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The Trapped Heart

A/N: I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but my muse had other ideas, and this part was begging me to be written. So here it is. The ratings changed a little because of the content, and hope you like it!

Rumplestiltskin slammed the door to his castle so hard the dishes rattled in the cabinet beside the hearth. Afterwards he just stood before the door, his arms wrapped about himself, shivering. How could he have been so stupid? To allow her to get close—to allow anyone to get close again—after losing Bae and Milah? He knew better. He knew that all that following your heart got you—all that loving someone with all of your heart—got you was nothing. An empty chair at an empty table. And tears and an empty bed.

He spread his hands and gazed down at them.

Those wonderful long fingered hands that could spin the most delicate thread without breaking it, spin straw into gold, conjure magic from the air . . . hold Belle with such passion . . .No! he scolded himself thoroughly. You will not think of her that way again! It's impossible, you fool! She's an innocent maiden and you're nothing but a dried up cowardly sorcerer that your wife left and your son ran away from. You'd never be worthy of her. Never! Not in a thousand years! How could she want you, Rumplestiltskin, when you are this—this monster?

He clenched his hands into fists. When would he ever learn? Must he have every lesson beaten into him until he bled, and his heart tore in two? Belle Beauchamp was not for him—not as he was, the poor cowardly spinner, and not now, as the most feared sorcerer in the land. She had kissed him out of a moment's lapse in judgment, not out of true desire. Yes, that was it. She didn't really love him. For who could love a beast? True love was not for him, he'd learned that long ago.

He took a deep breath, settling his racing heart, and walked over to his wheel. Sometimes, as he'd told Belle weeks ago, spinning helped him forget—helped him forget that once he'd been a man, and his life had been his own, and not a slave to power's price. But he hadn't been happy then either, known as a coward and trying to raise his son on his own, with food and money always a problem. Now he was a powerful sorcerer, the Dark One of legend, and he had more money than he could spend and anything he wanted and yet he had found that wealth and power brought him no solace. Because what he wanted—what he had always wanted—someone to love him and only him—was not to be bought, sold, or dealt over.

He had brought Belle here out of a simple need to assuage his loneliness. Yet she had become so much more. And now he felt trapped, terrified. He, the Dark One, afraid of a mere girl! It was laughable. He could destroy her with one snap of his finger, one bit of his power. But he never would. Because, despite all of the hard lessons learned, his foolish heart had gone and done the unforgivable.

He had fallen in love again.

He spun mechanically, barely needing to think about what his hands were doing after so many years of doing this work. Stupid, stupid, stupid Rumplestiltskin! The words in his head kept time to rhythm of his spinning. You're a beast, a monster, you can't go falling in love with her. You're not worthy! Look at what happened last time!

Maybe the gentle humming of the wheel would drown out the cries of his lonely heart.

Page~*~*~*~Break

When Belle came inside after finishing the laundry, she noticed that Rumplestiltskin was nowhere to be found. She quietly put away the laundry and then began to start on dinner, making a roast goose with potatoes, onions, and carrot and some bread. The baking eased the ache in her heart somewhat. She knew that Rum had left her not because he found kissing her repulsive, but out of fear, and she contented herself with taking it slower, giving him time to adjust and hopefully conquering the fear that resided there.

When dinner was ready, she rang the bell to call him to the table.

It was a few minutes before he responded, and when he did, he ate dinner in silence. Belle filled it with a rather funny story about nearly leaving the giblets inside the goose before roasting it, but luckily she remembered them before sliding the pan in the oven.

That coaxed a faint smile from his lips.

He retired to the couch in front of the fire while she washed the dishes, nursing a single cup of wine.

As was her wont, she settled down in the recliner next to him with a book and began to read. She often read or mended beside him before going to bed, and usually they had lively discussions. But not this night. This night he stared steadfastly into the fire and Belle kept halting in reading to stare at his hands curled in his lap and wish they were running through her hair.

Finally, after half an hour of such torture, she rose and went to bed.

This pattern continued for two more nights. On the third night she was fed up with both her and his behavior and she came to stand before him, faint traces of soapsuds on her hands as she said, "Is it something I've done?"

"Huh?" He jerked up from his contemplation, startled. "What did you do?"

"That's what I'm wondering. Because I must have done something to make you not want to talk to me anymore."

"I . . . No . . . I thought . . . after what happened . . . you wouldn't want to talk with me . . ." His eyes locked with hers, and there was such longing and sorrow in his gaze that she almost felt a physical pain.

"This is silly," she said softly. "We need to stop this. I want to talk to you, Rum. Not just because you're here, but because I enjoy it. I enjoy you."

He blinked. "You enjoy me? The company of the Dark One?" he inquired bitingly.

"Yes. When you aren't acting like an ass!" she snapped. "There's lots of things I enjoy about you. If I had a paper I'd write them down. But one of the things I enjoy most about you is that you don't say what you don't mean. Not to me. Except when you're scared out of your mind."

