Work Text:
Rumplestiltskin dropped a grain of black salt into a flask of murky gray liquid. It tinked at the bottom, and the concoction cleared into a vivid emerald green.
His pleased giggle veered into a growl when it started to bubble.
Rumplestiltskin threw the tweezers down.
He looked at the four failed flasks clustered on the corner of the workbench, cooled to a milky green.
They were supposed to be purple.
Rumplestiltskin searched the two shelves and three piles of books he kept in his tower, but the book he needed wasn't there, seemingly returned to Belle's library since he last consulted it.
With an impatient sigh, he teleported to the library's entrance. The last time he teleported into the library itself, Belle was so startled she had fallen off the chaise with a shriek and spilled tea all over her book. Since then, Rumplestiltskin teleported to the door instead.
And as this was a rare day off, he could think of nowhere else she'd be.
Inside, Belle sat on the chaise with a tea tray next to her, the overcast sky of an unseasonably cold spring day glazing the window behind her.
She wore a long-sleeved, sage-green dress he had never seen before. Her hair was half-up, half-down, dark and decadent, with a book resting against her bent knees. Lovely as she looked, Rumplestiltskin slowed at her grayish pallor.
"Not looking so sunny today," he said, walking behind her to the far shelves. "Hope it isn't catching."
"Oh, no," Belle said, holding up her book. "I was up late, is all. Can't seem to put it down." She glanced at her tray, drew a slow breath, then asked, "Would you like some tea?"
Rumplestiltskin spun from the shelf he consulted.
"I was about to have another cup." She closed the ribbon in her book and reached for the tray. "The first two didn't perk me up as I'd hoped."
Rumplestiltskin approached with long, tentative strides, a cadence Belle recognized as his not wanting to appear too eager. She bit back a smile as she set her book aside; for all his power, the Dark One was as skittish as a deer.
"Hm." Rumplestiltskin picked up a lemon rosemary tea cake, sniffed it, then procured his chipped teacup. "I suppose it is about that time."
As Belle prepared their tea, Rumplestiltskin returned to the shelf for the book he'd come for, taking a bite of his tea square. Its lemon glaze burst on his tongue with just enough zip to complement the dense, earthy-sweet cake. He let out a low hum as he found his book and sent it to his tower in a cloud of crimson smoke.
"These cakes are new," he commented.
Belle looked over her shoulder, snickering as he ate the other half most indulgently.
"Thought I'd give the flavors a try with summer on the way," she said.
"I like it," he decided. Not a favorite, but he liked it. "Add it to the rotation."
Belle smiled. She held up his chipped teacup, a curl of steam rising from it.
"Your tea, O Dark One."
Rumplestiltskin looked down his nose at her when he appeared at her shoulder—a warning.
"Cheek is one thing, girl. Insolence is another."
The tired smile she hid in her tea plucked a faint chord in his chest. Even when she was run down, she was beautiful.
Belle met his lingering gaze and lowered her teacup.
"Is something wrong?"
Rumplestiltskin flashed a flat grin.
"Just admiring the company, dearie."
That put a little color back in her cheeks.
He sat with a self-satisfied smirk, willing the thrill in his veins to quiet. Compliments—sincere ones—hadn't come easily to him in a long time, since before he last took tea with someone, to be sure.
Because now that he thought about it, he and Belle had never sat down to tea together. Not formally, in the almost year she'd been living with him. She served him, stood by the fire, or waited until she was in the kitchens to sit at her nook and read.
However, as this was her day off, it was social, and it was her library, so she was the hostess.
And what kind of ungrateful guest would he be not to flatter the hostess?
Though candor was not something associated with Rumplestiltskin's brand of flattery, even when he was being gentlemanly, so, to hear it come out as softly as it did, as effortlessly as it did, for her, surprised even him.
Rumplestiltskin stole another glance. Sipped his tea.
Social or not, she was still a servant. He couldn't get too courtly without—
A foul aftertaste suddenly filled his mouth. He grimaced as he ran his coated tongue over his teeth, and he looked at his tea, trying to discern the rusty, velvety flavor. His face twisted as the pungency intensified.
"Can you taste that?"
"Taste what?" Belle asked.
