( 005. ) Sick Belles and Salmon Broth

Belle is sick. Apparently the Dark One's nursing skills leave much to be desired (you're supposed to drink enough to stay hydrated, not drown your insides). And Belle learns nothing new about Peter.

He woke up to hear Mary Margaret bustling about the apartment, and David chatting on the phone, the prince struggling to keep the person on the other side of the line calm, it seemed.

He was used to the noise of the Charming couple waking up and preparing for their day by now, and would simply ignore it for several more minutes until he could no longer stand their constant lovey-dovey remarks and happy, optimistic tones; but when he heard David mention a familiar name to his distraught speaker on the phone, Peter sat up, looking over the edge of the couch and into the kitchen were both adults were moving about. "What's wrong with Belle?"

David merely shot him a quick smile before moving into another room to continue his phone conversation, while Snow entered the living room. "Nothing," the woman reassured him. "She just has the flu, and since the pawn shop is still being worked out, Mr. Gold thought it best if he brought her back to his house to recover. He can't be there all day unfortunately to look after her, so he asked me if I'd stay the day there and bring you along with me."

"The gremlin has a house?" This was news. "So why is he living above the bloody pawn shop?"

"Because of what's inside the pawn shop," answered David as he walked back into the main part of the house, pocketing his cell phone. "A few days after the curse broke he figured staying right above the store would keep people from trying to steal what's inside. There's some dangerous stuff locked up in there." He snatched a piece of toast from the laden table and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Emma needs some help down at the station, I'm gonna lend a hand."

Snow smiled softly at him. "Alright, deputy." Her lips caught his own and held them in a kiss.

Peter stifled a gag, and reigned in his instinct to throw a lamp or something at them; he settled for using a pillow, and Snow actually laughed as the cushion hit her cheek while David smirked. "Okay, I gotta go now." He kissed his wife once more on the forehead, and then gave a quick nod to Peter before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

Once he was gone Mary Margaret turned to the teen in her house with a soft smile, so warm that Peter was half-tempted to believe it was actually genuine. "Breakfast, and then I'll drive us both over to Mr. Gold's house," she said, picking the pillow off the floor and fluffing it as she placed it back on the couch. She then turned and headed into the kitchen, expecting Peter to follow; and he did, silently trailing after her as he'd done the past two days he'd spent in her apartment, sitting down quietly at the breakfast island while she went about cracking eggs and opening a bag of bread.

"Sleep well?" she called over her shoulder nonchalantly, making sure her tone was light and not prying, simply making conversation. Even at an angle, she didn't miss the way the boy tensed a bit, or glared at the countertop, or the steel in his voice when he answer "yes" just a tad too quickly. Still though, she didn't comment on it – it wasn't the time nor the place yet, so she merely shot him a gentle smile, and pat his shoulder comfortingly as she walked past to grab some plates. He flinched at the touch, but no knife came out this time.

He really did interest her, the demon boy Peter Pan that had had everything ripped from him and dumped into unfamiliar circumstances; Snow couldn't help but feel sympathy for the former Neverland ruler. And maybe a few other things – she'd missed her chance to raise Emma, after all; every fiber of her being tingled with maternal instincts that she had had to keep bottled away – and here was her chance to release it all.

Peter watched her continue to make breakfast, and decided it wasn't truly awful here after all; of course, he only began accepting it now when he was just about to go see for the first time a large house in the forest, the house of the Dark One.

He'd been expecting a dungeon. Or a stone castle, or maybe even a cave with a door in front, furniture scattered about the damp little hovel. So when Mary Margaret drove up to a large wooden mansion in the middle of the Storybrooke forest, with a rock chimney, porch with flowers, and all the signs of lovely but simply luxury, he was surprised.

Gold would never be a poor man, not even in quaint, magic-less little Earth. Little dragon that he was.

Soon enough they were all in a decent-sized bedroom, with Belle swaddled in blankets in an oaken four-poster bed, Gold hovering over her, Snow on her other side, and Peter hanging back watching with an amused smirk as Rumpelstiltskin's beloved tried to insist that she was "fine, it's simply a head cold."

