She didn't remember falling asleep, but Belle was thankful for the familiar voice calling to her before she had time to be alarmed by someone standing over her. "Hmmm?" she mumbled, curling further into the warm blanket around her.
"Belle," he called again, more insistent, long fingers cupping her cheek.
Blinking in the dim room, her eyes struggled to focus, to place herself. "Rumple?"
"Right here," he assured, his thumb stroking against her cheek. "Hey, there we go."
Her eyes finally focused, and she glanced around. It was a room. She was … still in his home. A foggy memory was floating to the surface from earlier—she'd stayed here. But she wasn't in their room. "Tired," she sighed, vaguely recalling a trip down the stairs to this little front parlor. But she remembered sunlight and a warm, soft place, and it was dark now. Thunder rumbled, and she frowned. "'time's it?"
"Mid-afternoon," he answered easily, perching on the cushion beside her, his hip against hers. It was warm, and she decided she wanted to be closer to the warmth. "I'm all wet, sweetheart," he protested, though he continued the little stroke of his thumb against her cheek. "I should change, and we should eat something, hmm?"
She shrugged and didn't even try to hide the yawn, her eyes already half closing.
"Have you eaten anything?" he asked as he shed his jacket.
"The muffin you left," Belle answered lazily, swallowing at the roughness of her voice and scowling.
It was his turn to frown now, but he didn't push her. "Water?"
"Had a glass," she answered, feeling herself on the edge of sleep again. It had nagged at her off and on, and today it was simply easier to give in. Archie had told her, after all, to make time for herself. To be kind to herself.
"I'm calling the doctor—"
Before she could get herself up again or protest, there was a loud chiming sound that had her heart racing. Rain poured in sheets against the window, and another crash of thunder all but negated the second round of chimes.
His hand squeezed her shoulder gently. "It's the doorbell, to tell us there's a visitor," came the stiff answer, but she could see the way his fingers curled tightly around the handle of his cane. "Wait here, I'll be back shortly."
Her eyes followed him as he made his way back to the entrance, and she could hear the drone of the rain intensify along with raised voices. Man and woman and Rumple. When the voices rose again, she finally pushed herself to her feet, one hand clutching onto the sofa for support and the other pulling the blanket around her. She wasn't really fit to be seen—she'd changed into a pair of his warmer pajamas this morning and snagged his robe, craving the warmth and familiar scent of him. She wasn't wearing a proper corset or whatever he had called women's underthings from this world. But she wasn't sitting here, either.
Tugging the robe and blankets more modestly around her, Belle shuffled toward the entrance. He'd turned on the lights in here, and she squinted at the brightness.
The man was tall, and had a certain boyish look about him. He seemed to be busy attempting to diffuse the situation. The woman was smaller, delicate looking, and it surprised Belle to realize the woman was actually taller than herself. Despite her appearance and the curiously short cropped hair, this woman was resilient.
"—he's a child! You can't possibly expect…" her words trailed off, and the woman shifted, attempting to look past Rumple to see get a better glimpse of Belle.
Rumplestiltskin stiffened and finally glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be there in a moment," he said, as though urging her out of sight again.
"What's going on?" she asked, wincing at the roughness of her voice. One hand came up to self consciously tuck a wild curl over her shoulder.
"They were just leaving," Rumplestiltskin answered quickly, gesturing toward the door.
"Leave Henry alone, Gold," the woman all but sneered, taking another step forward.
"I was merely sitting in my shop, going about my business," came the cold answer. Belle could feel the anger coming from all of them.
The woman's head shook. "Stay out of it, then. She's caused us enough trouble—"
"He asked me to help her," he ground out, "And I made no such promises. Keep the boy out of my way, and I'll gladly stay out his—"
Belle took another step forward, still behind him but better able to see. A memory was edging it was way forward, and Belle froze for long moments, torn between exploring it and rejecting it. "I know you," Belle managed, swallowing hard, each word costing her. "We… we've met before, somewhere…"
"Where are they? Let me out!" she shouted, pacing the room. Her fingers pried at the slat, trying to catch the bottom, to urge it up. There was a single rectangle offering a view, and she knew the view of the hallway with its monotone wall. The hall that led where?
She shouted until her voice cracked, until it gave out. Her hands were bruised from banging against the door, one of the few parts that wasn't fully padded. She'd stood on the firm bench that served as a bed, straining at the window that wasn't really a window. She'd stood on her toes until the muscles in her feet and calves ached, fingers feeling everwhere, seeking out a latch, pounding in frustration.
