A/N: A Season 4 Rumbelle "What If" Drabble. I do not own Once Upon A Time or any of its characters.
If I have to endure another moment of this, I'm going to strangle someone," Ursula threatened menacingly, waving her tentacles toward the cabin's living room.
"He's been this way ever since we took pity on him and let him into Storybrooke, darling," Cruella retorted. "What a foolhardy moment of weakness. After two weeks of watching this? There's not enough strong drink in all the realms to burn these images out of my brain."
The object of their scrutiny was sprawled out on the cabin's lone sofa. He was clad in a sweatpants, a black t-shirt scattered with cake crumbs, and a tattered brown bathrobe. A musty afghan was wrapped around his shoulders. Seething, the two women stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the cabin's galley kitchen, glowering at the back of his straggly, unkempt head.
"I can hear you, Dearies," Rumplestiltskin roared. "It's my heart that's shattered, not my eardrums!"
Even as he shouted himself hoarse, he didn't deign to face them. His bloodshot eyes remained glued to the television screen where the DVD player was cued up to the library scene in Beauty and the Beast—for at least the seventeenth time.
"Did Will Scarlett give her a library with more books than she could read in a lifetime?" he muttered to himself, clenching his teeth. "No! Two libraries. I gave her two libraries. He's probably too pissed to find the library."
Ursula rolled her eyes heavenward as the film's musical score swelled in the background and Rumplestiltskin wiped his red-rimmed eyes with a crumpled tissue he pulled out from under a cushion. "This is what the almighty Dark One has been reduced to? Cruella, we need another place to crash."
"I checked with the Lucas Widow again today," Cruella reported. "As bad as being stuck here at the cabin with him has been, it's better than the streets. That miserable woman and the wolfgirl still refuse to rent us a room. I suppose we could sleep in my car."
"At least he lets us have the bedroom," Ursula conceded grudgingly. "Even though he keeps us awake half the night listening to his rages," she shouted, her voice rising in pitch and volume with every word.
"The Maine wilderness is a cold, unforgiving climate." Rumplestiltskin's tone was harsh with warning. "And I'm not just talking about the weather."
The fiend was notorious in all worlds for his legendary temper and childish propensity to sulk when he didn't get his way, but this behavior was extreme even for him.
Busy rooting through cabinets for her stash of vodka, Cruella merely grunted in reply. She needed a drink desperately.
"These happy endings he promised better be worth all this misery—and the lack of sleep!" Ursula complained in a furious whisper over the persistent growling of her empty stomach. She stooped slightly to peer inside the refrigerator, hoping something edible would materialize. Straightening, she slammed her head into the open freezer door. "Ow!" She howled angrily, rubbing her smarting forehead.
Spinning around to confront the source of her injury, she saw Rumplestitskin digging into a gallon of Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream with a large wooden spoon. She hadn't even heard his approach. Hands on her hips, she glared at him.
"I needed to get into the freezer," he shrugged. With a smirk of triumph that he'd momentarily made someone else miserable, he stalked back to the couch with the carton under his arm and the comically oversized spoon shoved in his mouth.
"Where the hell is my vodka?" Cruella spat, still searching the kitchen. Viciously, she upended the trashcan. Damp coffee grounds plopped onto the hardwood floor, popcorn kernels scattered like tiny marbles and rolled under the refrigerator, and five empty bottles of spirits splintered in a satisfying crash.
Despite his heightened senses, Rumplestiltskin didn't even raise his head at the commotion. Cruella peered over his shoulder where he was bent over a framed black and white photo of…was that his maid?
"He plundered my vodka over that mindless ninny? I'll kill him," Cruella declared, curling her hands into claws. Picking up a large shard of glass from the shattered bottles, she lunged toward the sofa with bloodlust in her eyes. Snaking out a tentacle, Ursula caught her by the back of her fur collar and dragged her away.
"Easy, Cruella, easy," she soothed, pulling her against her chest in a front-to-back embrace. "I'd like to kick his fine ass, too, but violence isn't the answer—not just yet. Let's check out the new seafood restaurant in town. I think I have a plan."
"Fine," Cruella acquiesced. "But if it doesn't work, I drag him to the town line and shoot him down like the dog he is." On the television, the townsfolk in the movie were lighting pitchforks and chanting 'Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast.' "See? Even they agree with me."