"I could heal it, you know," pointed out Gold, to which Belle shook her head promptly. "No, I don't want any magic," she insisted. "This will heal on its own, and build up my immune system." She turned to Mary Margaret. "Really – you didn't have to come all this way…"

"It's my pleasure, really," Snow said quickly as she grinned reassuringly down at her friend. "I have nothing to do today, so I'll just be downstairs fixing a few things up for you and doing the household chores while Mr. Gold is away." She glanced up at the dealer at that, making sure to point out that he didn't need to be Belle's shadow the entire time.

Gold met her gaze evenly, with a frown, but nodded. "Call me if anything happens, or if you need anything."

"Don't worry, I will." And then Snow redirected her attention to quietly conversing with Belle, while Gold fixed his cane and walked into the hallway.

He grabbed Peter's arm as he did so, pulling the stunned teen out of the bedroom with him and then facing him with darkened – but malice-less – eyes. "Make sure nothing happens to her," instructed the Dark One firmly, which was surprising because it sounded almost as if Gold was beginning to trust Peter Pan. A completely ridiculous thought, but Peter nodded all the same; and then Gold's lips almost twitched into a smile as he gave one nod of his head, and walked off.

Huh.

Snow stepped out of the room a second lately, and grinned at him. "She just needs to rest for now," the woman stated. "How about we go downstairs and clean up the house a little, yeah? When Mr. Gold comes back in a few hours we can make supper."

"I'm fine."

"You need to drink this."

"Honestly, Rumple, I drink anymore and I'm going to explode," Belle said with a weak laugh, smiling up affectionately at her lover, fixing the sheet around her. "It's a cold, not pneumonia."

"You still need to drink this," insisted the man stubbornly, holding out a small glass to her. Snow suppressed a chuckle from where she was folding some blankets nearby, finishing up the laundry so that she could begin dinner; Peter stood near her fiddling with a washcloth, mostly focusing his amusement on watching the man go from being the Dark One to a nanny trying to soothe his love's illness with magic, drugs, and gallons of water.

"I really can't drink anything else at the moment," Belle kept saying. Peter snickered as Gold dangled the glass closer to her, startling a bit when Snow moved past with an armful of laundry and mouthed that she'd be right back. The dark-haired woman left the room just as Gold gave up on giving her water, and instead grabbed a glass of orange juice and held it before her face.

Belle chuckled and pushed the glass away, locking eyes with Peter and smiling at the boy. "Think you could come over her and rescue me?" she teased lightly, to which Gold rolled his eyes and Peter gave an entertained huff; though he did stride over and lean against the bedpost.

"If you don't want to drink this, then will you at least have some soup broth? It's food; not drink."

A long pause, but then Belle finally cast her lover a conceding smile. "Alright. Fine. Some soup might be nice."

Gold nodded; and then he was pointing at Peter, gesturing for him to go downstairs. "There's cans in the cupboard," he instructed as he prepared to take Belle's temperature before she ate. "Just heat it up in the microwave."

Peter shrugged, because there was nothing else to do at the moment, and started for the door when he paused. "Well, how will I know which one is soup?"

Oh, the glare he sent him… "It will have a label on it; it will being with 'S' and end in oup," the man said dryly, obviously unappreciative of any sarcasm at the moment with Belle sick in bed beside him. Even so, the woman herself was smiling fondly at the teen, and so Peter managed a smirk instead of a glare as he turned and jogged down to the first floor, into the roomy kitchen.

When Snow left the laundry room and stumbled upon the dining hall, she found Peter slamming his hand against various buttons on the microwave, a bowl inside and the little lights flashing in protest to the abuse from the teen. Chuckling, the woman strode over quickly and gently moved Peter aside. "Like this," she said patiently, hitting the correct buttons and making the machine go on. "It'll take some getting used to, all the technology, but you'll get the hang of it."

"Sure," Peter remarked dryly, obviously not sure at all; but he still gave an awkward thanks to the woman – manners were still quite new to the boy– and stepped back, staring at the ground.

