A/N: A Dark Castle New Year's Eve, Rumbelle style! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my writing! I wish you a blessed and fulfilling 2018!
Based on a Tumblr prompt: Person A being startled by the New Year's Eve fireworks—not being fond of loud noises. Person B pulls them in for a deep kiss, completely distracting them from the exploding lights filling up the night sky.
Belle dried her wet, soapy hands on a kitchen towel and climbed the spiral staircase off the castle kitchen, then threw open the door to the small, semicircular balcony. The deep snow on the grounds below appeared like a sparkling velvet blanket, the kind one would snuggle under next to a crackling fire with a cup of tea and a wonderful book. She inhaled, filling her lungs with a deep drink of the snow-scented mountain air. The sweaty tendrils of hair clinging to her neck dried instantly in the cold, dry weather, all traces of the humid kitchen gone. The supper dishes still needed to be washed, wiped, and returned to the cupboards, but her chores could wait. It was the last night of the year, and the silvery moon hung low and bright in the sky, beckoning her outdoors, begging to be enjoyed.
She leaned over the banister to bury her face in a cluster of the winter roses she'd been cultivating since the first snowfall had settled on the landscape surrounding the Dark Castle nearly six months ago. Boasting blue-tinged petals the color of frost, according to legend the winter roses grew only here on this remote mountain where the Dark One lived, and only in the coldest months of the year.
Bright and crisp as icicles, their delicate aroma reminded her of the spearmint that used to grow outside Cook's kitchen window at Father's estate. Father's estate. She wondered when she'd stopped thinking of the castle she'd grown up in as home and started thinking of the Dark Castle and more importantly, the man who owned it, as her home.
Rumplestiltskin. As soon as his name came to mind, the weight of something soft and warm settled across her shoulders.
"Belle! What are you doing out here?" The voice at her back was more warm and teasing than scolding.
Smiling, she shrugged into the new fur cloak he'd draped over her shoulders, one of the surprise yuletide gift he'd pretended not to give her. On the evening of the Winter Solstice, a simple blue box tied with white ribbon had appeared at the foot of her bed. Beneath the lid of the seemingly bottomless box, she'd found the cloak, a matching fur hat and gloves, as well as a pair of new boots, cherry candies, and a gold hairbrush. But when she'd rushed down to the hall to thank him, he'd furrowed his brow and blamed it on the elves.
The heat from his body was a delightful warmth at her back, and she almost didn't resist the temptation to lean back against his chest. Abandoning the fantasy for the time being, she turned away from the splendid vista to face him.
"I was just admiring the evening sky. It's so clear and cold, and the stars are as bright as I've ever seen them. Doesn't their sparkle remind you of fairy dust?" She leaned over the balustrade once more and stroked another pale blue rose with her finger, then plucked it from the bush and drew the soft petals across the apple of her cheek, forming an icy trail across her skin.
He made a face. Whether it was the mention of fairies or her daydreaming that irked him, she couldn't be sure.
"Indeed." He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned toward her. "Well, while you've been out here stargazing, I finished the dishes."
"You didn't have to." She tsked, feeling guilty for rushing outside in the middle of her task and leaving a mess. "I would have gotten back to them."
"Nonsense. Your head's been in the clouds for weeks, since well before the Solstice." He crossed his arms over his lean chest and shivered. "It's freezing out here, woman."
She bit her lip and searched his face, half-concealed in the evening shadows. "I thought you couldn't feel the cold."
"I cannot, but my maid seems blithely unaware of her human limitations. It's snowing again. I came out to haul you back indoors before you die of hypothermia."
She laughed and stuck out her tongue, catching a few fresh snowflakes. "Perhaps my excitement is keeping me warm. It's the last night of the year and tonight Princess Snow and Prince David will host a fireworks show to celebrate the New Year!" She hugged herself and twirled in a circle, making her skirts and her cloak flare out.
Her giggles were met with an exaggerated eye-roll. "Of course the Princeling and his bride would have to make yet another holiday ruckus. Any excuse for another kingdom-wide celebration." He tweaked his ear. "It's hours from the stroke of midnight, and I can already hear those revelers from the village at the bottom of the mountain. Will they never cease making merry?"
"Settle down, Ebeneezer Scrooge," she teased.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I beg your pardon. Who is this Scrooge person?"
"Never mind." She shook her head. "He's a character in one of the books I discovered in my library."
"Don't you mean my library?" he asked dryly. "I granted you the use of the books and the room. I never said you owned it, yet you've set up camp in there with your chair and your pillows and you keep taking my favorite teacup. I'm lucky the door isn't barred against me."
