A/N: I'm actually posting this story for someone else who's account isn't old enough for postings yet, so I myself do not own or claim to own any part of this fic, story is owned by the author and characters are owned by ABC and Once Upon A Time.
Belle lay on her hospital bed, contemplating her circumstances. She had been here for days, with no end in sight. She had thought this through a thousand times: she could remember virtually no one and nothing from her own life, but she remembered books she had read, current and historical events, the way the world worked. She knew who she was, of course, and if she forgot, her name was printed right there on her wrist tag. Not that anyone ever used it. And she had some disturbing memories that she shuddered away from whenever they entered her mind. Other than that, nothing. Try as she might, she couldn't remember where she worked. Where she lived. Family. Friends.
Amnesia, Dr. Hopper had said, in his one brief visit to her bedside. Why, then, was no one trying to help her remember? No one was trying to cure her or help her in any way, not really. Nor was there any projected end to her confinement. The only time she received any medical attention at all was when she showed the slightest sign of agitation or asked too many questions; then that horrid nurse would show up to sedate her.
She'd learned to be calm. And quiet. After all, she knew all too well that there were worse forms of confinement than a hospital room. But that didn't stop the questions from coming. It just stopped her from vocalizing them: What am I doing here? If I'm "sick", why is no one treating me? When can I get out of this hospital? She felt like a prisoner. Almost like the time before. Belle pushed the thought from her mind.
She had her cellphone, though. When they'd come and taken away her clothes and personal belongings, she'd managed to keep that hidden, at least. She was careful to conserve its power; she had no idea where the charger was. But sometimes, like now, she turned it on and scrolled through the information on her phone, trying to get some sense of who she was, who she had been.
Belle lay on her side on her bed, facing away from the door, keeping her phone carefully hidden. But as she stared at the photos of people she didn't recognize, the phone rang in her hand. Belle was startled and almost recoiled as she saw a photo of the caller. It was him again, that man who kept pestering her. And, yet, he did seem to be about the only person she'd encountered who cared about her welfare. Hesitantly, Belle answered her phone.
"Mr. Gold," Belle started to stammer, "I... I told you before. I... I don't remember you."
"I know, I know," he answered. His voice sounded different. Strained Pained. Rasping. "It's just..." Belle heard his troubled breathing. "Sweetheart, I'm dying."
She propped herself up on one elbow.
"Oh, um." What could she possibly say to this man? "I'm so sorry." Just because she'd rebuffed his attentions didn't mean she wanted him to die. She wouldn't wish that on anyone.
"I know that you're confused about who you are," he continued. "So I'm gonna tell you." He had her undivided attention. "You are a hero, who helped your people," he said, as he struggled to breathe. "You're a beautiful woman who loved an ugly man. Really really loved me. You find goodness in others," he continued, as tears welled in her eyes, "and when it's not there, you create it. You make me want to go back... back... to the best version of me. And that never happened before." Belle was choking back tears now. "So when you look in the mirror and you don't know who you are, that's who you are." Then so faintly that she could barely hear it, "Thank you... Belle..."
The phone went dead in her hand. Belle fell back on her bed and just let the sobs come.
The next several hours passed in a haze as Belle alternated between thinking through what she knew of this man and regretting that she had not gotten to know him better. Why hadn't she given him a chance? In all the time she could remember, he was the only one who had been consistently concerned about her. Sure, the sheriff had come to question her. And some young woman whose name she couldn't recall had claimed they were friends and brought her a book, but that encounter hadn't ended well. And there had been that strange woman, but Belle could only remember losing consciousness shortly after their conversation began; when she came to, she'd found the contents of her purse scattered, and shortly after that the hospital staff had confiscated the rest of her belongings.
No. He was the only one who had shown any interest. The only one who'd cared. And all she'd done was push him away. Why? Why hadn't she given him a chance? And now it was apparently too late...
Belle scrolled through her phone, searching for photographs of him, of them. This man was the key to her past. She was suddenly certain of it. And perhaps he had once been the key to her future...
She thought back on what she could remember of him...
Her first memories were of him, she realized, being in his arms. She didn't know what had come before, but obviously she'd been with him before that first memory.
