He forgot about the importance of the date that year. It caught him by surprise as he was attempting to put Bae to sleep. At seven years old he was quite the sneaky child, always managing to escape from the bath and end up running naked around the penthouse. His mornings were devoted to his financial firm, barking at interns and enduring tedious conference calls from incompetent underlings who couldn't tell the Euronext 100 from the Euro Stoxx 50. When he got home, always at seven at the latest, he dismissed his matronly housekeeper and dedicated the rest of his day to being a single parent. Though sleeping with his old college flame hadn't been the best decision he'd ever made it had gotten him Baden so he could never truly regret it, not even whenever Millie would call to squeeze a few thousand dollars out of him. Fortunately she had little interest in directly using Bae as a pawn, limiting herself to vague threats of family court and filing for joint custody.
That afternoon he was dead on his feet by the time he arrived home, managing to grunt something human-like to Mrs Potts on her way out before hunting down Baden. He was dutifully doing his homework, calligraphy exercises his father insisted he do and if he didn't know him like the back of his hand he'd fall for the perfect imitation of dutiful son he was pulling. It wasn't exactly that Bae was bad, he was merely... adventurous. Curious too, to a fault, but neither trait was undesirable. He just needed to curve some of the boy's uncontrollable exuberance.
Once he was done with his work he bathed without a protest, eliciting some suspicion from his father. It didn't last long for Bae to show his true intent, politely but firmly asking to be allowed to eat dinner in the living-room so he could watch TV. It was an odd request, usually TV time was fixed and the child rarely protested the routine.
"It's just that tonight they're gonna show a special show about the supes and I didn't wanna miss it. Everyone's gonna be talking about it tomorrow at school."
It was that the made him aware of the date. November 5th, the day that the legislation to ban all manner of vigilante activities and superpower use. Ten years since the Golden Age of Superheroes and Supervillains had ended. It had been quite a time to be alive and he'd enjoyed himself immensely exercising his telekinesis and latent telepathy. He'd been called Rumplestiltskin, the Dealmaker, a name bestowed upon him by the press, stuck as it was in Storybrooke City on fairy-tale names. As a villain he'd been granted a villain's name and he'd dressed for the part, dark colours and a flash of gold at all times. Though he certainly didn't miss the constricting leather he did feel an acute pang of nostalgia for those days gone by.
Being Rumplestiltskin, devilish trickster more interested in wreaking havoc than anything else, had been a liberating experience. The best kind of therapy, allowing him to get rid of all the bottled-up emotions his very public real-life persona needed to keep hidden. He'd lived for the thrill of it, for the fighting and the scheming, the quips and the chase. He's pulled some impressive plans, it was true, and though everyone had thought his bouts of destruction random and pointless, he'd known how to make his financial firm profit every time.
The crusade to end vigilante justice, spearheaded by Cora Mills, former ADA who passed away from cancer a few years after the ban, had put an end to that part of his life. With Bae he'd acquired new responsibilities and a new focus and slowly he'd begun to let go. At some point he'd stopped using his powers altogether and has started to pretend he'd never been Rumplestiltskin. Every 5th of November, however, he'd take his time to reminisce and regret.
"Of course, Bae. We'll watch it together."
The tone of the documentary was nostalgic and wistful, portraying times gone by as magical and wondrous. He watched as familiar faces appeared on the screen: the insufferably-handsome and upbeat Charming, who could multiply but somehow lacked the ability to generate a personality, the too-nice Snow, who could control the weather but couldn't make a hard decision to save her life, and many others. Most seemed like a blur, though others, like Red Riding Hood- werewolf- and the Blue Fairy- energy-blaster- he remembered more vividly. Too vividly, in the case of that fucking blue nuisance, pedantic and grating on the nerves. Since his telepathy didn't quite work out with superhumans unless there was some prolonged physical contact, he hadn't found out much about their lives outside their little encounters, but he'd grown to know them well in the field.
It was while the documentary presented a special segment on female crime fighters that he first spotted her. Clad from head to toe in blue the small wisp of a woman on the screen could be seen effortlessly lifting a truck over her head, flying it away from a nearby fire and depositing it back on the ground gently. There was a grace about her movements that had caught his attention from the get-go and though she had been the latest addition to the superhero ranks she was the one he remembered best.
Beauty.
Short, slight, with a smile for every villain and a penchant for laughing at his quips. She'd been the best of them all, a good balance of compassion and conviction. Incredibly strong, both of mind and body, and with the added ability of flight Beauty had been poetry in motion, smart and witty but also a gentle, kind soul, who'd caught his attention first by laughing at his somewhat quirky jokes in the middle of a fight. No one usually appreciated his sense of humour.
It was embarrassing to admit he had rather liked it when she'd kicked his ass. His telekinesis was the perfect foil to both her super-strength and flight, making their sparring matches very interesting. Usually distraction was the key to either one's defeat. It had been exhilarating to fight her, and he'd made it a habit to single her out, dispatching any other superhero nuisance easily before giving into the urge to chase her around the sky. Thankfully they were the only ones whose powers allowed them to fly, which made it easy to ditch the boring, reproving supes whenever the mood struck them.
They had been epic enemies. He'd loved to rile her up, to stir any sort of passion in her but, at the same time, he'd loved how soft she could be, even when dealing with him. And there had been a tantalizing playfulness between them, a camaraderie he knew the other superheroes hadn't liked at all.
It had been ten years but remembering still gave him a small pang of... something. It seemed ridiculous after so much time but he still couldn't take his eyes off the screen as the camera did a close-up of the female superhero as she introduced the unfortunate Hook to the floor. Though she was clearly focused on the task, and serious, a small smile flitted across her face.
She'd loved it too, just as he had.
"Beauty is my favourite. She kicks butt but seems really nice."
He ruffled the boy's hair, concentrating on what the narrator was saying. Out of all the superheroes Beauty had been the least active one, lasting two years before the ban took her and the rest off circulation. He remembered watching the story on the news, wondering about how she felt and realizing he'd never see her again. It'd been... strange. Unpleasant. As hard as it was to classify their relationship he'd knew he'd never wanted it to stop.
He watch Bae stare avidly at the screen, riveted to the superheroes and villains.
"Where they as cool as they looked, papa?"
Rumford Gold smiled, his head full of memories. What a great time to be alive.
"Yes, Bae. They were."
'We were.'
