elle freezes in the archway to the back room of the pawnshop, stunned—he is the absolute last person she expects to see hovering at Rumplestiltkin's side. Will Scarlet is leaning over her husband's prone form, breath fanning his face. Stranger still, Scarlet strokes the sleeping man's arms and torso in long, frenzied motions.
She had left Rumplestiltzkin unattended for only 10 minutes, the door to the store locked. Just a brief walk down the street to Granny's for fresh, hot coffee to keep her awake and alert as she watched over her love.
It had been a harrowing evening—the shock of Rumple nearly dying and the Apprentice pulling the darkness from his heart leaving it a glowing, white vessel. Belle doesn't know when Rumple will awaken—or if. Dealing with Will right now is more than she can bear. She clears her throat, her discomfort deepening when the thief lives up to his reputation and starts to slip Rumple's wedding ring off his finger.
"Will, what…what are you doing?" she stammers.
Surprised by her intrusion, Will spins around, features twisted and a crazed look in his eyes. "Belle, I'm glad to see you."
The air hums with tension and she knows that everything about the scene before her is horribly wrong. "Why are you here?" Belle presses, her mind racing. "I told you yesterday that our…flirtation…is finished. Rumplestiltskin is my husband, my True Love—I should never have let him go."
Will laughs then—an ugly, strangled sound. Dropping Rumplestiltzkin's hand he stalks toward her, a restless tiger sizing up its prey. Belle's hands tremble violently. She barely registers the sensation of scalding coffee running in brown rivulets over her hands and down her blouse and skirt.
"Will?" she backs away in haste, her towering heels slipping through the liquid pooling at her feet.
"Guess again, love," he smirks. Slowly, he pulls a green amulet from the collar of his shirt and Belle watches in horror as the image of Will Scarlet melts away to reveal Zelena.
Belle blinks hard, willing the image of Zelena Mills to be nothing more than a sadistic nightmare. Wrenching her head in disbelief, her voice breaks on a smothered sob. "This isn't possible." The bitter tang of bile rises up to sting her throat. "You're dead. I saw the tape. I watched you die!"
"Oh. That. Yes, Rumplestiltzkin tried to kill me. Tried—and failed—like he fails at everything," the witch gloats. "Now that his dark power is gone he's completely helpless. And unable to defend you. Pity." Zelena bares sharp white teeth in a feral smile. She flits her manicured hand through the air, and the room pulses with magic. "A ward—so no one can enter the shop or hear you scream."
Belle stares at the madwoman. She knows she's provoking the witch's ire, but she can't resist the impulse to defend her husband and confront her for her crimes.
"You're insane! Asking Rumple to spare your life was the biggest mistake I ever made. You tortured him. You locked him in a cage." Belle continues to shuffle backward as Zelena creeps toward her. "You murdered his son," she hisses as her legs bump into the display case behind her. Trapped, Belle's heartbeat quickens and her pulse roars in her ears. "What did you do with Will?" she asks, hoping the question will distract Zelena long enough for her to plan an escape.
"The drunken knave? Why, he's been dead for ages." Zelena edges closer to Belle, her breath hot on her Belle's cheek. "Tell me, dear," she whispers into the shell of Belle's ear. "Did you enjoy our kisses?"
Belle shivers with fear, fury, and disgust. This vile woman had masqueraded as Will. Horrified, Belle remembers walking hand-in-hand, sharing dinner, telling jokes, and even locking lips in chaste kisses with this monster—the person she thought had been Will. Sure, he'd often frowned or looked lost, but Belle had been too caught up in her grief about Rumple to worry overmuch. Besides that, she thought he was mourning the loss of his own True Love, Anastasia. Apparently her intelligence was overrated. She couldn't even make a normal friend in this town!
"Don't think it was pleasant for me, pretending to court you to make Rumplestiltzkin jealous. And that Will Scarlett—what a dolt. I suppose it wasn't too difficult to compliment you occasionally and otherwise sit there looking absolutely miserable. Besides, it was worth it to watch your cowardly imp squirm!" Zelena's laughter is menacing.
Her mind racing with revelations and sweat beading on her brow, Belle's stomach lurches. She doubles over to vomit onto the polished wooden floor.
"Now don't say I never did anything nice for you," Zelena purrs, grabbing Belle's hair and pulling her up sharply. "I helped Rumplestiltzkin get your heart back, now, didn't I?"
