(no subject)
Title: Deal-Maker and Truth-Speaker
Rating: T
Word count: ~11,280
Characters/Pairings: Rumplestiltskin, Belle, brief appearances from the Queen, Snow White, Prince James, and Emma Swan.
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me, including characters and borrowed storylines.
Notes: First Once Upon A Time fic. New fandom love!
Summary: “Why did you come back?” he asks her. Her first answer dies on her lips; she cannot trick the trickster. “I met a woman on the road,” she says.
Part One
One day Rumplestiltskin goes out, and he does not come back.
Belle doesn’t worry at first. Sometimes he disappears for days at a time, hunting for something he wants or executing a particularly complicated - often, she suspects, particularly nasty - deal.
He came back, once, after a week away, covered in weeds and slime. Belle hadn’t asked where he’d been, had run him a bath and tried not to laugh at him. Another time he’d come back so full of energy he was almost bouncing off the walls, and he’d danced her around the room before making love to her next to the spinning wheel.
So she’s used to it, and she isn’t lonely without him. She tends her garden, continues her reorganisation of the library, sleeps alone in their bed. She takes the opportunity of his absence to clean the windows in the dining room, the tall ones that mean she has to go up a ladder and balance precariously. He doesn’t like her doing that, claims she’s far too prone to falls, but they need doing.
A week passes, and Belle starts to get anxious. She sits at his spinning wheel and sends the wheel whirling around, stands at the window and watches the road, even though he rarely uses roads to travel.
It might be nothing, she tells herself. Any number of things could have happened to delay him.
It might be nothing, but another week passes, and Belle gives up cleaning, gives up keeping the castle in order. She sits at his wheel and waits for him, plays with her golden necklace and waits.
She tries calling for him once, tries using the necklace to call for him. She whispers his name, speaks it, screams it until she’s hoarse, but he does not come. It’s then that she knows he cannot come. Cannot, because he would come if he could.
Something is preventing it, and she remembers the Queen’s dark eyes and dark smirk. Remembers all the stories Rumplestiltskin has told her about deals that have turned out in his favour. The enemies he has made over the many long years since he became what he is.
And she knows then that she can no longer wait.
Belle has no magic, has nothing but her own two feet to take her, and the kingdoms are vast. She packs a bag with warm clothing and another with provisions. Gold she has - the castle is full of gold, spun from straw by Rumplestiltskin’s magic. She buries it in the bag, hides some in her corset. Enough to get somewhere to hear news of him, or so she hopes. She does not think of the journey back, forces herself to believe that she will find him, release him from whatever captivity has befallen him. And then they will return together.
She puts shutters in all the windows, bolts all the doors, puts large dustsheets over the furniture. She picks up her bags and goes to the great entrance doors, closes them behind her, turns the key in the lock and presses her palms to the thick wood.
“Don’t let anyone in,” she whispers. “Nobody is allowed in except me and Rumplestiltskin.” The castle isn’t sentient, of course, but there are layers upon layers of spells within its walls, years of magic use building up to create something that is almost alive. She feels the wood under her hand tremble, knows the castle has responded.
Nobody will enter it while she is gone; the Queen will not discover its secrets, and nobody will break down the doors to find Rumplestiltskin’s gold. The castle will remain closed until she returns - and she will return, whether she finds Rumplestiltskin or not.
This is her home now, as well as his.
She goes to the town first, goes to the local inn, orders a drink and listens to the conversations around her. The price of wheat, the ogre wars, the recent disappearance of Prince Thomas, poor Princess Cinderella left alone with a baby. She knows about Cinderella. Rumplestiltskin had made a deal with her - her baby for the chance to become something more than she had been.
Belle has spent years hiding her wish for a child, felt almost sick when Rumplestiltskin had told her about the deal. He’s made similar deals in the past, and the babies always go to good homes, but still…
She thinks they’re connected, somehow, that deal and Rumplestiltskin’s disappearance. It’s too coincidental - a deal gone wrong, a prince disappearing, and then Rumplestiltskin…
Finally she hears something; finally she hears a whisper of his name. She tries not to look as though she’s listening, sips her drink and eavesdrops shamelessly.
Rumplestiltskin, they say, isn’t a threat anymore. He’s gone, they’ve caught him, he will never escape. They. Belle listens, tries to find out who has him. They, not her - not the Queen, then, but somebody else.
Rumplestiltskin is trapped in a dungeon, she hears. Tricked by Princes James and Thomas, aided by Cinderella. Rendered powerless, his magic as trapped as he. Powerless, something that he hasn’t experienced in centuries, and her heart aches for him.
Her heart aches, and she feels anger stirring at the people who have done this to him. And yet how can she blame them? She knows what he has done, the deals he’s made and the enemies he’s gathered. She can’t blame them, but she can be angry despite her understanding.
The men laugh, pleased by their conversation, pleased that the monster is finally caged. Belle bits her lip so hard she tastes blood to keep from speaking. She pulls her hood over her head to hide her features, finishes her drink and leaves the inn.
She has a long journey ahead of her.
* * *
She is exhausted, and dirty, and her feet ache more than she can describe. But she is here. She is standing in the throne room, looking at the young rulers before her, ready to make her request.
“Please, sit,” says Snow White gently to her. “Would you like something to eat?” Belle knows what she must look like, knows Snow White means only kindness, but she shakes her head.
“I want to see Rumplestiltskin,” she says. The name sends a ripple of whispering around the court, and Snow White glances at her husband, rests a hand protectively on her belly. She is expecting a child, and Belle spares a moment to feel that familiar envy. The one thing she cannot have.
“I - why would you want that?” Snow White asks slowly. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Belle,” she says. She is unknown to them, she sees; she doesn’t leave the castle often enough to be widely known. The closest towns and villages know of her, she’s sure, but it’s been so long since she left her home to save it, since she joined Rumplestiltskin. Her name has faded from memory.
“Belle,” says James, “please come and sit down.” He offers his arm and Belle accepts reluctantly, allows him to lead her from the throne room into a smaller council room. Snow White follows, closes the door behind them, pours Belle a glass of water.
“Now,” says Snow, “tell us why you want to see him. You know he’s dangerous.”
Belle sips the water, lifts a hand to play with her necklace. She does not want to give these people - well-meaning though they may be - any leverage to use against him. And yet she cannot think how to gain access to him without telling the truth.
Without explaining her relationship with Rumplestiltskin. Even then…
Well, it’s not as if they’re married, and Belle isn’t sure even marriage would be enough.
“He’s my -” But she chokes on the words, has to close her eyes to fight back tears. It’s been so long since she set out from the Dark Castle to find him. Now he is so close, she knows he is close, and she knows that she has hardly any chance of seeing him.
“Did you make a deal with him?” James asks her gently. “Because you have to know he can’t hold you to it any longer. He’s trapped, we’ve taken his power away.”
