She was never hesitant to touch him. Others shrank back from his rather gruesome form, but his silly, little maid was all smiles and laughs. She touched his arm after everything: bringing him tea, meals, straw, when saying good morning or goodnight. Her small hand would touch or sometimes even gently squeeze his upper arm or shoulder. He didn't understand her and, no, he certainly did not notice (or like) these simple gestures. Nope, absolutely not.

The first time she'd taken his hand the touch seemed to burn him. He stared at her smooth, porcelain skin on top of his scaly, dry greenish skin and immediately snatched his hand away. She ignored it for the most part, but he caught the slight droop of her eyes and worried nibble of her lower lip. A flash of guilt came over him and he quickly opened his mouth to explain that she shouldn't be in contact with such darkness, such ugliness. She was too good, too pure. But his mouth shut again just as quickly and she took her leave, mumbling something about laundry. He avoided he pretty steadily after that.

She'd stopped crying at night, sleeping actually rather soundly. (Sleeping better meant working better. That's why he had moved her from the dungeon to a guest room in the tower. Yeah, that was the only reason.) So he instantly jumped and had to swallow panic as he heard a sharp cry come from her bedroom. He sprinted up the steps, forgetting he could just snap his fingers and appear there, nearly tripping, to get to her. She'd been kidnapped before and he had no shortage of enemies. His heart beating out of his chest, he threw open her door.

"Belle!"

His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and he saw no intruder. There was no trace or presence of magic, either. Calming down, he finally looked to the bed.

His maid was rigid, upright and he saw her eyes were still closed. He cautiously came closer. She didn't stir. He unsurely reached and shook her shoulder. Her gasp made him fly back. Her blue eyes opened wide and panic again seized him as they instantly welled with tears that began gushing down her face.

He stood there awkwardly in the center of the room, hands clenched in helpless fists at his sides. Her eyes found him through the streaming tears after a minute. She reached for him. Time stood still and his breathing stopped as he took hesitant steps towards her. He slowly stretched his hand out to her. The grip she held him with caused a gust of air to burst from his lungs. She clung to his hand with both of hers as wracking sobs plagued her. This was different from the other times; this was much more than that. He slowly knelt beside her as her strained voice choked through her throat,

"M-My mother… the library… the ogres-ripping her apart…" His heart sunk. He knew these night terrors well. He used to always dream of Bae being drafted and dying horrendously in the war. But Belle's mother actually had died. He let her cry, giving soft pressure to her hand.

"I can give you something," he said gently after she'd started to quiet. "It'll let you sleep and no longer have those dreams."

She shook her head and, if it was possible, gripped his hand even tighter. "No… no, would you," she looked up at him, eyes boring into his very soul. "Would you just… stay?" He immediately thought of a hundred excuses, but all that came out of his mouth was,

"Alright."

She laid back down, not releasing him, adjusted her blankets with her free hand, and pulled their joined ones up, pressing the back of his to her cheek. She then closed her still wet eyes.

"Thank you… Rumple."

Warmth spread through him at that… and boy, was that terrifying.