EEWWWW. FLUFF. I cannot believe I produced this...
The house as a whole was very similar to the Dark Castle. There were piles of organized clutter everywhere. Rusty trinkets, broken artifacts, empty picture frames. Some objects were on tables, others in cases, and even some just lying on the floor. Belle knew he had told her no cleaning, but surely someday he would allow her to tidy up just a little.
As she wandered through the many small rooms she took note of the uniformity. There was the same dark wood flooring on the entire first level, red walls in some rooms and cream walls in others, old Victorian furnishings scattered about in no particular arrangement. She meandered her way through a study, past a second stair case, and into a dining room.
A dining room with the same exact long table that was in the Dark Castle. She smiled at the fond memories as she ran her hand along the top, making her way to the kitchen, which was very ordinary. Dark cabinets, same wood as the floor most likely, stainless steel appliances. He had no dishwasher, which Belle found curious. She nosed through the cupboards, amazed at the lack of variety and flavor in his choice of edibles. She had just opened wide the door of the fridge and was poking her head in when a voice startled her.
"Looking for something to eat?" Belle spun around and saw him leaning very casually in the door frame, without his cane and with a brown paper bag.
"No, I was just making sure you weren't freezing body parts or any such thing." She replied, sticking out her tongue at him.
He laughed and beckoned for her to follow into the dining room, pulling out a chair for her on his way past to his own, "No I think I've left those days behind me,"
"As well as skinning children?" she settled into the chair as he opened the bag and placed a Styrofoam container and cup in front of her.
"Just eat," he commanded playfully.
"What if I don't like it?" she whined teasingly, "How well do you think you know me? Maybe I don't like any of this modern food."
"Well," he started, spreading a napkin out on his lap, "I know for a fact you enjoy this meal. Unless you were lying before."
She eyed him suspiciously, like the day he had presented her with the rose, and opened her container to find the same meal they had shared the night he took her out to dinner. "And if I was lying? If I hate this dish with a passion?"
"I can't imagine you hating anything with a passion, love,"
She was quiet for a moment, both appreciating the endearment and thinking about the queen's threat. She had no memory of her heart being taken, and she certainly knew she had one, considering most of her time spent with Rumplestiltskin she couldn't hear herself over its thundering. "I'll bet someday the queen will know exactly how capable of I am of hating with a passion." She said matter-of-factly before taking a bite.
He slowed chewing the bite he had taken and then swallowed roughly, "You don't have to worry about her anymore," he told Belle quietly, "She's been taken care of."
The rest of the meal was eaten mostly in silence, only broken by talk of business and the weather.
The serious conversation came later, after Belle had been given a guest room and bath upstairs down the hall from his master suite, after she had showered for the night and changed into loungewear, after he had lit a fire and closed the curtains, as they both sat silently on separate pieces of furniture, he in a chair, she on a loveseat, and watched the fire dance.
She started the exchange, she usually did, and she only hoped he would actually participate instead of giving his usual short, to the point, yet vague, responses. "What do you mean 'she's been taken care of'?"
He had been leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his folded hands, but now rose abruptly, very startlingly so for a man with a limp, and disappeared across the main hallway and into the small area in front of the stairs. She heard a drawer open and close, and just as quick as it had all happened he was back, sitting on the cushion next to hers, presenting a drawstring bag.
"Is this…?" Belle asked as she slowly took it from his hands. He answered her with a single nod. "How did you get it? What did you do? What deal did you make to get this back?" she started to panic with the thoughts of what Regina could have requested he do in order to get the heart.
"I asked nicely," he leaned back against the love seat, wrapping one arm around Belle's shoulders and pulling her into his side, "Now you can relax. The rest doesn't concern you."
She pulled away, "It does if it concerns you. You are my life now. If anything ever happens to you, if she ever comes after you-" he silenced her with a kiss, deep and passionate, and she let the bag fall to the floor, forgotten for the rest of the evening.
At some point later they roused and forced themselves to think coherent thoughts. Clothing was retrieved from the floor and organized to go to its rightful owner, Belle put her heart in a safe place as he made sure the fire was completely out, alarms were set and coffee pots programmed, and they reconvened shortly after in his room, promptly abandoning coherent thoughts for the rest of the night.
Rumplestiltskin startled awake to the extremely horrid sound of some sort of annoying noise emanating from the nightstand directly to the left of his ear. An arm rose from the sea of blankets and blindly groped for the source, somehow knowing exactly where it was and what to do to silence it. The body to which the arm belonged emitted a few disgruntled grumbles, scooted closer to him, and then went silent. He, however, was wide awake, his heart still pounding after the rude awakening. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was five in the morning. What sane person would set an alarm to get up at five in the morning?
