#and put a note under the rubber band. otherwise it would have fallen apart

[coquelicoq]

a long shot i know, but if anybody happens to have a copy of the wall of storms (book 2 in the dandelion dynasty by ken liu) and is willing to send me a pic of two of the pages in chapter 7, please let me know!! the copy i got out from the library has a torn page, and though i can pretty much guess what's missing, it would be cool to put a note in there for the next person <3

[timelordthirteen]

The Don’t Fall in Love Job 3/?

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Explicit overall

Summary: Con artist Lacey never planned on staying in Storybrooke, just long enough to let the heat cool off in Boston from her last job. She also never planned on falling in love with the town’s eccentric pawn broker, Mr. Gold, but here she is living a life built on nothing but lies. Well, almost nothing… This is what happens after it all falls apart.

Chapter Summary: After leaving Storybrooke, Lacey gets some unexpected, life changing news, and remembers the first time she met Mr. Gold.

Notes: You all knew this was coming. Please bear with me, I promise not all is what it seems. :) I may have to put together some timeline notes at some point, but I don't plan on making a habit of flashbacks in this story as it's primarily about where the characters are now, not where they have been. Unbeta’d and probably a mess.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Unplanned pregnancy

[AO3]

The bathroom was dim and dingy and smelled of bleach.

Lacey stretched her arm up and leaned against the wide mirror, her forehead resting at her elbow. The glass felt wonderfully cool and she sighed as above her head one of the light bulbs flickered and went out. Her other arm hung limp at her side, her fingertips barely holding the slim plastic handle as it dangled. She sniffled sharply and then sucked in a breath through her nose, her eyes watering as the acrid scent stung her sinuses.

After a long moment, she straightened and stared down at the double lines, taunting her with their happy pink color. It was such a simple thing. Two easy steps: pee on a stick, ruin your life! She dropped the test in the little trash bin, wincing as it clanged and landed on top of the other tests she’d taken over the last three days. They all had the same answer, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

Pregnant.

With another sigh, she shuffled out of the bathroom and collapsed on the narrow bed, the metal springs squeaking in protest as she shifted and rolled onto her back. If she had been strong enough to keep walking, none of this would be happening. She should have never left Boston. She should have never stopped in Storybrooke.

She should have never fallen in love.

8 months ago...

Lacey shivered as she stepped off the bus.

The light of a red neon sign cut through the hazy gray afternoon, and she headed towards it. An early March drizzle matted her hair as she walked down the street. The steady rain was slowly melting the dirty, gray piles of snow, leaving behind a layer of grit that washed into the streets. The remains of winter always seemed so morose and dreary, despite the increasing hours of daylight.

She stopped and looked up at the sign, Granny's Diner. It had the kind of ring to it that made you think of black coffee and cherry pie, and she started to smile. On the surface, Storybrooke seemed like a decent enough place to stop for now, at least until she figured out where to go next. It was small, and the nearest big box store or Walmart was an hour's drive away, but it was also the last stop the bus made before it crossed the border into Canada. She couldn't risk her fake passport failing a customs inspection.

A quick search on her phone told her Granny also ran a small inn, with free breakfast and basic cable. She could tell from the outside of the building that it had that odd, only in New England charm, the kind that somehow made the combination of gingham curtains and kitschy sailboats in bottles work.

Granny herself was exactly as expected, an older woman with curly gray hair and a pair of wireframe spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She gave Lacey a flat, unconcerned look over the rims of her glasses as the door shut, cutting off the chill from outside.

“Can I help you?”

Lacey put on her sweetest smile and walked up to the counter. “Hi, I'd like a room, please?”

Granny frowned and slipped her glasses off, letting them dangle from a beaded lanyard around her neck. “You're definitely not from around here.”

She smiled wider and shook her head. “What gave it away?”

Her accent was fairly unmistakable, of course, but she didn’t see the point in hiding it from anyone here. She’d done that for years in Boston, along with the occasional wig or colored contacts. No one would be looking for a Australian, much less in the middle of nowhere Maine.

Granny started to grin, and flipped open a wide ledger. “How long will you be staying, Miss...?”

“French,” Lacey said automatically, inwardly cringing at how easily she’d used the familiar alias.

