And now she was back. She was back, back in his house, in his life. She existed once again and, once again, she was real outside of the realm of his imagination.

Yet try as he might, Gold could not quite grasp the fact that she was really in his house's spare room, unpacking her few belongings, oblivious to his overwhelming desire to break down the wall separating her room from his and confessing again and again how much he loved her.

But the reality of the matter was she did not love him. Not anymore, at least. More likely than not, she feared him. Rumors about him spread like wild fire around town, and who knew what information she had picked up?

Before arriving at his house on the outskirts Storybrooke, Belle had spent a few days with Emma. He was assured that this was in order to familiarize Belle with the town and buy her the proper womanly materials she would need.

But when he had welcomed Belle into his home just a few hours ago, he had seen the uncertainty in her expression. A look of hesitation invaded her eyes, and there had been something else there too: a sense of speculation that he couldn't quite understand.

Gold's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He ran his long fingers through his hair and opened it slowly.

"Sorry to disturb you," she said in that soft, nervous voice of hers. "But when would you like me to prepare dinner?"

"At your leisure," he answered. "You'll find the kitchen's well stocked."

She nodded, promised to get started soon, and disappeared down the hall.

"Wait," he called.

She spun around and met his eyes. "Yes?"

He pulled the gold bracelet from his pocket. It gleamed in the fluorescent light. "Well, it's just that I have a knack for names, you see, so this was brought to my pawn shop in hopes that I'd identify you…"

Her lips stretched into a brilliant smile. "Thank you," she said, stepping forward.

Gold fought to keep his hands still as he placed the gold chain around her slender wrist.

"It's a lovely piece," he noted.

She looked down at her bracelet then up at him. "It is, isn't it?"

He paused, feeling loss for words.

Her smile changed from one of genuine happiness to that of playful knowingness. "Well, Mr. Gold, I hope you enjoy pasta," she said. "Because that's my specialty."

"In fact, I do," he said. He was thankful that 1) she had saved him from blundering like an idiot, and 2) she had remembered her ability to cook after the curse.

Belle turned and hurried down the hall.

With each step, she struggled to keep herself from dancing. She had become so accustomed to that dull, lasting sensation that being trapped and isolated had left inside of her. But now it was gone, and so she smiled, hummed, and damn-nearly summersaulted as she prepared dinner for two.

It wasn't long before her and Gold sat together at the table. Belle wasn't use to company so their encounter was quite awkward.

"Find everything in the cupboards okay?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Quite easily, thank you."

"…"

"…"

"Well, the meal is lovely. I really did need someone around to make up for my utter incapability to cook."

"Well, thank you. I'm glad to oblige."

"You didn't chip any teacups?"

"What? No, why do you ask?"

"No reason," he said.

…

The stone walls. Greyish, greenish stone walls. They were so tall, yet so enclosed. So familiar, yet so unwelcoming.

Then one by one, the bricks began to crumble. They fell from high places, raining down on her. In time, she realized, she'd be buried alive.

And then there was a face. A wickedly pretty face, with dark eyes and apple-red lips.

"theses walls will kill me…"

"No, no, my dear Belle," said the queen. "I will kill you."

And then the sound of falling stones mixed with her hysterical laughter. And all the light disappeared.

….

Belle woke, piercingly screaming in her bed.

Hands shaking, she gripped the sheets around her.

Gold stumbled into the room. "What, what is it?" he asked.

"I'm not going back," Belle screamed, holding herself. "The walls are falling…"

He took a few steps forward, stumbling without his cane. He sat on the bed beside her. "Belle, I think you've had a nightma—"

But he was cut short because she had dove into him, crying uncontrollably against his chest. "I'm not going there, not with her…"

Gold, unsure of himself, wrapped his arms around her. "You don't need to go anywhere," he said, but her tears continued to stain his nightshirt.

His entire body pulsed with rage. What had they done to her in that place?

His hold tightened around her.

"You will never see that Hell again," he promise, but she couldn't even hear him over the agonized sound of her own sobs.
Her head moved upward so that Gold felt her tears wet against his neck.

"Belle I—" but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

She was so meek a fragile in his hold, not the Belle her knew—not the endlessly brave and selfless Belle he knew.

She begged him not to leave, so he held her all night.

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