I am going to apologize right now for any spelling or punctuation errors. This is a first draft of a one-shot I've had playing around in my mind for a little while. I want to mention that I ship RumBelle hard. I think the pairing is adorable. But I also expected (when I saw the original promo for "Skin Deep") something a little bit...darker. So here's a little taste of what I had in mind! Also, I spell our favorite imp's name as it appears on the dagger...even though I think it looks a wee bit silly. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I did, but don't. May credit be given where credit is due.
Belle's seventh evening at Rumplestiltskin's "rather large estate" found her folding a freshly laundered selection of the imp's silk shirts.
Serving the Dark One had thus far proven a far less daunting task than she'd imagined. After explaining her duties that first night (and giving her a poignant taste of his morbid humor), he mostly kept to himself, coming down from his tower for meals and tea, which she served in his dining/spinning hall. Some days she could not help but wonder if he was avoiding her.
Upon completing the laundering, Belle was met with a slight predicament. How was she to return the clothes to him? Did he expect her to place them in his private chambers? Impossible; he had not shown her where they were. Unless he retired in his tower? Perhaps she would wait until teatime, and then ask him...but by then the clothes will have wrinkled, and all her work in vain.
She would just have to seek him out. Hoisting the basket of clothing, Bell started for the dining hall. He was not inside. Then the library. Then the entrance hall, the kitchens, her own quarters, and several spare bedrooms. Her muscles fatigued from lugging the basket up and down the castle's myriad staircases, Belle resorted to calling out for him.
Rumplestiltskin did not answer.
The only area of the castle she had not searched was his tower, which he had forbidden her to enter.
Well, technically he had forbidden her from "nosing about" in his tower. Surely he would not consider it "nosing about" if she only intended to return his laundry?
Her logic in place, Belle ascended the spiraling stairway to said forbidden quarters.
Too many steps later when she was considering abandoning her task (Rumplestiltskin's shirts be damned), she rounded another corner and was met with the glossy mahogany surface of the tower's door.
Trying to swallow back the knot of apprehension in her throat, Belle knocked.
No answer.
She tried again, knocking more forcefully and calling out to him.
Still no answer.
Releasing a sigh of frustration, Belle balanced the basket on her hip and tried the handle. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when the door opened willingly. Stepping across the threshold, she softly called the imp's name again, looking around warily. He did not appear to be inside.
She resolved to place the basket on the nearest table and then quickly make her retreat...
She was about to exit the room when her steps halted. This was her first chance, perhaps her only chance, to learn a little more about the one she was to call master from now on. And so Belle, her insatiable curiosity clouding her judgment, turned around and ventured further into the circular room.
It did not appear to be her master's bedchamber after all; the walls were lined with shelves and tables hosting an assortment of oddly shaped bottles and instruments, and punctuated with a few ancient, leather-bound tomes. So it was a laboratory, then...
Her curiosity momentarily slaked, Belle turned to leave. A small glint of gold between two tapestries on the adjacent wall caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, Belle discovered it was another handle, as though to a drawer. She reached out, her dainty finger clasping around the uncannily warm metal...
Looking about the room, ensuring Rumplestiltskin had not sneaked in without her knowledge, Belle tugged the handle.
As she had suspected, the compartment opened like a miniscule drawer; inside lay a slender, silver object...
The drawer slammed shut, nearly crushing Belle's fingers and eliciting a small "oh!" of surprise from her throat.
"Whatever do you think you are doing, dearie?"
Belle whipped around, her innards clenching when she found Rumplestiltskin's face inches from her own.
He did not look happy.
"I was just-your shirts-I thought-"
She gestured wildly to the basket of clothes perched on one of his tables. He did not look, keeping his gaze fixed on her.
She slinked around him, heading towards the door without turning her back, staring into those black, black eyes.
"Right. Well, it's almost teatime, so I'll just..."
She turned to the door, holding back a sigh of relief upon finding it still open. Her feet hurriedly shuffled forward.
A set of long, clammy fingers encircled her wrist. With a sharp tug Rumplestiltskin twirled her around, yanking her to him so her back was pressed tightly against his front.
A smirk spread across his face at her gasp of surprise.
Belle's shock quickly melted into indignation as she squirmed, attempting to break the iron-grip of his arm about her waist.
"Let me g-"
The command died in her throat and her struggle ceased as she watched her master raise the dagger, bringing it within inches of her face.
"Tell me, dearie, do you know what this is?" He asked in a lethargic, casual drawl delicately framed by his undulating fury.
He rotated the weapon, allowing Belle full view of its lethal curves and black inscription. She swallowed thickly.
"Well?"
He growled more than spoke the word into her ear, sending a jolt of fear down Belle's spine. While she found his typical high-pitched tone somewhat...unsettling, it was the cooing of a harmless babe compared to the deep, animalistic sound now reverberating in her mind. The arm wrapped about her waist flexed; she could feel its angry heat seeping through the layers of her dress.
"...a-a dagger?"
She felt more than heard him chuckle darkly behind her.
"A dagger! My, she's a clever one!"
A manic giggle tumbled out of his lips as he flourished the blade above their heads.
"Please, I don't-"
He swung the dagger back to its position before her face, softly pressing the tip to her lips, silencing her.
"This is something very special to me, more precious than anything I possess..."
The hiss of the that last word wrapped sinuously about her spine before shooting to the ends of her limbs in a chill.
"And if I find you anywhere near it again..."
He removed the blade from her lips, which trembled and parted in relief, and then settled the cool tip against the edge of her throat.
Her heart jumping at a hare's pace, Belle leaned farther into Rumplestiltskin, futilely attempting to put some distance between her jugular and the fatal weapon.
"We're going to have ourselves a little problem..."
He slowly dragged the blade across her pale throat, not pressing hard enough to injure, but enjoying the sight of goosebumps rising on her flesh. She seemed to have stopped breathing.
He let the threat sink a little further before withdrawing the blade again. Pressing its flat side against her lovely cheek, he pivoted her head to the side, their noses nearly touching. All Belle could see now were the dark tunnels of the imp's eyes, the ring of amber that encircled their irises. Were it not for the rage bubbling in their depths, she might have thought them beautiful...
"Understood?"
Too afraid to nod lest she lose an ear, Belle muttered, "Yes," hating the way her voice shook.
A slow, sinister smile stretched across his discolored face. The arm about her waist flexed slightly.
"Good!"
In the next moment he was standing feet away, his back to her, returning the dagger to its dark compartment.
Belle stared at his back, her heart pounding and head reeling.
When he turned around he seemed surprised to find her still standing there, her face a mosaic of emotions: fear, shock, bewilderment...
"The tea's not going to serve itself, you know," he stated, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to a wooden clock mounted on the wall, his voice returned to its usual shrill tone.
Belle did not know if she wanted to sob or laugh at his sudden and unsettling change in demeanor. She settled for a breathy mixture of both.
"Right. Yes. I'll just..."
Hands trembling, goosebumps still covering her flesh, she quickly exited the room, immensely relieved when those long, scaly fingers did not reel her back again.
Gods, what had she gotten herself into...
What, indeed? ;)
I am considering writing this same scene again, but from Rumplestiltskin's perspective. He might have more up his sleeve and on his mind than indicated in this version. :P What do you think?