OUaT: Stories, in the End (2/7)
Rating: PG (a little more language and violence than you'd find in Disney, and possibly a smidge more sex)
Word Count: 1,657
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: This is such an id!fic chapter. Oh well. Also, I’ve done my best to remember all of Rumpelstiltskin’s machinations as of "Skin Deep." It is not easy. Apologies for anything I’ve missed and/or screwed up. Chapters posted every other day. For zombres.
Summary: Regina has been deposed, but the curse is still in force. Rumpelstiltskin fetches something very precious from her vaults. Then things get really interesting.
Chapter One
When they emerge on the hospital’s ground floor, Belle does her best to stay calm. Thankfully no one pays them much attention- the place is rather busy with nurses and doctors tending to a number of injured people. The injuries appear minor, cuts and bruises mostly, but Belle still frowns, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? That’s why you came for me.”
“The Queen isn’t in control of Storybrooke any longer. She didn’t give up easily, and she’s still refusing to cooperate in order to break the curse once and for all.”
“Oh.”
The first person to acknowledge them is a very tall, broad man wearing black clothing and sunglasses. He wordlessly hands Rumpelstiltskin a bag, nods, then turns on his heel and leaves.
“And that was?” Belle asks.
“An employee, making a delivery I asked for.” Rumpelstiltskin holds the bag out to Belle, “Something slightly more flattering than hospital rags.”
Comprehension dawns as Belle takes the bag and spots a bundle of fabric inside. Light blue, her favorite. He leads her to a single-person bathroom, and stands aside so she can enter and close the door. She takes a breath, better able to in this small, manageable space. Reaches out to touch opposite walls, just for a moment. Her time under lock and key has done a number on her, she knows. One step at a time.
Inside the bag is a blue dress, a soft white cardigan, and simple flat shoes. Belle yanks off her patient/prisoner’s uniform as fast as she can and all but throws the dress on over her head. She reaches behind her to find no buttons or laces, but instead two rows of cold metal teeth. Scouring her memory for what to do with these, she tries to angle her arms to pull the tab that brings the teeth together. She surrenders after a few awkward moments, and pokes her head out of the bathroom. “Um...” she hesitates to call his name, but she has nothing else to use, “Rumpelstiltskin?”
He glances up from his position leaning against the far wall. He pushes away from it and eases forward on his cane. “I’m known as Mr. Gold here.”
Belle blinks, “Mr. Gold. That’s subtle.”
Rumpelstiltskin snickers, “Isn’t it, though? What’s the matter?”
Belle sighs in frustration, “It’s this- what did they call it? A zipper? I can’t... quite reach. Here, do it up, will you?” She turns around and pulls her hair out of the way. She hopes her ribs aren’t showing.
“Oh. Ah, certainly.” His hands light on her lower back. Belle wonders if she’s imagining how warm they feel as one holds her still and the other pulls the zipper up between her shoulder blades.
He lets go and she turns around. “Good?” she asks.
His eyes wander over her body, “Perfect.”
Belle turns back to the bag, fiddling with the cardigan’s buttons and the shoes long enough for her blush to go away. She really has to forget all that- as if they both don’t have more important things to worry about. As if he could have changed his mind.
Belle feels an odd kind of triumph as they leave the hospital. She made it. Endured the seemingly endless isolation of the cell with her mind and self intact. She’s free, and the Queen isn’t. Turnabout seems more than fair play.
They make their way into the heart of the town. Belle would have thought with the overthrow of the Queen that the population of Storybrooke might begin to notice that their lives aren’t what they should be. However, everyone seems to be going about their various routines. The only oddness in their behavior are the glances they keep throwing in Belle and Rumpelstiltskin’s direction. “What are they looking at? Haven’t they seen two people take a stroll before?”
Rumpelstiltskin coughs, “Not when those two people are myself and a beautiful young woman. They probably think I’ve tricked you into escorting me somewhere.”
“I see,” Belle replies as a dark well of protectiveness opens within her. Who are these people to judge Rumpelstiltskin? They don’t know a damn thing about him. Spotting one more snooping face peering at them, she snuggles into his side like it’s her favorite place in the world. As his arm wraps around her and holds her close, that’s more true than not. The peering eyes get a lot more subtle.
After a while, Rumpelstiltskin asks, “Where would you like to go, Belle? I leave the decision entirely in your hands. I...” his voice softens, “I could take you to your father’s house.”
