The streetlights have yet to be lit; my haste and the fog make it hard to see. My heel slips on something smeared across the cobblestones, but I don't stop to determine what it is. Blood, shit, piss – all are likely candidates in this borough. I manage to keep my feet underneath me, and quicken my pace to make up for the stumble. I don't have the luxury of time. He needs me. I clutch the apothecary jar of Aconite to my chest and, propriety be damned, I run.
Darting across the slippery stones, colliding with a multitude of laborers on their way to the pub after a hard day, the angry cries of Hackney drivers follow in my wake as I frighten their horses. None of it matters. All that matters to me lies writhing on the hardwood floor of a cluttered laboratory several blocks up town. I hike up my skirts, I pray for speed, and I run on.
It feels like I'm slogging through water, making slower progress than I should be. The fog condenses on my hair, clings to my eyelashes, rolls down my cheeks. Perhaps it is not the fog, after all. Perhaps I am crying. Perhaps my heart is breaking. It would make sense. In the back of my mind, a cruel, sharp voice is laughing at me. It is insisting that he is already dead and I am a fool for thinking I could ever save him. It is a voice I know well. It sounds like him, but colder. Like a stranger who mimics the man I have come to love. I hate it with a vehemence that seeps into my bones like the bitterest winter. I ignore it as best I can, focusing instead on the burning in my lungs. I can't remember the last time I ran like this. As a child, it must have been, running across the green fields of my father's estate. My life was carefree then. I was safe, and loved, and happy. It never lasts, though. Mama dead from the pox, and Papa thrown from his great bay hunter as he took a hedge too fast. Men, and their disregard for the fragility of life. Such stupid, reckless folly! Such confidence in their own immortality! When women die, we do so because our bodies betray us in childbirth or disease. They die because they live without a care for themselves. They leave the care to us, and thus leave us doubly bereft when they go into that good night, alone. I have been alone. I have known the pain of an orphan. I will not lose him, too. Not tonight. Not while I can still run, recklessly, like a man is free to do. I will save him.
Just as I can feel my legs start to tremble with exertion, the exterior of the house swims into view. Nearly there, so close. Too late, the voice in my head whispers. No. I refuse to believe it. I fumble with my key, my heart lurching as I nearly drop the apothecary jar. I clutch it close, wrestle the lock open, and burst inside.
"Rumple?" It is a question and a plea. I mount the stairs, and rush down the hall to his laboratory. I call him again, but he does not answer. The door to his lab is locked, and I throw my weight against it with everything I've got. Once, twice, and the wood splinters. I'm in.
He is not in the floor where I left him. He is nowhere to be seen. The cauldron over the fire still bubbles away, the potion seemingly undisturbed. Panic starts to color my vision. He can't be dead, can he? There would be a body. It couldn't just disappear, could it? And then the temperature in the room drops, I swear it does. I feel him before I see him. He enters the lab behind me, that strange static electrical charge in the air that always accompanies his presence. I don't want to look at him, but I turn slowly. The crackled, green-gold skin. Those obscenely inhuman eyes. That stranger's voice that mimics my beloved's with uncanny, unholy accuracy.
"You're too late, Dearie. Rumple is gone. Or as good as gone. I'm running the show from now on. "
I know I should be wary of him, when he's like this. The Dark One is not only cruel, but wise. This strange combination makes him infinitely more dangerous. I cannot bear to see him disfigure my loves face with his strange expressions. But this time I must. This time, it's my last chance to save him. "I have the Aconite you sent me for. How much do I need to add to the potion, Rumple?"
"I told you, my dear, Rumple is gone."
"No. He's not. He's still there and he's still fighting you. How much Rumple?"
He laughs and the sound is high, pinched, and bereft of warmth. It makes my blood run cold.
"Fighting me? No. He's done that, and he's failed." The Dark One taps his temple, his sibilant voice hissing through his teeth, "Locked away, locked away. Where he can't try to hurt me any more."
"He wasn't trying to hurt you! He was just trying to keep us safe. From you. You're dangerous."
"You're partially right there, Dearie. I am dangerous. And he was trying to protect you. Just not himself."
"What?" I know the Dark One speaks lies. I know he is not to be trusted. I know I should run. But something in my heart of hearts tells me to listen this time.
"Think, Belle. Step away from your panic, and use that extraordinary brain of yours. Why would Aconite help him rid himself of me? What are its properties? What does it do?
I slow my breathing. I still my thundering heart. I run through the chemical properties of Aconite in my mind. I shudder.
"In small doses, Aconite…" My voice dies as he hands me a page torn from my beloved's notebook. I recognize his fine, strong handwriting. The ingredients for his latest potion, the very one bubbling on the hearth as we speak. I don't want to continue reading it, but I force myself. Aconite – six tablespoons. My eyes flutter shut. Oh, Rumple. Oh, no.
"A tablespoon would have been more than enough. Six, well, that's just overkill."
My voice is small. I hate it. "He wasn't trying to break free from you."
"He can't. The curse may have brought me more dramatically to the forefront, and allowed me more control over the body we share, but it didn't create me. I've always been here. I've always been him."
"And he…knew?
"Suspected. Strongly suspected."
Something odd has shifted – I find myself no longer frightened of the monster before me. Perhaps I've gone mad, quietly, and abandoned my good sense. Or perhaps my fear is fled because I know the Dark One, however fearful, is speaking the truth to me now. My Rumple, brewing his own death in that cauldron on the hearth. It breaks my heart.
