He practically collapses into the large cushioned armchair as they venture into the back room of the pawn shop. Belle lets go of his hand, fingertips trailing along his palm to prolong the contact. Rumplestiltskin lets out a unpleasant sigh, wincing as he elevates his right arm.

She kneels down beside him, places a small ceramic bowl filled with water on a nearby desk, and helps him roll up his sleeve to reveal a bloody strip along the back of his forearm. It extends from his wrist to his elbow, a mostly superficial cut that is painful but not life threatening. Belle's body relaxes the more she examines it, taking note of how best to treat it.

Rumple simply stares at her, twisting his arm to give her the best view. She never ceases to amaze him, with her strength and optimism. He wonders if she's ever met a problem she couldn't solve, and thinks of the times she's confided in him about her fears of being incompetent and unhelpful. But he can see that something's changed in her, a subtle shift in her confidence where her insecurities once lived.

And he's glad, that she sees in herself what he's always known to be true: that she is a hero, a warrior. And a fearsome on at that (he chuckles to himself, recalling the ferocity in her gaze when she confronted Zelena in the hospital).

He watches as she grabs a damp rag, rings out the excess water and holds it in the air. "This might sting a little," she warns, meeting his eyes and giving him a sweet smile before dabbing it on his skin.

Rumple hisses, bearing this clenched teeth and sinks himself further into the chair. He could heal the lesion himself, he knows; could repair the torn flesh with a snap of his fingers. But all magic comes with a price, and he is so very tired of paying it. Belle's expression matches his own, sympathy contorting her features as she removes the cloth.

When he catches his breath, he grins at her despite his tiredness. His hair—a much grayer tint than before his capture—sticks to the sweat on his temple and Belle moves the strands away affectionately, hand lingering on his brow as it makes its way to his chin.

"We'll need to make a—"

"Healing potion," she finishes for him, nodding in understanding. There's only so much they can do without at least a little magical assistance.

Rumplestiltskin gestures to the back wall to let her know where she should start looking, but he quickly learns that she needs no instruction. She finds every ingredient with ease, ever the queen and mistress of his estate. As he looks on, he notices that the room's been organized since the last time he was there, his various possessions categorized and classified like the books in her library.

Belle sits next to him, applying the thick, creamy concoction onto the abrasion. Rumple jerks his arm back when the potion bubbles. "You know," Belle comments, a hint of a smirk on her mouth, "if you'd hold still, this wouldn't hurt as much."

Rumple simpers. "Well if you hadn't tried to steal my dagger, this wouldn't have happened," he says with as much lightheartedness as his weariness will allow.

"Well if you hadn't tried to protect Henry, I wouldn't have had to steal it," she teases, face beaming with pride at his selflessness, remembering the way he had leapt to his grandson's side without hesitation the moment Zelena lost hold of his dagger. Her lapse was brief; the Wicked Witch had summoned the precious item back in her hands before Belle could reach it.

And when the red-haired woman flung Belle off the ground and down the hallway, it spurred Rumplestiltskin into action. He struggled with Zelena, bruising her with his firm hold. It was then that she had cut him, had dragged the blade across his skin in a jagged motion. But the action had made her arrogant and oblivious to his other hand snaking around to clutch the weapon in question. He was freed, and Zelena had vanished in a puff of green smoke.

"What ever will I do with such a brave, courageous man," Belle tisks, wiping away at the residue as she finishes up. When their eyes meet, there is a charged stillness in the room. It hits them that they're safe, that they're finally together again. Their lips meet in a hungry kiss that leaves them both dazed and jubilant.

"Thank you," he says softly and with the utmost reverence, "for saving my life." He adjusts himself in the chair, angling his left arm so that his hand can gently cup her cheek. Belle looks up, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"You're welcome." She leans down to press another kiss to his clean wound. "There," she states brightly. "All better."

.