In the weeks after their little adventure, Rumplestiltskin had been on several deals, sometimes leaving for an afternoon, sometimes disappearing for more than a day. But Belle had not been asked to join him again. She knew the reason why, she understood the reason why, though that didn't stop it from bothering her. The deal hadn't exactly gone poorly. It had been completed and he had gotten what he wanted out of it. But he had come close to killing a man in front of her, something she hoped to never see again for as long as she lived.

She wasn't quite sure, in the days that followed, if he left her behind because he was worried about her safety or because he didn't want her to see what he sometimes had to do while out there in the world. In their insulated world of the castle she could sometimes forget that he was the Dark One, that he was known for doing terrible things. He treated her kindly, even when in the blackest of moods, and when he was in a good mood, he was at turns courteous, amusing, or sincere.

Since the deal he had taken her on, things between them had become more companionable, though still with the occasional bit of awkwardness. They always had tea in the morning, dinner in the evenings. Sometimes he came looking for her to take tea with him in the afternoon. They talked more, often about nothing but sometimes about his upcoming deals or the politics of the region. He always seemed impressed with her knowledge of things outside the tower she had been locked in for most of her life.

Some evenings they played games, though that happened only on the rare occasion. She discovered quickly that Rumplestiltskin was a bit of a sore loser, getting angry if he couldn't best her at whatever game he chose that night. He usually did beat her, to be fair, but once in awhile she managed to pull some coup and defeat him soundly. Those nights he often left in a sulk and Belle would just shake her head. There were times he was very much a child and she was reminded of her angry sulks over losing to her father when she was young.

She was almost getting used to the freedom of being able to wander the castle when he gave her even more freedom. He had never explicitly forbidden her from going outside on her own, but two days after the deal, two days after she had crossed the threshold that kept them apart and kissed his cheek, he had come to her with packets of seeds for the vegetable garden she had mentioned while on their earlier outing.

The week after that was spent weeding and then tilling the area. By the following week, the seeds had all been planted and it was now just a matter of time before she had some lovely fresh vegetables to go with their magically-created dinners.

Her life at the castle was content, made all the more so for the nights of undisturbed sleep she had been having. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been awakened in the middle of the night by the terrifying screams. She slept well most nights, waking occasionally but never to such sounds.

If she really took the time to examine her feelings, and she wasn't so sure she was comfortable doing that, she was happy there with Rumplestiltskin. She had not expected that when she had first arrived.

That night she woke up sometime after two o'clock and opened her eyes to the quiet darkness. There were still no screams, just the light tapping of the tree against her window. It was strange how that had become such a welcome sound over the months that she had been there. It was almost an old friend now, something she would notice if it were suddenly absent.

She lay in bed for a few moments and then sighed. Sleep had been difficult that night, first eluding her entirely and then, after she finally managed to fall asleep, she found herself waking up nearly every hour on the hour.

It had become too frustrating.

She missed her evenings in the tower with Rumplestiltskin. Ever since the screams had stopped she had not left her room to make the long trek up to the tower room. She wondered if he missed her, if he wondered if she would reappear. Tonight seemed like a good time to go visit and after grabbing her wrap and slippers, she set out to do just that.

It was strange traversing the corridors without feeling the need to rush away from the sounds and shadows. The castle had become familiar, a home to her. Without the hysterical noises, there was no real urgency to her steps. Still, she hurried on ahead, eager to spend the remainder of the evening with Rumplestiltskin.

She wondered when that had happened. Her first trips up were simply because she needed to be with someone, because she was afraid of what those screams were, what they meant. Later, the screams still terrified her, but she knew she would come to no harm and so going to the tower room had just felt like something she did. But this time, she realized she missed his company.

How did that happen? How did he go from being someone she should fear to someone that she wanted to be close to? Admittedly, she had always been drawn to him, even from that first meeting on the hilltop and again during their deal at her father's keep. She didn't know why that was, though there was that pesky prophecy she tried not to think on very often.

When she arrived at the tower room that night, the door did not swing open in front of her as it had so many other nights before. This night she was able to push the door open herself and was surprised to find the room cold and dark, no sign of the sorcerer anywhere in the room. The wheel in the corner was silent, the candles around it snuffed out. She remembered his asking about the times he wasn't at the tower in the middle of the night. But this was the first time she had arrived and found him missing.

Did he actually sleep through the night sometimes? She had begun to wonder if he ever slept, if perhaps whatever he was, whatever this Dark One was, did not require sleep. She crept away from the room, padding down the stairs on silent feet. Perhaps a cup of tea would do her some good. Rumplestiltskin had a wide variety of tea in his pantry, some that helped wake her up in the morning, but she also knew he had some chamomile that might help her be able to fall back to sleep.