"He planned to kill himself, and take you with him."
"Yes. Not a very pleasant death, either. Have you seen Aconite poisoning? First hand?"
"No."
"He has."
"When?"
"His son."
"His son died of the pox."
"No."
I wish he was lying to me, but the truth is a much better weapon. It cuts deeper.
"What happened?"
"He left the door to his lab unlocked. His son was a curious boy."
I suck in my breath. I fight back tears. He continues.
"He got some charcoal down his throat, but it didn't help. His heart was too far gone. The boy died covered in black vomit and his father's tears. He knew Aconite. He thought it…a fitting way to end himself. Just."
"Just? It was a mistake!"
"Could you live with a mistake like that? He tried. He tried for a long time. You nearly brought him back from the edge, did you know? He was living an empty existence before he chanced upon you. He saw the life in you, and he longed to return to the world he abandoned when he lost his son. Thought he might be able to put the pain behind him, and start again. You'd almost put me to rest. But the curse woke me up, and now I'm all that's left."
"Is that what you are, Dark One? All his secret hurts and fears."
He hisses at me, "I'm what's kept him alive."
"But he was afraid of you. What you were capable of."
"He was afraid of everything. He was weak. He was always weak. Even before the boy, he was weak. Couldn't save his mother. Couldn't save himself."
"He was a good man. He IS a good man."
"He's gone. We made a deal, and he violated that deal."
"What deal? Why would he make a deal with you?"
"He wanted to protect you."
The truth always hurts more than the lies. "What was your deal?"
"He would allow me control, and in exchange I would not touch you. It was a ruse, though. He tried to kill us both and now he has to pay the price. Locked away, with me."
The Dark One reaches into his vest pocket, and fishes out a small, leather bound box. He tosses it to me gently. I catch it, but it takes me a moment to work up the courage to open it. Inside, a gold ring. A moonstone, flanked by two garnets.
"He tried to ask you. More than once. His courage always failed him."
I knew he loved me. Knew it in the way he spoke to me. Knew it in the multitude of kindnesses he extended to me. In the respect he always showed me. In the way he was careful not to touch me. I thought we'd find a way past this horror together. And then, on the other side, I thought we'd find each other. We were so close.
"Give him back to me." I approach him, and hold my hand out to him. He doesn't take it. "Please."
My life had already changed so much with the death of my parents. My home, those rolling country hills had raised me nearly as much as my Mama and Papa. That great, sprawling mansion with so many rooms to be explored and savored. My library, my greatest, constant comfort. All of these things were taken from me. I was their only child, but I was a girl child. The estate and its attending titles passed to my closest male relative. He offered to wed me. It was the decent thing for him to do – but I could not bear to accept his offer. I don't think my refusal caused him any distress. I prevailed upon him for my inheritance, and left without looking back. If I had looked back, I might have stayed. I might have run back into my library and lived out my days in that small, solitary space. But I did the brave thing, hoping that bravery would follow.
It was scandalous of me to move to London on my own. Such things were not done by young ladies. I had enough to live in modest comfort, but I had no real money to speak of. As such, I had no suitors. Freed from the obligation to marry, my life became my own. I lived small and shrewdly, with a singular purpose in mind – I would educate myself. I decided to become a physician - it was the perfect opportunity to meld my passion for learning with my desire to help others. I applied to the Royal College of Surgeons – and was roundly denied. That's where I met him.
Angered by the dismissal of my application I descended on the college to plead my case. I debated, then argued, then harangued, but the Chancellor would not be moved. I was a woman, and thus, unfit to practice medicine. Bristling with righteous indignation, I left his office, throwing the door open with more vigor than called for. I stumbled directly into a man who had been standing quite close to the door. Too close. We locked eyes as I fell against him and he caught me in a steadying grip. He had heard my tirade; I was sure of it. Cheeks burning with embarrassment at my failure, I murmured an apology and took my leave. His voice, that beautiful Scottish brogue, halted me in my tracks.
"Miss, wait!"
He was looking at me intently, sizing me up. I returned to his side, and though I did not know what he was going to say, I knew that it was desperately important for me to hear it.
"None of the colleges here enroll women, I'm afraid."
"Yes, I was just informed by the Chancellor."
He smiled then, and I could tell he was suppressing a laugh. "There is a woman enrolled in my Alma Mater, in Edinburgh, though she's not exactly received a warm welcome. I wouldn't recommend the weather, but you might have better luck there."
I was touched by his quiet kindness. The tacit approval he offered me, in suggesting another venue in which to explore my education.
"Thank you. Perhaps I will send an application to them when I have more resources at my disposal."
I didn't want to leave, but I could think of no polite way to continue in his company. He saved me again.
"Miss…?"
"French. Belle French."
"Miss French, please forgive my forwardness, but I was about to take tea and wondered if you would like to join me. There's a quiet shop just a block up."
He was a stranger to me, yes, but I had no one to answer to now and could let my pleasure dictate my actions. I accepted with haste, I took his arm, and we grew more acquainted over tea. We lingered longer than was polite, but in all honesty, the tea room was too shabby to compel much formality. He even touched my hand once, as he prevented me from raising my tea to my lips. He took the cup from me, running his thumb across the rim to indicate a chip. He gave me his instead.