He'd gone clean once the ban had been enforced. He'd built a respectable empire, all legal and above reproach, and had left behind his past, both the good and the bad. He hadn't, however, completely let go of old acquaintances. He had one remaining link to his golden age of crime and chaos, one person in the universe who knew the connection between Rumford Elias Gold and Rumplestiltskin. At first that connection had unsettled him, had made him look constantly over his shoulder, waiting for his past to catch up with him. Over the years, however, the Hatter had proved to be as discreet as he'd always promised and, aside from mad requests for tea and a char whenever it was convenient for him- he seldom attended those, the man was as insane as he was brilliant- he seldom heard from Madden.
He'd been the one truly neutral party, designing costumes and tech for both heroes and villains and, thus, knowing how to contact them directly. He often wondered if he knew everyone's identity but he never asked and the Hatter never told. Sometimes, when he felt particularly lonely or ill-treated, he toyed with the idea of casually asking the designer if her kept in touch with Beauty.
He remembered their last meeting vividly, atop a building that had since then been demolished. He'd been chasing her, determined to keep her from foiling some plan of his he couldn't for the life of him recall. They'd ended up sparring on that rooftop, Rumford making sure she couldn't get away. They were well-matched in powers, his telekinesis clashing beautifully with her enhanced strength and so many of their fights would only end after one managed to distract the other.
That night, however, he'd been completely focused, unwilling to let her go. Rumours of the anti-superhero bill had him worrying about losing moments like that one, losing her. She'd tried all the usual tricks to try an break his concentration and he'd been enjoying taunting her for her apparent failure when her eyes had lit up suddenly. It was all the warning he'd received before she'd lunged at him, her lips pressing firmly against his. Skin to skin contact, strong and willingly initiated, had given him a glimpse into her. A small one, almost overlooked in the midst of things, but enough to remember when she'd broken contact.
"You're a brunette."
It had been quite a revelation since, as he found out then, a nifty little chemical provided by Hatter changed her hair colour temporarily. A smart way to put as much distance between her real self and her vigilante persona as possible. She'd used the break in his concentration to land a punch in his stomach and sweep away, leaving him dazed and oddly pleased she hadn't struck him as hard as she could. She'd been gentle. For him.
He had thought, back then, that he'd have more time with her but he'd been wrong about that. He'd been wrong about many things and once he'd realized that it was all over, that there was nothing to do but retire, he'd severed all ties with his hidden past, all but his connection to the Hatter. But even that strained friendship had suffered over the years, especially after Baden had been born and Rumford had become a father. Desperate to give his boy the stability he'd never had as a child he'd almost completely pulled back from the eccentric designer. He still called, from time to time, sounding madder than ever, but he seldom called him back, and they almost never met. It was better for him and his son, in any case. The old times, the good times, the golden times, where dead. Dead and buried, as far as he was concerned.
It was rather ironic that days after reminding himself that the old times were past Mary Margaret Blanchard, a local councilwoman running for mayor, came out as a superhero, confessing to the people of Storybrooke and the world at large that, once upon a time, she'd been known as Snow White. He could see the resemblance despite the added ten years and the pixie cut she was currently sporting and whatever lingering doubt anyone had was squashed the moment she made it snow in the middle of Spring. The public, far from panicking or attacking her, went wild at the revelation, her popularity sky-rocketing as people cheered her on, ecstatic to have a superhero back. She'd been one of the most popular ones to boot and it was her popularity, the sheer love the people showed her that kept the current mayor and opposing candidate, Regina Mills, from arresting her for use of her abilities.
He watched the drama unfold from the comfort of his living-room, both him and Bae riveted to the screen, eager to see what would become of things. Snow White's campaign became all about putting an end to discrimination- the ban- and inviting people with abilities to use them for the good of the city once more. She spoke from experience of the depression she suffered after the ban, how stifled and hopeless she felt, useless. She managed to hit the right amount of nostalgia, drama and tentative hope and when election day came it was no surprise to anyone that she won by a landslide. Regina Mills, sadly, didn't exit in a dignified manner, pursuing whatever legal venue she could think of to contest the results. In the end, however, she'd had to admit defeat.
Mayor Snow, as she was soon nicknamed, was quick to act on her word. She cajoled the president into declaring amnesty for superpowered people and sponsored a bill of congress that'd revoke the old ban on people with power. They were hugely-popular measures and it was soon that Mayor Snow's next promise became a reality: a city-sanctioned special task force meant to work with the police and other agencies formed exclusively by people with powers. Hero squads, they called them colloquially. They guaranteed anonymity and provided both some form of financial support, medical care and training facilities.
Though at first few people came forth soon some old face began re-emerge. Red Riding Hood one day, the Blue Fairy the other, costumes re-vamped and this time cooperating with the police. Jefferson called him, ecstatic and half-delirious, telling him he was back to making the suits he enjoyed most. He encouraged Rumford shamelessly to return, calling him a coward when he dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Besides being on the wrong side of the equation, something which seemed to forever escape the Hatter's notice- he was well past the time for playing cowboys and Indians. The more new heroes joined, young and fresh and ever-so-eager, the less he thought about ever revisiting his more reckless side.
Though he was completely at peace with his decision he couldn't help but spend long hours with Bae following the situation as it developed. He couldn't stop himself from looking for her every time a story about a new "resurrected" hero appeared on TV or the papers. He'd been sure, when the ban had been lifted, that she'd be one of the ones to come back and he'd looked forward to seeing her once more and following her adventures, albeit from a far less privileged position.
At some point the novelty wore off and things began to settle down in Storybrooke once more. After the first hopeful months Gold stopped watching the news as avidly and slowly the realization that he wouldn't be seeing Beauty again started to sink in. Everything he remembered of her had led him to believe she would be back. She'd loved it as much as he had, but had been younger and much less damaged.
Bae hanged onto hope for longer, forfeiting cartoons in favour of the news whenever he could and asking his dad to check the paper every morning. Though he was excited to see all the heroes, both old and new, and knew them all by name and power, his heart was set on Beauty. Like father like son, it seemed.
But even Baden ended up letting go of his hopes, and with a bit of time they both started to forget their early hopes. The presence of superheroes in the city stopped became commonplace once more and life in Storybrooke resumed its normal pace. For Rumford Gold it meant screaming at his interns, brokering deals, maintaining his ruthless reputation, key for business, and juggling his many responsibilities as a single parent. It was how he found himself out in the busy streets of Storybrooke's downtown area, a hand gripping his cane and the other holding tightly onto Bae's hand. He was supposed to be with Milah for the weekend but she'd opted out at the last minute and he'd had to leave work to pick him up from school, promising the lad some ice-cream in an attempt to cheer him up.
