Author's Note: This is written with great respect, love and gratitude for the talents of Robert Carlyle, Emilie de Ravin, who deserve a lot better writing than they've gotten on OUAT. I do not own the OUAT characters. I will NOT be taking the OUAT writers approach having Hook and Belle buddying up nor will I have Belle "move on" and break her wedding vows in adultery, just two months after she married a man she already knew was extremely damaged. If that's what you are looking for in a fic, this is not for you.

Regarding this story, there is a concept that pieces of a soul can reside in more than one body. I will be using that concept, but taking some creative license with it. There will be some violence in this fic, some real, some imagined, but not too graphically detailed. I'm also going to address Rumple's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after his captivity and Bae's death, since OUAT writers haven't bothered, opting instead to delete Rumple's scenes and make him a one-dimensional cartoon villain, used as a prop for Hook and Frozen characters. In this fic, Rumple's thoughts will be erratic, going from one extreme to another, and even the topic of suicide will be broached, because that is common in PTSD. I'm sick of the Rumple bashing RumBelle fics that paint Belle as perfect, so this will not be one of those. They both made mistakes in their relationship. I love Belle, in character, real hero Belle, who took on Zelena in the hospital in "Kansas" and made me cheer her, because Rumple had been hurt enough and Belle wasn't going to stand for it. The OUAT writing that has taken place from RumBelle's reunion in "Kansas" to the present... and beyond, as evidence by spoilers, is in my opinion, an abomination of the characters that Robert and Emilie put their hearts into. So this is my attempt to fix RumBelle's story from the point of Rumple's banishment. Rated T+.

Warning: If you think CaptainSwan is the greatest thing since sliced bread, you probably won't like my portrayal of that ship. I know some RumBellers think CS is awesome and Hook is a hero, but I do not, hence I won't be gushing about how wonderful and perfect CS/Hook are. I know some RumBelle writers have been harassed by some CS/Hook fans, even when CS/Hook are not tagged, so consider this your warning that what lies ahead is not Hook nor CS friendly.


Shattered Souls, Mended Hearts – Chapter 1

After crumpling in middle of the frozen road, on all fours like a dog, for an unknown amount of time, dazed, frightened and hoping for compassion from the one person left in the world that he had any trust in, Rumplestiltskin had been walking in mindless agony for hours. First his injury from the time of the ogre war became unhealed, given the absence of magic, then soon after other injuries which had been healed by magic returned to their previous state. Since he was Dark One as Robin Hood had shot him with an arrow, he had not been technically injured, and after Hook stabbed him with his poisoned hook, a magical loophole had been created by the candle, transferring his fate to Cora, keeping that injury from reoccurring. Either one of those injuries would have killed him in no time without magic. However, his other wounds that were not deadly, unless they were to become infected, which were wounds that had been healed by magic returned to the same condition they had been in just previous to the healing.

The cold bitter wind stung the newly seeping cut on Rumple's neck caused by Belle slicing him weeks ago after her failed attempt to control him, and he pulled up the collar on his lightweight coat as he tried to forget that she endeavored to enslave him just a week after his release from "the sadistic green bitch from Hell". The most egregious wounds were inflicted upon him by Zelena. He had healed them as quickly as possible, not wanting to subject Belle to the sight of his mutilated body. He had figured out a way to keep Belle from seeing his damaged broken body, as well as maintain his health, once they would leave Storybrooke, but she had caught him off guard in her rage, not affording him the opportunity to finish the preparations to mask the ugliness and pain wrought upon him by Zelena. He had decided to hide his physical scars along with his emotional scars. It was his job as a man to be strong, even if he wasn't, and to protect Belle from the harshness of what had been done to him. He reasoned that his darling Belle had suffered enough with his death and then seeing him living in a filthy cage, hence he would shield her from the hideous evidence of his enslavement. She was smart. He knew she could probably deduce some of what happened to him at Zelena's hands, so why make her look at it everyday? He knew there were actually two reasons for his concealment of the truth; first and foremost not burden her any further, but also though he hated to admit it, he feared she would be so repulsed that she'd have no choice but to leave him. He couldn't risk her leaving him...he needed her...he loved her beyond measure, and she had been his only lifeline during captivity. He had to do whatever it took to make her happy, keep her happy and not have her realize what a piece of rotting trash he had become. It would kill the last dying embers of his spirit if she ever saw the man that he saw, who was no longer worthy of anyone's love. Yet Belle did see the beast, just as he always told her she would... just as Zelena constantly reminded him Belle would, rendering any efforts to free himself from Zelena pointless.

