Hap nods, hands settling over his utensils. Pleased when she seems ready to eat, he joins her in having his first bite. Breaking bread with the enemy — it's a step in the right direction.
"There are a couple stipulations. Your toothbrush and that can't leave the bathroom." It's implied that he will be checking. "You can wash your clothes in the sink or the tub, and your room will be locked at night. That desk," he points towards the repurposed dining room with his for, "is off limits. The same with the study."
These aren't rooms he can secure due to the layout of the house, splayed out horizontally across a single floor where the then-new style of open concept occasionally took the architect's fancy.
He's amused by her reference. Most likely she means the Disney film, which he hasn't seen. A few years before that came out, however, he did catch a few episodes of the television adaptation. As he recalls, that Beast was part of a secret, mystical underworld, and that Beauty was an assistant district attorney.
"That's where I work," he confirms.
Hap watches her with curiosity as they eat, conscious not to spend overlong comparing the Bella in front of him with the Bella from the Bower. He threw her makeup and lotion away. He allowed her to keep her shampoo and conditioner in the shower throughout this transitional period. Today, he threw those out too. Stripping her of her usual accents has hardly seemed to soften her. No lipstick and no mascara means there's no diversion from the compelling darkness inherent in her eyes.
He's seen her without makeup before, of course, but context is everything. The way her bare face looked emerging from the steam of a hotel shower is very different from now. The cocktail dress that had been picked to show off her figure is starting to develop folds and creases from being kept in the guest room and worn over and over again. So, in invisible ways, is she.
"I can sign an NDA, if you'd like," she says lightly. "Would that put your mind at ease?"
This, though, might remind him of their very first introduction. Bella was wry and humorous then, too, as they checked off formalities one by one and she warmed out of professionalism into ease.
That's the tragedy of their situation, succinctly put. Hap will have to remind himself every day not to get too comfortable. He's the one for whom ease is prohibited. Meanwhile, Bella will be most content if she can find a way to be at home here. Unfortunately, he knows how these things go. Captives trap themselves in cycles of grief. Maybe the freedom she enjoys relative to his subjects will eventually illuminate an exit for her. Maybe the foundation they share will one day ground her.
His smile brightens. A little familiarity goes a long way.
"When I go to bed — mmm," he nearly forgot to mention, "and when I'm in the lab. Or out of the house, of course."
He just doesn't like the idea of her skulking around his home when his proverbial back is turned. She could earn that, potentially, far, far down the line.
The mention of the lab does make her lightness falter, her eyes flicker. He isn't just her warden. He's torturing people, somewhere in the house. She's sitting here having a pretty nice chicken dinner with a man insane enough to think he can scientifically prove that people go someplace when they die.
And if she thinks about that, this moment of connection will break. There will be others -- she'll make there be others -- but she's loath to lose this one. So she makes the split-second decision to pretend he didn't mention the lab at all. There are no subjects suffering while they converse. Nobody matters at the moment but her and Hap.
"That seems ... fair, I guess is the word." A slight shrug. "I'd ask the same of you in your position. I appreciate the transparency."
He's glancing down at his meal as she processes the existence of the lab. He could have obfuscated it, called it the basement, but she'd glean its nature immediately. Besides, it's so much more than that. "Basement" makes it sound like he's got people chained to walls and defecating in buckets.
When he looks up, her expression hasn't wavered. However she feels about it, she's able to prioritize him and, by extension, her situation.
"I haven't got any trips planned for a good while." Unless another NDE survivor crops up. "So we'll have time to get used to each other."
So is he. That may work in their favor. He'll keep to himself and she'll do the same.
After a drink of water, Hap nods.
"You can."
As for what she does in that privacy, he continues, "All the good books are out here. I know the stuff in the bedroom is unbearably dry. There's records. Cards. God," he chuckles, "I hear how quaint that sounds, I do."
He has a DVD player at least, and a small selection of movies. As caked in dust as the television itself.
Is it? He won't feign offense at that. Hap's kept up with technology — advanced it, in certain niches. He just doesn't have the time for or interest in streaming television and 4K nonsense.
"I have a set around here somewhere." He and Leon used to play games over correspondence. "I'll find that for you."