The streets were jam-packed, making the task of walking with a limp half-carrying his son a difficult one. He dodged people right and left, practically shoving people out of the way with his cane when, suddenly, Bae's hand slipped from his. He turned around to see his son chase after something, getting lost in the crowd. Panicking he tried to pursue him, muttering a curse every time he bumped into someone, pain flaring across his right leg. When he got to the corner he looked around, his heart in his throat when he heard the screech of tires and the blare of a horn. He followed the sound blindly, almost giving in to panic when he saw Bae lying on the pavement, curled up in a ball. But there wasn't any blood he could see and, crouching between him and the bus who'd almost ran him over, was someone else. A woman, young with long brown hair wearing an electric-blue coat and a matching pair of woollen gloves and hat. She had her hands tightly pressed against the front chassis of the bus, which looked like it had crashed into a concrete column.
He crouched down to wrap the shivering Bae in his arms, feeling his warmth and the way he was breathing heavily, alive. Later it'd be hell to pay for wondering off when he knew how dangerous it was but all he could feel at the moment was relieved and happy.
"Is he okay?"
He remembered then the good Samaritan that had saved his son and turned around to answer her. It was only when he stared into her eyes, so impossibly, startlingly blue, that he connected the dots and realized what had happened. This woman had stopped the bus with her own brute strength and he only knew one person strong like that with eyes so particular.
She was Beauty.
He tried to speak, tried to say a thousand things at once. He wanted to thank her and tell her he'd missed her and ask her what she'd been doing for the past ten years but his tongue felt thick in his mouth and he had trouble remembering how to connect words to form sentences. He could see the moment she began to panic, looking back at the bus like she'd just realized what she'd done. She would've bolted if he hadn't grabbed her by the wrist, and the skin-to-skin contact was enough to give him a small, startling peek inside her head. She was quick to free herself, taking advantage of the crowd gathering around them to disappear. He tried to follow her with his eyes, thinking that her hair was much darker than he'd imagined and her cheeks fuller. Her lips he'd remembered well.
They arrived back at his penthouse late at night, having had to go to the hospital where the police had questioned Bae about the accident. The boy, without him having to say so, didn't reveal anything about the woman who'd saved him, claiming it had all happened fast and had been very confusing. Rumford had used his usual blend of covert threats and general nastiness to drive the policemen away as soon as possible and had had Dove, a company man, drive them home. It was only when he was putting Bae to sleep, tired from his ordeal but blissfully safe, that the child spoke about the accident.
"I'm sorry, papa. I didn't think."
He kissed his forehead, unwilling to get angry. It was late, he'd give Bae a hard time in the morning.
"She was the one that saved me, wasn't she papa? Beauty."
He smiled and nodded, staying by his son's side till he fell asleep, petting his hair and watching him breathe in and out, not a scratch on him. He kept flexing his right hand, remembering the electric feel of touching her and delving into her mind. He hadn't seen much, but he'd seen enough.
He'd seen The Storybrooke Public Library.
He'd never before set foot in the building. There had never been a need to, his own library was vast and varied and he'd never felt curiosity about the city's own public library, though it was one of the prides and joys of Storybrooke. It was an old, carefully-preserved building near the financial district, tall and imposing and done in the Neo-Gothic style. The marble floors and gleaming wooden stacks were sufficiently awe-inspiring, though the effect was ruined by the myriad of poorly-dressed college brats hanging around, attempting to study or do some research.
He walked around, trying not to make it too obvious he was looking for something. Though his leg protested a bit he made sure to carefully observe every floor. He was wandering along the third floor stacks when he caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of brown hair. He found her shelving books, dressed in a plaited rose-coloured skirt and a burgundy blouse, hair swept back and away from her face. He indulged himself for a while simply staring at her, noticing how much curvier she looked, and softer than her costume had made her look. When she'd almost finished her task, only one book remaining in her hands, she turned around, freezing in place when she saw him. The fleeting look of fear that crossed her face made him deeply uncomfortable and he tried to think of ways to put her at ease. He knew she was likely scared that her secret identity would become public and as he approached her, slowly as one would a wary animal, he tried to rehearse in his head what he'd say. He felt his power push against his skin, responding to his emotions and the memory of their past relationship and when the book she was holding slipped through her frozen fingers it was instinctual to use his telekinesis to stop it's fall, suspending it in mid-air. She looked at it for the longest time and then at him and, slowly, a small smile bloomed on her lips.
"Rumple!"
Next thing he knew she was wrapped around him, familiar and foreign at once, smelling of orange blossoms and something citrusy. She spoke with an accent he hadn't detected before but her voice was just as he recalled and it made him shiver to hear her say his name. He didn't understand why she was hugging him, her arms around his neck and her face hidden in the crook of his shoulder, as if they had done that a million times before. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around her, not quite knowing where to put his hands. It all seemed too much, all of a sudden.
It had to end, but it did so too soon for his taste. As nervous as the hug had made him it had felt wonderful. She stepped back and looked him over, biting her lower lip, the gesture frightfully familiar. She made a small, distressed sound when she saw his cane and he rushed to tell her that it was fine, that it was an old wound that didn't bother him much at all, he was used to it. She smiled tremulously in response and took his left hand in hers. She hesitated for a second and glanced at the wall clock to her left, checking the time.
"Do you... do you want to have a coffee? There's a café nearby that makes a great cheesecake. We could... We could catch up."
He nodded, still unable to speak. That was an excellent idea.
Thankfully by the time they were sitting down on an isolated table at the coffee house he'd regained his powers of speech. She introduced herself as Belle French, making a humorous quip about how fitting it made her fairy-tale name, and told him she was a librarian specializing in collection development. She confided in him about growing up in the poor side of town, the daughter of a florist without much financial sense but with a big heart and recounted the story about discovering her abilities and wishing to use them to help the people in her neighbourhood, where crime was rife. He choked on his tea when she told him she'd been sixteen when she'd first come out as a superhero, trying not to make it seem like a big deal. She certainly hadn't seemed sixteen at the time, mature and smart and always his match in every way. Suddenly those ten years that had passed seemed like a blessing. Though the age-gap was significant it didn't seem as much now that she was twenty-eight.
