Summary: Books, poems, and their significance at various stages in Belle and Rumple's relationship. Takes place in the Enchanted Forest (first part), post-"The Crocodile"/pre-"The Outsider" (second part), and in the future (third part). Spoilers up to 4x11.

Written for Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014.

Rating: I'm going to say "T", for a very brief flashback to some sexytimes. Other than that, though, it's pretty G-rated.

Christmas Past

As it was on most evenings in the Dark Castle, the only sounds in the room were the creak of Rumplestiltskin's spinning wheel and the crackle of the fire on the hearth. Unlike on most evenings, tonight the Great Room was decorated with lively garlands and pine boughs. In order to keep the peace, Rumplestiltskin had allowed Belle to decorate the room for the winter holidays. He had offered to simply magic the decorations into place, but Belle had insisted on doing the decorating herself, saying something about it putting her in the holiday spirit. With the work of decorating done and dinner over, they settled into their nightly routine of him spinning as she read by the fire.

He heard the rustle of skirts and, out of the corner of his eye, he just happened to notice that Belle had stopped reading to gaze pensively at the fire crackling on the hearth. It wasn't like he was paying attention to what she was doing or anything like that. Her small hand absently caressed the page she had just been reading and she gave a tiny sigh.

"Something wrong, dearie?"

"Hmmm?" Belle turned to fix her gaze on him. Her eyes were the most ridiculous shade of blue. "Oh…no. Just thinking about this poem I just read. It's so beautiful."

"How so?"

"It's just…it…" Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. "May I read it to you?"

Holding her gaze, he nodded. Really, he needed to give his fingers a rest from spinning, anyway.

She smiled at him before shifting to face him more fully. She patted a section of floor next to her, and gestured for him to join her there. Deciding that it was easier not to argue, he awkwardly placed himself in the space that she had made for him. Satisfied that she had her audience where she wanted him, Belle turned back to the book in her lap and started to read aloud.

In her clear voice and sweet accent, she read the poem. It was a lovely, sad thing: full of longing for an elusive love—never quite met, always just-missed. He felt a pang that he once would have identified as loneliness.

"Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening…"

As she finished the last line, those eyes came to meet his again. They looked into each other's eyes for a long, quiet moment. "Back home, I used wonder…Was there someone out there for me? Where was he? Did he ever wonder where I was? Would we ever find one another?"

"What about her fiancé?" Rumple thought to himself. He remembered the overly-tall young man that claimed to be Belle's betrothed on the day they made the deal with one another. He hadn't struck Rumple as particularly thoughtful or wistful. Did Belle still have these thoughts after her engagement?

Belle continued and interrupted his musings. "This poem…it reminded me so perfectly of those feelings. I used to wonder…"

"And now you're here." He finished the sentence for her. Here with a monster, without any hope of ever finding that elusive love.

Once again, she disarmed him with her gaze, intensified by her emotions and by the reflected firelight. Her head cocked slightly to the side, as if understanding something. She reached across the bit of space separating them and grasped his hand, her smile thoughtful.

"And now I'm here."

Christmas of the More-Recent Past

Granny's was bustling with Storybrooke citizens seeking refuge from the hustle of holiday shopping three days before Christmas. It wasn't the library, but Belle thought the warm, friendly atmosphere would be the perfect location for the new Storybrooke Book Club until the library was open for business.

This first meeting had been a small group, but the discussion had been lively and thoughtful. Belle had chosen Jane Austen's Persuasion, which she had only recently read for the first time, as the group's inaugural selection. She thought that the book's themes of regret, rebirth, and steadfast love would resonate with the other recently un-cursed group members as deeply as they had with her.

Belle loved being able to discuss books with other people. After her mother's death, no one else at home in Avonlea had shared her love of books. She had been happy that Rumple engaged in some book-related conversations during her time at the Dark Castle. Being a prisoner in Regina's tower and Storybrooke asylum had deprived her, among other things, of both books and people with whom to discuss them. Belle was excited that books and friendly companionship had entered her life again.

With lunch concluded, Kathryn had left to do some last-minute shopping for Frederick's gift. Soon after, Astrid left, and Grumpy said that he would walk her back to the convent. Now only Mary Margaret and Belle lingered for a last cup of tea.

Mary Margaret smiled and shook her head as she watched Grumpy and Astrid leave the diner. "I was surprised to see Grumpy here. He never really struck me as a 'book' kind of guy."

"I met him once back in our old land. He was called "Dreamy" then. He encouraged me to pursue my dreams. I don't know what happened to change him into "Grumpy", but I think some of "Dreamy" will always be there within him."