We talked at length about his time in medical college, and the private practice he had abandoned several years ago to pursue research in the lab in his home. I told him what little there was to tell about my life – it had been happy, until it hadn't been, and now I longed to find my place in the world. I liked him. Instantly and deeply. When I finally looked up from our conversation, I realized it was nearly dark.
"I've kept you so long, Miss French. Please allow me to secure you a cab. Wait inside where it's warm."
"I'm not far from here. A cab's not necessary."
"I can't leave you alone on the streets now, Miss French. It'll be dark in a moment."
"Walk me home, then?" It was bold, I know it was, but I was afraid I might not see him again. If this was to be our only encounter, then I did not wish to relinquish his company so soon. He offered me his arm, and we set off towards my rented room at a leisurely pace. But arrive we did. Men were not allowed inside the boarding house, and we couldn't just linger on the curb. I thanked him for the tea and conversation. He thanked me for my company. And then he left. I stayed in the foyer for a few moments, not wanting to go back to my empty room. I had forgotten what good company felt like, and was gripped by a soft, painful longing. I would not see him again, and the honest truth was that I missed him. I turned to climb the stairs when I heard a faint knock. My breath caught in my throat when I heard a faint whisper outside the door.
"Miss French?"
My heart swelled as I opened the door, and met his soft, amber gaze. He looked torn, and nervous and insecure. I waited for him to speak.
"I know this is forward, and unconventional, and if you want me to leave and never darken your doorstep again, I will. But…I…am in need of a caretaker for my home and my laboratory. It's not hard work but it's sorely needed. I could offer you a room of your own – a door that locks, of course. And…in exchange, I could….teach you. Medicine. I can't promise you'd ever be able to practice, but all the knowledge I have to offer would be at your disposal. You have a fine mind, Miss French, and I know you'd be an extraordinary pupil."
I couldn't speak. His offer was incredibly unexpected. It could change my life. It could ruin me.
"People…people might talk, Miss French. I can't promise you that they won't. But I swear to you, you would come to no harm through me."
He could be lying. He could reach for me the second we walked through his door. He would have me at his mercy. It was reckless, and ill-advised, and not an offer I should even consider.
Of course, I took it.
He sent a cab for me and my things the next day. His home was in a quiet borough that had been popular a decade ago, but had fallen out of fashion. His lab occupied most of the top floor. His room was beside it, and at the end of the hall he showed me to my room. A small bed, an undersized desk, a chest of drawers. I knew instantly, without being told, that it had been a child's room. I did not ask questions.
He was correct - my services were sorely needed. There was a thin layer of dust on most of the surfaces in the house. The space was extremely ordered, but the maintenance was lacking, like all that had been living there were ghosts. I found this strangely comforting. I was grateful for his kindness in offering to teach me, and was glad that I would be able to repay him if only in these simple, mundane tasks. I had never cleaned in my father's home, and my rented room required little more than light dusting. I set my mind to the task of learning to properly care for a home. It was no hardship, though I was very clumsy at first. I broke things. I was distinctly horrified the first time I shattered some glassware in his laboratory. I offered to pay for it, but he looked at me strangely, blushed, and muttered "It's just a beaker, Miss French."
I got better at it – in a few weeks, his home sparkled. In a month, I had learned to cook a handful of recipes to my satisfaction. And he taught me. Oh, how he taught me. Anatomy, pathology, chemistry. I learned to craft medicines, and treat wounds, how to triage symptoms, and identify common diseases. He was a wonderful teacher. Patient and kind, but firm and rigorous. He never tired of my questions, though they were endless. We stayed awake late into the night, experiments boiling under our noses, tea growing cold as we focused all our attentions on the tasks at hand. For the first time since I left my childhood home, I was happy. I had knowledge, and purpose, and the companionship of a kindred spirit.
At times, I thought he was happy, but there was deep sadness in him, too. On the mantle in his study there was a framed photograph of a beautiful dark-haired woman and a little boy. There was a sharpness about her expression that made me uneasy, but the boy was a different matter. Even from the flat, indistinct photograph I could tell he was a joyful child. I was always especially careful when I cleaned the frame. I didn't know what had become of his family and it seemed indelicate to ask. Perhaps I was afraid of what I'd hear. I didn't wish them harm, but I couldn't bear to think he had a wife back in Scotland. That the reason he'd never touched wasn't his respectful decorum, but the simple fact that he loved another. I am not proud of these thoughts, but they were my own. In all our time together he was never less than a perfect gentleman. He would walk me to my room, bid me goodnight, and take his leave. I never locked my door. There was no need. He never came for me.
I did learn what happened to his family, though. I found him staring at the photograph one day, so engrossed in the detail that he didn't notice my approach. I startled him when I laid a hand upon his shoulder. I decided to be brave. I knew I loved him, and I would know if there could ever be a chance for us.
"Is that your family?"
It was a long time before he spoke, and his voice cracked when he finally did. "They were, once."
"What happened?"
"I…lost him."
"His mother?" It was selfish of me to ask, but I had to know.
"We were a bad match. After we lost Bae, we no longer felt the need to inflict ourselves on one other."
