Several weeks had passed since Belle and Rumple had seen their grown son, Gideon. The appearance was a shock in itself, much less what he had planned for Storybrooke and its inhabitants. Much to Rumpelstiltskin's relief, Belle had tentatively agreed to stay with him; near him, to put her energies to good use alongside his. They were working toward a common goal; to reach their son and turn him away from the darkness. Her books, his magic. All for their son.
Rumple paused in his own search of an ancient textbook of magic to glance across the dusty counter to his wife, intent with her own scouring of well-worn pages from thick tomes found in her second home, the library. She looked tired, he noticed, yet held a grit and determination within the petite angle of her jaw. Funny how he could still remember every facial expression, every slight movement of her brows, the fierce flash of her crystal blue eyes. She looked at him with such contempt these days that he almost forgot the other expressions she had cast his way – the softening of her lips when she smiled at him, the caressing honesty of her eyes, the way she beamed when they had first found each other after the curse was broken and he promised to take care of her… He shook his head. Now was not the time to reminisce. Time was short. But first, he decided upon hearing Belle's quiet sigh as she closed yet another book in disappointment, perhaps a cup of tea was in order.
He cleared his throat, "Belle, let's take a break and have a cup of tea. We can't carry on if our energy is running low, can we?" He noticed the clench of her jaw as she prepared to fight him, and braced himself for the retort. All of a sudden she sighed and nodded her head, rolling her weary shoulders back and taking a step toward the backroom. He followed her and set about putting on the kettle with almost automatic motions, his head still swirling with thoughts of working alongside his wife to find their son.
In a few minutes, the tea had steeped and he carefully carried two cups to the cot where Belle was seated. She murmured a quiet, "Thanks," and scooted over minutely to make room for him, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Rumple once again. Curls of steam rose from the two cups as they drank and contemplated in silence.
"We're a mess," Belle stated in the quietness. Rumple closed his eyes in acknowledgement. "Aye. That we are." He didn't have to look to know that Belle was biting her lip before she spoke, "We've made so many mistakes."
"Indeed," he once again agreed.
"Rumple," her plaintive tone made him open his eyes and turn his head to meet her teary gaze, "is there anything left that can be saved? I want… I want to believe in you. I want to trust you again. I am so tired of always running away. And yet… what else can I do? For so long it has seemed that I was never your priority in life. You've lied to me and done unspeakable things behind my back."
Rumple tensed, ready to defend himself, but she continued on as if talking to herself, "but I've done more or less the same. And the person who has had to deal with all of our mess is our son. Can we…? Is there anything we can do?" Her question ended as her voice trembled and tears silently rolled down her cheeks.
Was there anything they could do? For both their son as well as their relationship? Rumple sighed, feeling every bit the centuries' old mage he was. "Honestly, as far as I can tell, I'm all out of answers," he started, wishing he could take Belle in his arms but knowing they were past the point of trust-initiated touch, kept to himself. "We will keep doing our best for him, as we always have tried to do in the past. While he is a child of the Dark One, he is also a product of… True Love," he hesitated, knowing that where they were now was nowhere near True Love. "As long as we know that, as long as he knows that, there's hope."
For a split second, the only thing breaking the silence was her tremulous breathing. The next thing Rumple knew, Belle had sagged against him, her weight a welcome thing against his side. He quickly shifted his teacup from one hand to the other and lifted the recently-free arm to carefully and gently rub her back. She began to sob freely, the stress easing out through her tears. She sobbed for both of them; she cried for the crumbling of what had once been an innocent, hope-filled relationship. She wept for their son, whom they barely knew and wished to have known and raised. This young man who briefly showed himself to them and called them "Mother" and "Father"… He couldn't be their son – he was merely a dark incarnation; the worst alter ego of the innocent baby boy they had yet to truly know. How had everything gone so wrong for them? Was there really any hope?
Soon after, Belle's sobs quieted and Rumple felt her relax against him. Realizing she had cried herself to sleep, he moved to lay her down on the cot. She needed the rest. No sooner had he tried to guide her to lie down that her voice stopped him. "Stay, Rumple. Just for now… please." Her quiet request had no love behind it; only the worn respect of one exhausted parent to another.
He paused.
Then with his own quiet reply, "Alright, Belle, just for now," maneuvered to lay down beside her on the cot, and cautiously draped his arm on her waist. "We're not okay yet, Rumple," Belle whispered, her hair tickling his nose as she turned her head to look at him. He wasn't sure how to respond. "We're not okay," she repeated, "but maybe someday… we will be." She turned back and soon he heard her breathing even out as she fell asleep. He exhaled tiredly, and before dropping off to sleep himself, erected a protective barrier around the shop. "I don't know why I continue to hope for 'us' to be alright again," he murmured as he dropped a small, chaste kiss on her cheek, "but… like you, I do, too."