A/N: HELLO EVERYONE! It's been quite a week, I had a lot of fun on vacation, but I've missed posting and writing -so it's lovely to be back (and out of the sun without a hangover, finally! Hah!). I really loved coming back to all of the favorites and follows, it is really neat to see people still interested in what I'm writing, so yay! Thanks so much, I obviously don't own OUaT, and please R&R! I really love hearing from you guys! Lots of love and thank you! Also, as an extra bonus this is a loooooooooong chapter, so please, enjoy!


And it wasn't long. Barely a week passed until it began. He worried that perhaps she was prophetic.

The first time she cried out was in the middle of the night. He thought it appropriate that this was a child who found him or her self so drawn to making his or her presence known at night. Bael had – the thought cut through his chest like a knife and he shook his head, wiry curls in disarray as he walked down the stairs, still clad in his night clothes: a pair of plain fabric pants and matching tunic.

Really, this was not even his business - the screaming and all of the pain was not something he found himself interested in. Yaga's letters held enough information for the Master of the house to understand that he did not want part in it, but he was here, and he had to attend to the lady, as she was in no condition to care for herself, and descended the steps toward her room on the first floor.

He didn't bother to knock when he got to her door and strode in easily, waving his hand so it opened; regardless of if she locked it – he doubted she did, at least she had never done so before. She was sitting up in her head, legs propped at an angle and eyes wide. Her face was white as a sheet, and her mouth made that perfect little 'o' shape, like she did when she was surprised.

She instantly looks embarrassed and tries to cover her bed, which in her surprise; she must have thrown the covers off. He only quirked his eyebrows at the damp sheets, Belle looking as mortified as she did, he was sure it would not go well. Instead, he turned his head away, coughing into his hand. "Do you want tea?" was the first thing he can think of, looking at her like that and not having a shred of a clue what to do – outside of, of course, informing Yaga when her pains are fairly consistent. She had told him, and probably Belle as well, but as a reminder to him, that the beginning of the process could take a considerable amount of time.

"Tea?" she said breathlessly, she looked at him like he was mental and for a moment, he realized how foolish the question probably was. "Why, pray tell, would I want tea right now?" she asked, the volume of her voice dramatically increasing as she spoke – she was scared, she rarely lost her poise and dignity over a silly request when she wasn't.

He decided, however, he was going to… go with it. Yes, he would pretend it was perfectly normal. "To calm your nerves, Dearie," the endearment slips through his lips before he has time to rein it back in, and he moves on – one only called attention to mistakes by making them a big deal, "you might have quite a wait."

With a snap of his long fingers, the fire went from soft embers to a roar; there was the kettle and all the necessities for making tea. Ah, sometimes a curse could be such a convenience he thought as he walked to the fireplace, crouching in front of the warm glow. It was the cusp of winter and it should have been warmer in here anyhow. She was probably not just pale from the pain of whatever she had just experienced.

He put the kettle over the flames and glanced up at her. She looked a little more relaxed, at the least, and she licked her lips, thoughtful and hesitant. "When do we call for Yaga?" she asked, obviously having forgotten the woman's coaching. Belle was very lucky Rumpelstiltskin was a man of details.

He had summoned a type of tea designed specifically for calming, and as the water heated he put he mix in the tea ball, ready to steep it as soon as it was ready. "Not until we can be sure it's not a false alarm," he chuckled, "Yaga would be incorrigible if she were to be woken up in the middle of the night for a few misleading pains."

Belle huffed and leaned against the sea of pillows she had against the backboard of the four-poster bed. While his room was simple, a middling merchant's living, at best; she lived like the queen she was supposed to become. He mused that she was something of a queen, a dark one, but one nonetheless.

They passed the time in half-silence. Belle took her tea in bed, and Rumpelstiltskin took his in her chair by the fire. At the foot of her bed was the creamy white blanket of those knitted squares, complete and waiting. He meant to ask her about her choice, but he knew. The way she hummed to herself, and knitted so diligently – the books she read – she betrayed herself with every loving stroke and embrace of her stomach.

Yaga would be demanding, should this be her course of action. Thankfully, Rumpelstiltskin knew of a particular young lady who would be in need of a method for getting to a ball that would… fulfill the terms of his agreement. After all, deals could always be struck, and as he had vehemently told Yaga, he would do as Belle desired, nothing else.

When she would clench in pain, he always tried to breathe a little slower and deeper to avoid reacting. He did not want to anger her. It surprised him when she actually looked at him and motioned to the book on the top of the stack and asked him to read to her – to keep her mind busy. The way her hand shook as she pointed was all he needed to see.

He picked up the book and began to read – a fairy story, of course. She was always so lost in fairy stories, even before. He wondered had she not seen enough, experienced to lose interest in them? But he settled back in the chair, opening the first page and starting the story of a young woman who gave up everything for the man she loved. She did this on purpose, he reasoned, and read with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he lulled through the words.