She remembered searing pain in her left shoulder, him lowering her to the ground, his face above her, concern etched into his every feature as he shouted the name he called her, "Belle! Belle!" And there was blood on his hands. Her blood. There was another man, too, she recalled. And she remembered being lifted and moved a very short distance. And then he set her down and a ball of flames appeared in his hand. He seemed poised to throw it at the other man, but then a car came out of nowhere, and he rolled them both to safety, as she briefly lost consciousness from the pain. He had saved her life in that instant, she realized, saved her from that oncoming car.
When she came to, she had wanted only to get away from him. He had sought only to console her, she realized now, to help her, and she had shied away from him, especially after he had touched her shoulder with a healing light and made the pain disappear. Fear had made her shrink from him, but perhaps it was fear of not remembering, not fear of him; he had done nothing to earn her distrust. He had done nothing but care for her.
Other people had rushed up. "She crossed over the line," he had told them. "She doesn't remember." Belle puzzled over this remark. What line? And why would crossing it lead to amnesia?
Then there had been a young woman there. Belle instinctively trusted her more than Mr. Gold, who in any case walked away from her and attacked the other man who had been there, the man who had been struck by the car. But the others stopped him, this violent man who had been her rescuer. That just made her fear him more. The fireball. The light that had healed her shoulder. The attack on the stranger. (They were all strangers, she noted wryly.)
The young woman had helped her to the ambulance. The rest of the night was a blur. But she remembered that he had been there. He had come to the hospital with the rest, and as she had been helped down the hall by a nurse, she had heard him calling after her. "Belle! Belle!"
She had fallen asleep. And when she had awoken, it was to a gentle kiss. It had brought a smile to her face, she remembered, and the memory of it made her smile now. So sweet, so tender. But then she had opened her eyes and was suddenly fully awake to see him above her, and she had started screaming. She had been so afraid. And why, she wondered now. If they had been a couple, wouldn't many such a kiss have been exchanged between them? Of course, he probably shouldn't have just kissed her without her remembering who he was. But perhaps he was trying to help her remember. And in that instant while she was still half asleep, feeling the gentle pressure of his lips on hers, she almost had... And he had apologized, profusely, as he backed out of the room.
The next time she had seen him was when he'd shown up in her room with that damn chipped cup. That made no sense at all. Her talisman, he had called it. He said she had broken it in his castle, which made even less sense than the rest of what he was going on about. He said he had charmed it, that it was magic; he had tried to get her to focus on it. The entire incident had been so disturbing that she had flung his cup against the wall and shattered it. And even then, even after she had been so mean to him and broken this cup that clearly had meaning to him, he said "I'm sorry" as he made his way out the door.
And, really, why had she been so mean to him? Why had she been so afraid of this man? After all, he was probably just trying to help her remember. And if they had been a couple, if they were truly together, wasn't that what he was supposed to be doing? In all her days here, she couldn't recall anyone else trying to help her remember anything.
That had been the last time she had seen him. She had driven him away without ever even giving him a chance. She had recoiled from him, screamed at him, thrown this item he cherished and broken it. And all he had ever done was to be gentle with her and kind to her. All he had ever wanted was for her to give him a chance and let him in. And now she was the one who was out of chances. She would never have a chance to get to know this man, this man who cared about her, deeply. Who loved her. And whom she had loved in return. She must have seen something in him, to have loved him. Why hadn't she given herself a chance to find out what that was? To see if she could love him again? To find out what her other self, the one she couldn't remember, had seen in this man who called her Belle? What if she had pushed away the love of her life, her one true love?
She stayed that way for hours, alternating between regretting what she had done to him and feeling sorry for herself, shedding tears over the lost love she had never known, looking at pictures of the life she had left behind. The life that had included him.
When the knock came at the door, he was the last person she expected to see when she looked up. He cracked the door open. "May I come in?"
"You're alive!" she blurted out.
"Well, yes," he said, encouraged enough by her response to step into the room. "I thought after that rather dramatic phone call that I should probably let you know that in person."
"What happened?" Belle asked, as she wiped away the last of her tears.
"I was poisoned. I was at the end, but at the last moment an antidote was... discovered."
Belle didn't wait to hear more. She leapt from the bed, ran the brief distance that separated them, and flung herself into his arms. Her actions surprised them both, but his embrace welcomed her. He held her tightly, grateful for this unexpected turn of events.