Various emotions war in Belle at the thought of seeing her father again. She can’t help remembering when she was taken to the mental ward, the way he just stood there, looking as blank as he always did when she talked about home and who they really were. She has to believe it was the curse that made him shut her out like that, and he’ll regret it the instant his memories return. But until then... “No. I probably should, but... I’d rather not.”
“Very well. We can go to my house. I’ll make you supper, for a change.”
Belle laughs, “I do hope you’re better at it than I was. But then, you chose to steal a lady instead of hiring a cook.”
“Steal? I didn’t steal anything. It was a perfectly even trade. I didn’t hear you complain.”
“Because you were on the other side of the dungeon door, you awful beast!” She smacks his shoulder.
“Yes, that wasn’t very hospitable of me. But the look on your face was priceless.”
Belle shoves Rumpelstiltskin away. But not too far, of course.
***
He’s as good as his word. Belle sits at his kitchen table and watches him prepare a simple meal. “It’s quite an estate you have here,” she remarks, recalling the rooms she’s seen, all populated with a multiplicity of objects from musical instruments to works of art to sporting equipment, on and on.
“I made a deal with the Queen once. That’s my payment.”
“But what about your memories? I’m sure if she knew you remembered you would have been in the cell next to me.”
She sees the edge of his smile, “I managed to use my power before the curse reached me, to remember my true identity.”
“And for me to remember mine.”
He pauses. Turns his eyes to her. “So it would appear.” He turns back to the food.
Belle runs a finger along the wood grain, “That seems odd. If you really thought I was dead.”
“Perhaps my power knew more than I did. That wouldn’t surprise me.”
“What did you think happened to me?” It’s a morbid question that she can’t help asking. It’s not every day she comes back to life, if only in the eyes of one person.
“The Queen said... you tried to go home, but your father cast you out. That you were locked in a tower and set upon by clerics to cleanse you of my influence. That you killed yourself.”
Belle gapes, “That’s grotesque! Why did you believe her?”
Rumpelstiltskin has gone still, facing away from Belle. “Because... because it’s what I’ve come to expect. It’s the fate of anyone who I... have in my life. I lose them.”
Belle smiles, “I’m not lost.”
“Yes. But you must be hungry.” He carries over a plate for her before fetching his own, never quite managing to meet her eye.
Night falls as they eat. Belle looks into the darkness beyond the windows, and feels as if this kitchen is all that exists, that she and Rumpelstiltskin can sit and chat and eat supper forever. But eventually the food’s gone, and so are two cups of tea. Belle finds herself tracing the wood grain again.
“I have a guest bedroom,” Rumpelstiltskin says, “Upstairs, third door down. It should be comfortable.” When Belle stays silent, he continues, “Unless you’d prefer something else- that can certainly be arranged. There’s an inn down the road that’s very pleasant, I’m sure they have a room available-”
“No, I’ll... I’ll stay, if it’s all right. I just...”
“Just what?”
Belle looks up at him. His steady gaze pulls the words from her. “I just feel mostly certain I’m going to wake up in my cell again, that’s all. It’s been a dream, like I wouldn’t let myself expect. I had to. I couldn’t think about the future in there. It was too frightening.”
It’s hard to breathe again. If she really does wake up in her cell, it could very well break her. She covers her eyes with one hand, while the other seeks out Rumpelstiltskin’s. She grips it as hard as she dares, feeling its blood warmth and the callus from his cane. That’s real. As real as home. It has to be.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, gently shepherding her up and into the sitting room. He clears a pile of books off of a sofa and moves her to sit on it. He sits next to her and picks up a small device, a remote control she recalls, turning on a television set nearly buried under several stacks of paper. “You’re afraid if you go to sleep you’ll wake up somewhere else. And aren’t we all? In the grand American tradition, we shall watch television until we forget what we’re scared of. Or find something else to be scared of, depending on the program.”
Images flicker on the screen. Belle watches them, still utterly baffled by how the television works if not by magic.
Rumpelstiltskin stops when a carriage rolls into view and a hawk-nosed man climbs out, “Ah, Sherlock Holmes, perfect.”
“Who is that?”
“A very famous legend here. He solves mysteries. He’s brilliant, just you watch.”
Belle smiles to see Rumpelstiltskin’s obvious pleasure. And she’s most interested to see what this world calls a mystery. She settles in to watch.
