A/N: A little pile of movie night fluff.

Gold glared out the window of his shop, catching Gretel Snyder's eye before she covered his new window display with one of those stupid movie night posters. Belle French was paying neighborhood children to hang those blasted flyers—again. Young Gretel's green eyes were as large as dinner plates as he scowled at her in a fierce yet silent showdown. She blinked, and he smirked in satisfaction. Then, with a triumphant grin, she slapped the paper against the glass and fled.

He hobbled to the door and snatched the paper, grinding it beneath his heel with a satisfactory crunch. "Meet Me in the Courtyard indeed," he muttered aloud to the empty shop. He picked at a stray bit of tape with his fingertips. Gold loathed movies, and he wouldn't take part in advertising this foolish community event, no matter how gorgeous and engaging its organizer was.

Movies reminded him of his ex-wife, Milah. Milah, who went to the theatre around the corner twice a week from their Boston apartment, a harmless habit which later evolved into bopping the concessions manager, who also happened to be a wannabe actor. Killian Jones, it seemed, had larger Jujubes than he did.

Not like it mattered. With his bum leg and too-sharp nose, he was hardly movie star material. He'd grown frustrated trying to fulfill Milah's ideal of a fantasy hero and when she wanted out of their loveless marriage, it had been a relief to let her go.

Besides, movies were silly, contrived stories with cardboard characters and unrealistic happy endings. Nothing of substance or real life in them. Watching only led to disappointment when reality didn't measure up to the ideal.

Movies. Gold shuddered. Even the smell of popcorn made him nauseated.

But the truth was, he was a hypocrite. He couldn't resist strolling by the library when Storybrooke hosted its monthly movie night. "Meet Me in the Courtyard" was Miss French's answer to the town's lack of a theatre. On the first Saturday of each month, citizens of all walks and ages gathered to watch a film and scarf gallons of "free" popcorn and oversized boxes of Raisinettes. Gold snorted. Nothing was free. Hard-earned tax dollars payed for those movie nights, but the unwitting victims seemed not to care. They were all-too-willing to trade precious time and money for ninety minutes of mindless pleasure.

Idiots.

Gold never attended these ridiculous affairs—at least, not technically. Instead he would lean on his cane behind a well-placed poplar tree, dividing his time between gawking at Miss French and contemplating the always-empty front aisle seat beside her. In all the months he'd been spying on her from the shadows, no one ever sat there. Person after person gave her a fond smile, patted her shoulder, and sidled by in search of another chair.

Puzzled, he shook his head. Belle was a pleasant, intelligent young woman with a bright, sweet voice, who always paid the rent on time. Between her visits to his shop and his trips to the library, he'd been in her presence often enough to know she didn't suffer from disgusting breath or bad body odor. No, she smelled of crushed rose petals and spring rain. Certainly she should have company at her own gathering. What was the matter with these so-called friends of hers?

An hour later, as dusk settled over Storybrooke, he found himself lurking behind a hedge as the petite town librarian struggled to push the snack cart through the damp grass in five-inch heels.

As usual, Belle was doing all the work alone. Why wasn't anyone helping her set up?

He may be a right bastard, but he was also a gentleman, and he couldn't in good conscious stand by and watch her muscle equipment into place. Gold flexed his fingers and stepped forward. He rested his cane against the south wall of the library, which served as the movie screen, and finished lining up the chairs in neat rows.

"Thank you, Mr. Gold. You're always so kind." Belle squeezed his forearm and the sunny smile she offered made his stomach flip-flop.

He brushed clammy hands on his suit pants and managed a stiff nod in reply. She continued to stand before him, her eyebrows raised in expectation. Mystified, Gold stared at her, then took a look around the courtyard in silent inventory; the snacks were out, the projector in place, and he'd done the chairs. What else could she want? He racked his brain for safe conversation topics, but he had nothing of value to say to this stunning creature.

"So, you, ah, like movies Miss French?" he asked around a cotton-filled mouth. Scintillating, Gold.

She nodded, her auburn curls bouncing with enthusiasm, then chirped, "the only thing better than a good movie is a good book."

"Ah," he said, trying not to roll his eyes. She was almost hopping up and down in excitement. In his mind, books were a great deal more superior than movies, but best not to rip off her rose-colored glasses.