Oh, right. Belle was not sane. Belle was a far cry from sane. Last night proved to him just how twisted and wicked she could be. The fact that she was even with him spoke wonders for her insanity. But he wouldn't have her any other way. She was perfect, and she was his. And he would do everything he could to never lose her again. His eyes drifted closed as he buried his face in her hair, and sleep found him again.
As did that awful, awful noise. He must have only closed his eyes two seconds and there it was, blaring loudly in his ear. Belle rolled over and made some sort of angry remark into the pillow. He was just about ready to grab whatever the bloody thing was and crush it when she rose, with a gigantic frustrated sigh, and crawled over him to turn it off and sit on the edge of the bed.
"Why are you up?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"Work," she grumbled as she stood up and stretched.
He caught her hand as she turned to leave, "Come back," he pleaded.
"I can't," she pushed some stray bangs out of his face, "I have to go. You stay here and try to fall asleep again."
She left his room and went to her own to get ready for work, and he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, cursing horses for rising so damned early and ruining a morning lying in bed with his Belle. He shuffled into his master bath and started to prep for the day, figuring if he couldn't stay in bed with her, he could at least have breakfast with her.
She was downstairs and making toast when he strode into the kitchen, pulling her away from the toaster and into him, trying to steal a kiss, but all he got was a hand on his face, pushing him away. He stumbled back, grabbing the counter for support, feeling very confused. "We're not regretting things, are we?" he eyed her.
"Oh no," she quickly reassured him, "Not the slightest bit." She pulled at his tie, loosening it, "If you knew what you did to me, you would understand. I can't work feeling like that, not thinking clearly."
Her toast popped up ready and she left him abruptly, both feeling slightly breathless. She hid it better than he as she searched through the cupboards for peanut butter. "I think I know what you mean," he agreed quietly, more to himself than her.
She sat at a small table in the kitchen, next to a window looking out at the back yard, trying to pull up a mental map of where his house was, "If I go that way through the woods," she started through a mouthful of toast.
"Don't talk with your mouthful," he chided and wagged a finger at her as he settled into a chair across from her seat, favoring his bad leg.
She swallowed, "If it hurts you maybe you should use the cane," she advised him worriedly, forgetting about the previous topic.
"No. Not in the house. You were saying something?"
"Why not in the house?" she ignored his attempt at a topic change.
"Plenty of places to sit. Now what if you go which way?" He was doing the same thing now that he did when she tried to talk about his son.
"And plenty of stairs. You're not helping yourself by being stubborn." She was adamant that he would give her a proper answer.
He furrowed his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose, putting his elbow on the table forcefully, "It's too early for this," he avoided.
"And my toast is getting cold. Tell me why you won't use your cane in the house."
He looked at her for a little while, then dropped his gaze in submission, "I don't enjoy that I need it so much. In my own home, my domain, I want to be comfortable and confident. Using it makes me feel weak, and uncomfortable."
She placed her hands over his, folded on the tabletop. "Was that so hard to say?"
"Terrible," he grimaced mockingly.
"Good. Now, if I go that way through the woods, I'll reach the stables?"
He nodded, stealing a piece of toast she had carefully cut into triangles. "Why work there?" he wondered.
"It was the only job available at the time. I've grown to love it though. I never was a proper princess. This gives me a legitimate reason to be dirty. And I enjoy working hard. Not to mention the tenants for which I care. Tough, intimidating exteriors and soft, gooey, caring interiors. Huh," she trailed off thoughtfully, staring at him eating her toast, "reminds me of someone."
"I'm not gooey," he pretended to be offended.
"No eating with your mouth full!" she practically screamed at him. He was lucky he didn't choke on the bite he was chewing she startled him so badly. He quickly recovered and realized her slip of the toungue.
"No eating with my mouth full? How then do you suppose I should eat?" he grinned.
"I didn't- oh… you imp!" she swatted him on the back of the head as she took her empty plate and walked to the trash bin, "I'm going to be late because of you." She added as an afterthought, gathering her things and walking to the back door.
"Aren't you forgetting something, love." He stood up and crossed the room to her, putting a hand on the door, preventing her from leaving. She crossed her arms and waited for him to continue, "Don't two people who love each other often share parting kisses?"
"You love me?" she inquired.
"I thought I made that very clear six hours ago," he whispered in her ear. She shrugged as she trailed a finger across his collar bone and down his chest, her eyes telling him what she wouldn't ask him to say. He took her chin in his hand firmly, forcing her to look up at him. "Belle, I love you." And the grin she now wore made him, undoubtedly, the happiest man in the world.
"And I you," she leaned up and gave him a kiss, not passionate, but meaningful, "Now," she pulled his tie completely loose so it dangled around his neck and pushed him away at his shoulders, "Go back to bed," she commanded, and practically skipped out the door and across the yard, disappearing into the fresh green of new spring growth.
Be warned. Next chapter gets serious. It has to be to make up for this abomination.