Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of pure fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

On tumblr, licieoic prompted: While the 'heroes' have Rumple imprisoned, they decide to implement a more permanent solution. (Maybe Blue suggests this.) Using a shit ton of fairy magic, they trap Rumple in a painting. Fast forward to cursed Storybrooke, only Belle isn't living in the hospital basement, she's the town librarian (or whatever). And her home happens to have this painting that she loves (or she buys it or acquires it some other way).

The funny thing is, the painting appears to be magical. The figure in the painting (Rumple) moves. She never sees it happen, but sometimes he's sitting at a spinning wheel, sometimes looking out a window, sometimes sipping tea from a chipped cup, and sometimes just looking out at the observer. The longer the painting is in Belle's presence, the more it seems to act up. She's fascinated by it and doesn't tell anyone about the special properties, because she's afraid they'll think she's nuts. And she adores the figure in the painting.

Maybe she chats to him when she gets home (because she always checks to see if he's doing something different) and she begins thinking of him as a bizarre kind of roommate. One night, maybe after going out for drinks with the girls, Belle drunkenly kisses Rumple's painted figure. And even though she's cursed, True Love can break anything, so she gets un-cursed and Rumple poofs out of the painting!

Summary: After his infamous deal with Ella, the heroes have a better cage for Rumpelstiltskin … a painting. With no way to free himself, he is swept along with the Dark Curse to Storybrooke along with everyone else. Only with the love of a certain librarian can he ever hope to be free … if only she'll believe.

Tags: *Belle, *Rumpelstiltskin, *Regina, *The Blue Fairy, *Jefferson, *Prince Charming, *Snow White, *Henry, *Cursed, *Fluff, *Angst, *Smut, *True Love's Kiss, *True Love, *Romance, *Our favorite imp, *AU, *Tumblr prompt

A/N: Yeah, so when I saw this prompt from my darling friend, I just couldn't resist taking on this story. I really hope you all enjoy it. Please review! & happy reading :o)

The Portrait

By:

CharlotteAshmore

I

Snow shuddered as she stood before the plain wooden pedestal in the council chamber and stared at the ornate gold gilt frame with its blank beige canvas. She could feel the usually comforting presence of her husband where he pressed against her back, his hands resting lightly upon her shoulders. Nothing about this plan could bring her peace … not for a very long time.

"This is wrong, Charming. I think we should reconsider," she said softly, ever mindful of the others in the room. Her council – consisting of their closest friends and most trusted knights – sat a discreet distance away, some smug, others wary, but all in agreement as to what should be done … all except the princess.

"Snow, this is the best option we have. You heard Blue … there is no guarantee the magic on the cell will hold," James argued, his hands trailing gently over his wife's arms to rest on her swollen belly. "We have to put the needs of the kingdom … the needs of our child … first." He sighed as she pushed away from him, shaking her head.

"It's inhumane, and no matter what you say, James, somewhere buried beneath all that dark magic, Rumpelstiltskin is still a human being."

"And with the queen's curse nearly upon us, we can't take the chance he will gain his freedom and help her make matters worse."

Snow glared at him as she caressed her stomach where their daughter rested, oblivious to the happenings in the council room. "Do you forget so easily you never would have found me to wake me from my sleeping curse if it weren't for him? You owe him, Charming."

"I've more than paid my debt to the imp, and am lucky to have survived his price," the prince spat in a furious whisper.

"You'll forgive me if I don't agree," came her sarcastic rejoinder. "The Dark One has never offered a deal where the price was more than we were willing to pay, and you know it. His deals are always more in his favor than ours, but he has never lied to us about them."

Charming gnashed his teeth, his frustrated breath whooshing out of his nose. "Snow, this is best for everyone involved. You weren't opposed to Blue's idea until she mentioned the painting, which is why he's trapped in the mines in that cell." He reached for her, but she moved away. "Have you forgotten he would have taken Ella's baby? Or that Prince Thomas hasn't been seen –"

"Since Ella went back on her deal! She signed his contract, David," the princess hissed. "Rumpelstiltskin shouldn't be blamed because she signed it before reading it first."

"You want him to have her baby?!"

"Of course not!" she protested. "But I don't think he should be trapped forever in a painting!"

David's shoulders drooped wearily. For so long they'd been fighting against the queen and her threats of a curse. They'd barely had a moment's peace since their marriage, and now they were fighting amongst themselves. Now with the birth of their daughter looming in the not too distant future and the knowledge he'd be separated from her and her mother for almost three decades, he couldn't take the chance the imp would make it worse. "I'm sorry, Snow, but this is our best chance."

