#bdrpphoebus

MERIDA: As she trudged to Belle’s cottage, Merida had her mission in hand-- or, slipped under her shirt, hidden, the gleam of her knife for now just another one of Merida’s secrets. They were pilin’ up, weren’t they? An Order girl, an aspiring Knight, a lycanthropy curse, and now this. She felt each secret like a nail in her heel as she walked. But Merida was tougher than nails. Tougher than curses. Tougher than any man.

And so she walked on.

She had a pregnant woman to kidnap, after all. And a deadline to meet. Phoebus would not be late and so neither would she. She told herself as the cottage came into sight and her stomach dropped that it would all be worth it in the end. She blamed that stomach sick feeling on the curse, the tourmaline, though she’d not cut herself in over a week in preparation for something like this...a risk, but worth it, a risk, but one she would shoulder. This mission will prove it, once and for all, Merida thought. I’m a Knight. I belong in the Order. I’m a Knight. They’ll all see.

She wasn’t a werewolf. She wasn’t useless. She wasn’t just a girl.

I’m a Knight, I’m a Knight, I’m a Knight.

Her feet crunched snow, then scuffed against the stone path. She had texted Belle she was coming ‘course, so the door was already open for her. It creaked on its hinges, a proper ghost house. Merida refrained from reaching back for her knife. She entered and cleared her throat.

“Oi!” she called. “‘M here! Comin’ up!”

Just like normal. Just like every other time. Merida’s heart pitched into overdrive, her stomach-sick feeling returning. She pushed through it. Belle was kind, and Belle was good, and this was for Belle, and for her baby too. That’s what Merida told herself too. I’m a knight-- I save people. I’m saving Belle. Even from herself.

Carefully, Merida knocked on Belle’s door, left ajar. When she peaked in, she smiled, seeing Belle on the bed with a book.

“Heya,” she greeted and pushed the door open. “You look cozy, eh?”

BELLE: Hades was at a Board meeting and Belle was bored to tears. Honestly, she’d been crying on and off the last week just out of pure frustration. She hated it. She hated that just walking down the stairs made her dizzy. She hated that people thought they needed to bring food by to her (and how much she really did want and appreciate the food.) She hated that she needed monitoring twenty-four seven and that Hera was by at least a few times a week and the only time she got out of the house was to go to the bloody hospital.

She hated that it was making her resent her baby. It was making her question all of it—her decision to have it, how good of a mother she would be if such an inconvenience made her start to go insane. Babies weren’t convenient. They didn’t work on your time frame. Their schedules were all their own. She resented that she felt stuck, trapped, and exhausted.

Which meant she was glad that Merida had texted her. At least Merida didn’t baby her. Even if she couldn’t hide her pity as well as she thought. It was nice, because at least Belle got to fret over Merida just as much as everyone tried to fret over her. And Merida wouldn’t stop her if she tried to get out of bed.

Of all the people who came to visit her, Merida was her favourite.

When she heard Merida’s call, she looked up from her book. One thing this bedrest had taught Belle was that it was possible to get tired of reading. All she’d been doing was reading. Reading and reading and reading.

The smile that had been on her face dropped into a scowl at Merida’s comment and she rolled her eyes, even as her head fell back against her pillows, not even bothering to attempt to sit up more. She was pathetic. Merida already knew this, she’d been witnessed to it. Belle was cozy where she was, and a little feverish. Also, nauseous. At least she wasn’t anxious.

“More like absolutely, utterly, positively, oppressively, deathly stultified,” she growled. “You better have brought me something to keep me entertained.”

MERIDA: Merida had only brought one thing.

That one thing was in her pocket, staying quiet. For now.

But Merida just put on her best smile and strolled farther into the room. It was a rather depressing place, wasn’t it? It reminded her of her own dorm room, who, since the...attack...had become a kind of tomb in itself. Merida had grown to hate her room when before she had loved it, even if it was small and a bit stuffy-smellin’ considering the age of the ol’ Lyons Castle. Now, she saw none of her home there. She hated her sheets, how they stuck to her at night when her fever made her near drown in sweat. She hated the too-small shower and her too-small window. She hated being stuck in there. She hated spending all that time in bed, when even Merida could not force through the pain and the exhaustion and had to curl up, like she was a baby herself, to sleep.

Merida knew better than anyone else, then, what Belle was going through. She knew about the tourmaline fog, how it weighed heavy on the brow. She knew about how easy it was to get tired. She knew.

It made her even sorrier, if only because it’d be a hard trip, down the stairs and out into the world again.

But after it was all done… after it was all done, they’d find a way to exorcise the spirit, eh? Belle would be freed. They’d save the baby (for maybe there’d be a way, Merida wanted to reason) and then Merida would swear herself to Belle’s side. Her own Knight, who would protect her and help her when the baby came. She wouldn’t be alone. And Belle would see that Merida had been here, by her side, trying to save her all along.

“Unfortunately I only brought meself. Hope that’s enough, eh?” Merida chirped as cheerful as she could manage. Which was rather good; it helped, not cutting herself for the past week or so. She felt more like herself.

She sat with one hip on the bed. “But don’t worry, I’ve been told I’m good for a laugh or two. At the very least you got a new face to look at.” She wrinkled her nose playfully.

BELLE: Belle smiled at Merida, too tired to chuckle really. The smile was a dopey, fond kind of smile that she couldn’t really help. The tourmaline made her brain feel like a fog had settled over it. Especially after so long. Belle was a parody of herself in many ways.

She didn’t think before she spoke as much, her anxiety all but turned all the way down. The only positive side effect of the stone around her neck. She didn’t fight much, simply didn’t have the energy. She was grumpy, of course, and restless, but after a month like this, she had accepted her lot.

It filled her with resentment, but there was nothing she could do but stew. Which she did, day in and day out. The only relief coming when people came to visit. Which was not that often. After the first two weeks of bed rest, the visits had dropped off. Everyone moving on with their lives. Forgetting about poor Belle all alone. Except Hades, but he didn’t really have a choice to forget, did he?

Sometimes Belle thought he might like to.

However, just having a guest put her in a much better mood. And if anyone had een more or less consistent stopping by, it was Merida.

“I suppose that’s entertainment enough,” Belle allowed. “It’s a shame you’re not more inclined to chess.” Not that Belle was very good at it these days. Her brain was working at what felt like less than half its power.

“How are you?” she asked, squinting at Merida. She knew the full moon had passed at some point over the last month. How had Merida faired, she wondered. If she was more herself, she would be fretting much more, but she simply didn’t have the capacity. That didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned, however.

MERIDA: Chess reminded her of her Uncle Quinn. He was the one who taught Merida when she was much younger. He was a master chessman; he said it was what made him an excellent Prince. To think ahead, to read your opponents’ mind, to see patterns and memorize strategy...these were the things that chess could teach you and all Princes could learn. 

He’d told her all this, knowing her ambitions, and knowing full well that the Order would not let her be a Prince. Nor train for her chance. To Merida, those few chess games with her Uncle Quinn were its own kind of quiet endorsement then. He might not give her his sword, but he tried to sharpen her mind.

