A/N- My three part story for Rumbelle Secret Santa this year. Prompt from esinofsarids: In the bleak midwinter... hope.
Part 1 Summary: Rumplestiltskin and Belle leave the Dark Castle for one day to go play in the snow. The results, however, are nastier than Rumple ever expected.
Belle was cleaning the long table when the first snowflake fell outside. "Oh, look!" she exclaimed as she left the rag behind and raced to the window she had opened months ago.
Rumplestiltskin glanced up from his spinning wheel towards the window. "It's only snow," he dismissed with disinterest and turned back to spinning.
Belle continued like she hadn't heard him. "Back at home, we would always go outside during the first snow." Her voice grew soft and wistful and she couldn't help the nostalgic smile that found its way onto her face. "Papa and I would walk side by side and talk."
Rumple couldn't help but turn back towards her when he heard her speaking. Whenever Belle spoke of her home and family, he always listened intently. For some strange reason, he always felt like he wanted to learn everything he could about her. "What would you talk about?"
She turned to him and beamed, considering it an accomplishment to make him speak to her. "Oh, anything really. Books I'd read and adventures Papa had had. And then, when there was enough snow, we'd have snowball fights in cold." She laughed and Rumple's mouth twitched upwards at the sound. Turning back to gaze outside, Belle sighed. "I wish I could see home blanketed in snow again." After getting one last look outside, Belle turned back to the table and began to clean it once more.
Rumplestiltskin turned back to his wheel, a pensive look on his face. He might not have been able to give Belle everything she wanted, but he could give her what he had. As the wheel began to spin again, an idea formulated in his mind.
The next day, as Belle made her way down to the Great Hall where she and Rumple spent most of their time(at least, when he was home), she was greeted to the sight of Rumplestiltskin perched on the table, cloak draped around his shoulders. "Afraid you're going to have the brave the weather outside today, dearie," he said in a lofty tone. "There's a plant I'm in desperate need of for dealing, and we need to get it before the snow entirely covers the ground."
Belle dropped her cleaning supplies and rushed over to where Rumple was sitting, beaming up at him. "Do you really mean it?" Joy was prevalent in her voice. "Are we going out in the snow?"
"Don't sound so excited, dearie," he pointed his finger menacingly at her, "or I might not take you at all." But she only smiled at the threat, knowing that he was only joking. Or maybe joking was the wrong term, but at any rate he didn't mean it.
She tilted her head at him curiously, but the smile stayed in place on her face. "Why are you taking me at all?" The question wasn't laced with suspicion, merely curiosity.
"Picking flowers is not a monster's job," he replied in a dismissive tone, "it's a maid's."
"Well, I'm glad of it." Then she looked down at her dress and frowned. "But I don't think I have the right attire for going out in the snow." She walked over to the hanger where her single cloak was and rustled the fabric. "Even with my cloak."
"Then we'll just have to make you one." And with a flourish of his hands, a cloak, this one with long sleeves, magically appeared in his hands. It was a lush green, vibrant like the leaves in the forest when sunlight streams through them.
Belle took the coat reverently, running her hand over the fine material as she gazed upon it with a smile on her face. "It's beautiful." Her eyes flickered upward and she gave a small smile to Rumplestiltskin. "Thank you."
The words were earnest and his mouth twitched upward slightly as they warmed his heart and gave him joy. But he chose not to express his feelings (and how often he did that) and merely said, "We will be leaving shortly. Make sure you're at the front door in fifteen minutes or I'll leave without you."
The words did nothing to deter Belle's enthusiasm and she simply nodded at his warning and went to go collect the basket she used when her chores included gathering him herbs. Rumplestiltskin watched her move about the room with a true smile on his face before he left to go prepare their carriage.
A gentle stillness filled the carriage as they trundled through the forest. It was nothing like the tense silence that had filled their first few weeks together—this was the silence between friends where no words were needed… Or perhaps not friends. Maybe something more than that.