"Will you be at the movie tonight?" she asked. "We're showing The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Such an underrated classic…"

He winced. Was she kidding? Why would he want to bear witness to the misery of a hunched over, lonesome orphan who cloaked himself in darkness, staying hidden from polite society? Poor Quasimodo was even in love with an unreachable woman.

The theme was far too familiar, and further proof he and Belle French may both reside in the same small town, but their lives were worlds apart.

"Not bloody likely," he bit out, then picked up his cane and beat a hasty retreat back to his shop.

xoxo

"Leaving the aisle seat empty again, Belles?" Ruby shook her head, then slid into her chair next to her boyfriend, Archie, right as the movie began. "He won't come. He never comes. What makes you think tonight will be any different?"

"He might," Belle insisted, lifting her chin. "There's always hope."

"Whatever." Ruby rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh.

The music swelled and the opening credits began, and Ruby turned her face toward the screen. Belle worried her lower lip as she looked down the row of chairs, hugging her popcorn for one to her chest.

Five minutes into the movie, Belle glanced at her patrons' faces, reflecting the glow of the screen. She was pleased to see so many townspeople enjoying the movie, but their joy left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. Mary Margaret's head was nestled against her fiancé, David's, shoulder; Ariel and Jefferson were holding hands; Mulan was feeding gummy bears to Merida; and Ruby had slung one long leg across Archie's lap.

It wasn't the movie making them happy; it was having someone to share it with.

All her friends were paired off; each of them had someone special to share movie night with—everyone except her. Afterward they would all go to Granny's for coffee and pie and chat about the movie, and once more she would be the third wheel, (or in this case, the ninth), squeezing into the corner of the booth, surrounded on all sides by loving couples. She was better off going home to a box of half-stale brown sugar Pop Tarts and re-reading Pride and Prejudice.

Belle sent a longing look toward the street, hoping Mr. Gold would reappear. She'd been delighted earlier this afternoon when he offered to help prepare the courtyard for the movie. The salty sea breeze had carried his spicy, masculine scent toward her, making her nostrils flare with pleasure. He smelled better than buttered popcorn.

It figured the one man she was interested in eschewed community gatherings. Belle's stomach dropped. Maybe she was the problem; when she dared to suggest he might break with tradition and attend tonight's festivities, he'd all but sprinted down the street to get away. Perhaps it was her choice of movie. Was he not a fan of Disney films?

She snapped her eyes back to the screen and tried to focus, but her thoughts returned again and again to Mr. Gold. Moments later she was scanning the streets once more, praying for a glimpse of him.

"Belle." Ruby nudged her with a sharp elbow. "What's with you? You've missed the entire first hour of the movie."

"Nothing," Belle whispered, massaging her sore neck between thumb and forefinger. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, right." Ruby snorted, sending several kernels of popcorn flying. "You're going to need a neck brace if you keep whipping your head around looking for Mr. Wonderful. Unless you want an excuse to visit Whale? I mean, he is pretty hot…"

"Ruby!" Belle shot a pointed look at Archie whose attention was thankfully on the movie.

"What? I meant for you, not me. For some reason, though, you'd rather have Gold." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't get it."

"You don't have to get it," Belle hissed.

"Shhh!" Leroy Kline pummeled Belle's shoulder with a box of Junior Mints, then leaned forward to poke his head between her and Ruby. "Take it somewhere else, sister. I'm tryin' to watch the movie here!"

"Sorry," Belle said, slumping in her seat before chancing another glance behind her.

xoxo

From the shadows on the street, Gold cringed. She was doing it again…turning around to look at him. No doubt wondering what he was doing there. Hell, he wanted to know himself. He should have snagged a chair in the back row or walked on when he first caught her watching him. Now it was too late. Now Belle—and everyone else in town—knew he was a pathetic stalker.

Miss French approached, and he froze like a deer staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Feeble attempts to look busy were in vain when he was standing under a street lamp, gaping at the makeshift movie screen. His hands started to sweat, then his cane slipped out of his grip and clattered on the sidewalk.

Belle bent down to retrieve it, and handed it over with a soft smile. "Are you all right, Mr. Gold?"