She slaps Belle hard, her palm leaving an angry red welt on the Beauty's cheek. " Pay attention, dear, I haven't finished telling you the rest of my plan," she sneers. "I found the Dark One in hospital in New York dying of a broken heart." She cuts her eyes at Belle slyly. "Do you know why he came back?"
"To save his heart and preserve his humanity," Belle bites out, groaning in pain as Zelena's grip on her ponytail intensifies.
"No, he came back to save you. The little wife who jilted and banished him to a Land without Magic," she taunts. "I always said Rumplestiltzkin had terrible taste in women but when I saw him lying there, shriveled little heart pining away for his chambermaid I thought, this is just too good to resist. So we made a deal. Your life in exchange for my happy ending."
"You're lying," Belle wheezes.
"Am I?" Zelena challenges. "Really, you should be flattered—Cruella, Ursula, Maleficent—all unleashed on the peaceful hamlet of Storybrooke for you. Rumplestiltzkin even had the Author write a whole new book. All in a pathetic attempt to save your puny little life. That, and give me the happy ending I deserve."
"You blackmailed him?" She's weeping now, the full impact of all the ways Rumple has insulated her weighing on her conscience.
"Long ago when he chose Regina over me, I swore I'd have my revenge and take everything he holds dear. Now poor Baelfire is dead and he has no power. You're all he has left, but now I'm going to kill you the same way he tried to kill me. Only I will succeed. And when he wakes up, he will have nothing." Zelena produces a long, sharp knife, the blade glinting in the dim light of the shop. Belle has no time to react as the witch pounces, plunging the knife deep into Belle's abdomen.
Belle releases a soundless scream as she falls, pressing her hands into the warm, sticky hole to stem the flow of blood.
"Don't you love poetic justice?" Zelena cackles into Belle's wide, terrified eyes. "Have fun bleeding to death," she warbles and the pawnshop door clicks closed as she disappears into the night.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, time loses all significance. Belle doesn't know if she's been on the floor for hours or moments. She murmurs a prayer over and over, desperate to stay awake but she's so very cold, the warmth seeping out of her veins.
Dizzy with delirium, she moves to return to Rumple's side. "He needs me," she decides, the loss of so much blood hampering her judgement. Pushing her hands against the side of the display case for leverage, she begins a slow crawls to the back room. She squeezes her eyes shut and marshals all her strength as she drags her ravaged body across the floor, inch by agonizing inch.
At last she arrives at the small cot and pulls herself up into the bed, collapsing across Rumple's chest and burrowing into the crook of his arm for warmth. Overwhelmed with the need to be as close to him as possible, she presses her cracked and bloody lips against his mouth in a desperate kiss. "Thank you," she mutters in a hoarse breath as oblivion claims her. "I love you."
When their lips meet, power bursts through the tiny shop in a brilliant pulse of light. Rumplestiltzkin's eyes snap open. He blinks, wondering where he is. Soft hair and the delicate scent of roses soothe his senses. Belle. He is in the shop with Belle. Rumple smiles, sliding back into slumber to chase the pleasant dream he'd been having. But her subtle weight shifts, and she whimpers, rousing him again. He feels wetness and his nostrils flare, capturing a pungent tangy smell. Slowly, he moves his hands over both their bodies. He stares at his fingers; they are drenched with crimson. The blood is warm but Belle's limbs are like ice. He jerks to a sitting position, quick enough to make his head spin, gripping Belle tightly to keep her from sliding to the floor.
It is her blood. Belle's blood.
"No! No!" he moans, peering into her bruised, tear-streaked face and cradling her in his arms. "Not Belle! Please, not my Belle!" Panic rises in his breast, competing with a lust for vengeance. He will kill the person who did this. But first, he must save his love. Summoning his magic, he's confounded when he cannot heal her. His mind is a wasteland. Wracking his brain for his last memory, he recalls sitting on the pawnshop floor talking with Belle while searing pains attacked his blackening heart. Is someone else in possession of his dagger? But no; the familiar feel of being tethered to the blade is gone. Rumplestiltzkin confronts the terrible truth: he is powerless.
He cannot lose her; he cannot be responsible for the death of yet another person that he loves. Sobbing, he resolves to find another way. Locating the wound in her belly, he tears his shirt to create a tourniquet, pressing the black fabric against the gash.