Belle gazed out of the carriage, the bright light from the snow outside mixing with the bright light that illuminated from her very soul. Belle's eyes stayed fixed on the world around her, taking in all of the beauty of the white covered trees, only flickering to her companion when she wished to point out a particularly beautiful piece of scenery. Her delighted laughs tinkled like her name sake in the air as the carriage rolled on.
Watching her from the shadows along his side of the carriage, Rumple could not help the small smile that remained fixed on his face. He noted the way the light from the sun made her eyes even lighter, almost the same color as the pale blue sky above them. His gaze would flicker outside when she instructed him to do so, her voice full of pleasure and wonder at the things she was seeing, but he mostly leaned back into the darkness and shadows. Belle was having a wonderful time gazing at the beauty around her; he didn't want to ruin it with his presence.
"Oh, this is the most beautiful place we've seen so far." It was about the tenth time she'd said that. "Rumple," she motioned with her hand for him to lean forward and peer out, and he couldn't help but think her hand looked like a delicate little bird in flight, gentle and perfect. Blinking his eyes to clear the emotions churning in his chest from appearing on his face, he did as she commanded and glanced out at the world beyond.
They were deep into the forest, the trees thick where they stood. In the distance, only the peaks of the far off mountains could be seen above the trees. Rumplestiltskin noticed that they were almost to the part of the forest where the plant grew. "Ah, and it is here where we need to stop." With a twist and wave of his hand the carriage halted in the road beside a broad clearing blanketed in snow.
Rumple made his way out of the carriage first, Belle close behind him. He didn't offer to help her down, but she grasped his shoulder carefully anyway as she climbed down. Her hand, despite the leather gloves on them and the scarlet cloak over his clothes, was warm where it touched him. It shouldn't have been, but the hand was comforting all the same. Like the little bird had decided to rest on his shoulder for protection. It lingered there for some time while Belle gazed around the clearing, awestruck.
The trees encircling the open space were bowed down with snow, the pure white hiding the dark greens and browns underneath. When Belle finally stepped away from Rumplestiltskin to wander through the snow, her feet barely made a sound. And when he saw that even their steps did not show the grass hidden underneath the deep snow, he was thankful that he had conjured up some boots for Belle to wear instead of her high heels.
She ambled through the clearing for a while, and Rumplestiltskin watched her from near the carriage. Her cloak billowed out behind her in the winter breeze, a bright green spot against the white world around them. And, Rumplestiltskin was pleased to find as he gazed upward, her eyes did match the sky.
"Come along, dearie," his voice rang around the clearing, and he couldn't help but think that his lilt and cackle didn't belong in that peaceful place, "we have work to do."
Belle spun around and faced him, a joyous smile on her face. "And what are we looking for?"
He stepped closer to the trees surrounding them where there was more of a chance to find the plant. "It's a red plant, very tall, with blue flowers. Grows under tall trees, like these." He gestured upward with his hand. "So start searching!" he commanded with a giggle. Turning to see her reaction, he saw what he always saw: Belle's small smile as she began on the task. He hadn't been able to scare her since the second week she'd come to live with him. And it was slowly becoming less annoying and more… endearing every day.
Spinning back to the task at hand, Rumplestiltskin began to search under the trees along the clearing opposite of Belle. It was shortly after he began looking that he found the plant, growing along the trunk of the fourth tree. He clapped his hands together and twirled back to the center of the glade, ready to shout for Belle to come pluck it out of the ground. But as he turned, something soft and cold hit his chest. Glancing downward, he saw bits of snow stick to his red cloak before melting away.
Snapping his gaze up again, he saw Belle across the open space, hands clasped over her mouth as she tried to stifle her giggles. But there was mirth in the crinkle of her eyes and Rumplestiltskin knew that Belle had thrown the first snowball. He was suddenly brought back to winters in his old village, where he and Bae would run in the snow. Rumple always let his son throw the first ball before the real war would begin. And once it had, Rumple would do his best to hobble along and make snowballs and fill his son's childhood with fatherly love.
