Bittersweet
(prequel to In Her Eyes)
A/N: this was what I felt the proposal scene and the first time Belle sees Rumple after his captivity should have been like . . .showing true compassion and understanding for Rumple.
Rumple paced his shop, his dagger secreted behind three different ward spells inside of an unbreakable box only he could unlock, and not just someone using his blood. He had to physically unlock it, of his own free will, without having any kind of compulsion, binding, or being forced to do so by someone threatening someone he loved, like holding Belle hostage. If not, the box wouldn't open and the dagger would remain locked away. After the Zelena debacle he was taking no chances ever again. He would never be someone's puppet again.
After Hook and Emma had left to chase the restored Zelena through time, he had come here, to his shop, to hide the dagger away. If anyone wanted t speak with him, they could find him here. As he paced, wondering if Belle were all right after Zelena had knocked her out, and if perhaps he should call the hospital to see, since no one else seemed to care about informing him, his eyes lit upon the familiar red ball of Bae's.
Not willing to deal with his repressed emotions then, he turned away, only to come face to face with Bae's shawl, lying on the back counter.
His memory shawl . . .the shawl he had made when he was a mere spinner for his son . . . seeing the object brought the reality of his son's death crashing over him, like a wave stirred up by a storm-tossed sea.
Suddenly his breath hitched and he couldn't breathe. The pain swamped him, ambushing him unexpectedly, and all he could do was hold onto the counter and whisper Bae's name while silent tears trickled down his cheeks, the only outward testament of his raging grief.
Bae . . .Bae . . .my beautiful boy . . .why didn't I try harder to save you . . .? His mind was in turmoil, he couldn't think only feel and all he felt was an overwhelming despair and loss so great he nearly choked upon the bitterness.
He replayed the scene in the woods . . .knowing full well that Zelena had forbidden him to intervene when it came to his son, it was part of the set of compulsions she'd given him the night he absorbed Bae's fading self into him . . .it was the whole reason why he'd been unable to do anything except watch his son die . . .but the knowing didn't bring comfort, only more recriminations and bitterness.
You're the maker of deals, the king of loopholes, yet you couldn't find a way around it?
But the power of the dagger is absolute, the rational part of his mind argued.
You didn't even try—coward! Sneered the emotional part of him.
Then he was angry all over again. Angry at himself and also angry at Emma, the so-called savior, who hadn't even tried to use True Love's Kiss to bring Bae back. He still didn't understand why. Unless . . .she'd never really loved him. After all, he thought bitterly, a week after the funeral and there she was keeping company with that sweet talking pretty boy pirate! Funny, I thought the mourning period was six months to a year! I guess things have changed, huh? Now you wait a week before you shack up with a new guy! His thoughts were pure vitriol and acid, burning and stinging their way into his brain, and he had no interest in "being fair" to Emma or anything except trying to master the tempest within him so he didn't fall apart right there on the floor.
His head pounded and his throat felt dry as cotton batting. In accompaniment to his throbbing temples was a sick lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach.
All that I have done, I did for my son. Becoming a monster, sacrificing myself and killing Pan, and now . . .thanks to some two bit whore . . .I am undone . . .and all that I have done is dust . . .
He pressed his forehead to the top of the glass case, so hard it left a mark, his hands clenched to white-knuckled agony.
Tears drenched his suit and he felt the weight of Bae's death like a black beast upon his shoulders, tearing and clawing through his flesh in swift agonizing jolts . . .
No parent should ever know this pain . . .no child should die untimely . . .
In his mind he heard Bae's last words, pleading to him to just let go . . .
. . .but he could not, and he saw Bae's face turn that corpse white and felt the last breath leave his body and like it had been in his cage, he felt it when they shoveled the dirt over the grave at the funeral . . .
Papa, let me go.
NO! I won't! Take me with you!
Just as he was about to take that perilous leap into the abyss . . .and his mind shatter completely, the shop door opened and his bell tinkled.
"Rumple? Are you okay?"
Belle.
He tried to straighten up, but all he managed to do was lift his head from the counter, his shoulders slumped with grief. His steps faltering, he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief, not knowing why it was important that he wipe away the signs of his grief. Wasn't it normal for a father to grieve the loss of his only son?
I don't want to upset her, he thought inanely.