Lurching to his feet with his precious burden, he nearly collapses as his weak knee gives out. He chides himself—without magic he cannot walk like a normal man. He cannot do anything without his magic. Hissing in pain, he keeps Belle from tumbling out of his arms while he howls for help. But even without his magic, he is sensitive to its presence: the tight pressure of the wards around the shop tell him that no one will be able to enter the shop or hear his pleas. He places Belle gently on the floor long enough to grab his pistol from the safe. Gritting his teeth, he blasts through the side door and manages to half-carry, half-drag her into the alley.
Main Street is deathly quiet, the sky an inky black and the moon high and full. Millions of stars twinkle in the heavens and Rumplestiltzkin cannot help but wish upon one in his desperation. His Cadillac has gone missing; he knows not where. He grinds his teeth and steels his will; if necessary, he will walk all the way to Storybrooke General Hospital.
Hearing an inhuman screech, he squints his eyes into the night, looking for the source of the dreadful noise. He doesn't know the sound is tearing from his own lungs as he kneels in the center of the road, screaming for help.
Tires squeal and Ruby Lucas jerks his car to a stop, clad in pajamas and ridiculous red fur slippers. "Let's get her in the car quickly," she pronounces, producing a blanket and ushering him into the backseat. Ruby asks no questions as Rumplestiltzkin wraps Belle up and rocks her gently. The Lucas girl slams on the gas, driving the Cadillac faster than it's ever gone. Bless her for not saying a single word. He cuddles Belle close and prays it's not too late.
Flowers decorate every flat surface of the room, their lushness perfuming the surroundings. Bouquets of roses, arrangements filled with peonies and honeysuckle; cascades of hydrangea and lilacs.
A nurse bustles in, checking Belle's vital signs and offering a cheerful grin. "And how are you this morning, Mrs. Gold? It's nice to see you awake for a change."
"Who did all this?" Belle croaks, vocal cords rusty as she sits up to survey what would be aptly described as an indoor garden. She's mesmerized by the stunning display of beauty and generosity but her eyes settle on a glorious single red rose perched in a delicate vase right next to her bed. Belle reaches out to stroke the velvety petals.
"Why, Mr. Gold, of course," the nurse replies, surprised. "He's quite the gentleman, your husband. A bit rough around the edges, but I blame that on being sick with worry—poor man." She winks. "But the worst is over now and you're going to be just fine."
"How long have I been unconscious?" Belle clamps down on her lower lip, cerulean eyes alight with wonder and pleasure at the nurse's lovely words about her Rumple. She has always known him to be kind and sweet, but it's a rare pleasure to meet another person who shares her regard.
"It's been about a week. You had a nasty stab wound but it's healing nicely. Two more days here and you should be able to recover at home. With such a doting husband caring for you, you'll be running marathons in no time." The plump, gray-haired woman's lilting Scottish burr is comforting and musical. "My name's Theodora Potts," she says, tapping the name tag on her pressed white uniform. "But you may call me Tea for short."
This woman's lovely accent reminds Belle of Rumple and she is overcome with emotion and thanksgiving for what a blessing and joy he is in her life.
Tea confuses Belle's happy tears for sadness. "Don't fret now, love. I'm sure he'll be along any time now." She pats Belle's hand. "He never leaves you for long and when he does it's always for something he hopes will make you glad." She indicates the stacks of books, magazines, pajamas, clothes, and toiletries. They are all the creature comforts that Belle adores and the tears start all over again. Rumplestiltzkin knows and loves her so well.
"Ah, you're overwrought from this whole ordeal," Tea soothes sympathetically. "And just listen to me, prattling on when there's rounds to make and lunch to deliver to patients. If you need anything, anything at all, you just press the call button and I'll be here in two shakes." Nurse Tea sails out of Belle's room, offering Rumple a friendly greeting as he appears in the doorway.
"Belle! You're awake." Rumplestiltzkin spills the mountain of books he's holding under his left arm and limps eagerly to the bed, his cane making a staccato beat against the tiles. "Oh, sweetheart," he gulps and gingerly lays a trembling hand on her forehead to sweep away an auburn curl. "I was so afraid."
"You saved my life," she squeezes his arm, her bright eyes shining with gratitude and love.
"You saved mine first," he says, his throat swelling with emotion. "With a kiss of True Love."
"I've heard it's the most powerful magic in the world," she replies, feeling both delighted and shy. She is ever off balance with this glorious, perplexing man and it's one of the qualities she loves best about him.
"Indeed it is." The teasing gleam leaves his brown eyes and they darken with seriousness. "Now that you're awake, can you—will you—tell me what happened?" he asks.