Granny's eyebrows lifted.

“Belle,” she added quickly. “Belle French.”

Rule number one: keep the lie simple. The more complex the lies get, the harder it is to keep them straight in your head.

The old woman seemed to be deep in thought for a long moment, then she clapped her hands together and grinned. “Oh! You're the new librarian!”

Rule number two: if the mark suggests or assumes something about you, go with it. People are less likely to question something they came up with.

“Yep!” Lacey answered brightly. “Yeah, that’s - that’s me!”

She’d probably spent a total of five hours in an actual library in her life, but what the hell. She pretended to be a ballerina once, and almost ended up the understudy to a Russian prima ballerina. Besides, she didn’t plan on staying long, so if she made a few bucks shelving some books, it certainly wouldn’t hurt her situation.

Granny nodded and made a note in her ledger, then turned to take a key off the rack on the wall behind her. “Well, then we’re very happy to have you stay with us. How many nights will you be staying?”

“Thank you. Um, just a week for now,” Lacey said absently as she scanned the short list of names in the ledger. “I’ll, uh, look for a permanent place once I get settled in my new job.”

The last entry in the book was five days old, and before that the most recent guests were from almost three months ago. They were probably staying in town for the holidays, or waiting out a snowstorm on there way to somewhere else. She wondered just how sleepy this little New England town was that a cozy inn like Granny’s, in a town along the coast, was used so infrequently.

She pulled out a credit card she was pretty sure still worked, just as the other woman turned and set the key on the counter.

“Just sign in here,” Granny instructed.

Then she picked up the credit card and swiped it as Lacey held her breath. The name on it was wrong. If Granny noticed she’d have to come up with some excuse, but within seconds the card was back in her hand and she was tucking it away in her purse.

Lacey looked up from signing her new alias. “Thank you, Ms...?”

“Lucas,” Granny replied, eyeing the signature before giving Lacey an appraising smile. “Martha Lucas, but everyone just calls me Granny. I put you in room number four. It has a nice view of the town square. Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square, but since you’re the reason the library is reopening, I'll waive it.”

“Thank you, Granny, I -”

“Well,” came a smooth, accented voice from behind her. “Who might this be?”

Lacey turned to find a man in a well-tailored, dark suit. He had brown hair to his shoulders, streaked with gray at his temples, and stood with his hands casually folded over a gold handled cane. There was something imposing about him despite his slim build, and a look in his eye that was a strange mix of cool indifference and curiosity.

“She’s the new librarian,” Granny said, gesturing towards her.

He started towards Lacey, the movements graceful even with his slight limp, and then stopped next to her. She glanced at Granny, and saw the woman’s entire demeanor, which had been pleasant thus far, shift to being very standoffish. She glared as she reached down under the counter, pulled up a metal lockbox, and took out a sizable roll of money, tied with a rubber band.

Lacey’s eyes went wide as she watched Granny feather the ends of the bills with her thumb before holding them out to the man.

“It’s all there,” she snapped as he reached out and took the money, plucking it from her grasp with two long fingers.

“Of course it is, dearie, thank you.” He turned to Lacey, and gave her a slow smile. “So, new librarian?”

Lacey nodded. “Yes, I’m -”

“Miss...Frank, if I remember?” he interrupted, touching a finger to his bottom lip. “From...Hartford?”

Her eyes were drawn to the digit as it rubbed back and forth, and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was an old trick to help keep her focused when she was unsure about the next lie that came out of her mouth, the story she was about to build out of it. He seemed to be the type of person who knew things, who had a hand in everything, and wielded a quiet sort of power. The way he was looking at her was unnerving.

“French,” she corrected. “And I just got in from Boston.”

Rule number three: always make your story close enough to the truth that your reactions and memories are natural.

“Ah, yes.” He inclined his head slightly and held out his hand. “I’m Mr. Gold.”

Lacey held his gaze for a long moment, and then let it flick down to his hand before she took it in hers and gave it a firm shake. His fingers were warm and soft, except for a light callous on the pad of his thumb. It brushed her skin for a second, and she swallowed.

“I’m Belle,” she said, meeting his calculated smile with one of her own. “Belle French.”