"Of course you're not okay," Belle mumbled. "That's a stupid question." She came over to him, he looked on the verge of collapse, and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Rumple . . . so very sorry . . ." she murmured, hugging him. She buried her head in his shoulder, and burst into tears, for she had loved Bae almost like a surrogate son after getting to know him in Fairy Tale Land. And his death was like a hundred shards of glass stabbing her through the heart.
Belle's heartfelt grief and compassion totally undid Rumple's stranglehold on his own emotions and he sank to his knees, still holding Belle like a drowning man holding a spar at sea, and sobbed.
His grief was no longer the beast held at bay, now it attacked with relentless fury, and he wept ferociously, unable to stem the tears, his shoulder shaking with the force of his sorrow.
Belle also wept even as she held him and carded his hair, feeling horrible not only over the fact that Bae was gone, but for Rumple, who now had no family left. She knew the others regarded Bae's death . . .she could not refer to him as Neal because his true name had always been Baelfire, and now in death it was proper to refer to the deceased by the name they had been born with, not the alias he had chosen as a thief in this new world . . .as some kind of heroic sacrifice but for her and Rumple it was not anything of the sort, but a tragedy perpetrated by Zelena, whose jealousy and lust and manipulation of a good man's longing and love for his family had cut short his life untimely. It was almost as if Bae had been shot down dead in a hostage situation or something.
For several minutes shock and grief held them captive, until at last they were still, just holding each other in the aftermath of the storm.
Rumple raised his head and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Belle. This wasn't how I wanted to . . ."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Rumple," she soothed, stroking his hair. "I'm the one who's sorry you lost your son . . . and I wish I knew something other than that to say . . .to express how I feel . . . I loved him too . . ." More tears gathered and tracked their way down her face.
"I know. I just wish . . .I didn't even get to see him when they . . . buried him . . ." he mourned, his voice a shaky rasp.
"We can visit his grave," she offered.
"Tomorrow," he muttered. "Right now I can't . . ."
"I understand," she said, helping him off the floor.
He stared at the ring on his hand, reminded of the thing he had intended t do before seeing Bae's shawl. "Belle, I need to ask you . . .a question . . ."
"What?" she asked gently thinking he looked so vulnerable, like a child abandoned and bereft. But he wasn't, she reminded herself. She was there for him . . .and she would never leave him.
"Well . . .I . . ." the words stuck in his throat.
"Go on."
"I want to know if you'll marry me?" he blurted, the question strained and fraught with anguish.
It hung in the air between them.
Belle paused before she answered. "Rumple, I think you should wait before you ask that."
"Why?" he queried thickly. "Because I'm no longer worthy of you?"
"No! Of course not! Rumple, I love you and my answer will be the same now and a few days from now . . . but you need time . . .time to rest, to heal, and to grieve . . . you have time to propose . . ."
He shook his head. "I'm screwing this up . . . like I've done everything . . . ."
"No . . .you're trying to do too many things at once. You need to focus on you first . . . give your heart time to mend. Then ask me again."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She hugged him. "I've waited all my life for you to ask me . . . I can wait a few days, or weeks, or however long it takes . . . because I know in my heart what my answer will be, what it's always been . . ."
He gazed at her sadly. "Perhaps I'd better go home."
"Yes. I'll drive you. And make you a cup of tea and some soup."
"I feel like an old man," he protested, his old self-esteem issues rearng their ugly head at him.
"Rumple! You're not an old man . . .I don't care how many centuries the curse has given you . . .and all I'm doing is looking after you while you're grieving . . .if I just dropped you off at home, what would you do? Probably just sit and stare at the wall or something and not eat. Hmmm?"
He didn't respond for he knew she was right. He would become like a wooden doll, going through the motions, not eating or sleeping.
Belle made sure he drank some soothing chamomile tea and made him toast with butter and strawberry jam, so he had something in his stomach. She also made him a bowl of creamy chicken soup, and practically stood over him until he ate half the bowl.
Then she helped him remove his suit jacket and tie and put on some comfortable slippers, unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt.
"Now what?" he mumbled.
"Now we relax on the couch," she said, drawing him into the den to the comfortable leather sectional.
They sat on the couch, and Belle snuggled up beside him.