Suddenly embarrassed by her outpouring of emotion, Belle ended their embrace and made her way back to the bed. "Somebody poisoned you?" she asked as she sat back down on the bed, much happier now, relaxed and determined to get to know this man. If he would still let her. "Who would do something like that?"
"I have many enemies," he said, as he stepped closer to the bed. Closer to her.
She smiled unsurely. Many enemies. It didn't matter. She had loved him once. She wanted to know why.
Belle changed the subject. "Tell me something."
"Anything." He was just pleased she was finally interested in conversing with him.
"Why do you call me Belle?"
His brow furrowed, but he had anticipated the question. "Well, when we first started going out, became a couple, some people were... rather unkind. Are you familiar with the story of Beauty and the Beast?"
She nodded.
"Well, that was the comparison that some people began drawing. Because you are so beautiful and I am such a-" He stopped himself short of saying it. "Anyway, in the original tale, Beauty's name is actually Belle."
"So they started calling me Belle as in Beauty and the Beast?" Her forehead creased in consternation. "And you are the Beast? That seems decidedly unkind!"
"Well, people can be cruel. So rather than be the butt of their joke, we embraced it. I started calling you Belle. It was something of a pet name. But soon other people started calling you Belle, too."
"I've noticed that." Belle reached for her phone. "Can you explain this?" she asked, holding out a photo of him captioned Rumpel. "Mr. Gold, this cannot possibly be your first name."
"No," he said. "That was a pet name you had for me. Rumpel."
"Rumpel?" she questioned. "Why? That makes no sense. Every time I've seen you, you've been impeccably dressed. There's nothing rumpled about you."
"I think that was part of the appeal. Part of the joke," he volunteered.
Belle looked down at her cellphone. "Also, I misspelled it."
"You did? Let me see." He looked at her phone. "So you did."
She looked back up at him. "Will you answer some more questions for me?"
"Anything, Belle." He caught himself. "May I call you Belle?"
She smiled at him, a full happy smile. "You may call me anything you like," she said, as she patted the bed and he grateful perched himself on the edge of it. "I'm just so glad that you're alive, and that I have a chance to get to know you after all!"
Belle continued. "The first thing I remember, I was falling down, and you were there. Then you were holding this ball of fire in your hand." She gestured and looked at him questioningly.
"Ah, that. Well, you see, I am something of an amateur magician."
"But you looked like you were about to throw it."
"I couldn't have thrown it," he assured her. "It was an illusion. Nothing more."
"Show me."
Uncomfortably, Rumpel stretched out one hand and motioned with the other. A ball of fire appeared on his palm. Belle stretched her hand out to touch it, and Rumpel willed its warmth away.
Belle laughed. "That's a neat trick. How do you do it? Can I try it?"
"Oh, a magician never reveals his secrets!"
"Come on," she coaxed in her winsome way. And he knew he would have no choice but to teach her.
"It's all in the wrist," Rumpel said. "Notice how I stretch out one hand to distract you, then I wave the other over it. But what really matters is this flick of the wrist here-" He flicked his wrist against the edge of his watch. "-which gives the illusion of the flame."
"It's like a hologram!" Belle exclaimed. "It's being projected from your watch!"
"Exactly!" he said, relieved at her belief.
"May I try it?"
"Of course!" Rumpel removed his watch and secured it on Belle's wrist. She flicked her wrist several times, but the flame did not appear. "No, like this." Rumpel demonstrated again. "It's a very subtle movement." Since the true source of the fireball was of course his magic and not his watch, it was imperative that Belle not think the trick too easy, so she would not be surprised when she failed, should she ever try it on her own.
Two more failed attempts, and then Belle was holding a fireball in her hand. She squealed with delight. He was providing answers to question after question for her. If only she had thought to ask him before.
"Tell me something," Belle said, as she returned Rumpel's watch. "Why did you choose that moment to make a fireball appear?"
"I don't know," Rumpel answered. "I suppose I thought to frighten the man who had hurt you." He regretted his response instantly.
"That man... hurt me?"
"Yes. He threw something at you. Hard." Rumpel sought to retain his composure. "It hit you in the shoulder."
But Belle was way ahead of him. "I thought he shot me," she said.
Rumpel feigned surprise. "No."
"And then you ran your hand over the wound. I was bleeding. I saw it. Blood on your hands."
