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 has to buy new clothes for her upcoming job, as well as replacing the clothes her friends got her when she was first released from the hospital, which means shopping – something Belle hadn't been fond of even before her incarceration. Mary Margaret comes with her, both to help her choose appropriate work clothing because Isabelle has absolutely no idea what's suitable for her new job, and to make sure Isabelle is as comfortable as she can be with being out and around other people.
Emma had offered to come as well, but Mary Margaret had pointed out, with an amused smile, that Emma doesn't wear the uniform she's meant to wear as Sheriff, so she's hardly likely to be able to pick suitable clothes for Isabelle to wear for work.
Isabelle tries clothes on, models them for Mary Margaret, and tries not to think about who's paying for all this. She has a credit card, but the bills go to her father. Once she's earning, she promises herself, she'll pay him back every cent.
She doesn't know how he's paying for it in the first place – because she knows he owes money to Mr Gold. She tries not to connect the dots, because she doesn't want to go there. At least not yet.
"I think you've got enough now," Mary Margaret says finally. "At least to begin with. Enough to mix and match, anyway."
Isabelle nods, pulls her sweater over her head. "I think so," she agrees. "I should probably get some new underwear, as well." She gathers together the clothes, tries not to see the way Mary Margaret looks at her.
"Are you ready to talk about it, yet?" Mary Margaret asks her, soft and gentle. Isabelle shrugs, bites her lip. "Isabelle, you've dropped nearly two clothes sizes," Mary Margaret goes on. "In two and a half months. That's…that's not good. You know that."
"I know," says Isabelle, the words choked in her throat. She closes her eyes, refuses to allow the tears that threaten to rise. "I just…it's just really hard."
"Have you talked to Dr Hopper about it?"
"No." Isabelle hugs the clothes to her, glances up at Mary Margaret. "I will," she says, a promise that's perhaps a little rash. But she means it – she'll bring it up when she sees Archie, tomorrow afternoon. She'll try to explain the problems she's having, the reasons she's losing weight. He's a good doctor; even if he doesn't have solutions, he'll have advice, he'll help her work through whatever it is that's stopping her eating.
She's sure of it, even though the possibility seems remote. Archie had asked her to trust him, that day in the hospital, and she does. She trusts him more than anyone else.
"I will," she says again. "It's not that…I'm not doing it deliberately. I just…" She shrugs, can't explain it to Mary Margaret, who is a good friend but cannot understand the imprisonment Isabelle suffered, the imprisonment that is still so very vivid.
"Okay," says Mary Margaret. "It's okay. Let's go and pay, and then we can head back." She takes some of the clothes from Isabelle, ushers her out of the changing rooms. "I think Emma was talking about watching a movie tonight," she says cheerfully, clearly determined to change the subject. "There's still so many good ones you haven't seen yet."
Isabelle likes it, this casual way Mary Margaret has of referring to things Isabelle missed while she was in the hospital. Movies, music, political events – it all passed her by, with no television and no newspapers, and most other people she's met feel awkward when any of it impinges on conversation. Even Emma gets a look sometimes, like she's not sure whether she should apologise for talking about something that Isabelle's missed.
Not Mary Margaret; she takes it in her stride and explains things to Isabelle, quietly and cheerfully, and answers Isabelle's questions without making her feel stupid.
"That sounds nice," she says as they reach the lingerie department. She doesn't bother trying anything on here, just grabs things that look like they'll fit. She's had enough of the department store, although it's not large and there aren't too many people around. But it has artificial lights and artificial air, racks of clothing and thin carpets faded and matted into dull greyness. It's confining.
She wants to get out, wants the sky and the sun. She spent so long locked up that sometimes she struggles with being indoors; it's something else she knows she's got to talk to Archie about, because once the library's open, she'll have to be indoors all day. Nine to six every week day, nine to midday on Saturdays. She'll get a break for lunch, of course, but still, it's a long time to be inside.
But the library has lots of windows, she reminds herself, and that will help.
They go to the checkout, and Isabelle leans against the counter as the cashier scans in barcodes and folds clothing into bags. She hands over her credit card to pay, plastic and binary code, all funded by her father, and she lets Mary Margaret take most of the bags from her.
"Do you need anything else?" Mary Margaret asks her then.
"No," says Isabelle, shaking her head, following her friend out of the labyrinth, towards the doors, towards freedom. "No, that's everything." Her jeans are slipping down; she frees a hand to hitch them up again. The new clothes she's bought will fit better – although she won't throw out the ones that are too big. She needs to gain weight, she knows. She needs to get healthy again.
It's cooler today, the skies clouded over and threatening rain. A spring thunderstorm, Isabelle thinks, and likes the idea.
"We should get back," says Mary Margaret. "I didn't bring an umbrella."
"I don't mind getting wet," Isabelle says, but she lets Mary Margaret set the pace. Across the small parking lot, onto the street and towards the centre of town. "Thanks for coming with me," she says. "I'm getting better about…" She waves a hand, encompassing the town, the outside, the people. "Still," she goes on, "I wouldn't have known what to pick."
"You're welcome," says Mary Margaret. "And you'd have been fine – you've seen what I wear to work."
