Adam always rose at dawn. Except for today.
Today, a snow drift had buried one side of the cabin, covering the window and blocking out the early morning light. Today, his mind was tired, despite a body good as new. And today…
Today, he woke up with Belle in his arms.
It was the first two reasons, Adam decided, that kept him from rising. And so he lay in the quiet and the snow-covered darkness, surprised by how much warmer Belle kept him than his own thick coat, and even more surprised that she had remained against him all night long.
Until now, Adam had taken great care to rise first each morning. Something shifted in the air when the sun came up— something he'd never noticed when he was human— making it easy to slip out of the house before Belle opened her eyes. Of course, he loved being near her each night. He'd look forward to it each day, waiting until they were both feigning sleep before reaching out to find her fingers in the darkness. Sometimes hers even found his first.
But to wake up beside her, in the bright light of day? And have no choice but to talk about it? He'd rather get shot by that farmer all over again—
"I'd take a thousand bullets to have you here with me."
Adam nearly bolted upright. His own words replayed in his mind, sounding too ridiculous to be real. His palm found the center of his forehead, the slap loud enough that Belle shifted a little against him. Adam froze, every muscle on alert, but she quickly nestled closer and fell back into a peaceful sleep.
I really said that, he realized, panicking. He caught sight of the empty whiskey bottle then, and glared at it. This is your fault.
What must Belle think of him? He'd let his guard down, grown vulnerable and so stupidly honest… and she hadn't even believed him.
Except the truth was, he'd meant it. Every word. In fact, a thousand bullets seemed too small a number now that he was sober enough to consider it. And the implication of that was nearly as bad as realizing he'd spoken it aloud.
Belle shivered against him, and he pulled his hand from his forehead to rest back over her like it had been before. Had they been this way all night? He wished he hadn't sleep through all of it. The way he'd acted last night was all the more reason he should get out of here before she woke up… but that would meaning leaving this.
He pulled his arms a little further around her. He was a fool sober too, it seemed.
And maybe this was all in his head anyway. He already talked to one imaginary voice on an embarrassingly regular basis; perhaps his skills in the art of self-delusion had grown so strong he'd finally managed to conjure up a fully-fledged person to keep himself company.
The thought depressed him. He carefully lifted a strand of hair away from Belle's face, noticing a crowd of tiny freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
Please be real.
He glanced towards the window, where bits of melted snow were sliding down the panes of glass. He should be out there shoveling.
He closed his eyes and pulled her closer.
Belle smelled wonderful. He knew that before now, for his sense of smell was heightened by the curse and he could easily pick out her scent from across the room. It felt a little intrusive, but he couldn't help it, and now that she was against him he couldn't help but breathe her in completely. She smelled of his soap, and a little of smoke from the fire, but mostly of something else entirely that didn't have a name but was the most pleasant part of all. So pleasant that if he really had imagined her then he must have one damn good imagination.
Belle shifted again, and her breathing changed as she slowly left sleep behind. Adam's heart leapt once in his chest, but he managed to reign it back. She's chosen to stay, after all. With him on this mountain… all night in his arms. Maybe it was time to be brave.
"Good morning," she said at last, words slurred with sleep.
"Morning."
Belle blinked, looking up in awe. "You're still here."
"You were sleeping on my arm."
She smiled, and didn't move. He didn't look away.
She finally looked down, twirling the tangled furs of their bedding between her fingers. "Last night…"
Shit. Why had he decided to be brave again? "Sorry, um, I…"
"Your wounds, I mean," she said quickly. "How are they?"
So they weren't going to talk about it. Thank God. "They're healed," he said, rubbing his chest roughly to prove it. "You did a good job. Sorry I was such a pain."
That same look of amusement from the night before spread over her face. "It's okay," she said, sneaking a look across the room towards the two enormous bags he'd forgotten about. "You brought home gifts."
Adam grinned. "Ah, so that's how to win you over. This would have been much easier when I was rich."
Too brave! he thought too late.
But Belle only laughed. A pretty blush bloomed in her cheeks as she did, and she quickly turned to the snowed-in window. "We're stuck here until spring now, was that right?"
He hummed an affirmative, secretly proud of how well he was concealing his excitement. To his surprise, Belle didn't hide hers. In fact, she looked positively tickled at the prospect.
"Your expectations might be a little high," he said, hoping they weren't. "It's really boring up here."