Belle laughs bitterly, shakes her head. “Trapped,” she says. “No, I didn’t…well, I suppose I did make a deal, but it was so long ago…” She puts the glass of water down, looks at the two young royals before her. She wonders how to explain, what to say.
She decides on truth, because truth had gained her Rumplestiltskin’s love in the first place.
“He’s my lover,” she says. “We’ve lived together for…I don’t even know how long.” She pauses, both to consider how long it’s been and to allow them a moment to get over the shock of her words. “Nearly fifteen years,” she says at last. “The ogre wars were threatening my village, and I made a deal with him.”
“Fifteen years - you were a child,” says Snow, horrified, but Belle shakes her head.
“I was seventeen,” she says, doesn’t bother to explain the strange magic the castle has worked on her to keep her from aging. “I knew what I was doing.” She glances between them, sees disgust badly hidden on James’ face. “I didn’t become his lover then,” she adds. “That was later. But please, can I see him?”
“No,” says James at once. “I’m sorry, but no. He’s too dangerous.”
“He would never harm me,” says Belle. “And you said yourself, he has no power now.” Snow and James look at each other, and Snow’s hand is at her rounded belly once more. There’s a story there, but Belle is uninterested. All she wants is to see Rumplestiltskin again. “I’m not asking you to release him,” she says carefully, although there’s little more she’d like than to see him freed. “Just…I need to see him.”
“Do you love him?” Snow asks her then. There’s curiosity in her sweet face, confusion too but mostly curiosity. “How can you love something so - so evil?”
Belle glances away, shakes her head. “Love is strange,” she murmurs. “And there is worse evil in the world.” She thinks of the Queen, that dark malevolence. Rumplestiltskin had never allowed her into his home again after she had grasped Belle’s arm tightly and looked at her like…
Like Belle was her enemy just as much as Rumplestiltskin. She can’t quite suppress a shiver. Yes, there is worse evil in the world than Rumplestiltskin, who only became what he is for love of his child.
“I think we should let her, James,” says Snow White at last.
“No,” says James. “He’s too dangerous, even locked up. You know that.” They share a look, loaded with their own secrets, and Belle takes another sip of water, knows that this moment is crucial. She does not, cannot, know what they do not speak. She isn’t sure she cares what is hidden in their gaze, what secrets they hold or what fears make Snow White clutch at her stomach as if she wants to protect her unborn child.
She isn’t sure she cares, as long as she is allowed to see Rumplestiltskin.
“Alright,” James says at last, although it’s clearly with great reluctance. “Alright, fine. But you do everything I tell you,” he tells Belle. “You stay back from the cell, don’t touch him, don’t pass him anything -”
“Whatever you say,” says Belle quickly. “As long as I can see him.”
* * *
The cell isn’t in the dungeons; it’s far, far below, deep into the rock, and the cell bars are made of iron. Magic repellent, Belle knows. After so long in a magic castle and with a magical lover, she can feel it a little. There’s magic embedded in the cell and the rock, but it shies away from the bars.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon, your highness.”
Rumplestiltskin’s voice, emerging from the darkness at the back of the cell, directed at James. Her face is hidden by her hood; he hasn’t realised who his visitors are, Belle knows.
“Someone to see you,” says James roughly. He turns to her, puts his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, and Belle nods, doesn’t trust herself to speak. “Then remember what I said. Not too close to the bars. Five minutes only.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “Thank you.” He nods, steps away from her, and Belle makes her way forward to the cell. Rumplestiltskin emerges from the shadows, and she lowers her hood, reveals herself. His shock is visible only for a moment; he glances over her shoulder, at James who is standing just far away that he will not hear them if they murmur.
“What are you doing here?” Rumplestiltskin demands, a breathless whisper, and Belle stops just far enough from the bars. If she reaches out, she could brush her fingertips across them. No closer; she knows the rules.
“I came to find you,” she whispers. “I had to find you.”
Rumplestiltskin lifts a hand as if he wants to reach out for her, smirks a little. “Miss me, did you, dearie?” Belle gives him a withering look, doesn’t bother to answer. “You shouldn’t have come,” he says then, and Belle nods.
“I know,” she says. “But I had to.” He nods, says nothing. For long moments they stand silent, facing each other through the bars of the cell.
They’re both acutely aware of James and the guards, just a few yards away from them. Watching them. Belle clenches her hands into fists, wishes she could reach out and touch him. Kiss him.
It’s been two months since she saw him last, since he disappeared. Looking at him through cell bars and being unable to touch might be the hardest thing she has ever done.
“What happened?” she asks eventually, and he snarls, turns away from her for a moment - only a moment, is drawn back to her at once, presses himself up against the bars and reaches out a hand. She wants to take it, wants to touch him, but doesn’t dare.
“Cinderella,” he says, and laughs. “Poor thing. Made a deal and didn’t want to keep it. Still, all deals are final.” All deals are final, and Belle pities the person who thinks otherwise. “She tricked me,” Rumplestiltskin says after a moment, dark and foreboding. “Still, until the payment’s made, she won’t see her beloved again.”
Belle closes her eyes against tears. “And neither will I,” she whispers. He says nothing, and Belle lifts her hands, covers her face. “I asked you to be safe,” she murmurs. “I assumed it would be the Queen.”
“Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes, that would have been expected. Still, life is full of unexpected surprises, dearie.” Belle nods, drops her hands and looks at him. To anyone else, he might seem uncaring. But Belle has spent years unwrapping the riddle of Rumplestiltskin; she knows him better than anybody else. She sees the longing, the despair, the rage.
She sees it all.
“It’s not forever, dearie,” he says then. “Nothing is, you know.”
“We are,” says Belle. “We’re forever. I promised you forever.”
“Yes, we made that deal,” he murmurs. “Belle…” He reaches out to her, stretches through the bar, and Belle doesn’t care about the guards, doesn’t care about Prince James. She lifts her hands, links their fingers together, holds onto him so tightly it must hurt, but he’s holding just as tight. She hears commotion behind her, guards rushing forward, but she keeps hold of his hand. After a moment, she hears the prince ordering the guards back.
Perhaps it’s compassion; perhaps it’s curiosity. She doesn’t care, she concentrates on the feel of Rumplestiltskin’s hand in hers.
“You see the future,” she breathes. “This can’t be forever. Tell me it’s not forever!”
Rumplestiltskin doesn’t answer for a moment; his hand grips hers tightly as he looks at her, considering.
“It’s not,” he says at last. “It’s not forever, dearie. But there’s no happily ever after here.” He grins, bares teeth. “Not for us. But then why should I deserve one?” Belle shakes her head, wants to protest but can’t find the words. Rumplestiltskin’s grin fades, and he is more serious now as he has ever been. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he whispers to her. “I’m sorry, dearie.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispers in return. “As long as you come back to me.” He says nothing, and she shivers, is afraid. “Rumplestiltskin?”
