Okay, if you haven't read The Long Game, this may make no sense. Brief synopsis: Gold and Belle were bound together thousands of years ago, and have loved one another in every life since then. Something happened in the fourteenth century to break their bond, and Gold has been looking for her ever since. When they meet in this life, he remembers their past, but she doesn't.

Deweymay prompt: Gold sees Belle for the first time in this life.

Gold drummed his fingers on his mahogany desk, eyes scanning the piece of paper in front of him. Belle French, it read, followed by an address in Storybrooke. His eyebrows had risen at that, when he had first obtained the information, gleaned from Smee's offhand comment about the inventor that had redeemed the fire-opal necklace. Gold had found out that the man had a daughter, and the search had continued from there. Ironic, that after all these years of seeking her, he should be drawn back to that quaint little town. Still, in some ways it made things easier; he did, at least, have a history there. The fact that he owned most of the town helped, too, although he had checked his lists of tenants, and Miss French was not among them. It was unusual for someone to own their own house in Storybrooke, and not be reliant upon him, but – well, she never had been one to conform. He allowed himself a brief smile at the thought of her, before promptly hardening the lines of his mouth once more. It wasn't the time to celebrate. There had been too many disappointments, too many broken dreams and dashed hopes. He was trying hard not to get his hopes up again.

He pushed the piece of paper with its promise of a life rediscovered, of answered prayers and familiar touches, away from him, and pulled his phone from his pocket. Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he sat back in his chair, and listened briefly to a message from Regina Mills, the Dean of the university in Storybrooke. He curled his lip as her smooth, insincere greeting washed over him. A donor's evening in August. She was aware how busy he was, which was why she was giving him so much notice, and would be most grateful if he would consider attending. The university was undergoing some substantial renovations and she wanted all its 'friends' to be assured of her continuing gratitude for their generosity. So. Regina was fund-raising again. He really didn't have the time. A cheque, perhaps, with an appropriately worded card. He would put Dover on it. He deleted Regina's message before dialling Jefferson. The phone rang for a moment before being picked up.

"Gold?" came Jefferson's voice. "Long time, no see. What can I do for you?"

"I may need your assistance with something," said Gold, long fingers stroking patterns on the table top, running over the name on the piece of paper, caressing it. Belle.

"I'm always happy to take your money, Gold, you know that," said Jefferson, with the sound of a grin in his voice. Gold's expression was wry.

"I'm looking for someone, whom I believe to be in Storybrooke," he said. "Belle French."

"Belle?" Jefferson sounded surprised. "I know her. She works at the university. What do you want with her?" His voice was cautious, a note of warning in it, and Gold relaxed a little. Jefferson cared for her. That was good. He could keep an eye on her until Gold arranged his affairs in Boston.

"It's a private family matter," he said indifferently. "You need have no fear that I intend her any harm. Far from it. You say that she works at the university?"

"She teaches English." Jefferson sounded a little easier. "What do you want me to do?"

"For the moment, nothing," said Gold, sitting back in his chair. He studied the ring on the third finger of his right hand, the blue-grey moonstone shining in the light from his desk lamp. "I may be returning to Storybrooke. If I do, I want you to do a little surveillance for me, that's all."

"Understood."

"Thank you, Mr Milliner." Gold hung up, and pursed his lips, tapping tented fingers against them. It appeared that a trip to Storybrooke was necessary.

He had Dover drive them out of Boston the next day, leaving ridiculously early in the morning so that they could be assured of being there around eight. The drive was made in silence, Gold going through some papers to pass the time as Dover steered the Cadillac along tree-lined roads, the sun rising just as they entered Storybrooke. Gold instructed him to drive to the university that sat on the outskirts of town, and Dover turned up the street by the park, heading out to the campus. Gold put his paperwork away, looking out of the window with a keen eye as they drew near. A trickle of students were making their way up to the university buildings, and Gold's heart began to thump as they neared the main gates.

"Stop the car, please, Dover," he said quietly, and Dover obediently slowed the Cadillac to a halt, wheels scrunching on dead leaves.

