Chapter Three

Rumpelstilskin and Belle came in from the garden just as the clock struck eight. Rapunzel was waiting for them with dinner on the table. Belle went to pull her aside as Rumpelstilskin walked past them to climb the stairs. "Won't be a minute," he called, "just fetching something from my study."

Belle faced her new and soon-to-be ex-servant. How does one say this? "I . . ." she began hesitantly, "release you."

"Release me?" Rapunzel asked. "I don't understand."

"You do not have to serve me," Belle explained, feeling mortified. "You can go back home."

Rapunzel frowned. "But here there is protection. That was the promise." She turned her head as Rumpelstilskin came back down the stairs and strode to her with a quick pace. Rapunzel stood a little straighter, "You said you would give me protection."

"Indeed I did," Rumpelstilskin replied, "and I never go back on my word." He pulled out a handgun and slapped it into Rapunzel's astonished hands. "Best protection there is, dearie. That is, unless you have magic!" He gestured as he spoke and led her to the door, which he opened and slammed shut behind her. Then he turned to Belle. "Dinner!"

…

Rumpelstilskin opened up his prized port, as Belle got out the appropriate glasses.

"She'll be fine," he assured her for the tenth time.

Belle looked askance at him.

"She will," Rumpelstilskin insisted. The eleventh time. "She'll go back to her pretty hubby and find a cozy room in Charming's mansion."

"And if the Queen attacks?" Belle asked.

"My dear, Regina is one who would far rather scheme and posture than actually get something done. This is a woman who spent twenty-eight years plotting how to ruin Snow White's life with some tiresome plot to get her accused of murder and given the death penalty when the same result could have been achieved by running over the little thing with her car! I assure you, the worst Regina has done is make some melodramatic speeches about the rightful ruler of Storybrooke being back with magic: blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!" His hand moved puppet style with each repetition.

"You're certain?"

He looked straight in her eyes. "Yes."

"Alright, then." Belle proceeded to pour two, not one, thimble-fills, with a mischievous look at Rumpelstilskin, who raised his eyebrows.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk and take horrible advantage of me!"

Belle giggled, "Hush." She blushed scarlet. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I was the one who wanted to get drunk? I believe I've earned it," she said. As they sat on the couch, his arm came around her, pulling her against his side. They sipped the sweet wine by the fireside.

"You like?" he asked.

"Mmmm," Belle purred. "I developed a taste for it at your castle." She took another sip, closing her eyes and snuggling into his shoulder.

"At the castle," his forehead wrinkled. "I don't remember drinking port with you at the castle."

"Oh, you didn't," she shrugged. "I just sampled every now and then."

"Sampled?"

"You never said I couldn't," Belle informed him.

When he didn't speak, she turned to look up at him. He was gaping at her.

"You stole from me?" he asked.

"I didn't steal! You told me that I could 'make myself at home.' So I did!" Her hand brushed a lock of hair aside that had fallen from her clip.

Firelight reflected in her eyes and off her hair as she leaned forward to refill his cup.

He was still gazing at her, his head shaking from side to side. "My little masterpiece. . . ." he murmured in awe.

"I'm not so little," she sat up in mock indignation.

Rumpelstilskin snorted.

She sat up defiant. "Since when is a woman of thirty little?"

He blinked. Hard. "Thirty?"

"Yes," Belle replied. "My age."

He still just gawked. "You're thirty?"

"Rumpelstilskin! I was twenty-eight when I came to your castle," she informed him. "Then you add the time from then till after . . . after . . ." She faltered. "Well, you remember."

"Yes, I've done little else but remember," he said softly, looking away.

"That's in the past," Belle reminded him, squeezing his hand.

He attempted a jest, "In any case, if port was the only vice I left you with, I can rest easy knowing you were otherwise uncorrupted."

"You never corrupted me," Belle said so low he leaned closer to hear.

"I never ..." He looked away, then back at her sharply. "Did you think I would?"

"No," Belle answered. "Not at first. I just left my home with the idea that I would be keeping house, and saving my people. It wasn't till the first night in the dungeon that I even thought of it." He looked past her, his mouth slightly opened in astonishment. She sipped a little more. "It didn't occur to me that everyone's first thought was exactly that."

"Everyone's. First. Thought." Rumpelstilskin repeated. "Who is everyone?" he demanded, darkness coming over his visage.

Belle was emphatically refusing to look at him, regretting whatever she had said to lead the conversation in this direction. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton.

She swallowed, and then spoke, "My people. The people I saved."

A new emotion then flooded her as she felt his hand tighten, and his features distort. "Because you were with the Beast!"

"We don't have to talk about it. It's past." Belle grew slightly alarmed as a purple haze began to form around his hand.

"So, they did hurt you!"

Now Belle became confused. "Hurt me? Not quite the way I would put it."

His head whipped around, "Not quite!" his volume raised, "not quite?"

Tears began to form in her eyes. "I told you it was past."

"Past?" he snarled. He spun her around, "Past. Let's see if this is past."

Alarm abruptly turned to horror. "Rumpelstilskin! What are you doing?"

He did not answer and instead took the back of her collar. For a split second, Belle felt herself grow cold from head to toe. "Please," she whispered.

He ignored her and pulled the collar down an inch and ran his hand across her shoulders. "Nothing," he said. "There's nothing."

"Of course there's nothing. What were you expecting?" She turned around slowly, and raised her eyes in time to see his shoulders begin to shake. "What is it? Oh for the love of the gods, look at me!'

He did, as one in slow motion. Under some control now, his voice was only shaking a little. "I was told that you were . . ."

"That I was what?" A horrible dread came over her. What did he think had happened?

