A/N: This is a gift for the AMAZING Jocelyn (Heidi Erickson/thepurplemadness) for our Rumbelle Secret Santa exchange. I really hope you enjoy it, darling! *blows lots of kisses, gives lots of hugs*

Six months into her stay at the Dark Castle, Belle nearly went headfirst down a flight of stairs.

The 'nearly' here is of course important. Had she indeed fallen from the grand staircase— with its forty-two steps and fifteen-foot high banisters—that would have been the end of this particular tale (and the ending, perhaps, happier). Sparing the gory details, there would have been no more Belle and the sorcerer, for all his power, did not have the ability to outwit death.

As it was, a far simpler bit of magic was needed. The moment Belle's foot caught the edge of her gown was the moment Rumpelstiltskin entered the hall. One falling maid, two clawed hands thrust into the air… and Belle was hovering peacefully rather than plummeting to her death.

All well and good. Except...

Except that Rumpelstiltskin had been holding a vial at the time.

Belle's shriek—understandable given the circumstances—covered the sound of shattering glass, while Rumpelstiltskin's heaving—surely not out of fear—masked the content's initial escape. For a long moment they simply breathed together until, as one, their eyes were drawn to the floor.

Beads. At least, they appeared like beads to Belle. Brightly colored and glowing with a faint energy, they rolled around the shards of glass, seemingly with wills of their own, making beelines for all the corners of the castle. Belle saw a pink dot race towards the kitchen, a green one heading for the left-hand doors, another that was colored sickeningly yellow actually went up the stairs, bouncing in a sort of morose manner. They scattered far and fast. Some went by too quickly for Belle to place. Others, she would swear, had colors she couldn't name. All of them were nimble though and within seconds the hall was empty but for the two of them.

Belle swallowed. Still hanging in midair, she looked down at a wide-eyed, shaking Rumpelstiltskin.

"Was that important?" she breathed.

And the scene was set.

Belle opened her dresser drawer most carefully, half expecting something to come flying out at her. When nothing did she laughed a nervous laugh at her own foolishness. Honestly. Rumpelstiltskin's drama was beginning to get the best of her.

For it was drama, surely. No sooner had the beads finished scattering than he flew them to the dungeons, purple smoke filling the small room. Belle hadn't been down there since her first few nights and admittedly she hadn't been pleased to return. The only—odd—reassurance was that Rumpelstiltskin had locked them both inside.

The door shut and sealed with magic; the bars on the window grown into slabs. Rumpelstiltskin had torn up the bed and dispersed with the straw, all the while muttering manically to himself. He'd refused to answer any of Belle's questions until the room was bare. Even then he'd eyed the corners suspiciously. His hands moved even more than usual and the one time Belle had taken a step forward, toward him, they'd shot out to stop her—almost touching.

"Don't move now." He'd muttered. His giggle was full of fear. "I don't know where they've gone to."

"Where what has gone?"

Emotions, apparently. Dangerous ones too.

Anger, depression, anxiety, lust, fear, doubt... a hundred feelings that had been magically condensed and bottled ("For the sorcerer or the nitwit," Rumpelstiltskin had confided, gripping his hair.) Each tiny bead had been an individual feeling, designed to cause that reaction synthetically, to amplify it even, in a manner that went far beyond the natural order of things. Still holding her in place, claws clutching at her forearms, Rumpelstiltskin rose a single finger off from the sleeve of her gown. "One touch." He'd whispered. That's all it took. A single touch to start the process. All well and good for the customer who wanted to buy magically produced anxiety for a rival... not so great for a wizard and his maid, cowering in the dungeon.

"Exactly how many were in that bottle?" Belle had asked.

"Oh, only a couple hundred or so. Not many at all." He'd hissed, sarcasm lacing every word. Belle reached out to offer something, comfort maybe, but as she moved Rumpelstitskin seemed to realize that they were already too close—touching even. He stumbled back.

Belle pursed her lips. "And you can't just…" she waved her hand. "Summon them?"

"They're emotions, dearie. When was the last time you summoned fear? Or anger?" Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. "No. They can't be controlled. Not while free at any rate. Temperamental, sudden, unexpected... emotions are a thing that not even magic can explain. They're unpredictable, dearie, and thus have a tendency to jump out at you. To hurt you. They're no good to anyone." He eyed the walls again. Belle noted with growing unease that he kept inching them closer to the middle of the room, where it was open and presumably save. He didn't much look like he planned to move.

