Rumpelstiltskin rises before dawn the morning after the curse breaks. He stretches carefully as he stands, his muscles still sore and strained from making love to Belle late into the night. He could happily sleep for hours more, curled around his lover's body, her warm, bare skin pressed against his beneath the blankets. But as elated as he is to have his true love back, he is still a man on a mission, and after waiting centuries for this, he doesn't want to wait a moment longer than he has to.
He gets ready as quietly as he can, not wanting to wake Belle, who is still sound asleep in his bed, his sleeping angel with a halo of messy chestnut curls. He indulges for a few moments, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest, and admiring the smooth skin of her shoulder where the blanket has slipped down. With a contented sigh, he leaves her to sleep, closing the door silently behind him.
He knows every item in his shop by memory, and remembers precisely where it is located, so digging out the luggage and other items he needs is quick and painless enough. Even with the delay of dealing with Regina and fighting the urge to simply rip her head clean off her shoulders, he has the suitcases and other items packed in the car and back to the house by mid morning.
It takes two trips to get all the luggage inside. On the second trip, he kicks the front door closed behind him, and sets the bags down in the entryway.
"Are you going somewhere?" Her quiet voice startles him, and he turns to find Belle on the landing of the staircase. She's wearing one of his dark blue shirts, unbuttoned just enough to show a bit of cleavage, and a pair of his pants, rolled up at the ankles. The desire and possessiveness that washes over him at the sight distracts him, and it takes him several moments to process that she said something.
"What's that, love?"
She bites her lip, glancing between him and the suitcases. "Are… are you planning to go somewhere?"
His heart clenches, and he stares at the bags, realizing how this must look to her. He's not sure if the truth is better or worse. He swallows hard, not looking at her just yet. She told him once that she could summon bravery simply by leaping into the unknown, and trusting that courage would follow to guide her through. But then, she is so very brave already, her heart naturally full of courage, and he is every inch a coward.
But he cannot travel down this road – with or without Belle – as he is now. There are some things that will simply have to change, if any of this is to work. So he swallows a lump from his throat, leaps, and prays. "Yes. I am. And I believe I owe you a story, my love."
He tells her everything. He sits with her at the kitchen table with a pot of tea, and tells her every bit of his story, from beginning to end. He may skip some of the finer points – precisely how many infants traded, how many people killed, innocent or not, how many lives ruined for those who neglected the fine print. But he does not omit those things, and tells her truthfully that they happened. Most importantly, he tells her everything he can possibly remember about the brave, sweet boy that was in his thoughts every waking moment, the reason for it all.
"He's out there somewhere," he murmurs, staring down at the table. "I know he is. And I'm going to find him. No matter how long it takes."
He glances up at her, not sure what expression he'll see on her pretty face. He finds her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, somewhere between sadness and hope and love.
"I'll understand if… if you choose not to come with me. If you'd rather stay here."
He can't bring himself to say any more, to look at her, to even breathe, until a soft, warm hand covers his. He looks up to find her giving him a gentle and utterly loving smile. "Of course I'll come with you."
He releases the breath he was holding in a rush, even more relieved than he expected. A little smirk twitches across his lips. "Can't resist the lure of adventure?"
She closes her eyes with a smile, and one small tear slips past her lashes. "Can't let the person I love go through this alone."
He smiles sadly, his heart heavy with centuries of darkness and guilt. "I'm not a good man, Belle."
She stands and moves to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around him and teasing the hair at the back of his neck. "No, you weren't. But… what's done is done. And I can't think of a better way to start to redeem yourself."
He should say something – thank her, tell her how grateful he is to have her, how happy he is that she's still alive, bless her for not letting him push her away, tell her he doesn't deserve her, beg her forgiveness, a thousand different things. But in the end, all he can manage is to wrap his arms tightly around her, bury his face in her neck, and hold her.