A Rainbow in the Store Window
(Okay, a little fluff to aid the good soldiers currently fighting in the Rumbelle war. Godspeed to you all.)
In another time—another lifetime, perhaps—he would have locked himself in his dungeon and downed as many potions as he could until his mind started working properly again. Because, surely, his heart should not have swollen so much, his lips should not have twisted in such a smile, just to see her eyes light up.
A little giggle escaped Belle’s lips, and she shoved her knuckles between her teeth (he’d have to break her of the habit, before she broke her skin), staring so close to the window that her nose made a little smudge.
“Come on, dearie,” Mr. Gold murmured, and obediently she skipped back to his side, one hand curled onto the material of her dress. A little yellow sundress, he smirked; not nearly warm enough for this weather, but he’d learned to pick his battles with her, and merely raised a hand to rub the little goose bumps on her arm.
“The library?” He asked, and she tore her gaze once again away from the store window, “Or perhaps the park today?”
He sighed, but it escaped in a small chuckle. He knew she liked them, but the way she was staring?
Belle had always been fascinated by rainbows, if he thought back. Even when they were in the castle, she would gaze out upon the mountains as she cleaned, calling him away from his spinning whenever she spotted one through the cloud cover. He didn’t understand it, but left her to her little pleasures. And now, when she didn’t speak, barely made a peep besides her little fits of giggles (and sobs that he willed himself not to hear in the night), she would sit under the reflection of his stain glass doors and sigh, and smile.
After 28 years of gray walls—every little sound, smell, touch, every morsel of color, she ate it up. Especially rainbows.
He laughed, pulling her back towards the shop, “Perhaps a small detour?”
She raised her eyebrows, but followed, skittering up the stone steps and sounding off the door chime. She let Mr. Gold lead her to the window display, waving with his spread hand as if to show off some wonderful bounty, “Yours for the picking, my love.” And it was a bounty; as far as she was concerned, no man had ever fought for anything greater, no monster been slain for any better hoard, than what lay before her.
Belle gnawed on her lip and hummed something he almost recognized as she looked, hands propped on her knees and hips swaying lightly (he tried not to watch, though he admitted it was quite the view).
Finally, she plucked one from its stand, gave a little twirl, and together they made their way to the line. How easily he was abandoned however, he thought wryly, once she caught sight of her new friends, the lovely Snow and her daughter. She was showing off her prize and they were all laughing—at him, he assumed.
“Mr. Gold,” Emma crooned, a little grin playing on her features, “A lollipop? Who knew you were such a softie.”
“Ah well,” he smiled, as Belle hid her face behind her rainbow lollipop, which was larger than her splayed hand, “She was quite insistent. Rules with an iron fist, she does.”
Snow—Mary Margaret here, he remembered—laughed, “Well then use that power of yours to make him let you come over for a sleepover! Look!” she waved the tin of cookie dough in his line of sight, and Belle giggled, “We’ll feed her and everything! Come on, I’ve got Friday off, whatd’ya say?”
He let loose a small smile, the hopeful eyes of Belle and Mary Margaret blinking up at him (Emma was trying to hold back a laugh, and oh, he thought, how the mighty have fallen), “Well I suppose one night couldn’t hurt.”
The three women grinned at each other, stolen words in their glances, as he paid for Belle’s little gift.
After quick goodbyes the two left for their apartment, and Mr. Gold and Belle set back on their walk—to the park, she had decided.
They sat on the warm wooden bench, Belle’s legs pulled underneath her, focusing diligently on the task of getting the small sheet of plastic away from her candy. They sat there for hours, watching the children play on the playground, being berated by nervous mothers for their little misadventures. They sat until the lollipop was long gone, until the falling sun had begun to cast orange against the trees, and previously red lips had been stained all shades of blue and green and purple.
Belle fell asleep like that, legs pulled so close to him that she was almost on his lap, head tucked against his shoulder—and a telling rainbow smudge glittering on his cheek.
- em705 likes this
- liliumtigrinum likes this
- katydid4894 likes this
- betwixtironandsilver likes this
- inkstainedchocolateeyes likes this
- axpenguin likes this
- mydearmisswatson likes this
- la-bete-et-la-belle reblogged this from whatothershenanigans
- arent-you-a-real-prince-charming likes this
- marchionessofblackadder likes this
- imagineagreatadventure likes this
- oldandnewfirm likes this
- fuckyeahbelleandrumpelstiltskin reblogged this from whatothershenanigans
- chippedhearts likes this
- beautylily likes this
- bitch-witch-redhead likes this
- guysimovedurls likes this
- raisedbyanother likes this
- sammiched likes this
- koalaura likes this
- littleredridingwhale likes this
- whatothershenanigans posted this