A/N: I saw Enchanted for the first time this weekend. I wanted to see it when it was in theatres (and, unlike about 90 per cent of the Wicked fans out there, not for Idina Menzel), but never got around to it. Anyway, I thought the movie was very well done, very well acted, and so smart, especially the scene that inspired this oneshot. Amy Adams and Patrick Dempsey were stellar :).

This is longer than my usual- I started out by watching the scene and writing down the dialogue so I'd have it right, copying it into Notepad, and pasting it into Word. From there, I expanded, and it turned out to be about 1500 words- pretty long (and Giselle is a hard character to write, I'll have you know). The ending was pretty good, though, and the beginning wasn't, so I went back and fixed it... it ended up being almost 4000 words xD. Anyway, I'll quit rambling now, but before I do, I'll say that I'd love to get reviews for this, since I'm pretty proud of it myself :). Anyway, on with the show.

Wordplay

One thing Giselle would perhaps be eternally curious about in this strange world was quantities. Robert and Morgan had lots of things, yes, but the even more peculiar part was the sheer amount of what, at first glance, appeared to be the same- or at least similar- things. Morgan had introduced her to movies – a bizarre, outlandish, if entertaining, pastime, and though Giselle enjoyed it, she didn't see why people- especially people who were extraordinarily busy like Robert and Morgan- needed hundreds of movies. Whenever would they find the time to watch them all?

And then there were Morgan's stuffed animals. She had so many, and Giselle found the mere fact that they had stuffed replications of woodland (and other) animals a little strange. Wouldn't families rather have real animals? They were so friendly, and they could be rather helpful when it came to cleaning and other various household chores. Then again, perhaps people here didn't like real animals as much as people in Andalasia did. After all, Robert had been completely panicked when he had seen Giselle's new friends that morning and had rudely shooed them away, even after they had helped to clean up the horrendous mess that the apartment had been. Regardless, all pretences aside, the toys were endearing, but there were more of them on the girl's bed and scattered across the room than were really necessary. The animals took up more room than Morgan and her other personal objects did!

She would never understand the quirks people in this world had. Perhaps it was for the better that Edward would be here soon – and she just knew it wouldn't be too long. If Pip was here, that could only mean one thing: Edward wasn't too far behind.

In another attempt to pass the time (and learn more about her new environment in the process), Giselle had just begun to explore books. The Phillips had a vast array of books: some were thick, filled with immense amounts of information, indexed numerous different ways; others were thin, meant for light reading or only filed with articles for mindless entertainment. Some were illustrated with beautiful pictures and bright colours; others were rather dull, prefaced with rather large words only to be followed up by even bigger words. If books didn't illustrate the tendency of these people to overproduce, Giselle didn't know what would. There were even different words for different types of books! Novels, biographies, magazines, almanacs, dictionaries, thesauruses…! Morgan had (thankfully) been so kind to help her pick a starting spot, for which Giselle was glad; she wasn't sure she would know where to begin without the girl. Morgan had lent her a book she had recently received from her father, something called 'Important Women of Our Time'. Morgan hadn't seemed too excited about this book (she explained that she enjoyed illustrated fairy tales much better, but her father didn't like her reading those sorts of stories, a fact that Giselle found sadly predictable), but Giselle found it extremely fascinating so far. Women here were so much more involved in… well, everything than they were in Andalasia. Perhaps that was why women demanded dates before marrying someone? If they were to be almost as important- or even as important, an odd concept for someone who had been waiting for her prince to find her for nearly all her life- as their husband, perhaps they wanted to make sure their interests matched up so they could work on the same things their husband did… or perhaps they wanted a little more respect – or something in that vein. She would have to ask Robert, she supposed. He seemed to know a lot about women and love.

"Look, uh, Giselle."

How funny that he would walk in right as she was thinking of him, Giselle thought, reluctantly looking up from the story of Helen Keller. (The poor woman! Giselle couldn't imagine being able to live without hearing songs or seeing the sun! She must have been very unhappy and lonely.)

"That was a nice story… about your chipmunk friend and all," Robert said, a soft smile playing across his features.

Not quite sure what he was getting at, but glad that he enjoyed it anyway, she returned his smile, nodding a bit. "Yes," she agreed with a passive smile, turning her focus back to the book in front of her momentarily, a small, regrettably rude part of her hoping that was all he had to say. She had just been getting to the part of how Helen had learned how to read something called Braille. She was completely enthralled, lost in the story completely… until he spoke again.

"You know, I know what it's like when someone disappoints you."