"No," Rumpel repeated. "He threw something that hit you in the shoulder. Hard. Very hard. Hard enough to dislocate your shoulder. That's why you were in pain. I didn't run my hand over any wound. The blood was mine; I scraped my hands on the asphalt. I popped your shoulder back in."
"I don't remember that," Belle said, unsure of herself.
"I'm not surprised. You were in a lot of pain. When I relocated your shoulder, you lost consciousness for a few seconds."
That made sense. Belle remembered losing consciousness as he was rolling her out of the way of the oncoming car. She could have been drifting in and out of consciousness from the pain easily enough. And she didn't remember blacking out again once he'd made the pain stop. It made sense. Belle decided to trust him.
"And then you tried to kill him."
"Well, yes. He had hurt you. But cooler heads prevailed."
"You told the people who came that I couldn't remember, that I'd crossed the line and couldn't remember. What was that all about?"
"What? I don't know," Rumpel lied. "I don't remember that. There was a lot going on that night." He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep talking before his entire story would fall apart. Nor was he comfortable lying to Belle. It wasn't something he ordinarily did.
Belle smiled. She was done pushing him. She was just glad that he was here. Alive.
"I just have one more question."
"Anything." He instinctively reached out to stroke her hair and was pleasantly surprised that she let him.
"Can you get me out of here?"
Rumpelstiltskin smiled at his beloved Belle.
"Get you out of here? I thought you'd never ask." Get Belle out of here? Away from all of these people determined to interfere with their relationship, to keep them apart? It would be his pleasure. "But I wouldn't feel comfortable taking you out of here and leaving you alone. You'd have to come back home with me."
Belle looked a bit taken aback, then laughed. "You know, I hadn't really thought about where I'd be going! I just want to get away from here!"
"My house is very large."
"As large as a castle, perhaps?" Belle ventured, referencing his remark when he had told her about how that cup had come to be chipped.
"Well, you occasionally thought so. You said it had so many rooms to clean that it might as well be a castle." This was going nicely. Or was it?
"I cleaned your house?" Belle asked, surprised. That didn't seem like her, to be the doormat in the relationship.
"Actually, that's how we met. How we got to know each other," he corrected. "I hired you as my housekeeper."
That made more sense.
"You cleaned my house," he continued. "You served my meals. I was home a good deal during the day, so we often ended up chatting. And that's how we got to know each other and... fell in love."
Belle smiled. "Then maybe we should get to know each other again."
"I'd like that. Very much." He hesitated. "So you'll come home with me? It's a large house." He realized he was awkwardly repeating himself. "You have a large lovely room with a private bath. It already has your clothes in it. And knickknacks."
"Wait, I'm confused," Belle said. "Did I live with you?"
"Yes, for a time."
"As your housekeeper?"
"No. Yes. After. I mean, yes." Rumpelstiltskin found himself fumbling for words. This wasn't like him.
"If we were together, why did I have my own room?"
Ah. That's all she wanted to know. "Because after years of bachelorhood, my dear, my closet was already full. You stored your clothes in the guest room and, after a while, you just kind of took over the whole room and decorated it to your liking. You spent a good deal of time in there, reading. It was your space. "Just not..." He trailed off, hesitant to finish the thought.
"At night?"
"Yes. Anyway, no pressure," he hurriedly added. "That room has a sturdy lock on the door."
Belle beamed at Rumpelstiltskin. It didn't matter. She already trusted him far more than any of the others she'd encountered. She would put her fate in his hands.
"I should add," Rumpel started, wanting to inject what honesty he could into the situation, "that we weren't entirely living together when your amnesia started."
"Oh?" She hadn't really given it much thought one way or the other.
"We were living together. Then we had a ... disagreement. You were angry with me and moved out. I arranged for you to get a job as the town librarian. An apartment came with the job. That's where you were living at the time of the ... accident. We were in the process of reconciling, but you hadn't moved back in. I think you rather liked having your own apartment. I think it was the first time you lived on your own."
"Oh. You'll show it to me?" she asked hopefully.
"Of course. I'll show you everything."
Belle smiled at him again, and Rumpelstiltskin had to suppress the urge to kiss her.
"So, would you like me to go get you some clothes? Or shall I just wheel you out of here to my car?"
Belle was torn. "I'd love to be dressed. But I want to get out of here even more!"
Rumpel stood. "It's settled then. I'll go grab a wheelchair."