*.*.*

The Dark One stared mutinously at the three fairies as he was dragged from the cart and led inside the White palace. Being moved from his cell to the palace couldn't be a good sign. His entire body ached from the magic they'd used to keep him immobile and powerless, but his weathered features revealed nothing of what he was feeling. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they'd caused him physical pain.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. He was destined – by his own design – to remain in the cell until the queen could cast the curse. He'd seen the future, knew exactly how it was to come to pass – at least this one small part of it – and he did not need these do-gooder heroes to make it deviate from its course. He did his best to stifle the shiver tingling along his spine. If the fairies were involved, this would not end well for him.

Rumpelstiltskin barely noticed the rich appointments along the corridors as he was led to the council chamber, but his mind cleared abruptly as he was brought face to face with Snow and her charming prince. She didn't look at all happy, something which should have given him a measure of warning. She looked as if her dearest friend had died. He knew his dagger was safe, protected by more enchantments than an entire legion of fairies could break through, so he knew it wasn't his death which would have her looking like this … not that she would to begin with.

The prince stepped forward and nodded to the guards who held the Dark One so firmly in their grasp, dismissing them. Rumpelstiltskin swayed unsteadily on his feet, but managed to catch his balance before he fell. The fairy magic kept him on his feet, kept him aware, but still left him in a void where he remained weak and powerless to use his magic.

"Rumpelstiltskin, you are hereby banished," the prince said, his azure gaze cold.

The imp's penetrating stare flickered to the three fairies, his eyes filled with the intense loathing he felt for their leader. He didn't feel any warmer feelings for her companions, Cyan, with her twinkling golden light which reminded him so much of Belle when he'd first met her, nor Emerald, Blue's sycophantic right hand. Finally, he looked back at the prince. "Really, dearie?" he rasped, managing to keep his voice steady.

"We cannot risk you somehow aiding the queen in her quest to destroy the kingdom. Therefore, you will be banished where you cannot harm anyone ever again."

Snow covered her mouth with her hand and clenched her eyes tightly closed, unable to witness the fear she'd briefly glimpsed in his large amber eyes as they fell upon the gilt frame and blank canvas sitting so innocuously upon the pedestal.

"All because of my contract with the cinder girl?!" he raged.

"You have committed the vilest and most unspeakable acts imaginable against mankind for centuries," the Blue Fairy said, a sanctimonious smile upon her face. "Your reign of terror is at its end, Rumpelstiltskin."

Before he could protest further, the fairies took their position before the painting and combined their magic to open a swirling vortex of light. It was then he knew what they'd planned for him all along … and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His head spun as the swirling colors crept ever closer until they wrapped about his body and jerked him forward. The last thing he saw was the princess hiding her face against Charming's shoulder as she wept for what had been done. He knew it had to go against Snow's innate goodness to see any manner of being so unjustly persecuted.

David sighed as he stroked Snow's ebony tresses away from her face. Blue bowed to them both, the gesture somewhat awkward as she hovered midair before them. "It was necessary, your majesties."

"Is there no way for him to ever be freed?" Snow asked as she dried her tears on the snowy white handkerchief Charming offered her.

Blue's tinkling laughter filled the room as Grumpy and Sleepy stepped forward to carry the painting away to an obscure room of the castle where no one would have to look upon it. "No, highness," she chuckled, the sound rich with a hint of darkness she normally hid from the world. "Only true love could break this enchantment … and who could ever love a beast such as the Dark One?"

Snow clasped her hands over her belly as her daughter kicked against her palm. "May the gods forgive us, because he surely won't."

*.*.*

Twenty-eight years later …

Regina's ruby painted lips curled into a sickly-sweet smile as she watched the little librarian's face fall into a mask of despair. "You've been asking for funding for years, Miss French. I'm simply acceding to your request."

Belle gaped at her. "By selling off all of the library's artwork? These pieces are aesthetically pleasing to our patrons. You can't take that away from them!"

"The proceeds from the sale will bring in the funds to buy better books for the library as well as new computers for your tutoring program. I would think resource materials would be more beneficial to our patrons than these moldy old paintings you're so fond of," Regina tried to reason with her.

The librarian's shoulders slumped dejectedly. Of course, it would only benefit the library if they had better resource materials, and who was she to argue with that when she'd been after the mayor for years to put more of the budget towards the public library? But those paintings were as much a part of the old building as Belle was herself. Sometimes, she wondered if her talents were being wasted.