He traced the boys face through the glass covering the photograph – and a single tear slid across its hard surface. I pulled him close, and pressed my lips to his forehead. His arms came around me, and he began to weep. I don't think he'd been touched with kindness in many years. He clung to me like a drowning man, and great, heaving sobs shook his lean frame. I stroked his back gently, as you would to comfort a child. We stayed like that for nearly an hour. No words were exchanged – they were not needed. Eventually his tears subsided and he came back to himself. He pulled away from me, and straightened himself. My blouse was matted to my skin, wet with his tears.
"I've ruined your dress, Miss French."
"You've ruined nothing."
He looked at me like I was a precious thing. He told me,"You are an extraordinary woman and I am grateful to know you."
I wish I could say that everything changed, then. That he followed me to my room and we made love and basked in joy. Truly, I thought we were on our way to our happy ending. But things are never that easy. He did not follow me, though I believe he wanted to. Then she came into our lives, and she brought the Dark One with her.
I have said that he abandoned the practice of medicine in favor of research, but that is not exactly so. Once a week, rain or shine, he still made rounds in the poorest of districts of London, administering to the sick and the dying. Partially, it was his research that compelled him there – you cannot imagine the horrors we saw in those dark alleys. Women from the match factories, the eerie glow of Fossy Jaw stripping the flesh from their faces. Children displaying strange deformities as they begged for coin. Consumptives, with their bloody handkerchiefs and impossibly bright eyes. Ladies of the evening hiding pox-sores from the men they were compelled to lay with. But go he did, helping where he could. He would never accept a fee for these services, and while he was not able to save many, he was able to save some. A month earlier I had begun accompanying him on his rounds. Initially he had been reluctant to allow me to come with him. He trusted my abilities, but he didn't wish to expose me to so much suffering. I would not be dissuaded. I followed him, I learned, and I helped where I could. We made a good team.
He was well-liked in these boroughs, and though people there were rough they never showed him anything other than respect. I was worried that these common folk would look down on me because I was a woman, but that was not the case. In the rarified halls of higher learning I was despised for my sex and thought unfit to practice medicine. But the poor have always made due with wise women, midwives, mothers, grandmothers, sisters and aunts, all doing their part to care for the sick. Here, I was not an anomaly. Here, for the first time, I felt needed. It was hard work, often distressing, but rewarding as well. We lost many. But we saved some.
The prostitutes were the ones who surprised me the most. They not only tolerated me, they welcomed me. I took them medicines, and I helped them prevent seed from taking root in their wombs. They were a jocular bunch, for all the hardships they bore. I suppose their bawdy humor was a defense mechanism. They were much abused by life, but they kept going on, day by day, with vigorous determination. I liked them. And they liked me, except for one. Her name was Zelena and she was a great beauty. Her belly was starting to show, and though she hid it well, I suspected that she was several months along. I know fortune is fickle and can strike down any of us, but I found it surprising that she'd had to resort to selling herself on the streets. I thought a woman of such beauty and presence would be able to at least secure the patronage of a wealthy man who'd put her up in a flat of her own. Perhaps she had once. I did not know her story. But I knew she looked at me coldly, and never spoke to me. I asked him about her, later that night. He looked at me for a long time before he answered, and I could tell he was ashamed.
"Her name is Zelena. She came from a good family, but she fell in love with a highwayman, and her family turned her out. After a time, he cast her off, and she had nowhere to go except the brothels."
"Why does she look at me with contempt?"
I could see him warring with himself. He wanted to be honest with me, but was afraid. I tried to reassure him.
"Did you…know her?"
He screwed up his courage then, and he answered me. "Once. It has never been my custom. It was many years ago. Milah had just left me. I was not…myself."
"You were lonely."
"A poor excuse."
"Any man would be lonely."
"I think she had aspirations to become my mistress. I'm no great catch, I know, but I have some means. I can't blame her for wanting to better her situation. She was…displeased when I made it clear I had no intentions of soliciting her services again."
"Perhaps she cared for you."
He snorted then, a dismissive noise I could tell was directed only at himself. "Do you despise me, Belle? Now that you know."
I went to him then, and took his hand. He tried to pull away, but I would not let him. "You're a good man, Rumple. I couldn't despise you for one night's folly."
I kissed his cheek then. It was bold, yes, but I had grown tired of waiting for him. I know the neighborhood gossips already assumed I was his mistress. In truth, I could find no shame in the idea. He was a good man, and I loved him. He had always treated me with respect and encouraged me to better myself. I would rather be his mistress than any other man's wife. He kissed me on the forehead and took his leave. I went to my room, and tried to sleep. I did not sleep for long.
A vicious banging assaulted our front door a little after midnight. I heard Rumple take the stairs at speed. I drew my robe around me, and followed on his heels. He drew open the door. It was Zelena, and she was distraught. White as a sheet, there was dried blood on her legs hands. In her arms she clutched an impossibly new babe. It was perhaps six months along. Far too young to live. She thrust the child into his arms, babbling that she didn't know where else to go. He told me to fetch hot water and sheets, but the look in his eye told me he knew there was nothing we could do. We tried, though. Cleared the child's nose and mouth, massaged him to encourage circulation, warmed him by the fire. Zelena paced in the drawing room, muttering strange words under her breath. She was clearly unhinged, and who could blame her. Even prostitutes can love their children. I have seen such mothers sacrifice everything for a child. Sadly, this one would not live. His lungs weren't formed enough to support his little body. His passing, however tragic was mercifully swift. Rumple wrapped the child's body in linens and handed it to Zelena.
