Sorry it took so feckin' long to get this up. School is finally finished, and I hope to finish this story during the summer break. Hope you all have an awesome day, and thank you for being patient with me.
UPDATE: I will be finishing this fic completely before I post the next chapter, in order to eliminate waiting time between chapters. I've also been finding it really hard to write lately, and I hope that being able to write the bits and pieces that come to mind and then weaving them together will help.
"You look lovely."
She curtsies playfully. "Why, thank you, kind Sir."
She's dressed in a sleeve-less, dark blue dress, and a leather belt cinches the fabric around her waist. She'd found it at the back of her closet and had been momentarily impressed with the old her's sense of style. Rum had stood at the foot of the stairs, watching her descend, with an awed look on his face. An odd sliver of sadness had ghosted through her when she'd realized that Gaston had never looked at her like that. Not even on the eve of their prom.
She's meeting Snow and Ruby at the diner. Rum had been thrilled when she'd told him she was going out, like he was happy she was making up for lost time, even if it wasn't with him.
"Enjoy yourself, love," he says, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her temple. She leans into it and closes her eyes. She's grown to like his touches and kisses and the affection behind them.
"Don't wait up. A handsome prince might show up and offer to take me for a ride."
"On what? His noble steed?" Rum smirks.
"Or his Nissan Cherry. I'm easy to please." She mimics his smile, and she looks beautiful and dangerous at the same time; like a woman who could steal your heart and hold it in her hand without even realizing it.
He chuckles. "And here I thought my girl had standards."
She stills as the words 'my girl' sink in, and her teasing demeanour disappears. Because she might actually be his and she finds that terrifying and comforting at the same time. And this isn't all just a game to her. And she wants him to know this.
"She does," she says. She holds his gaze and the corners of her lips slip into a smile as she watches his eyes soften. But she doesn't hang around long enough for him to respond. Because then they might slip into territory Belle can't put words to, but she knows she isn't ready for. So she squeezes his shoulder and gives him a peck on the cheek before heading out the door.
They greet her with warm hugs and bright smiles, and Belle clings to the fabric of their beautiful blouses as she relishes in the feeling of As long as I have these two, I'll be alright. Because she already feels like she's known Snow and Ruby for as long as they've known her. All the grey area in Belle's memory has been re-saturated with the colours of conversations and movies and food they may have experienced together before, but that all seem new to Belle. And if they are reliving things of the past, Ruby and Snow don't tell her.
They've already chosen a booth towards the back. Three glasses of beer - two half-full - sit and wait for them.
Ruby compliments her on her dress, although 'it would look even better a few inches shorter.' Snow merely rolls her eyes, reassuring her that she looks wonderful.
They're halfway through their meal before Snow asks "So, how have you been doing?"
Belle still doesn't like the question, despite being asked it regularly. Because she really doesn't know. She has settled into the life the old her had built for herself, but sometimes she still feels like she's trapped in a theatrical play where everyone knows her character but her, and she's frantically trying to remember her lines. That is, besides Ruby and Snow, and occasionally Rum. Ruby and Snow quickly realized that there was no point in trying to awaken the "Old Belle". They'd accepted that all they could do was make sure Belle felt safe and happy. And they haven't failed her yet.
"I'm good, I think… The house is slowly starting to feel more like home and I feel more comfortable around Rum."
"How are things with him, anyway?" Ruby asks, lowering her voice slightly, as if she's afraid of people overhearing. Belle had quickly gotten the impression that the people of Storybrooke were intimidated by Rum, but she can't for the life of her see why. She's seen him when his hair is tousled from sleep, and him posing in socks and a pair of plaid Bermuda shorts. She hadn't believed him when he'd claimed to own a pair. So of course the only way to prove her wrong was to stage a one-man fashion show in their living room. He'd made her draw the curtains beforehand.
"Fine, well, maybe even better than fine. He's been such a sweetheart through all this." Belle trails off and picks up her fork, fiddling with the mushrooms on her plate. "But sometimes he looks at me like he still misses me… or bits of me that aren't there anymore. And sometimes I feel like I'm letting him down."
"I'm sure he doesn't feel that way," Snow assures her, putting her hand over Belle's. "He's grateful to whatever power decided to keep you by his side. He loves you with all his heart, Belle. Everyone can see the way he feels about you."