During the initial part of his journey, he had tried to find a tree branch that would serve as a makeshift cane. His efforts had been futile as he searched the edge of the forest in the dark, repeatedly falling on the uneven terrain. The sense of disorientation created by moving shadows of various animals, seemingly waiting for him to make the forest floor his grave, triggered flashbacks of when he had fled Zelena, while the voices kept bombarding his mind, knowing at anytime Zelena or her minions could be upon him and force him back into the cage. For all his effort to find a functional cane substitute, the branches were never the right size or strength to help him walk. Indeed, one branch that in the darkness he thought was a good candidate turned out to be severely rotted, and the brittleness from the cold caused it to snap when he used it for support, causing him to fall on his face. Eventually, he gave up and started hobbling along the road.

The pain in his leg was searing, his original injury, made centuries ago in his single-minded effort to be a father to his son, affected his whole leg as he strained the various joints and ligaments...and yet, his consciousness barely acknowledged it, as the emotional torment of the last several hours bore down upon him. He told himself that he always knew she'd leave—he'd drive her away, and yet, there was that small child-like belief that she was different...she would be there when he needed her most. Most of his psyche berated him, telling him that he got what he deserved, because he was inherently unlovable and a beast. However, a tiny speck of self-respect, ironically a tiny piece of the man which hadn't completely disintegrated at her rebuke of the man that she had once nourished, seethed at her betrayal. While most of him wanted to grovel at her feet begging for her forgiveness, because well, that's what he did, that speck of self-respect with sharp edges never wanted to lay eyes on her again, unless it was to tell her that she was not one ounce better than his faithless, shrew of a first wife-"I know how to pick 'em... Milah, Cora and now Belle." He tried to hold onto that tiny piece of anger. As he viewed the world overwhelming, frightening and lonely, through eyes swollen from the shedding of too many tears, anger felt better than the abject misery of knowing he had lost the one person he had left to make him feel like his existence mattered, and indeed anger felt better than the repeated mocking voice in his head that it was all his fault. He felt as if time had shifted around him. The combination of his injuries, emotional trauma and the onset of dehydration impaired his equilibrium.

Now, a bit of self-preservation reminds Rumplestiltskin, he must find something to drink, but he can't find it within himself to care. Belle cast him out and no longer has a drop of concern for his wretched existence... "Perhaps that's as it should be," he muses with a mixture of guilt about his mistakes, and self loathing, tinged with a hint of hatred of her. There is a very fine line between love and hate after all. He is now completely alone in the world, and he can't imagine that anyone in any realm would care if he died along the road... certainly not Belle, so why should he?


Isabelle de Ravin, or Belle as friends call her, awakes dripping in sweat with her heart racing from a dream she can't completely remember. She feels as though she might vomit from the intense emotions boiling inside her. Though she can't recall any images from the dream, the emotions continue to resonate. There's the distinct feeling of anger and hurt, but worse and much more prominent is guilt, accompanied by the sense that she has done something unforgivably cruel to someone she loves... There is a need... a great need to make things right, though she doesn't know the source of this need. On trembling legs, she stands still feeling disoriented, running her fingers through her perspiration dampened hair. Her current state has rendered the previous night's shower moot, thus she leaves her room and makes her way down the hall to the bathroom shared by the six permanent hostel residents. The top floor of this Civil War era youth hostel has low rent rooms, but one must sacrifice the nicety of having a private bathroom, so the timing of one's shower is often vital. The sun just having broken over the mountain range to the east side of the hostel signifies the start of a new day. Fortunately, most of the residences are still asleep, as she would still be, if her fitful dream had not gotten her in a choke hold.


