Uncomfortable Silence

She stares at him. Partly because she still couldn't believe that he was here. And partly because she had always stared at him and she could almost fall back into the habit. He had never failed to fascinate her. From his first quip to her father. And him batting away Gaston's sword. She had wanted to laugh, but the situation wouldn't have permitted such behavior. Such had been the story of her life. When she left with him, she found that she could act however she wanted. He didn't frown when she buried her nose in a book. As long as her duties were tended to. In fact, she had been more herself in the dark castle than anytime in her life. That freedom had probably contributed to her growing affections. Ironically, the only thing that she couldn't act honestly about was her feelings for him.

He took a step forward, tossing the stick carelessly over his shoulder. A blunt end hit the unconscious man behind him and Belle bit at her lip. She turned her gaze back to him and watched him side-step her as he approached. He circled her, as he had often done before. She turned with him, trying to keep her eyes on his front. But when she turned he still circled. The turn about started to make her dizzy. Until finally she planted her feet on the ground and fixed her eyes on him. He smirked and crossed his hands behind his back. Belle looked to the ground, annoyed. It irked her that he didn't seem to be dizzy at all. She knew that look. That particular game was over. She glanced up again and watched his face as he was, no doubt, rolling the next one around in his mind. She could almost see the thoughts spinning as his face reflected the scattered thoughts.

"Well Dearie…he drawled slowly, tapping at his mouth. "This.." he held his arms out around him. "Was not how I had intended to spend my afternoon." His voice was just how she remembered it. Their was a teasing lilt to his tone and he put emphasis on the word "my." She wasn't surprised. He had always been stingy of his time. She was constantly fighting with him to get him to share it with her. He waggled a finger at her, raising his eyebrows, and she can do not but stare at him. He eyes her a moment longer before he extends his hand to his side. His head turns to look at his hand as he does. Her eyes fix on his fingers and she hears a snap. She knew that he didn't actually need to snap to make his magic work. He didn't have to do anything. He just did it sometimes for the affect. He had to have employed his other hand to create the sound. Because just as the echo reached her she saw something fill the hand she'd been watching.

Belle blinks, placing her hands on her hips and tweaking her head to his direction. He smirks at her and fans out his fingers. Material unfurls from his fingertips and falls towards the ground. He holds the article out in front of him. Flicking it in the wind, much like a magician's cape. Belle looked at his face briefly, watching him, tracing the line of cloth. He held it out to her, revealing a cloak, and she hesitated. It shouldn't have been possible. But everything was, where it concerned him. It was her cloak. The same cloak that he'd given her to leave the castle with. One of the only things that she'd taken with her when he'd told her to go. But it had been stolen from her while she'd slept one night, long ago. Stolen or not, somehow, he had it.

The memory pushed on her heart, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She dropped her hands from her hips and crossed them over her chest. He may have just saved her, but she could be mad at him if she wanted to be. She had the right to be mad. And she absolutely wouldn't think about missing him. No, she definitely wouldn't think about that. He looked as he always had. His manner was the same. If he hadn't missed her, why should she miss him? They stood at a stand off. The smirk fell from his face and his mask deepened. Belle just raised her eye brows in challenge. She had played this game before.

The residue of his magic hung in the air, and Belle wiggled her nose when it hummed around her nostrils. She had gotten used to it long ago. She could recognize when it coated the air well enough now. So she knew when the smell thickened. She looked to where he had been and discovered him gone. Turning to where her back had been facing, she discovered held no sign of him. She turned again and saw much of the same. The man was still unconscious and she could almost hear him breathing. The only sign of life in the clearing. Belle huffed her annoyance. Of course he would leave her out here. She took an angry step and stopped, rethinking the situation. The truth was that she hadn't expected him to just leave her out here. She pulled at her dirty sleeves, rubbing her arms. Perhaps he was just messing with her, as he liked to do. He was somewhere close, watching her looking for him.

No sooner had the thought struck her as more true sounding then him just up and leaving when the cloak tumbled, unceremoniously, atop her head. She pulled at the hood, looking for a space to see from. It fell back from her curls and she saw his face smirking at her. Grinning from the opening in the sea of fabric that had blanketed her vision. She huffed at him, gripping the metal clip. She turned it on her shoulders until it was righted and looked back at him. He still smirked as he held his hand out to her. She turned from him. It was true that she was glad to have seen him. She would not lie to herself about that. But she could only miss him when he wasn't around. And she was, quite frankly, feed up with his games. If there was anyone that he didn't have the right to play with, it was her.