"Oh, I don't know," Belle said. "I have three hundred books at my disposal; a very soft alternative to a warming pan—"
"A warming… you mean me?"
"—and I don't have to go to Mass!"
Adam laughed, long and loud. Only after he quieted did he realize that their fingers had grown tangled beneath the covers. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they'd been waking up this way for ten years instead of ten days.
Well then… something was definitely happening. But if Belle wasn't going to talk about it, then neither was he. What else was there to talk about, anyway? The curse couldn't be broken, and so even if something was happening here, there was nowhere it could go.
… Right?
Belle rolled on her side then, stretching out an arm for a book left face-down and just out of her reach. Leaning across her, Adam reached it easily and handed it to her with the marked page open. She took it happily, smiling at him before cradling it against her chest and cozying up against him once again.
Nothing… Adam told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Nothing more can happen here…
Or could it? After all, Belle was pressed against him right this moment, letting him hold her and smell her and feel her warmth without seeming to mind one bit.
And suddenly, without any warning, his thoughts brought her closer still. Naked, breathless beneath him, tugging roughly at his fur as he tasted every last inch of her—
Oh shit.
Adam scrambled to his feet, leaving Belle lying disheveled and puzzled in his wake.
"Adam?" she asked, sitting up slowly and frowning.
Her bedhead was only making it worse. Adam turned his back to her. "I— um… Bonne. She needs to be milked," he stammered, making a beeline for the door.
"Oh, she's all right. I milked her yesterday afternoon."
Adam paused in place. She had? Of course she had. She was Belle: responsible and thoughtful and soft and probably very delicious between her—
"Firewood!" he practically shouted at the door, not daring to turn around. The front of his trousers would surely betray him.
"What?"
"Chop it." That's it. That's all he said.
"But we've hardly gone through what you left the other—"
Adam pulled open the door. He had to get out of this house. "Be right back!" he called over his shoulder, stepping into the cold and pulling the door tightly shut behind him.
Outside, the snow came up to his knees, the one valid excuse of shoveling having eluded him when he really needed it. And two steps away, an enormous pile of already-chopped firewood greeted him, half buried in snow. Adam dropped a face in one hand, heaving out hot air between his fingers and melting the snow all around him.
Was he seventeen all over again?! God damn it.
He took a few minutes to just… breathe. Then, sucking in a breath and gripping his temples one final time, he let his hand drop and started digging a fresh path through the snow. Exercise… exercise was good.
I don't want to say I told you so.
Well, here was a mood killer if ever he needed one. Yes, you do.
You're right, I do, the prince admitted, grinning wide. Told you so!
Adam sighed— had he always sighed so much? I thought you were mad at me.
I'm figment of your imagination. My mood changes quickly.
Adam went back to digging, and ignored him.
So, the prince went on, flopping down in some imagined chaise while Adam worked. What's the plan?
What. Plan.
The plan! You know, to woo her. Pursue her. Good God, you haven't forgotten how, have you?
Adam stopped digging, and sat back on his haunches. I thought you didn't like Belle.
The prince was focused very intently on one of the many rings on his fingers. I changed my mind, he grumbled. Then he sat up suddenly. Not about those other filthy peasants! But she's… fine.
Adam raised a brow. That was interesting. Well, nothing's going to happen, he thought, ignoring his very strong desire that something would. It would be wrong. Unnatural? He grimaced at the word. Or just… gross, for her. I'm… well, look at me!
The prince flashed a wicked grin. Maybe she's into that.
Adam's eyes went wide, and every hair on his body rose up on end. He mentally grabbed the prince by the collar and chucked him into the farthest depths of his mind.
Then he sat in the freezing snow for a very long time.
When Adam finally returned, Belle was standing at the stove and covered in a light dusting of flour. "I couldn't wait!" she said cheerfully, whisking the steaming golden liquid once more before glancing back at him.
Adam stood frozen at the door, empty-handed, covered in a hundred little balls of snow. Staring at her.
Belle brushed a loose curl from her face, feeling unsure. "I promised you a soufflé, didn't I?"
"Oh," he finally said, shaking his head and the rest of his body on the threshold before stepping into the room. He made his way over, looking curiously over her shoulder as she worked. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he hummed. "Oh boy."
Belle laughed at his reaction, relieved, giving the batter another stir and sending pleasant wafts of nutmeg into the air. "Have an apple while you wait! I've already one."