Uncle Quinn was her favourite for a reason.

That bein’ said-- Merida wasn’t the best at chess. She wasn’t half-bad, but no where the level her Uncle Quinn was, or even Belle. She’d spent time out, exploring, hiking, running, practicing her bow and her sword. She had always been too restless to sit still for long. But she appreciated the lessons anyhow-- and for a moment she smiled a little as she thought of him, and an arrow struck her own chest. It bled through her, all that homesickness. The attack had brought so much of it to her.

Merida pushed it all away though. “Well, I’ll play ye alright, but we both know you’re gonna win and where’s the fun in that?” said Merida with a big smile.

“How about a-- walk in the gardens instead, eh? You can walk ‘round a little. I won’t tell your husband if you won’t,” Merida said and she winked.

Though, course, what Merida was really planning was far from an innocent stroll through the green.

BELLE: Belle gave Merida a funny look.

Out in the garden? Belle hadn’t been outside in days. Not only because she was, really, quite weak, but because it was also rather cold outside and Belle needed to keep her body temperature properly regulated, which even without the ghosts was proving difficult. It was the stone again, which made her shiver and her teeth chatter with cold. She was too cold always, her temperature hovering just below normal. The teas Hera made cut some of the shivering down, but the only time it really subsided was if Hades sat on the bed with her and heated it, not even a hot water bottle quite helped, nor the little space heater she kept on in the room. Not even a bath helped, not that that was much of an option these days considering the amount of effort it took on both hers and Hades’ part.

A walk in the gardens was practically inviting in pneumonia. Merida knew this, Belle had complained about it more than once. Merida fret over Belle more than Belle imagined from a girl like her, though she supposed it wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering how protective Merida had been when they’d first met.

Oh.

It must be a joke. Merida had just said she was very funny.

Belle’s brain caught on too slow to this fact, so when the confusion finally melted off her face it had been several moments.

“Hilarious, Merida. It’s not nice to tempt me with something you know I can’t have.”

MERIDA: It had been worth a shot.

To be honest, she’d not been too optimistic it would work-- banking mostly on Belle’s foggy head to give Merida influence. She didn’t want to drag a pregnant lady out of bed forcibly if she absolutely had to-- even getting her down the stairs of her own free will would be best. Much could go wrong, for Belle, for her baby, if she fought her on the way down the stairs.

Her phone hadn’t buzzed quite yet, though. Which meant she had a little more time and her knife could stay hidden. As long as she had that time…

Merida wracked her brain. But as she wracked her brain, she cracked a smile. “Ah, y’know how I am,” she said and she reached forward to poke Belle right in the center of the forehead, which was somethin’ Merida had done several times before on these visits. And true, Merida’s brand of humour was rough at best. Teasing, playful insults-- that’s how the Scottish showed affection.

“Though seriously-- this room is depressin’, eh? Don’t you think? Maybe we can go downstairs. I’ll make a fire in the fireplace for ye, that’ll keep you toasty.” She scrunched her nose affectionately. “Can even take the chess board down there if you like! I’ll give it a go long as you go easy on me.”

BELLE: The room was depressing, Belle was coming to loathe it. She hadn’t left it except to shower and use the restroom for days now. All those days felt piled up on her skin, or sunk down into her. She had never quite felt depressed in her life, but she imagined this is what it might feel like. For even when she had been at her loneliest, her most useless or hopeless, she had always been able to move. She had always been able to fight whatever it was. Even if it just meant walking down to visit Philippe, or taking a walk through the woods, or even making herself a cuppa. Sometimes, just the routine of doing something like that could be so lovely. It always helped.

She had been robbed of that agency, however. She’d become a prisoner in her own body and she hated it. All she could do was drink her teas and use her rubs and wait for Opal to decide she wanted to make her appearance into the world.

It was awful, though she refused to complain--at least in any serious way. Especially not to Hades. She knew that she had done this to herself and that she had to keep her head up and act as confident in this decision as possible. So, if she had to cry tears of frustration, she did it in the shower, where the water could wash the tears quickly away--or she did it when she was alone, kicking her legs until her blankets were in a tangle at her feet, full of rage that she could not expel.

So, yes--the room was depressing. It felt like a cage and Belle was wilting.

The idea of leaving it was very tempting, even if it would cause her to near-faint. Merida would be there, she was strong. And Belle would simply not faint.

She lifted her chin a bit and began to push the blankets off her legs. “Alright.” It took a few grunts and her shaky arms to get her sitting up properly. Already, she shivered from the cold and the effort. Everything spun a bit and she felt nauseous. “You’ll have to bring me back up before Hades comes home or he will be cross,” she told Merida as she swung her legs off the side of the bed.

MERIDA: Relief swept through her, head to toe. This would make everything much easier-- though her brain already jumped ahead, landing somewhere near the bottom of the stairs where she’d need to figure out her next steps. She was not foolish enough to think that she would be able to trick Belle the entire way. At some point, she must reveal why she needed Belle to leave. Why she must leave with Phoebus.

And there was not a lie that Merida could tell to convince Belle to trust her. Always, her misguided love for her demon of a husband would get in the way and obscure her thinking. It had so far, hadn’t it? Merida had had to tread carefully every step of this friendship to ensure she did not target Hades.

But she’d figure it out. Merida must. There was no room for mistakes. This was Merida’s chance.

She sucked her teeth though and made a show of rollin’ her eyes. “Pfft, your husband doesn’t scare me. I’ll go toe to toe with ‘im if he wants to throw a fit,” she said and every word of that was true. Truer than Belle could know.

“But I will, I will. Ah-- here--”

Merida moved to support Belle. “There ye go,” she said, calmly, as Belle stood on two legs. “Ye haven’t forgotten how to walk after all, eh?”

They started down the hall then. It was slow going. And half-way down the stairs, Merida’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she knew it was Phoebus who had arrived, Phoebus who was waitin’. Merida ignored it until they were right down at the bottom of the stairs. And then, Belle’s hand on the last of the stair posts, she pulled away and went to the coat closet to fetch Belle’s coat.

“Here-- to keep ye warm,” she said. “Can’t be too careful, eh?”

She’d caught up with her brain now. Her brain was still churning. Now what? Now what?

Belle put on the coat. Merida didn’t have any more time to stall and no lie to tell.

She swallowed. “Belle.” She hesitated. Her gut felt sicker than ever (just the curse though, Merida told herself, which was why she had-- she needed-- she didn’t have another choice.)

“I’m-- I’m sorry. I need ye to come with me outside.”

BELLE: Belle knew that she shouldn’t be doing this. Hera had warned against it, not just because she could catch something, but because she was weak—her body under a great deal of stress. Too much of that stress could start Braxton Hicks, or worse: actual labor. That was why pregnant women were put on bedrest to start: to prevent pre-term labor.

But it was just a trip downstairs. She had done it once or twice with Hades too in the last month, even though she had been steadily declining in overall health. It would be fine, as long as they took their time and Belle stayed put once they were downstairs. And she wanted it so desperately. It was selfish, she knew that. Not at all the motherly thing to do. She just wanted to do something for herself. Just a trip downstairs, for a change of view, so she stopped feeling so trapped.