When it was his turn to share it was surprisingly easy to do so, telling her his name and trying not to show his obvious delight when she sounded it out, remarking on its uniqueness. He told her what he did for a living, and mentioned his son, Bae, thanking her profusely for rescuing him. In the least obvious way possible he hinted that his mother was out of the picture. It was a silly thing to remark but he couldn't help a small bit of foolish hope that she might care. He smiled brilliantly every time she laughed at one of his quips, no matter how odd or dark, and reminisced with her for what seemed hours. It was as if they were old, dear friends sharing memories, completely at ease with each other. As much as he couldn't stop staring at her she couldn't stop either, her eyes taking in each and every one of his features.
It was when they'd finished their slices of cheesecake and were on the third cup of tea that he asked her why she hadn't returned to the public life once Mayor Snow had made superheroes legitimate again. The question seemed to upset her and he was on the verge of taking it back and apologizing when she spoke.
"My... my powers... They don't work anymore. Not much. My strength is not what it used to be and I can't fly anymore. Haven't been able to in years."
Her tone was aiming for detached, but her eyes turned glassy and she gripped her napkin tightly in her hands, a nervous gesture. As much as he knew little about her real life, about Belle, Rumford knew plenty about Beauty, knew how important her powers were to her own being. Flying specially. He'd never seen anyone look as free and as... exultant as Beauty in the air. It had been exquisite to look at her glide, even if she was chasing after him.
And, apparently, underage. He couldn't quite get past that.
"I read there were places set up to help people with that, pairing people with stunted but compatible abilities to help each other develop their powers again. It's a common problem. I know my telekinesis is subpar at best nowadays."
He was shite at comforting people in a normal situation but he felt he was doing even worse at the moment, caught between wanting to close the remaining distance between them and offer whatever physical comfort he could and struggling to stay detached and impersonal. They were friends but weren't at the same time, had interacted almost daily for two years, skirting the edge between bantering and heavy flirting. He was afraid of being overly-familiar but he despaired of being of little use. It was obvious, even without reaching out with his power, that this was a deeply sensitive topic, one he could understand well and he had the feeling he was the first one she ever told. He needed to do this right.
"Oh, I tried that. It was a failure. I couldn't really connect with anyone, power wise, and I ended up... Well, I hurt someone. Not too bad, but it was one time too many. I really don't want to hurt anyone. I've always been afraid of that."
He could see the problem clearer now, painfully clear. He had never before paused to contemplate what having super-strength could be like but he wagered it was a bit like his own power. Without tight, constant control it could cause untold damage. He remembered well his own struggle for dominion over his ability. Accidents could easily become injuries, slips deaths. And self-control meant constantly restraining a part of oneself. Suddenly he got a clear picture of what Beauty's last ten years must have been like and he shuddered.
It was a crime, to contain someone such as herself, to force her to be less than she was.
"I could help you." He blurted the words out before he could talk himself out of it, like he always did. "As I remember we had incredible chemistry. Power-wise I mean. Our powers matched rather perfectly."
He stopped talking in an effort not to embarrass himself further, immensely glad he hadn't knocked over his glass of water while his hands had been fidgeting in mid-air, a nervous habit of his. He prepared himself for a swift refusal, telling himself he'd gone too far and that just because Beauty- Belle- hadn't sent his sorry arse to jail the moment she'd discovered who he was didn't mean she wanted to see him ever again and-
"That... that sounds wonderful."
He thought he'd heard her wrong at first but she was smiling widely, looking relieved and grateful and completely not repulsed or upset about his idea and he could hardly believe it.
"It... it does?"
She nodded, giving him the loveliest of smiles as she placed a hand over his on the table, a gesture that startled him. He managed to curtail his telepathy just in time, determined to respect her privacy, however difficult it might be. He caught a tiny glimpse into her mind before he could restrain himself, however, and it was full of gratefulness and excitement. He found the emotions to be contagious and soon enough, once he was over his initial shock, he could feel anticipation begin to settle on his nerve-endings, buzzing just beneath his skin.
He didn't know what he had expected to accomplish by looking for her at the library, but this certainly exceeded even his wildest dreams.
When he had proposed he help her he hadn't had the faintest idea of how he'd go about it, but some thinking and some inspection into his vast holdings resulted in an old, abandoned warehouse he owned being equipped with an array of training equipment, the sort he'd used once upon a time to stay fit as Rumplestiltskin. Once he got over the sight of Belle in leotards- a feat that tested his strength of will- they began testing the limits of Belle's strength. It seemed to vary from day to day, and they struggled to figure out the reason for it. Though he'd avoided sparring at first, focusing on flexing his own mental muscles, no longer used to constant and rigorous use, eventually they came to the conclusion that it might be helpful and he unearthed the little contraption Jefferson had cleverly designed to compensate for his bad ankle. It was a cuff of sorts with small incisors that dug into his ankle, reaching the bone, which allowed him to temporarily walk without a limp, but prolonged use was unfeasible as it would cause an infection.
It had taken some dancing around each other to get truly physical. He could tell Belle was afraid of using too much strength in him, which was likely a part of the problem. She was holding herself back unconsciously, not allowing the full extent of her abilities to show after years of forcibly keeping herself in check. Her superhero work had been an outlet that had prevented this from happening before when her powers showed for the first time. They started slow then, testing the waters and though the progress was slow and laboured it was present.
He'd thought at first that the only contact they'd have would be during their programmed sessions but Belle seemed quite eager to get to know him outside of them, inviting him afterwards for coffee or sometimes a drink. The more he knew her the more she puzzled him. Beauty might have been intriguing in her own right but Belle... Belle was fascinating. Passionate about literature, soft and warm but with a core of steel that hid a surprisingly vulnerable side. She was also likely the one person on Earth to find his acid attempts at humour actually funny.
Tentatively he started dropping by at the library, at first with flimsy pretexts of returning something of hers or changing the schedule of one of their sessions. Watching her around books was almost as beautiful as watching her in the air, Belle flourishing in her element. She asked him about his job, listening attentively. He kept waiting for the moment when she'd kindly but firmly push him away, let him know that he was becoming a nuisance, overstepping his boundaries but she never seemed to be anything other than thrilled to see him.
Whatever barriers he insisted on keeping up between them she had no problems tumbling down. He was specially surprised when she asked to meet Bae though it was no surprise when they hit it off right away. Bae's hero-worshipping of Beauty had only gotten understandably worse after she'd saved his life and, though usually shy and closed-off around people, he'd taken to Belle like he'd known her his whole life, asking her a myriad of questions and making her sign an old poster of herself he'd never admit to have a copy of as well. She even indulged him when he begged for a demonstration of her enhanced strength and Rumford made a note, when he saw her easily lift a seven foot tall art nouveau bronze statue one-handed, that she seemed stronger then than in their training sessions.