"Archie claims he saw him skipping down the sidewalk one time after you'd met," Ruby adds, her eyes alight with humour. Belle bursts out a laugh, imagining Rum - who saunters everywhere he goes - walking with such a spring in his step.
"He's not making it hard for you, is he?" Snow asks, her thumb tracing reassuring circles on Belle's hand.
"No, no, of course not. If anything, he's made it easier." Once he stopped feeling that he had to constantly push and try in order for her to remember, he became a consoling presence; someone Belle could see herself perhaps falling in love with if given enough time.
Both Ruby and Snow smile in relief. "From what you've told us over the years, he's always been the person you rely the most on," Snow says, and for the first time Belle thinks that that is something she can imagine herself saying.
"Especially when your mother passed away," Ruby adds with a sympathetic smile.
And the world seems to stop for a split second, as if it stilled in order to listen in on the words that cannot possibly be true.
She must have misheard.
"What?" she asks, fisting the napkin in her lap; something to hold onto. She feels Snow's hand still.
Their smiles are gone in an instant. Ruby's eyes are wide and Snow's brow is furrowed. Several moments pass before Snow speaks.
"Has no one told you?"
Belle doesn't need to hear the actual words. Not that she would have been able to make them out anyway, what with the sudden ringing in her ears.
Her stomach drops. And she imagines she can remember the sound of her and her father's hearts breaking when her mother passed away. Died. Left them behind.
"We thought you knew." Ruby's voice is small and her eyes are glassy.
Belle removes her hand from Snow's and shakes her head, furiously blinking back the tears that are blurring her vision. She doesn't know if they are tears of rage or grief. Rage that her father knew and he didn't tell her. Grief that she's lost her mother all over again.
"He said she was on a business trip," she whispers.
"Oh, honey-"
Belle doesn't stay to hear the rest. She grabs her coat and heads for the door, Snow and Ruby's voices mingling with the sound of the bell violently ringing overhead as she throws open the door.
It's about a 25-minute walk from the diner to her father's house. All she'll remember from the journey is the taste of her tears and the mantra that haunted her in time with the beat of her hurried footsteps.
She's dead. She's dead. He lied. They all lied.
She bangs until her knuckles are raw, hoping that maybe if she hits her father's front door hard enough, the whole house will crumble to a millions pieces, like her world seems to be doing right now.
The door is suddenly yanked open and Belle stumbles, her fist still raised. She's breathing hard, trying to force oxygen into her lungs through the knots that have formed in her throat. Moe's eyes widen as he registers the dishevelled state of his daughter.
"Belle? What's happened?"
He sounds so concerned, and she hates him for it.
"Where's mum?"
He blanches and it takes a while for a weak smile to appear.
"She's on a business trip, honey."
He's still lying. He still hasn't realized that the game's up; that his daughter's tears are for the loss of her mother.
"Don't lie to me. I'll ask one more time, and I want the truth. Where. The fuck. Is she?" She can't remember when she started swearing, or when she became so menacing. Perhaps it was something she picked up from Rum. Either way, in this moment, it's one of the things she loves about the Belle she's slowly become.
His smile disappears and tears well in his eyes. He looks so tired. And Belle doesn't care. She has to hear him say it, has to hear him apologize, even if she most likely won't forgive him tonight or tomorrow night.
"Who told you?" he murmurs.
"My friends! Though they thought I already knew."
He sighs and rubs the palm of his hand down his face, trying to rub away the frail sadness that is threatening to make his voice shake. "I'm sorry, Belle. What was I supposed to do? You had enough to deal with without the loss of a parent. It was bad enough the first time."
She looks at him in disbelief and her gut churns. "For me this is the first time! You should've told me. How long was this business trip going to last, dad? Till I maybe one day regained my memories?"
His breath hitches and he hides his face in his hands, muffling his sobs. "I don't know, Belle… I don't know."
He looks nothing like the strong man she always thought her father was, and had she not been clutching her coat to her chest, too busy holding together what remained of her bruised heart, she might have consoled him.
The silence stretches until she finally asks: "How did she die?" She's almost afraid to ask; worried that she suffered, worried that she never saw it coming.
Moe takes a deep breath. "Aneurysm."
"Fuck," she whispers. She hastily wipes away her tears on the back of her hand. All the fight has left her, and now nothing but a gaping hole remains.
"Belle, why don't you come inside for a while?"
He reaches out to touch her and she hastily pulls away, shaking her head.