He moved too quickly for her. She should have been used to it. But it had been too long since she'd had to face him down. Before she knew it he had grabbed her hand, regardless of her permission to do so. Sparks shot through her at the feeling of his skin pressed against hers. It had been so long. As always, he didn't give her long to dwell on the feeling before it was gone. He lifted her hand above her head, twirling her. Her hand feel down as she turned, and his grip was at her elbow. The fabric of the cloak swished around her legs as she stumbled and tried to straighten herself. Her hands danced in the air and her fingers caught something, stopping her.

Pain shot up her leg to her gut. An ache settled in her ankle and she grunted. Her fingers tightened against what she recognized as the feel of wood, and she took a deep calming breath. Her head stopped spinning and her eyes began to focus again. She was holding onto what appeared to be the leg of a bed frame. He was no longer at her side. She didn't feel the steadying pull of his fingers at her elbow. Belle put her hand to her head, rubbing it, and looked around. She should have known what she would find. Everything else about him always made her dizzy. His magic had never been any different. Though, usually it left her somewhat more comforted.

She wasn't in the clearing anymore. Her eyes scanned the area around her. It was her habit to first look for danger. But she skipped that step as her eyes found him. He wouldn't hurt her. She'd always known that. Even when he'd done his best to convince her otherwise in the beginning. He began to move around the room, avoiding her eyes. She stared at the blood that coated his sleeve. Her eyes turned away almost immediately. It just didn't seem right. She hoped it wasn't his. Never had she seen him bleed. She wasn't even sure that he did. But then again, there was a lot that many believed he couldn't do. Like be kind, for instance. Of course, she knew otherwise. She smiled, despite the fact that he was doing his best to ignore her.

Her eyes turned again to her surroundings. He'd materialized them into what appeared to be a small comfortable room. There was modest wooden furniture. Probably a room in a tavern, or inn. She'd seen enough of them when she hadn't had the option to shelter in the woods. Belle drew her hand across the bedding. It appeared comfortable at least. But it was more than she'd been surrounded with in a long time.

He spoke behind her, "I have dealings in this inn, the room is yours until you no longer have need of it." His words were simple, and she waited for him to say something, anything, more.

Belle nodded, and turned towards him. Just as he was turning away from her. She had missed him, his laugh, him. Probably more than she would admit to herself. But she couldn't deny it with him here. He'd just saved her. Surely that had to mean something. But as her gladdened eyes reached his she saw that he wasn't laughing. Nor was he smiling as she was. She studies his face and her heart stops for a moment. He was giving her that look. The look that he gave her as he'd dismissed her from her home. A look that she saw when she closed her eyes. She shuddered as she heard his words again. Her mind had memorized every look he'd ever given her. Her body still carried the mark of every time he'd touched her. The moments were so few, and far in between. She treasured them. His memory kept her warm some nights. His voice dancing around in her dreams.

But right at that moment, she didn't feel warm. Belle pulled at her skirts, her hands sweating. He's not even glaring at her. The indifference is never ending and it stabs right at her chest. Her mouth falls open slightly, her lips tremble and she feels her face break. But he remains stubbornly the same. Her strength wavers and slips away from her. She feels it, almost as if it's her own blood, draining. She'd fought him for so long. But she didn't have it in her to fight anymore. Perhaps as one small shred of who she'd been before, at their home, she takes a step forward. He only turned away from her, and presented his back. He had done the same thing in the dungeon. Belle fingers curled into a fist. He was too stubborn. Her own back turned to him.

She could pretend he wasn't there just as easily as he could. The anger she felt left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wanted to be mad at him, really and truly. But she had longed for nothing more than to be beside him again. And now with him here she wanted only his touch. Better him than that man, or the others that had come before him. Belle pulled at her cloak, hiding away in it. It covered her skin. She really didn't want to know where on her body she had been painted black and blue. However, ignoring it would only make it worse.

One corner of her cloak fell from her shoulder. She heard the wrestle of the material. She took a deep breath before she looked. It wasn't as bad as she had first though. There was a nasty scrape. But nothing that wouldn't heal. The cloak was quickly placed back over her shoulder. Her arm wasn't bleeding and it would not harm the material. She saw more sense in keeping her injuries covered than not. She felt so bare after what had just happened to her. Or rather, what had almost happened.

