Just to wake you up. Just to wake you up. Darkness, the age-old companion, hissed in his ear. Shut up! Today he stomped the wretched whispers down, locking them away with ease. No longer the raging, consuming inferno that it had once been, the darkness was his to command. Rumplestiltskin was stronger now—braver—Belle and their baby needed him.
She hadn't meant those cruel words, and he hadn't meant his.
Exhausted after an endless day of pursuing dead ends, they huddled in the rocking chair in their doppelgänger bedroom. This queer copy of their stately Victorian house was more gray than pink, sagging and covered with thick, twisted brambles. But they had found it, and it was a welcome relief from the Underworld shop where he'd toiled for countless hours since coming to Hades' hellhole of despair.
Rumple cradled Belle in his embrace, rubbing soothing circles over her gooseflesh-covered arms. Shivering, she clung to him, fingers worrying the hair at his nape. The runners on the chair whined as they chafed against the bloated floorboards, further splintering the decaying wood.
Long ago, this rocker had lived in the warmest alcove of his Dark Castle laboratory. Belle would curl in the chair like a kitten, knees tucked under her skirts, pretending to read while he worked. While he tinkered with potions and spells, he'd tear his eyes away from the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her bodice and her absentminded flipping of pages. He'd ignore the innocent way she stroked the pillow he'd conjured for her bed and the bloom of her cheeks, pink and creamy as rose petals drenched in dew.
On the terrible morning he'd sent her away, he'd smashed this chair into smithereens and hurled the wood through the light-soaked windows before snapping the drapes shut, cloaking him in darkness once more.
He grimaced—naturally the rocker would worm its way into the Underworld, a jagged piece of the past to remind him of his failings.
"Tell me a story," she begged as he rocked to and fro, her voice muffled against his torso.
"A story?" He stalled, swallowing around the persistent lump in his throat.
In the early days when they'd barely known each other, his curious maid had pricked her finger on the spindle of his wheel. It was a minor accident, a mistake he'd made himself thousands of times. But this was Belle, and already she had snaked her way into his heart, squeezing it with love.
Bounding to her side, he'd wrapped her offended digit in his clawed palm and sucked it into his mouth to ease the ache. The sweetness of her skin mingling with the coppery essence of blood flooded his senses. Horrified, he'd dropped her hand like a white hot poker. He had flinched, expecting a tantrum, braced for rejection. But her soulful eyes had widened and darkened in awareness. She'd smiled at him, thanking him sweetly.
Now she was his wife and this time the consequences of pricking her finger could be disastrous. Life was filled with unkind ironies.
He scanned the room in distaste—it was a macabre seduction scene. The fireplace chewed up oxygen, generating an oppressive heat, yet they shuddered in the still-frigid air. In the corner, the gramophone warbled a melancholy tune, his feeble attempt at distraction. The bed lay waiting, the duvet pulled back to reveal blood red satin sheets. On the bedside table sat the despised golden vial containing the sleeping curse, its razor-sharp needle winking maliciously in the firelight.
Rumplestiltskin bit the inside of his cheek, his knees knocking together as he pictured Belle trapped in the Netherworld, screaming his name from the burning red room. If he screwed his eyes shut, he could pretend they were in their real home in their real room—not two hopeless souls trapped in Underbrooke, scrambling to salvage their future.
xoxo
Rumplestiltskin heaved another thick, dusty tome to the floor, stirring up a cloud of debris. Useless. Every page he'd thumbed through utterly useless. Fucking light magic.
Hands balled into fists, he paced the workroom floor, his eyes seizing his pocket watch for the fiftieth time. Belle should have been back an hour ago. He loathed that she'd sought that witch out for advice, especially alone, but she'd made a point he couldn't argue with. Hades cared for the chartreuse bitch, and they were desperate to find a chink in his armor. Besides, Belle had reasoned, she owed them for Baelfire.
He kicked another book out of his path, and it skidded across the floor, landing at the base of the suit of armor with a clang. Damn it, where was she? Drowning in impotence, he threw on his overcoat, pocketed his gloves, and stomped toward the door. Just then, Belle ducked through the curtain into the back and he met her anxious eyes.
"Belle!" he snapped, relief melting into annoyance. "Where have you been?"
"Making plans." Between thumb and forefinger, she held up a foreboding bronze vial. "A sleeping curse. To stop the clock until you can defeat Hades and bring us home."