She looked up then, and realized Adam was now watching her instead of the simmering pot. He stepped back quickly, bumping into the table and knocking several apples from their careful arrangement. But almost as suddenly he caught them, placing a paw on the table to stop it from shaking. He appeared quite distressed.
Belle grew nervous again. "Is everything all right?"
"Yep!" He coughed into his fist, sat on the floor beside the table— where he was now at eye-level with her— and tossed the rescued apples into this mouth. "Mm!" he said forcefully, then stopped, chewing for a long moment as his eyes went wide. "Mmm," he said again, with feeling this time, grabbing two more apples with one hand and three with the other. "Wow, I've really missed fruit."
"Missed…" Belle eyes grew wide. "Don't tell me you've eaten nothing but meat and cheese for a decade?"
He shrugged, mouth full. "I can't be killed, remember?"
Belle laughed again, though she failed to hide her horror. Adam only grinned, tossing three whole apples into his mouth.
Belle turned back to the stove, smiling pleasantly to herself until it came time to open the oven door. She stared inside, horrorstruck once again. "Um… Adam?"
"Mm?"
She swallowed, running her finger along the door's inside surface and pulling back an inch-thick layer of soot. "When… forgive me, but when did you last clean your stove?"
Adam furrowed his brows, swallowing a large mouthful. He glanced at the small stove for a moment, then back at her. "You can clean that?"
Belle stared at him in disbelief, then— realizing he was serious— burst into laughter.
"Belle!" he cried in dismay. "This isn't funny!"
She covered her mouth with one hand in an attempt to stop, but her body only shook harder.
Adam was crouched in front of the stove now, scrutinizing its filthy innards. "Good God, no wonder everything I cook tastes bad."
The soufflé would have to wait. It took the greater part of the remaining daylight hours to restore the stove to a functioning state, and by the time they were through their arms and faces were coated in black dust. At one point, Adam breathed in a cloud of the stuff and sneezed so fiercely it blew the window wide open and sent Cesar sprinting into the cellar in terror.
Belle was genuinely surprised she hadn't broken her ribs all over again from laughing.
The smells of baking nutmeg and cheese now permeated the house as they waited for the soufflé over warm tea. Belle sat in his chair again, for Adam refused to take it himself. Instead, he opted to sit at her feet with an elbow propped on the chair's worn arm. "Well, it's official. I'm helpless," he moped.
Belle chuckled. In his defense, it would have been very hard to clean out that stove given the size of his hands. She told him as much.
He raised a brow at her. "You don't have to make excuses for me." He sighed deeply, plopping his cheek against a fist and staring at his tea as he swirled it about. "You know, I learned all kinds of things as a boy. Mathematics, history, a half-dozen languages. And every bit of it utterly worthless, it turns out," he grumbled. "I wish someone had put a tool in my hand, or sent me to the kitchens for a few hours..." He looked back at her then, raising a brow. "Or made me clean something."
But Belle was distracted. "You know other languages?" she asked, growing wide-eyed.
"Oh, um… yeah. I guess."
"Which ones?"
Adam cocked his head. "English, Greek, Italian… some Latin, I suppose. But it's been a long time—"
"And you know our histories?" Belle was perched on the edge of the chair now.
"Ours… and some others."
The way he said it implied most others. Belle just stared at him.
"What?"
"What if…" Her eyes brightened, and she leaned close. "What if we made a trade?"
Adam's brows came together for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled, lifting his tea to hers.
Their cups clinked together.
It was a brilliant idea, and Adam was certain he'd gotten the better end of the deal. For as it turned out, Belle knew much more than how to clean a stove or cook a meal – though knowing that alone would have saved him many a burnt dinners over the years. Before long, she'd taught him how to mend the barn roof, how to clean Bonne's hooves and milk her twice as quickly, how to build a fire that burned long and smoked little.
In contrast, their evenings became a game of Belle picking his brain for every bit of his childhood lessons. Adam had thoroughly hated his tutors as a boy, but suddenly found himself very grateful they'd forced him to put so much to memory. For Belle found it all fascinating, from the tedious verb conjugations to the endless battles of the early kings. Even what simple mathematics he could recall were quickly used to ration their food for the winter. (Apparently, he needed to go easy on the apples from here on out.)
She just… absorbed everything. Anything. Like she'd been starving for knowledge her entire life.
