From Rumple's point-of-view. Inspired by the song Baby, It's Cold Outside. But angst-filled because, well, it's Rumbelle. Please leave comments. I love to know what readers think!
"Rumplestiltskin, where do you think you're going?" Belle blocked the doorway, hands resting on the curve of her hips, bosom heaving with exertion. Her appearance was so swift and silent that she'd gone undetected by even his razor-sharp senses.
Dazzled by her inviting smile and the delicate bloom of her pink cheeks, he drew back, rubbing his fingers together in an unconscious nervous gesture. Recovering quickly, he swept a mocking bow. "Not that it's any of your affair, dearie, but I've business to attend to in Sherwood Forest."
For a moment, her indigo eyes clouded with hurt, but the flash of pain was gone in an instant. Perhaps he had merely imagined it.
"I thought we agreed that you were going to call me Belle," she challenged sweetly, clasping his hand and twirling him around in a semicircle. Their cadence was a parody of a dance and the irony pierced his hardened heart. A monster would never hold a woman like Belle in his arms—it was against the laws of nature.
Ignorant of his black thoughts, his determined maid tugged more insistently, trying to steer him back to the great room.
Patiently, he allowed her to shuffle backwards and pull him along until her bottom collided with the large round table that graced the Dark Castle's foyer. He gave a saucy little half smile at the look of surprise on her face.
"As you wish, Belle," he assented, making a show of reading his pocket watch. Of course he knew the hour, down to the exact millisecond. He was a powerful, immortal, magical being who knew the comings and goings of the entire Enchanted Forest. Although he had nothing but time, the desperate souls who called upon his services weren't so lucky. "I still must go. My rendezvous is waiting." He rolled his "R" imperially.
"But Rumple," she objected, "it's cold outside. Have you looked out the window? Snow has been falling for hours. It's practically a blizzard."
"Shut the curtains you insisted upon opening," he suggested stubbornly, "and you won't have to see the snow."
"If you're going out there you need a much warmer cloak," Belle announced, flinging the large closet wide. "Ah! Here's the fur-lined cape you dealt for from Prince Charming. Oh dear," she tsked, pressing her nose to the fabric then stuffing the garment under her arm when he reached for it. She shook her head. "It needs to be laundered. No, you can't go out this evening."
"Perhaps it has escaped your notice," he scowled, drawing himself up to appear as fearsome as possible, "but I am the Dark One. I don't get cold."
"Worse than a child," she murmured under her breath.
"What was that?"
"How about a nice cup of tea," she suggested, changing the subject. "It will warm your hands—they feel like ice." Belle stroked his iridescent skin, so soft and smooth to the touch despite its scaly appearance. Massaging the heel of his palms with her thumbs, she tenderly drew her index finger up and down the backs of his hands from the sleek knob of his wrist to the tips of his sharp, black talons.
He groaned softly, annoyance at being ignored mingling with pleasure at Belle's innocent touch. Once again his twisted mind screamed the question: Why is she still here?
He was nothing more than her beastly former employer, the fiend that swept her away from home and hearth into eternal servitude in a fortress tucked deep in the mountains. More than two months ago he'd released her from her vow of forever, promising to keep his end of the bargain to secure Avonlea and its territories against the dreaded ogres.
Keeping an inquisitive, lovely young maiden away from her dreams of travel and a parade of buckish young suitors was beneath even his standards. Admittedly, picturing a lineup of handsome knights applying to marry Belle caused him to clench his clawed fists and gnash his rotten teeth in fury. But that was of no consequence.
Upon her discharge, he'd fully expected her to run screaming out his door without so much as a backward glance. Yet here she stayed.
And she was drawing closer still.
He was awash in sensation as her delicate hands crawled upward to tease his forearm and rest in the crook of his elbow. Soon he found himself seated in a plush wingback chair that Belle had placed in front of the fire, a warm throw blanket draped across his shoulders. After discovering an odd little book from the World Without Magic in the library a few weeks earlier, she'd been prattling nonstop about feng shui and daily rearranging the furniture around his castle.
Though he grumbled, he adored her enthusiasm and prayed to whatever god might be listening that she'd never lose that zest for life. But he'd die before he admitted those feelings aloud. Given his immortality, he'd be keeping his mouth shut for a very long time.
Belle hummed an off-key melody as she waltzed out to the kitchens and returned with the tea tray, placing a steaming cup of brew at his elbow. "Yours is the chipped one," she pointed out helpfully, as though he ever drank out of anything else. "Three teaspoons of sugar, just the way you like it."