"Zelena, I'm so sorry. He came too early."
Her anguished cries were piteous to hear. "No. No."
I tried to reach out to her in comfort, but she jerked away and spat at my feet. She stared at me with such hatred I shuddered. And then she turned her wrath on him.
"What's so special about her? You wouldn't have me, wouldn't have any of us, and then she just waltzes in, and you take her home?"
"Zelena, I know what it is to lose a child. I know…"
"You think I'm not clever? I'm not smart enough to learn from you? I would have done just as well as she! Better! You could have made me your disciple, and taken me on your condescending little mercy runs to the poor. You know what it's like to lose a child? This could have been YOUR child. We could have been a family!"
I pitied her then, her hurt was so palpable. She'd been used up and disappointed by life. I did not realize how dangerous she was. Then my blood ran cold as I heard the curse escaping from her lips. I had never believed in magic until that moment, but the horror of it burst forth and filled the room with a hideous power.
"I curse you, Rumple Stiltskin! May you know my pain and anguish every day for the rest of your life! May it twist in your heart like a dagger, and rob you of everything you love. May it steal your every joy until all that's left of you is a hideous, lonely wretch. May you die in misery, alone, and unloved."
I swear I saw her curse hit him, and enter him bodily. He staggered back from her, but he did not fall. He was badly shaken. Zelena, holding fast to her dead son, slammed the door as she left.
I ran to him, and took his face in my hands. He was blinking rapidly, trying to focus as his vision swam. "Rumple? Rumple? Are you alright?"
He nodded, not trusting his voice. It was well after two in the morning and we were both exhausted and shaken. Neither of us wanted to admit we were frightened. We had merely witnessed a mother's unbridled anguish at the death of her child. There was no magic in the world. Words could not harm us. We put the soiled linens in to soak, we cleaned the blood from our hands, and we retired to our separate rooms. Everything would be fine in the morning. Of course, this is what we told ourselves. We were wrong.
It didn't happen right away. The change was fluid. If you blinked, it was easy to miss. The first sign was his eyes. One minute, they'd be a soft, familiar amber, but the next they'd darkened and taken on a feral glint. It happened so fast, you could pretend it was just a trick of the light. At least, for a time.
A few days later we returned to the brothel. We took a salve and some laudanum for Zelena. Neither of said as much, but I think we hoped to see her in a calmer state of mind. We could talk to her, in the light of day, and she'd rescind her curse now that she'd gotten some distance from her pain. We didn't believe in curses of course, but surely there was no harm in caution. Unfortunately, we were not to lay eyes on her again. One of the doxies whispered to us in hushed tones that Zelena had been pulled from the river the night before. It was not an uncommon occurrence, and she was not much loved among them, but it grieved them nonetheless. We returned home in silence. Falling back on the comfort of routine, I made tea and brought it to him in his laboratory. When I returned after my dusting rounds, I found the teacup in shards on the ground.
He started to give me a wider berth. We ceased our late night chats by the fire. He threw himself into his work and would disappear into his study when he wasn't actively working. Sometimes, when I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, there was a strange, green cast to his skin. One morning I reached for him, and he flinched from my touch. That frightened me most of all. Weeks passed without us exchanging more than pleasantries. It made me sick at heart. We had been so close. I thought we'd only grow closer. Yet here we were, living almost as strangers. He even stopped taking me on his rounds.
I paced, I schemed, I tried to formulate a plan to bring us back around to our easy companionship. He continued to withdraw. And then, nearly a month later, he finally approached me. I was cleaning the foyer, and didn't hear him draw near. He startled me when he said my name. I took a sudden chill, but it passed when I turned and looked into his lovely amber eyes. There was the familiar warmth I'd missed. I feared I might cry with relief. But there was something more than affection is his gaze. There was anguish, too.
"Belle, I think you should apply to the Royal Physicians College in Edinburgh."
It was the last thing I expected to hear, and my heart stuttered in my chest. "What?"
"I've reached the limit of what I can teach you, and you have the makings of a fine physician. They graduated their first female student last month, Belle. I'll personally vouch for you. I am confident they will accept you."
"But…it's so far away."
"And the weather is atrocious. But you'll have a chance to.."
"You're sending me away?"
He looked at the floor then, and I could tell he was warring with himself. His voice was rough with emotion when he spoke. "I want you to have your best life, Belle. And you can't have that, here, with me."
"I'm content here. I don't need a title to…"
"I should never have brought you here. It's not proper for a young, unmarried woman to be alone in a house with a…a…with me."
"No."
"Belle, please. Listen to reason."
"You're not speaking reason. I am happy here and unless you wish to throw me out on the street, I will remain here."
I reached out to touch his face, but he caught my wrist in a viselike grip. His eyes flashed and his pupils elongated in an obscenely inhuman fashion. He hissed at me, "Then I want you to start locking your door."
He left me shaking in the foyer. That's when I knew the curse was real. That's when I first knew true terror. But it was also when I found my determination – nothing would take him away from me. Convention hadn't been able to separate us, nor pain, nor fear. I would not let this demon take him from me. I would fight.
But I did lock my door. I slept, I woke in the morning, and I took him breakfast. I did not know how often he phased into the monstrous thing I'd seen, but I knew it was getting harder for him to control. His appearance had reverted to his human face, and so I spoke.