Bae displayed his array of knowledge regarding superheroes, commenting on almost every single thing Belle had done ten years ago and asking about other heroes. He listened avidly to every single one of her stories, their conversation so easy and comfortable that he felt like the odd man out.
"She's prettier in person, dad."
Bae's voice still held a bit of awe as he tucked him into bed, half-heartedly listening to him jabber on and on about Beauty.
"And short! Like me."
Bae had often despaired of never catching up to his fellow classmates height-wise, afraid of always being shorter than anyone else and Rumford had wracked his head trying to cheer him up every time he came home from school upset at being called "shortie" or "little Bae". He was surprised to discover a small sliver of jealousy settle over him. He had powers too, yet he couldn't be Bae's hero. Or anyone's hero for that matter.
Funny how it had never bothered him before.
Bae's blind faith and adoration seemed to boost Belle's confidence, intensifying her progress. Soon enough they were sparring like in the old days, falling into the dance that had come so natural ten years ago. It was exhilarating to fight with her, displaying the full extent of his abilities, honing them into perfection once more. But it was different at the same time, more, because he now knew the person she was underneath the mask.
He enjoyed most of all his impromptu visits to the library. The other librarians knew him by now, and he could see they were curious as to what his relationship to Belle was and it was that openness that he cherished above all. People could see Belle in his arm, old, beastly and crippled as he was. They could see she'd chosen him, seen something worthy of her time. As fun as their more clandestine relationship had been he much preferred whatever it was they had now. Whenever one of the staff members of the library called him "Belle's guy" in a hushed whisper, as if he couldn't hear them, he preened internally.
Having learned Belle's schedule by hand allowed him to conveniently predict her location inside the Neo-Gothic building whenever he visited and so he headed straight for the 20th century literature section at once. Soon he imagined he could distinguish the clacking sound of Belle's sky-high heels against the marble floor and he rounded a corner, trying to temper his excitement. His vision of Belle, however, was obstaculized by a hulking mass of muscles that he knew all too well. A college student majoring obviously on something sportive that required little in the way of intellect. He knew him to only pretend to be interesting in researching things for his classes, often classes he didn't take, to interact with Belle. He seemed to have a problem grasping the concept of personal space too and though he knew Belle could have him out the window with the flick of her wrist- and why that was incredibly arousing he didn't exactly know- he still felt irked when he saw him towering over Belle. He didn't have the right to get too close. Not like Rumford himself did.
It had been a long time since he'd let the trickster take over and impulsively use his powers in public but he did so then, extracting a great deal of satisfaction from tripping the towering idiot and making him hit his nose on the edge of a shelf. It began to bleed profusely and with a pained, panicky cry- "My face!"- he was out, uncaring of how many librarians attempted to shush him as he talked about his profile being ruined. Rumford let out a quiet little giggle, feeling the power sizzle pleasantly in his veins. Belle was looking at him with an eyebrow raised, clearly trying to appear stern but finding his little trick entirely too amusing.
He sauntered over with his old swagger, confident and shy at the same time.
"What are you doing here?"
She sounded stern, but her eyes betrayed her. She was happy he was here and entertained by his little display. Surreptitiously he summoned behind his back a flower carelessly tossed on a nearby table by a careless student completely focused on jotting down notes.
"Oh, just an old woman selling flowers outside." He presented the little token with a bit of flair, trying to mask the way his heart was beating a mile a minute. "Here, if you'll have it."
Though he sounded detached and playful he was relieved beyond words when she took the flower, lips spreading in her best smile- the widest one, with a hint of flirt and a touch of vulnerability. Though Belle seemed, at first glance, an open person, easy to read and to get to know, she'd for most of her life carefully concealed an important part of herself, and had honed, with time, a particular method of doing this. In her relationships she was more focused on the other than the other was on herself. Belle was always the good Samaritan, the concerned friend, the empathic shoulder to cry on. But as for herself, her struggles and her insecurities, she carried those close to her heart, securely out of reach to the point that she wasn't fully aware of them. The fact that he could catch glimpses of them without recurring to his ability filled him with a warm, heavy feeling.
"Thank you." She took the rose by its delicate stem, bringing it to her face to smell it and feel the softness of the petals against her nose and mouth. Rumford had a sudden, jarring vision of Belle in a bed of rose petals, naked and wanting, but he pushed it aside to reassert his ever-slippery control. Mooning over Belle might very well result in all the books in the library levitating in the air, now that his powers had acquired once more their previous strength.
She proposed they stop for tea before getting down to business and so they took refuge in their little café, enjoying the comforts of semi-privacy. It was then that he proposed, nervous and full of doubts, that he use his powers to try and see if he could delve deeper into whatever was still blocking he progress. He expected her to politely and sweetly refuse, to close off like any other sane person would but she took a deep breath and nodded, tight-lipped but not unwilling. Her acceptance, so immediate and unconditional, was as unexpected as it was frightening. He'd never delved too deep into the consciousness of anyone before, his explorations usually being very perfunctory and superficial.
He chose to go to his penthouse instead of the abandoned warehouse, wanting to provide some form of comfort and knowing Bae was set to sleep over at a friend's after a birthday party. He was glad Belle had decided to do it at once, knowing he'd found ways to talk himself out of it if given time. Unlike Belle, so strong of spirit and brave of heart, he was a coward and the idea of putting himself out there, to share himself even in the smallest of ways, terrified him. And what if he failed her? What if he couldn't help her at all? She'd go away and he'd lose her.
But it was too late to chastise himself, to start considering how stupid it had been to get too attached, to completely misinterpret their relationship. It had been too easy to get lured in by whatever strange chemistry they had, something that made them click. He'd successfully fought it ten years ago but he hadn't been strong enough the second time around.
All that time watching her cuddle Baden had certainly NOT helped.
Fortunately he was as certain of her own lack of feelings as he was painfully aware of the inappropriate nature of his own, so he concentrated on that. Belle, of course, held some sort of affection for him, she was not one to fake regard, but he wagered it had more to do with nostalgia and the ability to share a part of herself she kept hidden than with anything else. She needed him and that was had brought them so close together. One day, one day soon, she wouldn't need him anymore. He needed to prepare for that.