Chapter Three
Word Count: 1,657
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: This is such an id!fic chapter. Oh well. Also, I’ve done my best to remember all of Rumpelstiltskin’s machinations as of "Skin Deep." It is not easy. Apologies for anything I’ve missed and/or screwed up. Chapters posted every other day. For zombres.
Summary: Regina has been deposed, but the curse is still in force. Rumpelstiltskin fetches something very precious from her vaults. Then things get really interesting.
Chapter One
When they emerge on the hospital’s ground floor, Belle does her best to stay calm. Thankfully no one pays them much attention- the place is rather busy with nurses and doctors tending to a number of injured people. The injuries appear minor, cuts and bruises mostly, but Belle still frowns, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? That’s why you came for me.”
“The Queen isn’t in control of Storybrooke any longer. She didn’t give up easily, and she’s still refusing to cooperate in order to break the curse once and for all.”
“Oh.”
The first person to acknowledge them is a very tall, broad man wearing black clothing and sunglasses. He wordlessly hands Rumpelstiltskin a bag, nods, then turns on his heel and leaves.
“And that was?” Belle asks.
“An employee, making a delivery I asked for.” Rumpelstiltskin holds the bag out to Belle, “Something slightly more flattering than hospital rags.”
Comprehension dawns as Belle takes the bag and spots a bundle of fabric inside. Light blue, her favorite. He leads her to a single-person bathroom, and stands aside so she can enter and close the door. She takes a breath, better able to in this small, manageable space. Reaches out to touch opposite walls, just for a moment. Her time under lock and key has done a number on her, she knows. One step at a time.
Inside the bag is a blue dress, a soft white cardigan, and simple flat shoes. Belle yanks off her patient/prisoner’s uniform as fast as she can and all but throws the dress on over her head. She reaches behind her to find no buttons or laces, but instead two rows of cold metal teeth. Scouring her memory for what to do with these, she tries to angle her arms to pull the tab that brings the teeth together. She surrenders after a few awkward moments, and pokes her head out of the bathroom. “Um...” she hesitates to call his name, but she has nothing else to use, “Rumpelstiltskin?”
He glances up from his position leaning against the far wall. He pushes away from it and eases forward on his cane. “I’m known as Mr. Gold here.”
Belle blinks, “Mr. Gold. That’s subtle.”
Rumpelstiltskin snickers, “Isn’t it, though? What’s the matter?”
Belle sighs in frustration, “It’s this- what did they call it? A zipper? I can’t... quite reach. Here, do it up, will you?” She turns around and pulls her hair out of the way. She hopes her ribs aren’t showing.
“Oh. Ah, certainly.” His hands light on her lower back. Belle wonders if she’s imagining how warm they feel as one holds her still and the other pulls the zipper up between her shoulder blades.
He lets go and she turns around. “Good?” she asks.
His eyes wander over her body, “Perfect.”
Belle turns back to the bag, fiddling with the cardigan’s buttons and the shoes long enough for her blush to go away. She really has to forget all that- as if they both don’t have more important things to worry about. As if he could have changed his mind.
Belle feels an odd kind of triumph as they leave the hospital. She made it. Endured the seemingly endless isolation of the cell with her mind and self intact. She’s free, and the Queen isn’t. Turnabout seems more than fair play.
They make their way into the heart of the town. Belle would have thought with the overthrow of the Queen that the population of Storybrooke might begin to notice that their lives aren’t what they should be. However, everyone seems to be going about their various routines. The only oddness in their behavior are the glances they keep throwing in Belle and Rumpelstiltskin’s direction. “What are they looking at? Haven’t they seen two people take a stroll before?”
Rumpelstiltskin coughs, “Not when those two people are myself and a beautiful young woman. They probably think I’ve tricked you into escorting me somewhere.”
“I see,” Belle replies as a dark well of protectiveness opens within her. Who are these people to judge Rumpelstiltskin? They don’t know a damn thing about him. Spotting one more snooping face peering at them, she snuggles into his side like it’s her favorite place in the world. As his arm wraps around her and holds her close, that’s more true than not. The peering eyes get a lot more subtle.
After a while, Rumpelstiltskin asks, “Where would you like to go, Belle? I leave the decision entirely in your hands. I...” his voice softens, “I could take you to your father’s house.”