Belle also spent many long mornings over the next fortnight beside the fire, the pile of fabric he'd stolen slowly transforming itself into several new garments. Given Adam could barely grasp one of those little needles without drawing blood, he opted to keep himself busy with other tasks.
"I'll be back this afternoon," he said on one of these mornings. "Going to, um, bathe downstream," he said quickly, "then tend to the barn some more." The latter was a fib – in truth, he would climb to the mountain peak after he bathed, letting the strong winds dry him thoroughly, then spend several unpleasant hours attempting to brush every part of him he could reach. This was not something Belle needed to be privy to; he only mentioned bathing at all so she knew to steer clear of the river. He didn't want to scar her, he after all.
"Well, take those with you," Belle replied, motioning to a neat pile of clothes at her side. "A couple new shirts and a pair of pants, for now."
"Oh!" he said in surprise, moving over curiously and retrieving the pile. The stitching looked as good as anything he'd worn before the curse. When had he last worn anything but rags? "Thank you. Really, you didn't have to—"
"And some undergarments."
Adam froze. "Some… what?"
"I used your old ones for the measurements. They should fit."
That did not make him feel better. "Belle!"
"Oh, don't make a thing of it," she said lightly, still focused on her stitching. "It's not like I've never seen a man's breeches before."
Adam covered his face with a paw. So blunt! "Um… thanks," he managed, fleeing from the house and wishing he were dead. Had he lingered a little longer, he might have caught Belle chuckling to herself as she continued her work.
When he returned later that afternoon, she was donning something new: a pretty blue frock that matched the clear winter sky. The dress she'd come in, the one with the torn hem and blood stains, had been tossed into the fire. She was standing beside the hearth and watching it burn, and Adam moved over to join her.
"Maybe that was a waste," Belle said once the deed was nearly done. "It could have been used for rags."
Adam watched the flames lick up the last of the old cloth. "I don't know. I think it made for a good fire."
Belle finally looked up at him, smiling gratefully.
"Is that what you did with—" He stopped suddenly.
"What?"
"Never mind. It's nothing."
She frowned.
Adam pursed his lips, then slowly reached for her hand. "Your ring," he said, brushing his thumb over the place it once was. "I thought I saw one when you first arrived."
"O-oh," she said. Her cheeks went red. "Well, no. Not in the fire. I mean, that's not where I… tossed it."
"Over the cliff side, then?"
"No…"
Adam cocked his head, curious.
Belle was very red now. "Well, if you must know, I disposed of it in the, um… the privy."
Adam blinked once. Then twice. "You mean… I've been shitting on it all this time?"
A giggle bubbled up in her throat. "So have I!"
He roared with laughter, and Belle pressed both hands to bright cheeks as she realized what she'd said. "I mean… well, it seemed a fitting place for it," she chuckled.
How easily they admitted their secrets to each other, Adam thought warmly. He loved to tease such things out of her, loved even his own frequent, embarrassing moments if it meant hearing her laugh. The prince wouldn't have dared let anyone see so much of him… but, then again, the prince had never felt this way about anyone. Somehow, for the first time in a very, very long time… things were actually going really well.
He should have known it wouldn't last.
"Missed me?"
Belle opened her eyes, and saw tough, pale arms surrounding her. Human arms, and a face she'd last seen splattered with blood... of a man that should have been dead.
She screamed.
"Belle?"
Gaston grinned down at her, gripping her hard, fingers digging into her skin. She thrashed about like a wild animal, desperate for escape, scratching at the hunter's face with claw-like nails until he caught her wrists and pinned her back down.
"Come now. Don't struggle."
"Belle! It's me!"
Belle sobbed until the weight of him forced all the air from her lungs. Until he had secured her so tightly there was no hope of escape.
Cornered.
"Belle."
Trapped.
"Please…"
Owned.
"Wake up."
Finally, she heard the voice, and slowly Gaston faded like the morning mist as someone new took her hand.
"Wake up, Belle."
The illusion was gone, and in its place knelt Adam. His eyes were wide, a hand raised in surrender, and along his jaw flowed a trickle of fresh blood.
Belle stared at the latter. "Adam," she gasped, reaching towards him. "What…" But she stopped, for as soon as she did saw the blood on her nails.
She'd done that to him.
"Oh no," she gasped, pulling back and pressing her palms to her mouth. "Oh God, I… I'm so sorry…"
He shook his head. "It's okay—"
"No it isn't!" she cried. "I hurt you…"
He waved it off. "Not really. It will be gone soon. Um…" He furrowed his brows. "I'll make you some tea."