Later as she gets dressed in a t-shirt, a black and purple "Purple Rain" sweatshirt that her friend Duncan had bought her, tights, black parachute pants, purple legwarmers and heavily worn black canvas Candie's sneakers, opting to save the wear on her boots until it snows again. She grabs her frayed winter coat, hoping it will be sufficient for the frigid December temperatures. She intends for her next paycheck to go towards a longer coat with a hood to warm her when the bitterest bite of Winter comes. She makes her way down to the communal dining area. As she approaches the medium-sized oblong kitchen, she notice two sounds, a harsh Winter wind blowing against the windows, and the sound of a teakettle.

"Just in time," her tall, dark haired, lanky friend Duncan says.

"Hey. Will you be out tonight?" Belle inquires.

"Don't think so. A monster cold front will be coming through, and it won't be fit for man nor beast."

"Alright, Yukon Cornelius."

"Don't forget Bumbles bounce."

Rolling her eyes, "So Saturday Night Live?".

"Alive better than dead." He smirks, she folds her arms and tilts her head, and he continues, "Yeah, Billy Crystal is always good for a laugh, and Martin Short is growing on me. Eddie Murphy's hosting so we'll probably see him do Mr. Robinson. It'll be a good way to wait out the storm...no need for Jack Frost to nip at my nose or anything else."

With the lack of a response to his Jack Frost joke, Duncan notices her mindlessly staring at his tea cup, "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I just have a strange headache, and I feel like I need to take a drive today."

"Drive to where?"

"Not sure. Just around." She shrugs.

"You're driving for an indeterminate amount of time in that bucket of bolts?"

"It'll be fine. The biggest problem with the Beast is the radiator. I'll take some jugs of water...just in case."

"What are you up to?"

"Don't know. Probably a fool's errand," she sighs, "...but I can't get past the feeling that there's something I really need to do, ...something I need to fix."

"Fix? If you're taking up car repair, you might want to do something before your floorboard totally rusts out," he says, and Belle groans. Noting her reaction, "Okay okay, I see you've got your not-in-the-mood face on. Just try to stay out of trouble."

She finishes filling two jugs of water, and then places them on the counter. Hugging her friend and slips on her coat and pulls on the purple woolen hat that resided in her coat pocket. Grabbing a handful of Frosted Flakes, she shoves the cereal into her mouth and pours a small glass of milk while she chews. She hurriedly guzzles down the milk and quickly rinses the glass to put it into the hostel dishwasher.

Duncan gapes at her. "That's it?! That's your breakfast?"

"Sorry, mother. I have somewhere to be."

"But you don't know where?"

"Well, yeah." She pulls on gloves from her other coat pocket and putting them on and retrieves the water jugs from the counter.

"Oh, that makes sense," Duncan responds with a sarcastic edge.

"Hopefully, it will when I get back."


Belle walks out the door, releasing a small whimper provoked by the first sharp shock from the frigid wind, and she makes her way down the weather-beaten back stairs to the parking lot where her 1976 American Motors Hornet station wagon awaits.

Once inside, she squeals as she sits on the freezing vinyl seat that is easily felt through her tights and pants as she starts the car and reaffirms her desire for a longer coat. As she waits for any sign of movement of the temperature gauge, she muses about this beast of a car that she bought used. It's beat up and the risk of the radiator overheating is certainly a difficulty, but eventually, it gets her everywhere she wants to go...even if it takes some extra time. She decides it's important to value what she has, because there are always other people who don't have as much. She just prays "The Beast" will lead her to answer her burning need to set something right.


She had been driving south-eastward for an hour and fifteen minutes, her eyes constantly scanning for any sign of what she was looking for. The combination of frustration and anxiety caused her to hold the steering wheel in a white knuckle death grip.

Now, up ahead in the distance, she views a man walking—well, actually it's a bit of a stretch to call it 'walking' as his movement is quite labored as he struggles with a very pronounced limp and pain seems etched upon his entire form. Her heart races as every pore of her body tingles and screams, "This is it!" Her intuition chants, "It's him... it's him... it's him!" while her mind points out the blind insanity of a woman offering a ride to a random man along the side of the road.