He was out the door before Belle could object and back in an instant with a wheelchair. "My lady, your chariot awaits."
Belle stood up, clutching her cellphone, her only possession. "Are you sure about this? I mean, we can just walk out of here? They won't try to stop us?"
Rumpel said, "No. They won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because, my dear, I am the most powerful man in this town. No one here would dare cross me."
"Powerful?" Belle looked puzzled. "You mean rich?"
"Yes. That, too."
"Wait a minute. I wasn't a golddigger, was I?"
Rumpel laughed. "No. Far from it. You loved me despite everything, not because of it." Then he was embarrassed by his remark. "Here, sit down." Belle settled in the wheelchair, and Rumpel tucked a blanket around her legs. Then he placed his cane across her lap and pushed her to the door of her room. "Anyway, if anybody tries to stop us, you can just whack them with my cane." He pushed her out the door.
"Ah. Is that what you keep it for?" Belle asked, laughing.
"No. But it certainly does come in handy."
Rumpel wheeled Belle to the locked door of her unit.
"Wait a minute!" the charge nurse bellowed. "You can't just take her out of here!"
"You'll open the door, if you know what's good for you, dearie." Belle noted the menacing growl in his voice and was suddenly pleased that he was on her side. With a flick of Rumpel's wrist, unseen by Belle, the door flew open. "Thank you!" he said, as he pushed Belle through the door.
"Wait!" the charge nurse called after them, but with another flick of his wrist, the door slammed shut. It would take them hours to get it back open.
Oblivious as to what had just transpired, Belle saw only confirmation of what Rumpel had told her; he was the most powerful man in town, and people obeyed his every instruction. Within minutes, she was settled comfortably in his car. And she had never been happier.
As they drove through the town on the way to Rumpel's home, he pointed out the locales of Storybrooke to Belle. There was Granny's diner. The library. His shop.
"Wait! Stop!" Belle called out suddenly. "Stop the car!" Her hand was already on the door handle, and Rumpel pulled over and brought the car to a screeching halt across from his shop. Belle leapt from the car.
"I remember this!" she nearly shouted as Rumpel stepped from the car. "I remember!"
Rumpel slammed his door shut, then crossed to Belle's side of the car and closed that door also.
"What do you remember, Sweetheart?" he coaxed, suddenly keenly aware that he was standing on Main Street with a barefoot young woman who was wearing only a hospital gown and a blanket draped over her shoulders. At least it was nighttime. There were few around to see.
Belle looked around, wide-eyed. "Let's go in your shop!" Rumpel was only too happy to comply, and they crossed the street. He unlocked the door, and they entered the dimly-lit shop. Rumpel closed the door behind them, now genuinely concerned about Belle's mental state, as she walked a few steps into the shop, then stopped.
"I remember..." She was straining, grasping for elusive memories. "I remember I was..." She trailed off. Suddenly, she was afraid to say. But then she realized that this man must already know all she had to reveal.
"I remember being locked in... a place."
Rumpel nodded at her to continue. He did not seem surprised. To him, the only question was why she hadn't remembered this before.
Encouraged, Belle continued. "A man came and got me out. He said his name was Jefferson. He told me to find you. Find Mr. Gold. Tell him that Regina locked me up. He said that you would protect me."
Rumpel winced. He had failed in his promise to protect his beloved.
Belle paused. "Who is Regina?"
Rumpel could feel his jaw muscles tensing up. "She is the woman who had you... institutionalized. Please. Go on."
"But Jefferson wouldn't come with me. I had to find my way out of the hospital on my own. Nothing looked familiar to me. I was afraid that somebody would stop me. But no one did.
"I found the main entrance to the hospital and walked right out. It was nighttime, like it is now. I had no idea where to go. All I knew was that I had to find you, but I didn't know how. I just turned right and started walking. I tried to stay in the shadows so no one would see that I was only wearing a hospital gown under my sweater. And then I saw it."
Belle turned around and gestured out the front window. "I was standing right there, across the street, and I saw your shop. I saw your name, right on the shop! Mr. Gold. I crouched down in the shadows. I waited all night, hoping that you would come."
Rumpel could feel his temper welling up from deep within. If Regina appeared right now, he would have a hard time keeping the promise he had made to Belle not to kill her. The thought of Belle alone in the dark, afraid, cowering in the shadows of an unfamiliar world, waiting for him, made his blood boil.
