A/N: This is the last chapter of "Cabbages" I'm putting up before my vacation! I will be going on a cruise (Yaaaaay senior present!), but that means I'm going to be away. No worries though, I'll be back after and have something new posted in about a week! Enjoy, R&R, and I can't wait to get more up on this!
The garden becomes Belle's favorite place as the weather continues to grow warmer and more and more flowers start blooming. She was granted full reign over whatever she wished to do back there as well, which turned out to be very little. She liked the overgrown and wild feeling that the garden gave her. There was always some new alcove to explore and place to hide with a book, should she want to. The only maintenance she really performed was trimming anything dead or dying – it was better for the gardens as a whole, after all.
Then, of course, there were the flowers she took to press – but never more than necessary. Rumpelstiltskin had asked her to pick out a batch of her favorites, the best smelling, and then give them to him. She had not expected that days later she would be gifted a set of small glass bottles full of fragrance. She should have known, but when she tried to thank him, he would hear none of it – like so many other instances – and assured her she was right to reap the fruits of her labor.
And so it went, she was spending less and less time cleaning (more and more of her chores ended up miraculously done – especially after the pants incident…) and she had the free time to spend her days as she chose, except meals. Apparently that was still her duty. When she pressed him on it, he just smiled and asked why he would deprive her of something she showed so much talent for. She had laughed, and then threw a roll at him. He caught it, and unceremoniously took a large bite out of it – making a show of how much he enjoyed it.
Her life was riddled with these little interactions – the things she would write about in a diary, if she had one. Half of her wanted to request one, but she knew he would get too curious and with how sneaky he was, he would find it – and then he would laugh. Belle did not like being laughed at; she was of the proud sort, so she did not put herself in positions of vulnerability, if she could avoid it.
It was part of the reason she had chosen to go – pride stood in the way of bravery, and she so desperately wished to prove herself. Her mother… Belle thought of her sadly, pitying her, so sick and weak. Up until her death, Belle could not remember her doing much of anything – the most physical activity she took on was hosting tea. Belle refused to be that way, so she learned about war strategy and weaseled her way into the council. It was her mother's misfortune that made the fact her father never said no possible.
She never shared these things though, and as she was hands deep in the earth, she realized that all of their conversations were so… basic. They did not discuss anything deeper than the weather, or the flowers she wished to spring forth from the secret plots she came across with each new trip to the garden, or even the book she was reading at any particular time. Sometimes he would tell her of his trips, though never any of the business transactions, as he called them. She knew him, but she knew nothing of him…
After bathing and putting on one of her dresses – the pink one she loved so much (thankfully it was not too hot for the three-quarter sleeves as of yet), and clutched her book to her chest. She had tied her hair back and out of her face, then applied a dab of the homemade perfume was behind each ear, and on the base of her throat for good measure (though her governesses had always told her how improper it was for a lady to dab perfume there… She had never been one for advice from advisors, thankfully).
Heading to the main hall, her book was clutched to her chest and she smiled to see the doors were already open. Inside, he sat at his wheel, briefly glancing up at her. "I trust you enjoyed your day in the garden?" he commented mildly.
Belle nodded with a smile, "Very much so," and sat, just a little closer than normal – so much like the first time she read to him, the time that set a precedence for almost every other night they spent in this room. She'd pick her book and she'd read, he would be silent, for the most part, unless he had some interjection to make, but she would usually ignore him.
But, when she sat tonight, just those couple of inches closer – smelling just a little sweeter, she felt brazen and bold. She was always those things, but it was particularly strong tonight, and he looked at her differently too – or maybe it was all in her head. "What did you pick for tonight?"
Belle looked at the cover of the book and smiled, "Something sad." He looked over at her, raising his eyebrow at her curiously. She did not often smile over sad things, but here, she was so delightfully touched by the narrative, "Don't give me that look," she smiled at him, wrinkling her nose – he looked affronted, as though she had just accused him of something terrible, "it's a beautiful tragedy."
"Aren't they all?" he tittered, practically beaming at his own display of cleverness. Belle laughed softy, shaking her head. She turned the book over in her hands several times, not making a move to start. "Something bothering you, dearie?" he asked, his voice still amused. "Perhaps all those fairy stories just now starting to come crashing down?" he tilted his head to the side. How strange he appeared every bit both the cat and the canary.