"I'm sorry," Belle called once her giggles had ceased, but the grin remained on her face. Rumplestiltskin's mouth curled to match hers. "You were supposed to be turned around."
"Well, unfortunately for you," he twirled his hand and a perfectly round snowball appeared in it, "I wasn't."
"Not fair!" Belle cried even as he threw the ball and she laughed. "You can't use magic, it's cheating," she announced.
"Fine," he bent over and made a snowball by hand quickly, "I won't use magic, and I'll still—" But a snowball to the shoulder cut his words short as Belle burst out into laughter once more.
The two proceeded to throw snow balls at one another until the sun was hanging low in the sky and stopped giving its meager warmth to them. The cold hardly bothered Rumplestiltskin, but when he saw Belle's cheeks flush red with chill and her teeth begin to chatter, he quickly ended their game.
"Time to go, dearie," he chimed out and with a wave of his hand made the snowball in her hands disappear. "And the plant is over there," he pointed with his finger and then strode to the carriage. It was easier to keep their relationship master and caretaker, Rumplestiltskin thought as he clambered into the carriage to wait for Belle. Anything else would have been complicated and messy (and probably would end in bitter goodbyes like with Bae).
Belle seemed determined to thwart his plans, however, when she joined him in the carriage and, instead of going to her side, plopped down beside him.
Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright as she beamed at him. "Thank you," she said sincerely as she placed the plant she had gathered in his lap. "It was a lovely day out."
"It wasn't a day out," he replied, but his voice was lacking in it's usually bite, "it was a chore."
Belle knew otherwise, they both knew it, but she nodded and smiled. "Well, thank you all the same."
Rumplestiltskin didn't reply and magically started the carriage, looping them around in a wide arc to return back home. With a start, he realized it was the first time he had referred to The Dark Castle as home in his own mind, and did his best to ignore the voices in his mind that said it was the woman beside him that had made it so.
About halfway there, once the sun had gone down, and the world outside the window was dark, Belle's eyes slipped shut and she fell asleep. Moments later, her head lolled to the side where it ended up on Rumplestiltskin's shoulder, and Belle let out a sigh of contentment. He turned his head sharply at the light pressure, but otherwise did not move, not wanting to wake her. He didn't know when this had happened—when she felt comfortable and safe enough to fall asleep beside him, but he tried not to think too hard about it. Thinking about it then would only make it worse later.
The carriage continued its journey back to the castle, one occupant asleep and sighing in peaceful bliss, the other occupant unaware of the soft smile on his face. Eventually, they pulled through the front gates and came to a stop at the front doors.
"Belle, sweetheart—dearie," he swallowed and hoped she was still out of it enough that she didn't notice the slip of endearments, "we're back." He gently shook her shoulder, and Belle blinked owlishly up at him; he tried with all his might not to laugh at her befuddled expression.
"Where are we?" She turned and looked out the carriage. "Oh, home." And the simple word set his heart beating again.
"Yes, home. Come along now, dearie, the place isn't going to clean itself." He stepped out first and waited at the bottom of the steps to hear her footsteps behind him before he simultaneously sent the carriage into its shed and opened the front door. He held it open for her with magic as they made their way inside.
When Belle was beside him in the foyer, he swept off his cloak and handed it to her. "This needs washing." Belle nodded and took the cloak in her arms and then yawned. "But it can wait until tomorrow. You are dismissed for the evening." He banished her away with a flick of his hand.
She curtsied, but there was a small smile on her face as she went to her room. Rumplestiltskin watched her go and thought he would never look at snow the same way again.
The next night Rumplestiltskin was spinning at his wheel while Belle dusted around the Great Hall. The hour was still early, but the winter made the days short and already it was dark in the sky. Rumplestiltskin had had Belle start the fire when they had first entered the room, but it was dying.
"Dearie," he called out without glancing up, "stoke the fire." He waited for a response, but none came. No sound of affirmation, no shuffling towards the fire, nothing. Looking up from his wheel, he saw Belle with her back to him, dusting. Dusting the same spot she had been when he had looked up quite some time ago, he noted with confusion.
