AN: This is just a silly little one-shot. It's been done a million times I'm sure, and will be done a million more. But I figured I'd post it in case anyone finds it amusing, as I don't think my other story (Tamed) will venture into Storybrooke.
Mr. Gold knew the sound the instant he heard it. The shattering of porcelain on marble – it was a sound that had haunted him for longer than he cared to admit. Hearing it now, coming from his own kitchen, it made his blood run cold.
He stumbled forward, moving as quickly as his twisted leg would allow him. He reached the doorway, and gripped the frame for support.
She was standing over the shards of the cup, of their cup. She was still, and her face was blank, her heavy lashes hiding her eyes from his.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were shining.
"I remember" she whispered.
"Belle…"
"I remember…everything."
Mr. Gold's heart left him; his blood was no longer cold – it was still. Time had stopped again.
This was the happy ending he had always expected for himself – and to let himself be carried away with the joy of finding her, of finding her alive, of freeing her and taking her home, in this pantomime of what they'd had before, was only the precursor to the inevitable. She would see him for who he was – what he was – and she would run. He deserved it. He should have known better. The gaping hole he felt, that he had felt every day of his life since he became what he was…..what he is….was never more fresh, more raw than when he foolishly let himself think he might find something to fill it. Hope was inevitably followed by pain. He felt like he should have learned that by now. He had learned that, here in Storybrooke.
But Belle was his exception. She instilled hope in him, like an infection, and it seemed neither time nor circumstance had given him an immunity to that. It was no more than he deserved.
He braced himself for it.
For…wait.
Not for this.
He hadn't seen her move, hadn't heard her footsteps on the cold floor, but he felt her now, sweet and warm and solid, her body pressed against his, her hands cupping his face.
Her lips, soft and hot and insistent, against his.
His arms reacted of their own accord, reaching around her back, pressing her more forcefully against him. He felt more than heard the little appreciative noise she made as it vibrated across her lips, and against his.
He pulled back. This was wrong. She remembered. She remembered everything. His rage at her confession, his brutal treatment, his bitter rejection.
He threw her out.
He would never forgive himself, and neither should she.
He raised his arms to her shoulders, and gently tried to hold her back.
"Belle, I…"
"Stop it" she breathed against his neck.
"No, please….Belle, I'm sorry."
She looked up at him, her face flushed and her eyes bright. It took all the strength he had to look into those eyes now. The way he hadn't been able to then. He felt them burn as she stared back at him, felt his throat tighten as he choked out the words he never thought he'd have a chance to say.
"I'm sorry. Belle, I never should have forced you out."
She smiled, moving one of her hands up and running her fingers through his hair.
"Fool. I should never have let you."
He froze, and she took the opportunity to press her lips against his neck. He gasped, and his hands clutched reflexively at her back.
His self-restraint was waning but this wasn't right. He needed to make her understand. This new face, this new man he was, it didn't erase what he was, or what he'd done. What he'd done to her.
"Please Belle….listen…"
She sighed in frustration against his neck and looked up at him again, frowning.
"No, Rumpel, you listen. I knew you had suffered. I knew you were afraid to love, and I knew you had your reasons, and I came barging back in with a head full of heroics and happy ever after's thinking I had the solution to everything, and I never asked you." He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a finger to his lips. "No, you listen. I knew you didn't want me to leave, but my pride was hurt and I stormed off. I acted like a child. So if you really want to make apologies, then I am sorry too. I'm sorry I didn't wait for you. I'm sorry I didn't ask you. I'm sorry I didn't stay, whatever you asked me to do. But I had plenty of time to dwell on this before Storybrooke, and I don't want to waste any more time apologizing." She brushed her fingers against the hairs on the back of his neck, and he shivered. "This fight has gone on long enough. I want to make up."
He said a tiny prayer of thanks for the doorjamb that was supporting him as he pulled her close, and she pressed herself against him. Her mouth was hungry against his.
He knew he had done nothing right to deserve her. To deserve this. To deserve forgiveness.
He also knew that their battle was far from over. In every way, they were just beginning, and the road they had to walk was not going to be an easy one.
But even he wasn't enough of a fool to reject a chance at happily ever after twice.