"Then early in the morning, a light went on in your shop. I was so pleased that you were there so early, before other people were around. I crossed the street and entered your shop..."
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?"
"Yes, I am, but I'm afraid the shop's..."
Rumpel turned and saw his true love standing before him. The woman who he thought was long since dead. "...closed..." And in that instant, everything changed.
"I was told to find you and tell you that Regina locked me up," Belle stammered unsurely. "Does that mean anything to you?"
As she spoke, Rumpel slowly made his way to her. He reached out hesitantly and grasped her shoulder firmly, tactilely confirming what his eyes were telling him. "You're real." How many times had he longed to see her? How many times had he conjured her image? And now here she was, standing before him. It was really her. Belle. The woman he loved. His one true love. All these years, and now here she was. Alive.
"You're alive." Belle was surprised at his reaction. But Rumpel's mind jumped to the realization that Regina had lied to him and imprisoned Belle. All these years... What a fool he had been to believe her.
"She did this to you."
"I was told you'd... protect me."
"Oh, yes." He could restrain himself no longer and pulled Belle into an embrace, tears welling in his eyes. "Yes, I'll protect you." He would never let her out of his sight again.
Belle pulled away.
"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"
"No," he said kindly. "But you will." Even then she felt drawn to him.
"All you need to know for now is that I will protect you," Rumpel continued. "Whatever has happened to you, wherever you've been... That's all behind you now. You will never go back there again. No one will ever hurt you again."
This time, it was Belle's turn to throw herself into his embrace. She clung onto her lifeline as he held her tightly. If he would protect her and promise her that she would never have to return to the nightmare she had been living, that was good enough for her. She would gladly place herself in this man's care. Whoever he was, he had to be better than the prison she was escaping. And, besides, he looked at her with such kindness. And love.
Rumpel released Belle at long last. "I'm going to take you home," he said gently as he ran his fingertips over her hair. "Get you cleaned up. A bath. Real clothes." He tried to hide his disgust, not for Belle, but for the condition in which Regina had allowed her to languish. All these years. Twenty-eight long years. At least Belle had been blissfully unaware of the passage of time, pitiful consolation though that was. "We'll get you something to eat. A nice warm bed. You'll have your own room," he added as an afterthought.
Belle nodded gratefully.
"There's just one small thing I have to do first. I was on my way to run an errand when you walked in. I just have to take care of this one thing, then we can get you started on your new life."
Belle nodded again.
"Please, come with me." Rumpel gestured to the back of his shop. "My car's just out back here."
Belle hesitated. "There's just one thing."
"Anything," Rumpel responded.
"I was wondering if you have anything to eat? I'm very hungry. And tired. I've been up all night. And I'm obviously filthy." Belle looked down at herself, more than a little embarrassed. "But hungry more than anything."
"Of course. Come right this way."
Rumpel took Belle to the back of his shop, where he kept a small refrigerator.
"Let see what we've got in here." He opened the door. "Not much," he said apologetically. "Just a couple of bottles of water. And the other half of the sandwich I had for lunch yesterday."
"Yes! Please. I'll take it. And a bottle of water."
Rumpel fished the sandwich and water out of the fridge for her and then escorted Belle to the car. He opened the door for her, and she climbed in. Then he went around to his side. When he got into the car, he found Belle fumbling with her seatbelt.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I'm supposed to wear this. But I can't quite seem to remember how it works."
Rumpel grimaced at the realization that Belle had missed life in Storybrooke completely. Absolutely everything was new to her. Everything outside of the prison she'd been confined to. And yet indistinct memories would tell her that she ought to know how to do things, how things worked.
"Here." Rumpel took the end of Belle's seatbelt and demonstrated how it worked. She smiled gratefully, then bit voraciously into her sandwich. "I'm sorry. It isn't much," Rumpel apologized again, as he started the engine.
"That's okay!" Belle said while chewing. "This is better than anything I've had in a long time." Then she laughed. "And I'm talking with my mouth full. I'm sorry! My manners are a bit rusty!"
Rumpel just smiled at her. "That's alright, Sweetheart. It'll come back to you." Nothing she could possibly do would put him off.
As Belle ate her sandwich, Rumpel drove them out of Storybrooke and into the forest. To her surprise, he pulled over at the side of the road.
