Chapter Text
“Is Belle your girlfriend?” Henry asked, narrowing his eyes at his grandfather and looking very suspicious. Rumple could only be glad that Belle hadn't followed them to Henry's room; if she'd been there to see him blush and stammer it would only make things worse.
Bae, however, didn't seem to understand the gravity of the question and laughed at his son. “Nah, Henry, Belle is my friend. Your grandpa only gave her a ride here.”
He went back to rearranging things in Henry's closet to make space for Rumple's clothes, as if the subject was now over and done with. But Henry didn't look convinced, and still regarded his grandfather as if waiting to hear it from his lips.
“She's a friend, Henry,” he finally managed to say. “She's your dad's friends. And my friend. She just needed a ride. And I'm married, if you recall.”
Rumple pointed at the wedding ring on his left hand.
Henry shrugged at it.
“Grandma never comes to these things,” he said.
“Yes, well,” Rumple answered, with practiced dismissiveness. Over the years, Milah had only been brought up in conversation a couple of times, and Bae was always the one to handle it, keeping things as vague as possible. He didn't know just how much Henry understood of their situation, but the boy was bound to know things were, at the very least, unusual.
“My friend Ava's grandparents got divorced,” Henry said, conversational. “Now her grandfather is dating his secretary. She's young, too.”
Bae laughed again. “You hear that, old man? There's chance for you still.”
“Very funny.”
“Though the secretary is older than Belle, from what I heard.”
Of course she is, Rumple thought, pained.
“There,” Bae announced. “I don't think it will be enough, but you can move some things to my study when Belle leaves on Sunday.”
“No need. You know me, I pack lightly.”
“You pack an absurd amount of shirts and shoes, is what you do.”
“Mom says you pack like a girl,” Henry told him.
Rumple rolled his eyes. “Your mother thinks she can survive an entire month on the contents of a backpack, Henry. I don't think she's an authority on the issue.”
“True,” he agreed. “How old is Belle?”
“What?”
“Like, since she's younger than the secretary?”
Younger than your father.
“God, Henry, I don't know!” he lied. “And don't you ask her that. It's very rude.”
“Why?”
“Because women don't like it when we ask their age.”
“Why?”
“Henry, why don't you go take the potatoes out of the fridge?” Bae said. “So that we can get started on the cooking.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Is it too late to take the couch?” Rumple asked, as the boy left the room. “I thought I'd be sharing a bedroom with my loving grandson, not an FBI interrogator.”
“Yeah, sorry. The whole Ava thing is putting ideas in his head. But then again, he is a writer, isn't he?”
“Worries me, the kind of story he might write someday.”
“You're a grumpy grandpa, aren't you?” Bae said, tough he sounded amused.
“I just spent eight hours inside a car and my leg is killing me. I'm allowed to feel grumpy.”
“Then maybe I should tell you this now, so that you'll have time to get used to the idea.”
“The idea of what?”
“August is coming to my birthday dinner.”
His father grimaced. “Oh, lord, not the peacock!”
“Is it too much to ask that you stop calling him that?” Bae asked, annoyed.
“Does he have to come? I thought you wanted family only.”
“He is family. He's been like a brother to Emma since the foster system, and he happens to be a good friend of mine, too.”
“But what about Mary Margaret? In her condition, she shouldn't be cooking for-”
“God dad, she's pregnant. She's not dying. And she said it's fine, that it'll keep her occupied.”
“But does he have to?” Rumple insisted, his voice bordering on whiny. He'd always found August Booth to be an unsavory person. The thought of having him around during such a private moment was a little hard to swallow. Everything the other man wanted to do was talk about himself, his books, and his trips, usually in a condescending tone.
Bae argued, “I am turning his best seller into a graphic novel, dad. Of course he has to come. He's an old friend, and this can turn out to be a very lucrative partnership.”
“Right.”
“And Belle is coming, too. She's just as much our family as August is.”
“I still like her better,” he muttered.
“Dad...”
“Fine, I'll behave. I'll retire to a corner with David and pretend he's not there.”
“Now, was that so hard?”
“Don't patronize your father.”
Bae chuckled. “I can do whatever I want. I am officially a grown-up.”
“Not before tomorrow, you're not.”
“And how about Belle? Was it difficult to drive her here?”
“Nonsense, she's a great co-pilot.”
“I meant because of mom.”
Rumple nodded. “Right. No. All is fine.”
“Are you sure mom won't, you know, react badly to her being here?” Bae said, treading carefully. “I know Belle is not her favorite person right now.”
“I can handle your mother.”
“I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to.”
Rumple drummed his fingers on the handle of his cane.
“I'm not trying to start a fight,” Bae said, defensive.
Rumple answered, “I know. You're worried. Don't be. There's no reason. I don't think your mother really cares.”
“What do you mean?”
Rumple looked at his son, who was regarding him with curiosity, but shook his head. “It means that I'm tired and grumpy and I want an early dinner. Come on, it's not polite to keep your guests waiting. Any grown-up would know that.”