"That taste," Rumplestiltskin spat, recoiling from the drink. It was like licking the dust off a pewter goblet.
Belle blinked, confused. "I didn't add anything," she said, lifting the teapot's lid. But Rumplestiltskin's reaction didn't seem to be pure theatrics. "It's from the same pot."
The blood drained from Rumplestiltskin's glittering face. His wide eyes flitted to Belle's teacup. She'd had two cups and sensed nothing amiss.
A chill wrapped around his spine and squeezed.
Rumplestiltskin bolted to his feet.
Belle started, one hand flying to her chest as the other steadied the tea tray with an annoyed sigh.
"Where did you get that tea?" he asked.
The sharpness of his voice gave Belle pause, but it was the edge of concern he failed to conceal that cut her. Like he'd just pieced together something awful.
"I made it," Belle said, eyeing him as she returned her teacup to its saucer.
"You made it?"
"Yes," she said with a huff. "It's my first try, but I don't think it's that bad."
Rumplestiltskin let out the breath he'd been holding.
Not an assassination attempt, then. That was good.
…Which meant Belle did something stupid.
That's not good.
He picked up the tea canister, tone softer but still clipped.
"What's in it?"
"Honestly, Rumple," Belle chided, "you're acting like I've poisoned you."
"What's in it?"
She sighed. "Uh, tea leaves, cinnamon. Rose, marigold, ginger…"
She trailed off as he sprinkled a pinch of the tea blend into his palm. The way he examined the dried petals made her stomach clench.
"Rumplestiltskin, what's going on?"
"Where did you get the marigold?"
"I… The orange flowers off the south wall? Are marigolds," Belle said. "Aren't they?"
Rumplestiltskin shook his head. "That's maidensweet."
Belle didn't react. She didn't know how to. The word meant nothing to her.
He put the tea canister down, knelt before her, and, with his gentlest hand, cupped her face to study it. The warmth of his touch shattered painful goosebumps over Belle's skin. She gasped when he moved his hand to the back of her neck, shuddering as the sensation surged through her again. The room swayed. Her hand shot to his wrist, gripping it as she swallowed hard.
"What's maidensweet?" she asked.
It was the sooty, metallic tang numbing his tongue. The yellow petals in the tea. The fact that she couldn't taste it. The graying skin, the malaise, the very color of her eyes fading.
"It's poison."
He said it so calmly, so gravely, it took a moment to register.
"What?"
A wry huff escaped him. He, with the most impressive wealth of magical knowledge in the realm, couldn't get a simple tethering tincture to stabilize right now, but his bumbling bookworm of a maid was down here accidentally brewing poison for teatime.
"Not to worry," he said, standing.
"Not to worry?" Belle's chest began to heave as he took her hands and brought her to her feet. "Rumple, I've been drinking this tea all afternoon!"
"It's a slow-acting poison," he said. "We've time to brew an antidote."
He teleported them to his tower. With another wave of his hand, a burnt orange chaise appeared by the window, and he helped Belle to sit, unease creeping into his gut as her knees began to shake.
"What's this for?" she asked.
"You're going to lose feeling in your legs very soon."
"What?"
"That's normal."
Belle stared at him, gripping the edge of the cushion as the room tilted and blurred around him. Her lips parted, eyes unfocused, following something in the middle distance that wasn't there. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to reach out but had forgotten why.
"I see… a goose…"
Rumplestiltskin pressed his lips together.
"That's normal, too."
And it was killing him just as surely as it was her.
A soft, garbled sound escaped Belle's lips, something between a sigh and a moan. Her body then sagged, boneless, and Rumplestiltskin took her by the ankles, swinging her legs up onto the chaise. Once he had her situated, he lifted one of her eyelids, relieved to see the color was fading more slowly than he'd expected.
Still, his jaw clenched.
"Foolish girl."
Why couldn't she be just a servant?
Rumplestiltskin glared at the failed tinctures on the corner of the workbench. They mocked him, questioning his ability to make an antidote.
Well, it's for Belle, so watch me.
He reset the distillery with a wave of his hand.
Looked over his shoulder at Belle.
"You're going to be fine," he murmured. "So long as you stop blending your own tea."