OUaT: Stories, in the End (5/7)
Rating: PG (a little more language and violence than you'd find in Disney, and possibly a smidge more sex)
Word Count: 1,544
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: You know, I’m pretty sure this fic may be the only time the number of female characters with speaking roles has outnumbered the male ones for me. Which is awesome. 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 Four
Belle’s never gone to a social function alone before. And never one so small and informal. The novelty is just enough to keep her from curling up on the inn’s bed cradling her pain for the rest of the night.
She’s a little relieved to see Sheriff Swan standing outside the bar. There’s a very good chance she would have given up if she had to wait by herself. “Good evening, sheriff.”
She rolls her eyes with a smile, “Please, call me Emma, we’re drinking together for god’s sake. Well, I’m taking a break from guard duty, but I’ll watch you drink. Come on.”
Belle feels a sting of unease at the thought of alcohol, she’s never had a drop in her life, but Emma wraps a hand around her arm and tugs her through the door. The small room is almost overheated with the crowd inside. Emma threads their way to a table where two other women sit. They look very different than she remembers, but it’s still obviously Snow White and Cinderella.
“Mary Margaret, Ashley,” Emma says, “This is Belle. She’s, uh... from the old country.”
Snow White- or, Mary Margaret’s eyes widen, “Wait, so, you mean... she remembers?” Her gaze turns to Belle, “I’m sorry if we’re best friends and I don’t remember you. That would be kind of awful.”
Belle smiles, “I only met you once or twice, at some of the bigger balls.”
Ashley perks up, “The bigger balls you say? Wow, you’re really slumming it here with us.”
Belle feels her cheeks go red, “No, no, it was... you two, you were the princesses. I was lucky to be there.”
“I hope we weren’t snobby,” Mary Margaret says, broadcasting concern.
“You were always kind, you both were. You were kind to everyone.”
Mary Margaret lets out a sigh, the clouds clearing from her face, “That’s a relief. This whole situation is weird enough without baggage like that.”
“Tell me about it,” Ashley says, “So, Belle, what are you drinking?”
She blinks, glancing around at her companions’ expectant faces. She does feel safe with them, even without the guards and chaperones that would normally protect them. “I’m... not sure. Does someone want to order for me?”
“I’ll handle it,” Emma says, “You all keep catching up, and I’ll be right back. Hey, Belle, why don’t you tell them about Mr. Gold?” She vanishes into the crowd.
Mary Margaret and Ashley stare at Belle like she’s sprouted feathers. Belle’s blush returns with a vengeance.
“Do you know who Mr. Gold is, really?” Mary Margaret asks, “No one’s figured it out, and... well, I don’t think anyone’s asked him, but I haven’t heard about him telling anyone, if he even knows...”
“If he’d rather not share it himself, I don’t really think I should. Sorry.”
Ashley shrugs, “Fair enough. But, you know him?” She squints and smirks, “Wait, you don’t- know him know him, right?”
Belle can’t meet their eyes anymore. How can she even begin to answer that question? Her automatic embarrassment recedes as sorrow returns. She sighs, “It’s complicated.”
Mary Margaret reaches over and lays a hand on hers. Belle glances up to see her sorrow reflected. “I get that, believe me.”
Emma makes her way back to the table. “Aw, what’s with the sad faces? Here,” she plunks a glass with something clear and fizzy in it, “Drink up, you’ll feel better.”
Belle takes a sip- and immediately grimaces at the combination of fizz, burn, sugar, and strangely, mint.
Emma laughs, “Yeah, I know. Trust me, the best stuff is at the bottom.”
Mary Margaret and Ashley giggle and clink their glasses against Belle’s.
“So, why haven’t I seen you around town?” Mary Margaret asks, “Ashley, you haven’t seen Belle, have you?” Ashley shakes her head.
“The Queen locked me in the mental ward, because I still had my memories of home.” Again she’s subjected to their shocked stares. She’s quick to smile, “It’s all right though. R-Mr. Gold came and got me out yesterday.”
The words are barely out of her mouth before it hits her. The yawning stretch of time in the cell. The methodical playback of memories that were both the cause of her imprisonment and the only way to endure it. She feels Mary Margaret’s hand on hers again, “It was sweet of Mr. Gold to do that.”
