A/N: This started out as a Long Game one-shot, but developed into something more, so I just ran with it. Welcome to the remix, my lovelies.

Mockorangeflower prompt: 'Had Gold ever thought of not waking Belle, or regretting having to wake her up in one of their past lives? Maybe he hoped just to live and love, for once?'

MyraValhallah prompt: 'I'd love to see what would happen if these two met as they were 'supposed to' this time around'. Also prompted by deweymay and JosephineM.

So, this is an AU of an AU, people. Cue Gold being slightly creepy with a 16-year old Belle. FYI there will be no underage smut in this fic (except for Belle thinking dirty, dirty thoughts). There will, however, be perfectly legal smut. Eventually.

Belle French considered herself to be a sensible, level-headed girl, not given to flights of fancy (unless she was buried in a book). She had reached the age of sixteen having only experienced one date (an unmitigated disaster involving a guy in her class with a fake smile and wandering hands), and had little interest in going on another with any of the boys she knew. She had assumed that, if she ever did have a relationship, it would be after she left home, perhaps when she went to college. It wasn't as though she wasn't attracted to the opposite sex, it was merely that she always seemed to think of more interesting things to do with her Friday nights and weekends. Which was why her reaction upon meeting her father's new lawyer came as such a surprise to her.

The sweet smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies was spreading through the house, and Belle wandered through to the kitchen, her nose in her book. She had taken the cookies from the oven fifteen minutes earlier, and they were cooling on a wire rack. She picked one up and bit into it, enjoying the warm sweetness as her eyes scanned the page she was reading. The sound of the front door opening barely registered with her, and she flicked over the page, chewing her mouthful of cookie as she turned on her heel to go back into the lounge. The sound of voices in the hallway made her glance up briefly, and a small, detached part of her (the part that prevented her from walking under moving cars and bumping into people whilst reading as she walked along) noticed that her father was standing there, another man next to him.

"Belle." Her father's voice made her look up and meet his eye with a smile, and she took another bite of her cookie as she did so. Her eyes strayed to the man beside him. The man was in his early forties, she thought, with brown hair that hung down past his collar, beginning to grey at the temples, and he carried a cane with an ornate gold handle. He was short, only a few inches taller than her, and thin, dressed immaculately in a three-piece suit that fitted him perfectly. His shirt was charcoal grey, his tie and the silk handkerchief in his pocket dark red. He had a slight smile on his face as he watched her, and his deep brown eyes ran over her before meeting hers. She almost choked on the cookie as it felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. She suddenly wished that she'd worn something other than baggy sweats and an old T-shirt when she got back from her run, and wondered where the thought came from. The man's smile widened, and a tide of red seemed to spread up her chest and neck and cover her face.

"Belle, this is Mr Gold, my new lawyer." Thank God for her father! Belle was having difficulty explaining the strange feelings coursing through her. Familiarity, as though she knew him, even though she was aware they had never met before.

"Gold, this is my daughter, Belle," continued Maurice, and Belle managed to swallow her mouthful of cookie and tuck her book under her arm as Mr Gold extended a hand towards her. His fingers sent electric shocks through her as he slid his palm across hers, grasping her hand. There was a heavy gold ring with a bluish-grey stone on his third finger. Her breath hitched as his fingers closed around hers.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss French," he said, in an accented voice. Belle's brain helpfully provided the origin of his accent as Scottish, and she opened her mouth.

"Likewise," she said, trying not to stammer. What the hell was wrong with her?

He held her hand a moment longer than she was entirely comfortable with, still smiling at her, and she was finding it difficult to tear her eyes away. His eyes dropped to her lips, and Belle's blush deepened as she realised she could feel a smear of chocolate there. Great. So she ate like a three year old. Fantastic.

"Belle, honey, could you make us a drink?" asked Maurice, and she gave herself a mental shake, dropping Gold's hand and backing away a little, scrubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand. Yep. Chocolate. Well, that was just brilliant.

"I'd like tea, if you have it," Gold said, pulling her attention from the smear of melted chocolate on her skin, and she felt herself blushing again.

"Right," she said vaguely, and walked back to the kitchen, filling the kettle and leaning on the kitchen counter as she took a few deep breaths. She licked the chocolate from her skin, as there was no point in letting it go to waste, and wiped her mouth thoroughly with a dishtowel, ensuring that she got the rest. Her heart was still thumping strangely, and she had no idea why. If she hadn't known better she might have thought she had a crush on the man, which was patently ridiculous. She didn't know him, and he had to be her father's age. The fact that he had looked at her as though he wanted to eat her (and her inexperienced yet imaginative mind helpfully supplied the more salacious interpretation of that expression) made her squirm uncomfortably.