"Dearie?" he called out again, but if Belle heard him, she made no movement to confirm it. She just kept dusting, back and forth, back and forth. Rumplestiltskin decided to try a different method. "Belle," he stated simply, and it was then that her head snapped towards him.
"Yes?" She looked worn, and her voice was different, wearier than normal.
He gazed at her with calculating eyes, but merely instructed, "Stoke the fire."
"Of course." Belle sat her duster down and moved to crouch in front of the fire. She brandished the iron poker carefully as she moved the logs, causing embers and flames to rise up. Setting the poker down, Belle rocked back onto her heels and stayed there. She seemed to lose her gaze in the fire as she continued to stare, and the flames played upon her weary features in the low light.
In all her time there, Rumplestiltskin had never seen that look upon Belle's face. It was, haggard, drawn, and he didn't care for it in the slightest.
"Belle, dearie, come here," he ordered with a crook of his finger. Belle stood and brushed off her dress, coming to stand beside his wheel. He peered closer at her face, trying to understand what had caused her sudden mood change. "Your cheeks are flushed."
Belle quickly raised a hand to her cheek. "Must be from sitting in front of the fire for so long."
"Yes, it must be," Rumplestiltskin agreed with his words, but in his mind they both knew it was a lie—she was sick. He began to spin his wheel again, feigning disinterest in Belle. She took the hint and began to move back to the place she had left her duster, but before she could make it there, Rumple's voice carried across the room. "What are you doing?"
"Cleaning?" Belle asked with uncertainty, unsure of what he wanted from her.
"No, you're not. You're dismissed for the night." Not once did he break his gaze with the wheel out of fear that she may see the genuine concern in his eyes. Whenever she looked at him in moments like these, she had a way of seeing past his mask, and that wasn't anything he needed her scrutinizing.
"So early?" He heard her take a step toward him. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, dearie. But in return, you must work extra hard tomorrow." He let out a cackle and with it, he could feel his walls slam down with full force, enough so that he could finally turn and look at Belle.
She had a small smile on her face, one that didn't make her eyes sparkle like it should have. "Of course, Rumple. Goodnight."
He merely scoffed at her farewell and turned back to spinning. He waited until he heard the door of the Great Hall close before he sat back from his wheel, shoulders slumping. In the morning, she would be better. He was sure of it.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
Rumplestiltskin sat at the long table and waited for Belle to appear with breakfast. It had been their routine since she had first come to the Dark Castle, and this was the latest she'd ever been. Rumple tried to ignore the worried fluttering in his chest, but after almost an hour of waiting for Belle, he grew impatient and went to her room.
Flinging open the dungeon door with magic, he called out, "Enough sleeping, dearie. Just because you went to bed early last night doesn't mean you to get to sleep in today." He finished the statement with a giggle, but it sounded hollow to his own ears.
His eyes alighted upon her form, and the smile slowly began to sink from his face.
Belle was wrapped up in her thin blanket, cheeks flushed red and her hair matted with sweat. Her eyes came up to meet him and they were unnaturally bright.
"S-sorry," her weak voice answered. "I must have lost track of," she coughed, "time."
Rumplestiltskin was stunned and scared. So much so, that he didn't stop Belle from sitting up and standing. It was after her first step that he blinked and came to himself, rushing forward with a warning on his lips. "Belle, don't—"
But even as he spoke, she began to collapse and he sprung forward to catch her in his arms like he had months before. Only this time, she didn't look at him in wonder, but simply blinked up at him before shutting her eyes and letting sleep carry her away again.
"Belle?" he asked weakly, lifting his fee hand to run through her hair. She didn't stir. Cradling her in his arms properly, Rumple made his way out of the dungeon (it was far too cold in winter anyway) and made his way to the only spare bedroom in the castle.
All the way there, his heart thumped violently in his chest. Belle was sick, and it was all his fault. If he hadn't taken her out in the snow for so long, she wouldn't be coughing in his arms. He opened the door with magic and set her down on the bed, flicking his wrist to start a fire in the fireplace.