"Rumpel, we can't just stay here."

"Well of course we can!" Rumpelstiltskin scoffed. "It's fine, dearie. No pesky emotions in this room... I think," came the tacked on mutter.

Belle crossed her arms. "And what about food then—no don't just summon bread! What about the lavatory? Your customers? Living? Rumpel, you locked me in here once before. I am not staying here again!"

He winced as if struck. Belle immediately softened her tone. She reached out… he moved back.

"How long do those bead-things last anyway?" She murmured.

Rumpelstiltskin merely glared.

"They're emotions," Belle deduced with a sigh. "They don't just go away."

"Not unless you experience them," he added with a growl. Shaking so that his mane flew Rumpelstiltskin dipped close, only to intimidate. "Absolutely not, dearie. I won't have it. I'm master here, or have you forgotten? So long as those foul things are upstairs we're not leaving this room."

Ten minutes later, they left.

Now, Belle dug for a clean dress, still trying to laugh at her paranoia. It had been two days since her near fall, two days of Rumpelstiltskin so tense as to drive her straight to madness. Nothing had happened and Belle was beginning to think that nothing ever would. Surely if hundreds of those things had escaped, even with a castle the size of this one, they would have encountered at least one of them by now? Perhaps magical feelings could not survive outside of their container. Perhaps they'd left the ground entirely, off to wreak havoc on some other pair.

Not that they were truly a 'pair' in the manner she craved. They were even less so now, with this.

Belle was a woman of optimism though. She chose a light pink dress to match her newfound mood, determined to appear content if nothing else. There was little cleaning to be done and thus, for once, she was willing to sacrifice practicality to style (and perhaps even catch Rumpel's eye). It was merely a hope, but hope was stronger than any escaped emotion and it was something that Belle had much experience with.

Distracted thus, she never saw what was caught in the dress's folds. Clean, pleased with her appearance, and trying to smile, Belle swept both hands down the front of her gown.

The dark bead sank into her palm.

"Are you quite alright, dearie?"

They'd been taking their meals in the kitchen downstairs, in a barren corner where Rumpelstiltskin could summon all their food from unsuspecting kingdoms and see exactly what was done to it before it went into his mouth. Touching any of the beads would be bad enough, inadvertently ingesting one would prove horrific. The last time he'd seen that occur the victim had swallowed synthetic guilt and...

Well. Perhaps it was best not to dwell on such events while eating.

Not that Rumpelstiltskin was enjoying his meal otherwise. Far from it. If his maid tapped her foot, clinked her knife, or swallowed anymore food with such ravenous speed, she'd drive him to unfortunate action. Provided she didn't choke first.

Guilt indeed.

"Belle!" Rumpelstiltskin called. Her eyes rose to his but dropped back down just as fast. Not with shame though… indecision? Her hands flew from cutting her meat to reaching for her goblet. The wine never even touched her lips before she was putting it back again, re-picking up her fork and, when that seemed too slow, simply stuffing the food between her lips. Her free hand continued to flip through a book at her side despite the fact that she wasn't actually reading it.

"Yes?" Belle called sweetly. When he didn't answer her voice grew more irritated. "What, what, what is it?"

Rumpelstiltskin blinked at the repetition. "Eh..."

"Aren't you done yet?" Belle stood, pink skirts flying out in a wave as the ran towards him. She literally ran, with knees bent and arms flying, even though their table was only large enough to house two. Upon skidding to a stop Belle snatched up his plate. She looked as if she wanted to clean it and put it away and cook the next meal all at once. The food he'd left–what he'd hardly had time to get to—made her scowl.

"Oh you're so slow," Belle whispered. "Honestly, Rumpelstiltskin. How can I—!" She broke off with a strangled noise.

Rumpelstiltskin gaped as Belle continued to take what was around them into her arms, only to put it back again just as quick. A few saucers met an untimely end as they fell to the cobblestones. Rumpelstiltskin watched as another teacup shattered between them... then he began to shake as Belle blithely kicked the shards aside.

"This isn't you." He whispered.

"How in the world can I not be me when I hardly have time to be anything else?" Belle brushed her hair up out of her face. Her cheeks were bright red with annoyance… Or perhaps with something else.

Rumpelstiltskin took her chin between his nails, forcing her to keep still. "I've seen this reaction before," he snarled.

"Oh have you? Well why don't you tell me later when I've got the-?"