He closed his eyes and whispered, "That you were imprisoned and scourged." He took her by the shoulders, shaking her a little, "But there are no scars! No scars." And then he placed his head in his hands and openly sobbed.

"No!" Belle protested. "Never! My father would not have allowed that. Ever!" Her eyes flashed fire. "Is that what people thought happened to me? You thought my father would hurt me like that?"

"It's what I was told," he shot back, whipping his hands away from his face. "I didn't believe it at first. SHE was the one who told me. So I went to see for myself and everything that I was told in the village seemed to corroborate what she said."

Belle moaned. "No. Oh no." She took his head firmly between her hands as she declared, "I was only dead because I made myself dead!"

"Made yourself dead?" he asked confused.

"After you sent me away," he visibly winced, "and I went home. I was, to my people . . . damaged goods."

Rumpelstilskin shook his head. But Belle continued. She had to now.

"They didn't believe me when I said that you had not touched me. That I was still a maiden."

"Because there was no way the Beast would have left you so," he said bitterly.

She continued as though he had not spoken, "They thought I was under a spell. Papa refused to allow anyone to harm me." Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "But he also could not bear to be with me. He said it was his fault. He should have let the whole village go to perdition before he would sacrifice his daughter. Each day I saw him die a little." She wiped her eyes. "I couldn't stay. I decided to do what I had always wanted. I was going to see the world. But Belle the Princess had to die. I owed him that."

"You owed him nothing!" Rumpelstilskin spat.

"Yes, I did," Belle contradicted, her voice matching his. He was not the only one whose anger could be inflamed in a moment. "Papa did not ask for this to occur. What he believed happened to me is every father's worst nightmare! I had to free him. So I left him a note detailing why I had to leave, and that he could say my madness drove me to kill myself. That he should 'bury' me quickly to avoid shame. That he could live in his village as he should: The Crowned Prince who, like so many before him, had a child stolen away by Rumpelstilskin."

Rumpelstilskin still looked forward, rage on his face, but his hands relaxed.

"Have you not wondered why I didn't ask if my father was here?" Belle asked, tears coming again. Caressing the side of his face. Calming him.

"No," he whispered. Belle found his glass and bade him drink. He did, as did she.

Then she laid her head once more on his shoulder, reaching up to caress his hair. "It's all in the past."

"The past," he repeated.

Belle nodded off and dozed until the clock striking twelve abruptly brought her head up.

"You're exhausted," Rumpelstilskin said. "You must get to bed."

She looked down, "I don't want to."

"Are you still having nightmares?" he asked. "Because if you are, I can take them away." He raised his hand and purple mist began to appear.

"No," she caught his hand, stopping him. "No nightmares. I had nothing last night but dreams of safety and love." Her eyes were shining. Rumpelstilskin could have sworn that they sparkled. She moved in, and touched her forehead to his. Their kiss. "I just don't want to be away from you," she whispered.

"Then you shan't," he replied, lifting her and carrying her up the stairs.

…

Belle woke with the sunlight. Her eyes opened and beheld only the stubbly chin of Rumpelstilskin. Her head was on his chest, gently rising and falling with each breath of his. She sighed with contentment. Could True Love's Kiss really be better than this? Better than the man she loved placing her in bed, and drawing her to him as she fell into sleep? Shifting in the night sometime so that his head was on her shoulder, then back again. Never had she felt so satisfied, and yet aware of something that lay beyond her grasp.

She reluctantly left the bed for necessity. The cold outside the covers struck her immediately. Minutes later, she had gone to her closet to see if there were slippers. Her feet were chilled by the cold floor. Then she looked and looked, finally her lips formed a tight line.

When Rumpelstilskin opened his eyes it was to a lovely lady gazing at him, holding both his hands captive, and leaning in, looking at him with great expectation.

"You are beautiful, cute as a kitten, desirable as a goddess, and I love you." She smiled. His face was then abruptly in hers as he demanded, "And what do you want?"

"A new wardrobe!" Belle exclaimed. "Have you seen those hideous clothes?"

"That's all," he chuckled. "Belle, you don't have to use womanly wiles to get that. I will always give you anything you want."

"Very well." She sat up on her knees and said, "I want a new wardrobe!"

"Consider it done," he began to swish his fingers.

She caught hold of his hand, "No!"

"No?"

"No," Belle repeated. "You will just create what you would have me wear. Remember the blue dress you gave me at the castle?"

"With infinite fondness."

"As I thought," Belle sniffed.

"Your little ball gown was far more 'interesting' than anything I made." He wagged a finger in her face. "And you could have just flatly refused to wear the clothes I gave you."

"Not likely," Belle retorted. "You would have retaliated and done worse!"

He giggled, a very Rumpelstilskin giggle. "Why, yes I would have." He pulled some stray hairs out of her eyes, and touched his forehead to hers. "But as you said last night, that's all in the past." She grinned against his cheek. "Very well," he sighed with mock disappointment, "Think of what you want and it shall be!"

It was only later that she found amongst her lovely, but sensible clothes, a red and gold lacy . . . nightdress? She held it up in horror. The trickster! She picked it up, stalked to his bedroom and hung it in his wardrobe. Two could play that game.

As she closed the wardrobe doors, she stopped a moment to hope that this day would be one with only one set of emotions. Not back and forth from pure joy to despair, to . . . fear.

She wanted THAT also in the past.

She snuck out of his room and tiptoed past his study, where he had been for most of the afternoon. When she had asked him for what, before he closed the doors, he told her that the previous night had reminded him of a task to which he needed to get about doing.

"What task?" she had asked.

"Research."