A/N: Part seven is here! I'm so glad I have such fantastic followers for this story and truly appreciate all of the superbly nice things you all have had to say! Thanks for all of the encouragement and I hope my work continues to please! Obligatory notice that I do not own OUaT... now story time!
While he was gone, Belle found herself lagging. She did not want to scrub; she sat by the windows for longer and longer, soaking in the sunlight and the spring breeze. But, it was time for more cleaning than ever – spring cleaning, as it were. Some of the rooms she had not dared to touch before were on her radar, and when she was not staring out at the wild gardens, she was wondering about the best way to tackle the newest bout of cleaning. The weather had not improved, she mourned near the windows, heeding his advice to avoid the outdoors until it cleared.
So, instead, she tended to the places that needed the most cleaning. When she cleaned his room, she always felt like she was violating his privacy… But, it had to be done, as he was not going to do it himself, and as caretaker it was her duty. When she had first seen his room, she was surprised. It was so sparse. For a… person… who lived in such a vast, stunning castle, his taste was simple. He did not live lavishly, at least not privately, and she considered what that meant about him – how strange it was that someone so outwardly concerned with appearance wouldn't sleep on the finest linens and possess the most ornate furnishings.
She was used to it now, though. The plainness did not bother her for any reason other than it was unexpected. There was so much more to him than she thought, she realized – and for the first time, was glad he was not around to allow her to give in to her first impulse: to ask questions. She did her best to not pry, of course, but as she started picking up clothing that was strewn this way and that way, Belle noticed something odd.
On the bed, neatly laid out was a pair of trousers. They were cut from coarse cloth, a tunic of the same variety, though a slightly different color accompanied them. She frowned; they were small – not for a toddler, but certainly not for a man either. Somewhere in adolescence these clothes had been used – she did not know if they were his clothes, a nostalgic keepsake for himself, or a child. Perhaps there was some validity to the rumors of child abduction… not that she had witnessed it.
No, that was silly, she assured herself. He was not that type of man, even if he wanted people, her, to believe he was. The thought to touch them crossed her mind, but as she reached out, she suddenly felt a distinct pang of guilt. She left the clothes where they sat and instantly left the room. It felt so wrong… to look, especially to touch. There was something melancholic about those simple articles of clothing, worn with age and matted with dirt – she felt terrible for intruding and carried the dirty clothes out, shutting the door behind her.
Though she was not washing the laundry, it did not mean she was not sewing, and she needed to distract herself. The image of that simple, small set of clothes, lying out as though a young boy might be getting ready at any moment, was plaguing her. Who was he? What story was behind there? She bit her lip and tried to focus on her stitches, particularly in the leather that was ripped about the ankles, and a seam split on the side. She would have asked what happened in them, but part of her was sure she did not wish to know.
While her mind swam with thoughts and ideas, she continued to sew. In the kingdom, she had been taught to daintily embroider pillows and hankies, create tokens for lovers, and the like. Here, she was sitting by the fire in her room hemming pants and fixing rips in seams. It was almost laughable, she thought, and then held up the pair of pants.
She was horrified. One leg was a hand shorter than the other, and the other was so much thinner than it originally had been… her stitching was uneven as well… she frowned, the leather was thick, she knew that, and she had a bit of trouble to begin with, but she had thought she had the hang of it… Biting her lip, she looked around; almost afraid he might show up and see what she had done.
Of course, then, she felt a distinct pang of curiosity. She was alone; there was no chance of being caught… Belle stood from the chair in her room, having feeling brazen, and loosened the tie on her skirt. It fell to the floor unceremoniously, exposing her pale legs to the air in the room, mixing with the heat from the fire. A devilish thought crossed her mind – she had never worn pants before. It was always considered far too masculine, and even when she wanted to ride, she had been barred from wearing them. She had no one barring her now, however, and daintily she stepped out of the ring of skirt, lowering the waist of the britches to put her feet in.
She pointed her toes and screwed her face in concentration as she attempted to poke her foot through – finding this more difficult than she imagined, and hopped around on one foot before she actually got her foot in. With a triumphant squeak, she pulled the leg up to her knee, and then, with slightly less effort, got her other foot through the other leg. It was not perfect, she noticed, the ankles being too big and… she couldn't help but laugh, hemmed so poorly… but she pulled them up, the leather becoming more snug over her thighs and bum – clearly far more contoured than those of Rumpelstiltskin, and she giggled, working at the laces and pulling them shut.
The waist was a bit loose, but the back was snug… so she tugged just a little tighter on the laces and sighed. This was so… strange. She licked her lips, unsure of how she felt, and decided she needed to take a few steps… putting her leg forward, she felt so… exposed. Now, of course, pants were designed for more practical purposes, and she certainly could move more easily, she reasoned as she strutted about her room. The strutting of course, reminded her of her master, and she let out a brilliant laugh as she imagined walking through the halls, ordering things about and making deals in such silly things.
