"What are you doing?" Rumplestiltskin chided as Belle bit into a piece of toast. She was seated, as usual, on top of the table, plate cradled in her lap.

She pointed at her plate with what remained of her slice of bread. With a full mouth, she innocently answered, "Eating breakfast?"

He waved his hand towards her impromptu seat. "On the table?"

"Yes."

"You're ruining the varnish."

Belle set her dish down and inhaled deeply through her nose. "Well, pardon me. But if someone would kindly give up his seat for a lady, then I wouldn't have to perch up here like some overgrown chicken."

He said flatly, "Did you not see the chair?" He gestured to the opposite end of the table with a broad grin.

Belle scanned the room with incredulous delight. There, at the opposite end of the table, was in fact a second chair identical to the one Rumplestiltskin currently occupied. A pleasant sort of surprise registered on her face as she gathered her things in an orderly, ladylike fashion and moved to the end of the table. He smiled into his tea, as pleased with her reaction as he was with himself.

Belle said something; however, he didn't quite catch the words. He looked up from his tea curiously. After so many years of dining alone, he had forgotten how long the table was.

She called out a bit louder, "Thank you."

He heard her this time but pretended otherwise. Instead, he held a hand to his ear as if he couldn't hear her. "These ears are over 300 years old, dearie. You're going to have to speak up."

She called, "You know, I think you might hear me better if I moved closer."

He shook his head. "No," he answered quickly.

The chair was meant to give Belle a sense of belonging, not only at the table but in his home. He wanted her to know her presence was welcome. However, he had forgotten that Belle did not mind intruding. She liked to take up as much of space as possible, especially his space. She was more at home in the Dark Castle than he was. He should not have been surprised that she refused to be kept at arm's length.

Still, he hesitated to let her draw near and with good reason. Yesterday, before he realized what he was doing, he had grabbed her hands to help her understand the rhythm of the spinning wheel. When he felt the soft skin of her arms against his, he had been unable to let go, struck by an unseen immobilization spell. Then, she sighed and relaxed into him as if he were a deep leather sofa. They swayed in unison, his heart beating with the speed of a hummingbird's wings. Yet, the back and forth of their motion was calming like the waves crashing on the shore. For a time, the wheel's enchantment worked over them both. They forgot the Dark One. Rumplestiltskin had been a shepherd teaching Belle to spin.

The last time he held her in his arms at the spinning wheel had been briefly marvelous then painfully disastrous. He wanted that magnificent moment again, a thousand times over. Yesterday, unwilling to step back and end it and unable to step forward into further bliss, he was rooted in place by fear. At last, he managed to whisper into her ear, hoping to bring the task at hand back into focus. She looked at him with a steadiness in her eyes that would not be disappointed. He had nearly repeated his mistake and kissed her waiting lips. With all his strength he had pushed himself back and away from her.

Throughout the night he dreamed of those crystal blue irises, perfect circles edged with black, and her pupils wide and dark like the endless fathoms of a well. He had thrown himself into those depths countless times before waking. The girl was in his mind, and he could not free himself.

Now, she glanced down at her plate in dismay. He mumbled, "As close as you like."

Belle's face lit up with joy. She made a show of quickly grabbing her dishes, this time in as unladylike a fashion as possible. Hoping to take full advantage of the invitation, she rushed to the other end of the table. Before he could refuse, Belle laid out her place setting directly beside his, not even bothering to move to the adjoining side of the table.

Feeling color rise in his cheeks, he stared at the teacup in his hands and chuckled softly. He exhaled loudly, unable to conceal his grin any longer. She scooted his dishes to the side just enough to make room for her own. With a knuckle, she nudged his arm and he found the courage to meet the gaze of her smiling eyes. She did not need to ask. He snapped his fingers, and the chair reappeared at the end of the table just inches from his.

In his youth, he envied the young couples seated thus with their heads bent together, sharing secrets. Now, youth returned to him as he relished the heady intoxication swirling through mind and heart. Belle turned to address him, her knees gently grazing his. He swallowed hard, stirring his tea longer than necessary.

She gestured to the chair, "What do I owe you?"

He answered, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" she enunciated with surprise. "I thought with you everything came with a price," she teased.

He shook his head, pointed with his silver spoon, and answered quietly, "It's my chair. I'm keeping it."

Belle's laughter sang off every rafter in the room. A hundred echoes bounced into his heart.

When their cups and plates were empty, Belle asked "Are you dealing today?"

"No."

"Then you must be spinning. Shall I fetch some straw?"

"Ah, no. Today, you are spinning. You need the practice," he added with sarcasm. He did not mention how well he liked the sight of her at his spinning wheel or how well it soothed his soul, if only he could keep his distance.

"I see. Well then, allow me to clear the dishes," she began as she reached for the bowls.

He held up a finger and chided her, "Ah-ah, I'll do it. You get to work." He snapped his fingers and the dishes were cleaned, washed, dried, and safely nestled back in the kitchen cupboard.

***Belle***

Late in the afternoon, Rumplestiltskin examined the spindle with as much chagrin as Belle. He fingered the material and shook his head with disapproval.

She wrinkled her brow, "That bad?"

He stared at the yarn, "You know, this is an enchanted spinning wheel. But, I didn't think it could make anything quite like...this." He held up a yard of uneven, fraying yarn.

"It's only my second day. I'm getting used to it. At least the line isn't snapping anymore."

"Yes," he murmured, "But, at this rate, I think I'm going to run out of gold before you can spin an even line."

Belle sighed and rested her hand on her hip. "More like I'll run out of wool."