The stairs were humiliating, Belle shaky and out of breath by the end of it. She couldn’t catch her breath properly for a few seconds, panting and trying to draw in deeper breaths. It didn’t help that she had significantly less lung capacity these days. She stood there and tried to keep from wanting to be sick, gripping at the bannister with sweaty fingers. All she could think about was how pathetic she looked—how much she wanted to cry.

Merida shoved her overcoat at her. Why would she do that? Belle’s soft, warm golden cardigan was right there on the peg. That was what she always wore around the house when she got chilly. Her brain was too foggy to properly put this into words. She was still trying to catch her breath when Merida said her name.

“I—told you, Merida, I cannot go outside,” Belle said this rather crossly, because she was in no mood to be reminded of her invalidity. She took a little step towards the living room. “Will you grab my cardigan, please? It’s—much softer.”

MERIDA: Merida took in a breath and filled her lungs with it. When she exhaled, there was still no lie on the tip of her tongue. She knew the time for lying was done now. If anything was going to get Belle out willingly...it would be the truth. The truth and nothing less. If that did not work, then Merida would do her duty.

But before that. For the sake of their friendship--

Merida kneeled in front of Belle on one knee, as a proper knight would.

“Belle, I’m not-- my name is not Merida Cawdor and I am not just a magizoology student at Pride U. I am Merida DunBroch. I come from the Order of the Prince, and it is my sworn duty to protect the innocent against the evils of the world. I’ve been watchin’ over you all along. And I fear-- the babe inside you, and your husband-- you’ve been bewitched by a very dark and dangerous force. Outside is my comrade. We’ve come to help you. We’ll take you some place safe, where the Knights of the Order will help you through the rest of your pregnancy-- so you won’t have to wear the awful tourmaline anymore, so ye won’t feel sick, so ye won’t be-- a prisoner to this dark magic.”

She looked up from the ground, lifting her blue eyes to Belle’s own. She felt more like herself than she had in months. She felt like a woman. A warrior. A knight.

“I swear on me sword, Belle, that what I speak is all true.”

BELLE: Belle had not been looking at Merida. In fact, she had already taken another step towards the living room, though she was holding onto the banister still, just in case. Her sights were set on the couch and how nice it would be to curl up there.

She heard something clunk and turned around to find Merida on one knee, her head bowed slightly.

Now, Belle had seen a lot of strange sights in her life: demons and dragons and spells and curses and a very large portion of the Underworld. She had died and come back to life. She’d seen one of her dearest friends dragged from the depths of a black lake by the dead father of his boyfriend. She had heard ghosts. But nothing was as strange as Merida getting down on one knee and rattling off as if she was in the 1500s. Speaking of knights and some order and Belle “bewitched by a very dark and dangerous force.”

For several long seconds, after everything was said and done, Belle was silent. She was silent, because at first—she thought she was hallucinating. But, no, she blinked and Merida was still there, down on one knee—staring up at her earnestly. Then, she thought it was some sort of terrible joke. And she wanted to laugh, really, she did. Instead, however, a very, very bad feeling began to sink into her bones. The cold of that feeling colder than any ghost inside of Belle. It made her throat go a little dry and her heart start beating harder as she realized what this was—

Merida, with a comrade outside. Merida, acting very strange. Merida, trying to get her down the stairs. It was all a trick—and Belle had fallen for it.

“I’m not a prisoner,” was all she could think to say. She lifted her chin. “You need to leave.” Her fingers turned white as they gripped at the wood of the bannister.

MERIDA: The look Belle gave her made shivers go down her spine. She did not believe Merida-- she did not trust Merida. Merida saw all this in that one glance and the unease in her own stomach grew. It had been a risky shot. She’d known the odds of Belle seein’ through her fog, whether it was magical or just…a toxic harmful love, were rare. But she’d wanted to take that chance. Didn’t Belle deserve that chance? Didn’t their friendship?

Because the friendship was not a lie. Merida liked Belle more than she liked just about anyone in this whole damn town. She was a good woman. And Merida wanted to help her.

She would.

Slowly, Merida rose again, unshaken by Belle’s horrid look. In fact, her conviction was stronger, even if she must prepare herself to take Belle by force (somethin’ that really made her wanna be sick, but there was no time for that.)

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Not without you. Please, Belle-- I don’t want to force you,” Merida said, speaking slowly, her hand outstretched, almost like she was approaching a spooked horse. “And you don’t want to endanger your baby, do you? If you just come with me, I can help you.”  

BELLE: Merida came towards her and Belle moved back. She was afraid, yes, but fear had never frozen Belle. Fear turned her blood into fire. She could hear it now, rushing in her ears, her heart pumping it faster through her. That outstretched hand was a claw, a sword, a weapon. Her mind searched frantically for a solution--even as part of her knew she was outmatched, no matter which way the situation was sliced.

However, there was one thing she did know. That she wasn’t going without a fight.

“You’re the one endangering her by threatening me,” Belle snarled--glancing around for something, anything to grab.

MERIDA:

Right, Merida’s temper flared at that. Her calm demeanor flickered in and out of focus with a twist of her mouth. She nearly snapped but-- took a deep breath instead. Phoebus, even her mum, would’ve been proud of her.

She just reminded herself that Belle was, y’know, delusional. Under the spell of the cursed magic or that of the misguided love of her husband. Either was tricky.

“No I’m not,” she said. “I’m sayin-- I don’t want to hurt ye. But these are my orders, Belle. I’m sorry, you have to come with m--”

Belle chucked somethin’ at her head.

Merida barely ducked and dodged it. “OI!” She exclaimed. Right, patience lost again. “Belle! C’mon, you’re gonna stress yourself out! Calm down!”

BELLE: Her orders? Since when did Merida listen to orders? Since when did she think that orders to take someone from their home were something worth following? It didn’t matter if she didn’t want to hurt Belle, because she would--she already had. Talking about dark magic and Belle trapped in a spell, like she wasn’t here of her own free will--or if she was, she was insane for doing so. What happened to the girl who’d promised her she’d defend Hades? That asked after the baby at any given opportunity?

Belle saw now that it was all lies and deceit. Every moment of it.

The fury blinded her (or maybe it was tears). She had backed up far enough to reach some of the books on the shelves next to the stairs and she grabbed one and threw it as hard as she could. Merida was close enough it almsot hit her.

Belle grabbed another and threw that too--and then another.

“Get OUT!” she yelled. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She clutched the side of the bookshelf for a moment, panting at the exertion, but she grabbed another book all the same--ready to throw that one too.

MERIDA: Belle was pelting her with books.

And Merida didn’t have time for it.

She put a hand up just in time for one of the hardcovers to smack against her palm-- but that was the only shot that Belle would get in. Merida’s eyes flashed. The book was but a paperweight; the tick of her clock runnin’ down pierced a great deal more painful. The hand of it was spun up, the seconds spilling out.

The last thing she’d need is Phoebus gettin’ out of his damn cruiser and busting up here to jeer and undermine her. It would be the last thing that Belle needed too. Trust me, she’d tell Belle. But it was clear she wouldn’t. Didn’t.