"From Zelena?" He shuddered, trying to bank the wave of hopelessness that name wrought. A year in captivity, losing his Baelfire—the downward spiral had nearly destroyed them. Now Belle and their child hung in the balance. "Have you lost your mind?"
She blanched, reeling backward as if he'd slapped her. "I'm doing what I need to do to protect our baby."
"You think this is going to force me to become the man you want me to be? To go back to the light, just to wake you up?" He raked a savage hand through his hair. How could he make her understand? He longed to be that man for her, he just…couldn't. Too much was at stake, including her own life.
But she wasn't expecting him to release the darkness, didn't need him to. Her father would awaken her, so she claimed.
He should have been relieved—his power, his identity, his life—was safe. At last, Belle had given up on wanting him to change.
Somehow, that hurt even worse.
Her eyes blazed with resolve and they'd stared at one another, the expanse of floor separating them as uncrossable as the chasm of nothingness separating the Underworld from home.
xoxo
They'd agreed to follow through on the sleeping curse. Together. He'd tested the magic himself, and it was as sound as it could be.
As night fell over Underbrooke, deep shadows etched grooves beneath Belle's wounded eyes, and he gathering her close against his chest, still rocking her as the dim light receded into blackness. He ached to protect her from darkness, but married to him she was always in the thick of it. In the handful of days since she rushed back into the shop and hurled herself back into his arms, he wondered why she'd returned, rather than traveling the world like she'd always wanted.
Rumple buried his face in Belle's hair, the scent of lilac tickling his nostrils. How he wanted to prolong the moment she would slip into a realm of nightmares and dragons, a dream world where he could not follow.
He stroked her velvet cheek. "Are you sure about this, Belle?"
"Yes," she said, dragging her face away from his chest. A sad smile played on her lips. "I love your stories."
He huffed, too tense to accept her gentle teasing. "That's not what I mean."
Twisting her wedding ring on her finger, she choked on a sob and looked toward the darkened windows. "Remember when you brought me home from the asylum, after my memories were restored? We used to lie in bed and talk and listen to the rain patter against the roof. Make plans to find Baelfire and be a family." He felt her smile against his neck. "And if it wasn't storming, you'd make the rain fall above our house."
Those had been tender days, filled with hope but shadowed by secrets. Now, though problems rocked their foundation, there was truth between them. "What would you like to hear, sweetheart?"
"Anything. I just want to hear your voice before I fall asleep." Her breath hitched. "And if I listen hard enough, you'll follow me into my dreams."
He twisted his mouth against a wave of nausea. "Belle, this sleeping curse—there's nothing pleasant about it. You said no dark magic, and this is—
"Shhh." She cut him off, pressing two fingers to his lips. "That was before."
Panic welled up in his swollen throat. "Let me find another way."
"We had another way and I ruined it." She splayed her fingers across her abdomen. "We need time, Rumple. I tried to be noble, to be a hero for Gaston, for our family. But all I managed to do was fail you and our baby."
"No." He cut her off with a fierce kiss. "You could never fail me, Belle. You were only trying to do what was right. Protect the baby. Protect me. I'm a monster who's killed many times over—I shouldn't have expected you recover so soon."
She gave a tortured whimper. "Don't call yourself that. I'll never regret what I did on the docks, saving you. All I regret is what I said. Forgive me, please."
"I know you didn't mean those things," he said, forcing the response through parched lips. "I was wrong, too."
Just to save you.
The shock of her actions had muddled her thinking, he knew, but the words had been knives plunging into his heart. Dank echoes of worthlessness had mocked and jeered, and he'd spit a parody of that cruel phrase back in her face.
Just to wake you up.
"No, I don't think you do know," she said. Her wet eyes were wise, reading his thoughts. "You're quite capable of taking care of yourself. If I'd accepted the deal, played by Hades' rules, you would have faced Gaston and won. We'd have our baby and none of this would be happening." Bitterness crept into her weepy voice. "You don't need me."
"That's not true. I have always needed you." He brushed his mouth against the top of her head, allowing his tears to soak into her hair. "You make me want to be a better man."
For the past two days, Belle had prattled on about Merlin's prophesy, her eyes bright with hope and promise. One day, she'd insisted, someone would wield the Dark One's power for good. Gods, he wanted to be that man. Someday, maybe, he could be. But right now, for once, he just wanted to be enough.