Belle was starting to suspect that Adam made tea— or whatever task he thought of first— when he wasn't sure what to say. Or how to handle her. She brought her knees to her chest and looked towards the fire, cursing quietly to herself.
"See? Already stopped bleeding."
Belle hadn't noticed him return. Nor had she realized she'd started to cry.
"Belle…" he said softly, realizing so himself. He reached out, then— seeming to think better of it— pulled his hands back into his lap.
Belle stared at the fire until her eyes began to burn, knowing that if she blinked more tears would fall. The flames danced wildly before her, taunting her. Mocking her.
"I'm so weak," she whispered. The heat was consuming her now, a new fire ablaze in her chest that was surely burning her up from the inside. "He… he made me feel so weak, and helpless. And I… I… I hate him for it." She gasped, turning and burying her face in her knees. "I HATE him!"
The fire consumed her. Belle gripped the roots of her hair, tugging hard as her heart folded in on itself over, and over, and over. "I escaped. He's gone, but… I think it was too late."
Adam carefully touched her hand. "It's only been a few weeks... Give yourself time."
But she didn't hear him, didn't feel him. For the fire inside had gone out, leaving nothing but darkness.
The next morning, in a reversal of their usual roles, Adam woke to the sound of Belle out behind the house, chopping wood.
He went out to offer a hand, but thought twice about it at sight of her. Red-faced, heaving out clouds of hot breath in the crisp air, Belle swung his enormous axe with such ferocity that one of the wood blocks zipped dangerously close to his head. Adam backed away slowly, not sure it was wise to get too close.
When she finally stormed back inside, Adam remained in his chair, making great effort to mind his own business. Breathing hard, Belle stomped to the kitchen area, where he heard water splashing as she ladled herself several cups of water.
A moment later, something shattered.
He looked up at the sound. Belle, staring at him with wide eyes, was nearly as pale as the pieces of porcelain now scattered across the floor.
"Belle?" he said, standing quickly and stepping carefully across the room. Was she hurt? "Are you—"
"I'm sorry!" she gasped, moving quickly to gather up as many pieces as she could at her feet. One shard drew blood, but she didn't seem to notice. "I'm so sorry, I didn't— I'll clean it up, it— it won't happen again, I promise. Please, I'll—"
"Belle," he said, reaching out to stop her.
His paw rested on her shoulder, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
He was now utterly perplexed. "Hey, it's fine. It's just a cup."
Slowly, she opened her eyes, and looked up at him. "Oh… yes. Of course." She looked back at the glass in her hands, frowning as she came back from whatever place she had been.
Except she didn't come back completely, not for many days. She was jumpy, careful with her words, and he often noticed her hands tremble where she sat. She didn't sew, no longer offered to help repair the barn, no longer begged him for lessons. Her current book remained on the same page night after night as she lay quietly beside the fire.
How familiar it seemed, Adam thought. The days spent half-asleep, wishing the ground would just swallow him whole, the blackness inside finally eat him away. He wondered if she felt that too. He wondered how it was possible to watch someone feel that feeling you knew all too well while still having no idea how to help them.
Sure, he could take care of things quietly while she slept the daylight hours away, could make sure she was fed and warm. But he could no longer hold her during the night for fear of causing more night terrors, could no longer move too suddenly without startling her. And not even the best of his quips could make her laugh.
No, he was little help at all. And, like always, he was about to make it worse.
For the second time that week, Adam was unpleasantly awakened.
Not from a dream, either Belle's or his own, but to the sound of cracking wood and the bitter rush of winter wind.
Belle cried out, and Adam threw off the blanket and jumped to his feet in alarm. Claws out, teeth barred, he scanned the room for the threat.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but as soon as they had he discovered the source of the noise. No intruder or nightly demons, but simply the northeastern corner of the cabin caved in.
Not that this was much better, Adam thought, cursing at the sight. Snow blew through new cracks in the wall, broken wood mingled with fresh earth now scattered across the floor. He cursed again, more loudly, stomping over and tugging at the fur on his head in frustration.
First the barn, now the house? Why couldn't he do anything right?!
He pushed against the loose boards, attempting to stop the rushing wind as it stole away what little heat they had. But this only made it worse, and several more rotted panels grew loose and toppled to the floor.
