Windswept

Chapter 21

Decisions

"Milah?" Belle repeated. She was very concerned. "What do you want to do? See her? Tell her to go away? I'll tell her to go away - that you are still too injured to be disturbed."

Belle was pacing. Rumple had not seen his wife angry before but thought likely that this was what he was looking at now. Her voice had risen, even as her pacing had quickened. Her colored had heightened, her eyes were flashing. She was like a tigress protecting her cub, preparing to come to his defense.

"Belle, darling," he called her attention back to him. "I do need to go ahead and see Milah." He spoke softly, determinedly.

"I don't want her in here upsetting you. You've made wonderful progress and, I know, you feel strong, but you're really still recuperating. And I don't want any setbacks." She was indeed, very angry.

"I think I can manage talking with my former wife," he assured her.

"I'll be right here then, by your side," she promised him.

"No, no, you won't," he told her. "I don't want you here when that harpy comes in."

"But . . ." began Belle.

"Belle," he interrupted sternly. "I have never demanded obedience from you, and I'm not starting now. But I am asking you, please, if you love me, please trust me on this. I don't want you here. I don't want you in the same room as that woman. I'd prefer you not even be in the same building."

She bit her lip considering her husband's request. He was trying to protect her.

"You know I want to be here. I don't want her to say . . . or do . . . anything that might hurt you," she told him quietly.

"I do understand. And thank you. I've never had anybody try and protect me," he assured her. "Belle, I promise you. I can take care of myself. At least, I'm certain I can handle Milah."

Belle thought a moment and nodded. "All right then. I'll go down to the hospital cafeteria and get us some tea and a light supper. I'll give you thirty minutes. I'll come back with food . . . and my gun," she gave him a warm kiss. "I'll tell the attendant to send her in."

Rumple waited, perhaps a little nervous, less sure of himself than he had led his wife to believe. He had not seen Milah in years. He had heard about her plenty - her comings and goings, her buying sprees, her partying excesses, her sexual escapades. Somehow it had given him some strange sense of satisfaction that she had begun to step out on Killian – the man she had left him for had also proven to be unsatisfying.

When Milah stepped through the door, he caught his breath - she was still beautiful - dark lustrous hair, a lush figure, an attitude of confidence and sexuality. But, as he looked closer, he could see some things, subtle, small things, things that alarmed him.

"Milah, forgive me if I don't rise," he said, motioning to his knee.

"Did you kill him?" she asked.

"I am recovering, yes," he answered.

"Did you kill him?" she repeated.

"They haven't told me when I will be released, but I think, soon," he said.

"You aren't answering my question," she complained.

"You came to visit with an injured man. You aren't asking the right questions," he corrected her. "But, no, I didn't kill him. I risked my own life to try to save his sorry arse. That's how I ended up here."

She glared at him and walked around the room, examining things idly. "I hear the Emperor has offered you his duchy," she finally said.

"He has."

"That's what you wanted all along, isn't it? That's what you've schemed and worked for."

"You'll be surprised to learn that I'm not sure I'll be accepting the offer."

Milah stood still a moment, obviously stunned. "What?" She sat down across from him. "I would have thought you would have jumped for it."

He nodded, "A year ago, yes. You would have been right. But now, I have other things that seem more important."

She sneered, "It's that young wife of yours, isn't it? I hear she's pretty enough if you like them farm-raised."

"Maybe I'm just tired of all the cheating and subterfuge and playing all the games."

"You! Hah! You invented most of the games. You thrived on the games – all the deal-making and clever little tricks you played."

"I'm a changed man," he informed her.

"I don't believe it." Milah sat back digging in her reticule and pulling out a cigarette. She lit it and took a long drag on it. "I bet that she's been telling you that you can't do the job, hasn't she? She doesn't share your vision, doesn't have your drive. She's dragging you down. At least, I never did that with you. I was always pushing you for more." Milah looked around and saw the whiskey Belle had brought in for her husband and his son to share. She got up and poured herself a glass. "One for you?"

"No, I've had enough for today," he replied, noticing some tell-tale yellowing around her fingernails. It matched the yellowing of her eyes that he had spotted earlier.

She shrugged and sat back down again. From this vantage, he could see that she had pinpoint pupils. There were fine lines around her eyes and mouth.

"Milah, why are you here?" he asked point-blank.

"I was wondering what your plans were for me . . . assuming you would take over the Duchy."

"Of course, it's about you," he muttered to himself. "I truly haven't thought that far ahead, even assuming I would take over. I've thought about accepting the position and handing off the administrative duties to Bae – as Killian's step-son he has a claim on the estate."

"I doubt he'd be interested," Milah told him. "Bae is more of a thinker than either of us. Not so much interested in getting his hands dirty or dealing with people for that matter."

