The protection spell has already been cast and Belle is alone. She's always left alone. No one in the town seems to want to spend their time with the woman who is involved with Rumplestiltskin. She often feels the way they look at her, wondering, worrying. She knows they think she's bewitched or that there's something wrong with her. If you need a safe space. The words are whispered to her when Rumplestiltskin is not around. As if he mistreated her somehow. As if he hurt her.
He never had. He never would. Rumplestiltskin is many things, but he is always gentle with her.
She retreats from the others soon after casting the spell. She didn't know magic could take so much out of you, but she had nearly sunk to the ground after the magic flew out and away from them all. Only Leroy rushing forward to catch her had saved her from landing in the dirt of the mines. He had helped her as far as the library and Belle had made the rest of the way up to her little apartment alone.
She's been living up there since her big blow-out argument with Rumplestiltskin. She's thought many times of moving back with him, though there was little time with her memory loss and now this.
Rumplestiltskin is gone. And this time he's sure he's never coming back.
She won't collapse though. Not yet. She gathers up her things. She doesn't want to stay here in her small serviceable apartment. It's never been a home, not really at least. She's always known she would go back to Rumplestiltskin's home. Now she wants to go there and curl up into his bed, which must still smell like him. She wants to live surrounded by his things, things that mattered to him, things he touched every day.
He may not be there, he may believe that he won't come home, that this is his penance for all that he's done. But she doesn't. Rumplestiltskin will be returning. She has to believe that or she'll fall to pieces.
She walks into his house some time later, her bag stuffed full of her clothes and toiletries. The door shuts behind her and she breathes in the familiar scents, the life she once lived there with him. It's a reminder of how alone she is, the only one left behind when the ship took off. She's done her part. She's protected the town. Now she wishes for a way to get to Neverland, to help her love, to find Henry and bring them all home. Safe. Sound. With her. They can block out the rest of the world and just be. It's not something they've ever been able to do. There's always a curse, a crisis, some disaster that requires her love's attention. It's always this won't take long and Oh it's just the Charmings…again.
They need time together…desperately.
She doesn't know if they'll ever get that time. She hopes. She believes. She told him she will see him again, but as soon as he was gone, as soon as the ship disappeared into the sea, the doubts crept in.
They're stronger now that she's alone. One moment she feels strong, determined. And then they crash over her, and she's sure that he's right, that he won't come home.
She crawls up into the bedroom, their bedroom not all that long ago. So much has happened since she was last here with him.What was she thinking then, anyway? Take her life into her own hands, escape. She had been so angry at him, at his unwillingness to be honest. But crawling out a second story window? Well, Belle supposes that sometimes she doesn't have the best ideas.
This, however, is a good idea.
She crawls into the bed, sinking beneath the covers, burying her face in the pillow that Rumplestiltskin once used. It still smells like him, that particular scent of spice and some indefinable something. She was never all that sensitive to smells, but she could walk into a room and know that Rumplestiltskin was there, even if she were blindfolded. Perhaps it was their connection, their true love, but she knew him not only by sight and by sound, but by smell as well.
It's wonderful to be enveloped by his smell and she reaches her hand under the pillow to pull it closer. Her hand encounters something harder beneath the pillow and she grasps it, pulls it out. It appears to be a bit of tissue paper that is wrapped up and held together with tape. There's something inside it though, and so she carefully opens it up.
There's a thought in the back of her mind that she's invaded Rumplestiltskin's space, pulled out something he might have been keeping a secret. But she cannot help herself. She unwraps it anyway.
A bracelet falls out and she cocks her head to the side, studying it. It's beautiful. Gold and delicate, it seems to be made from the threads he creates at his own spinning wheel. This is no ordinary bracelet. Belle can feel the familiar thrum of his magic running through it and she can feel the furrow form between her brows. This is an odd thing to find buried beneath his pillow of all places.
She picks up the tissue paper it was wrapped in again and finds buried within it a small piece of paper, folded and tucked carefully within the wrapping. It's a letter. Well, more like a note. She hesitates, wondering if she should even be looking at this but then realizes who else would be in Rumplestiltskin's bedroom besides her. He's not exactly the town lothario. He's not even someone anyone talks to unless they need something. Rumplestiltskin has no friends, not really. She knows he's relied on Charming for help before. She remembers seeing them together at the Rabbit Hole during that short stint as her alter ego, a time she very much would prefer to forget right about now.
Taking a deep breath, she unfolds the paper. Perhaps it's not meant for her to see. But then her eyes fall on the salutation and she smiles despite herself.
My darling Belle…
He's called her that before. Darling, sweetheart, any number of endearments that make her heart a little lighter.
It seems the bracelet is for her.
I had hoped you might consider my home your home after I departed. If you've found this, then my hopes have been realized. The place is yours now. Do with it as you wish.
Belle shakes her head, wipes at her eyes. He's so frustrating, even now when he's somewhere else. He is so certain he's not coming back and Belle just cannot believe that. They're true love. She told him she'd see him again and she knows, deep in her heart, hidden somewhere behind the pain, that she meant that. She will. Even if she has to go hunting for him herself.
This bracelet was made from the golden threads of my spinning wheel. I know you don't care for magic, but please…wear this. I have imbued it with protection spells. It will keep you safe, even if the protection spell you cast fails.
She narrows her eyes at that. He entrusted her to cast it. Did he truly believe she would fail?
Not because of anything you did.
Belle lets out a relieved laugh.
There are people…dangerous people…looking to get into our little world. If they find a way to break through, this will keep you safe. Wear it at all times.
She fingers the bracelet as she sets the letter down. She wraps it around her wrist, noticing that it feels soft to her skin, less like metal and more like actual thread. As she links the two parts of the clasp, the gold melds together. The magic in it moves through her, a strange tingling feeling that starts at her wrist, moves up her arm and soon races across her entire body. And then it's gone, as sure it was there a moment ago. She can still feel the echoes of it, can still feel the power behind the bracelet. It is simply there now, steadfast as his love.
She turns back to the letter, closes her eyes briefly. She doesn't know if she wants finish. These are his last words to her. For now, she reminds herself. But she knows he doesn't believe that. She knows he believes that their parting was permanent.
I love you Belle. You deserved better than this. Please find your happy ending. Even if it can't be with me.
Yours always,
Rumple
She sets the letter down and curls up, face buried in the pillow. She will allow this one night of grief, this one night of longing and weakness overcoming her. Tomorrow she will take strength from his love, from the protection he has given her. And she will find her way back to him. True love always wins.