Regina scowled at the image of Watcher and Slayer holding each other and dispelled the magical spell on the mirror with a muttered Latin phrase and a wave of her hand. "So this is the Watcher you're so determined to have? I must say, I think you've picked a really slow horse this time."
"I'm not interested in what you think. The attack was acceptable. Wait for my orders. I'll let you know when to do it again."
She hadn't known. If she'd known, she never would have asked him to come on patrol.
Belle pressed her cheek against Rumplestiltskin's hair and held him as his body quaked, murmuring reassurances. He was a vampire victim. There was no other explanation for the way he'd frozen and then collapsed to the ground, violent tremors rocking his body. She hadn't known, but now that she knew, she was never going to let anyone hurt him again.
She pulled him closer in her lap. He seemed so fragile in her arms. His fingers clutched at her shoulders as he cried. Belle stroked his back, offering as much comfort as she could. Guiltily, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of him in her arms.
She had no right to claim him as her own, but she did it anyway. He was hers now.
Slowly, slowly, his shaking subsided. Belle continued to stroke his back, his hair, waiting for his breathing to become even.
Rumplestiltskin looked up at her, and horror crossed his face. He jerked backward, out of her embrace. "I'm so sorry," he croaked. "I'm so sorry."
"Hush, now." Belle reached out and took both his hands in hers. "No apologies. Not for this."
Rumplestiltskin looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her face, as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening.
Belle put as much compassion into her words as she could. "You've been attacked by vampires before."
Rumplestiltskin looked back down at their hands. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "It was at Watcher headquarters." His voice was so quiet Belle had to strain to make out his words. "An old grudge, they said, centuries old." He started to tremble again.
Belle pulled him back into her arms. "You don't have to talk about it. It's okay. It's over now."
He nodded, but didn't pull away. He let her run her hand up and down his arm until he was calm again. It didn't take long this time.
"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry I'm useless."
Belle's heart melted. "You're not useless," she said, more sharply than she intended. She took a breath and spoke again, more calmly this time. "Don't even think it. I'd rather have you than any other Watcher in the order."
Rumplestiltskin nodded and pulled back, not meeting her eyes. Belle could see that he didn't believe her.
"I mean it," she insisted. "You know what they can do. You'll take this more seriously than anyone else would."
"Yes," Rumplestiltskin said. "Yes, yes I will."
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, as if afraid to meet her gaze straight on.
Belle brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Rumplestiltskin shivered.
"Are you okay? Do you want to get out of here?"
Rumplestiltskin nodded quickly. "Oh, yes. Let's get out of here."
Belle smiled and helped Rumplestiltskin to stand. "Okay. I'll walk you home."
Rumplestiltskin was lost.
He was lost to blue eyes that shone brighter with compassion than the stars in the sky. He was lost to comforting arms that made the rest of the world disappear into nothingness. He was lost to a smile that filled his heart with joy every time she bestowed it on him.
He was lost to Belle.
No one had ever promised to protect him before. No one besides Baelfire had ever cared what happened to him.
Oh, this was bad.
Belle was a brave, beautiful, incredible human being, and Rumplestiltskin was a weak, frightened, miserable excuse for a man. Belle shouldn't have to be subjected to his unwanted affections. Just because she was kind and compassionate and brave didn't mean she deserved to be saddled with the likes of him.
Rumplestiltskin glanced at Belle as they walked. She smiled, sending his heart pounding like a drum.
Oh, yes, he was lost. All he could think of was how badly he wanted to fall into her arms again, to let her touch him and tell him that he was hers. He wanted her to let him touch her, too, to run his fingers through those dark curls, to pull her close to him, to feel the curves of her body against him. He wondered, if she let him kiss her, what those soft lips would taste like.
He clenched his hand into a fist around the handle of his cane and watched the sidewalk as they walked.
This was a disaster. Because he wasn't the fool his heart made him out to be. He knew that a woman like Belle could never care for a man like him. Her kindness had nothing to do with her feelings for him. If she had showed him compassion beyond what he ever expected, it could only mean that caring and protectiveness were in the nature of her beautiful soul. She would never love a crippled old coward with nothing to offer.
"This is where you live?" Belle looked up at the grey brick apartment building.
Rumplestiltskin fiddled nervously with his keys. Their new home wasn't much to look at. "The Watchers found it for us. It'll suit our needs, I think."
Belle smiled. "It's nice."
"Thank you."
Belle looked at her hands. "Will I see you tomorrow? I have the day off, but we can go by the dojo to train."
Rumplestiltskin blinked in surprise. He did need to go out, buy some groceries, and maybe start purchasing some basic furniture, but... "Yes, I can come by. Perhaps in the morning?"
"Ten o'clock?"
Rumplestiltskin smiled and nodded.
"Okay, then," Belle said. "Tomorrow."
"Good night, Belle." His voice was barely a whisper.
"Good night, Rumple."
An awkward silence fell over them. Right. It was time to go inside.
Rumplestiltskin turned and unlocked the door. He hesitated in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.
Belle was watching him. She smiled when he met her eyes.
Rumplestiltskin smiled back, heart swelling, then turned and went inside.
When Baelfire heard front door creak open and the clack of his father's cane on the wood floor, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He wasn't a fool, even if Papa sometimes seemed to think he was. Vampires were dangerous. Deadly. He wanted them as far from himself and his father as possible.