It was just moments after stepping into the Great Room that she saw him. Much like in the tower, he was seated at his wheel. But here in the quiet of the main room, surrounded by various remnants of his deals, he sat in darkness. Only the moonlight filtering in through a nearby window illuminated one part of the room.

He was still, one hand on the wheel but not moving it, the other resting in his lap, not even bothering to touch the straw at his side. His head was bowed and she would have thought him asleep if not for the rigid position of his back. As she watched, the hand on the wheel slowly moved, caressing the wood, setting the wheel to a slow spin.

This particular wheel didn't make the creaking noise of the one in the tower room. It slid silently through the wooden base, creating a slight variation in the light as it moved in its circle through the moonlight. His head lifted slightly and while she couldn't see his eyes, she well imagined him watching the wheel. He always watched it. Every night that she had been in the tower room she had studied him as his eyes had followed the track of the wheel.

The motion generally seemed to soothe him but this night, as he sat at the wheel unobserved, she wasn't so sure it was doing that. The hand resting on his thigh formed into a fist. His body shifted, a slight sigh that was easier to see without the layers of the leather coat that seemed to be his protection against the world.

Here he looked like a man, like any other, but the lines of his body were lines of pain. She often felt there was something deep there inside him, a pain full of brittle edges and glass. There was a sadness there, so much so that even in their lighter moments she could see it just behind his eyes.

Sometimes she ached looking at him.

As she watched him slump once more, she took another step into the room. She was still silent, the room still quiet, but something in her movement must have alerted him to his presence. She wondered often if his senses were heightened as a part of his magic. He seemed to notice so much more than she did, as if he were constantly on alert.

His head shot up and she could see him scanning the dark until his eyes finally fell on her. "Belle." Her name was said so quietly, just a whisper in the darkness.

"I couldn't sleep," she said by way of explanation. He didn't move from the wheel, but neither did he start to turn it again. As she walked closer, he tilted his head slightly to the side, watching as she drew near. From close up, she could see his brow wrinkle slightly.

"Are you alright?" He had honestly been worried about her since the incident with the sheriff in the forest. The man had been a cad but ultimately he had not hurt her, had only spoken words that she found uncomfortable, made a suggestion she found horrifying. But he had not physically harmed her. Rumplestiltskin had made sure of that.

Sometimes she wondered if his worry about her stemmed not out of what could have occurred but what did occur. He didn't seem particularly contrite over his almost killing the sheriff, but there had been something in the way he'd spoken to her since that day that was different than before.

She took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes I'm fine." She tried to smile. "You weren't in your tower."

He was silent for a moment. "No." He gave her an odd look. "You heard the screams again?" And he seemed somewhat surprised at that.

Belle shook her head. "No screams. I haven't heard them in awhile…"

"How long?" He leaned forward into the light from the window and there was a strange sort of intensity in his gaze that even the darkness could not hide.

She hadn't really been paying attention. It was one of those things that was only noticed in the longer term. She was used to going a day or two or even a week without hearing the screams, but this time it had been much longer. Just how long? "I think…not since before we went on the deal."

His eyebrows rose and he retreated back into the shadows.

"What?" She took a step forward, following him into the darkness. When silence was all she received, she spoke again. "Please. Tell me." He turned his head away from her, his back stiffening slightly, hands clasped in his lap.

She knelt at his side, reached up her hand to grasp his. He didn't pull away, though he also didn't shift, didn't grip her hand back. "Please," she whispered. "If I am never to know another person, can't I at least know you?"

He remained still, and she watched his eyes close, a muscle twitch in his jaw. And then finally he spoke, the words quiet in the echoing room. "I dream…many nights…of my son." He didn't turn to look at her and she squeezed his hand. "Sleep eludes me often. I go to the tower."

"And you spin…"

"It helps me forget."

"There is much to forget." Somehow she knew there was. The loss of his son was a huge part of it, but not all. His answering silence was all she needed as proof.

"But you came down here for something else?" he asked.

Belle released his hand, her hand coming down to rest lightly on his knee. "I came looking for tea," she said with a sheepish look.

He gave a small laugh. "And you found an old monster languishing in the darkness."

"You're not a monster," she was quick to respond with. She wondered when she had first started to believe that. The stories she had read of him, second hand accounts though most were, had led her to believe he was. It was why she had dealt with him for her own safety, because if the stories were to be believed, she would not be safe with him otherwise. He had seemed offended that first day, when she suggested her safety be included, as if he felt that there was no need to make sure of such things.

It had surprised her then.

It no longer did.

She did not lie when she said he was not a monster.