"Not at all," she replied easily, never giving up on her fairy stories or the hope that something could always be better. Her own circumstance showed her that everything ended up alright. She adjusted, took what she had and made it better. She didn't feel like a servant anymore, she felt like she lived her – and had a place. It was a nice feeling. "I guess – I just don't know you very well," she said honestly, shrugging her shoulders just a little bit.
He laughed – nothing malicious, of course, but he had a strange knack for making her feel foolish. She had no time to be foolish, and she was being brave. Turning herself – she never sat facing him, always angled toward the fire – and put the book down. That clearly had to signal she was feeling strongly, to ignore a book for discussion. They never really discussed much of anything – which put her in this place to begin with. "I want to know you, Rumpelstiltskin."
His hands did not stop moving as his mouth mulled. "You are undeniably strange – and perhaps addled by the sun." He looked at her, his hands still moving – never stopping. She wondered if, after she went to bed, he would sleepwalk, then subsequently sleep-spin. It only made sense to her.
"I am not!" she huffed, and he smiled. He did that purposefully, she knew it. He liked to see her get puffed up and angry. She despised it. But, obviously, going about it in the direct way was not going to work – she needed something that would tempt him, entice him to tell her something. She licked her bottom lip in thought. "Why don't we make a deal?"
That was when his hands stopped working. He let them drop to his lap and he looked at her skeptically. "Don't you remember something about three lifetimes, dearie?" he smirked at her – he thought she was foolish, she could see it – and Belle giggled at him, smirking in return. She did not let him win – she thought that might have been the reason why he kept her for so long, especially after she ruined clothes and proved to be a rather terrible housekeeper. At least she could cook, and always kept him on his toes.
"I do," she said, lifting her chin to look at him out of the corner of her eye. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs, just to have something to do with her hands. "And if you agree to my terms, we won't have to worry about any more time being added."
That caused some alarm to register on his face, to be sure, and Belle felt triumphant in this round. "I think you have been spending too much time with me," he teased, and she blushed.
"They do say if you want to learn a trade, you should learn from the best," she pointed out, a rueful smile decorating her face. She could feel the mischief rising all the way to her eyes and she scooted just a little bit closer. "So, are you in the business of making a deal or not, Rumpelstiltskin?" Not the time for games!
He clicked his tongue, "You were so close," his head was shaking, "I'll need to hear the terms before I agree – I'd be a disgrace to deal-making if I went in blind, as it were." He turned fully toward her, resting his elbows on his knees, he tilted his chin down to look at her, waiting for her terms. She could tell him he had to jump off the roof of the tallest tower and she was fairly sure he would do it.
"I guess I'll need a little more practice," she giggled sitting up on her knees a little bit, closing even more of the gap between them. "We trade – story for story," her smile started to bloom, "but they have to be true stories."
"No fairy stories?" he asked, sounding impressed. "You've got my attention…" he continued with a drawl.
"Sadly, no fairy stories," she confirmed. "You have to tell the truth, and if you don't – you have to do the other person a favor." He raised his eyebrows, "Yes, a favor. Before you ask," she smiled at his grin, "like making tea, or fetching things – like straw, or mending clothes."
He rolled his eyes. "You'll have to do better than that. To make a deal, you need to have something the other person wants – and I am smarter than that, dearie," he wagged his finger back and forth, signaling her attempt at out-smarting him had not been successful. "It sounds to me like I have much more to lose in this than you." He leaned back, his wiry hair clouding his expression for a moment before he tossed his head, "You're going to have to do better than that."
Belle pursed her lips, her cheeks filling with air. She knew in the making of deals, one did not consult the other party for their opinion, so she had to come up with this herself. It was important to make the deal tempting, but also manageable. She let out a deep breath, trying to think of a suitable punishment for violating the deal. "For every lie, the person listening gets to demand anything they want from the other."
Rumpelstiltksin's eyes widened at the prospect and he chuckled deeply – darkly – shaking his head. "That is dangerous territory, dearie."
Belle could not suppress her Cheshire grin. "I have always loved the roads less travelled," she countered; a challenge. "But," she went to reach for the book, "It's your choice." And she flipped it open to the first page, calm face on the whole time. She didn't mind reading – though she'd be sorely disappointed if he didn't take her offer up. It took all of her willpower to avoid glancing up at him.
She could him breathing, shifting on that wooden stool, and if she listened close enough, she was sure she could hear the wheels in his head turning over the decision. This was not some kind of war strategy, merely a game, but he was taking it seriously. "I'll take the deal," he says finally. Belle can do nothing but smile.