A/N: Thanks to NorthernDownpour01 for reading through for me. I promise, when I sat down to write it, this was fluffy and light and wonderful, but it twisted between my head and my keyboard.
He sat quietly on top of the turret, staring out into the dusk. Even if anyone looked up, and people rarely do, they wouldn't see him there. Of course, everyone knows he is somewhere close, but no one wants to go looking and no one wants to find him. Everyone thinks they know why he is here, even her, and if he was less a monster and more a man, that would bring tears to his eyes. Instead, he sits and stares and listens and waits.
Things had been going so well, after three months in the Dark Castle, they had both relaxed and started to enjoy the wit and intelligence of the other. Giving her a room with a window and a bed had made the world of difference to her demeanour and slowly she had blossomed into a worthy companion, as well as a competent caretaker. His walls came crashing down the night she kissed him. Calm as anything, she had poured his wine, plonked herself in his lap and kissed him. He was less than a man, more of a monster, so he had her there on the dining table. She had cried out his name as he grunted into her shoulder and he had thought her as happy as he. She had smiled up at him after, as he swept her into his arms and carried her to her bed, tucking her in with a kiss and caress. The fantasy broke less than twenty minutes later, when, after an unsuccessful attempt to spin, he stole up to her room, to glance at his lover in sleep. Outside her door he was brought up short by the sound of her sobs. His heart, which had only recently resumed beating, froze in his chest, he had ruined her, forced himself on her, taken her virginity, not with love, on a bed of rose petals like she deserved, but with force, on a cold, rough, wooden table, a master claiming his price. He had left then, leaving the castle doors open and her cloak outside her door. He didn't intend on being back for a long time, not to the shadows and memories of the companionship he had destroyed and he hoped she had the sense to understand his silent apology and encouragement to leave.
He had travelled for months, not able to face the thought of returning to his cold empty castle. He hoped she had taken some trinkets, destroyed something, taken payment for what he had taken and destroyed of hers. He terrorised kingdoms, floating wherever he was called, wheeling and dealing for the distraction rather than the reward. After four, or was it five, long and lonely months, he realised that it wasn't helping, and some of the deals he was making were in danger of threatening his well established reputation, he hoped to the Gods he no longer believed in that no one ever heard tell of the disastrous deal he made with a little girl for a bundle of matches.
It was dead of night when he appeared at his castle gates, choosing to approach the castle itself on foot, the snow was starting to settle in for the winter and the landscape looked as dark and miserable as he felt. He noted with a snort that she had at least closed the doors behind her when she bolted, hopefully that meant that he didn't have a family of birds to evict from his dining room beams. He pushed the doors open and prepared himself for the worst, but what met his eyes was nothing out of the ordinary. The entrance hall was clean and tidy, just as when he left. He made his way to the dining room, his fingers itching to touch the wheel again, to lose himself in the thread and the creak and the familiar monotony. His eyes swept the room for missing items or destruction, instead they found a roaring fire and a plate of food at his chair. And a small figure curled up in an armchair at the fireplace. He blinked, more than once, not understanding what he was seeing. Who was in his castle? And why were they here?
He slammed the doors behind him, giggling in glee at the echo effect and the speed the small figure uncurled and stood, until the giggle died in his throat. The figure was no runaway fugitive, no thief, no assassin, the figure was Belle. He took a step forward. Belle, she hadn't left, or she had left and returned. She stood warily, arms seeming to protect her stomach, eyes red rimmed, hair and skin limp and sallow. At his forward step, she took two back, obviously rather more keen to throw herself in the fire than welcome her master and destroyer home. She turned, to escape the heat of the fire without moving closer to him, and he saw what her arms were protecting, saw how perfectly he had ruined her, and he crumpled to his knees, a silent stream of curses running through his head.
He had tried so hard the next few months to make her life as easy as possible. Gifted her clothes and oils for her bath, all returned, unwanted, instead she sat at night and cut up her dresses to make room for her expanding bump. They didn't speak, not really. She had shamed him by continuing to provide his morning tea and evening meal, always placed at his chair, the lady herself nowhere in sight. He'd caught her one day, told there was no need to wait on him, that her chores could be done by magic, she had shrugged sadly and walked away. The meals stopped coming, he saw her even less. When she stopped coming down to fire in the evenings, he figured she was near her time and magicked them both to her father's castle. Before he let them see her, he made a new deal, for her safety and the safety of the child she carried. Her reunion with her father had been silent and tearful. Her rooms were opened up, her lady's maids recalled and he had kept himself to himself, mainly up on the roof.
