He had been holed up for what seemed like forever in his Dark Castle. The curtains were closed, the mirrors smashed. He would have no more spying on him, no more Regina. No more…anything.
The cup held its cherished place on the pedestal and he often walked by, picking it up, caressing its smooth surface, remembering the way her fingers had gripped it so tightly, the slight tremor in her voice. It's just a cup…it was always just a cup. Somehow in the intervening time it had become so much more.
And yet it was never enough. He dreamed of her nearly every night. Nightmares that made him wake in a cold sweat, retreat to his wheel, spin late into the night. Dreams where he had rescued her before that fateful leap from the tower. And lately, dreams where their kiss hadn't ended with his anger, but with them in his bed, erotic dreams where he took her from every position possible, chased her around the castle and had his way with her everywhere. And she had enjoyed it, teasing him with heated looks and her trilling laughter as she darted away from him.
The latter he woke up from in a sweat, sheets tangled around his body, hair plastered to the sides of his face. The latter chased him to his tower room where he tried to bury himself in his work, the intricate potion work managing to cool his mind but not slake his lust.
He missed her. In every way possible. Maybe in ways not even possible. If he could have found her. If he had known. But he didn't. There was no going back now and so his work consumed him, his need to get to Baelfire consumed him. All that was left was getting everything in place for the curse. Then he would leave this blasted land and for years he could forget about Belle, forget about the horrors that she had faced because of her association with him. He could forget everything.
But for now…the memories stayed, the lust stayed, the love he could never express…that stayed too.
It was on his way to meet up with Snow White, the supposed "fairest of them all" (though he knew that could only recently be true, for the true fairest of them all had clearly been his Belle), that he crossed paths with an elderly woman. She stopped him on the streets of the small village as he passed through on the way to the lake Snow White would find him at. His cloak had been drawn up over his face, and when she reached out one scrawny arm to grip his cloak, he stopped, not turning to face her.
"Leave me, crone. I have nothing you want." His voice was raspy, quiet.
"No, but I may have something you want." The words were strangely seductive and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, not quite turning his whole face to her. "A girl perhaps?"
He sneered, pulling the hood back slightly and turning to look at her completely. He bared his teeth at her and the woman released him, taking a step back and crossing herself, warding off the evil she was sure touching him had no doubt brought down on her head.
"I am not interested in your wares, old woman."
The woman chuckled, a harsh raspy sound in the back of her throat. "Are you sure? I think I have just what you're looking for." She dared to step closer, glancing both ways before leaning close to him. She dared much, this old woman. "A new girl. She's deaf and blind. She cannot speak of you and she cannot see you. She will not know who you are."
Rumplestiltskin reared back slightly. "And how, pray tell, do you know this girl is willing?" He did not prefer the company of prostitutes and went long years between ever visiting one, finding he could pay well enough and leave the woman with no memories of who she had been with. In some cases, he had left the woman with enough gold to see her happily settled outside the business she wasn't all that interested in. He was not unkind, though monster he may be. And he had never…ever…taken an unwilling girl to his bed.
"She's willing." The woman smiled a nearly toothless grin at him.
He didn't want to follow the old woman. He tried to turn away, but something drew him forward, made him follow her as she turned and wove her way through the crowd. Perhaps it was the allure of being able to be himself, of being able to please a woman and leave her sated, memories intact. She would not know who he was, could not see him, hear him. He could call her by a different name and dream of his Belle, and she would not know any different. It horrified him, this thought of using someone and pretending she was the woman he loved, but he could not push the thoughts from his mind.
The old woman led him to a small shack on the outskirts of town, a dirty little run-down place that boasted no signs and certainly did not seem to be the house of ill repute he was expecting to be lead to. His eyes narrowed at the woman. "What is this?"
"I just have the one girl right now, sir." Her smile was strange, mysterious. "Come…come inside. Let me show you her." He almost turned and walked away then but the old woman was shuffling inside and before he could do anything, she was drawing forth the girl in question.
He gasped and a knowing smile crossed the woman's face. "You like?"