That stung but Merida didn’t have time for the guilt either.

So she launched into action. She moved forward and grabbed Belle’s wrist which held a book. She was thin as a wisp to Merida, pale as a candle waxxing down to the quick. In one fluid motion, Merida twisted Belle’s arm painfully behind herself. The book clattered to the ground and the tip of Merida’s knife kissed Belle’s throat.

“Now I’m threatening you,” she said calming into Belle’s hair. “Don’t move. One nick of this knife and you’ll feel the poison of its tourmaline for weeks.” I’d know. “I’m really sorry I have to do this, Belle. I am.”

BELLE: It was having to stop that was her downfall. Belle had chucked three, four books—but then, her strength gave out and her head spun. If she’d not been hanging onto the bookshelf, she would’ve fallen over, she was sure of it. There were tears in her eyes and her lips trembled as she gasped for breath—cursing her stupidity and the tourmaline and the weight of her midsection.

Everything happened very quickly then. Especially for Belle, who moved through a fog as if it was water. Merida grabbed her wrist, twisted it, making Belle cry out and drop the book—her only weapon. Always her only weapon.

Still, her shoulders wiggled feebly and she went to try to tug away, her foot sliding against the hardwood floor. But Merida had the knife pressed to her neck much quicker.

If Belle had thought she was afraid before, it was nothing compared to the fear that crawled through her now, snatching her breath. That fear was ice in her veins, freezing her in place. The scar on her chest burned and she remembered. She had been in this position before. A knife pressed to her neck, a command on the wielder’s lips.

Blinking rapidly to dismiss the tears from her eyes, Belle drew in a sharp breath, and then another. With every one, she felt the tip of the knife press against her skin.

“If you were sorry,” she snarled—that fear once again melting into fire, “you wouldn’t be doing it at all.” She held her chin up then, sucking in another breath and the tears with them. At least she wasn’t dead yet. Urania had wasted no time stabbing her. Which meant—wherever she was going, whatever they were planning…she had time to plan herself. Though, as soon as she thought it, the desperation came clawing back.

What was she to do? Pregnant, weak, and a Mundus besides?

MERIDA: Merida took a deep breath, to cool her inner fire. It felt hotter than normal, and somethin’ else was humming in her. She recognized it from her dreams, and it made her-- scared.

Merida shut that down. She didn’t do scared. Merida didn’t do regret either. The adrenaline was good, she told herself, it was just Merida feeling like herself. And the twist in her stomach, she knew it would fade. She wouldn’t wear it for Phoebus either way; he’d think it was weakness. (It was-- compassion. And maybe that was weakness. Right now, Merida didn’t know and decided not to think on it.)

“I told you-- I’m doin’ this for you. Walk,” she said and kicked at the back of Belle’s heel. She had to force Belle the first few steps anyway, then slid out the door.

You could see the police cruiser there, idling on the road. Merida kicked at Belle’s heels again to get her to walk onto the stone steps.

“The Order’s not like this backward town thinks, alright?” she said as they went, feeling-- desperate to have Belle understand. “I’ve a fairy godmother, y’know. We’re not anti-magic, we’re just anti-evil. And sure, it’s not--it’s not perfect, but I’m aimin’ to change the stupid shite, but I can’t do that till I prove myself and-- this is a step to that.  If you met any of my friends, my family, you’d see. We do good. We keep people safe. And if anyone needs us it’s Swynlake.”

They were off the path, Merida struggling Belle through the snow.

“And I am your friend. That’s-- when we met, it wasn’t-- planned. I didn’t know-- anythin’ about your husband then, who you were, what was goin’ to happen. I helped because that’s what I do, because I’m good. And then when we learned what yer husband was...look, I’d rather it be me, doin’ this, than ol Phoebus, wouldn’t you?”

BELLE: Merida kicked at her heel, scraping against the back of it. It stung and caused Belle to stumbled forwards slightly. She fought the whole way to the car, as much as she could. Hoping to stall. However much time she could buy, she needed to try. Hades would be home soon—within the hour. If she made it difficult, perhaps they wouldn’t get far. Though, how he was going to know where she was or where she was going, Belle wasn’t sure. She was hoping the ghosts, not that she trusted their loyalty all that much, but perhaps Arthur, the attic ghost, would take pity and at least tell him that it was a police cruiser that she was forced into.

Hades would put it together as quickly as Belle had—even with her mind in a fog.

Phoebus. Merida was working with Phoebus. The wound of betrayal slashed even deeper inside of Belle’s heart and she wished her brain was working quick enough that she could comb back through every interaction with Merida and try to determine if there had ever been a single hint.

As it were—she was using half her brain to determine whether or not screaming would be worth it. She decided, ultimately, that no—it wouldn’t. Gods, she wanted Shuck. If Shuck were here he would’ve torn Merida to pieces.

The other half of her brain was focused on what Merida was saying. Not that she believed one bit of it, no. She was trying to find some hint of where they were going or what Merida and Phoebus’ plan was. Anything that would help. Nothing she said was helpful—all she was doing was prattling on about the “Order” and attempting to, what it sounded like, assuage her guilt for kidnapping a heavily pregnant, ill woman.

Belle had many things to say: that a friend would never do this, no matter what. They would find another way. They would be absolutely sure about who they were trying to “protect” their friend from. This was Berlioz all over again. And Belle felt her world getting smaller and smaller. Shrinking down to just herself, Hades, and the baby. She could tell Merida that Hades was innocent, that he wasn’t evil. She could explain it all to her. Answer her questions.

But Merida’s words were not the words of someone willing to listen. They were the words of a mad woman. And so, Belle maintained her stony silence as Merida opened the door and shoved her inside the cruiser.

The car wasted no time being thrown into gear and crunching down the gravel.

“Took you long enough,” Phoebus said to Merida before catching Belle’s gaze in the mirror. “Don’t worry, love. You do what we need, and no harm will come to you.”

“And what do you need?” she snarled, her chin still lifted. There were no more tears in her eyes.

“All in due time,” he told her as the car turned back towards the main road.

Belle turned her own gaze towards the window and watched as all the familiar landmarks rolled by. Her vision swam before her, looking out the window making her feel even more nauseous than before. Part of her wondered why they hadn’t blindfolded her. Seemed stupid to her. Then again, maybe she was supposed to know where they were going.

Or, maybe—it didn’t matter.

MERIDA: Merida glared at Phoebus soon as the two of them plopped in the car, Belle in the back and Merida comin’ round the front. You’d think it would kill the banger to give her a decent compliment for once. Like, good job, Merida, you got a heavily pregnant, extremely ill woman down the stairs and to my car in one piece!

But she’d long given up for such a thing as a compliment from Phoebus. (She hadn’t, really. But she told herself the compliments would come when the rest of the Order finally saw her. Wouldn’t be so long now. They’d take down the Ambassador and it’d be drinks round the table and Phoebus endorsing her like he said he would-- he’d be stupid not to, look how much she’d gotten done in a year with little trainin’ compared to the boys who spent over four years before their first hunt.)