"Zelena." Belle shudders. "She murdered Will Scarlet and used a glamour to take his place. She said she blackmailed you to find the Author for her in exchange for my life. And that killing me was the final part of her revenge against you. She stabbed me and left me for dead."
"I'm so sorry, Belle. I thought she was still in New York. Never once did it cross my mind that she would come to Storybrooke and impersonate Scarlet to hurt you. Forgive an old monster for being such a fool." Agitated, Rumple rakes a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "But it doesn't matter now. Zelena is dead. Belle, I know you didn't want me to kill her, but I swear, it wasn't by my hand. But I wanted to be the one, Belle. After what she did to you; to Bae. But Emma Swan killed her—she's the Dark One now." He watches her carefully, fearful of how she may react to this news.
"Emma is the Dark One?" Belle's face is shocked.
"The Dark One must be tethered to a human host," he explains. "After the Apprentice removed it from my heart, the Dark One went after Regina but Emma—she took on the curse in her stead."
"Sounds like something the Savior might do." Belle has never been Emma's staunchest supporter but she admires her courage.
"Yes, which brings me to the reason for….I wanted to wait until you were awake… you're out of danger and are going to make a full recovery." He hedges, dancing around the point. Rumplestiltzkin is a master of prose and is rarely flustered. But he can't seem to get the words out. "Belle, I—I've come to tell you goodbye. I'm leaving Storybrooke."
"Leaving?" she echoes stupidly.
"Yes. I'm not the Dark One anymore. But I still have many enemies—and I can't protect you, sweetheart. Not like this." He waves a hand, the gesture self-deprecating. "Without my power, I'm worthless. Even as the Dark One I was still a coward, but at least I could care for what's mine." His face is mottled with shame and he peeks at her through a curtain of hair.
"Rumplestiltzkin, you are not a coward and you are never worthless," she snaps, reaching for him. "Not to me." She itches to caress him.
Evading her touch, he shrugs. If he feels her soft hands on his skin, he will risk drowning in those expressive blue eyes and do something really stupid. Like beg her to come with him, promising to love and cherish her for a lifetime. And this time, he will actually keep his promises. Instead, he pushes her farther away.
"As you know, I'm no friend to the people in this town. Most of them owe me money or a favor. No one will miss me." He forces a laugh. "Out in the world no one knows me as Rumplestiltzkin the Dark One, or the cowardly Spinner Spindleshanks, or Mr. Gold the pawnbroker and landowner. It's time for a fresh start."
"I see," she tells him. But she doesn't see. Not at all. He's planning an adventure without her? "So you're running away," she bristles, wanting to wound him.
Her barb hits its mark; his face blanches. "No," he stammers. "I'm building a new future. Every town needs an attorney, right?" He tries again for a laugh but makes a strained, choking sound.
"What about me?" The words are laced with hurt but also hope. She senses his indecision.
"Oh, Belle. How many times must I tell you? How many more trips to the hospital will you make before you believe me? Sweetheart, I love you more than my own life—but I'm no good for you." His tone is pleading as he begs for her understanding.
"So you'll just go? Walk away from our marriage and True Love and leave me to rot here in Storybrooke? That will be 'good for me'?" He cringes as she throws his words back at him. She's getting it all wrong. Being saddled with him for the next 50 years will bring her nothing but misery and what ifs.
"Belle…" he tries to interject, but she's not nearly done.
"A husband who repeatedly saves my life, protects me at all costs, gets me the best medical care, sits by my bed night and day for over a week, brings me books and presents and…" she hiccups, trailing off as she sniffles. "Anyway," she wails through her tears, "where do you get off making decisions about my life? No one decides my fate but me! You promised me forever, Rumplestiltzkin!"
"That I did," he acknowledges thoughtfully. Then his face crumples and he, too, begins to cry. Belle loves him. Belle wants him. Belle will go with him—forever. His gaze glistens with adoration for this incredible gift of a woman. She is so beautiful—her heart and her spirit even more breathtaking than her physical beauty. He sighs as though conceding defeat, but he is the one who is winning. And he can scarcely believe his good fortune.
"Besides," she continues after a cleansing breath, calming now that she's made her point and her wonderful idiot of a husband is seeing reason. "I always wanted to see the world."
He takes her small hands between both of his, and kisses them, the action gentle and warm and inescapably right. "And so you shall, my darling Belle. So you shall."