Gently, he pulled the blankets down and maneuvered Belle beneath them. As he set the blankets over her frame, she sighed in contentment and warmth.
Rumple pulled a chair over to him by magic and sat, gazing about the room as he thought of what to do. It wasn't a very big room, but certainly larger than the dungeon. There were two windows, and he opened one of the drapes to let in the sunlight, but kept the other one firmly shut against the cold. The fire burned and lit the half of the room not full of sunlight. The bed was large and draped in red and gold, seeming to add to the lack of color in Belle's face.
His hand shook as it hovered over her body, using magic to see what ailed her. Sickness was harder to heal than a wound. With a wound, there was a certain point of pain, of injury. Illness spread through the whole body, infecting every inch of it, making it nearly impossible for magic to discern what needed healing and what would be damaged by its touch.
Rumplestiltskin was normally able to cure an illness, stop a disease from spreading. But whatever lurked inside of Belle, he did not know how to stop it with magic. He was, however, the single parent of his son for quite some time and knew how to care for sickness the normal way.
"Rumple?" the whimpered name flew from Belle's pale lips and drew him to her side immediately, grasping one of her hands in his without thought.
"I'm here," he assured then looked down at his scaly hand clutching hers, probably frightening her more than comforting. He began to extract it, but she tightened her weak grip in a clear indication of "stay".
Her pale eyes blinked open and they were bright with fever. "What's- what's wrong with me?" She turned her head to face him and he met those eyes, still strong in the face of pain and illness. He wouldn't lie to her and those eyes.
"You're sick, Belle."
She nodded, but her face didn't change. She'd known that, he was just confirming what she hadn't wanted to be sure of. "And there's no—" Her question was cut off by a wracking fit of coughs. Rumplestiltskin rolled her onto her side with his free hand while Belle got her breathing back under control. When air flowed easily, she tried again. "And there's no magic cure?"
"Not this time." Rumple reached his hand out hesitantly before tucking a single strand of hair back behind her ear. "But you'll get better. After all, dearie, our deal was forever and you won't get out of it this easy."
Belle smiled and laughed softly at his joke before she yawned and settled onto her back again. Turning her head to look at him, she said, "I think I'm going to go back to sleep."
He nodded and replied, "I command it." The answering smile on Belle's face stayed there even as her breath evened out and she fell back into sleep.
It was one of the last coherent conversations they would have for a long time.
Belle slept soundly for the next few days while Rumple watched over her, bringing her soup while she was awake and keeping her brow cool with a cold cloth. The more she slept, the more he convinced himself that it was a good thing for her—that it meant she was gaining her strength. But on the third day after she'd fallen ill things changed.
"I've got some soup, dearie," Rumple announced as he walked into her room with the tray of soup floating along behind him. "It's—" Before he finished, he caught sight of Belle on the bed.
Her hair was spread out along the pillow, like she'd been tossing and turning in her sleep, and the blankets on her bed were askew. But the most worrisome thing was the pallor on Belle's face. No longer were her cheeks flushed, and her breathing was slower than it had been before.
"Belle?" The tray crashed into the ground, only avoiding spilling its contents by a bit of magic and some luck. Rumple rushed to her side and shook Belle's shoulders gently to try and wake her. She was ice cold. "Belle?"
Her eyes opened slowly, blinking a few times before fully opening. Bleak and flat, her eyes wandered the room before finally settling on Rumplestiltskin's face. He smiled at her alertness, glad to know she was still alive.
But her brows quickly puckered together and she shrunk back from him, the word "monster" tumbling from her mouth. Quiet at first, but growing louder with each utterance. Rumple practically flew backwards to get out of her line of sight. When she could no longer see him, Belle grew silent again and quickly dropped off to sleep.
Rumplestiltskin stood on the side of the room, breathing deeply. He didn't know why the word bothered him so much, it never had before. But as he looked at her, face distraught even in sleep, he knew why. It was because she had said it. Trying not to shake, he left the room silently.