"Fuck!" he shouted in alarm, snatching up what he could and trying to fit it back in place. It was no use, of course, and he was left gripping one of the broken panels in defeat. Adam growled deeply at it before snapping it in his fist.
Behind him came a gasp.
Adam turned around. He'd nearly forgotten Belle was here. She was standing behind his chair, gripping its back with whitened knuckles, facing away from him with her eyes squeezed shut.
"Hey," he said, calming quickly as he stood. "It's fine, nothing's here. It was only…"
And with his first step towards her, she flinched.
Adam froze. His heart plummeted into his stomach. "I'm not… Belle, I'm just angry with the situation. Not with you."
"I… I know," she said quietly.
It wasn't very convincing. She may as well have driven a pitchfork through his heart. "I'd never hurt you," he said in earnest, confused and deeply hurt. "You know I'd never hurt you. When have I ever give you reason to think I would?"
"You haven't," she whispered. She still hadn't looked at him.
A gust of wind ripped through the house. "Is it…" He tried to swallow, but his mouth had grown dry. "It's because of what I am, then."
"No!" she gasped, finally looking up at him. "No, Adam…"
"I don't know what else to do," he said roughly. His chest felt heavy, his mind a storm of noise pounding every rational thought to dust. "It's like I'm not allowed to get angry, like I can't react to anything, like… like I'm walking on eggshells around you."
Belle gasped, burying her face in her hands and sobbing.
"Shit, I didn't mean…" Eggshells? Of anything he could have said... "I'm sorry. Belle—"
"Y-you yelled," she gasped, choking on her tears. "You yelled, and broke that clean in two. How am I supposed to react?"
He ducked his head. "I'm sorry."
He stood there, frustrated and ashamed, waiting until her cries quieted. When he looked up again she was sitting on the edge of the chair, arms wrapped around herself as she stared pointedly at the floor. She shivered as another gust of wind entered the house, but made no move to warm herself.
Adam took a step closer. When she didn't react, he took another, pulling one of the blankets from the floor around her shoulders. "I've been a brute," he said quietly. "A short-tempered, thickheaded brute. For a long time, actually…" He crouched slowly to her level, reaching for her freezing hands but unable to meet her eyes. "But I'm not him. Please, Belle… please believe me."
"I do."
He looked up in relief.
"It's just, seeing you like that..." She sighed, looking towards the dark window. "I go somewhere else."
Adam looked away again, ashamed that he had sent her there this time. Surely she must wish to be alone. "I'll… I'll leave you," he said, and started to stand.
Belle looked back quickly, however, gripping his hands tight so he couldn't go far. "Don't you dare. I'll freeze to death."
That was invitation enough for him. Together they buried themselves back beneath the furs— silently deciding the gaping wall would need to wait until tomorrow— and lay in silence.
A quarter hour passed, then another, but he couldn't sleep. And by the sound of her breathing, neither could Belle.
"Um… how about a story?" Adam finally asked.
He glanced over. Even in the darkness he could see her raised brow.
"No, really," he said, amused by her look. "I know a good one. One that isn't in your chest."
Belle's eyes betrayed her interest. They always did. "Mm, all right, then," she said casually, rolling to her side to face him and resting her head on folded hands.
Adam cleared his throat, looking towards the ceiling and forcing the adorable image out of his mind. "Once upon a time, in a faraway place where the caravan camels roam," he began, trying to recall the tale from so long ago. "An ancient sorcerer sat atop his dark horse. The desert was bare, and cold, but for two sparkling golden eyes in the nearest dune."
Belle's eyes were sparkling too. She found his hand.
"Suddenly, the sands themselves spoke," he went on, smiling despite himself as he shifted his voice to its lowest timbre and leaned close. "Who disturbs my slumber?"
Belle managed to sleep after that, but Adam didn't. Instead he lay in the freezing darkness, holding her but afraid to hold her.
He would need to be careful, since— contrary to what he'd thought— his temper obviously hadn't gone anywhere. He couldn't let himself get so worked up around her, couldn't let himself get anywhere near breaking something like he was prone to do so long ago. It would terrify her. It already had.
He swallowed against the sour feeling in his throat, and grimaced at the damage to the house. Next time I get angry, I'll take a deep breath and go somewhere else. It's what he used to do, after all. Take an enormous breath and not let it out until he reached his quarters the West Wing. The place had received all his fury because of it, but it was the only place he could go to avoid his very fragile staff.