By the time the water had boiled, she had calmed down, and she got out the tea things with something approaching her usual manner. She could hear the murmur of voices from the lounge, and she set the teapot, cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl on a tray. After a moment, she decided to add a plate of the cookies she had baked. She carried the tray through, noting the pile of paperwork spread on the coffee table. Mr Gold calmly swept it up and placed it on the couch beside him, allowing her to set down the tray. She could smell the scent of him as she leant down, and it made her head spin.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and she blushed again, her stomach clenching strangely. His hair had fallen over his face as he bent towards the tray, and she had a sudden, overwhelming urge to run her fingers through it and brush it back.

"Y-you're welcome," she said awkwardly, and his eyes looked up to meet hers as he smiled briefly.

"Cookies, too!" said Maurice cheerfully. "You're in for a treat, Gold. My daughter is an excellent cook."

"I'm sure Miss French has many hidden talents just waiting to be – unlocked," said Gold softly, selecting a cookie with long fingers. Belle shivered as his voice rolled over her like a caress, straightening up and stepping backwards. She watched him take a bite of the cookie, knowing that it would be crisp around the edges and chewy inside, the chocolate chips still melted and unctuous. He looked surprised as he chewed and swallowed, and flicked his eyes to hers, giving her another brief smile and a nod. He set the cookie down, smears of chocolate on his fingers, and Belle's heart began to thump as he put his fingertips in his mouth, sucking them clean as he flicked through a document. The pink tip of his tongue swept across his thumb, catching errant crumbs and hooking them into his mouth, and Belle swallowed hard before ducking out of the room, her heart pounding. She decided it would be safest to stay in the kitchen, away from this unnerving man and the strange feelings he was causing in her. She washed the few dishes that remained from her baking, wiping down the work surfaces, even though they didn't need it, and made herself some peppermint tea.

She picked up her book again, sitting at the kitchen table to read it, and finished her cookie, managing not to get any more of it over her face. Finishing her chapter, she dusted crumbs from her fingers and turned the page, with no clue as to what she had just read. Sighing, she turned back and determinedly started again. Her eyes moved over the pages without taking anything in, and she eventually threw it down in frustration.

"Not a good book?" His voice made her jump, and she turned around, feeling herself blush again. He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning on his cane, his dark eyes watching her.

"I'm a little tired," she lied. "Having trouble concentrating."

"I see." He took a step into the kitchen, and Belle felt her breath quicken as he walked into the room, his presence seeming to fill it, to call to her. She watched his hands, the long fingers curling around the cane handle, and wondered what they would feel like on her skin. Blushing fiercely, she hurriedly got up off the stool, and busied herself putting away the dry dishes that had been stacked on the draining board. She could feel him watching her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling strangely, her skin feeling unnaturally tight.

"Your father tells me that you're a promising student," he said, his accent like silk, and Belle swallowed hard before turning to face him, hating the way her cheeks were aflame.

"I like to study," she confirmed. "I'm looking forward to going to college in a couple of years."

"And where is it you're planning on going?" he asked, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I was thinking of the University of Maine. Storybrooke campus. It has a really interesting English curriculum, but there are other possibilities. I'll start looking into it next year."

"I'm sure you'll make an excellent scholar," he said. His eyes caught hers, looking expectant, as though he was anticipating her response, but she wasn't sure what to say to that, and so she simply shrugged.

"I'll do my best," she said. "Mum thinks I'm wasting my time and should choose law or medicine or something that actually leads to a job, but…" She shrugged again. He nodded.

"We can't help the direction our passions take us, I suppose," he said, and took another step towards her, making her breath catch in her throat. She backed away, and he smiled, his eyes glinting.

"Don't concern yourself, dearie. I don't bite." His smile widened, and she saw a gleam of gold on his bottom jaw. His grin was shark-like, and suddenly she was very afraid that he did bite, that he could chew her up and spit her out and not even leave her bones behind to tell of her demise. She told herself very firmly to shut up. Belle prided herself in being a good judge of character, and she smelled danger on him, danger and pain and obsessive adherence to whatever his particular goal was. Although the rational part of her brain told her that these were the perfect ingredients for a stalker, she didn't believe the danger was directed at her. She didn't fear him, and that gave her fresh courage to meet his eyes.

"I'm glad Dad hired a new lawyer," she said, trying to make polite conversation. "The last one was useless. And kind of creepy." She could have bitten her tongue! He probably knew the man. Didn't lawyers all know one another? To her surprise he looked amused.

"I can't promise not to be creepy, but I assure you I'm far from useless," he said gravely. "They don't call me The Spinner for nothing, you know." He was watching her with that look in his eyes again, and she frowned, the name tugging at something in her subconscious.

"Have we – have we met before?" she asked, and he smiled, a thin, secretive smile.

"I'd never forget meeting you, Miss French," he said softly, and she swallowed, wishing he'd leave, thankful that he hadn't.