When she turned towards him again, she expected to still see his back. But she was startled by the fact that he was facing her. More so, he was much closer than he had been. She hadn't heard him move. The look of surprise on her face didn't startle. The fact was, that he didn't even seem to notice as his steps slowed and he reached her. His eyes avoided her face as she watched his hand rise. He slowly reached towards her and she held her breath. His long strong fingers gripped the edge of her cloak and pulled at it. What he sees he grimaces at. Belle watches his face change and she looks down. She can see the tear in her shift. The torn flaps hang to the side and expose more of her skin than she would like. Belle blushes as his fingers release the cloak and he continues to pull it shut. It covers her again. His hand goes back to his side as he finishes the task. His skin touched none of hers she realizes. It's no matter, she's not sure she could have handled it.

She hears him move again and watches him turn away. Belle grips the cloak where his fingers had just been. The cloth is warm to her touch. She idly wonders what the point of him doing that had been as her fingers rub at the seam. A smile touches her lips involuntarily. The warmth of his lingering touch reminds her of the first time she'd really noticed the affect he had on her. Well, that wasn't really true. Whether she had been willing to admit it or not, he had always had an effect on her. He fascinated her like no one ever had. She was remembering the first time she'd noticed the truly physical affect he had on her. The feeling of that first moment she'd been in his arms. How warm and safe she had felt. Not expecting that had made it more than a shock. Even more than the unexpected feeling of ground beneath her feet again when he'd all but dropped her back down.

He moves again. She hears him this time, and she can guess at his intentions. He had been edgy since they'd gotten there. The way he moved his hands about, and the manner in which his feet twitched told her that. But she needed to see him one more time before he disappeared on her. Her gaze crawled along the floor and she sees that he is indeed preparing to leave. But then he stops and Belle blinks. She had been sure she would only get a fleeting glance of him. He turns around with a flourish and she sees quite easily that he is mad. He strides towards her quickly and her breath halts. His feet are heavy. She looks at him, perplexed and he stops in front of her. His hands are clasped behind his back, and they fall to his sides. Belle watches as one wrist twirls about. Somehow she can't seem to look at him. She watches his hands instead. They were always quite animated. As he reaches for her face, she gasps. It doesn't seem that he's going to give her the option not to look at him.

His skin finally touching hers, and she feels the effects are the same as they always have been. Skin heats and she's dizzy. Her eyes want to droop. His nails curl beneath her chin and lift her face up. And she looks at him. She can't help it. The direct gaze quickly falls again, however, when she realizes what he's looking at. His fingertips lightly touch at the bruise on her cheek. His nails ghost the outline. She lifts her gaze again and watches his eyes as they take in her skin. His examination grinds to a stop when he sees her watching him. His eyes bore into hers for only a moment before he breaks the gaze.

Belle feels his magic as it works over her skin. His fingers grow warm, or maybe it's her own cheek that is warm. She's not sure. But warm fingers or no, he is healing her. Almost like a caress. She allows her eyes to drift closed, biting at her lip when she sighs. The magic stops all too soon for her liking and her eyes fly open again. The warm subsides and she expects the pain, but it doesn't come. She reaches for her cheek. He moves his hand before her own reaches where his was. Her cheek is healed. She offers him a small sad smile. That he doesn't return. He only stares at her.

"He struck you." His voice is angry and he says it as a statement, not a question.

"Hardly the worst of what he intended. " she chuckles bitterly. She knows it's the truth, and she had begrudgingly accepted it. It's the only response she will give him. Not until he stops pretending that she doesn't mean anything to him. Belle turns again. Scattered movements follow her as she sinks awkwardly to the mattress. She feels a slight twinge of pain as she settles. But her legs are glad to be rid of the weight she now carried. It was so easy to exhaust herself when he was near. Her eyes stare at the wall. She doesn't need to look at him, not anymore. She can feel his presence. She knows when he moves behind her. But she won't let herself wonder whether or not it's towards or away from her. It hurts too much to look at him and see his indifference. Like a knife to her battered heart. And yet she knows if she sensed him leaving she would feel panic start to rise in her. Her fingers brush against the blanket she's sitting on and she knows that there are softer things in this room.

