Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time. If I did there wouldn't be a two-week break. Bloody hell.
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin's most common of deals presents difficult repercussions for his new housekeeper. Belle/Rumpelstiltskin. Mid-1.12: Skin Deep
When he came home after one of his extended absences, his request shocked Belle, "You can't ask me to do that."
"I'm sure you'll find that I can." Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyebrows, "and am. Now, if you would be so kind as to do as I say and take it." He held up the bundle, but the woman before him took a step backward. He growled lightly. "I tire of this," he said, rolling his eyes. "You'll make me resort to forcing you, and that's something neither of us wants." Still the woman made no reply. "Fine, if you don't take it, I'll drop it."
That elicited a reaction at last, "You—you wouldn't." She paused, unsure of herself in that moment, "would you? It's one of your deals. You need it in—"
"Working order?"
"Alive."
He chuckled, "rest assured, it would be alive. Perhaps a bit… chipped, like my teacup, you could say, but still perfectly good merchandise." Finally, giving her one of his most wicked grins, he began to lower his arms.
"No!" Belle yelled. She reached out and took the bundle, infant and all, into her arms. She began to bounce in her step just a little, for the tiny creature had begun to mewl softly, presumably from the abrupt jostling.
The imp clapped his hands together. "Splendid. I'm off to bed, and I'm not to be disturbed."
"Wait," she called, and he paused, looking back, clearly unhappy to have been halted, "I don't know what to do."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage somehow, dearie."
It wasn't uncommon for him to have some time between the collection date—always a tricky one, that, what with children having a way of working against any and all predetermined plans, and birth was by no means an exception—and the delivery date, which was whenever the happy parents-to-be finally agreed to his terms. They always came around, with time. After all, children didn't grow on trees.
However, it's the first time that he hasn't had to care for the child himself.
Rumpelstiltskin thought that this change would please him. Strangely, though, he found himself shadowing the girl and babe about the castle, just always out of sight.
He made it easy on her. The necessary items appeared when needed (or perhaps only after a tiny, hardly-maddening, delay), and she took to child-care like a hooked fish, that when found to be too small is tossed back, swimming away despite the pain in its throat.
He stood in the shadows and listened to her hum the child to sleep in the rocking chair that had materialized in the pre-dawn light, when the thing wouldn't stop its bloody wailing and he knew she must have been so tired.
He hid in the corner and watched as she fed the child in the late afternoon (milk purchased for a minimal price from the local wet nurse), standing by the kitchen window. She, and the child too, he supposed, glowed in the fading light.
He used his magic to watch as she bathed the child, barely catching himself when he almost laughed with her as the babe delighted in splashing in the water.
He found her asleep, sitting against the crib in the wee hours. Taking pity on her, he picked up the lady of his house and carried her to the small bed across the room, as easily as if she were the child he'd procured through his dealings—hadn't he though?—she's only a little weight, and after all, he could watch over the bastard infant for just one night.
The entire process brought back memories he thought had been spun away long ago. Memories filled with miniscule clothing, the taking of turns, two souls now lost to him, and of course, infant sounds.
That was one of the reasons why he had gotten a housekeep in the first place, to take care of the children between his deals so he wouldn't be bothered, and here he was bothered still and reminiscent as ever. At least this time it wasn't a bloody man-child.
He was gone by the time she awoke, while the baby slept on peacefully. Neither does she see him at dinner that night—he had thought it best to skip out on family dinnertime, if it was all the same.
He kept up the concealment for three days, before he caved.
He thought to himself that he'd only take a quick peek, make sure she hadn't killed the brat. Can't be dealing in half-starved, gutter ratlings; it just made for bad business.
But when he saw her, he couldn't seem to leave. She was peering longingly down at the crib, the babe sound asleep. He was suddenly right behind her shoulder. She did not even feel his presence, until he whispered in her ear, "don't get too attached, dearie."
He heard her the next day, speaking to the thing.
"I wanted to have children, you know." He saw that she was in the rocking chair again, but that she had moved it next to the window. The child gurgled as she bottle-fed it. "Yes, I did, very much when I was little. I wanted a girl, just like you."
Belle sighed. "But now I do not think…" she began, but stopped herself. "No. I must be honest. If you learn anything from me at all, it should be that honesty is a step in the direction of bravery—but now, I will not have children. It makes me sad." She smiled down at the babe, "but I have gotten to care for you. Whatever would I name you, were you mine? I know not from where you come. What's more, I should not name you, for that is not my right and it will hurt all the more when you go to your family."
She looked out the window, to the snow capped peaks outside. "Your family will love you. I'll make him promise. Oh, there's no need to be afraid. He's much softer than he seems. Anyway, I always wanted to name my daughter Elise, but that was so long ago." She looked down at the child, taking the bottle from her tiny mouth. "All finished?" She raised the child onto her shoulder and began to pat the impressively small back.
Rumpelstiltskin decided long past time to leave. As he walked away however, he heard her voice singing the babe a cradle song. Her surprisingly soprano voice rang out following him into the hallways. "Goodnight, my angle. Now it's time to dream, and dream how wonderful your life will be." He scoffed, apt choice, dearie.
Belle sang on, "Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby, then in your heart there will always be a part of me."
"It's time, my dear."
She cried, of course, but did not fight him. She simply slipped the tightly-wrapped bundle into his arms (the touch affected him, and he remembered the last time a woman in his home had passed off a babe. Though neither he nor the child had been the one leaving). He made a little bow. "Good girl," he said and turned to leave.
"Is it a good family, at least?"
He did not lie to her. "So it would seem, but one cannot always tell."
"And what was price?"
"You need not worry your head about that." He answered sharply, leaving the rest—it's none of your concern—unsaid. She heard it all the same. However, upon second though, he added, "It's not for ill, if you must know."
She nodded. "I hope they take care of… your gift."
"As do I."
He passed the child first to the newly made Da, who then gave it on to his watery-eyed wife (people of the sea generally have trouble with human conception). He bowed to the nobility and walked to the door, but the woman's voice stopped him. "Thank you, imp."
Without turning back, he said, "You shall treat the child well, or I shall know and there will be consequences." With that last, he did turn back. "Oh, and one last thing, the child is named: Elise."
Note: The Lullaby is "Goodnight, My Angel"