Perplexed, his glassy, golden eyes searched her face. "This is lovely, Belle," Rumplestiltskin hedged politely, draining the scalding beverage in two huge gulps, "but Robin Hood and his Merry Men are likely keeping watch for me from their tree stands."
In answer, she curled up on a bearskin rug at the foot of his chair, allowing him a glimpse of the delicate valley between her breasts. The mammoth stone fireplace flickered, its flames and rivulets of gold illuminating her exquisite curves. Too wicked to refuse such a gift, he looked his fill while Belle lifted a fat tome of short stories into her lap, dusting off the cover. "This one sounds fascinating. It's called The She-Bear. Shall I read aloud?"
"Ah…" he stammered, searching for a reply. What had happened to his mastery of the spoken word?
"More tea, Rumple? You look thirsty." Dauntless, she refilled his teacup then clapped her hands gleefully. Belle always clapped when she was about to share an idea. "While we read, let's have some music and maybe some of that fresh apple tart I baked earlier. That's perfect for a cold winter's night. Will you turn on the gramophone, please?"
So that's why she'd lugged the dusty contraption down three flights of spiral staircases this afternoon.
Rather than snapping his fingers to make the record whirl, he rose to switch on the machine manually, muttering to himself about bossy maids who no longer actually worked for him and all the trouble missing his appointments was going to cause.
"Dearie…I mean, Belle, after I dispense with the Outlaw I have a meeting with Regina. She'll be pacing the ramparts, you know. Flies into a terrible rage when she's kept waiting," he added mysteriously.
"But you're Rumplestiltskin," she purred, flattening her hands against his chest and running them over his torso. "The greatest sorcerer in all the realms. What difference could another half a cup of tea possibly make?"
"Umm…" he began, flummoxed by her behavior. Why couldn't he form a complete sentence? Stealthily, he moved toward the door.
"I like this vest," she complimented, dancing in front of him to catch his arm and finger the rich brocade. "You look wonderful in red. Very elegant."
His pulse thrummed in his ears as she caressed his arms and shoulders. She wasn't listening to a single word he said. Chagrined, he supposed he deserved it, reflecting on the many times he'd been the one to ignore her wishes.
Letting his mind drift, he remembered a night much like this one—frigid, snowy, and windy—shortly after he had first brought her, proud and courageous, from her father's kingdom. He had holed himself up in his tower room, plugging his ears as she cried out for mercy from the depths of his dungeon. In vain he tried to work, mixing potions and tinctures, but no matter what he did, the sounds of her distress swirled around him. Following several interminable hours of misery, he magicked himself to her cell with a snap of his talon-topped fingers.
"WHAT?" he bellowed over the noise of her sobs.
"I am cold; so very cold." Her teeth chattered as she tried to wrap her filthy, threadbare golden gown more snuggly around her pitiful form. Bastard that he was, he hadn't even given her a blanket to huddle under. But he wasn't purposefully being unkind. As the Dark One, he was invulnerable to the cold and it hadn't occurred to him that she wasn't. Given the circumstances, he expected her to spit upon him and call him every filthy name he deserved.
Through lashes spiked with tears she'd met his ashamed gaze and touched him, placing a tentative hand on his arm, and asked him to hold her. A sweet, guileless woman-child requesting comfort from her captor. The Dark One. The Beast. Scourge of the Enchanted Forest.
Too surprised to give more than a mute nod of agreement, he'd gathered her close in a chaste, careful hug. But the minx pressed him down to the rough stone floor and crawled into his lap, wrapping her frosty limbs around his body and snuggling against his chest with a contented sigh. There in that dank, dark cell, Rumplestiltskin lost his heart—totally and irrevocably.
That had been her last night in the dungeon.
The next morning he'd fashioned a suite of rooms especially for Belle. Close to the library, of course. And near the kitchens. Couldn't have her neglecting her duties.
What a complete fool he was—a 300-year-old wizard who couldn't comprehend the mind of a woman. Not that he'd understood the opposite sex while he was mortal. If Belle insisted on staying cooped up in this oversized mausoleum, wouldn't she at least wish him gone so she could have free reign?
Of course she would, the Darkness hissed, clawing at his skull. You cannot possibly believe she cares for you. Every laugh, every smile, every touch, every breath she takes is a lie.
It required all his willpower to press the Dark Ones back, but finally their ugly whispers faded, sinking back into the pits of Hell. Relaxed, Rumplestiltskin smiled slightly, relishing the warmth singing through his veins. "Belle, did you put something in this tea?" he asked vaguely, staring at her plump, lush lips. Did her eyes always sparkle so brightly?