Belle shifted beside him, and he was back in the present. Somewhere else, he thought again, glancing at her sleeping form. Maybe that's what we both need.
Belle woke the next morning in Adam's arms. She'd missed this, she realized at once, feeling like she'd just stepped out of a fog that had consumed her for days and days. She reached up slowly rub the sleep from her eyes, but despite her care the motion jostled Adam where he lay.
"Mmmsss…" he said, rolling closer and pulling her in tight.
"Hmm?" Belle asked, smiling.
"It's… no use…" he mumbled, eyes still closed.
He was dreaming, she realized. Perhaps she was hearing something she shouldn't… perhaps she should wake him.
She didn't.
"Where is…?" he went on.
Belle leaned in closer. "Where is what?" she whispered back.
"…Where is she?"
Belle was keenly aware of her heart, now heavy in her chest. The young woman meant to break his curse— she'd never come. He must still regret it, the life he should have had with his meant-to-be rescuer. Instead he was stuck rescuing her.
And how did she repay him? By blaming him for one moment of frustration, when she'd done nothing but lay about in her own self-pity for days. Acting like his anger was uncalled for, when she'd stormed about just the other day in her own boiling rage.
It had been too easy to rely on him, large and strong as he was on the outside. She'd been so selfish, and unaware, and she'd… she'd hurt him. She'd seen in his eyes, those eyes she had come to trust, that calmed her when she woke in fear. Belle bit her lip hard, wishing last night had been a bad dream, and knowing it wasn't. She closed her eyes, pretending for a moment that she was the woman he was supposed to be with.
Knowing she never would be.
Adam hit the final nail in the side of the house, sighing heavily and stepping back to see the finished project. "Oh… wow."
"I admit, it's a bit…" Beside him, Belle cleared her throat, rubbing a hand against the back of her neck. "It just looks a little—"
"Stupid," he grumbled.
"Unorthodox."
Adam snorted. Unfortunately, repairing broken walls was beyond even Belle's expertise, so they'd done their best to mend it using hastily-chopped slabs pulled from the wood heap and whatever spare nails he could find or steal from Bonne's shed. The result was arguably uglier than he was.
"But," Belle went on, holding up a finger. "It's fixed."
"For now." He looked at the sky, the sun about two hands' width from the horizon. "I think, though, that this house might be telling us to get out."
Belle cocked her head.
Adam looked towards the peak, its outline dark against a bright, clear sky. "Are you up for a hike?"
Belle, bundled up in all of her warmest layers and a few of his, clung to Adam's shoulders and he plowed through snow that came up to his waist.
"You weren't expecting so much snow, were you?" she guessed, breath warm against his neck.
"Forgot…" He turned, clearing a small patch of earth with several swipes of his tail before letting Belle down to her feet. She tested her footing, then turned to look at what was behind them.
It really was an incredible sight. The top of the world, or it may as well have been. Snowy peaks, piercing the land farther than any man could see, their valleys filled with thick blankets of pine and shining pools of ice. And the sky— so huge and vast and deep, enough to make you forget you even existed. The first time Adam had climbed up here, he'd stared and stared until the last light of day fled behind the farthest peaks, then laid on his back and watched each star come to life up above. In fact, it was the first cliff he hadn't tried to—
He sucked in a deep breath, blowing out a cloud of shimmering mist. Anyway, he liked it here. Maybe Belle would too.
But as he watched her, he grew nervous. She stared silently out at those snowy peaks, bitter wind pulling several strands of hair from the strip of fabric she'd used to tie it away from her face. Still as stone.
Maybe he should have avoided cliff sides so soon. He was close enough to keep her from harm, but he reached out to steady her. Just in case.
"There was a small hill behind my childhood house," she said softly.
Adam crouched down, wrapping his arm fully around her. Belle let him, resting her head against his side while staring at the darkening landscape with unblinking eyes.
"I used to climb up there and imagine I was looking out at… well, something like this."
She'd said it sadly, and Adam was at a loss for how to respond. He sucked in a breath, thinking he ought to say something anyway, when—
"I'm sorry for how I've been," she said suddenly. She gripped the folds of her cloak, rushing her words. "I thought I could just— I wanted to be better, for…" She stopped, and looked away. "…for you."