With that promised, he finishes the last few bites of pasta. She ate well under the circumstances. On the whole, she's been exceedingly amenable. Hap doesn't deserve it but she has a gift for making it seem like that's not the case.
Bella smiles -- the warmest smile she's worn in two and a half weeks. For a moment it's all real. Hap's pleasure pleases her; it has for as long as she's known him. That may not be long, in the grand scheme of the lives they've each led, but it's long enough to have been hurt by him. Long enough that seeing him enthusiastic about something makes her forget everything else for a moment of satisfaction.
It's such a strong feeling, such a relief of tension, that a second later she feels her eyes prickling and starting to well up. She inhales, surprised, and puts a hand over her mouth.
"Oh -- I'm so sorry." She sniffs hard and then lets out a watery laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm not upset with you or anything."
Obviously that's probably not true in a broader sense; hopefully he understands what she means. This has happened to her before during intense scenes, but it usually came out of something physical, pain or sensation cresting unexpectedly. This is the first time in a long time she can remember it happening from just talking.
For a moment, the air between them clears. All that's left is the string of magnetism between two well-matched people, charged with attraction and intrigue. They're in the trap of each other, neither of them more predator than they are prey. Muscle memory bids him to reach for her when her eyes catch more of the room's glow. His hand stutters forward on the table, barely an inch, before he stops himself.
"I know," he cajoles her. The same tone he would use in bed as she descended from climax. Someone else tearing up across from him and he would be irritated. Bella has done well to retain the benefit of the doubt. She would help it if she could and she almost always can. "It's..." he trails off. It's a lot doesn't cover it. Softly, though with less conviction, "It's alright."
Hap has lost the privilege of helping her through it. Instead, he'll give her privacy. He pulls back, straightens, and stands from his chair. Stacking their plates, lays a featherlight touch upon her shoulder as he passes by.
She snorts and reaches for a napkin to dab at her eyes.
"Come on, Hap. Let's not go back to lying to each other now."
It's so much worse when he touches her, even lightly. Pathetic how much she wants to reach for him in turn. It translates into a minute flinch. She starts to rise, trying to cover it, knowing it won't work. The kitchen isn't big enough for them to achieve distance.
He doesn't respond but neither does he discourage her. Scraping her scraps into the compost bin under the sink, he twists the faucet to start the warm water pouring. Hap's just one man; he's never seen fit to install a dishwasher in the old place when he doesn't dirty dishes that quickly, and uses his time cleaning them to relax his mind.
He lets Bella take over clearing the table, rolling up one sleeve.
Clearing away the glasses and pitcher hardly takes a minute; Bella does pause to throw back the rest of her own glass like she wishes it was vodka.
Stupid. Stupid crack about lying. Her guard was down and her mouth ran away with her. They had something for a moment there, and maybe she could have maneuvered it into something more.
No, she shouldn't kid herself. It's the first time they've spent extended time together since their truths came out; it's her first time out of the damn room in any real sense. It might be more suspicious if she didn't have a few mood swings. And Hap is too careful a man to let his guard down yet.
It just leaves her aching, to have heard that tone in his voice again.
She sets the glassware on the counter beside Hap, then retreats a step or two, looking around for a cloth to dry when he finishes washing. Space settles between them again.
"... May I ask you a few more questions?" she says after a minute, only a little louder than the water. "About how this is going to work."
It's strange having someone in the kitchen with him. He finds himself bristling at her movement even though he doesn't think she's about to do anything stupid. That eases once she finds the dishcloth and picks a spot to root herself. He's rusty at this, too. Hap hasn't lived with anyone in a little over two decades.
He passes one plate off to her, then the other. Casting a sidelong glance to her when she speaks up, he returns his attention to the suds in the basin.
"Go ahead."
Is that why she's lending a hand? Get it all out in one go, and then she can have the rest of the evening to herself. It works for him; he'd rather have her near while he's too preoccupied to check in on her via CCTV. He expects he'll be doing that often as they acclimatize.
She hasn't looked closely on her daily trips, generally more worried about practicalities. If she has free rein, she can always go check herself, but she'd like to know from him.
"No." Which is not to say he didn't consider it. But even if he swapped out the shower curtain for a glass door, she could simply fog up the room.