Gold scanned the small crowd of teachers and students, swallowing hard in his nervousness. It was nearing eight-thirty, and he expected her to be in the university well before nine; punctuality was a strength of hers. He hoped he hadn't missed her arrival. His eyes swept anxiously back and forth, pausing momentarily whenever he saw a glimpse of dark curls or pale skin, then moving on restlessly. Dover remained silent and still in the front seat of the car, his large hands on the wheel. Gold was beginning to despair of ever seeing her, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blue. He desperately pushed open the door of the car and scrambled out, cursing his leg as it threatened to crumple beneath him and pitch him into the leaf litter. Straightening up, his hands folded over his cane, he searched for her eagerly, and it was then that he saw her in the flesh for the first time in over six hundred years.

She was as beautiful as ever, he marvelled, her pale cheeks pink with the cold, her chestnut hair bouncing in waves down her back. He recalled running his fingers through that soft hair, stroking her face with his hands as he moved inside her, a thousand memories from a hundred lives or more. Her laugh. Her wit. Their children. All that they had lost, returned to him in this one vision of loveliness. She wore a dark blue cloche hat and a wool coat in a lighter shade of blue above black wool tights and wedge-heeled boots. He sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity might be listening for the fashions of this time, as her shapely legs were displayed for his pleasure. She was carrying a pile of books in her arms, hugged to her chest protectively, and a smile pulled at his lips as he watched her approach the edge of the sidewalk.

See me, he willed fervently. See me now!

She looked briefly to left and right before trotting across the road, but her eyes did not meet his, and she didn't look back. He felt a strange sensation in his chest, a loosening of the crushing tightness that had been building there since he had come back to Storybrooke, and with it his eyes stung and tears began to form. He couldn't tear his gaze away as he watched her chat briefly with a red-haired man in a tweed suit, her bright laughter causing a twisting pain in his stomach. She bit her lip in the gesture that always made him want to kiss her, her blue eyes shining as she spoke animatedly. The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms, to press his lips to hers and taste her sweetness, was almost unbearable. He recalled that she didn't know him, and to do so would probably end up with him being arrested. Slowly. That was the key. She didn't know him. But she would.

As she moved out of sight in the university grounds he slumped back against the car, shaking with emotion. Tears began to flow freely, pouring down his cheeks, and he turned and wrenched open the car door, falling onto the back seat and burying his head in his hands as he wept. Images flashed through his head, memories of their times together, laughing with her as she teased him, making love to her for the first time, the pain and love in her eyes at Baelfire's birth, their final kiss before he lost her. Every bright hope he had treasured in his search for her, through seven lifetimes. Every crushing disappointment as his hopes were dashed time and time again.

His shoulders shook, tears dripping through his fingers and running off the end of his nose. Oh God, Belle! She even had her old name. It was too much, too much. Her face, her laugh, after all this time. He desperately hoped that this was not a dream, that he wouldn't wake up alone in his bed with his heart breaking yet again, that lost part of his soul forever out of reach. He sobbed quietly, dashing tears from his cheeks with the heels of his hands.

"Sir?" Dover said worriedly. "Mr Gold, sir? Are you alright?"

He tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths and swallowing hard, and looked up through his tears at Dover's concerned face, reflected in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm well, thank you Dover," he said quietly, his voice shaking a little. "It appears we'll be moving back to Storybrooke. Would you arrange for the house to be cleaned in advance of our arrival?"

"Very good, sir."

Gold let his head fall back against the leather with a sigh, wiping away his tears.

"Oh, and Dover?"

"Sir?"

"When was the university donor's evening scheduled for?"

"August fifteenth, sir."

Gold smiled. "Inform Dean Mills that I shall be attending."

"Yes, sir."

He settled back in his seat, running his hands over his face as the car pulled away, his heart thumping with love and hope.

She was real. She was alive.

A/N: A teeny bit angsty, I know, but you know how it ends...

As most of the prompts I received from my dear readers were smutty, it is likely that the rating of these one-shots will go up!