She was Belle. Well, not his Belle. But the resemblance was uncanny. She was pale, far paler than the Belle he had loved, her skin a strange alabaster with no trace of the pink that had often colored Belle's cheeks. Her hair, the same chestnut brown that was Belle's was slightly longer than hers had been. It fell nearly to her waist in a matted riot of curls. Her eyes were blue, but the strange milky blue of the blind. He could see the way they flitted about the room, like she sensed something was nearby without being able to figure out what that might be.
She was tiny and even at his fairly diminutive height, he stood several inches taller than her. He had forgotten how tiny she was. He almost had forgotten how heartbreakingly beautiful she was. Stepping forward, he reached out a hand and brushed it lightly down one cheek, the blackened nail scraping lightly against her skin. He watched her shiver under his touch and then turned, dropping the coins into the old woman's outstretched palms.
"Leave us." The old woman started to protest, but enough funds to cover a night in the inn placated her and she left without a further word.
Rumplestiltskin turned to look back at the young woman. She had not moved, her face still tilted slightly as if his hand were still there. He walked around her slowly and watched as she turned her face to follow his path as if the very air around him was causing currents that drew her to him.
Finally, he reached out one hand and took one of hers in his long fingers, admiring the delicateness of her hands. They were softer than Belle's had become during her time as a maid, more like the hands he first remembered seeing, the hands that were soon rubbed red and raw from her chores about his place. More than once he had wished to heal those marks, take the pain away from them, but he knew that calluses would form and the work would become easier. He knew her hands would soon mirror his own.
He led her to the one bed in the room. A tiny thing stuffed full of straw and covered with a thin sheet and blanket, it was hardly deserving of the word bed and certainly not the sort of place he usually found himself sleeping on. But needs must, as it were. And so he would make do. It was not worth the price of the magic to change it to something he might find more appealing.
He helped the girl, this not-Belle, to climb into the bed. She went easily, seemingly knowing exactly what he wanted of her. There were no protests as he situated her just the way he wanted, laying her on her side facing away from him. He lightly stroked a hand down the mass of her curls, feeling the silky weight beneath his fingertips, then lightly touched her neck, her shoulders.
He wanted her. With every fiber of his being he wanted her. He wanted to pretend, to believe. He wanted to sink himself into her body and lose himself in everything that was Belle. The smell of roses, the taste of vanilla, the unique way she bit her bottom lip when she was lost in thought. He needed it, like he needed air, like he needed magic.
And yet he couldn't.
Instead, he curled up behind her, wrapping himself tight around her, holding her small body close to his. When she pulled her knees up and curled into herself, he followed suit, his body clinging to hers as he held her tight in his embrace.
She was tense at first, but finally he felt her relax, allowing her body to mould to his. He lay there for a long time, relaxed, almost contented. He could almost forget. Almost.
He wasn't sure how many hours later it was that he woke up with the realization that he couldn't do this. He wanted Belle. Not not-Belle. Not someone who looked like Belle, even smelled like her, but was not her. He shifted away from her and she followed, her strange milky eyes opening and turning toward him. Unseeing, but still somehow finding him.
She seemed about to speak, but he laid a finger on her lips. "I'm sorry." He climbed out of the bed and saw her trying to follow, her hands reaching out to grasp for something, connecting only with air. He leaned over her, taking hold of her hand in his and pulling her to her feet.
When she was steady, he released her. "I'll just…get the old woman back then shall I?" She stood, staring blankly forward. He repeated his apology and took an unsteady step toward her. With both hands clasping the sides of her face, he leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly across hers, feeling the softness of lips so very like his Belle's, hearing the young woman sigh into his mouth hers opening beneath his, just waiting for him to deepen the kiss.
"Rumplestiltskin?"
His eyes flew open.
The eyes looking back at him were no longer milky white, but clear blue. Her face was still far too pale, but her cheeks had regained the pink hue he loved so much. "I…"
"I knew you'd save me!" She threw her too thin arms around his neck, pulling him close into her embrace. For a moment he didn't even move. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. Not-Belle had turned into real Belle. And he didn't have a damned clue what to do about it.
"You were dead."
She leaned back and looked at him, her head cocking slightly to the side. Then she nodded, a smile creeping across her face. "We'll discuss that one later." She wrapped herself around him once more and then her muffled voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. "Just take me home, Rumple."
Who was he to argue with that? Purple smoke wrapped around the pair and they disappeared.
A moment later, the decrepit little shack and all that was in it disappeared as well.