Just some drabble. Takes place just after Rumplestiltskin tells Belle to leave his manor, not long after their first kiss.
He stood among the shattered glass and the tiny slivers of porcelain, leaning heavily against the expansive table. He was panting with the anger and exertion. It had been so long since he'd been so angry. And he was angry. No, beyond angry.
He sat there on his table and clenched his hands into fists, again and again. He was out of things to smash; everything in the room had been shattered and shredded and destroyed. Everything save for the one china teacup with the chip along the rim. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, thinking of her.
He felt beyond angry. He felt .. dismayed. Disheartened. Utterly alone.
Since he'd ordered her to leave, the manor had felt so quiet. He'd come down from where he'd locked her up and found himself back where he started. There was no humming, no chattering, no amused laughter to break the silence. The only evidence she'd been there was the drapes hanging open, letting in the pale sunlight. That and the heaviness in his heart.
He pushed himself away from the table and walked slowly to the window, crunching across glass and porcelain and bits of shredded drapery. He leaned his forearm against the frame, cup dangling from his finger by the handle. He felt like a damned fool. He'd let himself feel something. Belle had made him feel something. He'd been denying it, but when she'd stepped up to him and pressed her lips to his he felt changed. He felt like he was melting, unbecoming, reforming into someone worthy of Belle's kisses.
And then she was saying the words he'd longed to hear; telling him to kiss her again, kiss her more.
And it was ruined by the realization that she was toying with him, deceiving him, trying to strip him of his powers.
He reared his fist back, gave one last anguished cry, and smashed his hand through the window. The worst of it all was that even with her deceit, even with her ruse, he still wasn't worthy enough for her. He never would be.
He turned back to face the room, taking in all the destruction he'd caused. He looked at it impassively, his anger gone, replaced by a cold placidity. He gently placed the teacup back on the table and stalked toward his spinning wheel. He'd taken a break for the duration of Belle's stay; he'd been taken in by her, distracted. Now that she was gone, it was time he got back to work.