"Just a slug or two from the bottle in the liquor cabinet labeled 'Rumplestiltskin Only,'" she confessed, showing her dimples. "I promise I didn't drink any of it myself. Just a touch of the peppermint liqueur you made for me last week."
"Good. Thass good," he slurred a bit, leaning on the arms of his chair as he staggered to his feet. "Really must go now," he explained halfheartedly.
"And how do you expect to get there?" she asked in a voice as smooth as hot butter, nudging him gently back into the armchair. "Even you don't possess enough power to transport yourself that far without the help of a serious spell. As it happens, we're fresh out of eye of newt and even the Dark Horses can't plow through this weather." She caressed his leather-clad thigh in tiny circles and was rewarded with a moan of appreciation. Her hands journeyed toward his hips and his mind began to wander once more.
There's nowhere else to go. The voices were back, and they heckled their slave savagely. No escape. No escape. No escape…
Like a legion of angry fairies a horrible truth hit him—the real reason Belle persisted in staying. She had nowhere else to go. Thanks to their association, she was now tarnished goods. It mattered not that she was still a maiden. No door would open in welcome, no town would be friendly, no family would be accepting. Living in his castle had made her unclean; now, as a free woman, she was more of a prisoner than she'd been while under his thrall.
Rumplestiltskin wanted to weep at the cruel injustice. None of this was Belle's fault. But he had ruined her, just as he ruined everything he touched.
Unable to bear another heartbeat in her presence while she cheerfully made the best of her unbearable situation, he jerked away from her questing caresses, lurching to his feet.
The sudden movement overbalanced her and Belle landed with a thud on the stone floor, staring up at him with startled, wounded eyes. "Rumplestiltskin, wait," she pleaded, grabbing for his hand.
"Goodnight, Belle," he clipped harshly, backing out of reach. And entering a cloud of crimson smoke, he disappeared from sight.
xoxo
Materializing atop a snowy peak many miles from the castle, he flung his head back and howled at the uncaring moon like a wounded animal.
Invulnerable to the blistering wind and blowing snow, he trudged over the rocky terrain for hours, the tears leaking from his eyes turning to icicles on his frozen cheeks. He forgot about his deals and meetings. He ignored the cries of desperate souls clamoring for solutions. He loathed his magic and cursed the power that had transformed him into a monster inside and out. Twice in his long life he had known love—once with his son Baelfire and once with Belle—and he had lost them both.
He was all out of miracles.
Filled with despair, he lost track of where he traveled, what he did, and who he saw. He neither ate nor slept, but simply wandered in isolation like a lost sheep.
After three days of sulking and brooding he returned, transporting himself directly to his tower workroom and barricading the door.
xoxo
"Rumplestiltskin." Dimly, he heard a voice through a fog of slumber. Lifting his head and opening his eyes, he realized he had fallen asleep on the bench in his laboratory, his face pressed against the pages of a spellbook. The vision of Belle holding a tea tray swam before his bleary eyes. Instantly he sat up, alarmed by her wan appearance. Still in her nightdress in the middle of the afternoon, her skin was translucent and pale and dark rings surrounded her dull, puffy eyes.
"You're home." Her words were barely audible in the still, silent chamber.
"Belle!" Forgetting himself and the oath he'd sworn during his sojourn in the mountains to leave her be, he gained her side in an instant, lifting her chin gently with thumb and forefinger. "Have you been unwell?"
She sobbed at his question and fear made his breath quicken. Had she been so terribly sick?
"Unwell? Yes, I suppose you could say that." She stared down at her golden slippers, a handmade gift from him on her last birthday.
"Why didn't you call for me?" he snapped, furious with himself. "I could have healed you in an instant."
"I don't think you have a cure for this particular affliction," she said sadly, and her crestfallen expression lanced his heart.
"But I am—"
"A very powerful sorcerer. Yes, I know." The irony in her tone did not escape him, even if the reason for it did.
"Well if you aren't sick, what's troubling you? Do you need more books? Can I get you some supplies? Are we low on food?" Anxious to provide whatever might bring the light back into her eyes and a smile back to her face, he made an exaggerated flourish, ready to call on magic at his lady's command. "Say the word and it shall be yours."
"There's nothing you would willingly give me that I want," she replied, crossing the floor to her settee and staring out the window over snowbanks that glittered like diamonds in the afternoon sunshine.
Mystified, he lifted his empty teacup and ran his finger over the chipped rim. She couldn't possibly be angry about his leaving…could she? "What do you want?"
