A/N: I wrote this a few years ago and only got around to publishing it here now. Hope you enjoy!
She was doing it again. Rumplestilskin glared at her from his corner, as if he could make her stop with his scowl. Evidently, this was beyond even his power. His dark look melted before her like snow before the sun, and she continued in her blissful obliviousness.
Rumplestilskin couldn't complain about his caretaker. Other than her unyielding stubbornness regarding a certain thief, she had been a useful and dare he think—pleasant—addition to his household. Like anyone else she had her quirks—her distracting habit of singing while she worked, her inability to hear the words 'medium rare', her occasional bouts of pigheadedness, and the fact that she nosed through the possessions he had stored away. (Which he continued to allow since he knew someone as curious as she was needed to keep herself engaged). But as a dealmaker accustomed to weighing the difference, he had to admit that her assets far outweighed these habits. He knew he couldn't complain. After only a few weeks the Dark Castle was the cleanest it had ever been. As promised she laundered his clothes and served him three meals a day. But she went above and beyond her basic duties as caretaker. She brought him recommendations from the library. And she had even begun to work in the garden. Most of the weeds were gone and the angelic sculptures from so long ago could see the sky for the first time in centuries. He had actually heard nightingales in the garden a few evenings prior, the first songbirds to enter the grounds since he had taken up residence. Rumplestilskin, who had never given the state of his garden any thought before Belle took an interest in it, had to admit this was an improvement. Even if he was the only one to see the results of her work.
But it was hard to remember all of this whenever he watched her read. Clad in the gold dress that she had come to him in, Belle was curled up in front of the fire with a book. The firelight danced over her face, highlighting her lively expression. Eyebrows raised, she stared at the words on the yellowed page like they were the most fascinating things she had ever seen. As her eyes scanned the text her mouth moved silently, as if she was in prayer.
He wasn't sure why this annoyed him so much. She wasn't pestering him. She wasn't making noise. She wasn't even acknowledging him.
"Dearie," he said tersely, the word tasting bitter. She didn't even move. Lips still quivering, she turned a page. "Dearie," he repeated, this time a bit louder. Still no response. Sighing, he got up and moved behind the armchair. "Belle". At the sound of her name, Belle made a ridiculous little sound like a newborn kitten and jumped so high that she hit the back of the chair. While Rumplestilskin was torn between concern and the desire to make a quip, Belle looked up at him. Her cheeks were a touch red and her hair a bit disheveled, but other than that she looked quite collected.
"Rumplestilskin?"
The Dark One cleared his throat and shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and back again. "You were doing it again, dearie."
"Doing what again?" Belle inquired. Her eyes were wide and her glance was a bit dazed, as if she had forgotten where she was.
She was the very picture of innocence.
"Making those strange expressions while you were reading."
"Well, you frightened me while I was reading so I suppose we're even."
She wasn't going to make this easy for him. He decided on a less direct approach.
"Do you have to read like that?"
"I don't do it on purpose," Belle retorted. "I didn't even realize I was doing it. "
"I know that, dearie. But I'm trying to spin and you're distracting me."
"Why did you show me the library if you didn't want me to read the books?"
"They were dusty." He recanted at her sardonic expression. "I want you to read, I just don't want you making strange faces while you do it. That isn't so difficult, is it?"
Belle closed her book. "If it bothers you that much I'll just go upstairs."
"No, no, that's alright." He said hastily. "Can you just—try to not do it anymore?"
"I'll try if you don't startle me again," she offered.
Resisting the urge to smile, he clasped his hands together and replied, "Deal."
This seemed the opportune time for Rumplestilskin to return to his spinning and leave his caretaker to her book. But Belle didn't break their eye contact. She bit her lip and continued to stare straight into him. Locked into those eyes—eyes that seemed as blue and endless as the sea—he stared back and waited for her to voice whatever was on her mind.