Hap hands her the pot in which he boiled the pasta. "I'd prefer if you'd keep your time in there brief." And in case she doesn't, the door doesn't lock from the inside.
That genuinely surprises her. She takes the pot, blinking at him, and nods.
"Understood."
That means there's one place in the house, at least, where she can feel however she needs to feel, without worrying what Hap might glean from it. Turn up the shower, sit, and think.
"Would it be all right if I took a glass of water into my room at night? It could be the same rules as the pen if you'd like."
That's her next question? Hap tries not to look surprised himself.
Given the basis for their acquaintance, he's on tenterhooks waiting for an unsavory accusation to drop. Why not? One appalling act is the same as another to the people under his control. To them, he's evil, pure and simple.
Bella's initial reaction to the lives he's taken was visceral disgust, carefully reined in every moment since. She was no different from any other captive in that first moment. Hap will remain prepared to be reduced to a monster. If she doesn't ask, he'll just assume she remains resigned to the role of kept woman. Nothing he can say could provide true assurance, anyway. Only time.
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"There are a couple stipulations. Your toothbrush and that can't leave the bathroom." It's implied that he will be checking. "You can wash your clothes in the sink or the tub, and your room will be locked at night. That desk," he points towards the repurposed dining room with his for, "is off limits. The same with the study."
These aren't rooms he can secure due to the layout of the house, splayed out horizontally across a single floor where the then-new style of open concept occasionally took the architect's fancy.
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"A little bit Beauty and the Beast," she murmurs. "May I ask why?" Then, answering her own question: "That's where you work?"
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"That's where I work," he confirms.
Hap watches her with curiosity as they eat, conscious not to spend overlong comparing the Bella in front of him with the Bella from the Bower. He threw her makeup and lotion away. He allowed her to keep her shampoo and conditioner in the shower throughout this transitional period. Today, he threw those out too. Stripping her of her usual accents has hardly seemed to soften her. No lipstick and no mascara means there's no diversion from the compelling darkness inherent in her eyes.
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"I can sign an NDA, if you'd like," she says lightly. "Would that put your mind at ease?"
This, though, might remind him of their very first introduction. Bella was wry and humorous then, too, as they checked off formalities one by one and she warmed out of professionalism into ease.
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That's the tragedy of their situation, succinctly put. Hap will have to remind himself every day not to get too comfortable. He's the one for whom ease is prohibited. Meanwhile, Bella will be most content if she can find a way to be at home here. Unfortunately, he knows how these things go. Captives trap themselves in cycles of grief. Maybe the freedom she enjoys relative to his subjects will eventually illuminate an exit for her. Maybe the foundation they share will one day ground her.
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"Consider it an open offer.
"You said I'll be locked in at night. When? You stay up late."
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"When I go to bed — mmm," he nearly forgot to mention, "and when I'm in the lab. Or out of the house, of course."
He just doesn't like the idea of her skulking around his home when his proverbial back is turned. She could earn that, potentially, far, far down the line.
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The mention of the lab does make her lightness falter, her eyes flicker. He isn't just her warden. He's torturing people, somewhere in the house. She's sitting here having a pretty nice chicken dinner with a man insane enough to think he can scientifically prove that people go someplace when they die.
And if she thinks about that, this moment of connection will break. There will be others -- she'll make there be others -- but she's loath to lose this one. So she makes the split-second decision to pretend he didn't mention the lab at all. There are no subjects suffering while they converse. Nobody matters at the moment but her and Hap.
"That seems ... fair, I guess is the word." A slight shrug. "I'd ask the same of you in your position. I appreciate the transparency."
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When he looks up, her expression hasn't wavered. However she feels about it, she's able to prioritize him and, by extension, her situation.
"I haven't got any trips planned for a good while." Unless another NDE survivor crops up. "So we'll have time to get used to each other."
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She shakes her head, changes what she was going to say.
"I'm used to more privacy.
"Can I close doors for myself? My -- the bedroom, the bathroom, like that."
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After a drink of water, Hap nods.
"You can."
As for what she does in that privacy, he continues, "All the good books are out here. I know the stuff in the bedroom is unbearably dry. There's records. Cards. God," he chuckles, "I hear how quaint that sounds, I do."
He has a DVD player at least, and a small selection of movies. As caked in dust as the television itself.