His hands slides from hers; he withdraws into the shadows of the cell. “No more happy endings,” he says. “Go home, Belle.”
“Alright, that’s long enough,” says James, and he comes towards her, takes her arm and pulls her away from the cell. Belle doesn’t resist, but she keeps looking back, keeps watching Rumplestiltskin until the darkness swallows him.
* * *
They ask her to stay, Snow White and her prince, but it’s too polite to be a genuine offer. She makes them uncomfortable; her existence, her relationship to the caged creature far below the castle. Belle thanks them for the offer, declines it, and Snow White looks at her as if she understands, a little. She offers a carriage, then, to take her wherever she wishes, and Belle does accept that. It had taken a month to get here, mostly by foot, and Belle is tired. She wants to go home and become used to the loss.
So she accepts the carriage, and she is home within a fortnight.
The castle has been undisturbed in her absence. She isn’t sure whether the castle’s magic has kept it so, or whether people are still too afraid of Rumplestiltskin to dare venture near his home, but either way the door opens to her touch and reveals everything is as she left it.
He’d said it isn’t forever, but he hadn’t said how long it would be, and Belle can’t go back to see him. He’d told her to come here, and she knows it’s because he’s afraid for her - and anyway, even if she does try to see him again, she’s fairly sure Snow White and James will prevent it.
They don’t understand, but she knows they cannot hope to begin. Love is layered, she’d said to Rumplestiltskin once, so many years ago, and love of Rumplestiltskin is a layered mystery that even she does not understand all the time.
She returns to her usual routine, cleans the castle and tends to the garden. She reads more than usual, stays up late at night and sleeps until the morning is almost past. She hates going to bed, misses him most at night. When he’s here, there are often long hours together where they hardly see each other, but they have slept in the same bed since…
For many years, and Belle makes a greater effort to note the passing of time now she’s alone. She counts the days, marks off the weeks. It is important, somehow, to know how much time has passed since she saw him, even though she has no idea when she will see him again - if she ever does.
But they’d made a deal; she’d promised forever. And if the deal doesn’t mean the same anymore, that doesn’t make her promise any less important.
She goes into town more often as well, listening for news. It’s there that she hears whispers of the Queen, finds out what happened to her - banishment, after her evil was revealed to the world - and hears too of the threat the Queen had made at Snow White’s wedding.
She threatened to destroy Snow White’s happiness, everyone’s happiness, and Belle remembers Rumplestiltskin’s words. No more happy endings, he’d said. Rumplestiltskin sees the future, and Belle knows it will come to pass. It is only a matter of time. All she can do is wait, and hope.
Hope that whatever happens, whatever the Queen has planned, it will at least lead to Rumplestiltskin’s release. Even if they cannot be together, she wants him free.
He is not a creature suited to being caged.
Weeks pass, and months pass, and finally the day comes. Belle stands in Rumplestiltskin’s study and stares out of the window as the darkness sweeps across the land. Devouring, consuming, a storm passing across the land and she cannot see what it leaves in its wake.
She cannot see, because there is nothing to see. Just darkness, and Belle is more afraid now than she ever has been in her life. She clutches her necklace and calls uselessly, hopelessly, for Rumplestiltskin. But of course he does not come, and Belle starts to cry as the darkness moves inexorably closer.
It eats the garden, gobbles up the grounds of the castle. It comes with a wind, and the wind seems to be blowing away existence, blowing the things around her into dust and nothingness.
The last thing she says is his name; her last thoughts are of him. Then the darkness rips into her, and Belle is swept away from the world.
For a long time she knows nothing. She, and everyone else, exists in something like a state of unconsciousness. Something like, except there is a vague awareness that she does exist, that she is still alive, that keeps it from being true unconsciousness. And when she wakes, it is with a sense of coming up for air after being a long time underwater.
Belle wakes in a cell. Disoriented, dazed, she staggers to her feet and finds she is barefoot and clothed in a kind of loose shift. There are people in the cell with her, and one of them wrestles her to the ground while the other wrenches her arm. Belle cries out, struggles, and something pricks at her arm.
An injection, she recognises, and isn’t sure how she knows that. Sedation. She is in…she is…
Two sets of memories war in her brain, but the injection works fast, and she loses herself with Rumplestiltskin’s name on her lips.
* * *
“How are you feeling today, Rose?”
Belle doesn’t bother answer. She knows this woman - Queen and Mayor overlapping each other in her mind - and knows her best defence is silence. She’s tried speaking before, tried asking questions or answering those put to her. It always leads to more sedation, more pills forced down her throat or needles stuck in her veins.
She doesn’t know how long she’s been here; time is more nebulous now than it ever was in Rumplestiltskin’s castle.
“You know we can only help you if you cooperate, Rose,” says the Mayor, and Belle’s mouth twists into a scowl before she can suppress the reaction. “Don’t you want to get better?”
Belle bites her tongue, tastes blood. Better. She is ill, or so they tell her. They say her name is Rose French, they say she is mentally unstable, they say she tried to harm herself. Tried to kill herself. She can remember it, but it’s faded. Unreal. Memories of another person’s life.
Her name is not Rose French. Her name is Belle, and her lover is Rumplestiltskin the deal-maker, and she does not belong here.
The Mayor says her name again - fake name, fake existence, fake world - and then she leaves, closes the slot in the door and leaves Belle alone in the cell.
Imprisoned, just as Rumplestiltskin before her, and Belle can only hope that in this strange new world he is free. If their positions have been reversed, he will be.
The drugs they give her make her hazy, make it hard to think clearly. Sometimes she remembers Rumplestiltskin, and sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes there is a fiancé in her memories, sometimes there is a chipped cup, sometimes she remembers standing at a window and crying as the world dissolved around her…
Sometimes she can think of nothing, stares at the ceiling and counts the tiles. Sometimes even that is too much thought and effort.
The Queen comes to visit her, and Belle thinks it might be at regular intervals but she loses whole days to the sedation. They tell her she’s violent, they tell her it’s for her own good.
The Queen looks at her and smirks, and Belle wishes she were violent, wishes she could smack the smirk from her face, but the Queen never comes into her cell.
Belle is alone. Always alone.
Because there are no more happy endings.
She wonders, in her more lucid moments - in the snatched moments between drug rounds, between one pill and the next injection - why she remembers. Nobody else does, she thinks, but she remembers both lives.
Nobody else but the Queen. She never says anything, never lets on, but Belle sees the truth. Belle knows why she is here. She is not here because she is unstable or insane or anything else the Queen says. She is here because she knows the truth.
Like Rumplestiltskin, she is now truth-speaker. Like him, she is caged because she is dangerous.