She couldn't say they were necessarily more comfortable, but they were less cumbersome. Why, these might solve all of her problems, she reasoned – the tripping, the clumsiness, maybe she just needed a change in style! She laughed, giddily taking the leather off and changing for bed – dare she say it, excited for tomorrow?
Running around the castle in a pair of pants truly brought out the laughter in her. Even if she was alone, all of her chores became exponentially easier. She could get up and down without tripping all over herself and she could climb without stepping on a hem – even better, folds did not get stuck in the ladder rungs, and she stepped on nothing – she laughed at the ease of tasks, happily taking to cleaning the top shelves, something she usually despised.
In between bouts of excited laughter – it was as though she could not keep it – particularly with the windows open, breeze blowing and free, she sang to herself. She sang anything – songs from childhood, minstrel tunes, her own creations as she dragged the feather duster over the dusty objects perched high above the main hall. She was so engrossed in her singing and laughing that she did not know what was going on beneath until she felt a strange sensation… was she… being watched?
Looking down, she squeaked in surprise. "Rumpelstiltskin!" she breathed, clutching one hand on the ladder and the other over her heart, "You gave me such a fright!" and laughed again, her lips quirking into a smile.
His hand was also over his heart, it seemed like he was staring for quite some time before he opened his mouth. "What are you up to, dearie?" he asked, his voice had a strange quality to it – was that restraint? No… it was something different. She didn't recognize the tone.
So, she just smiled and wrinkled her nose. "My eyes in dirt!" she called down with a peal of laughter. "I have gotten so much done today," she informed him, sighing as she rubbed her dirty hand on her thigh – the leather repelled dirt, for the most part, but a faded handprint remained there after her hand moved away.
"I… can see that…" he spoke deliberately, rubbing the bottom half of his face with his hand. She giggled at him, looking so perplexed, and the brazen young woman grabbed the sides of the ladder and decided she would show off just how much better off she was now. She let one leather sole rest on the smooth side panel of the ladder and she pushed off, starting to slide down.
She heard a gasp from below and she giggled the whole way down, no skirts to trip over and she was done in seconds. Her heels hit the floor with a slight thump and her curls were all over – messily arranged; there was the sheen of sweat on her face and her arms covered in dirt. She imagined she must have been quite a sight. "Impressed?" she grinned, bright and bubbly – she cold see why he looked so out of sorts, she couldn't even recall when she felt this happy.
He pursed his lips and took a deep breath, letting it out exceptionally slowly. It did not appear he was all that impressed. Her smile faltered and she put her hands on her hips – another easy task, considering her attire. "A little… underdressed aren't we?" he did that thing he did, with his hands pulled up close to his chest and the one finger searching and pointing. He did not sound confident this time, however, and Belle looked down at herself, then up at him.
"Oh!" she smiled, "I know I should have asked first… but, these were all ripped, and to fix them – well, they were short and I had to take inches in… so I thought instead of throwing them away they could be of use," she babbled, she did that when she tried to explain herself, "and I found they fit! Imagine that, and even more, I have gotten so much more done today than I thought possible." She smiled at him, hoping to please him – it was one of the small rewards she got out of this life, and she had always sought to please, to some degree.
It was the duty of a princess, after all, to please. Not that she had ever been particularly good at that part of the duty, she reminded herself. She watched his throat as he swallowed hard, only just barely visible above his shirt and between the high collar of his vest. She felt the heat of embarrassment as his eyes started travelling from her feet to her face so slowly.
Belle lifted her chin, ready to stand to scrutiny, despite the fact she would have gladly curled up into herself. Her slippers were the same – the pants were uneven, by her own bumbling, and she wore a short white chemise and one of her bodices, simple and hunter green. Her hair was a fright and she knew she looked ridiculous, but he did not laugh at her. He looked so intense. She blushed, and felt ashamed.
"I've a mess of work to do in the kitchen," she finally blurted out, a half smile decorating her face. "I should attend to that…" she started to step backward, an awkward laugh and a forced smile following quickly after.
Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, waving his hand. "Do not let me stop you," he finally announced; his voice was dry and – did she hear a crack? No, she must have fooled herself. But, she did see that he turned on his heel more quickly than she had ever seen him turn and he went immediately to his wheel. He always went to the wheel when he was thinking of something he did not wish to share. "Go about your business," he murmured, plucking at the thread that remained untouched in days.
"Why do you spin so much?"
"I like to watch the wheel… it helps me forget."
Belle stood still for a moment, biting the inside of her bottom lip. "Of course," she answers simply as she makes her way back toward the ladder. The fabric of the pants pulled tight against her legs as she climbed upward. She did not look down, oblivious to the fact he was staring, or just pretending it was not happening.
She was perched up above, though the songbird was silenced and the only accompaniment to her diligence was the spinning of the wheel. How quickly the routines resumed. It was the last time she would wear those pants.