Hedging, she opts to drive a ways past him into a diner parking lot and wait to see if he'll approach her in a public place with plenty of people around. It's still not necessarily safe, but it gives her the illusion of safety, and she is willing to settle for that illusion on this very odd day.


Minutes earlier, Rumplestiltskin stumbled numbly along the road as flashes of the past year bombarded his brain. He wished that sick witch Zelena had stabbed him and became the Dark One. Being resurrected had brought him nothing but misery... Why had Belle gotten involved in such a ill-advised endeavor?... Playing the hero again?... Her own selfish want to have him back... but only as long as he behaved like a good dog? Rationally, he knew that Bae was the one who resurrected him, but he couldn't very well be angry at Bae at this point, because he was dead. However, Belle was very much alive, and her involvement couldn't be ignored... no matter how much he tried ignore it.

A flash of the memory from when he and Belle were first reunited in Storybrooke after Emma broke the original curse crept into the vision of his mind's eye. After he had told her he was still a monster, she had not disagreed like she once had, which had stung his heart, instead declaring confidently she would stay, and yet nine days later, she had already had enough of his difficulties and climbed out his second story bedroom window, without so much as a note. He often wondered how she managed that feat in high heels and a short dress.

Ruefully, he thought, "Perhaps she's a spider in disguise—black widow seems appropriate. I wonder if after my death, did she fancy being an 'honored widow' as much as Milah did?" His nose crinkled in derision at the thought, knowing full well that the 'heroes' that Belle idolized had made no attempt to comfort her after his death. "Honor, dearie? You think you'll get 'honor' from that lot after bedding me? Ridding them of me won't improve your status. You're forever tainted in their eyes. Good luck to you! They will always regard you as the Dark One's piece of trash, not worth caring about." Part of him wanted to feel sorry for Belle in this moment, as she would forever be judged for loving him... or whatever it was she felt. For the moment he chose to ignore the irrefutable fact that true love's kiss, which they had indeed experienced, required both parties being in love. For now, he needed to focus on his anger... He focused on everything he could possibly despise about her. Anger would help him put one clumsy foot in front of the other... Love would make him crumble, just as it had at the town line. In this moment, hate was good, so he would use it to keep going.

He was seething in that moment, wondering how long it would take until she was in Hook's bed. He reasoned eventually, 'the savior' would have to realize that Hook had not changed one bit and would walk away. Hence, Belle being the expert in rehabilitating beasts would come in shining sweetness and light to change him. Of course, that hinged on Hook's girl friend showing him the door, which upon second thought was a stretch, given all the things Hook had done to Emma and her family that she knew about, never mind the many unsavory secrets of which Hook kept her ignorant, including leaving Prince Eric for dead to keep his precious ship only months ago. Oh yes, Hook might have assumed he kept Rumple unaware of his activities, but his heart was also a window into his putrid life. Rumplestiltskin rued the day that he decided that the savior should be the spawn of the shepherd-turned-fake-prince and his flake of Snow. Rumple begrudgingly overlooked how long it took the savior to believe in the original curse, even though there were glaring signs to the validity of her son's story. He had also seen fit to overlook the number of times she ran around clueless regarding any number of crises...and he had shoved down his bitterness over her lying to him in New York after she agreed to find his son, breaking their deal and making his eventual reunion with Bae even more angst-filled. However, the thing he couldn't abide—the thing that had made a blinding hatred of the savior fester within him for weeks - was knowing she was cavorting with that pirate just days after his beloved Baelfire had died. Bae had loved her deeply and had twice been willing to sacrifice his life for her, and yet she moved on both times with Hook seemingly in the blink of an eye. In the weeks since Bae's death, she seemed to have very little interest in her son...Bae's son. Her attentions were spent on the dirty pirate. Indeed, when Rumplestiltskin and Henry talked at the pawn shop the day of the break in, when his grandson wanted to be rid of his real memories, because his mother was "being a jerk," he had sincerely needed to question the boy as to which mother, since the pirate's new wench seemed to have no real interest in comforting her son, who was coming to grips with losing his father whom he had just begun to know, and that the wench had kept him from seeing one last time. He truly hated that blonde wench that was the offspring of rather useless parents, whose pair bond reminded him of an equivalent of this world's high school football player and his oh so perfect, cheerleader girlfriend, he thought bitterly.