After high school, Belle had gone to Storybrooke's small university and studied hard to achieve her degree in library science, as well as another in English literature. If anything, she was overqualified for the position of librarian in the little Podunk town, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. When her father had passed ten years ago, he'd left her an impressive stock portfolio and a savings account she hadn't even known about until his lawyer had read the will. She didn't need to work unless she wanted to, but she enjoyed putting her skills to use. And the tutoring she offered in the afternoons only enriched her life. She couldn't just give it up. Her students needed her, and it had been so long since she'd felt truly needed.

Her heart flipped as the workmen reached up to remove the gilt framed painting from the wall in the fantasy section. No! It was her favorite! She'd spent hours over the years staring at that painting, taking comfort in the whimsical smile of the imp framed therein. It had brought her comfort when her father was dying, and she'd sought the solace of the library. She couldn't bear to part with it. It was hers! "Then allow me to purchase one for myself. There should be no harm in that, surely."

The mayor cast her a condescending smile. "Miss French, that painting alone has been appraised at twenty thousand dollars. It will no doubt fetch twice that when it goes to auction," she said, flicking her wrist in the painting's direction. Oh, what she wouldn't give to set fire to it instead. There was something about that painting which caused the fine hairs on her neck to stand on end whenever she looked at it. She could still hear the impish giggle which used to send chills up her spine, still hear his voice – low and dark – in the twilight of another life. Will it, Regina! … Embrace the darkness, dearie. It likes how you taste …You cannot show weakness to your enemies. Or was mommy right about you all along …

It didn't matter that her mentor was trapped for an eternity in the painting. There was still a part of her – deep down and hidden even from her – which still feared his power. She had cast his curse to bring them to this land and he wasn't even able to reap the benefits. It must be more than a little frustrating for him, she thought, if he were aware of what went on in the outside world.

She focused her attention on Rumpelstiltskin's true love once more, her brows rising incredulously as the girl moved to block the workmen from boxing it away in the crate with the others. "Miss French –"

"Please, Madam Mayor," Belle cried, cringing at the note of pleading in her voice. "I have the little nest egg my father left me, and I haven't touched the money from the sale of his flower shop. Allow me to purchase it outright."

Regina glared at the portrait, now leaning innocently against a bookshelf. The imp's eyes seemed to be staring directly into her soul, his gaze narrowed and menacing. Her heart raced with fear … and then she blinked and realized she had only imagined it. He had no power over her here, after all. What harm would there be to let the little librarian buy the painting? It was just a painting, she told herself. The funds would go into the budget for the library along with the others she planned to auction off and the city council would be pleased to see the town's meager finances poured into other areas. It was a win-win situation.

Belle stood before the painting like a warrior princess, determined to fight off a rampaging horde to protect what was hers. Regina sighed in irritation and squared her shoulders. "Very well, Miss French. I'll expect the money for the painting no later than Friday," the mayor told her grudgingly.

The librarian huffed out a relieved breath as the cold-eyed woman beckoned to the workmen to finish up with the remainder of the artwork and left without another word.

*.*.*

Rumpelstiltskin stared out in wonder at his precious Belle through the murky oils and canvas which comprised his prison, his amber eyes dark with a tumult of emotion. Twenty-eight years, one month, two weeks, five days, seventeen hours … he glanced up at the mantle over the hearth … and thirty-seven minutes. The duration of the curse thus far, he mused. The length of time he'd been aware his beloved hadn't perished by the hands of the clerics or her father's betrayal. The same amount of time he'd spent over nearly three decades trying to gain her notice. Gods, how he loved her still … more than he'd ever thought possible … more than he had when she'd opened her heart to him and let him inside that fateful day at his spinning wheel.

He'd finally discovered the queen's treachery, and he wanted to kick himself for believing her and her lies. His Belle was alive, and he was blessed enough to be able to see her every day while he awaited the breaking of the Dark Curse. The fairies had been so convinced they'd be able to trap him forever, but they hadn't counted on his own resourcefulness, his own tenacity to find his son in this land without magic. Well, he thought bitterly, a land with limited magic. His portrait had survived well, after all, along with the innate power which coursed through his veins. There were no limits to his magic within the bonds of his prison. They hadn't been able to steal it from him, though what good it would do him, trapped as he was, he didn't know.