"I'm on my way. Don't bother." He turned around with a huff and stepped back into the shadows.

"Wait! Please!"

He spun on his heel and crossed his arms. "You think I don't notice, is that it? The way you're looking at me?"

"What? Oh." Belle pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. "Am I...I didn't realize I was so obvious."

So he'd embarrassed her? Good.

"Quite, Miss French." He stabbed the sidewalk with his cane for emphasis.

"Please call me Belle," she said, a bit too sharply.

He raised an eyebrow. "As you wish, Belle."

He spat out her name like it tasted bad, and Belle shook her head. He was misinterpreting every move she made.

"Need I remind you I don't need your permission to walk this street during your preposterous movie event or at any other time?" He gave an imperious wave to hide his trembling fingers. "I own this block," he barked. "I own this whole town."

"I know." Belle shivered, then hugged herself. "I keep turning around because…"

He cut her off, unwilling to listen to excuses.

"I thought you were different, Miss French. But I suppose that's only one-on-one, eh?" Furious and hurt, he considered her visits to his shop when she quizzed him about the antiques on display and chatted about old books, or her winsome smile as she'd accepted his help earlier this evening. All a ruse to make him look like a fool. "In public—where it counts—you're just like the rest of them."

Belle's teary eyes shimmered in the moonlight. "You don't understand anything!"

She slapped him on the arm, the blow carrying surprising bite through three layers of fabric. He took a half-step back in surprise.

"And you didn't let me finish!" Her hands were on her hips now, her eyes sparking in the dark. "So you noticed me watching you, but you never noticed I leave the seat beside me vacant? While all my friends pair off with their sweethearts to watch the movie, I turn around to look at you because…because…"

"Why?" he asked in a half whisper, and oh, God, all at once he knew the answer. He was terrified to be right, but even more terrified to be wrong. He leaned closer, needing to hear her say the words.

"Because I'm an idiot!" she snapped. "I keep hoping you'll stop being such a pompous ass and come sit with me!"

Well. That certainly put him in his place. Several moviegoers turned around to see what the commotion was, and he waved at the wall. "Show's over there, folks!"

Two dozen heads swiveled back toward the movie, and he returned his attention to Belle.

"Pompous ass, am I?" he asked, unable to stop the smile cracking his face.

Her eyes widened and she twisted her fingers in her skirt. "Not usually, but…yes! At the moment, you're being a first-class jerk."

"Forgive me, Miss French, please. I didn't realize…" He grimaced, raising his hands then dropping them in defeat. He thought she'd been embarrassed by his presence. "You'd be right to snub me. I'm the town pariah."

"Not to me." She took a step closer. "You're handsome and witty and sweet, and I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I've had a terrible crush on you for ages. For months I've racked my brain, trying to come up with a movie even you couldn't resist. Anything to get you to meet me in the courtyard." She laughed weakly at her little pun.

"I'm not much for movies," he admitted.

"You don't say." She smothered a giggle. "Hard to believe the same man who feeds stray dogs and cats in the alley outside frightens away children who dare to hang flyers outside his shop window."

Gold bowed his head. For someone who valued privacy and solitude, he was an open book to this beautiful, extraordinary woman. A flush of embarrassment radiated from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"Movies don't quite offer the same escape for me as they do for others." He kept his voice soft, attempting to explain without saying too much. He darted his eyes toward the audience and licked his parched lips.

Belle nodded, and linked her arm through his, pulling him closer until they stood flush against one another. "We could leave," she suggested. "Late dinner at Granny's?"

Hesitant, Gold lifted his gaze to the screen, watching the scene when Quasimodo rescues Esmeralda in the square unfold. He turned to Belle. "Perhaps we should stay."

Her mouth dropped open. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." He gulped. He wasn't sure at all, but Belle had gone out of her way to reserve him a chair and make him welcome. She'd shown him kindness, not pity, and he wanted to do something to please her in return.

"Maybe we can find a way to make movies a happy experience for us both?" She held out her hand, offering more than he thought possible with the small gesture.

"I would like that," he said, lifting her hand to his mouth to kiss her chocolate-scented fingers.

He followed her into the soft crush of grass, winding through the cluster of chairs, and took his seat.

###