Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

A/N: Thanks for the support! I love reading your reviews! :) The excerpt in this chapter is from the wonderful Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

From "The Enemy"

Give me hope in silence, it's easier; it's kinder

It did not take long for Rumplestiltskin to decide that he did not care for William Scarlett any more awake and active than he did when he was merely an unconscious infirm. The final straw, he surmised rather begrudgingly, was on the fifth day of his recovery after he finally regained awareness. Rumplestiltskin had gone looking for Belle. He forgot the reason he gave for seeking her out; whatever it was had been imaginary. He only wished to see her. Ever since William's arrival her presence throughout the castle had been limited at best. Their only encounters had been during meals and tea, and even then they were rushed, conversationless flurries before she abandoned him in favor of new company. It just... well, it wasn't enough.

So he had searched for her, albeit later than usual. She was not in her room, and Rumplestiltskin automatically made his way to William's quarters. But when he arrived, hovering outside the door as he caught the sounds of laughter and warmth radiating from the room, he found himself unable to continue. For the first time since her arrival, he made an attempt to glimpse what was inside. He had never done so before, he reasoned, because he had never cared to waste such valuable resources on someone as insignificant as Belle. But, when he was honest- what a dangerous thing honesty was becoming- the truth was that he had not wanted to invade her sense of privacy. Even then, in the beginning, she had been special.

It felt wrong and sordid, but he longed to know of her behaviors, to see what his caretaker was like when she was not acting for his benefit. He closed his eyes, steadied his breath. There was the familiar sensation of worlds crumbling beneath him. Resting his palm against the frame of the doorway, he waited. He listened. He watched.

Belle was sitting on the bed, shoes tossed to the side. Her hair was untied and a loose set of curls framed her face. Back against the headboard, she had a few pillows supporting her as she read. William- more man than boy in this state- was under the duvet, arm propping his head up as he watched her. It was obvious that he was besotted.

"He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the turning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete..."

William laughed. It was a charming laugh, his smile warm and eyes dancing with mirth. Belle, although seemingly confused, laughed with him despite herself.

"Well, that put paid to it. Definitely fictitious."

Belle immediately stopped laughing, brow furrowed, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Certainly you cannot believe any of this could actually happen. A kiss is a kiss. It's nice, but to say it can make the world stop is a vast exaggeration." He sat up a little as he spoke, nudging Belle playfully with his shoulder. Belle narrowed her eyes in feigned annoyance, shaking her head.

"Are you telling me that William Scarlett does not believe in true love?" she asked, shutting the book with a finger trapped just within the pages holding her place.

"No. No, I don't. Love is uncommon enough. True love is a fairytale," he finished with a coughing spell that had Belle momentarily fussing over him. William held up a hand to signal he was fine and readjusted himself on the bed.

"Well, then," she huffed with a smile, "I feel sorry for you." She replaced her finger with a ribbon and snapped the novel shut with a sense of finality. Turning away from him, she lowered her legs off the bed and gathered her things. Knitting, books, a sack of cloth containing unknown objects.

"Are you really upset, Belle? Come now, sit back down. You have to finish it," he reached out, attempting to snatch the novel from her. She dodged easily and rolled her eyes at him.

"I am not upset, I'm just tired. It's very late," she explained.

"Liar," he smirked, "I'll tell you what, you tell me of one time- just one- that you've been kissed and had it feel like it did in that book of yours, and I'll concede the matter."

Belle busied herself with balancing her belongings, "I'm not having this conversation."

"I'm right, aren't I? Come on, admit it," his expression was playful as he flirted.

"I'm a stubborn woman, William. And you're not right," she made for the door. Rumplestiltskin vanished before he could be discovered, but in the distance he could hear the far away calls of goodnight and the less than gentle shutting of the door.

Appearing in the great hall, he shook involuntarily. No more, he promised himself. His first and last glimpse of Belle had told him very little. William was an outrageous flirt, and he pushed her boundaries with the ease of one who was used to getting his way. It bothered Rumplestiltskin. He wondered if in the course of a month William would be successful in his obvious goal of wooing Belle.

He needed to spin. Spinning helped him to forget, and for the moment he needed to forget what he had seen. He needed to forget that Belle had lain on the bed of another man and read to him. But, most of all, he felt the need to forget that when all was said and done, William was not a permanent resident. If he did manage to capture Belle's heart in such a small timeframe, would he abandon her the moment the deal was over? Would she be broken-hearted at the loss of him?

The gentle lull of the wheel took over as he continued. The thread was fine, the straw soft and yielding beneath his skilled, calloused fingers. He spun the same way he had spun for decades on end, the same way he would spin for centuries to come. It was a rewarding task, the golden length growing with each turn. His back was straight, feet planted properly against the stone floor. He did not whistle or rock as some of his mentors had when he was just a lad. Rumplestiltskin was swift and purposeful, at times he and the wheel became one, and during those long moments the hours passed without notice.

When the door to the Western corridor opened and Belle appeared, he did not look away from his work. Curiosity struck, but he would not allow himself to hesitate in his motions.

"I did not mean to intrude," she said, coming to gaze at him through the spindles of the wheel, "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, thank you," he answered. When she disappeared through the servants' entrance, Rumplestiltskin let out a breath. He had not meant to say yes. Tea meant a few minutes of awkward banter and the need to find a lie to excuse himself with. He spent the last of his precious time alone spinning as much as he could, knowing that he would soon be finished for the night.