For years now, he'd been able to watch over his little dearie from the confines of the painting. Sometimes, he wished he could remain still and suffer in silence, but his need for her only grew. What he wouldn't give to be able to touch her, to hold her, to tell her how sorry he was for rejecting her love and sending her away. He'd been a fool. Instead, he did everything he could to draw her attention. To anyone else viewing the painting, it was always the same … his still and silent form standing before his spinning wheel, staring into the distance, despair enshrouding his weathered green gold face. But not for his beloved.

Belle was his true love, the keeper of his heart – withered husk that it was – and only she had the power within her to see him for what he truly was. She'd always been able to see him. Most times she doubted her sanity when his image changed. Sometimes, he would sit at the wheel and appear to be spinning, his mouth twisted with thoughtful contemplation. Other times, she would see him cradling their cup as he sipped carefully at his tea. And rarely, she would see him at the window looking out in somber reflection as he wished and hoped and dreamed for an impossible future.

Not a day passed where she wouldn't come down the old staircase from her apartment above the library and greet him warmly, her eyes caressing his image, her lips curved into a beatific smile just for him. "Good morning, Rumpel. I trust you're well." He shivered. Her voice never failed to bring him joy, his body surging to life as she spoke to him. Without her, he would have surely lost the last remnants of his sanity long ago.

He had the hatter to thank for her use of his ancient name. Jefferson was one of the few people he knew from the past who he could call a friend. It had been a shock to the man to come into the library and see the imp's portrait hanging on the wall. It had been a bigger shock for the Dark One to hear the recognition in the hatter's voice.

Jefferson stared wide-eyed and tongue-tied, gaping like a fish before he disappeared towards the front of the library and brought Belle back with him, dragging her by the hand. "What is that painting of Rumpelstiltskin doing hanging here?" he asked.

"Rumpelstiltskin? As in the fairy tale?" Belle had queried, utterly confused. "I don't think he looks like that ferocious little imp," she said defensively, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest.

The hatter let out a hysterical little giggle and rubbed at his throat hidden behind a silky black cravat. "Belle, it's him. I'm telling you –" His voice trailed off as she arched a quizzical brow at him. "And you don't remember anything about him," he whined with obvious disappointment.

"Of course, I remember the story, Jefferson."

"But not the man." The hatter sighed forlornly, and Rumpelstiltskin felt the man's frustration as if it were his own.

Yet from that day on, Belle had taken to calling him by his true name – or some variation of it – each day when she greeted him.

Now, the queen was trying to take him away from his Belle. He couldn't allow that to happen, yet he was powerless to prevent it. His stomach churned with dread and with a violent burst of magic, he allowed her to see – for just a moment – the loathing in his eyes. His dread quickly morphed into relief, however, when Regina agreed to allow Belle to buy the painting. He would belong solely to her … forever, and no one would be able to separate them ever again.

He shivered as Belle reached out and brushed the tip of her fingertip over his cheek, reveling in the small touch. "Don't worry, Rum. I won't let her take you from me," she vowed with a sad smile. "I'll protect you."

*.*.*

Mary Margaret hugged herself and fought off a feeling of unease as she stood beside Belle and watched Leroy and Jefferson Madden tilt the portrait they were hanging on the wall in Belle's bedroom. "I still don't understand why you'd want that thing in here," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Because she likes to look at him?" Jefferson snarked with a bright smile, showing nearly every one of his teeth.

"Too strange for my taste, sister," Leroy grumbled as Belle instructed him to move it more to the left.

"I'm just glad I don't have to look at it every time I bring my class in to choose new reading material," the school teacher replied with a shudder. "It just creeps me out."

Belle's spine stiffened in affront at her friend's negativity. "Well, I adore this painting. I couldn't allow the mayor to auction him off. Knowing her, it would have probably ended up as kindling beneath her cauldron."

Mary Margaret giggled. "You just don't like the mayor."

Jefferson raised a brow in her direction. "No one likes the mayor."

Belle shrugged noncommittally as she nodded to the two men, finally happy with the placement of the portrait. No longer would she have to wait to see him in the mornings or leave him when she closed the library at night. Now, from where the painting hung on the wall at the foot of her bed, he would be the first thing she saw when she woke and the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes to sleep. She wouldn't have to worry about being overheard by visitors to the library as she carried on one-sided conversations with her 'friend'.

She ushered her friends back into the living room and offered them her hospitality when what she really wanted was to be alone. "I'm sure Regina has her good points," she said, pouring a liberal amount of wine into four glasses.

"Well, she's yet to show any if they do actually exist," Jefferson huffed, downing half the contents of his glass in one long swallow.

"Did you really pay twenty thousand dollars for that painting, though?" Leroy asked, shaking his head.