Days turned into weeks and Rumplestiltskin grew better and better at taking care of Belle every day. He soon learned that Belle had about three different kinds of alertness. One was the first one he'd encountered: fear, especially of him. Those days were always hard, but not unbearable. He would pretend her harsh words were coming to his ears with someone else's voice. The worst thing in that condition was getting her to eat. The only way to do so was to scare her with threats into taking the food he offered her—Rumplestiltskin only did that when he was truly desperate.
The days that were easiest to feed Belle were the days she stared at everything in wonder. As Rumple sat at her bedside she would reach a hand up to his face and giggle when she felt the scaly skin there. Rumple would always spoon her soup quickly and then rush out of the room. That wasn't the Belle he knew.
The worst days, however, were the ones where Belle would wake and do nothing. Her eyes would wander aimlessly about the room, dull and pale, never settling onto anything, brushing right over Rumplestiltskin without a second glance. Though he could never get her to eat in these moments of consciousness, he stayed by her side none the less. Those were the times she scared him the most.
But for the most part, Belle slept, and for that, Rumple was grateful.
Most days he sat by her bedside, a warm cloth placed on her forehead to keep her warm. And when she began to sweat, Rumple would quickly magic the water in the cloth to be cold, cursing whatever ailed her. Some days Belle switched between fevered heat and deathlike chill so quickly he could hardly keep up.
He hated to leave her side, but deals still had to be made and lives still had to be planned and curses still had to be put in motion, no matter how sick his caretaker had become.
So Rumplestiltskin fashioned an alarm system of sorts, altering him if Belle's conditioned worsened while he was away. The result was a lot of confused people as the imp they were dealing with popped away suddenly, only to appear behind them a few minutes later with the same insufferable grin on his face, having magicked back to his castle to find that it was his own paranoia calling him back once again.
After nearly a month of sickness, Belle was fairing no better than before. Rumplestiltskin was getting desperate. He began to search every book he owned on dark magic, looking for any way to save the woman he lov—he was responsible for. In every book, the price was the death of another—a price Rumplestiltskin would be willing to pay, if it weren't for the person he was saving. Every time he would begin to plan in his mind, Belle's cry of "No!" would ring in his ears and he would slam the book shut in frustration and cry out, "Then what do you want me to do, Belle? Let you die?"
His anxiety grew so large, that he considered calling on Regina and begging her to save Belle, in any way possible. In the end, however, he couldn't do it. He didn't want Regina anywhere near Belle, and besides, he didn't want to owe the witch any favors.
One day Rumple stood in the Great Hall, having been sitting by Belle's bedside for the past hour as she slowly drifted back off to sleep, coughs waking her up every few minutes. He stared out at the snow that surrounded the castle and remembered when it had seemed beautiful. The sky used to be the color of her eyes and the light in the snow the same as the light that radiated from within in her. But now the sky and snow were as bleak as her eyes. He hated it.
Rumplestiltskin sat beside her bed, purposefully ignoring the window beside him that let in the pitiful sunlight. Belle's face was gaunt and her breathing was shallow and slow—surely it wouldn't be long now. He fought off the tears threatening in his eyes. The Dark One did not cry, especially not for a maiden who shone such a light that it banished the darkness in his life.
He placed his folded hands beside hers, not daring to touch her, for fear she would wake up and scream, and bowed his head over them. He was about to fail the only other person in his life that had cared for him since Bae, and it seemed like the loss would consume whatever little part of hope he had left in his heart.
"Rumplestiltskin?" the voice was frail and weak, but he recognized it all the same. Raising his head slowly, he dared to look up at her face.
"Belle?" His voice trembled with emotion as he stared at her face. Her eyes were clear and bright, but not with fever, and the bleakness that had invaded them for so long was gone. They shone like hope.
"Rumple," she sighed out his name. As her hand extended forward, Rumplestiltskin instinctively leaned backwards so his face was out of her reach. But it wasn't his face she was reaching for this time, but his hands. It settled over his and it felt warm, not hot or cold. "What?" Her voice was still worn and she swallowed. "What happened?"