Soon Rumple found himself growing sleepy and he drifted off. Belle pulled his head down to her lap and just watched him sleep, thinking how careworn he looked. Well, what did you expect? She chided herself. He's just lost his son! She gently smoothed her hand over his hair. My poor Rumple! So much has happened to you since that green bitch engineered your resurrection and all of it has been bad. But now it's over and you can heal. And I'll be there to help you . . .
She kissed him on the forehead, and remained on the couch, allowing him to sleep with his head in her lap, offering what poor comfort she could.
Rumple slumbered, exhaustion sending him into dreamland, though after two hours his dreams became uneasy and he tossed and turned in his sleep. Belle stroked his hair and murmured, "Shhh . . .go to sleep, Rumple. I love you . . ." and kissed him lightly on the forehead.
At her touch, the wrinkled brow smoothed and he relaxed, falling back into a true sleep again, and soon she followed him into Morpheus's realm.
Page~*~*~*~Break
The next day Belle and Rumple went to visit Bae's grave. As they parked the Cadillac, Belle said softly, "Do you want me to come with you?"
He shook his head, his eyes bleak pools of darkened sorrow. "No, thank you. I . . .need to be alone . . ."
"Okay," she agreed, though if he didn't return after awhile she would go and make sure he was all right. Still, she knew he needed some space to grieve and she respected that.
Rumple got out of the car, his hands clutching a bouquet of peonies and yellow roses—yellow for goodbyes.
He approached the grave with leaden footsteps, feeling his heart plummet to the bottom of his Gucci shoes.
The first thing he saw was the headstone.
Beloved son
Neal Cassidy
For a moment he was too stunned to feel anything.
Then he re-read the inscription and felt a sudden flare of anger shoot through him.
Damn them! His name wasn't Neal—it was Baelfire! That was the name he was born with!
Fury seared him. His son's alias in this world counted more than his true name, apparently. The wrongness throbbed through him. He was the spinner of names . . . and for them to not have put his son's true name upon his marker felt like a subtle slap in the face.
His eyes narrowed. For an instant he felt like reducing the entire headstone to dust in his anger.
But then he stopped and controlled himself. He could fix this . . . and not behave like a child having a tantrum in the process.
He waved a hand at the headstone.
Now it read:
Beloved Son
Baelfire Gold
He breathed a sigh of relief.
Now it was okay . . .and he knelt and placed the flowers in front of the headstone.
Then he bowed his head as memories swept through him.
A storm had blown up that night, and lightning and thunder echoed through the sky, accompanied by a torrential rain that soaked everything in seconds. It beat upon the thatch and wood of their cottage like hammer blows and Bae woke from his cozy nest of blankets and mattress stuffed with sheep fluff and raced over to where his papa snoozed in his own bed.
"Papa, I'm scared!"
Rumple woke to a small hand tugging his arm and blinked sleepily. "Huh? Bae?"
"Papa, I'm afraid," the little boy repeated.
Rumple sat up and hugged his son, cuddling him on his lap. "It's okay, son. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm here."
"Papa, the lightnin' n'thunder scares me!" Bae whimpered, burying his head in his father's shoulder.
"It's just a lot of noise, Bae. You know what the lightning and thunder are? They're giants bowling far away. And when one of them gets a strike, it's so powerful the sky echoes with it—and that's why the thunder and lightning."
It was a silly explanation, but the best he could come up with in the middle of the night . . .and Bae seemed to accept it and curl up against him, and for the first time in a long time, Rumple felt like he was more than the village coward. He was a man again, a man whose little boy needed him, and he could do this—he could take care of Bae on his own, because he loved his son with all of his heart. . . .
He came out of the memory with tears on his cheeks, and he lifted his hand to wipe them away.
Once you were just a father with a little boy who meant more than your life . . . . before you made a deal you didn't understand and became a monster he ran in fear from . . .
His stomach twisted in revulsion. There was nothing he could do about the past. It was done and over with. Like Bae's life. But perhaps he could do something about the future.
He now had Belle who loved him, who saw something there besides the beast the dagger had corrupted him into being.
Perhaps he was ready to admit now what he hadn't been before in the Dark Castle.
He recalled her words before she had left him.
"You just don't think I can love you . . .now you've made your choice and you're going to regret it . . .and all you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup."