"Her curse hit its mark then, didn't it?" I was afraid he would dissemble, deny it, but to his credit, he spoke plainly.
"It appears so."
"And you…can't control it?"
"I have a measure of control, but I find my ability to stave off the change grows weaker."
"How can I help?"
"I don't know. I have been working on several elixirs I hoped might have a sedative effect, but none have proven particularly helpful."
"What have you tried?"
We discussed at length the chemical compounds and herbal concoctions he'd employed thus far. I offered some suggestions, though neither of us had much in the way of a solid plan. We agreed to keep experimenting with various substances. And I told him that, together, we'd find a way back from the abyss. And then I told him that I loved him. He reached for me, and pulled me into his arms. It felt like I'd finally come home. He shifted, and his lips brushed my ear. I was certain he was about to declare his feelings. Instead he hissed at me that I'd die a lonely spinster, unloved and unmourned. He recoiled in horror at his own words, and I let him go. There were tears in both our eyes.
"You should go."
"I know you didn't mean that, Rumple."
"I don't know how to keep you safe from him."
"We'll find a way. Let's work now."
And so we worked. Tirelessly. For weeks. Trying potion after potion, each stranger and more complicated than the last. He only got worse.
His ability to control the change dwindled. He learned the telltale signs, so it rarely took him by surprise, but holding it off became impossible. We developed a protocol for dealing with his condition. He didn't leave the house any longer. Neither did I. I arranged delivery of our food and necessities. When he knew the Dark One was coming, I would lock him in his bedroom. That was…not easy. But I did it. I couldn't bear to leave him, so I would sink to the floor, leaning against the doorway. Some days he'd wail, the sound so piteous it pierced my heart. I would cry with him, on the other side of his door. At other times he'd unleash physical violence on the room. He broke things. Eventually we removed everything except his bed. The walls grew scarred, great gouges like claw marks decimating the once lovely floral paper. We boarded up the window with so many nails that even the beast couldn't wrest them free. He tried though. Oh, how he tried. Muttering foul invectives far worse than anything I heard on the common folk's tongues. The worst, though, was when he'd talk to me. Sometimes when the fight had gone out of him, he would slump down against the other side of the door, and he would speak. I would sit there, in the chill that always accompanied his presence, and I would listen as he poured dreadful things into my ear. Much of it was lies, I'm certain, but the Dark One was wise. He knew my hidden fault lines, and he knew where to hurt me. And he did.
Eventually, though it might take hours, the temperature would normalize, the man would return, and I would unlock his door. We were always exhausted then. Red-eyed and tear stained, We'd embrace and come back to each other. He'd always beg me to leave, and I would always refuse. Sometimes he'd sleep then, nestled against me like a child. I'd clean the plaster from under his fingernails, and dab the sweat from his brow. Sometimes I dozed as well, and those were the best of times. There was an exquisite joy to be found, in that neverland on the cusp of waking. When I would feel his weight against me and I could imagine, if only for a moment, that we were an ordinary couple resting side by side in our marriage bed.
I woke to him, once. Rough, green-gold scales rising up under my fingertips. Slit pupils regarding me with dark intensity. I knew I should be afraid, but I had depleted my body's last store of adrenaline in the ordeal of the previous hours. I was too tired for fear. And so, I just looked back at him, into those strange, inhuman eyes. They were not so demonic as I thought before. He spoke to me.
"Rest well, Dearie?"
"Not particularly."
"You don't look well."
"I'm not well. I'm coming apart."
"That doesn't seem particularly wise information to divulge to your enemy."
"It's nothing you don't already know. You're not blind."
"No. Why have you stayed?"
"You know that, too."
We looked at each other a long time. Now that I had a proper look at him, there was less madness than I had suspected. Rage, yes, and much pain. Perhaps even fear. But not madness. Perhaps he could be…reasoned with? Dealt with? Perhaps there was something he wanted.
There was less malice in his voice than I would have expected when he spoke again. "He's trying to destroy me."
"Can you blame him? You are destroying him."
"You lock me away in this tiny cell. I can't breathe in here."
"What other choice do I have? Tell me how to deal with you?"
The rage and pain subsided slightly, and his features became shrewd. Calculating. "I want my window back."
"You'll break it. You'll try to escape."
"No. I…can't breathe without a window."
Could it really be true? Was he afraid of the enclosed space? Claustrophobic?
"And in return?"
"Two days of peace. You have my word."
I don't know why I believed him, but I did. I offered him my hand, and he took it. "Deal."
And then he vanished. The scales receded, his skin took on a human hue, and my beloved opened his eyes. The Dark One had given him back to me. Rumple blinked at me in confusion as I helped him to his feet.
"Here. Help me unboard the window."
"What? Belle, no. He'll…"
"I've made a deal with him."
His pallor dropped then, and he looked afraid. "What have you done, Belle?"
"It's no matter, Rumple. We give him back the window and he gives us two days of peace."
"And you, you trust this…this…thing?"
"I do. Please Rumple. Trust me."
He did. I know it cost him much to do so, but he did. We brought the claw hammer, and we pulled out every last nail. When we were done, we looked out on the garden below.
"It's not much of a view."
"He said he couldn't breathe without it."
He looked shaken, then. "Rumple?"
"It's nothing."
"No, what is it?"