(And that’s why she was doin’ this. It felt awful, usin’ Belle, but-- she just wanted people to see her.)

She propped up a foot against the dash, ignoring the glare that Phoebus sent her way. Swallowed her smart comments too. Instead she kept her gaze forward. The clock ticked down under her skin. Wouldn’t be long now.

Wasn’t long at all. Swynlake was cozy, its winding roads short and no traffic besides. And who would stop a cruiser? They traveled in plain sight, a sleekly painted trojan horse.

They pulled up to the cathedral. Merida got out first, movin’ round to the back to grab Belle out. She got her knife out so Belle knew this wasn’t optional. Though she hated the burning look Belle gave her.

If only she’d see Merida too.

“C’mon,” she said brusquely and yanked Belle out-- harder than she’d been when they were alone in the house. Phoebus’s eyes were on them both. “Don’t think about screamin’,” she hissed in her ear, kickin’ her heel again like Belle was some sort of pony.

They stumbled their way to the cathedral. Merida kept her grip on Belle tight.

BELLE: Belle had spent a lot of her childhood and young adult life angry. No one would have guessed this, knowing her in those early years. She hadn’t even realized that was what it was herself, if she was perfectly honest. The feeling had lurked in the darker parts of her, like a shadow. So common it was almost unseen.

It had been the last few years that it had all poured out of her. Swelled like a tidal wave, burst like a fire, tore like the winds of a hurricane, made her shake like fault lines. She had been furious at the Fates, furious over her lack of control, furious at her fear, furious at losing Persephone, furious at her father, furious at injustice and cruelty and all the horrible things in the world.

But this--

It surpassed fury.

She sat calm and collected all the way to the station, feeling the fission taking place inside of her, every atom in her body splitting and getting ready to release their deadly power. It was a good feeling, how it bubbled under her skin. She thanked the driver with a smile so sweet and lovely, that he actually removed his eyes from the burn on her neck for a moment.

Inside the station, she zeroed in on Phoebus at once.

“Where is he?” she snarled at him.

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down. He cannot be seen right now.” Phoebus stood up from his desk, looking surprised to see her. As if Simba and Berlioz would be any use calming her down.

“You’re holding him against the law! This is entirely unjust. I am here. Saying he is innocent. His supposed “victim.” What more do you want?”

“Ma’am, I know abuse is hard--”

“I haven’t bloody been abused you worthless, sorry excuse for an officer!” The shout clawed at her throat and made her draw in a deep breath, resisting the urge to cough.

“I know this is a tra--”

“You don’t know anything,” she said this more quietly, but just as harshly. “Let me see him!” She had the urge to stomp her foot and just barely resisted.

“Ma’am, I can’t do that. It is too dangerous.”

“If you don’t let me, you’ll have to arrest me for assaulting an officer,” she threatened again. “Then I can see him.” She went to take a step around him but the man grabbed her arm. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled, no matter how much her voice rasped or the burn stung. (The burn stung so badly there were tears in her eyes.)

Phoebus let her arm go but stepped in front of her again.

Belle’s nostrils flared. Her gaze darted around. The only other two officers working the floor were resolutely ignoring the little scene. They probably thought that Phoebus had it handled. Well, not if Belle had any say. Leaning over she shoved a stack of papers and stapler from the desk that Phoebus had been sitting at.

It was enough to distract him--Belle was not as agile as she used to be, but it still let her side-step around him. Phoebus whirled around the next second and grabbed her by the bicep again. “Let me go!” she snarled and this time--

She stomped down on his foot as hard as she could (thank you, extra baby weight.) Phoebus winced and let her go--more out of shock than anything she was sure, but as long as it worked. Belle darted to the back door, having no idea where she was going. This was either the supply closet or the holding cells. She was taking a chance.

The door flung open and Belle scurried down the hall. Hades was near the end (there were only three stalls, but still.)

“Hades! Oh thank god,” she said. Her fingers gripped at the bars and gave a tug--more on instinct than anything. The door opened and closed behind her.

“Oi! Get away from him,” Phoebus demanded

“Unlock this door, right now,” Belle demanded right back.

HADES: Hades was sat on the piss-poor cot, on the slab of a bench, back to the wall. He’d been sat in roughly the same position for over an hour, staring at the wall opposite his own. He hadn’t slept. Not a couple of blinks-worth, not even less. He hadn’t even bothered to try considering the cold cell, the harsh overhead lights, and, course, the ghosts.

Jails were always so bloody lousy with ghosts.

So he’d sat. And before that, he’d stood, and for a while, he circled the jail cell, his eyes hunting after his own shadow. His magic tingled in his blood. He felt like it’d be easier than it ever had been to slip into his shadow and appear outside the cell again. A couple more jumps like that and he’d be well out of Swynlake and far, far away.

That particular power always seemed to work best when he wanted to be somewhere else.

He wanted to be somewhere else now.

So why didn’t he just leave? Hades couldn’t tell you. He was still weighing all his options, had yet to use that cliche one phone call. Part of him kept circling back not to Belle at all, but a little apartment above a dirty river in Manchester-- to the brother and sister who lived in there, who hadn’t had a father either. He tasted bile, thinking he’d be another one of those men.

The bile bittered, turned into poison that made his hands start to shake with anger-- thinking Belle was the one who who have turned him into one.  

And oh, he grasped onto that anger. It kept him solid, strong, and more awake that he’d ever been. There was another cliche, one about love being a thin sliver from hate. Hades understood that. For most of those hours, he paced and he hated her. He told himself he wouldn’t run away just so Belle would be forced to reckon with him. She played so easy with her love anyway, trading in Hades for their daughter, well, he could do the same. He’d stick around. He’d play the game. He’d find a way to win. And he’d take their daughter away and keep her all to himself.

Revenge really is best served cold-- wht better place to cook up his own in a dank, dirty, freezing jail cell?

Course even Hades and his anger got exhasted. Which was how he’d ended up sitting, sore, tired-- apathetic. Without the anger, all that tired hollowed him out. His eyes were wet with fatigue. He wanted his bed, yearned for the couch, the fireplace, Belle’s feet tucked under his thighs. And all that yearning and pining and wishing was weakness.

So he was back to Plan A now, eying his shadow. Take the coward’s way out? It might be kinder to himself.

And then the door slammed open and the hall filled with shouting and-- Belle’s voice?

His neck twisted and there she was: Belle, gripping the bars of his cell. She looked a wreck, the burn all blistered and red. It plummeted his heart into his stomach at once and brought back the teeth of last night’s panic. It scraped at his skin and he wanted to jump into the shadow more than ever, though this time, to get away from himself.  

His brow furrowed though and he stayed put because what the bloody hell was going on?

“What are you doing here?” he said, not moving from where he sat. The bitterness bled all through his voice, but course it did. Hades didn’t think there was anything else inside him. Just bitterness-- and tired.

BELLE: Belle glared harshly at Phoebus but he glared right back.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can!” Belle shouted her voice cracked again and she turned to Hades, her eyes full of steel, though her expression softened just a touch, just for him.

“I am getting you out of here, of course.”

“No, you’re not,” Phoebus went to grab at Belle again.