She cannot hold onto these thoughts, cannot hold onto herself. Her father the knight, her father the florist. Her fiancé who found her half-dead after an overdose, her lover the feared creature Rumplestiltskin.
They tell her she is crazy, and perhaps she is.
Perhaps they all are.
The nurses cut her hair when she’s sedated. Wash her by shoving her into a cold shower, without bothering to let her undress. Stick her full of needles when she protests. Shove her back into her room and laugh when she falls.
Sometimes she thinks they don’t feed her; sometimes hunger gnaws at her belly.
But she doesn’t protest. Protests bring drugs, needles stuck in her arms and pills forced down her throat. Protests mean the Mayor is called, and that means that horrible, assessing stare through the hole in the door. It means those sickly-sweet questions about how she’s feeling, the condescension about how she has to want to get better.
Dirt in her mouth, lies on her tongue, and Belle doesn’t want to get better if better means forgetting. She won’t answer to the name that isn’t hers.
She won’t forget him, not ever. She promised forever. They made a deal.
All deals are final. No further negotiation is possible.
Sometimes she can’t stand it, the memories in her head pounding against each other. Sometimes she screams, hits the walls in impotent rage even though she knows what will follow. She can’t bear it, this captivity, and she cannot think how he bore it for so many long months.
She can’t bear it, and she calls his name, she screams for him until her throat is raw. She has never wanted to be the princess in the tower in need of rescuing, but she begs for rescue now. The nurses come running and wrestle her to the floor. Knock her out, drug her up, and she wakes tied to the bed. Straps across her chest and legs and arms, a gag in her mouth, and she screams against it but nobody comes, nobody cares.
Perhaps, she thinks, nobody knows she’s here. Only the Queen, who comes and stares at her. She has a father in this world, but he never comes.
Perhaps, she thinks, the whole world believes she is dead. That one of her suicide attempts was a success - and she can remember them, sometimes, remember the pills in her mouth and the blood on her arms. Perhaps there’s a gravestone somewhere in the town’s graveyard, her fake name on it and false dates marking the start and end of her life.
Perhaps that’s why nobody else ever comes.
* * *
One day the door opens and it isn’t the nurses - isn’t the Mayor. It’s a young woman, blonde hair and metal star on the belt at her waist. Sheriff, her false memories supply.
“Hey,” says the woman. “You’re Rose French, right?”
Belle says nothing, sure this is some trick. Perhaps it’s the medication, perhaps she’s hallucinating. She has been in here so long and nobody has ever come to visit her.
Besides, she will not answer to that name.
“I’m Emma Swan,” the woman continues. “I, uh…I’ve come to get you out of here.”
Belle laughs, and it’s a dry, rusty kind of laugh, bitter and pained. She can’t remember the last time she made any sound, and laughter seems as good a way as any to break the silence. The woman - Emma Swan - looks uncomfortable, and Belle tries to sit up, can’t quite manage it.
Lack of use has made her muscles weak.
“Out,” she says. “There is no out. There’s only here.”
“No,” says Swan, and she takes a step into the cell, braver than anyone else is. The nurses never come in alone, and Belle knows it’s because she’s supposed to be dangerous. “No, you can leave here. Regina can’t keep you here any longer.”
Regina; Queen. The Mayor. Belle shakes her head, feels dazed, her head clouded. She can’t think properly, can’t understand this woman who has come in and told her she can leave.
“You’ll have to stay in the hospital for a little while,” Swan says, “but not down here.” She glances around, grimaces in disgust. Belle looks around too, tries to see with this woman’s eyes. But she’s been here too long, she can’t see anything but the walls and the floor and the pain.
“Rose?” says Swan, and Belle shakes her head. “Come on,” she says, “let’s get you out of her.”
“Let me.”
Belle is still, frozen in place and shivers running down her spine. She knows that voice. Knows it the way she knows her own heartbeat, and she tries to sit up again, stares at the doorway and feels hope rising wildly within her. She had almost forgotten what hope feels like.
Then a silhouette in the doorway, a man with a cane, and he pushes past Sheriff Swan, limps towards her. Belle squints against the light, for a moment can’t see him clearly.
He sits on the bed next to her, takes her hand, and she looks up at him. The face is different, the hair and the eyes and the colour of his skin. Two sets of memories work in her head, one life insisting she knows him and the other insisting she doesn’t.
“Do you know who I am, dearie?” he asks her gently. Belle can’t speak, holds his hand tightly and remembers the last time she held his hand in hers. Remembers iron bars and rules governing her conduct, and warnings about happily ever afters.
“Gold, you shouldn’t - ” Swan begins, but he shakes his head, glances back at her with a scowl.
“Hush,” he says curtly, and he turns back to Belle, expression gentle and hopeful once more. “Do you know me?” he asks again.
“Yes,” Belle whispers. Yes, she knows this man sitting beside her, even though she’s never seen him before. She clutches at his hand, tries to sit up again, and he helps her. Puts an arm beneath her shoulders and gently eases her upright. Belle licks her lips, tries to find words.
She’s been told she’s crazy for so long she’d almost started to believe it - almost started to believe she’d never known a being called Rumplestiltskin. The deal-maker, the truth-speaker. She’d almost started to believe she’d never lived in a magic castle and watched him spin straw into gold.
“Are you a man?” she whispers at last.
“Yes,” he says, and his arm is still around her shoulders, her hand in his. He doesn’t move away from her, and she doesn’t want him to. This is the closest she’s been to anyone except the nurses in longer than she can remember.
“No more happy ever afters,” she says brokenly, and he sighs, pulls her closer to him. She can smell his cologne, feel his hair against her cheek.
“That depends on your definition, dearie,” he says. He’s warm and comfortable, and she fits against him as if they’ve never been parted. She closes her eyes, lifts her free hand to grasp his shirt.
“You and me,” she mutters. “Forever. I promised.”
“Aye, you did,” he says. “You wouldn’t be going back on that now, would you, dearie?” He’s laughing at her, and Belle smiles, opens her eyes and lifts her head to look at him.
“Never,” she says. “I promised.”
“Alright, then. Now, will you let the lovely Miss Swan help you out of here?” He grins, a flash of the Rumplestiltskin she remembers in the bared teeth and dark eyes. “Not home quite yet, I’m afraid, but soon enough.”
“Home,” murmurs Belle. “And - and she won’t get me again?”
Darkness in his eyes, hatred on his face for a moment, and he looks so like himself. It reassures her as nothing else has, reassures her that she is not insane. This is Rumplestiltskin, and he is hers. Forever.
“No,” he says. “She won’t have you ever again.”
Belle nods, and lets him slide from her grasp, watches as he stands up and leans on his cane. There are questions she wants to ask, answers she needs to hear, but it can wait. It can all wait.
He’s here, and he will keep her safe.
