The stream of the shower beats a steady rhythm against the walls of the master bathroom, creating a relaxing sort of atmosphere in the bedroom next door. Belle doesn't care for most of the so-called "modern conveniences" of this world, but the shower is something she can appreciate. She rolls over in bed, breathing in the soapy perfume that is permeating the air through the bathroom's cracked door, and has half a mind to join her lover. But, they've only just had each other and she doesn't trust herself (or Rum) enough to resist the temptation of a second spate of lovemaking. Instead, Belle decides to roll out of bed, slip into a silky soft robe, and go downstairs to start a pot of tea.

Rumpelstiltskin has told his beloved on more than one occasion that he doesn't want her waiting on him in this new land. That their relationship may have started as that of master and servant, but now he has every intention of treating as the goddess of beauty and goodness he knows her to be.

Belle can't help but roll her eyes when he says things like that. She knows good and well he's trying to make up for the manner of their separation back in the old world, and frankly it's kind of off-putting to hear her sardonic old imp suddenly wax romantic. However, she's even more perturbed about his behavior since her escape from the asylum and the breaking of the curse.

"Magic is power," he had said as the purple cloud enveloped them.

She could have slapped him right then, but she settled for yanking her arm out of his grip and having it out right there in front of the well. She must admit, her vehement reaction was partially based in things she had been wanting to say since he threw her out of the Dark Castle the last time they laid eyes on one another. He let her shout herself hoarse at him, probably sensing it was therapeutic for her. When she ran out of things to yell about, Rumpelstiltskin took her in his arms and she didn't even fight him.

Seven words whispered in her ear and her anger stilled – at least long enough to make it back to Rum's present day home. It was there that he told her everything he had been afraid to reveal to anyone for far longer than she has known him: his magic, his curse, how he really lost his son. And how they came to be in Storybrooke. Most importantly, he admitted that he is fallible and makes mistakes, even to this day. He asked Belle to help him put everything right, to bring things back to the way they should be. He would trust her, if only she could trust him.

How could she say no?

A low rumble of thunder rends the still night air as Belle wends her way downstairs and into the kitchen. In her previous life, she might have thought the sound to be distant, as if from a storm that is on it's way but not quite present yet. But she's experienced her fair share of storms in the new world. Storybrooke has it's own weather patterns, and the tempests are not that of wind and rain.

Regina must be in a foul mood tonight, she thinks to herself, momentarily struggling with lighting the gas stove (the wood-burning oven she had back home was far easier to understand). When will she learn no one is impressed with her tantrums?

Rum always laughs when the queen rages like this. "Let her stew in the bitterness of her defeat," he said at the beginning, when Belle first came home with him. "Let her think she's hit rock bottom. And then, only then, I will slowly and painfully rob her of everything she has left. She hasn't yet even begun to fathom the crushing blow I will deal her. She will feel every moment of pain she caused me, caused you."

It almost frightens Belle when Rumpelstiltskin talks about his revenge. She, by no means, has love for Regina, but she sometimes wishes her lover would let go of his vendetta, if only because it might soothe some of the darkness that clings to his soul. She understands his need for magic and power; he took great pains to explain in it great detail to her. She understands the struggle he goes through every day, as he wrestles with the marriage of his true disposition to the curse of the Dark One. She understands why he must live with that slow and steady torture. She would not ask him to change, now that she knows. But his hatred of Regina is unbridled and barely restrained by his better nature. She hopes for Storybrooke's sake that the Queen makes no attempt to stoke his ire once more.

Presently, a pair of warm hands touch her hips at the same moment a hot, scratchy kiss is pressed against her ear. "I thought I told you no more serving girl behavior," Rum whispers, though it's more of a growl, really. She isn't given the opportunity to react before his hands move from her waist and around to her navel, slipping inside her loosely tied robe to caress her bare skin.

"It's just tea," Belle protests, repressing a shiver and leaning back against her lover's lean frame. Despite just getting out of the shower, the dark and sensual scent of magic clings to his skin. "Serving girl or not, I know what you like."

