Rating: G
Pairing: RumBelle
Synopsis: While Rumplestiltskin tries to annoy Belle on one of his good days, Belle ventures some questions.
Spoilers: During Skin Deep
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. I wish.
“Not that one, dearie.”
Belle looked up from her feather duster. If she had recalled
correctly, Rumplestiltskin had told her that she would dust his collection.
Apparently not. This was the third, “Not that one, dearie” he had given her
while she attempted to do her work.
“And why not?” She asked, hands on her hips.
“It’s not dusty.” He waved his hand to emphasize the point.
“Just like these two?” Belle pointed to the puppets he had
also claimed were not dusty. She had to
admit they were odd. The expression on their faces was so painful that Belle
was almost glad she didn’t have to spend time with them.
“Exactly.”
Belle looked at the sword in front of the cabinet. It
reminded her of Excalibur, and tales of King Arthur floated in her head.
Rumplestiltskin was now at the wheel, spinning as usual.
Whenever she started her dusting, he always had to spin. She knew he was
watching as she moved to the next piece. A golden goblet, also not dusty, she
was sure of it. Excalibur and the holy grail? What deals did Rumplestilskin do?
There were days she wanted to know, and days she didn’t. She sometimes got a question in, now and then
when his mood wasn’t sour. Judging by his playful tone and “dearie”, Belle
suspected his mood was fine.
“Not this one either?” She asked, looking at him.
The grin on his face surprised her. She was not expecting
such an honest smile.
“Now you’re learning.”
She rolled her eyes and moved on. A hat, royal blue with
stars and a moon.
“Normally when people collect things they are related in
some way. My books for example, and Gaston’s . . . trophies.”
She knew he hadn’t missed her grimace. It seemed to lighten
his mood whenever she complained about Gaston.
Her strange and mysterious employer.
“Stories. Deals. Contracts.” He replied. His voice was low,
more serious and almost . . . sad. Belle waited to see if he would say anything
else.
“Everything in this room has a price.”
“Even you?”
She shouldn’t have said that. Belle knew the moment the
words left her. Mention his work too often, and Rumplestiltskin would act more
strangely, almost as if he was protecting something.
She waited. Not a sound. He was only staring at her. She put
down the duster, task forgotten in pursuit of a new adventure.
“You said everything in this room had a price.” She said,
walking toward the wheel.
“So I did.” He stopped spinning the wheel.
At that moment, some sunlight stretched across the floor,
and Belle decided to stand in it for comfort. She had noticed that
Rumplestiltskin never stood in sunlight. Even though he said he would get used
to the curtains being open, there were specific places of the room he avoided. His
silence gave her courage.
“So what is my price then?” Belle asked. It was meant to be a joke, but it came out
sounding serious. The softness in the question surprised her.
“You were the price, dearie.” He started spinning again.
“Yes. But if someone were to ask for me . . .” She ventured,
listening for a warning. Nothing. “Like, Gaston, he seemed to think the price
for me was a place at my father’s side or his ridiculous trophy collection.”
“And you didn’t agree?” Rumplestiltskin stared, not moving
as Belle moved to the table. She poured the tea and sighed.
“No, but papa did. He wanted me to find someone, anyone I
could relate to. He seemed to believe Gaston was that person. You see, I
believe that people don't have prices.”
“You’re speaking to the wrong one, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin
sighed and got up for a cup of tea. He sat in his chair as Belle took her usual
spot at the table.
“I don’t think so. You haven’t told me your price, so I
think you agree.” Belle took a sip while waiting for his wrath. Instead she got
another round of silence.
“Come on.” She laughed, “This is just a chat to pass the
time. And who will I tell any way?”
A sad expression crossed his face, and Belle almost dropped
the cup in surprise.
“I think the library upstairs needs cleaning.”
Rumplestiltskin said finishing his cup. She couldn’t help but notice that it
was the chipped one, the one she thought he would punish her for. Every moment
she had spent in the Dark Castle was not what it seemed. Things that Belle
thought would upset him made Rumplestiltskin laugh or dismiss without comment.
Things that Belle thought would please him, like master-servant comments or harmless
questions made Rumplestiltskin reflect in silence. He was a strange man, but if
she was going to be in this castle for the rest of her life, with just him for
company, she was determined to get to know him. Maybe she’d mention that in the
future, when conversation seemed less awkward and fragile. For now,
Rumplestiltskin wanted the library cleaned.
As Belle got up and walked toward the door, she heard
Rumplestiltskin’s wheel spinning again. This time the sound was frantic and
somehow she knew that he was upset. But instead of taking it out on her, it was
always the wheel he punished.