"Here we are, Gold." Her father's voice cut through the strange tension in the room, and Belle suppressed a sigh of relief as she turned to face him. Maurice was waving a sheaf of paper.

"I knew I had it somewhere," he said jovially. "Perhaps you could look this over for me."

"Indeed," said Gold, suddenly the businessman again. He plucked the papers from Maurice's hand. "And if you could read over that new licensing agreement and, assuming you have no objections, have a signed copy with me by Friday, we can proceed."

"No problem." Maurice made to clap him on the shoulder, but Gold had tucked the papers under his arm and extended a hand, so he was forced to make their goodbye with a handshake. Belle couldn't help grinning; her father had never been good at formal business interactions. It was one of the things that her mother complained about and blamed for the lack of success of some of his projects. She supposed that having Gold aboard would work in his favour in that regard. She could certainly not imagine him coming out of a business meeting with anything but the outcome he had wanted. Her grin faded as Gold turned to her and met her eyes, and she swallowed again.

"Good day, Miss French," he said softly, and she nodded.

"I'll see you out," said Maurice cheerfully, and followed Gold from the kitchen, Belle drifting in his wake.

Maurice showed him to the door, and Gold caught a glimpse of Belle peering at him from the kitchen as he left. He nodded to her, making her duck her head back behind the door, and turned away to walk to his car. He relaxed into the back seat with a sigh, trying to steady his racing heart.

"Take me home, please, Dover," he said quietly, and the tall man nodded from his place behind the wheel.

Gold felt himself begin to calm as the car purred along, but his nerves still felt frazzled when he reached home, and he poured himself a whisky almost as soon as he was through the door. To see her again, after all this time, all those years of searching and never finding her… She was beautiful, as beautiful as he remembered. He paced the lounge, the pain in his leg keeping him from jumping for joy. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to take Belle in his arms and kiss her thoroughly, or fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness for his failings. He had thought that he had prepared himself for this encounter, that he would not react so strongly to her presence, but one sight of her and he felt all that they had had, and all they had lost. He ran his hands over his face, trying to calm himself, and picked up the phone to call Doc, as he had promised he would. The little man chirped that he'd be right over, and Gold put down the phone, finishing his whisky and pouring another.

Doc arrived on the doorstep with Chinese food, and Gold opened a bottle of wine and got out some plates to eat their meal at the kitchen table.

"So?" asked Doc, putting prawn crackers in a dish and pulling chopsticks from one of the bags of food. Gold set two wine glasses down slowly and poured the wine, handing one to the other man. He sighed, leaning on the kitchen table.

"She's so young, Doc," he said quietly. "She seems younger than ever, in this life. Can I do it to her? Can I really walk into her life and completely change everything for her?"

Doc leant back in his chair, taking a long swallow of wine, and eyed Gold speculatively.

"What's the alternative?" he asked, and Gold let his head drop momentarily before raising it to meet his eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Perhaps I should just let her be. Let her have a life of her own."

"She won't be happy," said Doc gently. "Not fully happy. You know that. Would you let her go on being as miserable as you've been these past seven lifetimes?"

"She doesn't remember!" snapped Gold, pushing himself upright. "That's the difference! Perhaps she could be happy, without me." His insides twisted at the thought. "Perhaps she could," he added, in a whisper, and Doc sighed, putting his glass down.

"You're afraid," he said sternly. "You think she won't love you as you love her. Is that why we have to go through this ridiculous charade every time? Is that why you make her fall in love with you before we wake her?"

"I want her to make her own choices." Gold began to pace, running his hand through his hair. "I don't give a fuck what the Seer may have done to us, I want her to choose."

"And you want her to choose you," said Doc gently. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. "Marcus, I get it. I do. But you have to stop beating yourself up like this every time. She's bound to you. She'll feel it. You know this."

"I know." Gold stopped, hands on his hips, head bowed. "She – she felt it. I could see it in her eyes." His voice trailed off in a whisper.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Doc, opening up his portion of char-siu pork.

"I don't know!" snapped Gold, starting to pace again. He ran a hand over his face. "Ah, who am I kidding? I can't fucking stay away from her, now I've found her again. It's taking every bit of my self-control not to grab her and kiss the hell out of her."

"I think that would be a bad move on your part," said Doc dryly, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Being arrested would not be an auspicious start to your life together."

"Agreed." Gold's voice was clipped, short. "Maybe – maybe I can offer her a job, part time, help her save for college. Her father's an idiot with money – I'm guessing he has nowhere near enough saved for her to attend a decent university."

Doc nodded thoughtfully. "That could work. Teach her contract law, or something."

"I was thinking something more pertaining to her own interests, and aligning with ours," said Gold, stroking his chin with a long finger. "I could let her help out with the old manuscripts."

Doc grinned, lifting his wineglass in a toast. "That sounds just like our girl," he said fondly.

A/N: Next time: Belle visits Gold at his office, and is offered a job.