She jerked away and raised her hand on instinct. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do with it, but she curled it into a fist and her eyes flashed. Phoebus hesitated then, more than likely because he didn’t want to arrest a pregnant woman, more than he didn’t want to get punched by her. She’d take what she could get.

“You can only arrest someone for domestic violence if they are actively endangering someone. I wasn’t even in the house. You had no idea of my injuries and you haven’t suggested I see a medical professional, which by the way is part of your duties. You waited until this morning to speak with me, though it should have been done at once and it is your job to listen to what I am telling you. You clearly have it out for my husband and arrested him under false pretenses.” All of this was said with the utmost calm.

“So. Let. Him. Go. Or I will call the sheriff and see what he has to say about your judgement.”

“Belle—”

“Oh we’re on a first name basis now? I think I preferred Mrs. Acheron.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

HADES: A lot was happening. Hades’ eyes darted from Belle to Phoebus and back again-- then up to a light that had started flickering. The rumblings of a ghost, though he didn’t know which one. Jails-- lousy with ‘em, remember?

He didn’t know what to pay attention to. He didn’t know what to look at.

But when Phoebus made a grab at Belle, Hades was on his feet in a second, like a spring released. Instinct told him to shove Phoebus into the other wall as hard as he could using his powers-- previous experience told him he couldn’t if he tried.

So he just curled his fists, face still impassive, as they traded barbed comments and Hades worked to catch up.

Here was what he gathered:

Belle hadn’t reported him.

Was anything else worth listening to?

He didn’t think so. In fact, the relief filled him head to toe, like perfectly tempered shower water. It washed off last night from his shoulders, and the rest of him too. He surged forward again: taking one, two large strides until he was at the bars, wrapping his fingers around them. Belle was close enough that he could reach out and touch her-- he didn’t, even if he wanted to, and just gripped the bars tighter instead.

And Hades smiled. A twinkle in his eye. Tis the season to get served, Officer de Martin.

“Oi, you heard her,” he said, sounding as gleeful as he felt. “Let me out before you get a lawsuit on your hands, eh?”

BELLE: Belle’s threat hung in the air for a moment, Phoebus’ face full of confusion and fury, but nowhere near the fury that Belle herself felt. She was glad the Fetal Magic Transference hadn’t given her the ability to set people on fire, because Phoebus certainly would’ve gone up in flames. She felt as unstable as nitroglycerin.

Part of that fury was its own kind of fear. How would Hades ever forgive her for getting him into this mess? She was horrified at herself. At Simba. At Berlioz. But she was certainly the most horrified at the conduct of this “officer of the law.” Belle oft thought many of the laws England had were silly and inefficient and they certainly frustrated her--but this wasn’t operating within a loophole. Phoebus was full of hate--and acting on it.

She hadn’t even noticed Hades cross the jail cell until he spoke and both Belle and Phoebus’ eyes snapped towards him.

At the sight of the light in his eye, Belle half-smiled as their gazes connected--

The next second, the fury rolled through her like another wave smashing into her as Phoebus spoke.

“I can’t do that.” He smiled smugly at Hades and turned to Belle. “He’s dangerous, ma’am. I know that’s hard for you to see--”

“He’s not dangerous to me, you utter blockheaded imbecile. How many times do I have to tell you: he saved me! Ask my doctors, they’ll tell you my FMT has been progressing--do you even know what FMT is?” Phoebus opened his mouth but Belle continued over top of him. “Of course you don’t, you just see the magic.”

“Ma’am, if something is happening to your ba--”

“Don’t you dare talk about my baby like you care. Don’t you dare try to say Hades is dangerous to her.” The tears of fury slipped down over Belle’s cheeks. “You are completely out of line, Officer. Are you prepared to take a father away from his child under false pretenses before she is even born? On the off chance I’ve been abused to the point where I am defending my abuser over the safety of my unborn child?”

“Perhaps you’re both insane,” snarled Phoebus then, his voice lower and darker than it had previously been.

Belle raised her chin. “I think we’ll let Sherriff Pride decide that, why don’t you go get him?”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Yes, let the distressed pregnant woman walk into his office and tell him that an officer has been harassing her. That will look excellent for you.”

Phoebus looked at Hades, then Belle. “Fine, but if he hurts you--it will be no fault of mine.”

“Duly noted,” Belle snarled at his retreating form before turning to Hades, crossing the step or two in the hallway.

“Hades, I--” she started, but stopped just as quickly, not knowing what to say. Instead she just stood there, looking up at him, her arms still crossed over her chest, her whole body shaking--though if it was from fury or exhaustion, she wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry.” Her lip trembled, but she didn’t let out the sob that was ricocheting in her chest.  

HADES: Author’s Note: If Hades hadn’t been up for more than 24 hours and hadn’t gone through significant emotional trauma and distress, he would’ve found Belle arguing for his release very, very hot.

Alright-- maybe a small part of him did anyway and it manifested in adrenaline, that soaring feeling that made him wanna shadow jump anyway. It plastered a smile on his face and he used it to leer triumphantly in Phoebus’s direction, and all the way after him too. He wanted to ride on that high for at least another few seconds.

But the door slammed shut. And with it swept out the adrenaline, leaving Hades, Belle, and the jail cell ghosts.

She turned to him and looked pitiful, the burn on her neck as nasty as when he’d first seen it across the cell, in shadow. Worse, actually. Hades’ smile faded slowly. He didn’t know how this was going to go. How should it go?

Belle stepped closer. Hades stayed exactly where he was-- then let his hands slip from the bars and cross against his own chest, mirroring her own stance.

I’m sorry, Belle said.

“What for?” he said, like a dick.

And look-- he knew he was being a dick. He did. There was an apology on his lips too, a sour-tasting thing he wanted to get rid of, or swallow back down. But he couldn’t yet. He had his own ghosts, one of which was Belle, the hatred in her eyes, screaming at him to get out.

And then there was the burn on her neck. His eyes kept sliding to it, his stomach feeling hollow. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

BELLE: What for? grumbled Hades, like she was apologizing for snapping at him over something stupid that they had been arguing about.

If it wasn’t such a good question, Belle would snort and stop her foot and be a general pill herself.

But, she was too tired and the question genuinely stumped her. It was so--ironic, because it was always Hades telling Belle to quit apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. Objectively, this whole mess wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t uttered a word of abuse, that had been complete assumption on Berlioz and Simba’s part. Still, she could very easily make it into her fault--and she did--and she felt guilty for it.

Was that what she was apologizing for?

Was that what he wanted her to apologize for?

Did she want to apologize for the rest? For leaving him? For their fight? For everything that had happened?

She didn’t know the answer to that question. And, so--she hesitated.

That hesitation morphed into annoyance. How could he put her on the spot like that? Now wasn’t the time for another argument or for antagonism. They didn’t have time to hash out the tangle of the last 10 hours (less?). They just needed to get through this first. Belle was attempting an olive branch. Of course Hades had to make it difficult.

