Title: Promises

Rating: K+

Word count: 2557

Characters/Pairings: Rumplestiltskin, Belle, brief mention of Regina.

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me, including characters and borrowed storylines.

Notes: Spoilers for the s2 premiere.

Summary: He couldn't keep that promise, but Belle hopes he will keep this one.

She won't ask him to make any more promises, Belle decides, as his arms slide around her waist and she rests her head against his shoulder. If she doesn't ask for a promise, she won't be disappointed, for she knows her Rumplestiltskin. Words are his strength. He can twist words into anything he likes, and she won't let herself be disappointed again. He may repeat his mistakes, but Belle won't repeat her own.

But he's holding her close, his arms around her and his breath hitching a little in his chest, and Belle can forget about promises and magic and Regina, just for a moment. Just for a little while.

He exhales, and guides her head from his shoulder so she's looking at him. Belle doesn't think she's ever seen him look so hopeful, so joyful, and she smiles to see it and reaches up to kiss him again. Their third kiss. He's gentle and tentative – oh so afraid still – but his fingers are tight at her waist. He holds her tightly and pulls her against him so she can feel every inch of him up against her.

Every inch of him. Belle lifts her hands to his shoulders to help herself balance, because she feels a little dizzy, a little light-headed. She clutches at him, and the kiss deepens, and Belle knows there's still so much they have to talk about but she can't quite bring herself to care just now.

They part, and Belle strokes her fingers down his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted. Belle's breathing returns to normal while she waits for him to look at her once more, and when at last he opens his eyes, she smiles at him.

"We're going to be alright," she says. Rumplestiltskin flinches, just a little, and she knows what he's thinking. He was right, earlier, she's hardly known him at all here, but she knows him. She knows. "It's not going to be easy," she allows. "But I'm not going to let us be anything but alright."

"Oh, Belle," he sighs. He strokes his hand across her hair, tucks it behind her ear. "Sweetheart. I don't deserve you. I have never done anything to deserve you."

Belle bites her lip, glances away from him. Perhaps he hasn't – but perhaps he has, because there is the cup. The chipped cup. He's kept it all these years, and it's proof of his feelings. Proof that he wants more than he has. She smiles, and Rumplestiltskin tilts his head, eyebrows drawn together.

"You love me," she says, quiet and confident, gratified by the quick nod of his head. "You know what they say about true love," she goes on. "It's the most powerful magic."

Rumplestiltskin's mouth twists into a smile, and he nods again. "They do say that," he says.

"So." Belle smoothes his tie down, tucks away her smile and nods seriously. "We're going to be alright." She takes a step away from him, and his hands hover in the air, bereft. Belle reaches her hand out for his, tangles their fingers together. "And now," she says, "you're going to take me to get something to eat."

Rumplestiltskin huffs a laugh, and he lets her lead him from his back room out into the shop. "If you like," he agrees. "Although I'm fairly sure I'm no longer welcome at the diner."

"Now they remember?" Belle supposes, and he nods. "Well, home, then." She hears him take a sharp breath, and she smiles again, almost giddy in her happiness. Perhaps she shouldn't be happy, when he's broken a promise and used his power and tried to kill Regina. Perhaps she should think of those things, and not of how she loves him, or how he looks when she smiles at him. But she is happy, and she doesn't care, for now. Their future will be hard, but she doesn't care, because he loves her and that is enough. For now.

She turns back to look at him, and he's leaning on his stick, staring at her with a look that makes her think he doesn't believe what he's seeing. "Rumplestiltskin," she says, her giddiness faded into something quieter, something softer. "Rumplestiltskin. Take me home?"

"As you wish," he says, and he squeezes her hand. "Let me lock up the shop."

Belle waits by the door as he locks the cash register and pulls down the shutters in the front windows. Then he puts on his jacket and, hand in hand once more, they leave the shop. He locks the front door carefully behind them, and then leads her down the street.