She shrugs, “He might as well have. He was the reason I was in there, unintentionally.”
Why won’t he just admit it? He used that power he loves so much to protect her identity, even when he thought she was dead and gone. That means something. It has to.
“Yeah, ‘complicated’ sounds about right,” Ashley says. Emma and Mary Margaret make matching sounds of wordless agreement. Belle takes a long sip.
She lets the other three women carry the conversation. Until they get their memories back she doesn’t have much to say to them, and since altogether Belle’s spent about a week in Storybrooke outside the cell they don’t have much to say to her. But she’s happy for the distraction as they chat about their unfamiliar lives. And the drink helps- it does go down easier after a while.
“All done?” Emma asks. Belle discovers her glass is empty, and nods. Emma stands, “I should get back to the station, make sure Regina’s still comfortable. And call Archie, make sure Henry isn’t bouncing off the walls. Belle, do you want me to walk you back to Granny’s?”
Belle is briefly distracted by the tingling sensation she feels when she flexes her hands, “Hm? Oh, yes, thanks.” She turns to Mary Margaret and Ashley, “It was nice meeting you. It’ll be nicer when you remember me.”
They smile and make their goodbyes. Emma and Belle step out of the bar.
“They’re nice,” Belle remarks, “Still nice. I suppose that didn’t change in Storybrooke.”
“Was Mr. Gold ever nice?”
Belle giggles, “I’m not telling. But he was... I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with powerful people, like the Queen. They’re just... on another level. And you... keep up, as best you can.”
“He was powerful, like Regina?”
“Powerful... er. More powerful. Maybe that changed here. He’s still cursed though. Him and his wonderful curse.”
“That’s interesting...” Emma lapses into a thoughtful silence as they arrive at Granny’s.
“Good night,” Belle says. Emma smiles and says the same, though her mind is clearly still occupied.
Belle falls into bed with her head still slightly spinning. A dreamless sleep shelters her from the mess of her life.
***
Belle lets the morning creep by her window. She truly has no reason to rise. Papa isn’t waiting for her to make an appearance in the great hall for breakfast. She has no food to prepare or chores to do for Rumpelstiltskin. She doesn’t even have to worry about the Queen coming to throw her back in the cell. Sheer boredom alone drives her from bed, into some of the clean clothes found in two suitcases outside her room, and out into the streets of Storybrooke.
It’s still strange here. It always will be. But at least she isn’t flinching as much when cars pass her. No, now she sees them and thinks of her fears being soothed away in Rumpelstiltskin’s arms. I’m a hopeless case. She glances upwards and curses her luck even more. A sign overhead declares to the town the existence of “Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer.”
Belle knows she should bolt in the opposite direction, but movement inside catches her eye. Looking through the window and beyond a riot of objects, Belle can see Emma and Rumpelstiltskin talking together, heads bent close. Belle feels a magnificently immature sting of jealousy before she can stifle it. She’s ready to berate herself for her ridiculousness when Rumpelstiltskin picks up a leather-bound case. From it he extracts a long, wickedly serpentine dagger. Belle’s breath catches. Emma looks at the dagger, expression more solemn than Belle has yet seen it. She looks up at Rumpelstiltskin, who is speaking, and her solemnity turns to shocked protest. Then her gaze flicks sideways and lands right on Belle, who jumps and starts walking in a random direction. No one stops her.
She wholly intends to go back to the inn, or the bar, or anywhere that isn’t here, but somehow she can’t make it more than a few blocks before her stomach goes sour with diffuse fear. Something is happening, and this time she knows she can’t let herself miss it.
Soon enough Emma steps out of Rumpelstiltskin’s shop. She scans the area and spots Belle within seconds. Belle tries not to feel like a misbehaving child as she approaches. “What are the odds if I told you to go back to Granny’s and stay there until tomorrow you’d actually do it?”
“Can I help, at all?”
Emma sighs, “No offense, Belle, but I sincerely doubt it. That said, you’re probably my best choice for back-up. At least you have some idea what you’re getting into, which makes exactly one of us.”
Do the brave thing and bravery will follow, she’d said, a lifetime or two ago. Shame the things you need to be brave for always seem to get there first.
