Chapter Eight
Belle was up bright and early, running to the ocean, pulling up her dress, and wading in the water. It was freezing, but she had never felt so free. Leaving behind the confinement of Rumpelstilskin's house had let loose a wild, free-spirited part of her. She kept spinning and looking at the birds, the sky, and inhaling the scent of the salt that she could almost taste.
She spun around and around, until she got dizzy. Her hair was flying out too, like a russet helicopter. She was laughing and kept it up until she finally stumbled over and fell right into the ice-cold water. But that only made her laugh louder. Finally, she got up and sloshed back to shore, not caring that her dress stuck to her legs. As she got closer to the cottage, she saw that Rumpelstilskin was up, and on the porch watching her.
They had left bright and early as promised the previous day, only stopping by the Charming's to pick up the Q-Tip. "Does this count as my favor?" Emma had asked coldly.
"No. That was your father's price," Rumpelstilskin replied. "However, thank you for reminding me. If you'd like, let's settle it now. No time like the present!"
"What do you want?" Emma had folded her arms.
"A name."
"A name?" Emma frowned.
Rumpelstilskin had then turned around to Belle. "We need to be alone."
Belle had stepped up to Rumpelstilskin, "Why?"
He responded in a low voice, "You can't be harmed for what you do not know."
So Belle went to another room and waited until Rumpelstilskin was finished, and then they got into the car and sped out of town.
Now she was at the promised cottage. Rumpelstilskin had even 'dressed down.' He wore the dress shirt, without the jacket or tie, but no coaxing could convince him to get into the water.
As she approached the porch, he called out, "Glad to see you enjoying yourself so much."
Her face shone as she ran up the last of the steps and hugged him. "This is the best gift you could have given me!"
Rumpelstilskin smiled and touched his forehead to hers. "Then it's all worth it." He sat down on a lawn chair, and she went with him cuddling in his lap. "You realize you just made me soaking wet!" he chided.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Belle said without remorse. "I can get up if you want me to!"
She started to stand, but he pulled her back down. "I'll survive."
She giggled and began smoothing his forehead with her hand. "You are relaxing, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't say 'yes,'" he answered slowly, "but there is a certain peace that comes with . . . closure."
"Oh?"
"I was able to finish the first part of my work before we came here. Completely finished."
Suddenly Belle felt the chill of the water. "What was finished?"
"Something that had to be done," Rumpelstilskin said almost indifferently.
"I thought you were working on finding Baelfire?"
"Oh yes, of course. It's all connected. Finding Baelfire will put everything in motion."
"Rumpelstilskin, what did you do?" Belle asked quietly.
"I will tell you, Belle," he answered, "but only after we get home."
"In Storybrooke?"
"In my castle," he said firmly.
Belle knew better than to push the point. "All right. For now." She arose and held out her hand. "Come walking with me?"
"Certainly, my lady," Rumpelstilskin got up and bowed.
They walked on the beach for a while, hand in hand, and then returned to the cottage where Rumpelstilskin sat in an arm-chair while Belle got out of her soaking clothes. When she returned, he was asleep. Belle let him be. He had not slept well for weeks.
That evening she cooked a gourmet meal, which they finished off with port on the porch. As they watched the moon rise, Belle sighed and snuggled into him. "This is just about as close to perfect that it gets."
He laid his head on hers. "I cannot tell you how much that means to me, seeing you so content."
She wrapped her arms around him, "I suppose that has been rather rare in the past thirty years. But there is one thing that would make me even happier."
"Just ask, Belle," Rumpelstilskin said. "I will give you anything you want."
She smiled, "No, you don't have to do anything." She then moved her hand to his neck, and began rubbing the tight muscles. "Relaxing now?"
"Oh, yes." His eyes were closed.
She grinned and put her head back on his shoulder. "That's what I wanted." She continued to rub the muscles on his back.
"I think you missed your calling, Belle. You should have been a masseuse."
"Never say never, my love. There's still time."
Rumpelstilskin suddenly grabbed her and pressed her to him, taking her breath away. "Time," he muttered. "You'll always be mine, won't you Belle?"
She nodded a little confused, "You don't have to ask."
"You know that I love you?"
"Of course," Belle said against his shoulder. "I've always known."