Belle stared down into her glass as if the dark red liquid held all the answers. "That painting means a lot to me, Leroy. I don't know why … " She sighed. "I just know I couldn't bear to part with it."

She should have been warned by the spark of mischief she glimpsed in Jefferson's light grey eyes. "Perhaps the imp is your true love from a previous life and deep down you just want to kiss him, break his curse and have him fall off the canvas at your feet professing his undying love."

Mary Margaret nearly choked on her mouthful of wine. "Jeff! You're going to give her nightmares! He's more like to devour her whole."

"And this would be a bad thing?" the hatter teased, waggling his brows in a suggestive manner.

"Yeahhhh," Leroy drawled, scowling blackly at the man. "And that's my cue to leave. Ugh!" He picked up the envelope from Belle's coffee table containing his small fee for services rendered, and tucked it away in the pocket of his jeans.

"Thank you, Leroy, for helping to hang the painting. I do appreciate it," Belle said sincerely as she rose from the stool where she sat at the bar separating the room from her kitchen and saw him to the door.

He nodded and took his leave.

"That's me too, Belle. I promised I'd have dinner with Emma tonight," Mary Margaret told her, reaching for her cardigan and slipping into it. "Did you hear about Graham offering her the deputy job?"

"I'll bet Regina was thrilled over that, yeah?" Belle asked as she hugged her friend.

"Emma said she was just over the moon about it," Mary Margaret replied, joining in the laughter with her friends. "But there's not much she can do about it. It's Graham's decision as to who he hires."

Jefferson swirled his wine about in his glass. "Oh, you can bet she'll make her displeasure felt by one and all," he grumbled.

"I'll see you tomorrow after school? You did promise to help me with tutoring."

"I'll definitely be there, Belle. Have a good night, and …" Mary Margaret's emerald eyes glittered with a mix of mischief and trepidation for Belle's taste in art. "… enjoy your painting."

Belle refilled both of their glasses before plopping back on the sofa next to Jefferson, taking comfort in his warm embrace as he slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She sighed as she rested her head against his shoulder. "Why does everything have to be so hard, Jeff? Emma seems like a nice person, but you know Regina is going to make her life a living hell for the simple reason she's Henry's birth mother. She doesn't deserve that."

He grinned down at her, tapping the end of her nose with one long finger. "Don't count Miss Swan out just yet, m'dear. I have a feeling she may surprise you."

Her eyes narrowed on him suspiciously. "Alright, spill, Madden. What do you know?" she asked. He always had the best gossip. She had a feeling it had more to do with his trusty telescope rather than people willing to confide in him.

Jefferson sighed. "I don't know anything, really," he hedged. "I just think things in this quiet little town will be changing soon. Don't you get that feeling?"

Belle frowned. "When does anything ever change in Storybrooke?"

"When you least expect it."

*.*.*

Belle upended the last of the wine into her glass and brought it into the bedroom with her, setting it down on her nightstand as she glanced over her shoulder at the painting. A rosy blush tinged her cheeks as she took note of the wide amber eyes which seemed to be trained on her arse. She stared down at the lacy black sleeping shorts and her favorite royal blue tank top with the phrase 'so many books, so little time' printed across her chest. It had been a Christmas gift from Jefferson and her most comfortable shirt to use as sleeping attire. She hadn't thought twice about donning it after her shower. She was being silly anyway, she mentally scolded herself. It wasn't as if her Rumpel were really staring at her scantily clad form. She was simply imagining things again.

She'd been doing that all too frequently of late. She found it easy to blame her recent dreams on Jefferson's stories, but it wasn't so easy to pass off her hallucinations on them. The man could weave a story like nobody's business, but what she imagined she saw in the painting had to run a little deeper. There was no history of mental illness in her family, so that was out as a plausible explanation. Maybe she should make an appointment with Archie. But even if she could have him explain away her imaginings – without locking her in a padded cell – she doubted he could theorize or psychoanalyze her deep feelings for the man in the painting.

Belle groaned in frustration and picked up her glass, tossing back the sweet red alcohol as she stared into those wide amber eyes. Of course, now they were heavily lidded and thankfully, not fixed upon her rear. "You're definitely losing it, Belle French …" She set the now empty glass back on the nightstand. "… and the wine isn't helping."