Giselle internally frowned. That came out of seemingly nowhere, and it wasn't too pleasant of a conversation starter. She looked up and closed the book and put it down on her lap upon seeing the somewhat wistful look on his face, deciding in an instant that she could read it later. It would not be going anywhere, and Robert seemed like he wanted to talk. She was a good listener, after all. Was he going to share more about his wife? He had seemed so sad when he was talking about her earlier; it broke her heart to know that he and Morgan had had to go through all that. They were so kind and good; they didn't deserve that unhappiness. She just hoped she would be able to comfort him if the need arose – it would be the least she could do.

"It's tempting to see things the way you wish they were instead of how they are."

Oh? Oh. He was talking about Edward, she realised, judging by the odd look on his face and the somewhat disdainful tone to his voice. Suddenly the conversation was not as interesting. She sighed, feeling something hot and uncomfortable begin to grow in the pit of her stomach. "I don't wish that he's coming, Robert," she said with the air of stating a well-known fact. "He is." How could he not come for her? They were perfect for each other! They were to be married. …Well, maybe after a date, she decided in a moment. It did sound fun, after all.

"Right," Robert acquiesced, a strange, strained smile on his face. "Because the chipmunk told you."

Keen to prove her point (and poor Pip's innocence), she nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "Yes. Pip actually said that-" But he cut her off.

"You know what?" Robert interrupted, his frustration growing more and more apparent. "I don't know if you're kidding or you're being ironic, because chipmunks? They don't talk."

Where was this sudden… sensation coming from? Why was he confronting her this way? True, Pip had given him a scare earlier, but she had done her best to reassure him that Pip was merely trying to help, and, after all, Morgan had seemed enthralled with the chipmunk. "Well, not here, they don't," she said defensively, hating the way her voice shook. A pang of sadness for poor Pip suddenly hit her. Oh, how she hoped that the news lady was right and that he had managed to escape all right.

"So, in lieu of taking advice from a forest rodent," Robert continued hurriedly- the clenched feeling deep in her stomach grew stronger and hotter-, "I just wanted to say that, uh, you know, if it did work out and you decided to stay in New York, I'd like to help."

"Well, that's very kind of you, Robert," she said, not wanting to seem ungrateful (after all, he had been so generous to her when it seemed no one else would be!). "But Edward is coming for me."

"But what if he doesn't?"

The quickly uttered words hurt far more than the fall off the fake castle had. "Why do you keep saying that?" she said, throwing her hands down into her lap as she voiced her sudden thoughts. Why was he so keen to shoot her hopes down? Did he like thriving on other people's unhappiness? A rare frustration she had begun to experience more often since she had crash-landed in New York began to build, her throat clenching with… something….

"Because I deal with this every day," Robert said as he knelt down next to her seat on the couch, the element of pity that began creeping into his voice only helping to increase her frustration. "If a relationship has issues at the beginning, it doesn't get any better."

Oh, he could be so condescending sometimes! She leant forward, desperate to get her point across, irritated that he dared give her relationship advice. She was about to get married and he was still hesitant to propose to a woman he'd been dating for the past five years. Who was he to tell her she and Edward had problems? "He is coming!" she reiterated, feeling like an insolent, naïve child despite the part of her mind that told her she was right to yell at him.

"Giselle," he murmured softly, the pity still evident in his voice, "I don't think so, no."

How dare he? He didn't know Edward!

A small voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Robert chuckled darkly. 'How can you talk about loving some guy you don't even know?' it said, echoing Robert's words from earlier, resonating in her mind, ghostly and eerie. The words pierced her feeble armour even easier the second time around, doubt moving to swirl among the haze created by the peculiar sensation that had been growing with each passing second, combining to create a wholly chaotic and uncomfortable state of mind, slowly and surely driving poor Giselle out of her mind.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, if only to counter whatever he had said out of spite, a heat growing in her chest and cheeks, making it harder to breathe as her heart rate sped up. How alike to love this extraordinary emotion felt, and yet, how different. And oh, it was different.

"I have to disagree! No." It was obvious he was becoming as frustrated with her stubbornness as she was becoming with his.

"'No'?" she repeated incredulously. That word was so… augh! Sometimes she wanted to…!

What little remained of his smile disappeared. "No."

The situation was becoming so ridiculous, she felt as though she could laugh – and yet at the same time she wanted to sob, yell, or tear something up… or do something equally violent, a surprising thought for such a usually pleasant and peaceful maiden. "Is that the only word that you know?" she demanded, slowly rising to her feet as her frustration grew. "'No'?"

"No," he retorted, looking offended at the very suggestion.

A mad grin lit her face as she realised what he had said. "Oh yeah?" she crowed triumphantly, feeling ridiculously giddy.

"No!" he defended as if trying to erase what he had just said but only managing to fail miserably, further proving her point.