Comments are love.
Rating: T
Word count: ~11,280
Characters/Pairings: Rumplestiltskin, Belle, brief appearances from the Queen, Snow White, Prince James, and Emma Swan.
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me, including characters and borrowed storylines.
Notes: First Once Upon A Time fic. New fandom love!
Summary: “Why did you come back?” he asks her. Her first answer dies on her lips; she cannot trick the trickster. “I met a woman on the road,” she says.
Part One
One day Rumplestiltskin goes out, and he does not come back.
Belle doesn’t worry at first. Sometimes he disappears for days at a time, hunting for something he wants or executing a particularly complicated - often, she suspects, particularly nasty - deal.
He came back, once, after a week away, covered in weeds and slime. Belle hadn’t asked where he’d been, had run him a bath and tried not to laugh at him. Another time he’d come back so full of energy he was almost bouncing off the walls, and he’d danced her around the room before making love to her next to the spinning wheel.
So she’s used to it, and she isn’t lonely without him. She tends her garden, continues her reorganisation of the library, sleeps alone in their bed. She takes the opportunity of his absence to clean the windows in the dining room, the tall ones that mean she has to go up a ladder and balance precariously. He doesn’t like her doing that, claims she’s far too prone to falls, but they need doing.
A week passes, and Belle starts to get anxious. She sits at his spinning wheel and sends the wheel whirling around, stands at the window and watches the road, even though he rarely uses roads to travel.
It might be nothing, she tells herself. Any number of things could have happened to delay him.
It might be nothing, but another week passes, and Belle gives up cleaning, gives up keeping the castle in order. She sits at his wheel and waits for him, plays with her golden necklace and waits.
She tries calling for him once, tries using the necklace to call for him. She whispers his name, speaks it, screams it until she’s hoarse, but he does not come. It’s then that she knows he cannot come. Cannot, because he would come if he could.
Something is preventing it, and she remembers the Queen’s dark eyes and dark smirk. Remembers all the stories Rumplestiltskin has told her about deals that have turned out in his favour. The enemies he has made over the many long years since he became what he is.
And she knows then that she can no longer wait.
Belle has no magic, has nothing but her own two feet to take her, and the kingdoms are vast. She packs a bag with warm clothing and another with provisions. Gold she has - the castle is full of gold, spun from straw by Rumplestiltskin’s magic. She buries it in the bag, hides some in her corset. Enough to get somewhere to hear news of him, or so she hopes. She does not think of the journey back, forces herself to believe that she will find him, release him from whatever captivity has befallen him. And then they will return together.
She puts shutters in all the windows, bolts all the doors, puts large dustsheets over the furniture. She picks up her bags and goes to the great entrance doors, closes them behind her, turns the key in the lock and presses her palms to the thick wood.
“Don’t let anyone in,” she whispers. “Nobody is allowed in except me and Rumplestiltskin.” The castle isn’t sentient, of course, but there are layers upon layers of spells within its walls, years of magic use building up to create something that is almost alive. She feels the wood under her hand tremble, knows the castle has responded.
Nobody will enter it while she is gone; the Queen will not discover its secrets, and nobody will break down the doors to find Rumplestiltskin’s gold. The castle will remain closed until she returns - and she will return, whether she finds Rumplestiltskin or not.
This is her home now, as well as his.
She goes to the town first, goes to the local inn, orders a drink and listens to the conversations around her. The price of wheat, the ogre wars, the recent disappearance of Prince Thomas, poor Princess Cinderella left alone with a baby. She knows about Cinderella. Rumplestiltskin had made a deal with her - her baby for the chance to become something more than she had been.
Belle has spent years hiding her wish for a child, felt almost sick when Rumplestiltskin had told her about the deal. He’s made similar deals in the past, and the babies always go to good homes, but still…
She thinks they’re connected, somehow, that deal and Rumplestiltskin’s disappearance. It’s too coincidental - a deal gone wrong, a prince disappearing, and then Rumplestiltskin…
Finally she hears something; finally she hears a whisper of his name. She tries not to look as though she’s listening, sips her drink and eavesdrops shamelessly.
Rumplestiltskin, they say, isn’t a threat anymore. He’s gone, they’ve caught him, he will never escape. They. Belle listens, tries to find out who has him. They, not her - not the Queen, then, but somebody else.
Rumplestiltskin is trapped in a dungeon, she hears. Tricked by Princes James and Thomas, aided by Cinderella. Rendered powerless, his magic as trapped as he. Powerless, something that he hasn’t experienced in centuries, and her heart aches for him.
Her heart aches, and she feels anger stirring at the people who have done this to him. And yet how can she blame them? She knows what he has done, the deals he’s made and the enemies he’s gathered. She can’t blame them, but she can be angry despite her understanding.
The men laugh, pleased by their conversation, pleased that the monster is finally caged. Belle bits her lip so hard she tastes blood to keep from speaking. She pulls her hood over her head to hide her features, finishes her drink and leaves the inn.
She has a long journey ahead of her.
* * *
She is exhausted, and dirty, and her feet ache more than she can describe. But she is here. She is standing in the throne room, looking at the young rulers before her, ready to make her request.
“Please, sit,” says Snow White gently to her. “Would you like something to eat?” Belle knows what she must look like, knows Snow White means only kindness, but she shakes her head.
“I want to see Rumplestiltskin,” she says. The name sends a ripple of whispering around the court, and Snow White glances at her husband, rests a hand protectively on her belly. She is expecting a child, and Belle spares a moment to feel that familiar envy. The one thing she cannot have.
“I - why would you want that?” Snow White asks slowly. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Belle,” she says. She is unknown to them, she sees; she doesn’t leave the castle often enough to be widely known. The closest towns and villages know of her, she’s sure, but it’s been so long since she left her home to save it, since she joined Rumplestiltskin. Her name has faded from memory.
“Belle,” says James, “please come and sit down.” He offers his arm and Belle accepts reluctantly, allows him to lead her from the throne room into a smaller council room. Snow White follows, closes the door behind them, pours Belle a glass of water.
“Now,” says Snow, “tell us why you want to see him. You know he’s dangerous.”
Belle sips the water, lifts a hand to play with her necklace. She does not want to give these people - well-meaning though they may be - any leverage to use against him. And yet she cannot think how to gain access to him without telling the truth.
Without explaining her relationship with Rumplestiltskin. Even then…
Well, it’s not as if they’re married, and Belle isn’t sure even marriage would be enough.
“He’s my -” But she chokes on the words, has to close her eyes to fight back tears. It’s been so long since she set out from the Dark Castle to find him. Now he is so close, she knows he is close, and she knows that she has hardly any chance of seeing him.
“Did you make a deal with him?” James asks her gently. “Because you have to know he can’t hold you to it any longer. He’s trapped, we’ve taken his power away.”