Half of the streetlights are dead or emitting sparks; windows have been broken, and people around them are trying to sweep up the debris. A trail of destruction left by whatever it was that Rumplestiltskin had summoned or created to deal with Regina. She can only suppose that the people who'd come to visit him had taken care of it, as they'd said they would. She hopes Regina is alive, but that's not important right now. For now the only important thing is the man walking by her side, holding her hand.

They walk away from the centre of town, away from the chaos, from the destruction. Away from the people struggling to cope with a second life suddenly thrust back into their minds. Rumplestiltskin leads Belle into quieter streets, residential streets, and they do not speak as they walk. Belle is content merely to be with him and he seems more than content simply holding her hand.

She's tired, too, growing more weary with every step. Eight hours ago she had been a different person, a person locked in an asylum ward with no hope of ever escaping. Since then her world has altered so much, and she's exerted herself more than she has in years, more than is sensible. The walk out to the woods with Rumplestiltskin, and then back, and then the walk she'd taken when she'd left him, heart-sore that he hadn't kept his promise.

"Not long now," Rumplestiltskin murmurs, and he releases her hand, wraps his arm around her waist instead. Belle smiles a weary smile, and leans against him a little. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he adds after a moment. "You must be exhausted. I should have –"

"I'm tired," Belle interrupts, before he can continue, "but it's hardly your fault." She thinks he has enough to feel guilty about without adding her exhaustion to the list, and she won't let him shoulder what isn't his to bear. Food and sleep will help her, and she'll wake in the morning refreshed and restored. "But it's not far?" she asks, and he nods.

"The next street," he says. "Just along the end of this one, and a little down the next." He leads her on, and soon enough they reach his house. He unlocks the door and ushers her inside, and Belle stands just inside the door and looks around. It's a large house, and she compares it to the Dark Castle and thinks there aren't really so many differences.

"Through here," Rumplestiltskin directs, gesturing, and Belle sheds her shoes and goes through to the kitchen. He follows close behind, guides her to the table and pulls out a chair for her. "I'll make you something," he says. There's something a little desperate in his voice, a little pleading, and Belle knows what he's trying to do. She doesn't mind, not really. She'll put a stop to it before long, but for now she doesn't mind. He moves around the kitchen, and she puts her elbow on the table and rests her head in her hand. She watches him as he works, sees how he glances at her often, as if to make sure she's still there. She's missed watching him, she realises. She's missed so much.

He makes her a sandwich and a cup of herb tea, and he sits close beside her while she eats. She reaches out and rests her hand on his knee, and he covers her hand with his own. She needs to touch him as much as she thinks he needs to touch her, to have that reassurance that he is real and this is not just another dream.

She finishes her sandwich and drains her tea, and Rumplestiltskin rises and takes the dirty crockery to the sink. Then he comes back to her, holds out his hand to help her up, and Belle grips his hand tightly, stands and steps close to him. She leans against him, her head against his shoulder, and she stifles a yawn.

"I won't ask you to promise me anything else," she murmurs, and he sighs but says nothing. "Except – except one thing."

"Oh?" he asks, and there's an edge to his voice although he's trying to be soft, to be gentle. He doesn't want to promise her anything, no more than she wants to ask for his promises. She hopes he doesn't want to disappoint her again, for she knows if she asked for a promise that he didn't want to give, he'd promise and then twist her words to get his own way, just as he had with Regina. He is a master wordsmith; he is Rumplestiltskin. And he hasn't learned, yet, how to be anything else. She hopes he doesn't want to disappoint her, and that's why he's cautious. She hopes.

But the promise she wants from him is, she thinks, something he wants too.

"Don't leave me alone tonight," Belle whispers. "Don't let me wake up alone." She wants to sleep in his arms and to wake in the morning with him beside her. Nothing more, at least not tonight. She just wants him with her.

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, a soft sigh, and he holds her close. "I promise."

"Everything else," she says, "can wait." There are still things they have to talk about, things they must discuss. Why he brought back magic, and Regina, and everything else. More than she's probably thought of yet. But it can wait. "Let's just be us together, tonight," she says, an entreaty that she's sure he won't ignore.