"Here we are."
"Here we are where?"
"My errand is here," Rumpel said and climbed out of the car. He walked around to Belle's side of the car and opened the door. But he could see that she was hesitant. And she was. Suddenly, Belle couldn't help but wonder what she'd gotten herself into. She had escaped imprisonment only to find herself about to enter the woods with a complete stranger. Something about this set off alarm bells in her head.
"Maybe I'll just wait here in the car," Belle said.
Rumpel sighed.
"I understand your hesitation. This is a little odd, I know. But I don't want to just leave you here by yourself." He winced at his next words, but they worked. "What if Regina comes along?" His words had the desired effect and Belle undid her seatbelt immediately. "I'll tell you what," Rumpel continued. "I'll just walk into the woods to my destination. You can walk behind me. Okay?"
Belle nodded.
"Just make sure you stay close enough to keep me in sight." Rumpel smiled at her. "I can't protect you if I don't know where you are."
Belle got out of the car. As Rumpel started walking into the forest, he heard the car door slam shut behind him. He could hear Belle's footsteps. This would do. For now.
Rumpel and Belle walked a ways into the forest...
"That's all I remember," Belle said. "What happened next?"
"Next?" Rumpel said. "Next... we fell in love."
Belle nodded. That fit.
"I don't remember anything else until... until my shoulder hurt."
"Do you remember anything before, Sweetheart?"
Belle strained to remember.
"Before you were locked up?"
"I can't. I've tried over and over. You know, I don't even know why I was in there. I think it was an insane asylum or something. I have no idea why I was there. And I only have vague memories from the time before. Nothing specific. I have images, flashes, of growing up, and obviously I must have, but I can't really remember anything real."
"That's alright," he consoled her. "Do you remember where you were locked up?"
"Well, I went upstairs when Jefferson let me out, and then I was in the hospital. So I guess I was in the basement of the hospital. You know, I don't even know how long I was in there."
No. Of course she didn't. She had no idea that Regina had kept her locked up for twenty-eight years.
"At first, I tried to keep track of the days. It seemed a little silly even back then, because I was trying to track the days when I couldn't even remember when I'd gotten there. Or how. But the strangest thing happened. I was trying to make marks on the wall, but they kept changing. I mean, I tried to make one mark every day, but some days there were more marks or fewer marks. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't keep track of it. So I stopped trying.
"But then I started reading," Belle continued. "And then instead of trying to track the days, I counted the number of books that I read. And I kept track of that number in my head."
"How many books did you read?" Rumpel asked her.
She looked down at the floor. She didn't want to say. She didn't want him to think ill of her, to know just how long she'd been locked up.
"Belle?" Rumpel coaxed her.
"Two thousand nine hundred and sixty-four," she whispered.
There was silence as Rumpel absorbed this number. Two thousand. Nine hundred. And sixty-four.
"It didn't make sense, really. Once a week, they took me out for a shower, and there was a mirror in the bathroom. I knew that weeks and months and years must have past, since I'd read so many books. I mean, even if I were reading a couple of books a week, it would have been years. But I never looked any older..." Belle trailed off. "After a while, I started to wonder if I really was going crazy," she whispered.
"Oh, my darling Belle!" Rumpel pulled her into an embrace, which she willingly returned. All those years. All those long lonely years. And Belle, locked up alone in Regina's own private dungeon, his Belle alone of all the inhabitants of Storybrooke had figured out the passage of time.
She had not been spared even this.
When he released her, Belle saw the tears that were in his eyes. She had so worried that her rescuer would judge her for the years she had spent locked away, condemn her for the crime or illness that had led to her years of solitude. But in his eyes, she saw only love.
Belle reached out and touched Rumpel's cheek. Emotions surged inside her, and as their lips met, she could feel herself grow weak in the knees.
Rumpel gently kissed his Belle, and this time he could feel her transformation. He held on to her as he felt her falter. "Focus on me," he said. "Hold on to me."
Disoriented, Belle stared into Rumpel's face, and as the seconds passed, so too did her disorientation. Within moments, she was standing on her own two feet again, looking into the eyes of the man she loved, assimilating all of her memories, the old, the new, the imaginary.
"Rumpel..." Belle said. "Did you find your son?"
Rumpelstiltskin nodded, smiled, and pulled her into a tight embrace.
His Belle was back.