"I know that feeling. Not being able to breathe. My father used to lock me in the coalhole when I'd done…something wrong. It was small, and dark, and I felt like I couldn't breathe."
I took his hand, and led him from the room. I did not wish to dwell on such feelings. We had two days. "Let's go out."
"No. What if he's lying?"
"He's not."
"You can't be certain."
"I am. If you can't trust him, then trust me."
We returned to the little tea shop where we'd first become acquainted. It was still shabby, the cups were still chipped, and we talked until nightfall. We walked back to the house in the dim light from the gas lamps. It was wonderful to feel the fresh air on my skin – I hadn't realized how badly I'd missed it until that moment. We had two days of peace. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start.
He came back of course, but this time he did less damage to the room. And he was as good as his word when it came to the window. He opened it slightly to let in the breeze, nothing more. I could feel his weight as he slumped against the other side of the door. He spoke so quietly I may have misheard him. I think he thanked me.
I don't know what possessed me, but I rose and threaded the key into the lock. I opened it slowly so he wouldn't fall but he no longer had his back against the door. In fact he'd shrunk into the far corner of the wall. His head was tilted towards his window and his nostrils were flaring as if he was sucking in great lungfuls of air.
His voice was small and strained. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know, really. I thought...you might like a few moments out of this room."
He regarded me warily, as a wild animal might. I stepped back from the door to leave a path for him. It took him a moment but eventually he stepped into the hallway. Granted freedom, he seemed at a loss for what to do. I confess I was not certain how to proceed, either. But we'd tried fighting him, and it was useless. Perhaps there was another way. "Would you…like some tea?"
"No." He spoke too quickly to consider the offer, almost out of reflex.
"What would you like, then?"
"Uhm…some…tea, perhaps?"
I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Tea it is. Would you mind, following me to the kitchen while I prepare it. I don't wish to be rude, but I'd like to keep you in sight."
He nodded and he followed me obediently. We didn't speak as I made the tea – I could tell the temporary freedom had overwhelmed him. I set the tea before him, and he wrapped his hands around the hot cup. When he saw me staring, he offered, "I'm always cold."
"I didn't know. I mean, I felt the temperature drop, but I didn't realize you felt it, too."
He nodded. I could tell conversation wouldn't be easy. As I was about to try again, he barked out, "So I suppose you'll be wanting him back now." I could tell he was agitated. Yes, I wanted my love back, but we were doing well. I thought perhaps I could learn how to better deal with him if I could get him to talk.
"Wait. Stay with me awhile." I reached out to touch his hand but he jerked away, catching the cup with his wrist. The teacup spilled and shattered.
"Don't touch me."
"Why?"
"You know why."
I saw blood on his wrist where the broken china had nicked his flesh. I took him gently by the hand and led him to the spigot. He stood behind me, and I pulled his left hand under the running water. His arm brushed against my waist, and of a sudden his other hand had captured my hip. He pulled himself flush against my back, and a sharp stab of fear torn through my gut. The fingers of his right hand flexed over my hip, kneading the flesh there. He hissed in my ear. "He's consumed with thoughts of you. He thinks of you when he takes himself in hand. When he spills his seed over his belly. He wants you, desperately."
I felt fear and disgust, yes, but part of me quivered with want, too. I had longed for his touch for so long – there was a thrill in hearing the truth of it, even on the monster's lips. "Then why does he never come to me?"
He chuckled behind me, the sound as rich and deep as the decaying earth. "He's a coward. He's afraid of losing you."
I choked out my reply as I felt him stiffen against my backside. "But I want him, too."
His teeth rasped across my ear, and he whispered "Have him, then."
The change was palpable. Rumple sprang back from me like I was on fire. I was afraid to look in his eyes. When I finally did, I saw many things. Anger, confusion, sadness, even dread. "Why was he out of his room?"
"Rumple…"
"Why was he touching you?"
"I thought if I got to know him better we might be able to…"
His angry voice silenced my reply. "Know him better? Know him! What kind of deals are you making with him?"
"It's not like that."
"That's very much what it looked like. This has to end."
"Please, Rumple. We need to talk."
"I think we're past that, Belle."
"No."
"I think you should pack your things, and go."
" I won't."
"I could have the constables turn you out."
"You wouldn't!"
He grasped me about the waist then, and held me at arms length. I couldn't tell if he wanted pull me close or thrust me away. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe." I launched myself into his arms, and held him fiercely. I could not bear to be sent away. "Please, Rumple."
"I don't want you to speak to him, anymore."
"Alright."
"You mustn't let him out of his room. Ever."
"Alright."
"For god's sake don't listen to his lies."
"They're not all lies."
He stroked his thumb over my cheeks, and looked at me sadly. "No, Belle. They're not all lies." He stayed there with me for a moment, looking at me like he'd already left. Like he was saying goodbye. It unnerved me. "Rumple…"
"Let's get back to our elixirs, shall we?"
I took his arm and he led me back to his laboratory. We worked. He told me he thought he was finally close to a potion that might give him some relief. I tried to be optimistic, but something didn't feel right. That night, I slept fitfully. Two days later, everything would come crashing down.
He was already working in his lab before I made breakfast. There was a strange energy about him, a bright intensity in his eyes. I wondered if he had slept. I brought him up a tray of bread and cheese, intending to stay and help him work, but he shooed me away. "I'm very close with this potion, Belle. I think…I have a solution at hand. But I need all my concentration at the ready. I need to work undisturbed."