"Killian left a mess, you know that?" Rumple asked her.

"No," she shrugged it off. "I know he didn't care about all the boring stuff. He cared more about his horses, his gaming, his swordplay, even the ladies. Those other things were unimportant to him."

Rumple watched her, nervous hand movements, fidgeting feet. "If it's worrying you, I will make sure that you're not tossed out onto the street. You're the mother of my son and I will accord you the respect that position merits." He was speaking softly. "You will be allowed a stipend, probably less, a lot less, than what you're used to. Of course, the title is no longer yours to claim. I would suggest that you might consider retiring to some place where Killian's activities are less well-known. There are several lovely islands off the Duchy that would provide you a more than comfortable living."

"Go into exile in some backwater country? I think I'd rather die."

"When more and more people realize that Killian was behind the drug trafficking, you will likely become a target," he warned her. "People might want to hurt you."

"Really?" She hadn't thought of this.

"You should probably move out of your home immediately. Pack your things, get your jewelry, your furs, whatever you can carry. You have a friend you can move in with?"

"Hell no," she told him tartly. "My so-called friends disappeared after Killian's fall from grace."

"Then try Gothel. She'll be able to find a place for you to stay and keep you safe while you decide where you want to go permanently. Oh yes, I assume you know where your husband stashed his drug money. I would suggest you let the authorities know – you can let me know if you trust me enough."

Milah rolled her eyes.

"Under no circumstances should you attempt to pull out any of this money," he warned her. "You're being watched and if you try to use the money, you could be held complicit in your husband's crimes and prosecuted. If, however, you turn it in, you would be seen as a wife who was honoring her husband, villain though he might have been, but now with his death, you want to do the right thing and divest yourself of his dirty money."

Milah stood. "So, you're telling me the title's gone, the money's gone, the house is gone. How do I know you aren't lying to me – telling me these horrible things so I'll go away and quit bothering you?"

He shook his head. "I'm being honest with you, very honest. You'll have to decide if you want to take my advice or not."

She stood silently.

"Milah," he was hesitant. "You're using Sand, aren't you?"

"Of course not," she replied quickly.

"You have yellowing around your nails and in your eyes. It's beginning to take a toll. I could . . . I could offer you some help with it."

"What? You'd lock me away in some asylum setting? Like I'd ever get out if you ever got me in such a place."

"Sand will kill you, Milah," he warned her. "If it doesn't do it outright, it will sap your funds and will put you out on the street where you won't last a winter. I'm trying to help you."

Milah snorted. "No, thank you. I know how your father ended up and I'll not be another person that you make disappear."

"My father is sick in his head and he thinks he's eleven years old. He's also homicidal. The asylum keeps him safe and us safe from him. Milah, I'm making the treatment offer to help you," he persisted. "You have so much to live for. You're still a beautiful woman. I know I wasn't the man for you and, apparently, neither was Killian, but maybe, probably, there is someone out there for you. Get yourself clean. If not for yourself, for your son."

"Fuck you, you arrogant prick," Milah told him. "I'll have you know that I'm handling the Sand. I can walk away anytime I want. I don't need you on my back about it."

He sighed. "Well, if you change your mind, the offer still stands. Don't barter your life for your pride," he told her.

But, looking at her, he couldn't help but relive his last moments with Killian – when he was reaching out to the man, offering a chance at life, but the man was just determined to die.

He felt he was at the same point with his former wife.

She laughed and poured herself a second drink which she quickly gulped. "Listen, when you get ass-numbingly bored of your little farm-girl . . . and you will, give me a call. I might just throw you one, for old times' sake."

"I won't get tired of my wife," he notified Milah. "She is my soul-mate. She understands me, she supports me, and she loves me. I work hard every day to be worthy of her. I'm deeply in love with her."

Milah snorted and made a gagging sound. "My god, she's completely gelded you! You probably let her know when you'll be late for supper and ask her permission to fart."

Rumple smiled, "She's a real lady, Milah. I don't know that you would understand." He cleared his throat. "I think we've said all that we need to say to each other. Call on Gothel. Let her know I suggested it if you want. If you ever get to the point that you realize you need help with your drug habit, let me know, and I'll make arrangements." He looked away from her. "You can go now."

"You think you can just dismiss me?" she protested.

"It wouldn't take much effort on my part to have you arrested. Leave with what little dignity you have," he warned her.

Milah stood a moment, apparently debating her choices and opted to head for the door. "You know," she turned back to him before stepping out. "Your little farm-girl is right. You don't have the balls to handle Killian's estate. Better you run and hide in some outlying estate. You've lost your magic and need to retire, go out to pasture, piddle around in some little rose garden."