"You'll share your castle with me, but not yourself," she sighed, her back still turned. "Your house is my house; your things are my things, right? I may come and go as I please. I'm free to leave at any time." Then she whirled to face him, eyes sparking with anger.
"What do you mean? Belle, please!" He bounded across the room to take her hands. "Why are you talking this way? I don't understand."
"Don't you?" she challenged, ripping her hands out of his grasp. The edge of his dagger was nothing compared to the sharpness in her countenance. "Do you have any idea how frantic I've been? You push me away and disappear during the blizzard of the century and stay gone for three days without so much as a word!"
"Untrue!" he cried. "I bid you good night!" Why was she twisting his intentions so? All he had done was leave her to whatever freedom she could still enjoy now that he'd so thoroughly ruined her life.
"That's not how decent men behave, Rumplestiltskin!" she argued.
"I'm not a man!" he roared, whipping the cover off the mirror in the corner and smashing it with his fists, causing glass to shatter like falling icicles.
"Oh yes, you are!" she shouted, unfazed by his display. "As stupid and pigheaded a man as I've ever met! How do you think it makes me feel when you tell me over and over that it's my choice to stay? That I'm free to walk on? You don't care if I'm here or not. You'd be happier with me gone!" Tears poured down her face and she shook with silent sobs, crossing her arms over her chest and rocking back and forth.
Open-mouthed, he stared at her, trying to make sense of her words and her tears. He began to doubt the wisdom of his decision to bow out gracefully the other night. He'd wanted to blame the Darkness, but the culprit had been more than the evil voices that tempted and teased. His pride had gotten in the way, convinced him that she was better off without him. How had he gotten it all so terribly wrong?
"Happy?" he echoed mournfully. "How could I be happy without you, Belle? Of course I care. I care more than I could ever say. It's just that when I released you from your vow, I swore to myself that I'd never take your choices from you again. The way your father did. The way Gaston did. The way I did when we first met."
"Then how could you leave me that way? Toss me aside like I didn't matter?" she asked, struggling to understand. "When my choice was to be with you. You hurt me, Rumple. Not just my pride but my heart."
"I didn't know," he whispered miserably. "Truly, I thought you were staying here and enduring my presence because you had nowhere else to turn. Now that you've been here, they won't accept you—not your father, not your friends, not even strangers that hear rumors of who you are and where you've lived."
"What did I say the day you arrived at my father's estate?" she reminded him. "No one decides my fate but me. I don't care about wagging tongues and reproachful glances. My life is my own. If that's what you were worried about, why not just come out and say so?"
"Belle, you're not exactly the forthcoming one, barricading the front door and plying me with tea and alcohol." She blushed scarlet at the reminder of her attempted seduction but he smiled at her broadly. No one had ever cared for his comfort and his company before. To say he was flattered was an understatement indeed. "At the time, I honestly had no idea what you were doing."
"I'm sorry," they said in unison, and a look of fondness and understanding passed between them.
"I like spending time with you," she gulped, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "It's lonely here by myself. I'm not complaining," she added quickly. "I have my books and my duties and I love this dusty old place full of treasures and trinkets, but the best part about life here is sharing it with you."
"I thought you wanted adventure," he said softly, drawing her down to the couch to sit beside him. "What about the great wide somewhere you've always dreamed of? Grand cities? Tropical shores? I'll give you anything you desire, Belle."
"And if what I desire is you?" she asked, the cheekiness of three evenings ago creeping back into her voice.
"That's…not possible," he stuttered in disbelief.
"I love you." She pressed her cheek against his, grazing his forehead with her mouth.
"Belle," he protested weakly, "sweetheart, you can't."
"Surrender those doubts, Rumple, please. My adventure and my home are both here with you and I'm not going anywhere." She cupped his cheeks and intently into his eyes. Now it was his turn to blush and look out the window at the snowy landscape. Belle turned his face back to hers, repeating the words firmly. "I love you."
Rumplestiltskin stared at her, awestruck. Belle wanted him. Belle loved him. He could scarcely believe it was possible and he wanted to weep with the joy of knowing they belonged to each other.
"And I love you, too," he admitted at last, rubbing his nose in her auburn curls.
"Good," she laughed, burrowing into his arms and bringing his head down for a kiss. "Then come closer, my love. It's awfully cold outside."
Gladly he complied, closing his eyes to savor her softness and breathing in the scent of her skin. With Belle in his heart and he in hers, no longer would either of them wander in winter.
-The End-
What did you think? Did you catch the references to the song?