I didn't like it, but I didn't have it in me to argue. I took my tray and turned to leave. His voice stopped me. "Belle…" I turned back to him and he smiled at me. It was the brightest, most genuine smile I'd seen on his face in a long time. "Thank you. For everything." A soft flutter of hope stirred in my chest. Perhaps this would be the potion that finally freed him. Perhaps we would finally be free to explore our happy ending. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. I should have known something was wrong. I should have known.
I threw myself into cleaning the house. With all the turmoil of the last few months the place had fallen into chaos. It was as dusty as it had been before I moved in. As dusty as a house for ghosts – which, in a way, is what we'd become. I worked all day, and soon the sun began to set on a much cleaner house. It felt good, this return to normalcy. The illusion shattered when I heard him call my name from upstairs. His tone was sharp, and I could tell something had gone wrong.
I found him doubled up on the floor of his lab. He was clutching his sides in pain, but he tried to hide it when I fell to my knees beside him, but he failed.
"Rumple what's wrong?"
"He knows I've nearly got him, Belle. He's fighting me, but I'm winning."
"How can I help."
"I need…" He gasped in pain, but quickly recovered, "Aconite. Fetch a large jar from the chemists. Hurry Belle. Quick as you can."
"Shouldn't I…stay with you? In case…"
"No, sweetheart, no. I've got him under control. Just hurry. Please."
I kissed his forehead, and I sprinted away into the night. I secured the Aconite. I rushed back, half mad from panic. When I returned, only the monster remained.
"Please. Give him back to me. I'll give you anything you want." My voice sounds like begging. I am beyond caring. There is nothing I would deny him for a chance to save my love.
"What could you possibly know of what I want?"
I step close to the dark one, and lay my hands on his chest. He stiffens, his breath hitching in his throat.
"Do you want me?"
He pushes me roughly away and sneers. "You really think it's that easy, Dearie? Think you can spread your legs and banish the beast with a quick, clumsy fuck? There are women on the street as we speak who can do things you can only imagine. I'd be bone dry after a night with them, so spent it would take me days to recover. What makes you think I'd give up my existence for inexperienced fumble with you?"
He is trying to shock me. I cannot afford to let him. "Yes, I have known those women. I have no doubt many of them could give you better release than I. And yet, you haven't sought them out. Why?"
His sneer is gone, replaced with a pensive expression. I feel like time is running out, and his silence is infuriating. I want to shake him. I want to scream. Still, he doesn't speak.
"Name your price, then. Ask for anything that is in my power to give. There is nothing I would refuse you. Do you wish my virtue? Do you wish to cause me pain? Even my life, I would give you. Just let him live."
Finally he looks up at me. "We cannot share the same body much longer. I don't wish to die, Belle."
It hits me like an arrow to the heart. To hear him ask, so plainly for his life.
"I would not ask for your life, Dark One. Truly, I do not wish you more pain. But you are killing him. Is there no happy compromise we can make?"
"Curses are not known for their kindness, Belle."
"Kindness? Is that…" And then I understand. Finally. It washes over me with a purity that makes my heart ache with joy. I take his strange, scaled face in my hands. I know what I need to do. For the first time in ages, I smile.
"I was wrong about you, Dark One. You're not evil at all. You're his pain, and his anger. His self-loathing, and his despair. You don't have to be destroyed. You have to be healed."
And with that, I bring my lips to his. He's startled at first; I can feel him trembling under my touch. But then his arms draw me closer. I kiss him with all the love in my heart – I remember the sweet days of my childhood, every pet I've ever cared for, each breathless glimpse of a grove of wildflowers. I remember the gentle feeling of a cool breeze on my face. I recall the smell of the books in my library, the taste of my favorite tea, the pride I felt when I learned to bake scones. I swell with joy at good I've done on our rounds in the poor boroughs. I think on my beloved's face, this man who is my home, who I will never abandon. I kiss the monster with every good thing that has been a part of me. And I feel him change under my touch. White light crackles around us in a dazzling display. He smiles at me, and it is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. He whispers "Thank you, Belle" in my ear, and then he is gone. In his place, stands my beloved.
He is looking upon me with such love I don't know how my heart can contain it. "Belle?"
I fling my arms around his neck, and his hesitance melts away. "It's alright now, Rumple."
"He's…You…destroyed him?"
"No. I saved him."
"How?"
"He just needed to be loved. He was a part of you, Rumple, and there is no part of you that I cannot love."
It is enough of an explanation, even if he doesn't understand the entirety of it. He trusts me. We link arms and he walks me to my room. This time I will not let him leave me. I fish the tiny leather-bound box from my pocket and lay it in his hand. "He…asked for you."
He opens the box. The glittering moonstone and the blood-red garnets wink back at him. "And…will you have me?"
"You, Rumple Stiltskin, and no other."
For the first time, our kiss feels light. There is no sorrow in him now, only the soft glow of affection and the bright stirrings of desire. He hesitates as I draw him across the threshold of my room, but I do not release him.
"Tomorrow, we can find a minister. Tonight, Rumple Stiltskin, I will sleep in my lover's arms." And I do. He doesn't let me go until the first rays of dawn wake us. Together, we find our happy ending.
The End