He flashed his teeth and she caught the glint of gold, her eyes widening as she pulled her hand away.

“Belle,” he echoed softly. “What a lovely name.”

She watched as he moved to the door and opened it, letting a sharp sliver of sunlight in that made his eyes look deep and warm. The thumb of her right had moved absently over her fingers and palm. She could still feel the gentle grip of his hand on hers.

Gold met her eyes and gave her a small nod. “Enjoy your stay...Belle.”

Outside it started raining, the wind slapping water against the window in a steady, soothing rhythm.

Lacey’s hand had drifted down to her belly as she thought about those first minutes in Storybrooke. It came to rest over the waistband of her jeans for a moment, before she pulled it away. Whatever was happening was right there, right under the dark denim fabric and layers of skin and muscle. Something was taking root inside her without her permission.

The thought made her feel sick, and she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up. Her eyes squeezed tight as she breathed in and out slowly, listening to the patter of the rain until it passed. She supposed there would be more of that in the next few weeks, along with a whole lot of other changes. There would be months of it in fact.

She shifted onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the cracks that spread out from the old plaster medallion in the center. It was sort of like her life now, all the cracks she’d created with her lies and schemes, all the people she’d pushed away. She couldn’t have a baby or be a mother. This was no kind of life for a child, or for her anymore, but it was the only thing she’d ever been good at.

Well, almost.

For a while she’d been pretty decent at running a library, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She couldn’t really put a job that should have never been hers, that she’d held under an assumed name, on a resume. She also couldn’t put model, pool shark, lawyer, county zoning clerk, or flautist on there either, no matter how well she’d pulled them off at the time.

Thunder rumbled and she shivered. It would have been easy to let herself remember more than just the first time she met Alexander Gold. Like the time she’d ducked into his shop to get out of the rain, the day the power went out on them in the library, or the weekend they’d spent in his cabin by the lake.

That weekend had been magical. It had also been the one and only time Gold said he loved her, before their last moments together in Storybrooke. She could still hear his voice gasping her name - Belle, Belle, Belle - over and over until they were both spent. And then the softest whisper, so faint that it could have happened a dream. I love you. The look in his eyes afterwards was undeniable, and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces even as she pulled him to her and kissed him.

If only it had been real. But Belle wasn’t real, she was just another lie, another mask worn on the outside for a while. It didn’t matter that it had been the hardest to remove, the hardest to walk away from, it wasn’t her. Gold’s love wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. It wasn’t for her.

Belle would have said it back, she thought. If she’d really been Belle, deep down, she would have said it back and that would have been it. The beginning of everything instead of the beginning of the end.

Belle would have stayed.

Belle would have wanted a baby.

Belle would have been brave.

Lacey sucked in a breath and sat up, running her hands through her hair roughly as she brushed it back from her face. She twisted it up and snatched a hair tie from her nightstand to wrap around it. Then she stood and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on as she headed out of her bedroom.

Rule number four: plans change, always have a backup.

There was a few hundred dollars in the bottom of a ceramic cookie jar on her kitchen counter, which she pulled out and rolled up in her hand. It was her emergency stash, leftover from the last paycheck the Storybrooke Public Library had paid her. Well, that it had paid to Belle French, who had immediately cashed it and stashed it.

She squeezed the money in her fist and shoved it in her pocket as she stepped out of the apartment building and into the rain. It felt everyone she passed was judging her, like they knew where she was going and what she was going to do.

The storefront the clinic was in used to be a salon. Some of the exam rooms still had the hair washing sinks in them, with the flexible hoses and the cutouts where you would lay your neck. Once upon a time, Lacey had wanted to be a hairstylist. And a makeup artist. And an actress. And a zookeeper.

None of that happened.

Her leg kept bouncing nervously as she sat on the hard plastic chair. It made the paper form flap against the clipboard. When she got to the line that said patient name, she paused and blinked. For a moment she wasn’t sure what to write and the ink from the pen bled into the page as she watched.

Who the fuck was she anymore?

She took a slow, deep breath and scribbled the only name her fingers could manage to write - Belle French - hoping that by doing so, she could borrow just a little of her alter ego’s courage.