"Rumplestilskin," she said softly. He tilted his head toward her to let her know he was listening. "I've been meaning to ask you—how does your library work exactly? I know that the books are sorted by genre and alphabetized by the author's surname, but there are books that are in English but have so many words I don't understand. And there are magical machines in several of them—machines that fly people to distant places and let them talk to people far away as if they were in the same room. But no one thinks this is strange. And sometimes a book will be there one day, and gone the next."
Silence followed this speech. It was one of those rare moments where the Dark One didn't have the answer (and then some) on the tip of his tongue. He should have foreseen this (and not just because he had the Sight). The castle that the Dark One had called home for decades had been the sole witness to the spells he weaved. Every potion, every incantation, every jinx had been brewed, chanted, and cast within these walls. Nothing that had been so close to magic for so long could remain untouched.
"Well," he began. "You see, some of those books aren't from here."
"You mean they're from another land?"
"In a way. Sometimes I think this castle of mine has a mind of its own. My magic has become an inherent part of this—" He gestured to the walls-"After all the magic I've done through the centuries."
Belle dropped the book in her lap and stared, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Inspired by this enthusiasm, (after all, there is nothing a showman loves more than a captive audience) he continued. "Occasionally it shows. Frequently in the library, it would seem, and surely you noticed that the arrangement of this very room has changed at least twice since your arrival?"
"I noticed, but I thought you did that."
"While the state of my home is important to me, the interior decorating is not high on my list of priorities."
"I may prefer it this way," Belle said whimsically. "It's …cozier, somehow."
"I'm glad you like it," Rumplestistilskin said as he turned. "I myself find all this redecorating tedious."
Belle opened the book but didn't resume reading. Instead she unabashedly watched him return to his corner. Why wasn't she looking at her book? Rumplestilskin sat down, staring at his wheel but not seeing it while he waited for her to look away. She didn't.
"My father used to read to me on winter nights like this one when I was a child," Belle offered. "We'd sit in front of the fire and he would read me dark stories of the north." Her smile at the memory was bittersweet. Rumplestilskin nodded, unable to think of an appropriate response.
"That sounds…very nice."
She nodded earnestly. "Oh, it was. Maybe…I could read to you now? While you spin?"
Once again, she caught him off guard. Offering to read to the monster that had taken her from her family after reminiscing on happy childhood memories seemed a touch non sequitur to him. But he couldn't think of any reasons to refuse her. She seemed so keen on the idea, and after all part of the reason he had bargained for a caretaker was to break the silence that he had lived in for so many years, at least for a while. It was difficult to even remember a time when there was something other than the crackling fire to fill his evenings.
"If you must dearie," he shrugged. "Is the story an interesting one, at least?" The way her eyes lit up gave him her answer before she spoke. "Yes, it is. It isn't like any book I've ever read. It never would have been permitted in the study where I grew up. Still, I'm enjoying it. It's funny but it's also…poignant. Well, I'll start reading and you can find out for yourself." In one fluid motion, she flipped to the first page of the yellowing paperback. "If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me…"
Rumplestilskin found himself listening to the rise and fall of her voice more than the words. Despite their agreement, Belle's expression began to shift only a few pages in. But now he found he didn't mind so much. Instead he noticed how her eyes glowed with ill-concealed intensity, how her fingers caressed the pages as if they were butterfly's wings, how the words became poetry under the cadence of her voice. She radiated passion and light and warmth on that winter night. When she was like that it was almost as if she was revealing her own soul in all its splendor, and he was a simple observer of the masterpiece.
For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to have that look directed at him. He shook his head, stopping that line of thought before it could continue any further. It was easy, far too easy, to fall under her spell when she shone so brightly. But Rumplestilskin was no fool. She may no longer despise his very presence and she was likely glad to have someone to share the stories she so adored. But that was all. Those looks, those caresses, were reserved for her books. Reserved because she loved them.
Still, he couldn't help wondering if she would read to him again the next night if he asked politely.
He hoped so.