Fic: A Sign of Weakness (2/?)
Title: A Sign of Weakness (2/?)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Rumpelstiltskin/Belle, the Queen, Sir Maurice
Summary: The Queen comes to take Belle from her father's home, and her bravery finally cracks
A/N: Nearly every review seems to have been a plea for this to continue: so it has... mainly because even I wanted to know what happened next. Still, never let it be said that I don't bow to peer pressure. This might have one or two more chapters, especially since I seem to be writing near-constantly these days.
The Queen's grip on Belle's arm slackened somewhat, but no one moved.
Belle was certain she was dead.
She had to be: how else could she come to be trapped between two distinctly different nightmares, with no place to run?
The Queen had killed her, and now she was floating in some kind of hellish limbo.
Rumpelstiltskin's smile was murderous. She hoped it wasn't for her.
Then his eyes flicked to hers, and they met in the middle for just a moment. His face softened almost imperceptibly, the rage in his eyes lost in something warmer, something so deeply sad that, for just a moment, her concern for her life was overtaken by pain for him.
But she was only here because of him; because he was an idiot, and a monster, and had abandoned her to her fate because of his own blind, stupid fear.
To hell sympathy: she was angry.
"Get out of my carriage, Rumpel," The Queen had recovered her voice, and it was low and dangerous, "You'll get glitter on my upholstery."
"Get your hands off my housekeeper, and we'll see." His teeth were bared in an approximation of a smile, and it was the most terrifying thing Belle had ever seen.
"Yours?" The Queen laughed, "You threw her out: she's no more bound to you than anyone."
Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands, palms flat. A blast of pure energy rippled through the air, throwing both women backward onto the forest floor.
He was in front of Belle in a second, hauling her to her feet and throwing her behind him. The rough motion hurt her aching limbs, and she moaned and winced in pain. Her leg screamed in pain, the joint unused to standing, let alone running.
She saw his first real glance at her, the first time he got a real look at the state of her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, hoping in vain to hide her bruises and scars, the burns from the cleric's torches and long, thin gashes from their knives, from his all-seeing eyes. She could have sworn, in the moment before he turned back to the Queen, that she saw pain, even guilt, in those opaque eyes of his.
But then he was in front of her, shielding her from the woman before them, and his manic, dangerous smile was firmly back in place.
"She's mine, Rumpel." The Queen snarled, "I bargained for her just minutes ago. Hand her back, or pay the price."
"She's not going with you." Rumpelstiltskin's voice was lower than usual, his usual high-pitched tone dampened by rage, "Our deal still stands."
"Until the castle is destroyed, and the people within perish," The Queen's eyes narrowed, her bloody smile wide and chilling, "And then it's nullified."
"No!" Belle had had enough: she still wasn't sure if she was breathing, but she knew she could still scream, and push her protector aside to stand in the centre. This was something she could do, and she was damn well going to do it. "Our bargain is over, Rumpelstiltskin, you made that clear. Destroying my family will do nothing to change anything."
"Belle-" He looked stricken, horrified, and she wanted so badly to send him a reassuring glance, to tell him she was still his and still alive, and it would all be okay.
But how could she, when she knew none of that herself?
She turned to the Queen on shaking legs, and looked her full in the eyes (who could harm a dead girl?) "This castle means nothing."
"This castle is home," The Queen's eyes were bright, "That always means something." She looked past Belle, right at Rumpelstiltskin, and her tone was almost deferential, almost kind, "Unless you'd care to deal? Her life for something else? Yours, perhaps?"
Something in that shook Belle out of her numbness: her life?
There was still a life to bargain for?
Then that life was hers, and she'd had enough of bartering for it.
"If you wish to deal," every tortured, exhausted muscle screamed in pain with every second she stood. All Belle wanted was to sleep, to be left alone while the world spun without her, but that wasn't how this worked. "Then you deal with me."
She had been a hero once, and no amount of agony or fear was going to rip that from her.
"I don't make deals with powerless children," the Queen said.
"She's not powerless," Rumpelstiltskin was smiling, and it was brighter than before, "I'd leave now, if I were you." He came to stand beside her, and took her hand.
Belle didn't want him anywhere near her. She was broken, bruised in a thousand different ways, but the wounds left over from their last meeting were by far the worst. And yet, in this moment, they were on the same side. They faced a foe who hated them both, and that alone was a powerful thing.
The Queen's smile was static, but her eyes gleamed. Belle shivered.
Then, with a little shrug, the Queen sidled past them, toward her carriage, "Fine, have it your way. Rip yourselves apart, save me the bother."
The carriage vanished down the road, and they were alone.
Belle broke their contact, and started to walk away.
Then she stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her, and fell to the ground. Her muscles were heavy, leaden, and refused to move another inch.
She was alive, strangely enough, but still helpless.
Belle hated to be helpless.
Wordlessly, Rumpelstiltskin hauled her up into his arms, and there was that rushing feeling, nausea rushing through her, as magic whisked them away. They landed in her old bedroom, the one she'd claimed when she was still his housekeeper, the one still filled with all of her things, every gift he'd ever given her.
She wanted to smash them all to pieces, and throw them at his feet. But she was weak, and exhausted, and reliant upon his support to keep from falling.
He set her down on her feet, but held on to her as he helped her into bed.
"Belle, I-"
"Please," another rush of fatigue clouded her brain, and she felt sleep beckoning, "Don't apologise. It won't help."
He nodded, and there was that look again. The one that was shutdown, and guilty, and heartbreakingly sad all at once, that made her want to hold him and stroke his hair, to smile and make it all better. She felt her heart squeeze as she watched him leave, and she was left alone in the quietest, warmest, safest darkness she'd seen in months.