Belle laughs bitterly, shakes her head. “Trapped,” she says. “No, I didn’t…well, I suppose I did make a deal, but it was so long ago…” She puts the glass of water down, looks at the two young royals before her. She wonders how to explain, what to say.
She decides on truth, because truth had gained her Rumplestiltskin’s love in the first place.
“He’s my lover,” she says. “We’ve lived together for…I don’t even know how long.” She pauses, both to consider how long it’s been and to allow them a moment to get over the shock of her words. “Nearly fifteen years,” she says at last. “The ogre wars were threatening my village, and I made a deal with him.”
“Fifteen years - you were a child,” says Snow, horrified, but Belle shakes her head.
“I was seventeen,” she says, doesn’t bother to explain the strange magic the castle has worked on her to keep her from aging. “I knew what I was doing.” She glances between them, sees disgust badly hidden on James’ face. “I didn’t become his lover then,” she adds. “That was later. But please, can I see him?”
“No,” says James at once. “I’m sorry, but no. He’s too dangerous.”
“He would never harm me,” says Belle. “And you said yourself, he has no power now.” Snow and James look at each other, and Snow’s hand is at her rounded belly once more. There’s a story there, but Belle is uninterested. All she wants is to see Rumplestiltskin again. “I’m not asking you to release him,” she says carefully, although there’s little more she’d like than to see him freed. “Just…I need to see him.”
“Do you love him?” Snow asks her then. There’s curiosity in her sweet face, confusion too but mostly curiosity. “How can you love something so - so evil?”
Belle glances away, shakes her head. “Love is strange,” she murmurs. “And there is worse evil in the world.” She thinks of the Queen, that dark malevolence. Rumplestiltskin had never allowed her into his home again after she had grasped Belle’s arm tightly and looked at her like…
Like Belle was her enemy just as much as Rumplestiltskin. She can’t quite suppress a shiver. Yes, there is worse evil in the world than Rumplestiltskin, who only became what he is for love of his child.
“I think we should let her, James,” says Snow White at last.
“No,” says James. “He’s too dangerous, even locked up. You know that.” They share a look, loaded with their own secrets, and Belle takes another sip of water, knows that this moment is crucial. She does not, cannot, know what they do not speak. She isn’t sure she cares what is hidden in their gaze, what secrets they hold or what fears make Snow White clutch at her stomach as if she wants to protect her unborn child.
She isn’t sure she cares, as long as she is allowed to see Rumplestiltskin.
“Alright,” James says at last, although it’s clearly with great reluctance. “Alright, fine. But you do everything I tell you,” he tells Belle. “You stay back from the cell, don’t touch him, don’t pass him anything -”
“Whatever you say,” says Belle quickly. “As long as I can see him.”
* * *
The cell isn’t in the dungeons; it’s far, far below, deep into the rock, and the cell bars are made of iron. Magic repellent, Belle knows. After so long in a magic castle and with a magical lover, she can feel it a little. There’s magic embedded in the cell and the rock, but it shies away from the bars.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon, your highness.”
Rumplestiltskin’s voice, emerging from the darkness at the back of the cell, directed at James. Her face is hidden by her hood; he hasn’t realised who his visitors are, Belle knows.
“Someone to see you,” says James roughly. He turns to her, puts his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, and Belle nods, doesn’t trust herself to speak. “Then remember what I said. Not too close to the bars. Five minutes only.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “Thank you.” He nods, steps away from her, and Belle makes her way forward to the cell. Rumplestiltskin emerges from the shadows, and she lowers her hood, reveals herself. His shock is visible only for a moment; he glances over her shoulder, at James who is standing just far away that he will not hear them if they murmur.
“What are you doing here?” Rumplestiltskin demands, a breathless whisper, and Belle stops just far enough from the bars. If she reaches out, she could brush her fingertips across them. No closer; she knows the rules.
“I came to find you,” she whispers. “I had to find you.”
Rumplestiltskin lifts a hand as if he wants to reach out for her, smirks a little. “Miss me, did you, dearie?” Belle gives him a withering look, doesn’t bother to answer. “You shouldn’t have come,” he says then, and Belle nods.
“I know,” she says. “But I had to.” He nods, says nothing. For long moments they stand silent, facing each other through the bars of the cell.
They’re both acutely aware of James and the guards, just a few yards away from them. Watching them. Belle clenches her hands into fists, wishes she could reach out and touch him. Kiss him.
It’s been two months since she saw him last, since he disappeared. Looking at him through cell bars and being unable to touch might be the hardest thing she has ever done.
“What happened?” she asks eventually, and he snarls, turns away from her for a moment - only a moment, is drawn back to her at once, presses himself up against the bars and reaches out a hand. She wants to take it, wants to touch him, but doesn’t dare.
“Cinderella,” he says, and laughs. “Poor thing. Made a deal and didn’t want to keep it. Still, all deals are final.” All deals are final, and Belle pities the person who thinks otherwise. “She tricked me,” Rumplestiltskin says after a moment, dark and foreboding. “Still, until the payment’s made, she won’t see her beloved again.”
Belle closes her eyes against tears. “And neither will I,” she whispers. He says nothing, and Belle lifts her hands, covers her face. “I asked you to be safe,” she murmurs. “I assumed it would be the Queen.”
“Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes, that would have been expected. Still, life is full of unexpected surprises, dearie.” Belle nods, drops her hands and looks at him. To anyone else, he might seem uncaring. But Belle has spent years unwrapping the riddle of Rumplestiltskin; she knows him better than anybody else. She sees the longing, the despair, the rage.
She sees it all.
“It’s not forever, dearie,” he says then. “Nothing is, you know.”
“We are,” says Belle. “We’re forever. I promised you forever.”
“Yes, we made that deal,” he murmurs. “Belle…” He reaches out to her, stretches through the bar, and Belle doesn’t care about the guards, doesn’t care about Prince James. She lifts her hands, links their fingers together, holds onto him so tightly it must hurt, but he’s holding just as tight. She hears commotion behind her, guards rushing forward, but she keeps hold of his hand. After a moment, she hears the prince ordering the guards back.
Perhaps it’s compassion; perhaps it’s curiosity. She doesn’t care, she concentrates on the feel of Rumplestiltskin’s hand in hers.
“You see the future,” she breathes. “This can’t be forever. Tell me it’s not forever!”
Rumplestiltskin doesn’t answer for a moment; his hand grips hers tightly as he looks at her, considering.
“It’s not,” he says at last. “It’s not forever, dearie. But there’s no happily ever after here.” He grins, bares teeth. “Not for us. But then why should I deserve one?” Belle shakes her head, wants to protest but can’t find the words. Rumplestiltskin’s grin fades, and he is more serious now as he has ever been. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he whispers to her. “I’m sorry, dearie.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispers in return. “As long as you come back to me.” He says nothing, and she shivers, is afraid. “Rumplestiltskin?”