Adam's eyes went wide, and something deep inside him broke. A dam of stone and fear, now crumbling as everything he'd been too guarded to feel flooded into his heart. And before nerves or imaginary princes could stop him, he spoke.
"I meant what I said, that night. The one I was a drunk fool."
Belle looked up at him, wet eyes searching his. Knowing, but not sure.
Adam's nerves were back now, but it was too late. The dam was destroyed, and there was nothing left to do but let the truth surface from its waters. "I really would take a thousand bullets… more, even, to have you here," he admitted. And then he reached up, cradling her cheek in his paw. "Sad or not. I don't care."
Belle's eyes filled with fresh tears. He brushed them away softly with the pad of his thumb. "Anyway, I'm the one who should be apologizing," he went on, those eyes drawing everything out of him. "I can't even give you what you deserve."
A sniffle. "What do you mean?"
"Well…" He frowned. "Your freedom, for one. Not this mountain prison."
"But I chose to stay here."
"And a safe home, a real home. Not some freezing edge of the world. And…" He grimaced, swallowing hard, running his fingers through the end of her hair. "You deserve a man, Belle. A real man. Not… a monster."
A gust of wind, and her hair slipped from his touch. Belle was quiet for a long moment. "Well… I can't argue with the freezing part," she said quietly. "But I know what it's like to live with a monster, Adam. This isn't it."
She was missing the point on purpose. Adam sighed, realizing how much he loved her for it.
Realizing how much he loved her, just as she turned away.
"What is it?" he asked, the cold rushing back to his heart.
Her back faced him, silhouette framed by the eastern sky now painted in new stars blinking awake in the twilight. "This isn't…" she began. She shook her head roughly. "It was supposed to be…" She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, growing small. "I-I'm not the one you were meant to find."
Adam was dumbfounded. "What?"
"I'm not. And now…" She looked up at the darkening sky, forcing in a sharp breath before she spoke. "No one can rewrite the stars."
Adam only stared at her. He hadn't even considered… couldn't even imagine there was anyone else but her. Just the idea of it left him feeling raw.
"Belle…" he said at last. He sucked in a tempered breath. "That's just stupid."
She looked back at him, and blinked. "Excuse me?"
So he could have said that better. But he was feeling frustrated, not eloquent. "That's right," he said, defiant, tossing a paw towards the heavens. "Screw the stars, screw Fate, and screw all the rest of it. You are the one I was meant to find."
Belle's cheeks were blossoming. "I…" She looked away, still troubled. Still unsure, for she'd been made to feel so unloved for so very long.
Adam couldn't bare it any longer.
He took a step forward, crouched down to her level, and encased her shoulders in both hands. "I love you," he said deeply. "I love you, Belle."
She stared at him, eyes wide with wonder. "Really?"
He nearly fainted. "Good God, yes!"
Belle laughed a little, palms pressed to her burning cheeks. "I… I love you too!"
Adam's heart flooded all over again, only this time with an entire ocean's worth of passion. He lifted her off her feet and held her tight, grinning his stupidest grin.
A muffled laugh. She'd never sounded so happy. "I thought my life was over…" she gasped, gripping him back. "This feels impossible!"
"It's not impossible," he assured her, drunk on his bliss. "Though… we still have one problem."
Her arms grew tighter around him. "What?"
"I'm still a freak of nature."
And then she giggled. Giggled.
"Are you… laughing at me? Belle!" He glanced down at himself then, just to make sure he actually hadn't changed back—
Then froze. No, he wasn't shedding his coat and claws in a glittery pile of magic, or emerging nude from a pile of rose petals...
But here, on the top of the world, Belle was kissing him.
Well, as best she could manage, anyway. His mouth was dumb and enormous, but somehow the way she held his cheeks in her palms made him forget. He wasted plenty of time before finally regaining his senses, but as soon as he did he reached up to bury his fingers in her hair, to wrap his paw more tightly around her waist and pull her closer. To carefully, tenderly turn his head so that he could savor her completely.
It was good. He hadn't thought it could be without breaking the curse, but… damn, it was good.
She pulled back then, the most beautiful, mischievous grin painting her face. "You know…" she said, flushed, barely able to grasp both his shoulders as she glanced down at his chest and back up. "They did call me a funny girl."
And somewhere, still banished to the deepest parts of his mind, a prince was grinning wildly.
Told you so.
A/N - Hope you're all staying safe and supported these days. Sending out all my love! xoxoxo