Someone had finally come, hours later, when she had fallen asleep and then woke to try shouting again. There were so many words, three people—the most that she'd ever seen together—holding her down, the sharp pain of a needle. She was a danger to herself. It was all in her mind. Relax, it's not real…
"—she should lay down," the woman was insisting, sidling up to Belle and wrapping an arm around her, guiding her toward the drawing room that adjoined to the kitchen.
Rumplestiltskin was at her other side in a moment, cupping her elbow and giving the woman a glare. "I can manage this myself, perhaps you should go tend to your own matters and stay out of mine."
"Woah, she's just trying to help," the taller man protested.
"You're the ones intruding on my home," Rumplestiltskin countered, drawing her close to him, pinning her close.
"We came to talk," the man was saying, stepping into the room, toward them.
The hands around her arms were too much, too, and she trembled again, wriggling between them. "S-stop!" Belle protested, wrenching herself free and pushing at both of them. There were too many people, too close, and her chest tightened in fear when hands were on her shoulders. Someone was talking, trying to coax her, but she wouldn't hear. Her arms came up, pulling away, pushing off the hands. "Stop!"
She took a ragged breath, the feeling of tightness still there, making her struggle for more air. "No, no more," she rasped, vision blurring with tears and feeling dizzy again as she backed up. The backs of her knees hit something solid, and she sat too quickly, panicked when she felt something against her back.
"Go away," she rasped, hands coming up over her head, eyes burning with tears. Her hand flailed in the direction of the others, warning them off. "I want to go," she begged. "Stop!"
Her body was shaking again, and no matter how Belle tried to hug herself with one arm, to make it stop, it wouldn't. She gasped in another lungful of air, chest tightening for one horrifying moment, before she coughed and rasped again.
"Sweetheart, please, slow down, it's alright." The voice was calling to her, something familiar in it, and she shivered, trying to listen.
But it was a chiming, some strange cacophony of notes, that finally brought her back to the moment. One hand came up, and she rubbed hard at her eyes, wanting to cry again when she saw him, Rumple, leaning on the arm of the sofa. Her other hand reached for his arm, grasping on like a lifeline. "I… it wasn't real?" she asked brokenly, sniffling and giving a quick glance to the other two people, who had retreated by the fireplace, the woman with the phone to her ear.
Her breath caught again, the horrible tightness was back, coiling around her. She clutched and her chest, finding nothing there, but the desperation for air was rising again. It was all around her. Belle could feel it, but she couldn't get enough of it in her.
"Here, right here," he was calling, louder than usual, pulling her hand to his chest. "It's alright," he assured, letting her hands capture his. "Feel it? You're alright, sweetheart, breathe with me," he begged. Dark, concerned eyes peered down at her, and he was so still, only his chest lifting and falling slowly. They were both waiting, she realized, waiting to see if she would shatter with the next touch, the next word.
His hand helped to ground her, to feel this solid something. To know she wasn't imagining this. The tight band fought for her attention, tight in her chest and making her rasp for breath—the horror that this might not be real, either.
"Hey, Belle," he called, voice pitched just loudly enough to break the moment of panic. His other hand gently cupped her face, the way it had when he woke her. His eyes met hers, and he gave a little nod. "It's alright."
She nodded, not trying to fight the tears streaking down her face. For the life of her, she couldn't say why she was crying right now, and she wasn't going to try. Feeling his chest rise and fall again, she finally hiccupped and gasped in a deep lungful of air. A second and third followed, the trembling easing. "I don't feel well," she finally managed to admit.
"I'll bet not," came his warm brogue, the concern in his voice, strangely, was calming. "Why don't you lie down? I'll call Hopper, yes?"
It was easy to comply, and she relaxed as his hands helped guide her to curl up on the sofa. Her spot in the parlor had been warmer, but she was sure it wouldn't be any more. And besides, moving would take too much effort. Her body felt heavy again, and the aches that crept in during the day were now in full force.
She didn't really hear much of the conversation he was having with Archie, and she was past caring right now. Someone had started a fire at last, and Belle was distantly aware of the warmth starting to reach her, although she realized some of the warmth was also because the woman had draped a quilt over her and was handing over a cup of tea.
"I think you've done quite enough," Rumplestiltskin finally spoke to the couple who had taken to the edge of the entry again. "You certainly know where the door is. I trust you can see yourselves out."
Thunder rumbled through the house again, and if the drone wasn't heard before, once the man opened the door it was clear that going anywhere was out of the question. Rain poured in thick sheets, hail pounding into the world outside.
With a glare, he pointed furiously toward the front parlor, taking a seat on the sofa beside Belle. Though the phone was at his ear, Belle could hear the steady ringing. She wasn't sure, later, exactly when she gave into exhaustion.