Chapter Six
Word Count: 1,544
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: You know, I’m pretty sure this fic may be the only time the number of female characters with speaking roles has outnumbered the male ones for me. Which is awesome. 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 Four
Belle’s never gone to a social function alone before. And never one so small and informal. The novelty is just enough to keep her from curling up on the inn’s bed cradling her pain for the rest of the night.
She’s a little relieved to see Sheriff Swan standing outside the bar. There’s a very good chance she would have given up if she had to wait by herself. “Good evening, sheriff.”
She rolls her eyes with a smile, “Please, call me Emma, we’re drinking together for god’s sake. Well, I’m taking a break from guard duty, but I’ll watch you drink. Come on.”
Belle feels a sting of unease at the thought of alcohol, she’s never had a drop in her life, but Emma wraps a hand around her arm and tugs her through the door. The small room is almost overheated with the crowd inside. Emma threads their way to a table where two other women sit. They look very different than she remembers, but it’s still obviously Snow White and Cinderella.
“Mary Margaret, Ashley,” Emma says, “This is Belle. She’s, uh... from the old country.”
Snow White- or, Mary Margaret’s eyes widen, “Wait, so, you mean... she remembers?” Her gaze turns to Belle, “I’m sorry if we’re best friends and I don’t remember you. That would be kind of awful.”
Belle smiles, “I only met you once or twice, at some of the bigger balls.”
Ashley perks up, “The bigger balls you say? Wow, you’re really slumming it here with us.”
Belle feels her cheeks go red, “No, no, it was... you two, you were the princesses. I was lucky to be there.”
“I hope we weren’t snobby,” Mary Margaret says, broadcasting concern.
“You were always kind, you both were. You were kind to everyone.”
Mary Margaret lets out a sigh, the clouds clearing from her face, “That’s a relief. This whole situation is weird enough without baggage like that.”
“Tell me about it,” Ashley says, “So, Belle, what are you drinking?”
She blinks, glancing around at her companions’ expectant faces. She does feel safe with them, even without the guards and chaperones that would normally protect them. “I’m... not sure. Does someone want to order for me?”
“I’ll handle it,” Emma says, “You all keep catching up, and I’ll be right back. Hey, Belle, why don’t you tell them about Mr. Gold?” She vanishes into the crowd.
Mary Margaret and Ashley stare at Belle like she’s sprouted feathers. Belle’s blush returns with a vengeance.
“Do you know who Mr. Gold is, really?” Mary Margaret asks, “No one’s figured it out, and... well, I don’t think anyone’s asked him, but I haven’t heard about him telling anyone, if he even knows...”
“If he’d rather not share it himself, I don’t really think I should. Sorry.”
Ashley shrugs, “Fair enough. But, you know him?” She squints and smirks, “Wait, you don’t- know him know him, right?”
Belle can’t meet their eyes anymore. How can she even begin to answer that question? Her automatic embarrassment recedes as sorrow returns. She sighs, “It’s complicated.”
Mary Margaret reaches over and lays a hand on hers. Belle glances up to see her sorrow reflected. “I get that, believe me.”
Emma makes her way back to the table. “Aw, what’s with the sad faces? Here,” she plunks a glass with something clear and fizzy in it, “Drink up, you’ll feel better.”
Belle takes a sip- and immediately grimaces at the combination of fizz, burn, sugar, and strangely, mint.
Emma laughs, “Yeah, I know. Trust me, the best stuff is at the bottom.”
Mary Margaret and Ashley giggle and clink their glasses against Belle’s.
“So, why haven’t I seen you around town?” Mary Margaret asks, “Ashley, you haven’t seen Belle, have you?” Ashley shakes her head.
“The Queen locked me in the mental ward, because I still had my memories of home.” Again she’s subjected to their shocked stares. She’s quick to smile, “It’s all right though. R-Mr. Gold came and got me out yesterday.”
The words are barely out of her mouth before it hits her. The yawning stretch of time in the cell. The methodical playback of memories that were both the cause of her imprisonment and the only way to endure it. She feels Mary Margaret’s hand on hers again, “It was sweet of Mr. Gold to do that.”