"Time?" Rumpelstiltskin finished. He cocked one eyebrow, brushing a thumb along Belle's skin when she continued to squirm. "Yes, it's a fickle thing isn't it? Causes all sorts of emotions. Feeling... impatient, dearie?"

Belle froze. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, that exactly." When Rumpelstiltskin kept silent she moaned and thrashed a bit. "Oh, say something!"

What was there to say? It was clear that she'd encountered an emotion, one that was quickly seeping deeper into her mind. Belle seemed to be growing impatient with everything around them, from the remaining dishing on the table to the sounds of wind outside the castle to Rumpelstiltskin himself. Her eyes rolled spastically, trying to taking in everything at once, while really taking in nothing at all. More worryingly, there was evidence of a growing impatience with herself. Belle's breathing had kicked up a notch in the last minute—breathe faster, breathe faster—and Rumpelstiltskin just caught her hand before she could rub at her flushed cheeks. With this manic energy she was likely to tear the skin away completely.

"Now, now, dearie. Can't have you ruining your pretty face." Rumpelstiltskin was looking at her eyes though. The pupils were like twin eclipses.

"Is it always like this?" Belle huffed.

"Like what?"

"Like... like everything. Is everything so...?" She whined in frustration. "It's wrong, Rumpel...it all feels so wrong..."

"Yes. I dare say it does," and in one smooth move Rumpelstiltskin hoisted her right over his shoulder. That alone made his mouth go dry. The Belle of an hour ago would have kicked and screamed, demanding that he set her down with something resembling dignity. Then she may have turned, cheeks flushed for a different reason, telling him sternly to ask—politely mind you—if he could carry her. He would have never asked (but he would have wanted to).

And that wasn't something he could afford to think on now.

Indeed, Rumpelstiltskin deliberately ignored everything he was currently taking without her consent: the weight of Belle's stomach against his shoulder, her moist breath near his neck, the lace peeking out from beneath her skirts that brushed frequently against his tunic. There were other, more important things to focus on. Like the fact that Belle was still talking.

"Why is it taking so long?" She questioned. She kept murmuring it to the floor. Her hair hung over her face, muffling her words, seeping down to tickle at the backs of his legs.

Rumpelstiltskin picked up the pace, his boots clacking hard against the floor. "Almost there," he promised, not that there was anywhere to actually go. She couldn't outrun her own mind. He wasn't even entirely sure that Belle heard him. Her movements were becoming more erratic. Only Rumpelstiltskin's strength kept her locked in place, safe from flying onto the cobblestones. He couldn't afford to teleport them, not with magic already flooding her bloodstream, but if he didn't pick a place soon she might be breaking free regardless.

"No," Belle said. "Not... this." Her arms waved out to encompass their movement. "Why is THIS taking so long?" and her hands came back in, towards her.

"'This,' dearie? You're speaking nonsense. You're—"

"Us." Belle said and Rumpelstiltskin nearly tripped.

"What?"

"Us, you, me." Belle kicked her legs and the force of the strike made him gasp. At least, he thought it was the kick. "We're so slow. Oh we're so bad at this, Rumpel. Why haven't we done more? I've been here months now and I'm so impatient!" The word itself caused Belle to convulse. "It's there! It's all there and we're not fitting it together, I just know it, I can see it. You were mean and then you were kind and then you were mean again but I recognized the fear underneath all that and you caught me…" Belle's voice trailed off, remembering that day by the windows. Rumpelstiltskin remembered too…and he kept walking. Resolutely.

"I broke your teacup." Belle insisted.

"That you did, dearie. Terribly inconsiderate of you too, I mean really—"

"I broke your teacup and you kept the pieces!" Belle suddenly kicked again, thrashing. "Both! The big and the tiny one, so tiny you should have thrown it out but you didn't! I saw them, Rumple and I know what they mean. They're in velvet. They're cared for. Oh, Rumpel. You're so slow, so slow and I can't stand it anymore. Why can't you just say it? Please. Please, right now. I love y—"

"Enough!"

With another cry Rumpelstiltskin threw a curse at her back, a contained ball of magic that had Belle going limp as a doll. Quiet, at least for now. And thank the gods for that. With no one to see him Rumpelstiltskin broke into a run.

"I will not." He hissed. "I will not listen to the nonsense that foul stuff has you spouting. No more lies!"