Having her in his home without his son to constantly engage her with questions and mooning looks- the boy was completely besotted- was strange and nerve-wracking, but not necessarily in a bad way. He dodged the issue for a long time, making small conversation and watching her indulge him. Finally, and blushing to the roots of his hair in a way that was completely unbecoming for a man his age, he asked her to lie in his bed and make herself as comfortable as possible. He tried to clear his mind, prepare himself for the journey he was about to undertake as she took off her shoes and lay down, wiggling on the mattress to find a comfortable position.
When she was ready and he less likely to throw up he carefully placed both hands on her temples and softly touched her, at first probing to see if she was as open as possible, trying to reach out with his mind in a soothing phantom touch. Slowly her mind unfurled like petals of a flower and timidly, reverently, he slipped inside. An electric thrill ran through him as he got used to the slight buzzing of her mind, warm and welcoming. It was foreign and familiar at once, strange in a pleasant, exciting sort of way. Belle was suddenly his whole universe, all he felt, all he knew. Control evaded him for the longest time, his mind looking for ways to twine itself to hers, to touch and smell and taste everything that was Belle.
At some point he pushed past the euphoria and managed to gain control of himself. With concentration he carefully explored Belle's psyche, trying not to be lured into areas he shouldn't be privy too. It was a slow, painful process, unravelling the passages of her mind and trying to understand what he saw and felt. He stumbled into her memories of her father, immediately feeling the love she held for him, as well as the worry she felt regarding him. He disregarded that, going even deeper, to what was at the core of herself. He caught glimpses of her at all stages of life, from a small toddler, lively and mischievous to a more composed, subdued woman, carrying fear on the back of her mind at all times. Fear she might hurt others by grasping their hand or hugging them.
It was then that he saw the knot, darker than anything else in her mind, almost toxic. It was buried so deep in her unconscious it was a wonder Belle couldn't seem to get past it. It'd take years of therapy to even scratch the surface of it. With the utmost delicacy he prodded the knot, looking to loosen it up. It was a slow, tortuous process, but he couldn't risk the integrity of Belle's psyche to make things go faster. When it was finally loose enough he delicately untied it, lovingly stroking the edges of Belle's conscious as if he could transmit to her that he'd been successful. The feedback was rather startling. Belle's entire mind seemed to wrap itself around him, pulsating with energy and engulfing him in the strangest of sensations. He felt... safe, and warm and cherished. Important.
Loved.
It took an incredible amount of effort to extricate himself, feeling queasy and out of it the moment he was back in his room. He felt cold too, all of a sudden, and fought the impulse to curl up where he was. When he glanced towards his bed he saw that Belle was awake and staring at him with the strangest expression on her face. She looked... glowing.
He wanted to ask her how she felt, if she hurt anywhere or felt strange or dizzy but he couldn't speak, could hardly think coherently. Following instinct rather than common sense he climbed on top of the bed, wrapping himself around Belle, relieved when she did the same. At some point they fell asleep.
He thought at first that the intimacy they'd shared both inside her mind and outside, when they'd slept together, would prove to have been a terrible mistake. On the contrary it seemed to bind them closer, destroying whatever remaining distance existed between them. They increased their time together by mutual tacit agreement, meeting every afternoon for practice or to spend time together. Belle's strength seemed to triple in the following days, and the smile about her lips let him know she was very close to flying.
It happened one day while sparring, completely out of the blue. One moment he'd thrown Belle up against a wall and the next one she was hovering over the floor, eyes wide and completely still, as if moving would break the spell. Even in simple black yoga pants and a white tank top she looked every inch the all-powerful goddess he remembered from ten years ago, gentle and fierce at the same time. She hovered ten inches above the ground, her brilliant smile lighting up the entire room as she took his face in her hands, looking as if she wanted to memorize his dazed and elated expression. They'd done it. She was flying.
"You did it, sweetheart."
He was too happy to care much about the endearment that slipped past his lips. She was whole once more, whole and perfect like she had always been meant to be.
"No." She spoke softly but with certainty. "We did it."
He scoffed at the notion, not wishing for credit when it wasn't due. "I did nothing."
"You did. You do." Slowly, as if he was some sort of feral beast, she lowered her head till her forehead pressed against his, the smell of her hitting his nose at once. "You make me strong." She bit her lip, lowering her head more. Her lips on his caught him by surprise, the skin-to-skin contact causing a deluge of images and sensations before he clamped down on his abilities. She seemed to sense his inner struggle, because even though he tensed and pulled back for a second she didn't withdraw, waiting him out. She was as receptive and as open when his reservations crumbled into dust and he sought to fuse their mouths together, tilting his head to the side to kiss her deeper, hands finally reaching out to grab her around the waist and between her shoulder blades, where the tank top bared her sweaty skin.
'You make me free.' Her voice resonated inside his head, the echoing quality letting him know that she hadn't actually spoken aloud. The stray thought was accompanied by a heady mixture of gratitude, happiness, attraction, arousal and something else he couldn't quite name, something warm and heavy he wasn't familiar with. With his power under control her mind didn't overwhelm him at all and tentatively he reached out with his own consciousness to hers, shuddering when they met and entwined. It was a new, frightening type of intimacy, but with Belle he didn't feel frightened at all, taking in a bit of her bravery for his own.
They shifted and, suddenly, it was Belle clutching him, gathering him in her arms and lifting him off the ground. Her strength excited him and he delighted in knowing that, unlike with other men, Belle needed not be careful with her ability, lest she injure him. He could take care of himself and let her truly do as she pleased. She did so, pressing him against a wall in mid-air, encouraging his legs to wrap around her waist as she kissed the breath out of him. His telekinesis allowed him to make himself comfortable without the pull of gravity to distract him from the brunette he was happily clinging to. His hands delved into her hair, noticing the soft texture and marvelling at the sensitivity of her scalp. It was not her shudder that alerted him to it but a sudden explosion of pleasure inside her mind, which washed onto his like a tidal wave reaching the shore.
It was quite a new experience for him as well. He'd never opened his mind up during sex, afraid of how vulnerable it'd make him. He'd never thought he could... share pleasure in such a manner, receiving hers and sending his across the link. Experimenting with his telepathic muscles he let the rapture he felt when her manicured nails dug into the back of his thighs, through the thin cotton of his pants, seep into her own mind. Her sudden gasp, muffled by his own mouth, let him know he'd been successful in his endeavours and Belle sought to reward him dragging her lips to his neck, licking the sweat off his flushed skin like she found him exquisite.
He found it easier to rely on instincts than he thought, and so when she softly bit his shoulder it was almost second-nature to let the feeling wash over him and into her. She keened at the phantom feel of her own teeth digging into her skin, pressing herself closer to him, his own power instinctively keeping her from crushing him.