At first it is slow, intolerably slow. She wouldn't interrupt his reading for chapters at a time – where he would stop reading and watch her carefully, trying to gauge if maybe she mistook a terribly hard kick from the child (his child, after all, must have been strong), for some kind of worse pain. But, she'd stop, and he'd read more – filling the silence with the story, glad it was someone else's words, and not his. They were far less likely to get him into trouble with her.

But, the long spells of reading got slower and slower, and her interruptions became more… pronounced. He had continued on the pattern until she gasped and yelped, sliding down in the silky sheets, gritting her teeth and holding her breath until she finally released with a gasp. This was the cue to put the book on the ground and start to pus himself out of the chair, "My back," she practically mewed, on her side and eyes squeezed tight.

He could not honestly understand anything of what was going on. To him, she looked like she was going to pass out, or faint. She didn't though – another thing about women that just… perplexed him. They were capable of feeling such immense pain, at least he assumed it was immense, the way she whimpered like a kicked pup, and hissed.

In the absence of anything to do except make more tea or pick up the book again, which he thought might earn him harsh words from the woman, he finally rose from the chair and walked to the side of the bed she faced away from. He gingerly placed himself on it and rubbed her back in light circles, feeling the tension there, not even attempting to hide itself.

Belle swatted his hand away without remorse and glared at him, "This is your fault," she said through clenched teeth. "Do not touch me." He sprang up from his perch as quickly as he had sat down and held his hands up, as though she were the sheriff of Nottingham come to arrest him. That had not gone as planned, he thought as he slowly stepped back toward his place in the chair. She did not ask for the book again – just as well, it was getting to the truly tragic part.

They continued in silence and Rumpelstiltskin felt restless. Unfortunately, he could not call for reinforcements yet. There had been at least an hour or so since the first, and Yaga had left fairly explicit instructions. He was also supposed to have her up and walking for some part of it – but the back nonsense had gone so poorly… For one of the first times he was upset he did not employ a staff so they might have to attend to her.

So much of her anger was already directed toward him (rightly so, some might say) that he strove to not upset her in this condition. Of course, when she calmed, and only felt minor discomfort the silence was slightly less tense, and he had little desire to disturb this peace.

The peace was not a permanent situation, of course, and as the time dragged on and the sun started to peek over the horizon and stream into the room, she went through more fits, and they got closer together: all in all, she was an unpleasant woman. It had not been so bad when it took an hour or so for her to feel anything, but then it got to 45 minutes… which also wasn't the worst… but then there was every half hour, which was markedly worse – and then fifteen minutes… which was just about grating on his last nerve. He bit his tongue so hard he could taste metal in his mouth, just to remind himself to keep quiet. Her ranting was irrational and part of him recognized he probably deserved every curse and admonishment she sent in his direction.

He wished he had paper on his lap to record some of his favorites, in order to share with her later, of course. (If he was going to have to endure any more of this, he would certainly get something out of it).

If they were on better terms, he might have laughed, teasing her about the sweet and amiable disposition she had when she was cleaning and performing domestic tasks, but right now, he did not speak, lest she lash at him with her flaying tongue.

Finally, when Rumpelstiltskin could take no more of her verbal assault, he was sure it was time to write. "I will be right back," he stood sharply and exited the room without waiting for her reply – which she did anyway, yelling as he walked down the hallway. He had to remind himself, repeatedly that the woman was tired and experiencing pain. It was difficult for him to contextualize, but he felt as though he knew well enough to leave it alone.

Summoning Yaga was noting more than transporting a piece of paper – a silly piece of magic, and she would be there in a flash. At his desk, he had the necessary tools, and sat to quickly jot down his note. The sooner the better, he thought as he scrawled down his summons, folding it and stamping it closed with his seal. Placing it in a jewel encrusted box, he shut the lid and turned the key. When he twisted the key back and lifted the lid, the letter was gone, and he sighed – she was yelling again – though, blessedly, he couldn't hear the specifics.

He descended the stairs again, unwilling to be deterred by her anger, and took a deep breath through his nose, adjusting his collar, lost in thought until he was upon the bottom of the stairs and saw Yaga had let herself in. "Of our… deal?" she certainly would get straight to the point.

"She has not made her choice known to me," he replies simply, and truthfully. His long fingers are linked behind his back, his nails digging into his palms, "You'd do best to ask her – though, I would stray from it," he snorted, "beastly, she is"

Yaga's countenance was not quite as rueful as it might have been before and she passed by him toward Belle's room without a word. Maybe there was something in the air that was making all females (he relented from calling Yaga a woman… hag or crone, but not woman) irritable.