She departed after giving him a pat on the arm, and when the microwave finished cooking the processed food he managed to strain everything from the broth out of it, and add a spoon to the bowl. He gave the food a rather strange look, not seeing how this could possibly taste good to someone with a stuffy head and twice-as-stuffy nose, but still brought it up with a napkin. He entered the room to find that Gold, at least, was no longer hovering over Belle's head but had settled for sitting at the foot of the bed, cane twirling slowly between two lined palms. When he stepped into the bedroom Belle smiled softly, and Gold looked over his shoulder, looking impatient. Probably having heard the earlier battle with the microwave also; he never did appreciated Peter going about beating his things. Thinking over that, Peter shot the man a falsely-sweet and sickeningly-innocent smile that belonged on a child half his age, and Gold responded with a flat pursing of his lips and a brow knit in irritation at the eternal youth bound to his life now. Quite possibly, Peter knew, Gold would have preferred to leave his scrawny ass back on Neverland, regardless if he were completely alone on a deserted island.

The teen strode over to the bed with the bowl, spoon, and napkin as Belle began to push herself up into a sitting position, lifting a hand to still Gold from where he'd moved to stand and help her. "I can sit up myself, Rumple," she stated in a tone never diverting from its calm, affectionate lacings as she looked at Peter and then held out her hands to accept the bowl. "Thank you."

Peter nodded once, staring once more at the broth and giving it yet another look of slight repulsion before he turned on the heels of his high-top sneakers and began to leave the room, leaving Gold to fuss over his fiancé – he'd find something to do he was confident, the house was large enough, and there was still Snow White to mess with if he got bored. He'd just touched the doorway's threshold before he heard a creaking of the bed, a slight noise from Belle, and Gold's flat voice. "Peter."

The youth turned to see that Belle had one slender hand clamped over her mouth and nose as Gold took the bowl from her lap and was drawing it away, aged face morphed into a look of total and complete displeasure, and disapproval. The expression also morphed Peter's own repugnance of the food as he walked over with solid footsteps, dark eyes narrowed. "I will not be tolerating any folly or games of yours, not today, Pan," were the firm words as he held the bowl back out to Peter.

Peter, who was frowning himself and his own emerald hues had narrowed as the obviously-unhappy Dark One had approached. He glanced at the bowl but didn't take it from him, merely looking back up. "What?" he snapped finally. He had no qualm causing problems and accepting the blame – but he liked to know what he'd done at least, first.

"This isn't soup," was the ground-out reply, Gold entirely convinced that this was some sort of stupid prank by the foolish boy and thus everything about him at the moment screamed of reproach. "This is hot water from canned salmon." The fragrance of the food wafted up into the air fully now, like a small, invisible cloud blossoming throughout the bedroom. As the scent grew stronger, so did Gold's glare.

The ever-youth blinked back at him, brow still creased; fingers twitching at his side, and if one had known better they would've seen that the boy was entirely uncomfortable with having one of his disadvantages pinpointed so precisely. But no one knew Pan that well, not yet, and no flaw had been discovered, not yet. "…what?"

"Salmon broth," Gold repeated in a growl, shoving the bowl back at the youth, who caught it in his arms while miraculously preventing it from spilling on it. Still keeping up his look of defiance though there was also confusion flickering in his eyes, something Belle noticed as she finally lowered her hand from her nostrils and mouth, lips pursed. "Rumple."

"Take it downstairs and get Mary Margaret," the man ordered the boy without turning to her, fingers stiffening around the hilt of his cane as he already began to move away, towards the windows to get the stench from the room and clean air inside. "And no more games."

Peter's eyes narrowed at the man's retreating back, about to retort that he was never going to be taking orders from him, whether he was locked back up in a cell or not, before biting the words back. More out of his own desire to figure the situation out fully before doing anything else, so with one more cold look shot at the Dark One, Pan turned and left the room; walking down the hall, and ignore Belle's gaze that lingered on him until he was fully out of sight.