"This is so... so..."
It took him a second to realize she was actually talking, her mouth pressed close to the side of his neck. He tensed, wondering if it was all too strange for her and she was looking for a way to tell him to stop.
"So wonderful."
The words were barely an exaltation against his collarbone before Belle's lips were back planting kisses over him, this time through the grey cotton t-shirt he was wearing. Relieved and impatient he struggled out of the offensive garment and, less sure, tugged on Belle's tank top with his mind, letting out a contented sound when she lifted her arms so he could remove the garment. He thought it fair to do his own bit of exploring then, catching the beads of sweat that slowly slid down her breastbone, pleased when he felt her resounding approval echo through his head. Playfully he tugged off her yoga pants while his hands slid along the exposed skin of her back, leaving her in her underwear in a matter of seconds. Belle giggled, her hands delving into his hair, tugging him closer so she could kiss the crown of his head and cradle it lovingly.
Somehow, in their shy but eager explorations, they bumped against the ceiling, his back hitting it just as she managed to rid him of his pants, letting them drop to the floor. Belle pressed herself close to him, linking her hands with his and pinned them against the ceiling and the barest hint of enhanced strength sent a thrill through him. He knew Belle would never overpower him physically against his will but the knowledge that she could, that she hid in the softness of her body such power, had him hopelessly aroused.
He sought her lips with his once more, craving the close contact. Unconsciously his power reached out to her once more, and he struggled to push it back. Belle, far from pulling away, pulled him even closer, wrapping herself around him and licking the seam of his lips till he opened up for her, gradually letting loose a sliver of his ability to enhance the connection. He could sense at once what he felt and what she felt too, and it enhanced the experience to almost painful levels. Belle whimpered into the kiss, squirming in a way that let him know she felt the same, almost overwhelmed by everything.
It was with a sudden maddening urge that he practically ripped her sports bra and boy shorts off her, Belle's hands finding the waistband of his boxers a second later and yanking them down. At some point they collided back against a wall, Belle taking the brunt of the hit with ease, protecting him. He kissed her left breast in thanks, teeth scraping against the already hardened nipple before moving to the other one, letting his tongue map the contours of the bud while his hands sought to explore lower. Belle pulled him closer, her grip bruising if didn't have the way to counter it and it felt incredible to know that no man had even known her so uninhibited, so raw and real. Only he could.
"Rum..."
He felt her nails on his back, and he let them dig deep into his skin, pain forever associated with pleasure where she was concerned. He made some sort of guttural sound in response, concentrating on letting his mind touch her everywhere, whisper-soft grazes against her skin, down her thighs, inside her. In response she insinuated a knee between his legs and let it rub suggestively against his already uncomfortable erection, even the simple touch being almost enough to make him disgrace himself. Knowing that he wouldn't last much longer he spared a minute to make sure she was ready- and fuck, yes, she was- before he sunk into her, not the slow and gentle action he'd hoped but rather a forceful motion. Belle, however, was made of steel, soft enough to sink into her but strong enough to easily resist him at his strongest. He didn't need to fear breaking her and she seemed to love the way he let himself go, pounding into her.
"Harder."
It was half a plea and half a command and he obliged her happily, his ability allowing him to thrust deeper and harder than any other man. This was what all their fights had been leading up to, this complete and utter abandonment. He forgot himself, his insecurities, his cares and his worries. All he saw, all he sensed, was Belle, tight and wet around his cock, soft and warm and free inside his mind. Magnificent, glorious and his for tonight.
"This is... I've never felt like this."
She sounded hoarse and exultant, her accent thick and her voice low. When he kissed her collarbone he tasted her sweat and felt her skin break into lovely little goosebumps. He whispered things against her skin, both filthy and tender but even that wasn't enough to distract him from his impending orgasm. With the last vestige of his sanity he reached out with his power to pinch her clit, feeling the tension inside her lower belly burst like it had happened to him. The shared climax made his toes curl and his mind blank, his telekinesis shutting down and sending him toppling to the ground. Belle was quick to get under him, hitting the ground like it was a plush mattress. She held him even though she was shaking and kissed his shoulder to let him know that she was perfectly okay. It'd take around half an hour for either of them to be able to move, and two more to find himself once more in his apartment, checking in on Bae before all but collapsing on his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
He woke up with his back plastered to the ceiling and every object in the room hovering a few inches in the air. His mind was abuzz, his power flaring out, as strong as it had ever been. Taking a deep breath he concentrated on setting things to rights before trying to land himself as gently as possible on the bed. His leg protested the rather ungraceful plop but soon enough he was out and about, cane in hand, making breakfast and trying to think. Every muscled in his body ached pleasantly, making the memories of the night before much more vivid. He closed his eyes, the memory of Belle flying, of them both in the air, bittersweet in the light of day, when things were clearer.
If she was flying it meant she had successfully recovered the full use of all her powers. She could once more become Beauty and protect the people. And, more importantly, she didn't need him anymore. A part of him protested that it didn't necessarily mean that she wouldn't want to see him again. Belle's affection, her interest in him, had been genuine. He'd known that before ever sinking into her mind.
Another part of him, the one that was rational and logical and saw the world for what it was, thought different. It didn't matter whether Belle wanted to see him again or not. What mattered was that, as a hero, a vigilante, she shouldn't associate with the likes of him. It'd hurt her in the long run, whether it was because someone discovered their relationship or because the more she played the hero once more the more clear it became how much of a villain he was. It didn't matter that he didn't use a mask anymore, he wasn't a better person simply because he'd stopped overtly breaking the law. He needed to let her go, lest he weight on her and bring her down.
The method he chose could've been better, he knew. A coward's way out through and through, dodging her calls, stopping his visits to the library and their training sessions and finally, when she managed to get him to answer his cell phone by calling from a blocked number, telling her that their time together was simply "over".
"We both got what we wanted, dearie."
Cruel to be kind, he told himself. Doing the right thing, for once.
It wasn't long before she was once more on TV, an updated version of her skin-tight blue suit in place and her hair blond, curtsey of Jefferson's little magic. As excited at Bae was to see his favourite superhero in action once more he didn't quite understand why Belle no longer visited, but in that insightful way of his he understood it wasn't a topic to be broached with his papa. They sat in front of the TV day after day catching small glimpses of Beauty whizzing past a camera, as glorious as she'd ever been.