She stuck her tongue out at him and left him.

He sat considering what she had said and began to laugh.

When Belle returned pushing a cart with their suppers, she was surprised to find her husband in a pleasant mood. She had been dreading that she would find him sullen and angry. To instead find him smiling and happy was most unexpected.

"The cook had some lovely beef stew. It's got potatoes and carrots, all in a lovely thick broth. And there's some fresh baked bread and freshly churned butter. Of course, there's also tea," she told him. She served him a deep bowl of stew and handed it off to him. Hesitantly she asked, "How did it go?" She poured him some tea.

"Better than I expected. I'm almost feeling sorry for her."

"What? This is the woman who cheated on her marriage vows, did everything she could to turn her child against his father . . ."

He interrupted, "She's addicted to Sand."

Belle sat down. "What does that mean?"

"Sand is a derivative of Fairy Dust. It's darker in color and the crystals are bigger – hence the name. The effects are probably twenty times as strong. It gives the user a profound feeling of euphoria as if they are floating and invincible. It takes away all pain, all anxiety, all distress. But it's seriously addictive and there are brutal side effects. At first, there's some yellowing of the fingertips, the whites of the eyes, but quickly the teeth begin to rot, the appetite wanes and there is significant weight loss."

"Will she die?" Belle asked.

"I offered her treatment, but she refused. If she continues to refuse help, then, yes, she will die. We won't be able to save her, bring her back."

"Why would anyone use such a drug?"

"Who knows. Perhaps their lives are so painfully miserable that they need it to make them feel better, so they can function on some level. Perhaps, they think they're special, that somehow, they won't get addicted – that, or perhaps they just don't give a fuck. Maybe . . . maybe she wants to die."

"Oh, Rumple," Belle laid her hand on his arm.

"I suggested she turn to Gothel. I think she, in some odd way, trusts Gothel and, if anyone can help Milah, it just might be her."

Belle sat quietly a moment. "You and this Gothel. You have a special relationship?"

He smiled, "One of your 'hundreds of questions' huh?" He didn't respond immediately. "Gothel came to me as a pregnant fifteen-year-old. She came from a good family, but they had turned her out when her condition became evident. She had no resources, no skills. She was willing to sell herself to me for food."

"My goodness," Belle said under her breath.

"Gothel also told me who the father of her child was."

Belle sat up, things suddenly falling together for her. "Killian?!"

He nodded. "Yes. She was quite pretty and quite innocent. He'd seduced her with the promise of everlasting love and marriage – then absconded as soon as he'd had his way with her. Gothel and I made a little deal. I would take care of her, provide her with shelter, food, medical care and she would give me the baby. She didn't want the child, so she took the offer."

"What happened to the child?"

"Ah . . . little Alice. I knew a lovely, deserving family who desperately wanted a child. In exchange for a very favorable exclusive business contract, I arranged for them to get the baby."

"So, she was raised in a good home."

Rumple shook his head. "Unfortunately, the lovely family died in a tragic accident when little Alice was about eight. Alice became my ward. She's a truly remarkable girl, bright and talented. She's also an amazingly gifted chemist."

"Should she inherit Killian's duchy? I know she's illegitimate, but if she's his only offspring . . . ?"

"We have only Gothel's word that Alice is Killian's daughter," Rumple told his wife. "It would never stand up in court, but I believe her and I do agree, Alice deserves something of Killian's estate."

"So, what are you thinking?" Belle asked.

Rumple took a sip of his tea and a taste of the stew. "This is good stew," he remarked.

"You do this when you are about to share something important," Belle complained.

"Do what?" he asked innocently.

"Deflect," she answered promptly. "Tell me, what are you thinking."

"I'm thinking I will accept the title of Duke." He paused allowing this to sink in. "I can make sure Alice is taken care of. I can do those other things . . . you know, where I empower people to take charge of their own lives, restore law and order, uh, all that good stuff."

Belle launched herself at him, hugging him around the neck. "I knew you'd make the right decision."

He detangled himself. "That's what you wanted all a -twylong?" he asked.

"Of course," she told him. "So many people that you're going to be able to help. What made you make up your mind?"

He seemed a bit embarrassed, "Milah – she told me that I had lost my magic and needed to retire, that I didn't have the . . . uh . . . strength to tackle being a Duke."

"So?" Belle was puzzled. "Your former wife telling you that you needed to retire – that's what made you decide not to retire?"

"I guess. Humm," he considered. "I guess that tells you a lot about the relationship Milah and I had."

"I guess it does," she agreed. "Now, what do we do first?"

NEXT: This little story is winding rapidly down and it's time to hand out happy endings all around. - twyla