"You might be right, but you're still learning." He took a step back and shot her a smirk. "We can always get more wool; although, I might ask you for a favor. If you're going to deal in groceries next time, get them to throw in a cheese or two."

She threw him a haughty look, "Maybe I will."

Belle smiled, returning to her work at the wheel. Rumple launched into animated reenactment of Belle trading her precious trinkets for rubbish at the market. She sold a gold ring for a half-eaten corn cob, a silk gown for a dirty dish rag, and a vial of perfume for a pail of pig slop. He did a triumphant little dance when he got to the part where Belle exchanged a ruby the size of a plum for a rotten potato.

"Oh, my rotten potato!" he cried in a falsetto voice. "Dear little rotten potato!"

She took no offense at his benign humor, having come face-to-face with the shades of his demonic malice. His lighthearted teasing bore no resemblance to his caustic vitriol.

"You're very funny," she stated from her stool.

Rumplestiltskin stopped his show, snapped his fingers, and dropped into the chair which had appeared near her seat at the wheel. He sighed, "You think so?"

"I do. And I'd wager a gold coin that I'm not the only one."

Placing his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles, he propped his boots on the edge of the wheel's platform. "Then you owe me a gold coin."

"Teach me to spin straw into gold and I'll pay you back faster."

"Never! You'd roam the country trading gold pieces for duck eggs and fruit tarts. You'd flood the economy, drive up inflation, and ruin the kingdom."

"You're right," she agreed with a giggle.

He sighed, "No, dearie, no one thinks I'm funny."

"Because they're too busy being scared. I'd bet—"

"You already owe me one gold coin, care to make it two?" he interrupted.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If they knew you like I do, they would see it."

"And they would laugh," he commented. All the merriment had dropped from his voice.

"Well, yes."

He shook his head slowly, "I don't want them to laugh at me."

"Laugh with you then."

"Or with me. If they laugh, they're not afraid. If they're not afraid, they're not desperate. If they're not desperate, they're not interested in anything I have to offer."

"I see," Belle said quietly. After a minute, she asked cautiously, "Would it be so terrible—not profiting off the misery of others?"

He gave no answer. She tried again, "I mean, you and I get on pretty well, and I'm not afraid of you. If I needed something, I would come to you for help."

His silence troubled her. Was she pressing too much? If she thought he would permit it, she would stop spinning the wheel and sit by his feet with a hand draped over his knee. But, something spoke inside her, Gently, like turning the wheel.

After he had been silent some great while, he said, "People expect me to name a price, and usually I can find something I want."

Like me, she thought to herself. Suddenly, she felt she was back in the small armory, the last stronghold of her childhood home. Marauders had stripped the house of every item of value, save Belle's silk dress, her necklace, and a few books. In the background, she heard the cries of her dying kinsmen against the steady beat of the ogres' war drum. Rumplestiltskin picked her out of the crowd like a child choosing a favorite dessert. She pushed the thought away as he began to speak.

"I've seen what the ogres can do. To a village. A house. A man. A boy. Did I tell you I was in the first Ogre War?"

Belle shook her head. She picked up another handful of wool and overlapped it with the end of the piece she had just spun.

"It wasn't for very long. I ran from the battlefield. Violence like that can turn a man evil from the inside out. It robs wives of their husbands," he paused, choking on his words, "sons of their fathers. The ripping, rending, dripping violence of war. It's ugly. Even uglier than me, if you can believe it. So, I fled and let the ogres break the bodies of the men on the front lines."

Belle wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. Her anger melted away. He was not indifferent to the suffering of war. The drop slid down the angles of her knuckles and fell soundlessly to the floor.

Her voice thick with emotion, she said, "You didn't run the day we needed you."

"I didn't need to. Before I was just a man, but now," he flourished his hand, "I have the power to stop an army with a wave of the hand. I am as much a coward now as I was then."

Belle wanted desperately to ease his guilt. "I don't know that. You could have died beside your brothers that day, but that was not your path. You were meant for something else. You couldn't save those men. Maybe you made a mistake, but we learn from our mistakes

"Perhaps not. Perhaps some of us are doomed to repeat our mistakes. I will always run."

He shook himself a little to clear away the deep reverie of his somber thoughts. Gleeful wickedness crept back into his eyes. "Now, when I kill someone, I find it's far more preferable to turn them into something really useful. Like a stool."

Belle sniffed and looked down at the legs of the wooden stool on which she was seated. Rumplestiltskin pointed and mouthed, "King George's cousin." He gave a weak half-laugh.

She forced a smile, but was quickly overcome with emotion. She excused herself, drew her hand against her bleary eyes, and ran up to her room. He was guilty. His entire life, his very soul, had been the forfeit. Belle hardly knew if she was weeping because of the great anguish he had suffered or the great agony he had caused.

All pain stemmed from the Great Curse. It destroyed life. It made love lame. It cut off hope and cast a shadow of despair over all that was good. The Great Curse had not originated in Rumplestiltskin, but it had enslaved him. It used him as tool to dispense agony, malice, and heartache through the blackened tips of his fingers. She could abandon Rumplestiltskin to the Great Curse, or she could fight back with the only weapon in her arsenal.

As the moon rose in the sky, Belle set her jaw and resolved to break the Great Curse. Despite it all, she would come alongside this man. She refused to let even the darkest truth cripple her love. She would fight the blackness of fear with the flame of love, igniting hope in every corner of her heart, illuminating all that was hidden and good within him. She would cast the darkness into the light, where it could not exist.