"Let's go," Ursula urged. "Dark One," she shouted, "we're going out for a bite. Don't wait up."
Mesmerized by the townspeople smashing thick logs into the Beast's barricaded castle, he waved his accomplices away with a halfhearted flourish. "Aye, it doesn't matter," he murmured sadly along with the distressed Beast, "let them come."
The moment Movie Belle arrived to rescue her Beast, he switched off the TV. What happened next was a happy ending—and happy endings were not meant for villains such as he.
Contemplating the dregs of Cruella's last bottle of vodka, he fumed silently. Confounded curse! Even the strongest spirits failed to make him tipsy. Closing his eyes, Rumplestiltskin longed to forget his excruciating existence.
Why was he here in Storybrooke, he wondered absently. Oh, right, to save his blackening heart and preserve the last shreds of his humanity. But what good would life be without Belle?
The image of his beautiful wife kissing another man played in his mind's eye again and again. It had just been a chaste brush of lips, but still! Seeing Will Scarlet touch her—any part of her—was more than he could bear. Perhaps he should just allow himself to die. No, he realized, with a shake of his head. If he gave in, the untethered Dark One would attack Belle, Henry, and the rest of the town. He couldn't allow that to happen.
Calling his bargain with Zelena to the forefront of his foggy brain, he returned to the business of making plans. Oh, he would help the Queens of Darkness and that horrid green witch achieve their goals, but he'd given up on a happy ending for himself. He didn't deserve one. Reveling in the freedom to grieve in solitude, he dropped his face into his empty palms and wept.
xoxoxo
"I don't see what their failed marriage has to do with us," Cruella snapped. Squeezing a French fry into potato pulp, she pretended the offending vegetable was Rumplestiltskin's scrawny neck. "His little chambermaid banished him—why would she take him off our hands now?"
"The girl's a bleeding heart, that's why," Ursula laughed ruefully. "Besides, she's still in love with the wretched imp. Remember how riled she was when we told her we had seen him? Once we show the little bookworm what she's reduced him to, she'll feel so badly that she'll be begging us to take her to him."
"Apparently there's no accounting for taste, is there?" Cruella snorted.
Ursula waggled her eyebrows. "You didn't always hold such a low opinion of him," she said slyly.
"Ancient history, darling," Cruella scoffed. "Besides, I was talking about his taste!"
"Whatever you say." Ursula rolled her eyes as Cruella tried to play off her attraction to Rumplestiltskin. For many years she had carried an unrequited torch for the Dark One, though she did her best to conceal her interest.
"Back to the cabin, I suppose." Their dinner plates were long since cleared away, and Cruella pulled a face as she motioned for the check.
"Our fun is just beginning," Ursula assured her companion. "Once we pick up one of those iPhone thingies and collect some evidence, we're going to have that cozy little nest all to ourselves."
"Don't forget to stop at the liquor store," Cruella ordered. "I'm going to need a pick line of martinis to stand anymore of his lovesick simpering."
xoxoxo
The next afternoon, Cruella and Ursula strolled into the pawnshop in search of Belle.
"What are you two doing here?" Belle demanded. "Still looking for the perfect hood ornament?" she asked snidely.
"Now, darling," Cruella purred. "Is that any way to greet paying customers?"
"We're not here to make trouble. Actually, we're here to give you some advice," Ursula offered sweetly.
"You—the villains who kidnapped me, stole from my husband, and tricked me into relinquishing the box that unearthed Maleficent—you want to give me advice? Where is your pet dragon, by the way? Lying in wait to set my hair on fire?" Piqued, Belle crossed her arms over her chest and glared.
"Such a colorful imagination you have, darling," Cruella crowed. "But you've guessed the reason for our visit—poor, poor Rumple."
Attempting to look busy, Belle scanned the shop's inventory. "What do you mean, poor Rumple?" she asked, feigning a casual tone.
"He's a mess, darling." Cruella pounced delightedly on Belle's interest.
"Utterly bereft without you," Ursula added quickly.
Belle released a shrill, humorless laugh. "Why should I believe anything you say?"
"Well, if you won't take our word for it," Ursula said, "maybe you'll believe him." With a snap of her wrist, she flicked her iPhone in front of Belle's face and pressed Play.
"Belle…Belle…Belle," a voice whined forlornly.