He lifted his chin a notch. "I'm not a coward!"

"I never said that. But everyone's afraid of something."

"And you think I'm afraid of you? Don't be ridiculous. That's like saying a wolf is afraid of a fawn!"

She came closer. "And yet I see the fear in your eyes. Don't. Whatever she did, is done and over with. Don't let her ruin what we have together."

He snorted. He wanted to jump off the couch and run out of the room. Yet she held him still with the mere power of her bewitching blue eyes. "It was just a kiss," he said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Was it? Then do it again," she urged.

"What? You want me to kiss you?"

"You heard me. You're not deaf, even if you are old enough to be my father," she teased.

"I don't age like normal people!" he huffed, insulted. "I'm not in my dotage. Everything still works!"

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

He could never resist a challenge. He pulled her into his arms, intending to give her an impersonal peck on the lips and let her go.

But as soon as their lips met, things changed. He felt a familiar fire in his blood, an awakening, and passion swept through him such as he'd not felt since he was a young idiot making eyes at Milah across the way, and maybe not even then. He drank her in like a draught of fine wine, she intoxicated him, sweet as sugar and wild as a mountain torrent.

He could smell the soap that still clung to her as she wound her hands in his hair, and kissed him back like there was no tomorrow.

And maybe there wasn't. For them there was only now.

And gods help him, but he wanted her. No, not just wanted, needed her. Her touch brought agony and ecstasy and he knew in that instant that his heart would never be free. Not ever again.

She drew back, gasping, and said, "If that was just a kiss, I would hate to see what you meant by a real one."

He said nothing, simply looked up at her.

Then she laughed and kissed him again, gentler this time.

"The fawn has captured the wolf," he admitted softly. "And you're not afraid?"

"No."

"Most everyone fears me and my magic."

"I don't. I have love's magic on my side."

He laughed. "Love. Do you even know what that is?"

"I know it's how I feel when I'm with you."

"That's desire, dearie."

"No, it's more than that. I'll . . . I'll prove it to you."

"Where?" he laughed huskily.

"On that bed you mentioned before. With those silk sheets."

He smirked. "This could be a long night, Belle."

"I don't care. We can sleep late in the morning," she returned saucily.

"Remember, this was your idea," he reminded her before he swept her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his solitary room. His heart was already singing a wedding march and for once he allowed himself to hope.

They tumbled down upon the bed in a heap, laughing like two drunkards. Belle wasn't sure if she wasn't drunk, his touch made her dizzy, when it wasn't making her burn like a pitch-dipped torch. He kissed her again and she cried out with the sudden pleasure. "Rum! Our clothes!"

"Are easily managed," he said, and then he banished them with a thought.

They stared at one another, unashamed.

"You are so beautiful. Like an angel in a painting," he murmured.

Gently her hand touched his leg, where a scar ran from his knee down to his ankle, his legacy of that fateful day. He quivered, amazed that she touched him there, when Milah had refused to even look at him once he came home.

"And you—are like a fine marble sculpture."

"With a crippled leg," he mocked softly.

"Does it hinder you?" she queried mischievously.

"Like hell," he growled, pretending to be insulted, while all the while his heart thrilled to her touch, like the delicate weave of silk caressing his ruined flesh. "Are you sure? This is what you want?"

"Yes! Now shut up and kiss me, Rum! Kiss me the way you do in your dreams, when you're free and unafraid."

Then he did as she commanded, for this night there was no master and servant, only lovers, and he wished to be free of the doubt and the fear. He made of his heart a gift, and she took it and tucked it safely away, like the precious treasure it was, giving him hers in return.

They were up all night, learning each other with new ways and eyes and when dawn broke they did not even notice, curled in one another's arms, reborn anew of passion, fire, and a love just beginning to blossom.

When Belle woke at last, the noon sun shone in her eyes, making her squint. Beside her, Rumplestiltskin was sleeping like the dead, clearly she'd exhausted him, she thought with a smirk! Well, he had done the same to her . . . blushing she crawled from their nest of blankets and stood shivering for a moment on the flagstones until she hopped onto the thick rug and started to dress.

Pieces of her wardrobe were scattered all over and she thought magical clothing removal wasn't all it was cracked up to be. She finally found her other shoe, it was under the bed, and stuffed her foot in it. Then she cast a loving glance at the sorcerer still snoozing, his hair tumbled lovingly about his face.

It brought a smile to her lips. Then she tiptoed downstairs, her mind still awhirl with the events of the night, and giddy as a schoolgirl, she waltzed into the kitchen. This time she would bring him breakfast in bed, and see what he would have to say to that. She began to heat up the stove, rubbing her eyes and stretching. Finally, his trapped heart had been freed, and she was going to make sure it stayed that way.

A/N: Should there be a part three?