He was still gathering the golden thread and tying it into an organized bundle when she returned, tray in hand. She poured him his cup, and then they sat together upon the table in silence. A newfound habit, it seemed.

"I like this," she stated, turning towards him slightly, "I never thought I'd like the quiet, but I do."

"Ah. Well, quiet is something we have in abundance in the Dark Castle," he paused a moment, considering her words, "I won't say I'm not surprised, though. I thought you hated it." It was true. Belle was never quiet, or even still for that matter. She was constantly fiddling, or humming, or tapping her fingers against surfaces.

"Spending time with William is giving me an appreciation for it," she mumbled, taking a sip of tea. Rumplestiltskin could not help a chuckle and the way his eyebrows raised at her revelation. Noticing his amusement, she tried to take it back, "I shouldn't have said that. It's not as if he's unpleasant. I just wish he would leave things be is all."

"I see. Prying, was he?"

"Yes," she dragged out the word so that her irritation was palpable.

"What did he say that was so bothersome?" he inquired. Nothing he had seen should have elicited a reaction quite like that. She reddened at her openness, at her unladylike response.

"Nothing," she sighed, "It was nothing." She went quiet again, and it was such an unnatural state that Rumplestiltskin wished for once that she would speak.

"I'd hate to be branded a pryer myself," he flickered a hand out to dance before him as he spoke, and Belle laughed softly at his antics, "And I daresay I haven't much practice at friendship, but from what I gather a part of it includes something called sharing." He said the word "sharing" lamely, as if it was foreign. A previously unwanted addition to his vocabulary.

"Yes, sharing. I believe I've heard of that," she played along, grin slowly making its way from the corners of her lips.

"So, would you like to?" he scrunched his face, "Share, that is."

Belle scrunched her face to match his.

"He asked me an inappropriate question. He asked me..." she blushed again, eyes fixed pointedly on her teacup, "He asked if I had ever had an extraordinary kiss."

Rumplestiltskin hummed.

"You see, completely inappropriate!" she exclaimed, taking his hum as an affirmation.

"Well, I don't know. I think the appropriateness of the question rests with your answer."

"How so?" she asked as she moved her tea back a ways. Lifting herself up, she turned to face him completely and tucked her legs beneath her so that she was sitting cross-legged on the table. Always taking liberties, his Belle. Despite his mental grumbles, he arranged himself to match her.

"Well," he clasped his hands before him, "If the answer was yes, then you probably would have been proud and perhaps even a little excited to share with him. If the answer was no, then you would either be too embarrassed or too disappointed to own up to it."

Belle squared her jaw. She was silent for a moment and appeared to be mulling over her next choice of words.

"I've never kissed anybody," she admitted, "Not ever. I thought he'd poke fun." Rumplestiltskin cocked his head to the side in consideration. She had never been kissed, this magnificent being who was certainly the most kissable creature ever created. He wondered at her actions, the ones had translated as manipulation days earlier. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps she simply desired closeness. Friendship, as she put it. Maybe she was just as lonely as he.

For an instant, despite the growl in his center that refused to cooperate with his current meanderings, he thought that William might make use of himself yet. Belle deserved at least one kiss in her life, and she might never again have the opportunity. He was a handsome man; he'd do her justice. And Belle would have at least one fond memory to cling to in the dark.

"What of your betrothed?"

She scoffed, "It was an arranged marriage." She spoke the words as if there was no more to tell, so he stowed away his questions until a later time. He had already pulled more from her than he knew she was comfortable with. Best not to push his luck.

Neither spoke for quite some time. It was a companionable state. When Rumplestiltskin noticed Belle's poorly hidden shiver, he lit a fire from his perch. They enjoyed their tea and the sudden warmth. Then she ducked her head and caught him purposefully in her gaze. Her eyes were bright, wide things that held power. Rumplestiltskin tried to quell the sudden lightness in his abdomen.

He was unsuccessful.

"Do you believe in true love?" she asked, hardly a whisper. Her stare was so direct, searching, as though she thought she could dredge answers from his soul if she willed it. He found no reason to deny her an answer. He wondered, briefly, if that had been the cause of her anger with William. Maybe true love was not something to be teased about in Belle's presence.

"I have lived a very long time, dearie. It doesn't matter if you believe or not. It exists."

Her expression was unreadable. Looking down at her tea again- did she find as much solace there as he did?- her loose hair hid her face from him. Before he knew what he was doing, a scaled hand acted of its own accord and brushed the strands behind her ear. He cupped her face, and his thumb drew small circles on the apple of her cheek. She was so soft. The contrast of his skin against hers enthralled him. Had he the courage, he would have leaned forward then. He would have replaced his thumb with his lips and given the barest hint of a kiss. And he knew, in some place deep and muffled, that she would have allowed him that small gift.

But Rumplestiltskin had no courage, and his fingertips were still caressing her skin. When he finally came to his senses- how long had he been doing this?- Belle was beaming at him with a smile that could melt sin. It was too much, alarming almost, and he quickly withdrew. Fumbling with his cup, he held the porcelain before him as he always did. It was a small barrier, but a barrier nonetheless.

"Friends can touch, you know," she said, eyes alight with mischief and something else that he refused to place.

Rumplestiltskin grumbled and drank his tea.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are always helpful, so if you could lend me a hand and give me some feedback, it would be much appreciated. :)

Next chapter: Hand holding, blind folds, and a very, very jealous Rumple.