She turned her back on the painting and disappeared into the bathroom to finish drying her long thick hair, hoping a few moments away from the object of her desire would calm her enough to sleep. Leave it to her to fall in love with an inanimate object, no matter how perfect it seemed. The man in the painting couldn't hurt her if he wasn't real, she reasoned with herself. He was no more than one of the heroes in the novels she favored, but she wasn't one to put herself in the place of the heroine. She preferred to read about someone else's love, never having experienced it for herself. It wasn't as if she had no life experience. She'd dated a few times in high school and had found out what a picnic that was. She'd even gone out on a few blind dates her friends had set her up on in college. It had all been a waste of time.

Belle wanted true love … or at least someone who could see past the end of his nose to appreciate her for her mind as well as her beauty. She wanted her Rumpel. There was something about him which called to her soul and she knew as long as she felt this connection, this unbreakable bond, she'd never be happy with anyone. She giggled as she stepped out of the bathroom, her footsteps a bit staggered as she made her way to the foot of the bed and locked eyes with her imp. Perhaps she'd had one glass too many. Once again, he wasn't where she'd last seen him.

"Are you being naughty, my darling?" she mused aloud, neither expecting nor receiving an answer as she moved closer to the painting. "No?" She rested her brow against the canvas and peered at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm so pathetic. Thankfully, you're not really alive and can't judge me for being a silly girl."

She reared back in surprise, her eyes widening in alarm as she took in every minute detail of the painting, every delicate swirl of oils on the canvas. He was still in the same position as earlier, his long-fingered grasp still about the chipped teacup. She closed her eyes and shook herself, trying to regain a measure of reality in her muddled mind. She cracked one eye open and peered again at the window behind him, the frost covered pane mocking her. Written in the fog – as if smeared out with a hasty finger – was one word … Belle. It wasn't possible. She'd surely slipped off around the bend. She really was certifiable!

Belle stumbled back, a tiny whimper slipping past her parted lips.

Perhaps the imp is your true love from a previous life and deep down you just want to kiss him, break his curse and have him fall off the canvas at your feet professing his undying love

Jefferson's teasing statement from earlier that evening ratcheted through her head with the force of a speeding train, leaving her helpless in the chaos and no chance of escape. She reached out a shaking hand and traced the letters of her name with her finger. Nope, not hallucinating. She went to the nightstand and picked up her iPhone, tapping on the symbol for her camera and moving in to take a picture. She held it to her chest, biting her lip nervously. If her name showed up in the picture of the painting, she couldn't possibly be imagining things. What would she do then, she wondered. Panic was slowly rising at an alarming rate in her chest. If it wasn't there, however, she would definitely be making that appointment with Dr. Hopper.

*.*.*

His chest hurt with the need to breathe as she fiddled with that infernal device she always had near to hand. He knew it was some type of this land's magic, but he didn't have to like it. It was famous for interrupting her when she was in the middle of telling him an interesting story about her day, or about something she'd read, or even garnering her attention when she was simply gazing at him. No, he didn't like it one bit. And just now he couldn't figure out what that flash had been or why she was staring so intently at the little screen.

Rumpelstiltskin's hand reached out, his fingertips brushing against the magical barrier separating him from his Belle. He wanted nothing more than to brush her tears away and pull her into the warm cradle of his arms. Anything to make her smile again … anything to erase the fear in her lovely eyes. "Belle, please, my love … please don't cry," he whispered, despite the fact no one could hear him. Gods, this was the purest form of torture. Never had he wanted to make anyone suffer as much as that blasted jellyfish. Maybe Regina, he amended. He shook his head. No, that fairy topped the list.

He sucked in a sharp breath as she tossed her little magic box on the bed and dried her eyes before stepping closer to his painting. What was she doing? Was she going to touch him again as she had before? To have her that close and not be able to break through the barrier to wrap his arms around her would probably kill him. When she'd pressed her brow so close to him moments ago, he'd been certain his heart had stopped.

"Belle …" he murmured in warning as her fingertips ghosted over his hair and along the stubborn angle of his jaw. He leaned into the barrier, his palms placed flat against it as she leaned in from the other side. He wanted to feel more of her … as much as she would give him. He closed his eyes as one smooth fingertip traced along his collarbone and he couldn't suppress the white-hot pleasure which coursed through his body. "Belle … Belle, I love you …"

His eyes flew open as his head swam dizzily, the barrier rippling before him as he felt himself fall.

A/N: Please don't kill me! I will be posting the second chapter tomorrow … I promise :o) I am simply adoring this prompt and you know how long winded I am lol. But I promise I will have the next part tomorrow, filled with True Love Fluff, Reunion Smut and all the goodies. Please let me know what you think.

Special thanks to Emilie Brown for making the awesome sauce cover for this fic! She's amazing!