His response was late as most of his attention was still on her hand touching his. Blinking at her question, he turned his dark eyes to her light ones. "Do you not remember?"
She shifted in bed, but kept their hands touching. "I remember feeling lousy, and then you bringing me in here. The rest is sort of… blurry. I remember pain and some," she cringed, "interesting dreams." He grimaced and turned away from her. "But other than that, nothing," she finished at a whisper.
Rumplestiltskin sighed, debating how much to tell her, though in the end it was no debate at all. He would always protect her, even if it was only her dignity between them. "You were sick," he replied turning to face her again. "That's really all there is to it, dearie."
She squinted her eyes at him, suspicion present there, but didn't press the issue. Pushing herself up on the bed in an attempt to sit up, Rumplestiltskin leaned forward to help her. "May I have some water?" she requested once she was seated upright.
He didn't answer, only twisted his wrist and made a glass appear in it, holding it out for her to take.
"Thank you," she murmured quietly before taking a tentative sip. The glass was only partially filled—Rumple didn't want her over filling her stomach. "How long?" she asked after a few sips.
"How long was what, dearie?"
Belle turned and faced him, a bit of exasperation in her eyes, but Rumple wasn't going to volunteer any information about her illness unless she asked for it directly.
"How long was I sick for?"
Rumplestiltskin leaned back, crossing his arms. Belle stared at him expectantly, and he knew what he should do. He should tell her the truth. But he was never one to do as he should. "A week or so," he answered flippantly.
Belle's widening eyes told him he had made the right decision in lying. "A whole week? How bad did I get?"
"You should get some sleep," he replied abruptly, shutting the curtain with a flick of his wrist and standing. He heard Belle's sigh of frustration as he sauntered out of the room, but didn't turn back. She would never know how much she had truly frightened him.
Day by day Belle gained strength. She began eating some bread after the second day of recovery, and soon after that started to walk around the room on wobbly legs. Rumple visited her less and less as she gained independence, leaving her with books to read as he went out on errands and deal-makings, but he still didn't disable the alarm system. Images of Belle (cold and pale, feverish and sweating) still made his heart thump unnaturally.
They would talk when Rumple brought her food, but whenever she would begin to ask questions about her sickness, he would leave the room abruptly, making excuses and leaving Belle frustrated. Honestly, he didn't care. She could yell and rant at him however much she liked—some things were best left a secret.
After a week or so of recovery, Belle joined Rumplestiltskin in the Great Hall, dusting and wiping some of the furniture down. All the time, Belle could feel Rumple watching her like a hawk from his spinning wheel, though every time she turned to look, he would be spinning once again. At first it annoyed her, but slowly she began to realize how much he must have looked after her while she was sick. Belle wasn't an idiot, and she knew from his avoidance of her questions that she had been seriously ill—especially if her memories and lack thereof were anything to go by.
Turning to look at him, Belle really began to see Rumplestiltskin, the man behind the Dark One. "You took care of me." The words weren't meant to be said aloud, but they escaped her lips at a whisper anyway.
"What was that dearie?" He looked up from his wheel, genuine interest on his face. So he hadn't heard. She could still turn away and feign innocence. But gazing at him, she realized that she didn't want to. She wanted to thank him as he deserved.
"You took care of me when I was sick," she repeated, louder this time.
He gave her a withering look and turned back to his wheel. "Of course I did. What, did you think I had enchanted the furniture to take care of you?"
"No, I just," the image of Rumple bent over the side of her bed, dejected and defeated flashed through her head, "I just hadn't realized how much you cared for me."
"Like I told you before, I like my things." The words were meant to be degrading, hurtful, an end to the conversation, but Belle detected the emptiness of the implication in his tone. She was more than a possession to him.
"Of course." Her words were soft, and they both knew that she didn't believe his claim at all.
And when Belle commented a couple of months later that spring had come early that year, Rumplestiltskin only nodded and agreed.
Thoughts?
-princessmelia