It was true. He hadn't loved his power more than her . . .he had been terrified of becoming again the village coward, helpless, abused, spit on . . . unable to protect those he'd loved . . .
Bae had almost been dragged off to die because he couldn't protect him.
He had become the Dark One to protect his son, but even that had not gone the way he had hoped.
His beastly transformation had frightened his son, his loss of his humanity had driven a wedge between them . . .resulting in a broken deal and a portal that had ripped them apart.
Lost and found . . .now lost again forever . . .
Once he consoled himself in his lonely castle that the power was all he'd needed or wanted.
But as Belle had said, it had all been a lie.
Power was empty and hollow, it didn't fill the empty spaces in his heart, or fill his soul with joy.
Love had done that . . .love for his son . . .love for Belle . . .
He stared at the flowers upon Bae's grave.
Sometimes the best things come out of the shame of what has gone before.
Through the grief that squeezed his heart he knew one thing.
He loved Belle. Enough to risk now what he hadn't dared to before.
"In your memory, Bae, I will do what I could not before. I will open my heart . . . and find the happiness I threw away . . . I will believe . . . because without that I am hollow, a dead man walking . . .and I want . . .so much to feel alive again . . ."
He cupped his hands and drew them to his breast.
And using his love he spun a band of gold with his magic. He looked down at it . . .and a single tear fell . . .and became a sparkling diamond . . .with a small almost unnoticeable chip out of it.
Beauty from ashes . . . .
He tucked the ring in his pocket and rose.
"I'm ready now, Bae."
Then, using his cane, he limped back to the car where Belle waited.
He opened the car door and beckoned for her to come out.
"Rumple, what is it?" she cried, alarmed.
The look on his face . . . she had expected grief and what she saw instead was . . .
. . .serenity. Peace.
She couldn't understand it.
"Belle . . ." he said, his voice low and mellow, with that soft burr to his speech she adored.
She waited patiently for him to continue.
"I asked you something before . . .and you told me to wait . . .well, now the waiting's done." He drew the chipped diamond ring from his pocket and half knelt before her in the new spring grass.
"Will you marry me, dearie?"
His hand opened and presented the ring to her.
She took it from him and slid it on her finger, seeing immediately the small flaw within it . . .and she smiled.
"Yes! I will!" she declared proudly. "I love you, Rumplestiltskin Gold. Now, forever, and always." Then she drew him to his feet before her. "You kneel to no one. Even me."
"It's tradition."
"Tradition be hanged," she retorted, then she pulled his head down and kissed him as she had longed to do that day in his shop, when she found him weeping and clinging to the counter.
Her kiss was fire and fierceness, and it claimed him as hers, while at the same time it was sweetness and light, and illuminated the darkness that lingered within him. It swept through him like a desert khamsin, cleansing and scouring, locking away the village coward and leaving behind only Mr. Gold. It coaxed and teased, like the summer zephyr, and he drank it like a fine Moscato, until it filled him with its bubbly heat, and he quivered.
He kissed her back, celebrating with her his joy at the fact that she had accepted his proposal. Yet intermingled with his joy was the knowledge that Bae would not be there to share it with him, and for one instant tears sparkled in his eyes.
Bittersweet.
He blinked them away.
"Let's go home. I have an announcement to make," he murmured, and helped her back into the car.
As he settled into the seat beside her, anxiety curdled through him and he muttered, "I'm sorry, Belle. I should have waited . . .instead of proposing to you like that . . .in the cemetery parking lot."
"No," she put a hand on his. "It was perfect. Because that way Bae could watch."
Then she smiled lovingly at him.
She knew he had a long way to go before he was healed. But then, sometimes the best teacups were chipped, and the strongest love was the one you fought for.
She leaned her head against the seat rest and clasped Rumple's hand in her own as he drove back to town, her eyes dreaming of her wedding day, and becoming Mrs. Gold.
Rumple slanted a glance at her and thought, I finally did something right, Bae.
As if from a great distance, he thought he heard his son's voice.
You're a good man, Papa. Now go and enjoy the life you've fought for . . .
And Rumplestiltskin smiled, feeling at peace with himself, though he wondered how long it would last. But he would cherish it, because one never knew what could happen, and he would let tomorrow look after itself for once. Sometimes the moment was all you had . . .but it was enough.