Though there were, sadly, many more perceived lies that night. Rumpelstiltskin stayed with Belle because he knew, perhaps better than any other, just how dangerous impatience could be—how dangerous all emotions could be. Her sleep gave him time to center himself and when Belle did awake again, spewing those idiocies he couldn't bear to hear… Rumpelstiltskin at least appeared to be ready. A stern face and giddy air could work wonders for one's confidence.

"I'm not lying," Belle cried. She tugged at the manacles that embraced her ankles and wrists, each meticulously lined with fur. They were as kind a necessity as Rumpelstiltskin could manage. Sometimes, when under such an influence, people grew impatient with their lives.

He wouldn't allow that for Belle.

"I don't believe you, dearie." He sang. Again and again. "You're very sick."

Rumpelstiltskin stared into Belle's flushed face and ignored her working mouth. He reminded himself that yes, she was very sick indeed.

The one silver lining of magically enhanced emotions was the fallout: victims never remembered their time spent under the influence.

Of course, the same could not be said for the people around them.

"Are you sure you're okay, Rumple?"

It wasn't the first time Belle had asked that in the ensuing weeks and if things continued as they had it would hardly be the last. Things had become… strained since the accident with the vial. Not that Belle could quite understand why. They'd encountered only three beads thus far and each time Rumpelstiltskin had taken the emotions in a stride. At least, supposedly. Belle hadn't actually been there to see.

Anger, anxiety, and fear. There was too much work to be done in Rumpelstiltskin's business—if one could call it that—for him to just sit idly by, despite his initial plan of literally hiding in the dungeons. Each of those three emotions had been waiting in his books and his tools, sinking into his scaly skin before either of them had time to react. Belle had seen it happen twice and for some reason those memories caused her own hands to twitch. Nevertheless, for all Rumpelstiltskin's worry these emotions had proved rather anticlimactic. Each time he came to her, explained the situation, and informed Belle that she'd be alone for a day as he went… well, somewhere to ride out the magic. During these meetings the only indication that something was amiss was the green flush about his cheeks. He looked to be with fever.

"Now don't try escaping while I'm gone, dearie." He'd said three times now, shaking his fingers and giving her an awful little grin. Three times Belle had responded that she had no intention of trying—after all, she wanted to be here. Three times Rumpelstiltskin had stilled, trembled, hissed at her not to lie to him and then disappeared in an angry puff of smoke.

He'd come back exactly twenty-four hours later, none the worse for wear except, perhaps, for a certain weariness about the eyes. Each time he stilled upon finding her still there. Maybe the emotions were truly as awful to experience as Rumpelstiltskin had initially claimed—Belle wouldn't know, she hadn't encountered any herself yet—but none of this explained why he'd been avoiding her this past month. None of it explained his fear.

Before the vial, Belle had thought they'd been getting somewhere.

"Rumpel," she insisted. He was seated by his wheel today, his hands weaving the gold mechanically. Rumpelstiltskin didn't even bother looking up anymore when she called. He only twitched, jumped really, when Belle stepped right up beside him.

"Why don't you fetch me some straw?" He suddenly asked. Rumpelstiltskin hunched even closer to his wheel. "From the town."

"From…?"

"Yes. Its been rather awful cooped up in here, hasn't it? Especially with those little beasties hiding about." Rumpelstiltskin's eyes scanned the walls, passing right over Belle without seeing her, as they had a tendency to do nowadays.

Belle swallowed. Despite his aloofness something like hope was beginning to spring up in her chest.

"You trust me to come back?" she whispered.

"Oh no. I expect I'll never see you again."

… and the hope died. What it was replaced with though was determination. Belle snatched up the basket and in leaving made sure to pass as close to Rumpelstiltskin as possible. She let her hand brush his sleeve, her fingers trying to offer some comfort, maybe even some nostalgic humor. She reached out.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled away. He only continued to spin—working to forget.

Sometimes determination isn't enough.

Seven months into her stay at the Dark Castle Belle nearly kissed Rumpelstiltskin.

She did fetch the straw and she did come back, just as she had (always) promised she would. The difficulty lay in that all of this took place on a cold winter's day, when the sun was high but the wind cut straight through Belle's clothes. During this trip her face was left entirely unprotected, with her skin picking up a ruddy complexion that was all too familiar.

Sitting beside the wheel, eager for Rumpelstiltskin's warmth in more ways than one, Belle would complete the declaration she'd been forced to begin weeks prior.

"I love you."

Rumpelstiltskin took one look at her flushed cheeks and turned away.