A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and comments, guys! I really appreciate it, and would have posted this earlier, if not for the fact that was being crazy last night and wouldn't let me. It was supposed to be an extra Sunday treat, but I guess it's a little something to brighten up Monday Morning :) Enjoy, R&R, and remember I don't own OUaT.
Belle refrained from wearing the pants when he was around. When he was not, however, it was fair game. She'd made a small collection of the ripped ones for herself. Because the fabric was so thick, any tears would automatically be beyond her skill in repair, and thus, unsuitable for his use, so she took them, and put them in her drawers, waiting until he was gone to wear them.
The smell of leather had become so comforting – it reminded her of company, and it gave her a sense of security. But, she didn't wear it in front of him – if she did, he avoided her, and she hated that.
So, she kept her secrets to herself, and tried to make it as pleasant as possible, particularly as the weather picked up. The sun shone, and it rained less and less, until the green of the wild bushes was lush and bright, and the flowers that poked out of the greenery were all colors she could have imagined.
With all of the windows open, she could smell spring. Its calming breezes embraced her, and she laughed and sang to herself without remorse. Sometimes, if she was lucky and it was a festival day, as there were so many in the early days of spring, she could hear the music floating up from the town below the citadel. He always complained about the peasant racket, but when she looked at him, when he supposed she wasn't looking – she always saw his foot bobbing up and down, and she'd sing peasant songs, and laugh and generally forced him to adjust to her way of doing things. He did not complain (much). When he did, she just smiled at him and he would shrug, pretending not to acquiesce to her desires, but – they both knew better, didn't they?
On this afternoon, while she was cleaning the windows and using a hefty amount of elbow grease, she heard and felt him approaching behind her. "Good morning," she chirped. His footsteps stopped dead in his tracks and she smiled to herself – he thought he was so stealthy when he walked, really if he wanted to surprise he all he had to do was materialize. There was no sneaking on her anymore.
"Morning," he greeted blandly, leaving out the good – he always did. He thought he was so funny, she knew it. She did not laugh at him, but rather smiled over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose like she always did – it miffed him, of course, and that's why she continued to do it.
"Beautiful day isn't it?" she sighed, dropping the rag in her hand to the side and leaned close to the glass, fogging it with her hot breath momentarily. Her eyes scanned the garden and she grinned despite herself. The sky was clear, not even one fluffy cloud obscured her view, and everything looked so full of life.
He sniffed to her question and when she looked at him, he was absently readjusting his cuffs. "That was actually what I came to speak to you about," the casual nature of the comment surprised Belle and she raised her eyebrows at him, wanting to know the catch. When he caught the look, he grinned. "No deals, my dear."
She pretended to be surprised and stepped down from kneeling on the ledge to smooth out her skirt and smile sweetly. "Well, what about the weather then? I didn't think we'd still need to dance around things with small talk," she laughed, mimicking a little bit of one of the court dances she remembered, lifting her skirt just a little to reveal her prancing feet.
He rolled his eyes at her with a low chuckle. These moments were the comfortable ones, she thought with a smile and dropped her skirt, untangling her fingers from the light, almost minty, but with a little too much grey in it for that, green fabric. "Care for a walk, dearie?" he held out his hand to her, bowing just slightly. How he liked to play at playing a gentleman.
There was part of him that very clearly thought he was not as considerate and gentlemanly as he actually was, and Belle could not imagine why. Though she could not read his mind (she highly doubted that even if she could, she would), he had never actually approached her in any way that was not entirely built on cordial, respectful behavior. "I've got a better idea," she smiled, clasping her now worked hands over his– she imagined her palms was almost as rough as his now, "what about a dance?" she laughed, lifting his arm up and spinning, practically tripping over herself in the process – drat her petticoat.
He raised his eyebrows at her, giving her that look that he always did when she was being childish, and she let out a deep breath, rolling her eyes upward. "You are a fuddy-duddy," she informed him with a pout, but squeezed his hand to assure him she was kidding. "To answer you question, I would love a walk," she brought it back to the original offer, and looked at him expectantly.
With a shake of his head, he inclined the other hand toward the door, "Beauty before age," he jested and she giggled softly, letting go of his hand to walk forward – the doors opening for her without a single push – he always did that when he was making a point, and she headed straight for the glass doors she had looked at longingly for so much time, usually latched shut. Her feet carried her faster and she stopped in front of them, looking back at him with a hint of anxiety. He smiled and she turned back, the doors were open.
With the warmth of the sun calling her forward, Belle tentatively stepped out onto the caved stone stairway leading down into the garden. Her breath hitched in her throat and then she stopped. She was on the precipice of the first step and she felt her heart thumping against her ribs. "What is it, dearie?" he asks over her shoulder – barely a whisper, and a shiver travels down her spine. This was what she had been dreaming of for weeks – and it was here.
"Nothing," she breathed slowly, slipping her feet out of her shoes – her bare feet touching the stone heated from the sun – and then she started to run. She skipped steps, her skirt tightly wrapped up in her hands, until she was finally down on the path, her toes wiggling on the hot stones and her head thrown back with a smile thrown toward the clear sky. She let go of her skirt and rushed toward a little man-made pond with flower bushes surrounding it.
It felt like her first spring, as though she was born anew and each color assaulted her eyes in the most pleasant of ways, the sun bearing down on her with delectable pleasure. It was like a thousand soft caresses on her face and neck and collar bones – her cold toes brought to life by a spark against hot stone and fertile dirt. She felt manic, rushing down the path into the center of the garden she had only seen from above.
The fragrances of the flowers made her dizzy with delight and she wished to pick every single one and make perfume upon perfume to just remember the all encompassing aroma of this moment. She pressed flowers to her nose, felt them tickle her skin, and paid no mind to stepping into the soil – unless, of course, she was checking to make sure she was not squashing any young buds. They deserved to grow and see sun too, after all.
And then she peered into the pond and squeaked with delight – fish! Huge fish, she realized they were orange and white with splotches of black – how exotic! And some, dare she believe it? Some of them even looked gold, shimmering in the sunlight against the water. She gasped, kneeling by the edge and felt her knees sink into the soft, slightly overgrown grass. She dipped her fingers into the water and wiggled them – the beautiful fish swimming up and nibbling on the ends. She shrieked with laughter, the sensation tickling, but she did not pull her hands away, giggling away before she plopped down, right there, near the side of the pool, a veritable sea of spring snowflakes growing behind her. She breathed heavily; not realizing how much she had been running and laughing – looking up to see if Rumpelstiltskin had followed her.
He seemed in no rush to chase after her, and casually followed, his hands clasped behind his back – an amused smile playing at his lips. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" she breathed, wiggling her toes in the tall grass, her hands working at plucking a sprig of hyacinth, its smell overwhelming her in the best way possible. All the sensations of spring and life were reinvigorating.
Belle looked up at him through her thick lashes, blushing at his brief laugh, unable to stop smiling. This was just what she needed. "You know," he started, the right corner of his mouth tugging up just a little higher than the left, he made no effort to avoid eye contact, indeed he seemed to search for it, and Belle felt her stomach tighten, "I don't think I have."