"No, no. I can't look at you right now."
She makes her way down the porch steps. She can't decide if she's disgusted with herself for being so cold, or proud that she's being what some might call 'strong'. Not that she feels strong. She feels frayed and tired and lost, so very, very lost. And if this is what 'strength' feels like, then she never wants to be weak.
But Moe can't leave it at that. As much as Belle loves her father, she has always detested his need to have the last word.
"What about that so-called husband of yours?" he calls out after her as she walks away. "Why didn't he tell you?"
She stops in her tracks and turns on her heel. Her eyes are dark with misery and the shadows of the encroaching night dance across her face. She looks fierce and intimidating. She looks powerful; like she'll one day be able to pick up the pieces her father has inadvertently scattered across the floor.
"It wasn't his responsibility. It should have been you," she says. "Coward," she adds under her breath.
She stalks down the driveway and follows the main road, hoping she'll figure out where she wants to be tonight on the way, leaving her father to stand on the threshold of his home and wonder when his daughter became someone he hardly recognizes.
Rum is brewing tea in the kitchen, waiting for Belle to return. They'd promised each other years ago that whenever one of them went out for an evening, the other would wait up until they came home. It usually ended with him falling asleep on the couch when it was his turn to wait, but he'd always hear her unlocking the front door, jump up off the couch to greet her, and make Belle chuckle when he swore he hadn't fallen asleep. Although Belle probably cannot remember, he's still keeping his promise.
He hears footsteps in the hall and the front door closing, and he instantly smiles, having missed Belle immensely even though she's only been gone for a few hours.
He means to greet her with a hug and a kiss as he makes his way into the hall, but stops dead in tracks when he sees her.
She's kicked off her shoes and is leaning against the wall; her head tilted back, her arms wrapped around herself, her body shaking, as silent sobs seem to rack through her. Her cheeks are stained dark where her makeup has been smudged. He's only seen her this broken once before.
"Belle, love. What happened?"
She doesn't answer. Her lips are moving, but he can't make out what she's saying. She thumps her head against the wall behind her and sinks down to the floor, her legs having decided they can't carry her heavy sorrow any longer. Rum rushes to her and kneels in front of her, a hand on each of her shoulders, pleading her to look at him.
It is only when he is this close that he can make out the words she keeps repeating over and over again.
"She's gone. She's gone."
Rum doesn't need to ask what's happened. He'd been waiting – dreading – this moment; the inevitable day he would have to watch his Belle suffer all over again. Just like last time, when he'd remained at Belle's side as they'd sat by her mother's deathbed, watching her lifeless form leave her daughter and husband behind.
Her heart had given into Death sometime during the night and Belle had been inconsolable. Even after years had passed, Rum knew she'd never truly forgiven herself that she wasn't awake until the very end. It had taken Rum some time before realizing that that was the reason Belle insisted they stay up until the other came home; because she couldn't bear to wake up and find that he'd been taken from her.
He pulls her to his chest, and she fists his shirt in her hand, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He kisses the top of her head, his voice muffled as he says 'I'm sorry' in time with her sobs.
He eventually scoops her up into his arms and carries them to the couch, letting her rest her head against his heart, that is promising with every beat never to stop while she's still around.
Her sobs quiet, and are soon nothing but hitches of breath.
And soon she goes still. Rum can still feel her tears as they dampen his shirt.
He runs his fingers through her hair and holds her hand.
He doesn't know how long they've been lying there when she finally speaks.
"You knew, didn't you?"
It's nothing but a whisper; all she can muster at the moment.
He takes a deep breath.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He settles for the version of the truth that won't make her hate her father even more.
"The same reason your father didn't tell you. We can't bear to see you hurt."
To this she says nothing. She merely snuggles closer, her occasional sniffles breaking the silence.
She says nothing more the entire night. Not when he whispers that it's time for bed. Not when he lays her down on the guest bed. Not when he removes her stockings and tucks her in.
Nor does she say anything when she quietly opens his bedroom door two hours later. He just lifts up the duvet and waits for her to join him. He'll never deny her rest in the bed in which she used to belong.
She stops him from turning on his side, and inches closer, resting her head on the same spot on his chest where she'd lain most of the evening. He thinks he can hear her breathe the words 'thank you' as he wordlessly wraps his arms around her, praying that sleep will take her somewhere where mothers don't die and accidents don't happen to good people.