Various emotions war in Belle at the thought of seeing her father again. She can’t help remembering when she was taken to the mental ward, the way he just stood there, looking as blank as he always did when she talked about home and who they really were. She has to believe it was the curse that made him shut her out like that, and he’ll regret it the instant his memories return. But until then... “No. I probably should, but... I’d rather not.”
“Very well. We can go to my house. I’ll make you supper, for a change.”
Belle laughs, “I do hope you’re better at it than I was. But then, you chose to steal a lady instead of hiring a cook.”
“Steal? I didn’t steal anything. It was a perfectly even trade. I didn’t hear you complain.”
“Because you were on the other side of the dungeon door, you awful beast!” She smacks his shoulder.
“Yes, that wasn’t very hospitable of me. But the look on your face was priceless.”
Belle shoves Rumpelstiltskin away. But not too far, of course.
***
He’s as good as his word. Belle sits at his kitchen table and watches him prepare a simple meal. “It’s quite an estate you have here,” she remarks, recalling the rooms she’s seen, all populated with a multiplicity of objects from musical instruments to works of art to sporting equipment, on and on.
“I made a deal with the Queen once. That’s my payment.”
“But what about your memories? I’m sure if she knew you remembered you would have been in the cell next to me.”
She sees the edge of his smile, “I managed to use my power before the curse reached me, to remember my true identity.”
“And for me to remember mine.”
He pauses. Turns his eyes to her. “So it would appear.” He turns back to the food.
Belle runs a finger along the wood grain, “That seems odd. If you really thought I was dead.”
“Perhaps my power knew more than I did. That wouldn’t surprise me.”
“What did you think happened to me?” It’s a morbid question that she can’t help asking. It’s not every day she comes back to life, if only in the eyes of one person.
“The Queen said... you tried to go home, but your father cast you out. That you were locked in a tower and set upon by clerics to cleanse you of my influence. That you killed yourself.”
Belle gapes, “That’s grotesque! Why did you believe her?”
Rumpelstiltskin has gone still, facing away from Belle. “Because... because it’s what I’ve come to expect. It’s the fate of anyone who I... have in my life. I lose them.”
Belle smiles, “I’m not lost.”
“Yes. But you must be hungry.” He carries over a plate for her before fetching his own, never quite managing to meet her eye.
Night falls as they eat. Belle looks into the darkness beyond the windows, and feels as if this kitchen is all that exists, that she and Rumpelstiltskin can sit and chat and eat supper forever. But eventually the food’s gone, and so are two cups of tea. Belle finds herself tracing the wood grain again.
“I have a guest bedroom,” Rumpelstiltskin says, “Upstairs, third door down. It should be comfortable.” When Belle stays silent, he continues, “Unless you’d prefer something else- that can certainly be arranged. There’s an inn down the road that’s very pleasant, I’m sure they have a room available-”
“No, I’ll... I’ll stay, if it’s all right. I just...”
“Just what?”
Belle looks up at him. His steady gaze pulls the words from her. “I just feel mostly certain I’m going to wake up in my cell again, that’s all. It’s been a dream, like I wouldn’t let myself expect. I had to. I couldn’t think about the future in there. It was too frightening.”
It’s hard to breathe again. If she really does wake up in her cell, it could very well break her. She covers her eyes with one hand, while the other seeks out Rumpelstiltskin’s. She grips it as hard as she dares, feeling its blood warmth and the callus from his cane. That’s real. As real as home. It has to be.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, gently shepherding her up and into the sitting room. He clears a pile of books off of a sofa and moves her to sit on it. He sits next to her and picks up a small device, a remote control she recalls, turning on a television set nearly buried under several stacks of paper. “You’re afraid if you go to sleep you’ll wake up somewhere else. And aren’t we all? In the grand American tradition, we shall watch television until we forget what we’re scared of. Or find something else to be scared of, depending on the program.”
Images flicker on the screen. Belle watches them, still utterly baffled by how the television works if not by magic.
Rumpelstiltskin stops when a carriage rolls into view and a hawk-nosed man climbs out, “Ah, Sherlock Holmes, perfect.”
“Who is that?”
“A very famous legend here. He solves mysteries. He’s brilliant, just you watch.”
Belle smiles to see Rumpelstiltskin’s obvious pleasure. And she’s most interested to see what this world calls a mystery. She settles in to watch.
Chapter Three