Title: Of Dreams and Awakenings
Rating: T
Word count: ~51k
Characters: Belle/Isabelle French, Mr Gold/Rumplestiltskin, Mary Margaret, Emma Swan, Archie Hopper, Henry Mills, Regina Mills, Moe French, various other Storybrooke characters.
Pairing: Belle/Rumplstiltskin (Isabelle/Mr Gold)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Once Upon A Time' does not belong to me.
She's eating lunch when the Mayor rings the doorbell of the apartment. She's alone, because Emma sometimes comes back for lunch to keep her company but often can't, and when Isabelle answers the door she feels that cold rush of panic settling into her stomach.
"Miss French," Regina greets her. There's a hint of a smirk about her, as if she knows how much she frightens Isabelle and she enjoys it. "May I come in?"
She can't refuse, bites her tongue so hard she can taste blood in her mouth but steps aside. Ice prickling up her spine, her heart pounding, but Isabelle can't stop Regina.
She's too afraid.
"We haven't had a chance to talk," Regina says, watching as Isabelle shuts the door. "How are you doing, Miss French?"
"I'm fine," says Isabelle, practically biting the words off. She shoves her hands in her pockets so Regina can't see how she's shaking. "Was there something you wanted?"
Regina tilts her head, perfectly painted smile in place, shark's grin hidden behind her eyes. "Actually, yes," she says. "I came to offer you a friendly word of advice."
"Friendly," Isabelle echoes, and she shakes her head. "You're not my friend. You're never going to be my friend." Regina takes a step towards her, and Isabelle widens the gap again. "And you'll excuse me for not being willing to accept your advice," she adds.
"Now, dear, I've only ever been concerned for your welfare," says the Mayor, all crocodile tears and fake sympathy. Isabelle doesn't believe her for a second, feels her hands shaking even in her pockets. She knows the Mayor can see her fear, is sure she's relishing it.
"I don't believe you," she whispers, and shakes her head. "Say what you have to say, and then please leave."
"Very well," says Regina. "I wanted to advise you to be more careful in your choice of friends, Miss French." Isabelle frowns, confused, but Regina goes on. "Mr Gold is a very dangerous man, dear. You don't want to be getting involved with him."
"Mr Gold," Isabelle repeats. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think you do," Regina says, her smirk gone now, something of viciousness lurking about her smile. "Demands for the reopening of the public library, suggestions about who I hire as librarian – you know exactly what I'm talking about, Miss French."
Isabelle is silent; she'd suspected it, of course, but hadn't expected anyone to openly admit it – especially not the Mayor herself. She doesn't know what it means, that Mr Gold had gone to the Mayor and…demanded? Demanded the library be reopened.
For her – but why?
"He's a very dangerous man," Regina says again. "And a young woman in your situation needs to be very careful about who she makes friends with."
It rankles, but Regina isn't the only one to say that. Emma had commented, after that evening at Granny's, that Mr Gold isn't someone she thinks Isabelle should be friendly with. But Emma was saying it out of concern; there is no concern now in Regina's words or voice. Only malice, and perhaps a hint of something else.
"He's not my friend," she says at last. "And even if he was, it's not any business of yours." She lifts her chin, tries to be brave. Do the brave thing, she thinks, and bravery will follow. She can't remember where she heard that, who said it to her, but it feels…right. It feels like something she can live by. "You're not my friend either," she says. "You don't have my best interests at heart. You have your best interests at heart. And I think you should leave now, please."
Regina's lip curls; she's displeased. "There's one more thing, Miss French," she says. "The job you applied for, at the library."
Isabelle nods, drops her gaze. "I know," she says. "You're not going to give it to me."
"On the contrary, Miss French," says the Mayor, "you're hired." Isabelle lifts her head, stares, sees Regina's discomfort. It's not her choice, Isabelle deduces, but can't comprehend how anybody could make her do this.
"I don't understand," she says, hesitant, uncertain.
"As I said," Regina snaps, "you're making friends in dangerous places."
Mr Gold. Again, Mr Gold. Isabelle ruthlessly suppresses a shiver, won't let Regina see how discomfited she is by the idea of it, by the concrete reality of his interest in her.
Still, she thinks as she looks at Regina, standing in the centre of the apartment, a deal-maker is better than a tale-spinner. Mr Gold may be a dangerous man, but he never lies. Not like this woman, who lies and cheats and locks people away.
"Thank you for letting me know," she says at last. Calm, serene. A swan gliding across a lake, showing no sign of the activity beneath. "When do I begin?"
"In three weeks," says Regina crisply. "I'm having the building refitted. But you'll need to go over the stock first, to bring it up to date. Your budget is not limitless, but I'm sure you'll manage."
"I'm sure I will," says Isabelle. "If there's nothing else?" Regina scowls, stalks to the front door, opens it and pauses.