Belle raised an eyebrow. "You've certainly perfected Mr. Scrooge's grouchy disposition."
"Grouchy? Ha! Didn't you just celebrate Yuletide with a fat, mossy log in the fireplace and festoon the entire castle in swaths of evergreen? What of the suckling pig we devoured, the sweetmeats and the spiced mead?" He heaved a labored sigh. "There are more pine needles and bits of glitter beneath my boots than stone, and this is how you repay my generosity?"
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to seem ungrateful." She looked down meaningfully at her new cloak. "Thank you again for my presents." That remark earned her another scowl, and she grinned and splayed her fingers against his chest, then patted his chest to soothe him. "I gather that you're no fan of New Year's Eve festivities."
Rumplestiltskin snorted. "I can't fathom finding enjoyment in any holiday, but this one in particular perplexes me beyond all the others. What's so special about the passage of time?" He stepped away from her touch and rubbed his fingers together. "Every morning, noon, and eve is the same."
She shook a diamond-bright dusting of snow off her skirts. "I think it's what a New Year represents that makes it magical. It's so much more than turning a calendar. The New Year is a fresh start, a new beginning. A future bright with possibilities and adventures. It reminds me that tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it."
"Such naiveté ," he said softly, wagging a finger. "Have you forgotten the bargain you made?"
"No, I haven't forgotten. Forever." She lifted her chin and smiled. After several months at the Dark Castle, Belle had moved past merely accepting her situation to a place of contentment. She was happy here. Though he was still skittish at times, she and Rumple had established a sort of camaraderie, and she didn't want to dampen the spirit of the evening by making him believe she regretted their agreement.
Belle watched his eyes cloud over, then he quickly turned toward the horizon, concealing his expression. "What happens to your bright future when everyone and everything you care for is gone? Those wild winter roses you tend? The family and friends you pine for? Your dreams of a life of travel and adventure?" He swept a clawed hand through the icy air, a sharp contrast to the leaden sadness of his words. "All of it will wither away and die and you will be the last one standing, a lone reed swaying in a barren graveyard. In the end, you'll be left with nothing."
The dismay in his tone was nearly palpable, and somehow she knew he spoke of a deeper chasm of loss than her separation from her own loved ones. True, she had lost her mother to the ogres, but didn't every human earn some heartache in their lifespan? She considered the man in front of her. Even though he possessed almost unchecked power, it didn't come without cost. His shoulders were slumped with anguish, and his brooding, bloodshot eyes reflected too many horrors to name. How much hurt had her poor Rumplestiltskin endured in over three hundred years, watching generations come and go?
He deserved some happiness, and she resolved to create it for him in any way she could.
"Even if everything I care for disappears tonight at the stroke of midnight, I'll still cherish and make the most of every moment of my life." His maid's smile was gentle and sweet, and her small, cool hand grasped his wrist gently. "We have today, Rumple. That's all we've been promised."
He held back a gasp, then bit down on his tongue. He'd been entirely too candid with Belle, and exposed his underbelly. Could she feel his pulse hammering as her fingers stroked the scaly skin on the underside of his wrist? Her face turned impassive as he pulled his hand away. She seemed impervious to how her simplest touch unnerved him and he breathed a relieved sigh.
She arched toward him, balancing on her tiptoes. "So may we?"
"May we what?" he asked, feigning confusion.
A dimple danced across her cheek. "Watch the fireworks, of course."
"Fine. But I'll not sing or dance or play charades tonight, no matter how fetching you look in the moonlight."
"You know how to play charades?" She batted her eyelashes.
Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, trying not to notice the way her soft auburn curls glowed against the snowy backdrop, or the lush, kissable curve of her pink lips. There she stood, caressing those blasted winter roses of hers as though they were a lover. Outrageous—he was actually jealous of a flower. Somehow he was always off balance around this woman, and now he'd blundered into complimenting her considerable beauty. It was long past time to change the subject.
"Why is it you can't watch the peasant light show from inside the comfort of the hall?" he complained, gesturing at the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. "Thanks to my caretaker ruining my curtains, there's a clear view to the outdoors."
She clasped her hands. "Oh, but it's so much more enchanting when you watch them outside, in their element!"
"And louder," Rumplestiltskin muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" She pressed her lips together.
"I said, 'As you wish,'" he lied, placing a hand on her back as he guided her back into the warmth and safety of the castle.