These were the people his beloved wife always thought was better than him and who he should aspire to emulate..."Gods knows that was her aspiration to recreate me in their dull-witted, sanctimonious image. She never wanted me...she wanted a project to make me suitable. Lying bitch! Oh, but it's fine and dandy for HER to lie, but not me, her PET project!" He fumed that she blamed him for losing her way. "How dare she?!" He had told her to go several times, yet she came back with claims of staying and that they belonged together, only to leave multiple times. He had tried to be what she wanted, knowing he was not good enough neither in his own eyes nor his beloved's eyes. He had given her two libraries, because he valued her keen mind, and it offered her independence, because he valued her happiness...and in truth, her happiness was repeatedly of more importance to him than his own.

"I should have let Gaston have her when he came to my door. I should have let her be forced to marry him. She could have spent her life trying to change him, as he forced her to bear as many children as he wanted, raised to be who he wanted them to be, and he could have controlled and manipulated her mind, risking her safety, just like her dear father. ...Oh but I'm the beast in this - right, dearie?!", Rumplestiltskin seethed remembering how she could have easily been killed when her father had her kidnapped and cuffed to a speeding mine cart, "Oh, but let's forgive him!"

Just days after their wedding, as they walked on the docks, Belle expressed a desire to reopen the library, and he had given her his enthusiastic blessing. She could have something that was her's...separate of him, and besides, it's not as though she had shown any interest in how he was coping a week after his imprisonment. He wasn't sure he would have wanted to talk about it. To be honest, he would have found it hard to discuss, and yet it would have meant so much to have her express some concern about his well-being. He had been used to Milah's dismissal of him, but not Belle. It's as though the woman who comforted him after Bae's apparent death at Tamara's hands, and the woman, to whom he came home after a year in a cage and his son murdered, were two different people. After she had drank the potion to eradicate Lacey from her, Belle instantly wrapped him in a protective cocoon of love, without one word cautioning him to be a good boy in regards to his son's presumed murderer. By contrast, as he returned home from captivity, Belle's priority was clearly to ensure he didn't harm or punish, in any way, shape, or form - the depraved bitch who had become his living nightmare over the past year. In addition to being crushed by Belle's indifference, he was quite baffled as a mere few hours earlier his lovely Belle looked prepared to fight Zelena to the death for him..."What had changed in those hours?" There were moments that he secretly questioned if she were indeed Belle or an imposter, but he knew in his heart that she was Belle... There was only one like Belle.

Despite his best efforts to hate Belle with a blood-red passion, he finds he is losing the battle to stave off melancholy. The problem isn't his beautiful, perfect Belle. It is him..."I'm always the problem. My father had been right."

Rumple's heart and mind declares his existence as simply to make everyone's lives worse. All those months of Zelena taunting him that getting his freedom would be a wasted effort as Belle would soon leave him, because no one wants damaged goods, had seared his very being and ultimately, quickly become true. It made sense: Belle had endured a lot in her time with him, and he was too high-maintenance to have in her life. He had been a worthless soul from the moment of his birth, but never more so then after the things Zelena had done to him. Why would she want to deal with a man who now secretly feared the dark, who at any given moment, could still feel Zelena's hands and other instruments of pain and humiliation upon his body? The thought of the things that Zelena had done to him made him want to vomit, though his stomach was empty. Zelena's touch had stained him forever, and after all he had endured, he was still unable to save his son. His existence was a blight... He began to stumble as he once again spotted a broken glass bottle in the ditch alongside the road and imagined the warmth of his blood rushing forth after gashing his wrist with it... He found a strange eerie comfort in that image, then his mind shifted to a new image as hopelessness and misery summoned him towards the enthralling abyss. He questioned whether it would be better to step out in front of the next large truck to come his way, just as he had considered doing so several times during the wee hours before dawn. One step and he could rid the world of his plague forever... He had been a hero once in death. Perhaps it was time for him to do it one final time.

"I'm nothing but a worthless bastard! I should do it... kill myself and be done! Nobody wants a damn coward, who has to keep from wetting himself at any strange sound. Do it... Do it now!"