He shrugs and follows, hands still clasped behind his back. Yaga scoffs at him and rolls her eyes, "You have no part in this," she waves him off – no one dismissed Rumpelstiltskin, except well, the two women currently occupying the walls of the castle. But, that was neither here nor there at the moment. He made a face and she closed the door on him. The latch clicked, signaling he was locked out.

And then he had to wait.

At first, he walked away. There was no point in standing there, and it was not likely to be anytime soon, he was sure. So, he went to spin, it helped keep his mind off things – well, really, it helped him be busy while his mind was thinking of a thousand things. His hands could move without thinking about them, and he would be far enough away – at least he thought he would be far enough away.

He knew Belle was not a quiet woman by nature, but she possessed quite a set of lungs when she needed them. He could hear her from the main hall, or maybe he just convinced himself he could – because the sounds were unrecognizable as words. He must have been fooling himself and mulled it over before focusing on his wheel, that would help – and it would have worked too, if not for the fact that he completely bungled the whole thing up.

The thread was tangled in a ratty mess – that never happened, and he struggled with frustration to unknot it. It was magic, of course, which meant it wasn't going to snap, and as he thought he was at the root of the knot, he definitely heard her screech and he pulled at the wrong bit of knot and it became hopelessly tangled – he snarled and abandoned the wheel.

So, without that distraction, he decided to take another. It seemed as good a time as any to get ready for the day, considering the position of the sun, and he climbed the steps to his room, picking out whatever he could find first, sighing as her voice carried through the stone halls. Really, blasted acoustics! It would be better though, he reasoned, ready for the day, and could put himself to something useful after almost six hours of sitting with Belle and another hour of fruitless spinning.

He went up to his laboratory of sorts, the kitchen of his potions and herbal mixes, hoping he could start to restock anything that might have been close to out of stock. The delicate work was interrupted by her cries, and he growls, frustrated as his hands slipped and a vial exploded in a puff of sulfur and soot.

Grabbing a cloth, he wiped his face and his hands, then magicked the whole thing away. What a waste of ingredients, he huffed, and tried to find something to busy himself with. There was the library, but, of course, he had to keep reading the same passages over and over, distracted beyond reason. He shut that pursuit with a huff and stalked toward the armory. Perhaps practicing sword skills… a sharp trill caused his steps to falter and he instantaneously reconsidered…

It was not like he was anxious, of course. It wasn't anything like that –he just… needed to escape the noise, and find something to do.

He thought about perhaps tending to the horses – it was usually done routinely, but he could spare a few moments to venture out... He started passing the room where he heard both women's voices in a terse "conversation" (Belle yelling, Yaga stern and demanding), and kept walking. He had a plan, and tt was best to make himself scarce on this side of the castle, or in the castle in general – but as he gets toward the end of the wing, his feet move slower and he listens more closely to the sounds echoing from down on the end.

Rumpelstiltskin groaned as he looked toward one of the windows with a much lighter draping (courtesy of Belle's tastes) and frowned. It had been nearly half a day. And – from what he heard, there was no sign that this process was getting easier for the girl… no, woman.

He did not worry though, he reminded himself, and tugged at his sleeves, it was something to do, after all. Dropping into one of the chairs in the wing, His legs sprawled out and he put his elbows on the arms, steepling his hands in front of his face. He can very clearly hear the two voices – so distinct from one another – but not the substance of what is going on. He convinced him his vigil would be a relaxing one, but with every incomprehensible sound, he sits up, then slides down again, then shifts from one side to the other, then is taken with suddenly standing.

It gets very hot quickly and he loosens his waistcoat, swallowing hard. It's been quite a long time, he thought to himself, and her words about her nightmare reverberate in his ears – but he assures himself he is the one with divining powers, and he has not felt anything of the sort about her. Of course, around her, he always felt like his sight was… clouded, like she baffled his ability to read and understand. Damned woman and her accursed charm and beauty! If she had just been an ugly step-sister, it would have been so much easier, but then again, he wouldn't have taken her. He was a collector of beautiful things, after all.

His pacing now takes up most of his time, edging closer and closer to the door of her room. They have not emerged, though he knows there is anything but stillness in there. He can hear her, crying and protesting, and Yaga urging her forward without a hint of sympathy. He felt the impulse to yell at her, to have some compassion, but he reminded himself it wasn't his place – they were sure to both hiss and growl at him – no use going into the lioness' den.

Finally, as her hoarse cries became consistent and Yaga was instructing her to push, Rumpelstiltskin admitted he was, indeed nervous. It was becoming late in the afternoon. She must have been exhausted – he knew he was. He did not even really need to sleep much, and he felt heavy with fatigue. She was not delicate, but she was mortal.

Running his hand through his wiry hair, he felt his heart beating quickly and his claw-like nails scratched at his scalp. Everything in him contracted and went stock still when it was suddenly silent.