“Ugh,” she huffed at him, raising her hands and let them fall back down to her sides in exasperation, “you are so difficult. Nevermind. Just--” she put a hand to her forehead, pushing back the stray pieces of hair, “--you did tell Phoebus where I was last night, didn’t you? He knew where I was this whole time?”

Hades, thankfully, confirmed without being a brat about it.

“Good--that’s good. I-I mean, it’s not good, because obviously you were here all night and I had no idea but--he wasn’t supp--”

The door opened again and in strolled Sheriff Pride, flanked by Phoebus.

“Just let me do the talking, please,” she murmured at Hades, giving him an imploring look before she turned slightly. This was a delicate situation. Hades was all but discredited, Belle only obtaining a bit more clout on virtue of being the potential “abuse” victim and pregnant besides. Though, what she thought she might have going for her most was her intent to be a lawyer.

She lifted her chin and did her best to smile at the men, a nice, charming--completely normal and not crazy smile. “Sheriff Pride,” Belle greeted, nodding her head a bit and not offering her hand, due to the bandages on them. She didn’t want to draw more attention to them than she had to.

“Thank you so much for listening to this case. I know you are very busy but my husband has been arrested on false pretenses and Officer de Martin refuses to release him. You can imagine how distressing this is. Officer de Martin arrested him last night in the early hours after Simba Lyons mistakenly called in a domestic disturbance. I acknowledge that we did fight last night, which was why I left the house, but it was not at all because I felt endangered in anyway. The mark on my neck is because I was possessed--due to a medical condition concerning my pregnancy. It was the only way to keep me from hurting myself.

What is more: your officer did not follow proper protocol and, may I just say, his conduct was abysmal. I was not aware my husband was even in jail until an hour ago. I have not been interviewed. I wasn’t even at the house when the arrest was made. The whole thing is borderline illegal, not to mention has heavy anti-Magick undertones, and I simply won’t stand for it.”

She let the words hang in the air. “Any questions? We are an open book.”

WOODY: As one could imagine, this was not how Woody had thought his day was going to go.

He had been a bit oblivious to everything until he got to work that morning, after Mr. Acheron had been brought in, and was still waiting on the full story from de Martin that would come from the paperwork that would be in after he was done with it. When Woody came in he only got the broad details of the story. That being that there was someone in holding, that that person was Mr. Acheron, and that he was here under domestic abuse charges.  At that he had winced and nodded, thinking on Belle, or Mrs. Acheron he supposed, who he hadn’t spoken to but once, but she had been more than pleasant to him. Basically held his hand and walked him out of the forest when he had been lost in there like a child.

Woody had retreated into his office while thinking about how messy that trial was going to be, considering. He knew it wasn’t going to end after he had sat down, that’s not how the law worked, but he didn’t think on it anymore because he had other work to get done and progress wouldn’t be made on the case until the proper paperwork had been filled out.  He hadn’t heard the commotion as he had shut his door, which he did for the most part like to keep opened, in order to take a phone call.

That all changed when de Martin came knocking on his door because apparently Mrs. Acheron had come to get her husband. He had told the person on the other line he would have to call them back, and quickly followed de Martin to the holding cells where the couple stood on opposite sides of the bars. The first thing he could see, as anyone would in a situation like this, was the wounds Mrs. Acheron was sporting. It almost made him reach up and touch his own neck in sympathy.

He didn’t even get a word in before she launched into a play by play of the situation. Woody listened, nodding when necessary, and waiting for her to finish. The question at the end felt a little condescending and he would be lying if he didn’t feel a tad bruised by it. He understood where it came from, as from what she had just said it seemed like one big misunderstanding that had been blown way way out of proportion but, still.

“Okay. Well,” he said in a quick dead pan. Woody looked to de Martin, eyebrows raised in a disapproving manner as he learned that she hadn’t even been interviewed yet, meaning he hadn’t even seen her until now. He regarded the other man for a minute, wondering why he would arrest someone off of word alone without even having seen any signs of abuse. Unless the house had them.  He then returned to Mrs. Acheron and nodded slowly as he thought on how to start.

“I will say, that other than informing you, as a victim, we were letting him off on bail or charging him, the only way to inform you of him being arrested would be your husband using his rights to tell you where he is,” he said, wondering if that’s how she got here or if Lyons had told her. “But, yes, I do agree, that as the supposed victim Officer de Martin should have paid you a visit after the arrest in order to confirm these allegation. But, as I’m sure you know, we do need to take charges like these very seriously, and…”

Woody glanced up at Mr. Acheron shooting him a sympathetic smile before returning to Mrs. Acheron, “Considering the evidence, Mr. Lyons’ phone call and your injuries, you can understand that from my point of view I want to be sure that everything you’re saying is the real story. So, uh…as for a question, I guess I would have to ask about this whole possession by pregnancy medical condition? May I ask why it was necessary to inflict burns on you in order to save you from yourself?”

BELLE: Belle had the sheriff’s ear, she could tell. Her heart was pounding in her own, and she worried that whatever she said wouldn’t be enough--

Wasn’t that what she always worried about?

Now, that worry felt all the more real. One wrong phrasing, one wrong word, one wrong pause and Hades would be stuck. Charged. Possibly incarcerated, if Phoebus had his way. They were already dealing with one lawsuit. They didn’t need a criminal trial. They didn’t need a criminal trial and to be falling apart. They didn’t need a criminal trial, a lawsuit, Hades’ reputation in tatters, a cop out for their blood, to be falling apart, and have a baby on the way.

And Belle felt the weight of it all on her shoulders.

However, she just pushed them back and lifted her chin.

“I have Fetal Magic Transference,” she explained, keeping her voice even. “FMT, for short. You can view my medical records, if you want. It is a recognized medical condition, though rarely documented. When a male Magick reproduces--regardless of a magical or Mundus mother--there is a risk of the mother developing the powers of the unborn fetus. In this case, mediumship. That is why my hair is white. And it has been progressing slowly over the course of my pregnancy. Around Halloween, I started hearing ghosts.

I don’t know how much you know about mediumship, Sheriff, but there are specific ghosts--usually the angriest, or those who died most violently, who are much stronger than others. And, sometimes, on certain nights or celestial events, when the veil is lower--there is a threat of possession, as there was last night with the new moon. When someone is possessed, they tend to relive the ghost’s final moments, which as I stated are rather violent.” She held out her hands for him to inspect, covered in bandages.

“This is from the possession. If it is not corrected quickly, there is a possibility of the ghost taking over completely and shoving the other soul out. A bit of a cuckoo bird situation. Hades’ powers allow him to eject a spirit from a body or an object by...burning it. It is otherwise very rare to survive a possession without being a very powerful medium yourself, which I am not.”

Her eyes began to water, just slightly--but she managed to draw in a breath.

“If you leave him in jail, there is a chance it may happen again. And this time, I would have no one to come to my rescue. I understand that these allegations are more than serious, but I was not spoken with until this morning, even though my husband not only informed Officer de Martin where I was when he was arrested, but was refused his rights to a phone call. You may check my phone records, and the records of Mr. Lyons and Mr. Bonfamille--and if you would like to be very thorough, Toulouse Bonfamille as well, as I am sure he is whom Hades would call, if not myself or those who were looking after me. This violation speaks volumes, I think, of Officer de Martin’s prejudice and unwillingness to allow my husband proper due diligence.”