"See, I only knew him as Grumpy—or Leroy, while we were cursed."

"That idea of everyone having two names? I'm still getting used to it."

"You're not alone. Charming and I still call each other "David" and "Mary Margaret" most of the time. It's weird." The two women laughed. "Grumpy, though…I thought he was only here for Astrid today, but he really had some interesting thoughts on the book."

Belle smiled down at her cup of tea. "People can surprise you."

"And you're the expert on that one. I always thought I was pretty open-minded, but I never thought that The Dark One could have a True Love. How's that going lately?"

"Fine. Weird? I don't know. Like you said, he's my True Love. But we're still learning how to be in a relationship with one another. I have my own apartment and I'm working on the library. It's necessary, but it is kind of funny to be courting—dating—someone that you know is your True Love."

"I know. David and I were happy and married, and yet we led separate existences for the last 28 years. Even though we were cursed, those memories and experiences are still there. So we're still getting to know those parts of each other."

Belle nodded in understanding. "Well, it all worked out in the end for Anne and Captain Wentworth, right?"

"Yeah. Let's hope that nothing happened to Wentworth in the war."

Belle laughed. "I choose to believe that all ended happily. That's the optimist in me."

Mary Margaret lifted her cup. "To happy endings."

Belle clinked cups with her new friend. "To happy endings."

The diner's front door opened, and in walked her Rumplestiltskin. He was always Rumple to her, no matter what the sign above his shop said. She glanced at her watch; of course, he was right on time.

"And speaking of happy endings, mine just walked in the front door."

Mary Margaret and Belle bid each other farewell and wished each other a Merry Christmas. Belle made her way to the front, where Rumple greeted her with the warm smile that he only gave to her. He had her coat ready, and was there to help her into it.

"How was the book group?"

"I think it went really well! How was your day?"

"Mmmm…I can't say too much without possibly divulging too much about your Christmas present."

Belle finished buttoning her coat and gave an excited little bounce. "Oooh! What is it?"

"You'll find out in three days." He lifted her hair from under her scarf, his finger tenderly grazing her cheek on its way back. "I know you just ate, but perhaps I can interest you in a walk to our fair town's scenic docks? If you're not tired of talking about it, maybe we can discuss the book you read?" He offered his arm.

"I'm never tired of talking about books." Warmed by this afternoon's success and bundled up with a good book in one hand and Rumple's arm in her other, Belle could think of nothing else that she wanted this Christmas.

Christmas Yet to Come

In spite of her sweater, heavy coat, scarf, tights, gloves and boots, Belle felt the cold winter air bite through all the layers as if they were no more than tissue paper. She sat on a bench at the docks, deciding that she needed a bit of time to herself before the book club met for its monthly meeting this afternoon.

She thought that this Christmas would be easier than the last one. Last Christmas, she had just separated from—OK, banished—Rumple from town. With another year gone by, she thought that the separation would be easier. At least she wasn't constantly on the verge of tears, but all the holiday cheer and songs about being with loved ones still highlighted all that she had lost.

Sighing, she removed the book that was the subject of this month's book club from her bag. It had been one of the first books she read in this land, but this edition had been a special gift. She ran her gloved hand along its cover, remembering when Rumple had given it to her that first Christmas in Storybrooke.

They had met at his house to exchange gifts and spend the holiday together. In front of the fireplace, he had given her this beautiful, vintage edition of Jane Eyre. She had first read the book when they were still living together in his house, and he had noticed what an impression it made upon her. It was the most beautiful, perfect gift that she had ever received.

Belle opened the book's cover and, for what had to have been the thousandth time, read the inscription that he had written to her in his bold, precise handwriting:

"I have for the first time found what I can truly love-I have found you."

Merry Christmas, Dearest Belle

-R

She had once believed that a love like hers and Rumple's—a True Love—would be enough to overcome any obstacle. She had been wrong. It hadn't been able to overcome his fear or his need for power.

The sound of a tinny radio on one of the boats interrupted her thoughts:

"Pretty lights on the tree
I'm watching them shine
You should be here with me
Baby, please come home"

Well, at least she wasn't the only one feeling sad this time of year. Last year, she had still been living in their big pink house, which had proven too difficult for her. His presence was everywhere, and memories attacked her around every corner. She remembered that poem she had loved reading so much at The Dark Castle, especially the line about the mirrors still being "dizzy" with the presence of the poet's just-missed love.