Belle's eyes grew as round as teacup saucers: Rumplestiltskin was on the screen and he looked positively dreadful. Her pristine, put-together husband was an unshaven, unwashed, unruly mess. His typically thick, shiny brown hair was dull and matted; his usually sparkling, intelligent chocolate eyes were now red and unfocused; and his formerly smooth, glowing olive complexion was blotchy and covered with patches of straggly hair. And his clothes! They were stiff and so filthy they could have stood up and walked to the laundry room on their own.
Never had Belle seen Rumple looking so bruised and battered and her face curled in pity. A tiny kernel of hope unfurled in her wounded soul. He was chanting her name with such longing…was all this misery truly because of her?
"Is this your idea of a cruel joke?" Belle snarled. "Because it's not funny."
Ursula stared at Belle in disbelief. "Who could make this up?" she asked.
As the video continued, Belle's pinched expression softened at the sight of Rumplestiltskin sipping tea out of a cup that looked suspiciously like the chipped one she had locked in the safe. Absently twisting his wedding ring, he stared longingly at the television and Belle realized he was watching Beauty and the Beast! She felt a warm rush of affection—she adored the movie and had affectionately dubbed the cartoon "their story." Rumplestiltskin always groaned whenever she popped it into the DVD player, grumbling under his breath and pretending to read his newspaper while she sang along with the heroine, but she'd always suspected that he secretly enjoyed the tale of the gentle Beast and his bookish Beauty.
Ursula and Cruella glanced at one another gleefully—the guileless brunette's attention was riveted to the screen—their plan to rid themselves of the heartsick sorcerer seemed to be working.
Belle looked on at the images of Rumple pacing, muttering, and messily consuming a veritable parade of unhealthy, processed foods.
But it was seeing a tear snake down her love's cheek as he looked at a silver-framed picture of them on their wedding day that proved Belle's undoing.
"I was wrong," she whispered sadly, her own eyes brimming with tears. "He…he does love me more than he loves his power."
"So you'll come and talk to him? Consider taking him back?" Ursula sounded hopeful.
"Yes, darling. At least give him a chance to grovel," Cruella pleaded. "He's swilling all my vodka and the bloody Dark One can't even get drunk. Why not just pour perfectly good liquor down the drain!" she moaned.
"I suppose it can't hurt to have a conversation." Belle offered the unwitting matchmakers a tiny, grateful smile. "You'd best be careful or someone may accuse you of being romantics," she teased lightly.
"Unlikely," Ursula responded giving the librarian a small, answering smile.
"As I said, darling, I'm just trying to save my vodka." Cruella was fast losing patience. "Are you coming or no?"
"Right behind you," Belle agreed. "I'll meet you back at Rumple's cabin in 30 minutes."
Nodding, they departed swiftly, anxious to return to the cabin and convince Rumplestiltskin to clean himself up for his lady love.
xoxoxo
Belle heard the engine of Cruella's Panther De Ville roar to life as she rummaged through the bottom shelf of the display case. Rising with her wedding ring in hand and a spring in her step, she was brought up short by Regina's sudden appearance.
"Regina. I—I didn't hear you come in." Belle was in a hurry, and Regina's unexpected arrival flustered her. Perceptive as always, Belle read the calculated expression in the Mayor's eyes. What did she want?
Unsmiling, the other woman offered no greeting. "Your ex-husband has done quite a number on me, Belle."
That's husband. Not ex-husband. Belle wanted to retort. And you probably deserved it. Instead she said, "I'm sorry to hear that."
"And now he wants me to work with him!" Regina was outraged.
"I'm sure that would be a mistake," Belle replied. I don't want you anywhere near Rumple, she fumed silently.
"I know it is," Regina agreed readily.
Belle realized she should extricate herself from any scheme involving Regina Mills, but, as usual, curiosity overwhelmed her. Since I'm going to see Rumple anyway, what could it hurt to find out what she's up to? Belle rationalized.
"How can I help?" Belle heard herself offer.
"I'm glad you asked." Smiling viciously, Regina thrust her hand into Belle's chest and wrenched out her heart. With a delicate ping, Belle's wedding ring dropped to the floor, forgotten in her surprised agony.
"Go to the well and call Rumplestiltskin," Regina commanded, holding Belle's heart like a mouthpiece. "That twisted imp is going to rue the day he tangled with Regina Mills."