Fireworks. By the gods, how he loathed them! As a young boy, he'd only ever seen them once, and successfully avoided them ever since. Once he'd gone to a village celebration with his aunts, and the idyllic day of carnival games and sweet, fried dough had concluded with fireworks. The piercing whirr as the paper tubes were lit and launched, followed by the dramatic explosions of color, noise, and light had terrified him. People swarmed around in clusters, squealing in delight and angling for a better view of the midnight sky. All he wanted to do was run for cover. He'd returned to the hut without his aunts, then buried his head under a pillow and covered his ears, waiting for the interminable celebration to end. In the years since, fireworks reminded him of the whiz and pop of army artillery and the pounding, rumbling advance of ogres, always more and more, threatening lives and destroying villages.
While Belle bustled around the hall, cheeks bright with excitement as she prepared for their New Year's Eve celebration, he fussed with a basket of straw. He tried to spin, but his hands shook too much to even thread the bobbin. While the wheel sat idle, his mind wove reason after reason why he couldn't join Belle after all. Perhaps he could take off on an unnecessary errand or retire to his laboratory to fiddle with a potion. Why was he even bothering to invent excuses, he wondered, his mood growing bleaker by the moment. He was her employer, dammit, and if he refused to watch the fireworks, well, life was full of disappointments.
She would get over it.
But Belle was enthralled by the idea of a midnight picnic on the terrace, and the thought of disappointing her seemed more painful than just muddling through. For some bizarre reasons, she wanted to spend time with him. He was a fool, but not so foolish he would miss a chance to sit by her side, if only to pretend for a short while that she could truly care for him. Besides, he couldn't let on that the fearsome Dark One was bothered by a little noise.
A few hours later, he was following her outside again, like the dolt he was.
With gritted teeth, he reclined on the thick wool blanket she spread out on the veranda, then accepted the flute of sparkling wine she poured. There were even little pomegranate arils in the bottom of each glass. He took a tentative sip, then downed the contents and motioned for more. He'd quaffed five glasses before she was halfway through her first. Not that it would matter; it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk. What a pity.
"I've made some of those white chocolate raspberry tarts you love so much," she offered, linking their arms and settling against his side.
"Huh," he said noncommittally, and wiped his damp palms on his leathers, trying to enjoy her closeness.
The display began, and between the deafening booms, Belle chattered, exclaiming over the rich, bright colors and describing the various patterns and styles— peony, chrysanthemum, willow, diadem, palm, crossette, horsetail, ring, the roman candle. Naturally she'd read a book or two on the subject. He tried to focus on the sweet, lilting cadence of her voice, and allowed his eyes to drift shut. Perhaps in the dark and with her eyes on the skyline, she wouldn't notice that he wasn't actually watching.
"Here comes the finale," Belle said. She chanced a look at Rumplestiltskin's face hoping he was enjoying the lavish bursts of color and light as much as she was.
But he didn't look even remotely pleased. His dear face was pinched and strained, his eyes as tightly closed as the curtains had once been on the hall windows. His hands were at his sides and bunched into hard fists, and each time a firework lit the sky, she could see a whitening around his knuckles. It was obvious he wasn't having a good time. Why hadn't he told her?
"Rumple?" she asked, gliding a tentative hand up his thigh.
His lip twitched, but otherwise he seemed not to hear her words or even sense her presence.
Belle frowned, then threw her arms around his neck and molded her lips to his.
Rumplestiltskin startled, his eyes flying open. His arms were full of Belle, eclipsing his view of the night sky, and her warm, soft mouth was moving over his. Her kiss became harder, more insistent, and he moaned and opened to her, allowing her hot little tongue to sweep into his mouth. Gods, she tasted sweet! Like honey and the spearmint-scented roses she loved. Her hands clung to his shoulders and tugged on the ends of his hair, and he moaned again, deepening and lengthening the kiss until goosebumps assaulted his flesh and tears pricked the corners of his closed eyes.
Long moments later the kiss ended, and their ragged, mingled breaths formed white puffs against each other's mouths in the icy air while their lungs greedily sucked in oxygen.
"How are you enjoying the fireworks now?" a sweetly breathless voice asked.
"Fireworks?" he repeated, dimly aware that his eyes were still closed. His lips were warm and tingly, and his limbs trembled. Everything felt out of focus and confused, and bright lights swam behind his eyelids. There were explosions in his head, that was certain. He blinked. Belle's face was an inch away, her eyes wide and impossibly blue, and her cheeks deliciously crimson.
"Yes," she said softly. "Fireworks indeed. Happy New Year, Rumplestiltskin."
"And for you, Belle," he managed to croak.
Her eyes sparked like sapphires and leaned forward, closing the brief gap between them to press her lips against his with a soft moan that made his pulse pick up anew. He wrapped his arms around her waist, returning the kiss with enthusiasm.
Perhaps these fireworks weren't so bad after all.
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