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He wanted to sound stern. This was serious. But the way his son beamed up at him proudly while holding out a bowl full of what he was reasonably certain was supposed to be food of some kind was making reprimanding the boy quite difficult.
“Gideon,” he began, “this-”
“Is very impressive,” Belle cut in. “But perhaps not the safest experiment. You’re supposed to have help in the kitchen.”
“I saw it on TV,” Gideon explained, “and then I did it too.”
“We worked that part out on our own,” Rumplestiltskin answered dryly, looking around the kitchen. “What sort of television programs have you been watching?”
“All of them,” Gideon answered solemnly. “Henry watches TV with me.”
“Perhaps teenage nephews of preschoolers shouldn’t be allowed to babysit. Or I should change my Netflix password.” While he loved his grandson, even when he stubbornly refused to show it, it was much easier to be angry with Henry than with Gideon.
“Why don’t we help Papa clean up,” Belle suggested. “Before we get ready for bed.”
“Can we watch a show after?” Gideon asked hopefully.
“Not tonight,” Belle said hurriedly. “Maybe Papa will tell you a story. If you help get this all cleaned up.”
Clean up took less time than originally feared with the three of them working together. The mess, even Rumplestiltskin admitted later, looked far worse than it was. He wouldn’t go so far as to admit to overreacting, of course. Gideon was sent off to find pajamas and brush his teeth.
“He said he wanted a snack,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled. “At no point did he say he would try to burn the house down or use every appliance in the kitchen. How did he even know how to work some of those?”
“He’s 4,” Belle answered. “Nothing was in danger of burning down. He just loves cooking shows. A kitchen accident was bound to happen eventually.
“He must never be left alone again,” Rumplestiltskin said darkly.
“Rumple. He made a mess. Nothing was even burned. The blender might be a casualty but there’s no need to overreact.”
“Constant supervision,” Rumple continued, undaunted.
“He’s alone in the bathroom brushing his teeth at this very moment,” Belle pointed out.
“I can hear the water running. That’s not the same.”
“He could be flooding the bathroom, Rumple,” Belle teased. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened and he had taken 2 steps toward the door before Belle reached out to put a hand on his arm. “He’s fine. And he did make a snack, after all. Just an impressively messy one. I’m sure the toothbrushing will be less messy. Listen, the water’s stopped already. Not on nearly long enough for a flood.”
Gideon appeared in the doorway then, dressed in his current favorite pajamas, the ones covered in anthropomorphized foods. “Story time?” he asked hopefully.
“Story time,” Belle agreed.
Rumplestiltskin reached down to scoop up his boy and carry him to his bed. “What sort of tale tonight, Gideon?”
“Um. Um. Um. Stories about Papa!” Gideon did love stories about his Papa. The ones he heard were, of course, carefully curated by his parents so as not to frighten him too much. At least the ones he heard at home. Ones told to him by his nephew, or his nephew’s other relatives, were more difficult to control.
“Maybe Mama could tell you a story about Papa,” Belle suggested. The look Rumplestiltskin gave her was somewhere between curious and horrified. She simply smiled in return. He sighed, very softly, and resigned himself to his fate as he tucked Gideon in.
“Once upon a time,” Belle began, “before Mama and Papa were even married-”
“Here or inna Forest when Papa had sparkles?” Gideon interrupted.
“Here,” Belle clarified, fighting back a laugh. “No sparkles. Mama and Papa were going out on a date, only Papa…. Your Papa was not very good at dates yet.”
“Is he good now?” Gideon asked, side-eyeing his father.
“Better than he was,” Belle assured her son. “Much better. But that took time. Lots of time. Lots of tries and false starts.”
“You’re making me look bad,” came the half-hearted and very soft protest from her husband.
“I didn’t tell him about the date where you threatened to turn a waiter into an armadillo,” Belle pointed out. “Oops.”
“That was hardly an ‘oops,’ my dear. And I never actually turned anyone into an armadillo!” Pigs, insects, a goat on one memorable occasion, but never any armadillos. Perhaps the lack of armadillos in the world he grew up in had something to do with it but he certainly was keeping armadillos in mind should the need ever arise.
“You thought about it,” Belle reminded him. “Loudly. In the middle of dinner.” Gideon giggled at that. “But back to the story, on another date, Mama and Papa were at Granny’s for dinner and Mama ordered lasagna and Pa-”
“It’s frozen,” Gideon interrupted. “Papa told me.” Rumplestiltskin looked quite smug at that but then his smirk slowly disappeared as he realized where this story might be headed.
Belle laughed. “That’s what Papa told me as well. And Granny was not amused, even though it really is frozen. I didn’t mind. It still tasted good to me and I told her that and I’ve ordered it again. Then she told Papa she’d like to see him cook a better lasagna if he was going to keep speaking out against hers.”
“Oh no,” Gideon whispered, eyes wide. He adored his Papa but he had a very healthy respect for Granny Lucas.
“Oh no indeed.” Belle’s eyes sparkled as a grin spread across her face. “Did you know Papa told her he could do it? Even though he’d never made a lasagna in his life? Of course, I had never cooked a lasagna either so I couldn’t help. Even if I had wanted to. Papa had one cookbook, no lessons, not even any cooking shows on Netflix to help.”
“I failed,” Rumplestiltskin admitted. “Spectacularly.” He punctuated the statement with a grand flourish of his hands. “Red sauce everywhere. A small grease fire that was thankfully easily contained. I would have done better to purchase another frozen one and try to pass it off as my own. Bested by the old wolf once more.”
“They’re friends,” Belle stage-whispered to her son. “But they pretend they aren’t.”
“And with that, my dearest boy, it’s time for you to sleep. May your dreams be pleasant ones with nary a kitchen disaster.”
Some time later, in their own bed, Belle lay resting her head on her husband’s chest. He twirled a lock of her hair in his fingers. “Why that particular story tonight?” There were far worse things she could have told their son, of course, and he would learn most if not all of them someday. The lasagna disaster, embarrassing though it may have been at the time, was rather tame.
Belle laughed and snuggled closer. “Because it was the same thing Gideon did. You tried something you’d no business doing simply because you thought seeing it, or eating it, meant you were qualified to replicate it.”
“Hubris, I’m afraid, is a family trait.”
“I’m well aware, thank you,” Belle answered. “I knew exactly what I got into when I married you.”
“Any regrets?”
“Only that you still haven’t mastered lasagna. Perhaps you and Gideon can learn together. Carefully. And maybe borrow the diner kitchen, stainless steel is easier to clean.”
“For you, my dearest, I will try again.”