WOODY: No, Woody had no idea what FMT was. Woody hadn’t known there was a rift between sorcerers and fairies until just three months ago. He hadn’t even known that there were such things as ‘Vaaghs’ before Khan had explained that whole thing for him. Woody didn’t know a lot of things about magic, but after two years of living here he really had no excuses left to give, did he.  He tried to retain that information as best he could, shrinking it down into something more manageable for his brain to wrap around. He’d learned in his time in Swynlake that if he was ever going to make sense of anything he wasn’t going to be able to come at it from the perspective he had lived his whole life looking through. It would have to be seen through a more objective standpoint where he threw all his own logic and reasoning out the door.

So, for today, for this case, he was going to have to understand that an unborn child with the powers of Mediumship could pass these on to their mother. And he was going to have to understand that burning a ghost from someone’s body was the only way to get them to leave. Why not, you know? If a demon could be summoned, if zombies could pop up like daisies on Halloween, why couldn’t a baby be the reason a mundus retain Mediumship powers and get possessed?

His eyes flicked down to Mrs. Acheron’s hands as she offered them up to him, a small wince pinching his eyebrows together. This woman really had been through the ringer last night and now, here she was, fighting a battle that wasn’t hers to fight. He admired the loyalty there, and would be doing the exact same thing had someone he loved had been wrongfully arrested.

What really pulled him to her side of things was the withholding Mr. Acheron’s right to call someone to tell them where he was. She was right it did speak volumes, loud obnoxious volumes. It was a red flag, a warning bell, and a siren all in one. Again, he looked at de Martin, bemused as to just what in the hell he had been thinking with all this and hoping that he could see it on his person if he looked hard enough at him.

“I see,” he said slowly, turning his eyes down to the concrete flooring before looking back up to Mrs. Acheron. “Mrs. Acheron, would you mind stepping outside with me for just a moment? Just the two of us?”

BELLE: It was infuriating that Phoebus didn’t look at all guilty of his own crimes. Crimes that could be proven. Crimes that were certainly there. It made Belle’s blood boil that he stood there--looking stoic. If anything, he looked pissed that he wasn’t getting away with it.

He wasn’t getting away with it. That is what Belle told herself. There was no possible way that Phoebus would get away with this. She would do absolutely everything to make sure of it.

Belle had defeated the Muses and the Fates and the Thebian Sphinx. She’d taken on a dragon and demons and werewolves.

She could fight the law just as well.

I see, said the sheriff, and his voice was contemplative. That was good. She could see the pendulum swinging, the gears turning.

When he asked to speak with her, Belle glanced at Hades--a question in her eyes, but she knew that it was probably a good thing. If he wanted to speak with her alone...it meant she hadn’t lost him yet. There was a chance. And Belle was clinging to it with her bloody fingers.

“Of course,” she said after turning back to look at Woody. “My only request is that Officer de Martin goes somewhere else for the moment. I don’t want him near my husband.” Her gaze flicked to Phoebus’ and grew much harder, icing over immediately. Though, really the request was as much for Hades as it was for Phoebus. She knew if Phoebus incited Hades, he’d criminalize himself faster than he could think. She couldn’t have Hades burning him or even raising his voice. It was best to separate them for the moment.

WOODY: “That will be no problem, Mrs. Acheron,” Woody said, his tone coated with that sheen of fake politeness people in retail usually wore. He didn’t look at de Martin as he spoke, only expecting him to do as he was told without protest as that was really his only option here if he knew what was good for him. “Officer de Martin has plenty of paper work to be filling out, I’m sure he’ll want to be getting back to it as soon as possible.”

There was a pause before the sounds of boots started. Woody smiled at Mrs. Acheron and waved her forwards to follow de Martin’s path to the door back out into the main office of the station. To their credit the rest of the officers in the room looked like they hadn’t just been straining to hear what was going on inside the holding cell block. Though a few followed de Martin’s movements until their eyes snapped back to pretend they were busy with something when Woody and Mrs. Acheron emerged shortly after.

He sighed when the door shut behind them, crossing his arms over his middle as he turned back towards her. Woody wasn’t going to take her too far away from where her husband was for now. Just far enough away to where he wasn’t present to the conversation. He softened immediately, no longer standing as tall with his shoulders pulled back to give off that professional stature.

“Please, be honest with me here,” Woody started, looking her in the eye as he wanted to catch anything she might have been wanting to hide from the other two men, “because the last thing I want to do is put you back in a dangerous situation. Believe me when I say I’m on your side, so, if there is anything else you want to tell me, you can, alright?”  

BELLE: Belle felt unsure what this would be about, though she had an idea. People in situations of abuse often protected their abuser, especially in their presence. That was why it was imperative that they be interviewed separately, so that the abused person could air any grievances without the fear of repercussion. It was still a flawed system, of course, but at least this was not a bad protocol.

She had given Hades another look over her shoulder before she walked away. Wanted to say that it was alright, that it was going to be just fine. Hopefully, she communicated it well enough with her eyes. Hopefully, a few ghosts followed her out so they could relay the information. If they decided to be helpful. They usually never were.

If just this once, they owed him that. He was their king, after all.

Belle owed him too. She owed him for so much. If this was how she could begin to repay him, she’d do it a hundred times.

She met the sheriff’s gaze, steadily and openly, the ring of gold around her iris gleaming brightly.

“Nothing, except that my husband is a good man and a good father. He never would’ve hurt me unless he absolutely had no other choice. I have been with him when his powers have overwhelmed him and still--this is the very first time he has ever burned me. The safest place for me is with him, I promise you. I love him and he loves me, and he loves our child. I was pissed at him for something else and left to cool down. I could have never imagined--I wasn’t thinking about what Ber and Simba might think. If I had known before, I would have been down here earlier. Please, if the town gets wind of this it could end his career on the Board and he doesn’t deserve that. He is innocent. I swear it on my daughter’s life.”

WOODY: He waited to see the tell, to find the catch, for any sort of something that might have given away that she was playing a part to please someone else. Be it her husband or de Martin or even Woody himself.  In a way he hoped to find it as wanted de Martin to not be totally in the wrong here since that was someone he needed to have confidence in for these kinds of situations.

But there was nothing to be found but conviction and strong dedication to the person she had come here for.  Nothing about her words seemed off, her explanation made sense, and it pulled at all the right strings attached to his heart. The only thing off about this whole situation was his own officer. It was surprising to Woody that an officer with that amount of experience could have done something like this. The work was sloppy, and if what she had said about de Martin rejecting Mr. Acheron’s rights to phone calls then he’d also left them susceptible to a very easily avoided lawsuit.

“Okay,” he said softly, nodding, “Okay. I’ll see that he gets released shortly with no charges. I’m sorry about all this.”

Woody turned, ready to go get that ball rolling as fast as possible but stopped short and turned back to her, “You can go back in, someone’ll be in to unlock his cell in a minute. And again, I’m so sorry. If you ever need anything again, don’t hesitate to come get me first.”