"'No'!" she repeated, the triumph and the other emotion that she couldn't – or wouldn't – name growing with every word he uttered.

"No!" he said again, and by this point Giselle wasn't really sure whether he was still arguing with her or whether he had just moved to bemoaning his own antics.

Whatever the case may have been, they were both on their feet by this point, and she was pointing at him accusingly as she cried, "Oh! Oh!"

His look of shock and childish horror would have been so amusing if she wasn't so… if he hadn't been so… if they weren't so…!

"I mean, no!" he said again, drawing her from her last-ditch attempts at naming the dratted emotion and succeeding pushing her temper over the edge.

"'No'! 'No'! 'No'!" she exclaimed, waving her fingers in his face, finally succeeding in making him silent as he saw her point – or at least she hoped he did. "Over and over again!" she said, stamping away from him as she tried to regain control of her emotions. She was sure she would be embarrassed by this later; how unladylike of her, to blow up at him… even if he deserved it. "Every word out of your mouth is 'no'!" she stomped back over to him, amazed at just how… "It just, it makes me so…!" she trailed off, still unable to put a name to the raging winds and battles that were taking place within her. "Oh, sometimes you make me so…!" What was that word? Surely it couldn't be that foreign of an emotion. It really was like love, almost, but…

"I make you so what?" To his credit, he was trying to be patient, but he had brought this fit on, and by now Giselle was blind with…

"You make me so… so…" And as her mind caught up with her rapidly-moving mouth, and his words, his laughably innocent confusion, such a harsh contrast from the cynical pessimism he had been expressing and forcing on her a few short moments ago sunk in, she knew exactly what the word was. "…angry!" She couldn't help the jubilant laughter that burst from her after that. Who knew that just that one simple word could make her feel so… so… so free? "I'm angry!" she exclaimed before giggling again, letting the aftereffects of that glorious word sink in to both herself and to Robert.

He obviously thought she had gone mad, for he looked at her with an odd mixture of fear and pity that, surprisingly, did not anger her farther. "Are you all right?"

"I'm angry," she repeated as she realised that most of her irritation had melted away. Determined, she twisted her face into the most intimidating expression she could manage (which, admittedly, wasn't very effective, but it was the thought that counted). Robert had made her angry in the first place; she couldn't let the happiness she felt over feeling and expressing said anger grant him a reprieve. "I'm angry!" she said again, more forcefully this time, and she hit him on his arm as hard as she could, a small, intoxicating tizzy of twisted delight coursing through her as a shocked look of indignation crossed his face. She couldn't help it: that little manifestation of something as pure and simple as anger had evaporated what little fury she had managed to hold on to, transforming what remained into other, more pleasant emotions. She giggled again, in awe. She was angry! Who could have ever known…?

"Are you okay?" Robert asked, more confused than anything now. She supposed she couldn't blame him, and the teeniest part of her felt bad for hitting him. Only the teensiest, though: he had brought it onto himself. She wouldn't apologise. …Okay, so she might, she realised as a little bit of guilt already began to grip her conscience. But at least not for a little while.

"I'm…" Giselle looked at her hands, watching as they shook in emotion. Yesterday she was just a maiden in a forest, dreaming of her prince. Then her prince had found her, they were set to be married, and she had become lost… and yet here she was, in a distant land with this strange, fantastic, cynical, kind, infuriating man and his sweet daughter, and she was exuberant over experiencing something as foreign, infuriating, draining, and oddly exhilarating as anger. She could never have even imagined being angry in Andalasia…. His question was valid. Was she okay? She glanced down, unsure of the answer.

And then she saw the shabby… slippers, she thought he had called them (though they looked nothing like the slippers that she knew of), barely peeking out from underneath his bathrobe. The corners of her lips turned up slightly, an odd, somehow sad fondness gripping and twisting her heart. "I'm… I'm wonderful." The grin spread even farther across her face as she looked Robert in the eye and another small laugh escaped her lips of its own accord.

She could tell by the way he was looking at her with resignation now that he had come to the conclusion that she was just being her usual airy-fairy self. "Are you sure?" he asked, still abnormally solemn and sober despite her affirmative answer and giggling fits. Was that a hint of guilt in his eye, or something else?

