Le Jardin

"Monsieur Lecteur," Adam started, his heart in his mouth, "would you like to - to come out to the garden with me?" The stout little man looked up, an unintelligible expression on his face - or maybe that was just Adam re-adjusting into recognising human expressions.

"Of course," Maurice bumbled, getting up from the small chair he was currently perched upon and looking around for his cloak. With a stab of guilt Adam saw that he still wasn't quite steady on his feet after his illness, and he uttered a silent wish that Belle was right and her father was a forgiving man. His old battered hat stood on top of the dresser, just slightly out of Maurice's reach, and Adam hurried to get it for him.

"Please, Monsieur, don't over-exert yourself before we even go outside," Adam smiled towards the shorter man, only half-joking.

"I am perfectly fine," Maurice humphed. "I don't see why you bother so much about me, but I appreciate your concern."

As he walked towards the springtime garden, Adam found himself chewing the inside of his lip. I used to do this, he remembered. If I was in trouble, I always did this just before Father summoned me into his room. The habit reassured him; like tapping his toes when bored and the recovery of his literacy, the little idiosyncrasies that Adam recognised from his childhood reassured him that he was, in fact, staying human. It was still a fear, a constant, niggling little worry that the Enchantress would come back in some new guise and deem him unworthy of humanity. Which was why Adam was trying his best to be the best person he could be.

The gardens had never looked better, truth be told. The prince was unsure whether it was the return of the sun, the lifting of the curse or some strange combination of the two, but the flowers seemed healthier and more beautiful than he had ever remembered them being, and when he had complimented the gardeners earlier on their hard work their chests had puffed up with pride that their prince had noticed them. Maurice sat down on a handy bench with considerable relief, despite his protestations that no, Adam did /not/ need to keep fussing around him like he was an invalid. Adam sat down next to him, attacking his inner lip rather violently and twiddling his thumbs, unsure how to bring up the subject of an apology without violently embarrassing himself any more than he knew he would, when Maurice sighed heavily. It was a contented sigh, the sigh of a man who was at peace with the world.

"My wife would have loved this garden," he said after a pause. "When we lived in Alsace, we had this tiny little kitchen garden out back - shared with the other three tenants of the house, as well - but it was always filled with herbs. Basil, parsley, rosemary and thyme, sage . . . it always smelled lovely there." Maurice's brown eyes, so like his daughter's, looked out not onto the wonderful gardens in the Château, but the minuscule plot he and his wife had been so happy with. "When Celine became with child, we were so happy. She planted lavender everywhere, sang all the time. When she died, it was . . . hard to see Belle. She looks so like her."

The old man turned to face Adam. "Let me ask you: do you love my daughter?"

"With all my heart," he replied without a moments hesitation.

"Good," Maurice huffed. "I'm not sure where you came from, but Belle tells me she loves you full as much as you love her."

"About that, Monsieur -" Adam started, but the inventor cut him off.

"I don't know, and I don't want to know," he said, an authoritarian air coming over him. "Three months ago I was held prisoner by a monstrous beast. If that beast learned the error of his ways and truly loves my daughter, I see no reason to hold a grudge against him. I am an old man, sir, and if you love her half as much as I loved Celine, I will be perfectly satisfied."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Adam stuttered. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. "Monsieur?"

"Yes?"

"Would you be opposed to me marrying your daughter?" His teeth broke the tender skin inside his lip, and Adam tasted his metallic blood.

"No, my boy," Maurice chuckled, patting Adam's shoulder, "I wouldn't be opposed at all. And please, call me Maurice."

"Thank you . . . Maurice."

"It's quite alright, boy. Quite alright."

A/N: INSPIRATION (TEMPORARILY) RETURNS! I just knew I had to include this at some point, so here it is!
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