"Mmm, that you do, my dear," comes his soft reply, and Belle's cheeks warm slightly at the implication (that is certainly not what she had meant). He shifts the hand inside her robe upwards and cups a breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. When she gasps in reply, he emits a soft chuckle in her ear. "Let's go back to bed, sweet. I cannot leave you wanting like this, if something so simple elicits such a reaction."

"You're a wretch," Belle says as she squirms out of his grip. "Don't pretend that you don't use magic to make me feel –" the color in her face darkens a bit more as she struggles to articulate her thoughts, "that."

Rumpelstiltskin adopts an expression of mock surprise, remarkably like the one he performed for her father on the first day they met. "Me? Use magic for something so improper? Madame, you wound me!"

The woman simply returns her attention to the tea, discreetly tightening her robe when she turns her back. Her lover takes a touch too much pleasure in teasing her when she is least ready for it, and she doesn't trust herself to not burn the house down if he distracts her from the stove.

A flash of purple lightning streaks across the sky then, filling the kitchen with a surreal sort of light for a moment. Rumpelstiltskin lifts his eyebrows in mild expression. "Well, someone's throwing a tantrum, isn't she?" He chuckles and seats himself at the table, while Belle finishes preparing their tea. "Maybe she's just learned that those fairy witches were successful in their protective enchantments on the children. Not that they didn't have help, of course..."

Belle rolls her eyes to herself. Rum is baiting her to ask just what he means so that he can impress her with his philanthropy, but she knows better. She is well familiar by now with his long standing hatred of fairies, yet stronger still is his compassion for children. When she heard of the young twins' injuries, she knew her Rum wouldn't leave them lie in the care of the fairies and Regina's modern medicine accomplice. Furthermore, ensuring their safety would frustrate the Queen, and that is something he delights in on a daily basis. So, she ignores him, and continues with her task of pulling down their favorite tea mugs, the sugar bowl, and pouring the tea itself.

"I wonder if I should have informed their father of their condition before he attended that silly little council meeting," Rumpelstiltskin continues, louder now and clearly annoyed that his first tease didn't earn a bite.

This time, Belle does turn with a frown. "Rum," she scolds, setting his mug down in front of him and taking her seat across from him, "you would leave that poor man in fear for no reason?"

"There's always a reason, dear," he replies slyly. "I was hoping our friend, the woodcutter, would persuade his charming patrons -" he pauses for a moment to appreciate his own pun, "to join our cause, but alas, it seems he has failed." The imp heaves an impressive (to the point of being sarcastic) sigh and takes a long drink from his mug.

Belle isn't swayed by his long-suffering act. She knows he does it simply to amuse her. "Well maybe if you would actually tell people what your cause is, then maybe -"

But Rumpelstiltskin's demeanor has changed almost too fast for her to notice. The dry humor is gone from his face as he fixes her with a piercing look that chills her. "No, Belle," he says firmly. "I told you everything about the deepest, darkest secret of my long life as a show of love and devotion to you. It is something I keep close to the chest for safety and protection." He leans forward across the table and cups her cheek in his hand tenderly. "You saw first hand how the Queen treats those who are close to me. I cannot take that risk again. Do you understand?" He waits until she nods before releasing her, relaxing back into his chair once more. When he speaks again, his voice is light and the air is clear. "Besides, that fairy bitch knows. If she wants to tell, I suspect she will."

Ah, yes, the Reul Ghorm. All fairies are 'witches' to Rumpelstiltskin, but she is the only one he calls 'fairy bitch.' Belle makes no comment in response and instead sips her tea quietly. She's heard his violent rants against the woman (for she is merely a woman now, as he so frequently loves to point out, as he fingers her wand with a sort of hateful fondness), and knows well enough not to breach the subject herself.

The only real mystery is why the Blue Fairy hasn't revealed Rum's secret (he is confident he will know when she does). Perhaps she doesn't think it is relevant to the situation at hand, or maybe she is simply saving it for a moment when it will benefit her most (Rum has assured Belle that the bitch isn't above such tactics).

Until she met Rumpelstiltskin, until she heard the extent of his story, Belle had always thought the fairies were kind, beautiful creatures whose only goal was to better the world in any way they could. She's not quite as convinced as her lover is that she is the worst creature known to either world, but she can't help but agree that the only one who knows just what the Blue Fairy's true goal is, is the Blue Fairy alone.