The bowl was handed to Snow with absolutely no explanation whatsoever, so that the confused woman was forced to take it, stare at it, and then go find Gold and Belle for the story. She didn't come down, either, for quite an amount of time; the murmur of their voices could be heard through the door, though Peter didn't really try and eavesdrop. Frustrated and angered he, at the moment, didn't give a damn what the adults talked about and thus mainly sulked about the house and remained by himself until Snow finally reappeared. Offering him a gentle nod, and telling him that Belle was fine, she'd prepared her a fresh bowl of soup, and she wanted to speak to him.

He didn't go immediately but eventually Peter did go, to find Belle this time in a room where the curtains were drawn, as dusk was approaching, no Gold in sight, and no salmon broth bowls (or soup bowls) present. The lights were on dim and as he stepped through the doorway it felt somewhat like stepping into a sanctuary; though instead of putting him at ease as sanctuaries were meant to, it made him wary.

Belle noted this and chuckled. "You don't have to look so… fight-ready all the time, you know," she said calmly, patting the edge of the bed. "Sit down?"

He declined the offer, instead settling for standing with his arms crossed and his posture half-leaning against the nearby nightstand, a few feet away from the bed. Belle settled for this, eyeing him a few moments with that constant sense of serenity (not boredom, there was a difference) she always seemed to have before answering, "You don't need to be upset about the mistake. It did no harm; just a rather nasty smell when you paid enough attention."

"I'm not upset," Peter said firstly, as if appalled at the idea of him holding anything like remorse, and it made Belle smirk slightly.

"Well, good." There was a filled pause for a few moments as she adjusted her permission, and Peter looked about the room thinking of all the places he would rather be – including his attic room, or even better, Neverland – than here, before she added on, "And since I don't want to make assumptions about anything, do you mind if I ask you something?"

He wasted no time in answering, "Yes," very plainly and clearly, to make it well known that he didn't like being questioned, and he didn't want to be here; shifting his weight from one foot to the other. However, there was only a few moments of silence in which Belle stared at him softly without a change in her expression, before Peter cursed internally, and looked at her just a second before diverting his gaze. "What is it?"

Belle pressed her lips into a plump little line before venturing, "Can you read?"

It didn't take much thought. She'd observed him in the library, flipping through random books, some of which she doubted he'd take any interested in at all – and he didn't, unless there were pictures. Small mistakes, scattered throughout his time in the town; this one being the cherry atop a sundae for her theory. She just wanted confirmation; because with confirmation she could begin to teach. Everyone should have the luxury of reading, and it slightly appalled her that he had not. Reading was an escape in himself.

She needed that confirmation though; and she received it. Not verbally, but in the way he suddenly shifted again, hands going into his pockets, face curled into a scowl directed at the floor. Tense. Ashamed? It was a disadvantage, and something told her Pan was not supposed to have disadvantages. No weaknesses of any kind, not him. Not the boy demon.

But what about just the boy?

"I can teach you," she added, quietly. "It's not that hard – I'm sure you could pick it up fast." She stopped for a moment. "You don't have to be ashamed of it…"

"I'm not ashamed." A snapping reply, that made Belle somewhat amused, at just how quick he was always to defend himself. "Good," she murmured, her same response to his similar response a while ago. "Because you don't have to be. and I can teach you. It doesn't have to be a big deal; just something to do. I know you're bored most of your time here."

Peter remained silent still for several more minutes, a stubborn, defensive sprite completely motionless and scowling at the floor.

Belle sighed, a low exhale, still-glassy eyes glancing at him behind a few stray brunette curls. "I know you don't want to be here, with us, in Storybrooke." A hand reached out, and touched his elbow; held on, despite the slight tensing. "But you don't have to be miserable all the time. You can take advantage of some things here, you know."

Peter cast her the slightest of glances, darkened hues darting briefly across her face, before descending, down to the fingers that still touched his arm gently, and then back down the floorboards. Not answering, but at this point, Belle didn't really need a verbal response. He hadn't bitten her hand off or rejected her outwardly, anyways.

She smiled.

A/N: *chucks this in here to try and kickstart my writing muse*

I also still have a Father's Day request that I need to get written up from a year ago, damn it.