But what did enough equal when he didn't even know who he was? He was no longer the meek spinner, frantic to please Milah. He wasn't the crude, calculating beast who had dealt for Belle in the Enchanted Forest. He wasn't Mr. Gold, bitter landlord and shrewd shopkeeper.
Rumplestiltskin was no hero, nor was he the same twisted, selfish bastard he used to be. But they couldn't afford for him to have an identity crisis now.
"Kiss me," she whispered, pulling him out of his morbid thoughts. She unfolded her legs and folded them around his back. "I need to feel you."
Though Hades himself might be looking on, mocking their desperation, he could not refuse her.
He sucked in a shuddering breath as her mouth ripened beneath his, lips parted in welcome. Wrapping his arms around her back, he sought out the moist recesses of her mouth, the chair rocking in time with his thrusting tongue. She tasted like rich, honeyed wine, and he was starved for her sweetness.
His hand roamed down her side to the curve of her hip and back again, filling his hands with the softness of her breasts. Growing more urgent, he dipped beneath the neckline of her dress, stroking her nipples to rigid attention with his thumbs.
"Rumple." She panted his name, moaning against his lips. "Clothes."
A dark laugh spilled from his mouth as he remembered their squabble in front of the locker. "Are you sure you want me to?" he teased, mouthing her breasts through the soft cotton.
"Rumple!" Belle choked out a strangled laugh and he hummed in satisfaction. Eyelids heavy with desire, she lifted her skirt, baring her thighs and dragging his hand between them. "Touch me."
Already she was soaked, her bud throbbing with need. With a groan, he waved his hand, baring them both completely. Cupping her naked bottom in his hands, he lifted her and surged forward, gliding deep inside her slick heat. As they rocked together, the chair providing exquisite leverage, Belle dug her nails into the flesh of his back and keened.
Rumplestiltskin trembled with need, yet he held himself in check, gazing deep into her eyes. "Who am I?" he demanded.
"My husband," she whispered, the silvery tears on her face mingling with his own.
"Who am I, Belle?" he asked as he thrust deeper, her channel squeezing him like a glove. "Who are you giving yourself to? Who's taking you?" Everything he was and everything he would ever be hinged on her answer.
"Rumplestiltskin," she sobbed breathlessly. "My husband. Oh, Rumple."
It was a hurried coupling, and he exulted as she drove against him, the helpless writhing of a woman who'd run out of time. He moved with her and for her, yielding softness filling all his empty, aching places, until he couldn't tell where his body ended and hers began. Here in her arms, he was complete.
As they crested together, a primal part of him thrilled that his seed had taken root in her, marveling at the miracle that even with enmity between them, they'd made life out of their love. Throwing his head back, he surged inside her molten core and spilled himself again and again.
Belle's hot breath slowed and cooled on his neck, and he kissed her damp forehead as they came down from their high, still clinging to each other.
"It's time," she declared, her voice the heartbeat of bravery.
"Yes." Resigned, he lifted his mouth, offering an encouraging smile.
Another quick burst of magic, and they were both clean and wearing fresh clothes. Lifting her bridal style against his chest, he carted her to the bed. Against the pillows, her eyes bright with passion and her lips flushed and swollen from his kisses, she looked like an avenging angel. With careful strokes, he spread her hair around her in a chestnut halo, then stretched out beside her.
"Rumple." Belle reached up to stroke his jaw, kissing scalding tears off his face. "What is it?"
"I don't want to let you go," he said. "What happens if…" he trailed off, the mere suggestion of catastrophe too much to bear.
"I believe in you," she said. From where she lay, Belle lifted the vial in her left hand, drawing the needle near her right thumb. "You'll do whatever it takes to defeat Hades and rescue our baby."
"But the curse." Disgusted by his own weakness, he clenched his jaw, the muscle giving a jealous pop. An image of Maurice French swam before him and he bit back an oath. He loathed the thought of anyone but himself awakening Belle with True Love's Kiss.
"Rumple, listen to me." She pierced him with loving, trusting eyes, capturing and holding his gaze for a long, steady moment. "You are enough."
Before he could respond, she pricked her finger, the empty vial dropping to the bed in a soundless thud. Belle's arms collapsed at her sides and she stilled, turning ashen against the crimson sheets.
Anguished yet thankful, he collapsed against her soft, cool neck and wept. You are enough. You are enough. You are enough.
"My love," he said, breath ragged in the stillness as he sobbed, "that's all I needed to know."