For the last three days, he has been watching a stream of young lords and knights enter her chambers. Some carrying flowers, or boxed gifts. He wants to giggle, but the frozen heart in his chest just hurts. They have heard of her return, the new deal he has made for her, she is once again desirable, her hand a gift that only she can give, a beautiful gift with a dowry and lands enough to make any family overlook her year in his service, overlook the way he has perfectly ruined her. He watches all the men leave again, she sends them away and refuses to even keep their offerings.
He knows what everyone thinks, but he doesn't know if they are right. When he sees the old women enter her chambers, he knows he has little time left to contemplate. Hours later her cries and sobs reach him in the darkness and he creeps from his perch to her window. She is pale, her lips bleeding and dry where she has bitten down on them, her hair hanging damp with sweat and she is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He blows some unseen magic her way, magic to help her pain, magic to help her strength and returns to his seat at the top of the castle. It will not be long.
So lost is he in his thoughts and wishes of what might have been had he been able to control himself, had he been braver, that the voice beside him takes him by surprise. She is young, her dark brown hair straight as pump water and twisted with blood red ribbons, she isn't afraid of him, at least, no more afraid of him than she is of any man. She wears the mask of confidence that many victims wear and he can see from the pattern of bruising on her arms, just how much abuse she has taken. He looks at her with pity in his eyes, she is the sacrificial lamb.
'Sir!' Her voice is quiet, but strong. 'The lady Belle has birthed you a daughter.' She looks away and steps back, giving him time to process. He looks up to the sky, the stars are blurry tonight and, were he a man and not a monster, it might be considered that he shed a tear or two. He stands to follow the girl, to claim his prize, when she surprises him again, turning to face him so fast he nearly bumps into her.
'She will refuse them all, you know? The suitors.' The girl whispers. He shakes his head, he doesn't understand. The girl looks at him and thinks. 'Every night you were gone..' She takes a step away from him, preparing to run, just in case and takes a deep breath before continuing, her voice almost scolding. 'Every night you were gone, after you left her, ever night she made you dinner. Every morning she hoped to see the food gone. Every morning she worked, dusting and scrubbing and hoping that the next night would be different.' She sees she has his attention and hurries on, needing to say her piece, it is now or never and never isn't a good time for something so important.
'When she started with the sickness, she thought it was stress, that she wasn't looking after herself well enough, it was two more weeks before she realised. She loved the child from that second, Sir. She cries herself to sleep every night, she calls to you in her dreams. I thought, we all thought she was afraid of you, afraid of you taking her child, but I know that we were wrong. She is afraid that you will leave her here and never give her another chance.' She braces herself for the blow, or more likely the feeling of magic destroying the bonds that make her her, but neither come. She looks up at him, he is frozen to the spot, his eyes glassy and she doesn't know what to do. She slips away from him, back to her lady, hopefully before she is missed.
It was lies, clever lies, it had to be, although he couldn't for the life of him think who would gain from them. The thought that she missed him, waited for him, wanted him to come home. Could it be possible that all those months he was wandering miserable and missing her, that she was missing him too? But she had cried, alone in her room, cried at his treatment of her, and she had been afraid, so afraid on the night he returned. She had returned his gifts, unwanted, she had ignored him, avoided him. No, he would not fall for these lies. He would take the child, he had a reputation to uphold after all, he would find a family to love her, give his side of the deal and learn to forget about them both.
He puts a false bounce in his step as he walks to her rooms, it isn't proper for him to be there, but really, who would think of stopping him? His breath catches in his throat as he sees her there, so lovingly cradling their child, their daughter. Her hair is braided back and she is dressed in a white nightgown, her brilliant blue eyes have regained their shine and they sparkle as she looks down on the bundle of pink blanket in her arms. Some of the ice falls from his heart as he allows himself a second to believe the red ribbon's lies, allows himself to believe that they are his. When one of the women notice him, he shoos them out with a loud giggle and a harsh word, and Belle looks up at him, her sapphire eyes full of hope.