True love hurt more than all the bruises put together.
Part 3
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Rumpelstiltskin/Belle, the Queen, Sir Maurice
Summary: The Queen comes to take Belle from her father's home, and her bravery finally cracks
A/N: Nearly every review seems to have been a plea for this to continue: so it has... mainly because even I wanted to know what happened next. Still, never let it be said that I don't bow to peer pressure. This might have one or two more chapters, especially since I seem to be writing near-constantly these days.
The Queen's grip on Belle's arm slackened somewhat, but no one moved.
Belle was certain she was dead.
She had to be: how else could she come to be trapped between two distinctly different nightmares, with no place to run?
The Queen had killed her, and now she was floating in some kind of hellish limbo.
Rumpelstiltskin's smile was murderous. She hoped it wasn't for her.
Then his eyes flicked to hers, and they met in the middle for just a moment. His face softened almost imperceptibly, the rage in his eyes lost in something warmer, something so deeply sad that, for just a moment, her concern for her life was overtaken by pain for him.
But she was only here because of him; because he was an idiot, and a monster, and had abandoned her to her fate because of his own blind, stupid fear.
To hell sympathy: she was angry.
"Get out of my carriage, Rumpel," The Queen had recovered her voice, and it was low and dangerous, "You'll get glitter on my upholstery."
"Get your hands off my housekeeper, and we'll see." His teeth were bared in an approximation of a smile, and it was the most terrifying thing Belle had ever seen.
"Yours?" The Queen laughed, "You threw her out: she's no more bound to you than anyone."
Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands, palms flat. A blast of pure energy rippled through the air, throwing both women backward onto the forest floor.
He was in front of Belle in a second, hauling her to her feet and throwing her behind him. The rough motion hurt her aching limbs, and she moaned and winced in pain. Her leg screamed in pain, the joint unused to standing, let alone running.
She saw his first real glance at her, the first time he got a real look at the state of her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, hoping in vain to hide her bruises and scars, the burns from the cleric's torches and long, thin gashes from their knives, from his all-seeing eyes. She could have sworn, in the moment before he turned back to the Queen, that she saw pain, even guilt, in those opaque eyes of his.
But then he was in front of her, shielding her from the woman before them, and his manic, dangerous smile was firmly back in place.
"She's mine, Rumpel." The Queen snarled, "I bargained for her just minutes ago. Hand her back, or pay the price."
"She's not going with you." Rumpelstiltskin's voice was lower than usual, his usual high-pitched tone dampened by rage, "Our deal still stands."
"Until the castle is destroyed, and the people within perish," The Queen's eyes narrowed, her bloody smile wide and chilling, "And then it's nullified."
"No!" Belle had had enough: she still wasn't sure if she was breathing, but she knew she could still scream, and push her protector aside to stand in the centre. This was something she could do, and she was damn well going to do it. "Our bargain is over, Rumpelstiltskin, you made that clear. Destroying my family will do nothing to change anything."
"Belle-" He looked stricken, horrified, and she wanted so badly to send him a reassuring glance, to tell him she was still his and still alive, and it would all be okay.
But how could she, when she knew none of that herself?
She turned to the Queen on shaking legs, and looked her full in the eyes (who could harm a dead girl?) "This castle means nothing."
"This castle is home," The Queen's eyes were bright, "That always means something." She looked past Belle, right at Rumpelstiltskin, and her tone was almost deferential, almost kind, "Unless you'd care to deal? Her life for something else? Yours, perhaps?"
Something in that shook Belle out of her numbness: her life?
There was still a life to bargain for?
Then that life was hers, and she'd had enough of bartering for it.
"If you wish to deal," every tortured, exhausted muscle screamed in pain with every second she stood. All Belle wanted was to sleep, to be left alone while the world spun without her, but that wasn't how this worked. "Then you deal with me."
She had been a hero once, and no amount of agony or fear was going to rip that from her.
"I don't make deals with powerless children," the Queen said.
"She's not powerless," Rumpelstiltskin was smiling, and it was brighter than before, "I'd leave now, if I were you." He came to stand beside her, and took her hand.
Belle didn't want him anywhere near her. She was broken, bruised in a thousand different ways, but the wounds left over from their last meeting were by far the worst. And yet, in this moment, they were on the same side. They faced a foe who hated them both, and that alone was a powerful thing.
The Queen's smile was static, but her eyes gleamed. Belle shivered.
Then, with a little shrug, the Queen sidled past them, toward her carriage, "Fine, have it your way. Rip yourselves apart, save me the bother."
The carriage vanished down the road, and they were alone.
Belle broke their contact, and started to walk away.
Then she stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her, and fell to the ground. Her muscles were heavy, leaden, and refused to move another inch.
She was alive, strangely enough, but still helpless.
Belle hated to be helpless.
Wordlessly, Rumpelstiltskin hauled her up into his arms, and there was that rushing feeling, nausea rushing through her, as magic whisked them away. They landed in her old bedroom, the one she'd claimed when she was still his housekeeper, the one still filled with all of her things, every gift he'd ever given her.
She wanted to smash them all to pieces, and throw them at his feet. But she was weak, and exhausted, and reliant upon his support to keep from falling.
He set her down on her feet, but held on to her as he helped her into bed.
"Belle, I-"
"Please," another rush of fatigue clouded her brain, and she felt sleep beckoning, "Don't apologise. It won't help."
He nodded, and there was that look again. The one that was shutdown, and guilty, and heartbreakingly sad all at once, that made her want to hold him and stroke his hair, to smile and make it all better. She felt her heart squeeze as she watched him leave, and she was left alone in the quietest, warmest, safest darkness she'd seen in months.
True love hurt more than all the bruises put together.
Part 3