Tears again rushed from his eyes as he shook and stumbled as though he was inebriated. He wished he could see Belle smile at him just one more time, and he sobbed knowing if she were with him, there would be no smile, only contempt...contempt that he had brought on himself. It was his fault...all of it. He always did everything wrong. He had killed her love for him...just like he had always known he would. He felt as though his chest would crack in two from the pain of it all.

He had truly wanted to give Belle the dagger, but he couldn't... He wanted to be strong enough to do so, but he could never allow someone else to control him again. A mirthless chuckle laden with tears erupted at the irony of his current situation and how he had gotten there. He had wanted to entrust Belle with the dagger, yet something within him knew she couldn't really be trusted with it, and to his chagrin, she had proved his distrust of her to be right as she used the dagger she thought to be real in her heroic endeavor to find that twit Anna. The thought burned him and reignited his anger at his loving, oh-so-perfect wife. The all-knowing Belle, who has now decreed herself the expert on what is love and what is not... True love's kiss be damned! When did she become the authority on love? He had felt a strange, uncomfortable twinge when he had regurgitated Hook's reference to Belle being "ignorant", instead of giving Hook a sound and well-deserved thrashing for insulting his wife. However, now, the word "ignorant" seems quite appropriate. Rumple had told her that the gauntlet found a person's weakness, which was almost always their true love...almost! How did the woman who was clever enough to find Hook's ship when it was cloaked in invisibility fail to see that important detail? Yes, she was upset, and he could admit she had every right to be angry, but to cast him out like a thoughtless owner of a dog, who had peed on the carpet one too many times, was beyond the pale. He was also struck by the irony that the woman who turned her nose up at him being in her opinion overly reliant on magic, the magic that had saved her in the mine shaft, just hours ago put her faith in a magical artifact that she clearly didn't understand.

"...But that's okay. She's Belle... She's perfect... She can rely on magic all she wants no matter the consequences of her lack of understanding!"

As rage began to boil within him again, he fumed over her greatest ignorance, presuming to tell him how he felt about her, because he wanted to retain his magic. Had she even once considered that his magic could be used to protect her in a way that he couldn't? Also, why was she so ignorant as to fail to realize that if she had been the one to use the key to resurrect him, he would have made the same choice to trade the dagger to that psychotic witch for any possibility to save his Belle, just as he had with Bae. "How dare she claim to know what's in my heart?!" She clearly knew nothing of his heart. He had loved her more than anything, and she betrayed him. His hatred was renewed..."Milah, Cora, and Belle can all burn in Hell for all I care!" He told himself this many times as he willed his legs to work in defiance of his disability. He sneered to himself, "Oh yes, hate is much better than love!"


About a half hour later, after imagining all the things he'd like to tell his self-righteous, hypocritical wife, if he ever had the chance, which he knows will never come, he now hears a car behind him and his body begins to vibrate with anticipation. He feels Belle near him, though it can not be. He knows in his heart that Belle didn't go looking for him, he had waited for her for so long, and even if she did, he had made several turns off of the main road which led out of Storybrooke. However, Belle's presence seems stronger as the car approaches unusually slow in comparison to other vehicles on this road. He wills himself not to look back at the car coming from behind. As it passes, he spies beautiful dark brown hair, displaying an auburn red tone as the morning sun dances across it, and he stops in his tracks. The rusted blue car pulls into the Happy Jack's Diner's parking lot.

Rumplestiltskin has passed three other diners in the now approximately ten hours of walking. Though he had not eaten nor drank since several hours previous to his banishment, his emotional state has kept him from fully acknowledging his body's desperate cry for food and water. Having only had the occasional bowl of rice during his imprisonment, and his appetite never fully coming back after his release only three weeks ago, thus he started this walk through his hellish existence with his body already at a deficit. Though he had tried to put on a brave unaffected face for Belle's benefit, he had rarely slept during the three weeks of their marriage. Whenever he closed his eyes, vile images tormented him, and he'd hear Zelena mocking him... Then there was the sickening feeling of her unwelcome touches and violent abuse that could be triggered unexpectedly by his sense memory. The dehydration had added to his delirium and wildly erratic changes in mood as he swung from suicidal depression to seething vengeance and back countless times as he walked through the freezing, soul-crushingly lonely night.