That's how she had felt in that house after she had sent Rumple away. Instead of bringing her any thought of excitement, as in the poem, though, such ghosts only brought her pain. In the poem, all the poet had was the promise of those ghosts of an unknown love. In reality, she had known that love, only to lose it. The ghosts were a reminder of all that she had known and lost. In the bedroom, she could only think of being entwined with Rumple, his body above and within her. In the shower, she felt his lips and hands moving along her wet skin. In the kitchen, she tasted the meals he cooked for her. On the sofa, she remembered cuddling with him as they talked or read. She smelled him and heard his voice everywhere.

It was too much, and she moved back into the apartment above the library soon after New Year's. When he came back to Storybrooke, he told her that she could have the house and he would find another place to live, but she had refused. The memories were too painful.

Since his return and the ridiculousness with the whole town and that storybook's author, things had settled into a relative calm. Rumple appeared to be actively trying to be a better man, finally seeming to understand that happy endings took work and couldn't be granted with magical solutions or machinations. Henry had gone to work at his Grandpa's shop in earnest and, from what the young man told her, they had started to have a real grandfather-grandson relationship. Henry said that he thought it was helping both of them cope with Neal's death.

With the library being right across from the pawn shop and Storybrooke not exactly being a metropolis, it was impossible for Belle and Rumple to avoid one another. Belle didn't want to avoid him, but she didn't really know how to proceed with their relationship.

With one last stroke of her finger over the inscription, she closed the book's cover and returned it to her bag. She should probably be on her way to the book club. It was strange that, although Jane Eyre was probably her favorite book, the book club hadn't discussed this one yet. Maybe she had felt too close to it to discuss with the group.

As she gathered her things to leave, she heard a distinctive gait on the wooden planks of the docks. Before she looked up, she knew who it was. When he saw her, he stopped, as if he was deciding whether to turn back. Still afraid, then. She gestured for him to join her on the bench.

"Hello, Rumple." She had never been able to stop herself from calling him by that nickname.

"Belle." He sat down carefully. "Merry Christmas."

"Is it? I was just trying to decide."

He laughed—a sort of sad, resigned laugh.

Instead of looking at him, she gazed out at the boats. The radio started another sad Christmas song. Really, she hadn't noticed just how many sad Christmas songs there were in existence.

"Remember that first Christmas in Storybrooke? We took a walk out here after my book group."

"Yes." She felt the intensity of his stare and decided to be brave and turned to face him.

"I was so happy. That was a good Christmas. That was as close as I've come to having everything I wanted. I had my job, I had new friends, and I had you."

"Belle, I-"

"You don't need to say anything."

"Yes, I do. I've tried to say it to you before over this past year, but I want you to know: I am truly sorry. I should have told you…everything. Of how afraid I was. Of how I thought that more power would stop the fear. I was wrong. You were my wife. I should have trusted you. At least you know now that the dagger was never my greatest love—it was my greatest weakness. You are my strength. I should have trusted that strength to help me find my own."

Belle noticed his words: "You are my strength." Not "you were".

"All I wanted was you, Rumple. That's all I ever wanted."

"I understand that now." He shook his head. "I don't know why, when you could have so much more."

"I didn't want more. I just wanted to be together, for us to really be together…to be honest with each other."

"I'm an idiot."

"You'll get no argument from me on that one."

They both laughed. "I'm glad to see you doing well, Belle. You look happy. The library is a success, you have friends. I'm so happy for you."

She smiled at him. "Thank you. I am happy. Christmas has me a little down, but overall? I'm pretty happy. I do love my work and my friends. I've found that I can live in this world on my own."

Rumple looked down, preoccupied with his hands. She spoke again.

"It doesn't mean that I don't miss you, though."

Those puppy dog eyes of his flew back up to meet hers. "Belle."

She took a deep breath. "Would you like to join me for the book group? We're just about to meet at Granny's. Sort of a combined book group/holiday gathering."

"I'd like that." His eyes were shining. "Will the rest of the group mind? I wasn't invited."

"I'm inviting you."

"In that case, I'd love to."

She smiled at him—a full, true smile. It felt good to smile like that.

"What's the book?"

She took her prized book out of her bag and showed him. "Jane Eyre."

"You haven't discussed that one yet? It's one of your favorites."

"I know. The time was never right. I think it's right now."

They looked at each other for another long moment. Belle stood from the bench and held her hand out to him.

"Shall we?"

He grasped her hand and squeezed it, rising from the bench. "We shall."

They walked together back towards the light and warmth of the town, side by side.

THE END

Notes:

The poem referenced in the first part is "You who never arrived…" by Rainer Maria Rilke, whose poetry somehow made it to the Enchanted Forest.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a Joyous New Year to all!