"Yes," Giselle said, placing her hands on his chest, her mind slowing down far more than usual as her stomach twisted and turned. Was this still anger? She thought she was over that. "I'm…" What was she, really? A wave of another strange emotion took over her then – an unusual form of sadness mixed with another unnameable feeling. "I'm fine," she said, somehow more to herself than to Robert. It was as though she was reassuring herself of something, even if at the same time she was unsure as to what she was trying to say. A few seconds paused, her long fingers absent-mindedly curling and uncurling against his chest, stroking the bare skin revealed by the draping cloth. She took a sharp, shallow breath when a surge of tingling heat spread through her fingertips. The action was much louder than she had anticipated it to be and a reckless, feckless hope that Robert didn't notice it flitted through her mind. Immediately after the thought dissipated, she mentally shook her head, telling herself to get a hold of herself. "I'm…" She shrugged her shoulder in the slightest, her eyes unintentionally locking onto his chin. The dim lighting was not helping her inattentive, wandering mind: his chin was accentuated in the yellow lamplight, appearing pleasingly rougher and smoother at the same time, while the shadows playing across the room darkened his eyes, making it near impossible to read his veiled expression. "…fit as a fiddle," she murmured, the rest of the phrase passing across her lips without a real thought as she forced her eyes away from his chin, instead snapping upwards to gaze into his eyes apologetically. What exactly she was apologising for, whether it for be snapping and yelling at him, for impeding on him and Morgan, for hitting him, for inviting the rats and other vermin in this morning, for staring shamelessly at him now, or for everything in the world and somehow nothing in particular, she wasn't sure, but his eyes seemed to tentatively accept her apology, his eyelids lowering ever so slightly as their bodies became tantalizingly closer and closer.

It was impossibility, a paradox in existence. They were too close, sharing the same air, thoughts, and emotions; they were from different worlds: they were too different- it would take too big a leap of faith- and both knew they could never get over their differences. And yet, somehow, they were not close enough, as if each and every breath of air that existed between them was a crime against the simple state of being. It was as if they could never cool the fire that was blossoming in the air. It was a limit, like practice, like perfection: always striving, never obtaining.

It was fantasy. It was torture. It was heaven. It was hell. It was far too deep to be described by a single word. It was an oxymoron. It was impossible. It was real. It was…. Oh, it was.

The excruciating, soothing pause endured for an everlasting moment longer before Robert leaned towards her in a horribly, wonderfully slow moment. "Okay," he whispered, turning at the last moment, his forehead brushing close enough to Giselle's so every particle of her skin, every fibre of her being danced and screamed in frustration and anticipation as he turned and decisively walked away from her, across the room, and towards the doorway.

Giselle became all too aware of the lack of his skin underneath her fingertips as her hand touched empty air and dropped, slowly and erratically. She didn't know when she had begun holding her breath, but her lungs protested mere moments after he walked away, and she let her breath out in shaky, unsure puffs of air, sucking it in almost immediately afterwards as though her life depended on it, the air harsh, cold, and unwelcoming to her burning body. Though she was from a fairytale world, she had never felt like a damsel in distress more than she did in that moment. Her knees wobbled precariously as her body warned her that she was about to crash. She bit her lip, attempting to fight the feeling off. Robert was still in the room, and she would not let him see what she was feeling – whatever that particular feeling may have been. An empty shiver ran down her spine, unbidden and unwanted. The peculiar tremor was like a bolt of lightning, stroking her and filling her up, making her warm and whole for what seemed like an eternal flash. It disappeared just as quickly as it had came, and she was left standing there, feeling cold, alone, and scared at the sudden onslaught of unprecedented thought and emotion. Realising she was angry had opened the floodgate, it seemed, for now her body just wouldn't stop. Her brain could only focus on one thing, one emotion, one word, and the one person who had just uttered it. The worst part about the whole thing was neither her heart nor her head were thinking of the one man she knew she should be focusing on.

What in the world had just happened?

Robert reached the doorframe and turned, his eyes looking, if just for one moment, almost as vulnerable, confused, helpless, and broken as she felt. He opened and closed his mouth several times, his obvious hesitation not helping to quell the inexplicable nervousness she was feeling. "Good night," he said breathlessly once he managed to form words, his gaze still pinning her like an unstable lace to the hem of a dress until he vanished from sight, freeing her from the spell and allowing her to move.

Giselle took a few hesitant steps towards the spot where he had been standing, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open with a horrifying, magnificent, alien, familiar, and altogether indescribable mixture of fear, exhilaration, anticipation, and every other emotion she had ever experienced, mixed together. She inhaled deeply, smelling the sparse scent of Robert's aftershave that still lingered in the air, her remaining strength finally giving out as she sank in the nearest seat in her 'room'. She clutched onto the wooden arm of the chair as though it were a lifeline, still staring at the bedroom door where Robert had disappeared. Her lips parted further as an aching sigh escaped them, the fiery fervour in her stomach spreading and dulling.

Slowly, she brought her hands together, looking up from the door with a guilty expression akin to a child who has just been caught doing something they shouldn't. Oh, she was in trouble, she realised, feeling like sobbing, grinning, screaming, singing, and running as she realised just what this particular emotion was called.

"Oh, my."