Acknowledging his thirst and hunger was rather useless, as the only money in his wallet was Storybrooke-style currency. Though the money appears very similar to United States 2013 currency, the curse left its fingerprint that diligent merchants would likely notice. During the original curse, the bills had an apple behind the numeric denomination, and given that the curse that returned them to Storybrooke was cast by Snow White, the bills in his wallet now had a snowflake behind the numeric denomination. If he were to decide that he wants to live—which he's not certain he wants, he will being hoping upon hope that the cashier doesn't pay close attention to the money. However, money is currently the furthest thing from his mind as he stands trembling, staring at the old car, which contains the beauty with which he is all too familiar. He stands enthralled by any ridiculous possibility that the woman in the car is Belle, while his mind screams at him to hate her, but all he can hear is his heart thudding against his chest like a rambunctious puppy begging for a scratch behind the ears.


In Storybrooke the night before, Belle, full of righteous indignation and holding Rumplestiltskin dagger tightly in her hand, commanded him to leave Storybrooke, knowing full well that he could never return. As he was compelled backwards, an uneasiness vibrated through her, and she turned away. A moment later, she heard a thud and a fragile plea: "Please, Belle. I'm scared." Upon that she began walking towards town. With every step, she felt a numbness permeating her chest with coldness. Within moments, she felt nothing: no anger, no sadness, no guilt, no love, no hope... Nothing. She was just a void. What she did feel was the Winter cold biting at her face, chilling winds swirling around her tights-covered legs as her skirt rustled while she walked. It wouldn't be too long before she was back in the bosom of town with a roof over her head.

"I'm doing the right thing," she thought and continued to walk.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" an impish voice chimed in her head, "Actually, you're wearing a skirt, but skirt on fire just doesn't have the same ring...ring...ring...ringy, ding, ding..." and then the voice laughed shrilly. "Well, my little wedding Belle, how's that ring fitting? Is it comfortable on your finger after three weeks?"

"I'm doing the right thing."

With the destination of Storybrooke proper in mind, she wondered where she should spend the night... The apartment in the upper level of the library Rumple gave her; the salmon-pink Victorian they had lived in together, the same one to which he brought her after she was freed from the asylum where he made her meals, provided her clothes, and took care of all her needs after her captivity; or to her father's, where he would likely say, "I told you so." She had options, but none of them good, she thought.

"Don't fret, dearie... Any of those options are far better than spending the night outside freezing your noonie off," and then his voice dropped to a grave tone, "...like I am."

Still she felt nothing as she walked determinedly. "I'm doing the right thing."

"Oh, so sure of yourself!"

"It's for the greater good."

"Careful, dearie. Many an atrocity has been justified with such words. What was that you said to Zelena about me having been 'hurt enough'?"

"I'm doing the right thing... I'm doing the right thing... I'm doing the right thing"

"What's your hurry?... Going to the Rabbit's Hole to find a young buck to replace me already?"

"No, I'm not a tramp!" and there was a hint of a feeling. "I won't be with another man for a very, very long time..." She paused to think. "Well, never really. I won't break my marriage vows by committing adultery."

"Really? I think you've already broken some of the vows. Why not live a little and go all the way? I hear there's a new drunkard in town ...It could be interesting having him slobber all over you. You could have his halfwit children."

"I said 'no'! I won't be with another man!" Anger welling up at his voice implying that she was so shallow and disloyal as to cavort with another man so soon after her marriage...so soon after she had just...just..., and she wouldn't let herself finish the thought. She knew Rumple's first wife had cheated on him, ripping apart their family in her pursuit of another man...likely not the first other man there had been. Something twinged inside her, "No, I won't disrespect him and disrespect myself like that. If being alone for the rest of my life is the price I have to pay, then so be it."

Both Belle and the impish voice in her head heard a distant voice cry out on the other side of the town line, "Please Belle. Come back. You know I love you... I always have."

