show you how to set it up.”

His brain ground to a halt and his words fled. He’d noticed a few times over the last week that their conversations had become less professional and more personal, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t venture into flirtation now and then. And he was more pleasant to Belle than he was to just about anyone but Bae. When all was said and done, though, he was an ill-tempered old man with a limp. The fact that talking to her made him feel attractive and appealing and ten years younger was beside the point. As it was she could imagine whomever she wanted to be on the other end of the line, but the moment they met in person the illusion would be shattered.

“That won’t be necessary, dearie,” he said a little more coolly, wincing at the sarcastic endearment he used for those who annoyed him.

“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind at all and…”

“I’ve been teaching for twenty years and I’ve never yet had to turn to a substitute for instructional advice,” he said dryly.

“I’ll have you know I have Master’s degrees in education and library science,” she said after a moment of stunned silence. “You’ve never treated me like an inferior before. What did I do wrong?”

“Besides encouraging students to fiddle about on their phones when they should be learning?”

“This isn’t about classroom technology. You’re angry with me. What did I do?”

Nothing. She’d done nothing but be sweet and kind and a bloody fantastic teacher, laugh at his odd jokes and commiserate with him on the pointless nature of most of the sessions at this conference, and win his son over so entirely that Bae would return from the dining room any second to demand his turn on the phone with her.

He was damn close to being in love with her and they’d never even been in the same room. It was terrifying, especially as she didn’t - couldn’t - feel the same way.

Belle huffed into the phone. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you? Shutting me out for no good reason.”

He was silent.

“Goodbye, then, Mr. Gold.”

She rang off.

For two months Gold actually found himself inventing excuses to miss school about once a week, but Miss French’s name no longer appeared on his coverage schedule. Other, inferior subs took her place and his fifth period now glared daggers at him, though they didn’t dare say a word. Six weeks along Bae slammed his way into the house and ranted about Miss French’s disappearance, pestering his father to call her, email her, something. He only stopped when Gold threatened to ground him for the rest of the school year.

Everything was ruined.

Then one morning, before the start of class, he saw her name on the list of substitutes in the building. She was covering the afternoon classes for another teacher, who was attending the same training he was. Heart pounding, he made a few phone calls, wrote a note, and hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

His fifth period students were filing in and he was gathering up his things to leave when the sound of high heels rapidly approaching made him look up at the door. A tiny woman stood there, her hands on her hips and fire blazing in her eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded, and her voice hit him like a punch to the chest.

It was Belle. And she was gorgeous.

“Miss French…”

“Don’t! Don’t you…” She took a very deep breath and fisted her hands in her skirt. “May I see you in the hall, Mr. Gold?”

He gripped his briefcase and followed her out, his heart roaring in his ears. He allowed the door to close behind him.

“You switched my assignment,” she said, her voice calmer and lower.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Fifth period misses you,” he stammered, “and you’re the only one who can keep them in line.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I really do need to leave,” he pointed out timidly.

“You are meeting me here after school and we are going to talk about this.”

Nodding, he walked past her, leaving her to go into the classroom alone. From the raucous cheers that erupted from the open door, Gold knew he wouldn’t be missed.

The training was pointless as well as dull, but Gold hadn’t wanted it to end. He was dreading returning to his classroom and facing the furious little beauty with eyes like aquamarines. He approached his classroom with feelings very similar to those of an inmate walking to his execution. Any hope he might have had that she would leave without facing him was extinguished when he saw that the light in his classroom was still on even though school had let out half an hour ago. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and saw that Belle was at his desk, her lovely eyes serious as she read the note he’d left. She looked up when the door clicked closed behind him.

“Do you mean this?” she asked.

“Every word,” he admitted.

Carefully she folded the note and put it in her purse. “Then why?”

Because you’re getting too close. Because I don’t like to need people. Because I’m an idiot.

“I…” he shrugged, “I am a difficult man to like, Miss French.”

“I wasn’t having any trouble liking you until you pulled that stunt,” she pointed out, coming around to lean against the front of his desk.

“You don’t know me very well.”

“You won’t let me.”

“You don’t want to.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I want.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Alright,” he conceded at last. “What do you want?”

She studied him with narrow eyes, evidently pondering his last question. “A hamburger.”

Her answer surprised a laugh out of him.

“I’m serious,” she said with a little smile. “I’ve been teaching for hours and I’m starving.”

“I understand the diner down the street serves hamburgers,” he said cautiously, relaxing when her smile grew. She retrieved her bag and coat from behind the desk and hurried up beside him.

“Lead the way.”

He held the door open for her and smiled as she passed him. He made a mental note to cancel fifth period’s pop quiz the following day. After all, he owed them, and he always paid his debts.