When Rumpelstiltskin had finished his story, his story of the cowardly man who acquired power, and became cowardly no more, and lost everything he loved in the process, Belle finally released his hand. By this point, she was barely half-awake. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, breathing slow and even, and Rumpelstiltskin was simply grateful that most of her horror from the bandit in the woods had dissipated.

Still, Belle attempted to argue. "You're not a coward," she said.

"Well there's no need for bravery when one has infinite power," he replied, trying to sound amused, light-hearted.

"You are brave. You saved me," she persisted.

"Again. Infinite power. Now get some sleep. I have kept you awake far too long."

She sighed into her pillow. "All right. And, thank you."

Rumpelstiltskin smiled weakly at her, put out the candles with a blink of his eye, and left his maid to catch up on her sleep. His spinning wheel awaited him, full of new feelings that he wished to forget.

...

"Do you mind if I take a day off from cleaning today?" Belle asked. She was wearing her usual blue dress, her hair in a neat braid hanging down her back. As normal as she appeared, Rumpelstiltskin could see how pale she was, and the dark circles under her eyes that indicated her lack of sleep. Her feet were bare, toes curled against the stone floor.

"My estate will not clean itself, dearie." He was trying to be at least a tad harsher than usual, widen the distance between them, after she held his hand so fervently the evening before.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's rather clean as it is. Won't accumulate that much dirt over just a day off, you know. And I've already brought you your tea." She nodded at the table, where the tea tray sat, untouched for the time being. Though, Rumpelstiltskin noticed, his favorite cup was already filled nearly to the brim with steaming tea.

"And what book shall you be reading on your day off? Perhaps you've found a new book full of magical creatures and how to defeat them? Or a romance? Though I'm not sure my library has many of those."

Belle wrinkled her nose. "I hate romances. So foolish." Rumpelstiltskin recalled the love story he had found her reading one night, and wondered briefly why she was lying. However, Belle continued, unabashed. "The weather feels so warm today. I can feel the sunlight through the windows, and the castle is not nearly as drafty as it usually is. Can I explore the gardens?"

He stopped spinning, found his teacup, and took a long sip. After he smacked his lips-Belle always made the perfect cup of tea, with just enough sugar-he raised an eyebrow. "You're a gardener, as well as a maid and cook?"

She shook her head, but a small smile grew upon her face, and Rumpelstiltskin was glad to see some of the timidness leave her. "I'm no gardener. Any interest I might find in the garden is for myself, not for yourself or your estate."

"Then the garden is yours, dearie. I trust you to stray no farther from the castle than that?" He pointedly did not reference what had happened when she had left, albeit with his permission, the afternoon before.

...

The garden was surrounded by a low stone wall that only reached Belle's waist. There was no break in the enclosure to allow for entrance, she realized as she circled it, so she pulled up her dress and awkwardly climbed over into the flower beds, carrying her little bucket of gardening tools with her. The soil squished underneath her naked feet, and she relished the feeling of it, damp and warm and somehow clean. She turned her face up to the sun; she relished that, too, not having been able to enjoy herself amid the cool winds and clouds when she was outside yesterday.

After a few moments, Belle began to walk amongst the flowers, if they could even be called that. There were roots buried in the dirt, with stems growing above them, and a few even had some unopened bulbs at the very top. But none of the flowers bloomed, and most seemed dried-out, sickly, though not from lack of sun or water. It rained enough, and there was certainly enough sun for them to thrive, Belle decided, so there simply must not have enough tender care for the flowers to survive comfortably.

The trellis was by far the saddest sight. Near one of the edges of the garden stood a criss-crossed structure, built of wood that had long begun to rot. Vines grew in its every crevice, and as Belle grew closer, she realized that they were not vines, but thorns, dark and sharp and menacing.

"Roses!" she gasped with pleasure, despite the fact that no roses actually grew there. But she recognized that several rosebushes grew here, or, at least, were intended to.

This is where she would begin, she knew. The rotting trellis would have to do, as Belle was no carpenter, but she could make it work, with good, strong rose plants to keep it standing upright. Belle set down her bucket, and pulled out the large set of glittering garden shears.

...

Rumpelstiltskin leapt over the garden wall. Time to check on the girl, he had decided, concerned that she had come back inside long ago. He was certain that she would immediately return once she had discovered the unsalvageable state of his garden. When he had built the castle, long ago, he had magicked together this little garden, too, and then proceeded to ignore its existence altogether. It took more than magic to save dying flowers, and he could not be bothered with it. Surely Belle would not waste her time on the mess either? He expected to come upon her curled in some spot of grass with a book, enraptured in her own fantasies, to escape in the only way she could. And, not for the first time, she managed to surprise the all-powerful Rumpelstiltskin.

He found Belle crouching in front of what was once his set of rosebushes, garden shears clicking and clacking wildly as she snipped off thorns and other dead ends. She didn't appear to notice his approach, but as Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to announce his presence, Belle whirled around, rising to her feet.

"Hello," was all she said, and rather sheepishly at that. She wiped her hands on her dress, and he saw that they were caked in soil and blood, leaving streaks of brown and red on the formerly pristine fabric.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her, masking the concern that was emerging in his tone.

"Oh, yes. Just the thorns, you see." She gestured back at the violent plant. "It doesn't hurt that bad, really. I'll just bandage them up when I've finished."

"No, no. Before dinner you will apply a potion to your hands. I have some lying around, I'm sure, for such practicalities."

"Okay." She seemed absentminded, almost dreamy.

"What are you doing, dearie?" His curiosity finally got the better of him, as little as he wanted to indulge her foolish fancies. He has asked her the same thing when she dragged all the curtains off of the windows.

"Pruning the roses."

He giggled. "In case you hadn't noticed, there are no roses."

"But there will be, in a few months, as long as I tend to them well."

Rumpelstiltskin wagged a finger. "As long as your rose-growing does not impede your other chores."

"It won't. I've gotten the majority of the work out of the way. After today, it will just be watering them daily, and trimming them a few times a week." She bent over the trellis again, resumed her attack on the dead bits of rosebush.

He did not leave, watching the girl at her work. "Why the roses? Aren't there easier plants to grow here? Like the tulips or the daffodils?" he asked, glancing over the unopened flowers.

"I like roses. Besides, if its so easy to do, what's the point? The tulips and daffodils will thrive on their own, once they see the roses do it. The roses need my help the most."

"And the thorns?"

She faced him, blue eyes squinting through the sunlight. "Well, they wouldn't be roses without a few thorns, now would they? Anything worth desiring is also worth a few pricks in the process, I think." But the open gashes on her palms testified to far more than just a few pricks, and Rumpelstiltskin questioned how willing Belle was to allow herself to be hurt in order to achieve something beautiful. And in a perverse way, in a way that made him hate himself, Rumpelstiltskin found himself to be pleased with it, and with Belle's bloody hands so prepared to make these roses grow.

"What color with they be?"

"What?" Rumpelstiltskin broke out of his reverie.

"The roses. What color will they be?"

"No need to spoil the surprise. We'll just wait and see, dearie."

...

A/N: What did you all think of this chapter? It's a little less fluffy than usual, and I'm worried the whole rose/love metaphor kind of sucks. Advice/critiques/encouragement please? I update way faster when I get reviews because I love knowing that my writing continues to be appreciated.