When the new supervillain appeared he didn't much worry about it at first. Antagonists with powers were usually a dime a dozen and none of their plans ever came to fruition. Villains, as he knew well, didn't get happy endings. But this new one, Pan, soon proved to be too much for Charming, Red and even the Blue Fairy, and he began to worry when that pesky little nuisance wound up at the hospital, comatose. People reported having seen Pan's shadow rip out Blue's before she fell to the ground, her skin grey and her eyes lifeless. That did make him unease to the extreme, particularly since that snotty little kid, if he was a kid at all, could fly. Belle would likely face him alone if he took to the air.
A confrontation was inevitable but it came quicker than he expected. It looked like there had been some efforts to think of a plan of attack, but he didn't put much stock in heroes and was relieved not to see Beauty among the gathered vigilantes. His relief was short lived, sadly, because the moment the strategy started unravelling at the seams Belle was there, trying to keep everyone from getting killed, including Mayor Snow, decked rather ridiculously in white. He cursed aloud, his accent thick enough to keep Bae from actually understanding anything he was saying, and began to think. Maybe he could put his costume on and get there quickly, never mind that it was likely it didn't fit him anymore, or that Belle needed help now.
Dimly he remembered a fight many years ago. The Blue Fairy had been nagging him specially every time he went out, which interfered both with his plans and with his time alone with Beauty. He'd asked Victor Whale, a whiz-kid who pretended to be a smarmy doctor by day but was really a rather eccentric scientist with the power to manipulate energy, for a way to keep her down for the count and he'd come up with a bracelet that worked on those with "fairy" powers, as the press dubbed the Blue Fairy's abilities. For what he'd seen of Pan his abilities seemed to be similar and, once the cuff was on, only he would be able to take it off. Victor was a very nit-picky evil genius, meticulous to the extreme.
He unearthed the cuff from the locked room where he kept his "mementos" and dashed out, begging Bae to be a good boy.
"Are you going to save Belle?"
Bae's eyes were wide and he was looking at his papa like he was larger than life. And, somehow, Rumford understood that his son knew about his past. The idea of his son seeing him as a hero had his mind reeling, but there was no time to properly process anything. As it was all he could do was kiss his son's forehead before dashing out. Downtown Storybrooke was deserted, the streets having cleared as soon as the fighting had begun. The heroes, up close, looked even worse for wear, Red in wolf form limping with her fur matted with blood, Charming clutching Snow close and Snow herself near fainting. He panicked when he couldn't see Belle anywhere but forced himself to calm down and concentrate. Since he couldn't get close, lest anyone spot him, he'd have to be precise in his mental aim. He wagered he had one chance before Pan wised up to the presence of a third party and took the necessary precautions.
Fate smiled upon him when, secure in the idea of his victory, Pan started doing what only the tackiest villains did: monologuing. He told of his plans to absorb the special abilities of all people by consuming their shadows and he confessed his disappointment that all he had gotten to play with where old has-beens with more nostalgia than actual abilities. It was a trite speech he had heard a hundred times from a myriad of failed villains and it granted him the perfect opportunity to act. He levitated the cuff in the air, targeting Pan's wrist before launching the device. It fit snuggly on the brat's wrist, quickly nullifying whatever it was that he could do. He attempted to pry it off with no success but just as he was about to retrace his steps to leave the battleground something caught him from the back. He felt as if whatever it was was tearing the skin off his flesh, a burning pain that seeped from his back and deep into his muscles. It was like someone was tearing him in half.
When it suddenly stopped he sunk into the ground, shaking. Whatever had almost happened had some nasty aftereffects and he tried not to focus on how cold he felt. A second later someone was lifting him up and taking to the air with him. Beauty had saved him.
She flew them to the abandoned docks of the former city port, a new one having replaced it over twenty years ago. She didn't say much as he breathed in and out deeply, fighting to get his limbs to behave. He felt her hands in his back, rubbing in soothing circles and he relaxed further, letting himself enjoy her touch after many weeks of going without.
"What was that?"
He hated how weak and raspy his voice sounded, but he couldn't deny that whatever he'd gone through had been... unpleasant.
"Pan's shadow, trying to steal yours. Somehow it has sentience, so the difficulty lay in managing to stop both of them at the same time. The others were supposed to take care of Pan while I looked for his shadow but that didn't quite work out."
She said it so lightly, like it hadn't been a complete and utter failure. Those idiots had toyed not only with their lives- and, honestly, who cared about them?- but also with Belle's. Taking advantage of her bravery, of her kindness, her willingness to always help others. Useless, all of them. He'd ended up making a better hero than all of them put together on his first try.
"You... you're alright? Where's the shadow?"
He felt winded, like someone had almost asphyxiated him, but he needed to make sure that... that thing wasn't lurking about while Belle was rubbing his back and focusing solely on him.
"Safely locked away. Jefferson made me a... prison for it. Or he gave it to me and someone else made it, it was hard to understand him. He was giggling too much."
He spared a thought for Jefferson's long gone sanity and, with difficulty, turned around to see Belle. His eyes swept across her blonde, artfully-knotted hair and the blue that covered her from almost head to toe. And though that had been the way he'd dreamed about for years it wasn't the way he wanted to see her then. It was wrong. Belle's shade of brown hair was much more becoming and he liked her best when she didn't seem so hard and lean. Belle was softer and smiled more. As titanic as Beauty was, she wasn't who he loved.
Loved.
"Why did you push me away? I thought... I thought I might have imagined things and that it might all be one-sided after all but your actions just now contradict all that. Now I'm just confused. Grateful for your help, and angry at your high-handedness before, but mostly confused."
Having been inside her mind gave him a unique understanding of her thought process, as well as the absolute certainty she wasn't lying about what she was implying. No one had ever bared themselves to him like Belle, with such willingness. And yet somehow he had convinced himself she felt nothing for him, because it was safer to think that, to think she merely needed something from him instead of wanting him for himself. It allowed him to pull back, to retreat to where it was familiar.
"I... I was an idiot. And a coward. And when finally the fear of losing you completely overrule my fear of... of having you, I tried to play hero. And you rescued me instead."
The smile she gave him in return was tentative but hopeful.
"We do make a great team."
It took untold amounts of will-power to take one of his hands in his, relieved when she didn't pull away, even though she had every reason to. He could see in the near future the long conversations they'd have and the amount of grovelling he'd have to do to get her to look past his pushing her away, but he didn't mind it at all. He'd gladly walk through fire for her and he was tired of pretending otherwise. He'd even attempted to be a hero for her. She made him a better man, the best version of himself.
"Yes, we do."