His hands slides from hers; he withdraws into the shadows of the cell. “No more happy endings,” he says. “Go home, Belle.”
“Alright, that’s long enough,” says James, and he comes towards her, takes her arm and pulls her away from the cell. Belle doesn’t resist, but she keeps looking back, keeps watching Rumplestiltskin until the darkness swallows him.
* * *
They ask her to stay, Snow White and her prince, but it’s too polite to be a genuine offer. She makes them uncomfortable; her existence, her relationship to the caged creature far below the castle. Belle thanks them for the offer, declines it, and Snow White looks at her as if she understands, a little. She offers a carriage, then, to take her wherever she wishes, and Belle does accept that. It had taken a month to get here, mostly by foot, and Belle is tired. She wants to go home and become used to the loss.
So she accepts the carriage, and she is home within a fortnight.
The castle has been undisturbed in her absence. She isn’t sure whether the castle’s magic has kept it so, or whether people are still too afraid of Rumplestiltskin to dare venture near his home, but either way the door opens to her touch and reveals everything is as she left it.
He’d said it isn’t forever, but he hadn’t said how long it would be, and Belle can’t go back to see him. He’d told her to come here, and she knows it’s because he’s afraid for her - and anyway, even if she does try to see him again, she’s fairly sure Snow White and James will prevent it.
They don’t understand, but she knows they cannot hope to begin. Love is layered, she’d said to Rumplestiltskin once, so many years ago, and love of Rumplestiltskin is a layered mystery that even she does not understand all the time.
She returns to her usual routine, cleans the castle and tends to the garden. She reads more than usual, stays up late at night and sleeps until the morning is almost past. She hates going to bed, misses him most at night. When he’s here, there are often long hours together where they hardly see each other, but they have slept in the same bed since…
For many years, and Belle makes a greater effort to note the passing of time now she’s alone. She counts the days, marks off the weeks. It is important, somehow, to know how much time has passed since she saw him, even though she has no idea when she will see him again - if she ever does.
But they’d made a deal; she’d promised forever. And if the deal doesn’t mean the same anymore, that doesn’t make her promise any less important.
She goes into town more often as well, listening for news. It’s there that she hears whispers of the Queen, finds out what happened to her - banishment, after her evil was revealed to the world - and hears too of the threat the Queen had made at Snow White’s wedding.
She threatened to destroy Snow White’s happiness, everyone’s happiness, and Belle remembers Rumplestiltskin’s words. No more happy endings, he’d said. Rumplestiltskin sees the future, and Belle knows it will come to pass. It is only a matter of time. All she can do is wait, and hope.
Hope that whatever happens, whatever the Queen has planned, it will at least lead to Rumplestiltskin’s release. Even if they cannot be together, she wants him free.
He is not a creature suited to being caged.
Weeks pass, and months pass, and finally the day comes. Belle stands in Rumplestiltskin’s study and stares out of the window as the darkness sweeps across the land. Devouring, consuming, a storm passing across the land and she cannot see what it leaves in its wake.
She cannot see, because there is nothing to see. Just darkness, and Belle is more afraid now than she ever has been in her life. She clutches her necklace and calls uselessly, hopelessly, for Rumplestiltskin. But of course he does not come, and Belle starts to cry as the darkness moves inexorably closer.
It eats the garden, gobbles up the grounds of the castle. It comes with a wind, and the wind seems to be blowing away existence, blowing the things around her into dust and nothingness.
The last thing she says is his name; her last thoughts are of him. Then the darkness rips into her, and Belle is swept away from the world.
For a long time she knows nothing. She, and everyone else, exists in something like a state of unconsciousness. Something like, except there is a vague awareness that she does exist, that she is still alive, that keeps it from being true unconsciousness. And when she wakes, it is with a sense of coming up for air after being a long time underwater.
Belle wakes in a cell. Disoriented, dazed, she staggers to her feet and finds she is barefoot and clothed in a kind of loose shift. There are people in the cell with her, and one of them wrestles her to the ground while the other wrenches her arm. Belle cries out, struggles, and something pricks at her arm.
An injection, she recognises, and isn’t sure how she knows that. Sedation. She is in…she is…
Two sets of memories war in her brain, but the injection works fast, and she loses herself with Rumplestiltskin’s name on her lips.
* * *
“How are you feeling today, Rose?”
Belle doesn’t bother answer. She knows this woman - Queen and Mayor overlapping each other in her mind - and knows her best defence is silence. She’s tried speaking before, tried asking questions or answering those put to her. It always leads to more sedation, more pills forced down her throat or needles stuck in her veins.
She doesn’t know how long she’s been here; time is more nebulous now than it ever was in Rumplestiltskin’s castle.
“You know we can only help you if you cooperate, Rose,” says the Mayor, and Belle’s mouth twists into a scowl before she can suppress the reaction. “Don’t you want to get better?”
Belle bites her tongue, tastes blood. Better. She is ill, or so they tell her. They say her name is Rose French, they say she is mentally unstable, they say she tried to harm herself. Tried to kill herself. She can remember it, but it’s faded. Unreal. Memories of another person’s life.
Her name is not Rose French. Her name is Belle, and her lover is Rumplestiltskin the deal-maker, and she does not belong here.
The Mayor says her name again - fake name, fake existence, fake world - and then she leaves, closes the slot in the door and leaves Belle alone in the cell.
Imprisoned, just as Rumplestiltskin before her, and Belle can only hope that in this strange new world he is free. If their positions have been reversed, he will be.
The drugs they give her make her hazy, make it hard to think clearly. Sometimes she remembers Rumplestiltskin, and sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes there is a fiancé in her memories, sometimes there is a chipped cup, sometimes she remembers standing at a window and crying as the world dissolved around her…
Sometimes she can think of nothing, stares at the ceiling and counts the tiles. Sometimes even that is too much thought and effort.
The Queen comes to visit her, and Belle thinks it might be at regular intervals but she loses whole days to the sedation. They tell her she’s violent, they tell her it’s for her own good.
The Queen looks at her and smirks, and Belle wishes she were violent, wishes she could smack the smirk from her face, but the Queen never comes into her cell.
Belle is alone. Always alone.
Because there are no more happy endings.
She wonders, in her more lucid moments - in the snatched moments between drug rounds, between one pill and the next injection - why she remembers. Nobody else does, she thinks, but she remembers both lives.
Nobody else but the Queen. She never says anything, never lets on, but Belle sees the truth. Belle knows why she is here. She is not here because she is unstable or insane or anything else the Queen says. She is here because she knows the truth.
Like Rumplestiltskin, she is now truth-speaker. Like him, she is caged because she is dangerous.