"Us," he echoes. "Yes." She pulls away from him, and he's got that look on his face again, that awed, disbelieving look. Belle smiles, and squeezes his hand. "My bedroom's upstairs," he says, shaking himself slightly, and Belle nods.

He takes her there then, out of the kitchen and across the hall, up the stairs and into the master bedroom. She'd never seen his bedroom in the Dark Castle but this room suits him, wooden furniture and soft carpet and two great windows with heavy curtains pulled across. The electric light is soft and muted, almost warm, and Rumplestiltskin stands in the middle of the room and doesn't seem to know what to do next.

Belle pulls off his tie, leaves it hanging around his neck, and fights a blush as she undoes the topmost button of his shirt. Rumplestiltskin clasps her hands in his, stopping her, and Belle bites her lip and looks up at him.

"I'm tired," she says quietly. It's reassurance, for she's sure he's afraid. Rumplestiltskin sighs, and nods.

"Yes," he says. "And so am I." He pushes her hands aside and unbuttons his shirt, his fingers moving quickly and methodically, and Belle brushes a hand across her skirt and wonders what she can wear to bed. And then, when Rumplestiltskin uneasily discards his shirt, Belle smiles and takes it from him. "Belle?" he asks, and she shrugs.

"I need something to sleep in," she says, and he stares at her. She discovers a new expression, and it makes her blush, makes her turn away to hide her face from him. He wraps his arms around her from behind, then, and rests his chin on her shoulder.

"Anything you want," he says softly, reverently. "Anything, Belle. Anything that I have, it's yours." Belle closes her eyes and allows herself to think about that, for a moment. Just a moment. It's a weight, a burden, even though she knows that his pretty words are just that. Just words. He might want to mean it, might intend to share with her all that he has, all that he plans – but his habits are old and he cannot change so quickly.

Still, it's a nice sentiment, and she appreciates what he's trying to say. She twists in his arms and lifts her head to brush her lips against his.

"The shirt will do for now," she says. "Now turn around so I can change." He smirks, just a little, but he obeys her and turns. Belle makes sure of it before she strips off the dress he'd given her and replaces it with his shirt. "Alright," she says, and when he looks at her she turns shy, fidgets with the sleeves that fall over her hands. It's too big on her, of course, but it doesn't matter. Not when he looks at her like that.

"Belle," he murmurs. "Sweetheart. Are you sure – there's a spare bedroom, I can sleep there."

"Don't break your promise," says Belle, and he flinches a little at that but nods his head. She goes to the bed, turns back the cover and glances over her shoulder at him. "I'm sure," she tells him. "Now hurry up and come to bed." She busies herself with getting in and pulling the covers up, giving him enough privacy for his own comfort while he prepares for bed. At last he joins her, hesitant and awkward and so nervous she wants to smile. She doesn't; she waits for him to lie down and then she curls up against him, his arm around her and her head on his chest. She can hear his heartbeat, and she likes it.

"Now," she says softly, "I'm going to go to sleep. And if you're not here in the morning I'm going to be very cross."

"I'll be here," Rumplestiltskin promises, and Belle hopes he means it. She hopes she'll wake up in the morning wrapped up in his arms, and that she'll be able to kiss him good morning. He lifts his head, kisses her forehead, and Belle sighs and burrows closer to him. She has wanted this for so long.

And if he keeps this promise…well, tomorrow is a new day, and although there's really no such thing as starting afresh, a new day will bring new problems and new solutions. She is determined to make this work. She loves him.

She tells him so, and he holds her a little closer, a little tighter.

"I love you," he murmurs. "Oh Belle. I do love you. No matter what else you think, please believe that." Belle rubs her cheek against his chest, tangles a leg with his.

"I do," she says. "I believe you. I've always known, you know." He doesn't answer her, but he lets out a slow breath, and Belle closes her eyes. She will sleep here with him, and she will wake up in the morning to find him still beside her. She's sure of it. She's sure he'll keep this promise. She won't ask more of him. Not yet. There are so many questions and answers to be spoken, but this is enough for now.

This is enough.