Belle searches for the comfortable silence that she once had. She could always find it with him. Now it is beyond her reach.

"It's who I am now," she speaks to the wall, hoping her voice bounces off it, and reaches him. She knows he will only hear her if he wants to. Perhaps, she thinks, this may be her last effort to right things. To get them back to where they had once been. Silence descends around her and she smiles. It wasn't much of a change really. Most of their conversations had been with her talking the majority of the time. And as long as he listened. Or at least pretended to. She didn't mind. As long as he showed some sort of effort, it was worth her efforts. He moves behind her again, and this time she knows he moved toward her. The shift of leather, reaches her ears.

"And who is that Dearie?" There is mockery in his voice. But it doesn't sway her. Because at least he's acknowledging her.

She turns towards him, gaining back some of her old fire. His eyes are sparkling with mischief. She's seen that look many times. He stares at her, awaiting an answer. She feels sick and against her will her eyes harden. At least he has the decency to bite back whatever witty pun he had been about to throw her way. His question carried with it a lot of weight. She didn't want to answer it. But she had to because he had at least asked. It was another acknowledgment.

"A demon's whore," she says loudly. Bile rises in her throat and she feels herself choke on the words. It's the first time she'd said it out loud. She had heard it often enough from anyone who took the time to acknowledge her presence, mostly men. The woman ignored her as she walked by them. Her eyes remained angry even as tears start to fill her vision and she looks away from him. When she looks back to his direction his face is blank as he just stares at her. She had purposely looked away so she would miss his reaction. It was something that she did sometimes. It made interacting with him easier when they discussed things he didn't want to. Belle doesn't question whether or not he's waiting for her to stop tearing, or start crying. He just stares at her.

She wipes at the tears that have finally fallen, angrily. There could be nothing worse than having to feel this way, in front of him. A sob wracks her body and she, grits her teeth, closing her eyes. She tries to fend it off and cries as silently as she can. Perhaps her concentration is why she doesn't hear if he moves. His movements are silent over the pain in her body. Her heart has been aching with no outward expression for far too long. Her ankle is still in pain and the memory brings with it only more tears. Her body grows tired and she sinks back into the pillows on the bed. Her back hits the support. It's not nearly as soft or comforting as that in her once home at the dark castle.

She gathers her strength and opens her eyes. She glances up at him, her vision too bleary to see anything other than an outline. He still stands there. Belle wipes at her sore eyes. Her hands come away wet, and she buries them in her cloak. It's somehow warm where she wouldn't have suspected it to be. It's like him. But she, herself, is cold. The chill creeps under her skin.

"I'm sure you have other matters to attend to." Her voice is shaky, and drenched by sobs. Belle is not even sure why she is dismissing him. She hiccups, "You spoke of a deal," she reminds him.

"Indeed I did," he says simply.

She hugs the cloak closer, burrowing further into it. She's not ready to let it go, but she unclips it slowly. Moving the comfort from her shoulders. She's colder already. Her fingers grip it as her limp wrist holds it out. She isn't ready to let go, not of her cloak and not of him. Of the later, she's not sure if she ever will be.

"Did you want this back? She wipes at her eyes again, until she can see. When she can make out his face he is still simply standing there, watching her. He glances at the offered cloak once, and looks away.

"It's not mine Dearie," he says. His voice dances around the room. Her ears take in every syllable.

She nods and brings it back to her. Her lips touch against the fabric and she blinks another tear from her eye. Her eyes close as she nuzzles the material. She can almost imagine that it smells like him too. She opens her eyes. He's gone and the room is already a bit darker. Sobbing again, the feeling threads through her whole body anew and sharper. Belle suddenly hated that she'd said anything. Tears fall, and she lets them take over.

Starring at the place he had been, as she pulls her cloak tight around her. Her nose rubs against the soft fabric and she inhales, crying harder. It had belonged to her. It seemed so long ago. Why should it remind her of what she'd lost, or never had? It should not smell like him. Belle knows how this will end. She will exhaust herself, and fall asleep with tears dried on her face. The routine of many past nights. But this night, the tears weren't phantom. They were real, and wet on her face. In a safe place she could finally break. Somewhere in her addled brain she realizes that she never thanked him. "Thank you," her words tremble. The room is empty. He is not there. She should be used to it by now.