The voice in her head took a different tone... It was the tone that Rumple had during quiet conversations at the Dark Castle. "Belle, turn around and go back. It's not too late. Just go back... or... or... get the car and come meet me on the other side. This is our chance to sort things out and make things right between us... take the chance"

She shook her head stubbornly, "I'm doing the right thing."

"I don't think you're so sure. And the further I get out of range of the town, the deeper the price you will have to pay to fix this. I haven't even left yet. Right now, it's easy...it won't be later."

"No, I'm doing the right thing. I'm right, you're wrong!"

"I'm sure that notion will keep you warm at night... and your conscience clear," he said snidely.

"I'm doing the right thing," she said as she began to walk more briskly.

"Careful, dearie. 'Pride' and 'wrath' are two of the seven deadly sins."

"Sometimes heroes have to make sacrifices," she said haughtily.

"Like me when I saved you, Bae and the rest of this town from Pan? I don't aspire to be a 'hero' like you, dearie, but I did what needed to be done to save those I love... and I'd do it again for you... and you know that's true."

"You plotted to kill the whole town," she scoffed.

"Like that's never been done before," he said incredulously. "Those plots seem to be the most popular sport in town. Just ask Hook and Regina... If you can catch them in between lying to their bed partners."

She gritted her teeth, determined to push down her feelings of doubt, "I'm doing the right thing" and she pushed harder, willing all feeling from her being. "I'm doing the right thing," she repeated as a cold numbness again entered her chest.

"Sin of pride, dearie, sin of pride. What you've done will blacken your heart," he warned. "Once that blackness has a taste of you, it will grow. The evil you've done to me will taint your being."

"I'm doing the right thing." She continued down the road, her feet hitting the asphalt fiercely.

"Aren't you quite the little parrot? Should I give you a cracker?" he asked scornfully.

"Belle, please. I'm scared. You're my strength. I need you," Rumple's voice from the other side of the town line called out in need.

Belle walked faster towards the center of Storybrooke, as she growled, "I'm doing the right thing!"

"That's right, walk faster. That will get my voice out of your head," he said sarcastically, and then with a warning growl to match her', he added, "You made your choice, and I promise you, you're going to regret it."

Feeling nothing, absolutely nothing, she chanted all the way back to town, "I'm doing the right thing!... I'm doing the right thing!... I'm doing the right thing!... I'm doing the right thing!... I'm doing the right thing!... I'm doing the right thing!... I'm doing the right thing!...", and the voice in her head was silenced... For the time being.


Author's Note: Thank you very much to Snapegirlkmf and my darling husband for helping me with some questions I had about this chapter. So did anybody find Isabelle de Ravin's clothing or TV viewing plans odd? If so, the reason for that will be revealed in the next chapter...although, anybody who saw a certain pic posted by Lana Parrilla a few months ago might have already figured it out.

About Rumple's suicidal thoughts, which are common in cases of trauma, if you ever have such thoughts, seek help...contact a friend or family member or even a suicide hotline. There is only one you, and this world needs you. Where there is life, there is the possibility and opportunity for life to be better.

Just to clarify, I've never been totally sure that Rumple's plot would have killed the whole town, but since that is what most people assume, I had Storybrooke Belle mention it, and Hallucination Dark One Rumple refute it with the comment about Hook and Regina, since they've been involved in such plots multiple times and never punished nor treated as badly as Rumple for their actions. I'm not sure how fast I'll have the next chapter out, as I have a flu/virus thing right now, but I plan on writing during the time I would normally watch OUAT tomorrow.

I will not watch RumBelle and my favorite female character of Belle be ruined by the AdulteryBelle plot 'moving on' nor watch Once Upon An Emasculation of Rumple. OUAT used to feed my spirit and bring me joy, but it no longer does that and hasn't for a long time. So since Eddy Kitsis said in a recent interview in regards to RumBelle, "At a certain point, you have to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt. You have to say, 'Change or f-k off.'" I've given them more than enough "benefit of the doubt", fans have asked them repeatedly to change, and they have not, so... I'm getting out while I still can maintain some good memories of RumBelle. I really hope Robert's and Emilie's new movies do well, because they deserve so much better than OUAT has given them.

Please review this fic...guest reviews are fine. You don't need a FFnet account; I just like to read people's thoughts on my stories.