She shrugs, “He might as well have. He was the reason I was in there, unintentionally.”
Why won’t he just admit it? He used that power he loves so much to protect her identity, even when he thought she was dead and gone. That means something. It has to.
“Yeah, ‘complicated’ sounds about right,” Ashley says. Emma and Mary Margaret make matching sounds of wordless agreement. Belle takes a long sip.
She lets the other three women carry the conversation. Until they get their memories back she doesn’t have much to say to them, and since altogether Belle’s spent about a week in Storybrooke outside the cell they don’t have much to say to her. But she’s happy for the distraction as they chat about their unfamiliar lives. And the drink helps- it does go down easier after a while.
“All done?” Emma asks. Belle discovers her glass is empty, and nods. Emma stands, “I should get back to the station, make sure Regina’s still comfortable. And call Archie, make sure Henry isn’t bouncing off the walls. Belle, do you want me to walk you back to Granny’s?”
Belle is briefly distracted by the tingling sensation she feels when she flexes her hands, “Hm? Oh, yes, thanks.” She turns to Mary Margaret and Ashley, “It was nice meeting you. It’ll be nicer when you remember me.”
They smile and make their goodbyes. Emma and Belle step out of the bar.
“They’re nice,” Belle remarks, “Still nice. I suppose that didn’t change in Storybrooke.”
“Was Mr. Gold ever nice?”
Belle giggles, “I’m not telling. But he was... I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with powerful people, like the Queen. They’re just... on another level. And you... keep up, as best you can.”
“He was powerful, like Regina?”
“Powerful... er. More powerful. Maybe that changed here. He’s still cursed though. Him and his wonderful curse.”
“That’s interesting...” Emma lapses into a thoughtful silence as they arrive at Granny’s.
“Good night,” Belle says. Emma smiles and says the same, though her mind is clearly still occupied.
Belle falls into bed with her head still slightly spinning. A dreamless sleep shelters her from the mess of her life.
***
Belle lets the morning creep by her window. She truly has no reason to rise. Papa isn’t waiting for her to make an appearance in the great hall for breakfast. She has no food to prepare or chores to do for Rumpelstiltskin. She doesn’t even have to worry about the Queen coming to throw her back in the cell. Sheer boredom alone drives her from bed, into some of the clean clothes found in two suitcases outside her room, and out into the streets of Storybrooke.
It’s still strange here. It always will be. But at least she isn’t flinching as much when cars pass her. No, now she sees them and thinks of her fears being soothed away in Rumpelstiltskin’s arms. I’m a hopeless case. She glances upwards and curses her luck even more. A sign overhead declares to the town the existence of “Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer.”
Belle knows she should bolt in the opposite direction, but movement inside catches her eye. Looking through the window and beyond a riot of objects, Belle can see Emma and Rumpelstiltskin talking together, heads bent close. Belle feels a magnificently immature sting of jealousy before she can stifle it. She’s ready to berate herself for her ridiculousness when Rumpelstiltskin picks up a leather-bound case. From it he extracts a long, wickedly serpentine dagger. Belle’s breath catches. Emma looks at the dagger, expression more solemn than Belle has yet seen it. She looks up at Rumpelstiltskin, who is speaking, and her solemnity turns to shocked protest. Then her gaze flicks sideways and lands right on Belle, who jumps and starts walking in a random direction. No one stops her.
She wholly intends to go back to the inn, or the bar, or anywhere that isn’t here, but somehow she can’t make it more than a few blocks before her stomach goes sour with diffuse fear. Something is happening, and this time she knows she can’t let herself miss it.
Soon enough Emma steps out of Rumpelstiltskin’s shop. She scans the area and spots Belle within seconds. Belle tries not to feel like a misbehaving child as she approaches. “What are the odds if I told you to go back to Granny’s and stay there until tomorrow you’d actually do it?”
“Can I help, at all?”
Emma sighs, “No offense, Belle, but I sincerely doubt it. That said, you’re probably my best choice for back-up. At least you have some idea what you’re getting into, which makes exactly one of us.”
Do the brave thing and bravery will follow, she’d said, a lifetime or two ago. Shame the things you need to be brave for always seem to get there first.
Chapter Six