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She pushes her plate to the side. It isn't quite empty; too much adrenaline in her system to finish the whole serving.
"I hate solitaire. I'd prefer chess or something."
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"I have a set around here somewhere." He and Leon used to play games over correspondence. "I'll find that for you."
With that promised, he finishes the last few bites of pasta. She ate well under the circumstances. On the whole, she's been exceedingly amenable. Hap doesn't deserve it but she has a gift for making it seem like that's not the case.
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Undisguised -- and unfeigned -- hope in her voice.
"I'm not a master or anything, but I'm a good loser."
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"I'd like that. I'm a little rusty — who knows what'll happen?"
He toasts the idea and drains the last of his water.
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It's such a strong feeling, such a relief of tension, that a second later she feels her eyes prickling and starting to well up. She inhales, surprised, and puts a hand over her mouth.
"Oh -- I'm so sorry." She sniffs hard and then lets out a watery laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm not upset with you or anything."
Obviously that's probably not true in a broader sense; hopefully he understands what she means. This has happened to her before during intense scenes, but it usually came out of something physical, pain or sensation cresting unexpectedly. This is the first time in a long time she can remember it happening from just talking.
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"I know," he cajoles her. The same tone he would use in bed as she descended from climax. Someone else tearing up across from him and he would be irritated. Bella has done well to retain the benefit of the doubt. She would help it if she could and she almost always can. "It's..." he trails off. It's a lot doesn't cover it. Softly, though with less conviction, "It's alright."
Hap has lost the privilege of helping her through it. Instead, he'll give her privacy. He pulls back, straightens, and stands from his chair. Stacking their plates, lays a featherlight touch upon her shoulder as he passes by.
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"Come on, Hap. Let's not go back to lying to each other now."
It's so much worse when he touches her, even lightly. Pathetic how much she wants to reach for him in turn. It translates into a minute flinch. She starts to rise, trying to cover it, knowing it won't work. The kitchen isn't big enough for them to achieve distance.
"I can help clear up."
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He lets Bella take over clearing the table, rolling up one sleeve.
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Stupid. Stupid crack about lying. Her guard was down and her mouth ran away with her. They had something for a moment there, and maybe she could have maneuvered it into something more.
No, she shouldn't kid herself. It's the first time they've spent extended time together since their truths came out; it's her first time out of the damn room in any real sense. It might be more suspicious if she didn't have a few mood swings. And Hap is too careful a man to let his guard down yet.
It just leaves her aching, to have heard that tone in his voice again.
She sets the glassware on the counter beside Hap, then retreats a step or two, looking around for a cloth to dry when he finishes washing. Space settles between them again.
"... May I ask you a few more questions?" she says after a minute, only a little louder than the water. "About how this is going to work."
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He passes one plate off to her, then the other. Casting a sidelong glance to her when she speaks up, he returns his attention to the suds in the basin.
"Go ahead."
Is that why she's lending a hand? Get it all out in one go, and then she can have the rest of the evening to herself. It works for him; he'd rather have her near while he's too preoccupied to check in on her via CCTV. He expects he'll be doing that often as they acclimatize.
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She hasn't looked closely on her daily trips, generally more worried about practicalities. If she has free rein, she can always go check herself, but she'd like to know from him.
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Hap hands her the pot in which he boiled the pasta. "I'd prefer if you'd keep your time in there brief." And in case she doesn't, the door doesn't lock from the inside.
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"Understood."
That means there's one place in the house, at least, where she can feel however she needs to feel, without worrying what Hap might glean from it. Turn up the shower, sit, and think.
"Would it be all right if I took a glass of water into my room at night? It could be the same rules as the pen if you'd like."
cw sexual coercion/violence refs
Given the basis for their acquaintance, he's on tenterhooks waiting for an unsavory accusation to drop. Why not? One appalling act is the same as another to the people under his control. To them, he's evil, pure and simple.
Bella's initial reaction to the lives he's taken was visceral disgust, carefully reined in every moment since. She was no different from any other captive in that first moment. Hap will remain prepared to be reduced to a monster. If she doesn't ask, he'll just assume she remains resigned to the role of kept woman. Nothing he can say could provide true assurance, anyway. Only time.
"Yes, that's fine."
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