Isabelle nods, follows Mary Margaret as they turn onto Main Street. "I guess," she says. "But it's more fun with a friend."
"That's true," Mary Margaret laughs. "Hey, what about getting a coffee or something in Granny's before we go back?"
Isabelle hesitates; if she says no, Mary Margaret will accept that, she knows. She's only been into Granny's once, that evening with Mr Gold, and she's not sure she's comfortable going in again. Granny seemed nice enough, although Ruby had stared a little.
She knows she should go in, but she doesn't want to. The thought of it makes a tight knot in her stomach, panic down her spine. Her mouth is dry.
"Don't worry about it," Mary Margaret says, seeing Isabelle's distress. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have suggested it. You've already done a lot today." She reaches a hand, touches Isabelle's shoulder. "Forget about it," she says softly. "We'll just go home."
"I'm sorry," Isabelle mutters, and she can't meet Mary Margaret's eyes. "You should go. If you want. I can get home by myself."
"Don't be silly," says Mary Margaret. "Like you said – it's more fun with a friend." She links her arm with Isabelle's, and they walk slowly down the street. Past the Sheriff's office, past Granny's and the grocery store.
Past the street that leads to Mr Gold's pawnshop, and Isabelle can't help glancing down towards it, her thoughts inevitably drawn to him once again.
Her father, she thinks, cannot possibly be paying for the credit card in her wallet. Isabelle isn't extravagant – has bought hardly anything since being let out of the hospital, except for essentials like clothes and food – but even so, she knows her father. She knows what a poor businessman he is.
She knows what he owes to Mr Gold. She knows what she owes to Mr Gold, because the Mayor had made it clear why the library is being reopened, and why she's been hired. The only reason she has the job is because Mr Gold went to the Mayor and…
Demanded it.
The library, the job – and yes, she's pretty sure he's released her father from his debt, because there's no way Moe French could afford to pay her rent, her credit card, his own bills, and pay back however much it is that he owes to Mr Gold.
There's just no way.
"What are you thinking about so seriously?" Mary Margaret asks, teasing her a little. "You've got the oddest look on your face, Isabelle."
"Nothing important," says Isabelle, banishing thoughts of the deal-maker, smiling at her friend. "Hey, let's bake something when we get back," she suggests. "Henry said he might come by later, I bet he'd love some cake."
"Sure," says Mary Margaret, enthusiastic, and Isabelle thinks she wouldn't disagree, not when it might lead to Isabelle eating something. Baking is an activity Isabelle likes, though, and she doesn't really associate it with eating. She's gone through an entire recipe book over the last eleven weeks, trying anything that catches her eye. She hardly eats any of it, gives it to Emma or Mary Margaret, or Henry if he comes by. She baked a cake for Ashley, a few weeks ago, and Ashley's still so tired with her baby that she almost burst into tears when she'd accepted it.
Henry's there when they reach the apartment, talking intently with Emma, and he falls silent when Isabelle and Mary Margaret come in. He's got a book in his hands, closes it quickly, and Emma and Mary Margaret share an amused look.
"Hey, what's that?" Isabelle asks, dropping her bags and going to the table. "Have I read this one?"
"No," says Henry, "it's kind of a one-off." He glances up at Emma, then turns to Isabelle and pushes the book towards her. "It's a book of fairytales," he says. "You want to have a look?"
"Sure," says Isabelle with a smile. "You know me and books." She sits down, lifts the cover, flips through a few of the pages. The pictures are beautiful, she notes, although the stories don't seem quite the ones she remembers from childhood.
She pauses at one page, looks at the picture with a frown. There's something she almost recognises there, but she's never seen this book before. It's impossible.
A spinning wheel, and she knows it – knows it on a visceral, instinctive level.
Isabelle shivers, pushes the book away from her. "It's nice," she says uneasily. Henry's looking at her, a strange look on his face, and he looks from her to the open book, frowns thoughtfully.
"Do you like that story?" he asks her. "I always thought it was kind of sad. Beauty didn't get to stay with the Beast."
"She would have stayed," says Isabelle. Her voice sounds strange, as if it's coming from a long way away. "If he'd let her." Henry's eyes are wide now, he stares at her with something like urgency.
"You know the story?" he demands.
"No," says Isabelle after a moment, shakes herself, laughs uneasily. "Not that version. I've never seen the book before, how could I know it? I'd better get these clothes put away." She can feel Emma and Mary Margaret watching her, can feel their concern at her strange behaviour, but she can't reassure them, not yet. She's reacting strangely to the book, but she can't explain it, can't say why.
She just knows it makes something in her stomach twist, makes something in her heart ache.
"We thought we might do some baking," Mary Margaret says then, effectively changing the subject. "How about it, Henry? What do you think, cupcakes or cookies?"
"Cookies," says Henry firmly, and Isabelle collects her bags, goes to her small room. It's the smallest of the three bedrooms, hastily refurbished from what had been a storage area when Emma and Mary Margaret had offered Isabelle a place to stay. Small but cosy, and Isabelle sits down on the bed, hunches over and covers her face with her hands.
Why, she demands of herself, did that book feel familiar? That page? She has never in her whole life seen a spinning wheel.
Too many things to think about, she decides. Baking is simple; she'll put away her new clothes and go and bake with Henry.