He claps his hands and his daughter is in his arms, purple smoke still curling around her mother's arms where she lay a moment ago. He ignores Belle's sob as he looks down at the perfection that is his child. She opens her eyes, midnight blue, so dark they are almost black and she seems to stare at him before closing her eyes and ignoring him again.
'Belle.' His voice doesn't sound like his own and he coughs before trying again. 'Belle, I, thank you.' He nods at her and turns to leave, his daughter tucked into one arm.
'I'm sorry, Rumplestiltskin.' She chokes out between her sobs. 'I'm so sorry, please don't punish me any more.' He turns to see her trying to rise from the bed, she is so weak, must have used so much energy, lost so much blood. She stumbles towards him, falling at his feet and he is horrified to see the trail of blood she leaves in her wake. He looks around in fear, he knows this isn't right and he has sent the women away. He sees red ribbons, standing defiantly by the door and shoves the baby firmly into her arms before bending down to pick up Belle, placing her reverently on the bed. His hands work over her, she is weak, but still protesting, begging for her baby back, apologising for some unknown misdeed. His magic searches for and finds the source of her bleeding, easily able to repair a tear that would have killed her, should have killed her. If he had just taken the baby and magicked away, she would have died. He pushes red ribbons and the baby to Belle's side and sits at the window, a sweep of his hand cleaning the blood from the floor, he has never been fond of the sight of blood.
As Belle and the baby sleep, he ponders her words, and the words of the brave girl with red ribbons. She is afraid he will leave her here, but surely she knows of the deal he has made for her, the reason for all the suitors. Surely she knows he has dealt for her safety, even if she doesn't know the cost.
'Red!' He calls softly and the young girl looks up. 'She thinks I left because she angered me, doesn't she?' The girl nods solemnly. 'Does she think I kept her for the child? That the gifts were an exchange for carrying my heir?' The thought makes him feels sick and when Red nods he has to turn his head to the cool night air to keep the bile down. For a moment he had felt more man than monster, for a moment he had looked at the two most important people in his world and felt like a man, a normal man, but now, now he knows he is all monster, she spent nine months afraid him, she offered him everything she had and he took it and abused it and left her alone with her shame.
'Red?' He isn't sure he wants any more truths, but he can't stop now. 'Why did she cry? I left because she cried, after we … she cried and I thought …' He can't say it, but she knows and she answers him and she is so brave to stand by her mistress and face up to a monster.
'She cried because you left her, you tucked her in and walked away. She cried because you didn't want her.' Red looks down, her own eyes full of tears. He doesn't understand women, he is just a man and a monster and both are fools.
'Last question, Red, then I promise, I'll be gone and they'll be safe forever.' He waits for her nod before continuing. 'Does she know what I traded for their safety?' Red shakes her head. 'Please tell her for me, please tell her I traded my everything, her dowry shames the greatest queens, my castle, my lands, my trinkets, everything is hers, I won't need them where I am going. Please make sure she knows that I valued her above my freedom.' He hangs his head and moves towards the bed, dropping to place kisses on the heads of his precious girls before spinning and bounding to the door, it is all about the show and he prepares himself to face the knights he knows are awaiting him outside. He has some time, the terms of the deal were fairly loose, so loose in fact, a smart man might have reconsidered, but Belle's father was a desperate man, not a smart man.
'Rumplestiltskin!' Red's voice is clear, but he notices the edge of panic. 'Don't do this. Don't leave her again. At least not until you have had some time to talk, to understand what each of you want. Please don't hurt my lady again, Sir.'
He looks at her once and nods, the ice around his heart shattering. A brief flick of his hand unbolts the doors and he picks up his lady and their child and disappears in a cloud of smoke. When the knights and her father enter the rooms seconds later, the last curls of smoke are floating to the window and Red is crouching alone and scared by the bed.
'Where are they?' The head of the guard demands, striding towards Red, his hand raised to strike her. She backs away, letting out a small squeal when she hits something solid behind her. Rumplestiltskin wraps his arm around her and growls at the guard.
'We do not hit women!' He snarls, before disappearing, leaving just a red ribbon as sign the girl was ever there.