She cannot hold onto these thoughts, cannot hold onto herself. Her father the knight, her father the florist. Her fiancé who found her half-dead after an overdose, her lover the feared creature Rumplestiltskin.
They tell her she is crazy, and perhaps she is.
Perhaps they all are.
The nurses cut her hair when she’s sedated. Wash her by shoving her into a cold shower, without bothering to let her undress. Stick her full of needles when she protests. Shove her back into her room and laugh when she falls.
Sometimes she thinks they don’t feed her; sometimes hunger gnaws at her belly.
But she doesn’t protest. Protests bring drugs, needles stuck in her arms and pills forced down her throat. Protests mean the Mayor is called, and that means that horrible, assessing stare through the hole in the door. It means those sickly-sweet questions about how she’s feeling, the condescension about how she has to want to get better.
Dirt in her mouth, lies on her tongue, and Belle doesn’t want to get better if better means forgetting. She won’t answer to the name that isn’t hers.
She won’t forget him, not ever. She promised forever. They made a deal.
All deals are final. No further negotiation is possible.
Sometimes she can’t stand it, the memories in her head pounding against each other. Sometimes she screams, hits the walls in impotent rage even though she knows what will follow. She can’t bear it, this captivity, and she cannot think how he bore it for so many long months.
She can’t bear it, and she calls his name, she screams for him until her throat is raw. She has never wanted to be the princess in the tower in need of rescuing, but she begs for rescue now. The nurses come running and wrestle her to the floor. Knock her out, drug her up, and she wakes tied to the bed. Straps across her chest and legs and arms, a gag in her mouth, and she screams against it but nobody comes, nobody cares.
Perhaps, she thinks, nobody knows she’s here. Only the Queen, who comes and stares at her. She has a father in this world, but he never comes.
Perhaps, she thinks, the whole world believes she is dead. That one of her suicide attempts was a success - and she can remember them, sometimes, remember the pills in her mouth and the blood on her arms. Perhaps there’s a gravestone somewhere in the town’s graveyard, her fake name on it and false dates marking the start and end of her life.
Perhaps that’s why nobody else ever comes.
* * *
One day the door opens and it isn’t the nurses - isn’t the Mayor. It’s a young woman, blonde hair and metal star on the belt at her waist. Sheriff, her false memories supply.
“Hey,” says the woman. “You’re Rose French, right?”
Belle says nothing, sure this is some trick. Perhaps it’s the medication, perhaps she’s hallucinating. She has been in here so long and nobody has ever come to visit her.
Besides, she will not answer to that name.
“I’m Emma Swan,” the woman continues. “I, uh…I’ve come to get you out of here.”
Belle laughs, and it’s a dry, rusty kind of laugh, bitter and pained. She can’t remember the last time she made any sound, and laughter seems as good a way as any to break the silence. The woman - Emma Swan - looks uncomfortable, and Belle tries to sit up, can’t quite manage it.
Lack of use has made her muscles weak.
“Out,” she says. “There is no out. There’s only here.”
“No,” says Swan, and she takes a step into the cell, braver than anyone else is. The nurses never come in alone, and Belle knows it’s because she’s supposed to be dangerous. “No, you can leave here. Regina can’t keep you here any longer.”
Regina; Queen. The Mayor. Belle shakes her head, feels dazed, her head clouded. She can’t think properly, can’t understand this woman who has come in and told her she can leave.
“You’ll have to stay in the hospital for a little while,” Swan says, “but not down here.” She glances around, grimaces in disgust. Belle looks around too, tries to see with this woman’s eyes. But she’s been here too long, she can’t see anything but the walls and the floor and the pain.
“Rose?” says Swan, and Belle shakes her head. “Come on,” she says, “let’s get you out of her.”
“Let me.”
Belle is still, frozen in place and shivers running down her spine. She knows that voice. Knows it the way she knows her own heartbeat, and she tries to sit up again, stares at the doorway and feels hope rising wildly within her. She had almost forgotten what hope feels like.
Then a silhouette in the doorway, a man with a cane, and he pushes past Sheriff Swan, limps towards her. Belle squints against the light, for a moment can’t see him clearly.
He sits on the bed next to her, takes her hand, and she looks up at him. The face is different, the hair and the eyes and the colour of his skin. Two sets of memories work in her head, one life insisting she knows him and the other insisting she doesn’t.
“Do you know who I am, dearie?” he asks her gently. Belle can’t speak, holds his hand tightly and remembers the last time she held his hand in hers. Remembers iron bars and rules governing her conduct, and warnings about happily ever afters.
“Gold, you shouldn’t - ” Swan begins, but he shakes his head, glances back at her with a scowl.
“Hush,” he says curtly, and he turns back to Belle, expression gentle and hopeful once more. “Do you know me?” he asks again.
“Yes,” Belle whispers. Yes, she knows this man sitting beside her, even though she’s never seen him before. She clutches at his hand, tries to sit up again, and he helps her. Puts an arm beneath her shoulders and gently eases her upright. Belle licks her lips, tries to find words.
She’s been told she’s crazy for so long she’d almost started to believe it - almost started to believe she’d never known a being called Rumplestiltskin. The deal-maker, the truth-speaker. She’d almost started to believe she’d never lived in a magic castle and watched him spin straw into gold.
“Are you a man?” she whispers at last.
“Yes,” he says, and his arm is still around her shoulders, her hand in his. He doesn’t move away from her, and she doesn’t want him to. This is the closest she’s been to anyone except the nurses in longer than she can remember.
“No more happy ever afters,” she says brokenly, and he sighs, pulls her closer to him. She can smell his cologne, feel his hair against her cheek.
“That depends on your definition, dearie,” he says. He’s warm and comfortable, and she fits against him as if they’ve never been parted. She closes her eyes, lifts her free hand to grasp his shirt.
“You and me,” she mutters. “Forever. I promised.”
“Aye, you did,” he says. “You wouldn’t be going back on that now, would you, dearie?” He’s laughing at her, and Belle smiles, opens her eyes and lifts her head to look at him.
“Never,” she says. “I promised.”
“Alright, then. Now, will you let the lovely Miss Swan help you out of here?” He grins, a flash of the Rumplestiltskin she remembers in the bared teeth and dark eyes. “Not home quite yet, I’m afraid, but soon enough.”
“Home,” murmurs Belle. “And - and she won’t get me again?”
Darkness in his eyes, hatred on his face for a moment, and he looks so like himself. It reassures her as nothing else has, reassures her that she is not insane. This is Rumplestiltskin, and he is hers. Forever.
“No,” he says. “She won’t have you ever again.”
Belle nods, and lets him slide from her grasp, watches as he stands up and leans on his cane. There are questions she wants to ask, answers she needs to hear, but it can wait. It can all wait.
He’s here, and he will keep her safe.
Comments are love.