"That's good then." He took her head and pressed his forehead to hers. "That's good."
After the moon rose to its full height and became hidden by a cloud, they moved inside. Rumpelstilskin started a fire and poured them both a fresh glass of port. He then moved to the couch, where Belle sat sideways with her legs over his, his hands on her knees, and eyes closed, as she began reading to him the latest Agatha Christie book she found in her library: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.
When the clock struck eleven, they went to bed. Belle laid her head on his chest, and murmured, "love you," before she dropped off to sleep.
Rumpelstilskin's eyes did not close.
…
The next day was much the same, except Rumpelstilskin insisted on cooking breakfast and serving her in bed. However, Belle could not help but notice that despite all efforts to the contrary, and even after their perfect night, Rumpelstilskin was clearly pre-occupied.
She did not know how much until that evening, when she read the last chapters of Ackroyd, and she jumped up saying, "Oh my gods!"
"What?" Rumpelstilskin asked.
"Can you believe it?" Both hands were to the side of her head. "My mind was just blown into a million pieces!"
"Ah, must be a good book," he remarked.
"You weren't listening were you?" she accused.
"Yes, I was." Belle's eyes narrowed. "Somewhat," he admitted.
Her lips pressed together, "Rumpelstilskin, what is it?"
"Nothing." She would not allow him to break eye contact. "It's just. . ."
"Yes?"
"I suppose I was expecting that once we got out of Storybrooke," he began, "that I would be able to make some sort of connection. Feel Baelfire. Or at least sense a glimmer of him."
"It may not be that simple," Belle remarked. "Perhaps once we get closer to Phoenix it will get clearer. Didn't you say that's where you suspected a, what did you say?"
"Epicenter."
"Yes!"
"But my True Love potion is the most powerful magic there is." He stood up, and began pacing.
Belle stopped him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. "We will find him. You knew it would take time." She paused. "Didn't you?"
"I put the whole flask of True Love into the well. I should be feeling his presence!" Rumpelstilskin began pacing again. "I need to see, to concentrate. Maybe I missed something." He turned away. "I'll be in the spare room."
"Rumpelstilskin!" Belle called out. He stopped, turned around and, to his distress, saw that she was holding back tears. She held out her hand. "Three days. Just three days. For us."
Her little heart looked like it might break. Could he give her three days?
He held her eyes for one minute. Two. Then he sighed, defeated. "I can never say no to you, Belle." He strode to her and hugged her. "Three days."
"With no magic," Belle whispered.
"No magic,' he agreed.
…
Belle awoke in the middle of the night, sprawled out over the bed. Did she always do that when she slept? Her head turned to the right and then the left. He was gone.
"Rumpelstilskin?" She jumped up and went straight to the other room, to see if he had isolated himself with his magic after all. The room was empty.
Feeling rather guilty for doubting him, she went back to the sitting room, and then heard steps on the porch. Steps that sounded as though someone was pacing back and forth. Pacing, turning, pacing. Back and forth.
She walked out to him. "Can't you sleep?" She wrapped her arms around herself shivering.
"No," he said. Belle noticed that he was wringing his hands. She put her hands on them, stopping the movement.
Rumpelstilskin whispered something.
"What?" Belle leaned in.
He ran his hand over his face. "Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing," Belle protested and touched his cheek. He was sweating. "Are you ill?"
"I don't get sick." Yet he began to rub the back of his head with his hands.
"Please," she held out her hand. "Come to bed."
He nodded and let her lead him back inside to the bedroom. She touched his face. He was now chilled to the bone and shaking.
"Get in," Belle ordered, and then wrapped the comforter around him. "I'll bring some tea."
Later, she laid against him, trying to get him warm, her arms rubbing up and down his.
"Belle?"
"Yes?"
"Would you mind if I used magic just once to light the fire?" he whispered.
"No, of course not. When I said the magic, I meant the . . . whatever you do when you are alone."
Rumpelstilskin nodded and she laid her head in the crook of his neck as he flicked his wrist and the fire in the bedroom roared to life. Immediately she felt his muscles loosen, and he let out a breath of relief. Then he clasped her hand that was around his chest.
Belle dozed off in complete serenity.
He stared at the fire until dawn.
