Aftermath
The two figures stumbled into the pink house together, the man's arm over the woman's shoulder, held tight to one another as if afraid to let go. The moment the door closed behind them, she was in his arms, unmindful of his condition, pressing fevered kisses to his much beloved face, and he gave himself to them, unwilling or unable to stop. They stayed like that in the front hall kissing as if their lives depending on it, and perhaps it did. After who knew who long, he slowly pulled himself away from her reluctantly, not far enough to release her, but just enough to put a little distance between them.
"Belle, you shouldn't, I'm..." he looked down at himself in disgust. His suit was covered in mud, in blood, and who knew what else, and he probably smelled, though he had stopped noticing at some point. There were streaks of dirt on her white blouse already, at least he hoped they were dirt.
"I don't care; don't you know that by now, you silly man? I don't care if you have been out rolling with the pigs. You were dead, and then..."
There were tears rolling down her cheeks and he couldn't help but kiss them away. The Witch was gone, defeated and dead, but the cost had been high. He looked at her once more. They had their second chance, but it had cost so much, the life of his son, the son he had sacrificed so very much for, torn the world apart for. In the end had given his own life to give him this chance, and he swore he would do nothing to throw it away. He couldn't bring Bae back; even magic had it's limits. Besides, his son wouldn't thank him for it. The only thing he could do was live every day honouring his sacrifice by protecting those he-those they both-had loved, starting with Belle.
Rumplestiltskin was a filthy mess and he knew it. The suit was ruined, and his body was dirty. Only his perfectly shaved chin stood in contrast, a reminder of her power over him. It had all been about humiliating him, making him crawl and showing him what she could do, how far she would go. One flick of his magic and he could change all that of course, but he wouldn't. Right now, he just didn't have it in him. Instead, he and Belle dragged themselves upstairs to the bathroom.
Once in that room, he began to tear off the offending garments. Belle left him for a moment, leaving him to strip off in private, though it was nothing she hadn't seen before; still she knew as she always did, when he needed time. She returned with her favourite pair of his silk pajamas. How he had missed those. She brought a silk nightdress for herself, one he had gotten her before. Fittingly, it was gold. She turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until it was just right, hot enough to warm his bones after the cold and damp of his basement cell.
Rumplestiltskin had always hated cages, and the Wicked Witch had known that, or guessed it. She made sure that his cage was as degrading as possible, deliberately keeping him like a dog in a kennel to be petted or whipped at her whim. But he refused to think about that, not now. He stepped into the hot shower, sighing with relief and pleasure at the sting of the water.
A moment later, Belle joined him. Wordlessly, she rinsed a clean wash cloth with his soap, the one that she loved-woodsy; she said it reminded her of him before- and if it pleased her, he was pleased. Belle gently began to wash away the accumulated filth of a year spent in captivity, taking some of the pain and humiliation away with the touch of loving hands. Rumplestiltskin could feel himself come back to life, truly feeling alive for the first time since his death, beneath her caress. He could feel the man beneath the monster emerge from hiding.
When she finished rinsing off, touching him, reminding him of her love, he took another wash cloth and began to return the favour, soapy hands traveling the well-worn and familiar paths of her body, like a man walking a forest trail that he had not been down in a long time. It was returning home.
Finally, they were both clean, standing wrapped around each other under the fall of the shower, just holding each other, stroking and reassuring. Belle drew him from the shower with a kiss. She helped him dress in the clean night clothes before allowing him to drop the nightgown over her form. Tomorrow, tomorrow there would be more kisses and love making, two souls reconnecting after their separation, two souls meant to be as one. But for tonight, there was a different kind of intimacy. There was warmth and comfort, and just being able to hold her.
Rumplestiltskin turned as she drew him from the bathroom. He saw the pitiful remains of the suit he had been wearing since he had died in it, since his returned to this world, a reminder of pain and horror in a black and stinking heap on the floor. With a flick of his wrist, they vanished, cursed into oblivion. Tomorrow was, after all, a brand new start, a brand new day.