But Papa was a Watcher, and that wasn't an option. And if his father had to face vampires, then Baelfire wanted to help. As it was, he was a weakness. He knew it, and he hated it.
He could never quite explain that to his father. Every time he tried, Papa got this desperate, frightened look on his face, and Baelfire felt so guilty he dropped the argument.
But he knew that if his father was going to start patrolling with the Slayer, Bae would be waiting up every night until he heard him come home safe.
The click of the cane started up again, coming closer. Baelfire dropped his book, flipped off the lights, and jumped into bed.
His bedroom door creaked open.
Bae lay as still as possible, trying to breathe slowly, as if he were asleep.
He heard his father sigh.
It seemed as though Papa stood there for a long time, watching him pretend to sleep. Finally, the door clicked shut again.
Baelfire exhaled and rolled over.
He and his papa only had each other. Ever since his mum had left, they had been a team. He knew his papa would do anything to protect him, and Baelfire would do the same. They took care of each other, no matter what. And sometimes taking care of someone meant pretending you were okay when you weren't.
Belle waited until she was home in her studio apartment above the dojo, with the door shut behind her, before she took out her cell phone. She was so furious she could hardly dial.
One ring.
Two.
Belle waited and seethed.
"Watchers' HQ." The voice sounded bored.
"I want to speak to George King." Belle was proud of herself for keeping her tone cool and measured. "Now."
"And who is calling?"
"The Slayer."
A pause. "Just a moment."
A moment turned out to be ten minutes. Belle waited, phone pressed to her ear, her rage growing with every passing minute.
Finally, the phone clicked back on, and a resigned voice said, "Miss French."
"What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. You."
"I beg your pardon?" King had the nerve to sound affronted.
"I knew you Watchers were bastards, but I thought you at least took care of your own. Are you evil, or just sadistic?"
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"You assigned a vampire victim to an active Slayer. Is this really that confusing? Are you so terrible to your people that you need me to specify which outrage I'm talking about?"
"Ah." Belle could practically hear his eyeroll. "I see you've met Mr. Gold."
"Don't. Don't play superior with me." Belle fought to keep her voice under control. "How could you send that man into the heart of vampire territory? Is cruelty some kind of game to you?"
"As charming as these accusations are, I'm afraid I have to stop you there, Miss French. Mr. Gold's newest assignment was not my choice."
Belle wanted to punch the man. "You expect me to believe that the head of the order had nothing to do with this?"
"I really don't care what you believe." A note of irritation had crept into his voice. "It wasn't my idea to assign Mr. Gold to Storybrooke. Rumplestiltskin Gold received that placement at his own request."
Shock made Belle mute.
"I can assure you, were it up to me, you'd never have been sent a Watcher at all. Nothing has changed since the last time you and I spoke. Still, I suppose you and Gold deserve each other. Now, are we quite finished?"
Belle opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, a click told her she'd been disconnected.
She put the phone down.
It seemed there was more to Rumplestiltskin Gold than she expected. What kind of man was so frightened of vampires that he froze completely around them, yet requested a job that meant facing them on a regular basis? And brought his family into vampire-infested territory?
He was a mystery.
Belle thought about the way it felt to hold Rumplestiltskin while he broke down, how tightly he clung to her, as if he truly believed she could make all the monsters go away.
She wished she could.
Rumplestiltskin was not like any man she had ever met. He had understood her almost without words. She hadn't had to explain what Gaston had never been able to grasp - the guilt she always felt for every vampire victim, the awful failure she carried in her heart every moment of every day. She hadn't told Rumplestiltskin... but he had known. How could he see so clearly into her heart?
She couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her so tenderly. The last time someone had wanted to be close to her for something other than sex. He was so warm, so trusting. She wanted to hold him again. She wanted to cradle him in her arms and forget the rest of the world existed.
She wanted him to hold her back.
She wanted... she wanted.
She crossed the room to the full length mirror tacked to her closet door. Her reflection stared back at her, pale skin against dark hair. She was still pretty. She thought she was, anyway. Her body had lost the softness she'd had as a teenager, but that wasn't so bad, was it? Gaston had said most men would find her muscles unattractive, but Ruby said Belle was a hottie. Maybe Rumplestiltskin might like to look at her.
Belle began to unbutton her shirt. Slowly, she pulled it down over her shoulders, revealing an ugly, purple and yellow bruise entirely covering her upper arm.
Slayers didn't bruise easily. It had been a bad hit. She hadn't been prepared for the Fisher woman to rise at that moment. It distracted her.
Two years ago, a year ago, she would have been able to dodge that blow. She was slowing down. Yes, her reflexes were still preternaturally fast, but for how long? She'd been the Slayer for ten years. There were reasons Slayers weren't expected to live that long.
For all that she was a healthy young woman, Belle was going to die. And she knew it.
What right did she have to ask any man to love her, let alone a man like Rumplestiltskin? A man who already had so much to lose? What even made her think that he would ever want her, a vampire Slayer? How could she do anything but remind him of the vampires he clearly wanted to forget?
Belle turned away from her reflection. The bruise would be healed by tomorrow, no doubt. And there was no point in dwelling on what was never going to be.
Still, when she tucked herself into bed and lay waiting for sleep to find her, she imagined Rumplestiltskin's arms around her again, warm and soft and safe.