"Do be careful, Miss French," she advises. "Dr Hopper may think you're no danger to anybody, but I have my doubts, and I assure you, my word has greater weight in this town than his."
"I'm sure it does," says Isabelle. She pulls her hands from her pockets, clasps them together tightly behind her back. "But you'll forgive me if I put my trust in him, rather than you." They stare at each other, measuring, and Isabelle isn't sure what the other woman can see. She isn't sure what she's revealing, or what she's managing to conceal.
Finally the Mayor nods her head, steps across the threshold. "Have a good day, Miss French," she says. "And do remember what I said."
Isabelle shuts the door firmly behind her, leans against it for a moment, closes her eyes and tries to breathe deeply. Now the Mayor has gone, the panic is rising and she can't control it. It cuts off her breathing, makes her dizzy and light-headed, and she drops to her knees, lifts her hands to her head, tries to do as Archie had taught her. In and out, counting her breaths, counting the time between them, in and out.
In and out.
Eventually it passes, and Isabelle is able to stand up again. She goes back to the table, to her lunch that's grown cold, picks up the plate and takes it to the microwave to reheat. She stands in front of it, watching the plate slowly revolve, feels her hands trembling still.
She's got the job, but she can hardly believe it. She had never imagined that Regina Mills would allow it – hadn't dared imagine it for more than those first few moments when Emma had announced that the library was to be reopened.
She's too afraid of the Mayor to dream that she could allow Isabelle any measure of happiness, or even mere safety.
The microwave beeps, and Isabelle takes out her meal, returns to the table. Fear, she thinks. Archie had asked her to think about her father, about whether she's angry with him or afraid. There's no such ambiguity about Regina Mills; Isabelle is afraid of her, nothing more or less. She has good reason to be, and Regina has made it clear that if she decides fit, she'll have Isabelle flung back into the locked ward.
No matter what Archie says, no matter how he and Emma try to reassure her that it can't happen, Isabelle is so terribly afraid of it. She can't go past the hospital yet, takes long detours whenever she's required to go somewhere near it.
She wakes, sometimes, in the middle of the night and thinks she's back in that room. That cold, square room with just a small window high up. A ledge covered with a thin mattress, no pillow and sometimes no blanket. Restraints whenever they decide she's violent, drugs to control what they say are psychotic episodes.
She doesn't remember ever being in such a state, doesn't remember the things they say she's done and said. They told her, she remembers now, that she used to rave about a man in a castle. But Isabelle doesn't remember any of that, and when she wakes in the night feeling smothered by her blanket, she thinks she's back there. She thinks they've restrained her again, and she thrashes until the blanket is gone, screams until her throat is sore.
Emma and Mary Margaret have learned how to handle it, and she hates that, hates that her friends have to do this for her. They wake her by calling her name; they remove the blankets but don't touch her, let her come back to consciousness and wakefulness as the realisation that she is not confined slowly creeps into her mind.
And Regina Mills would have her back there in a heartbeat. The warning is clear, Isabelle thinks as she picks at her food. Regina will find a way to put her back in the hospital if she finds a reason.
Isabelle can't help but wonder what she did to deserve such treatment, why she frightens the Mayor so much. Because she thinks it must be fear, there must be some reason why Regina doesn't want her free. It isn't concern for her mental state, or the safety of others. There's something unknown, something hidden. Something the Mayor doesn't want her, or anyone else, to know.
She tries to think about her father, tries to do as Archie had asked and think about whether she's just angry with him, or whether she's afraid of him too. It's harder, with him, to work out if there's a difference. With the Mayor it's easy – the Mayor had no duty of care towards her, no reason to protect her. Her father…
Her father should have protected her from everything, including the Mayor.
He should have protected her.
Isabelle isn't hungry anymore; she throws away the rest of her meal, cleans the plate and her utensils, leaves them to dry on the draining board. She thinks, for a moment, of what Emma and Mary Margaret will say when they see how much she's thrown away, how much she hasn't eaten.
She needs new clothes, she knows. She's lost so much weight that her jeans barely stay up even with a belt. Her bras are loose and unsupportive. Her bones are sharp through the skin. It's only a matter of time, she knows, until Archie has to say something.
She's lost too much weight; she's getting unhealthy. But she can't seem to handle it, all this choice and all the flavours she hasn't tasted in years. Able to eat anything she wants, Isabelle is retreating into eating almost nothing.
Except…she ate cake, the other day, she remembers. Cake and hot chocolate with Mr Gold, in Granny's café. And she'd enjoyed that, more than she'd enjoyed any food in weeks.
Archie claims she's not ill; but Isabelle isn't certain she's entirely well, either.
Still, she has the job. A real job, in the town's library, and she will make it work. She's determined not to give Regina any excuse to fire her, or to send her back to that hell, and Isabelle supposes that's as good a reason as any to be determined to make something succeed.
She'll make it work, no matter what Regina throws at her to make her fail.