"Well, who am I to stand between a woman and her tea?" He gestured with one hand. "Don't let me stop you from getting what you desire."

"What I desire," she murmured, and she wasn't quite sure what that was. She stood then, using his knee as leverage to get herself back to her feet, and then released him entirely. He seemed to breathe deeply then, a strange sort of sigh, a release of tension she didn't even know was there. "Will you join me?" She held out a hand to him.

He did not answer at first, simply staring at her hand, still hidden in the dark by his wheel.

"Neither of us can sleep. It seems the least we could do is share a cup of midnight tea." She smiled at him and was surprised to see hers returned with a tremulous one of his own.

"That's not the worst idea you've had." She was glad to hear a little bit of the teasing note return to his voice.

"I daresay it may be the best. Come then." She offered her hand once more, gratified when he slid his hand into hers and rose from his seat. He didn't need her for balance, not really at least, but still used that leverage for the first few steps toward the kitchen.

He dropped it as they moved off and she felt strangely bereft at losing the contact with him. Belle couldn't say she had ever been someone who craved contact with others. Oh she enjoyed being with others and she had frequently given her father a hug on his way out of the room, but she hadn't ever spent much time thinking about the need for contact. What had been there had been enough.

With Rumplestiltskin, she thought about those things. When he was in his dark moods she wanted to hold him, wanted to run her fingers through his hair and help him feel better. She wanted to be the one to bring him out of those moods, to make him smile again. She never did. She touched him only rarely for even those occasional touches seemed to startle him. She was worried that too much might cause him to pull away.

So far he hadn't. He seemed to welcome those small touches with wide eyes and a small half smile. But he never seemed to get used to them. And he never reached out to her.

He must have reached out to someone once. He had a son, so there must have been a mother, perhaps a wife. Was he a normal man at that time? Or was he as he was now?

Shaking her head, Belle set to making tea. It was something familiar to do, occupied her hands while her mind wandered across topics that were better left unexplored.

"The nights you have the dreams," Belle began with, setting the pot of water into the holder above the fire. "And you go to the tower…"

"Yes?" His voice sounded strained.

"I come there every night?"

He seemed somewhat surprised. "What are you asking?"

"Just that." She dropped the tea leaves into the strainer, waiting for the water to come to a boil.

"Yes. You are always there." He turned away from her and pulled out one of the benches at the small table there. Seating himself, he plucked at the sleeves of his shirt, smoothed down the vest he wore. Belle studied him as he fidgeted. He wasn't wearing the heavy leather coat over the outfit. Without that bit of armor to protect him he looked smaller, more fragile. She knew he could crush her with a flick of his wrist, had seen him do nearly that to the sheriff, but she also knew he wouldn't.

And it was about more than just their deal.

"Belle, the nights you hear the screams?"

"Yes?" she asked when he seemed not quite willing to continue the line of questioning.

"You always come to the tower?"

She nodded before realizing he wasn't looking at her. "Yes. It feels…safer…there."

"They scare you? The screams?" His brow furrowed as he looked up at her. Belle walked closer, sliding in on the bench next to him.

"They did at first," she admitted, remembering the terror of that first night. "But then, no. I don't think so. They make me sad."

"Why?"

She had to think about that for a moment. The first night she had been unable to really hear anything in the screams, could discern nothing through her fear. But as they kept happening, she started to realize what she really heard in the screams was anguish, the sort of sadness that overtook everything a person was and left them wailing in pain. "They weren't screams exactly. It sounded like someone was in pain, terrible pain. The likes of which I could not imagine."

He sighed and Belle started to reach out a hand toward him. The kettle chose that moment to let her know the water was boiling and so instead she leapt up and finished making their tea.

"You're still using the chipped cup." The words were somewhat accusatory, yet amused at the same time.

He reached out and snatched the cup from her hands. "I like it. It has character."

"It's broken," she pointed out.

"But it's mine," he answered with, holding the cup somewhat protectively against his chest.

"It is that." She poured their tea and sat back down on the bench next to him. "Do you know where these screams are coming from?"

He stiffened at the words and she knew he had been hoping to steer the conversation away from that topic. "I think I do."

Belle waited. If he didn't want to talk about it, he'd leave. It wouldn't be the first time something uncomfortable came up between them and he walked out or disappeared into the mist of his magic. She still remembered his sending her away via magic when she had offered to help find his son.

His son…

The dreams were of his son. The dreams sent him to the tower.

"These dreams, the ones about your son?" She scooted a little bit closer to him, put her hand on his leg, a small bit of comfort she could offer him.

"Yes." His voice was tense.

"They're not dreams, are they?" It was all starting to make sense, everything coming together. "They're nightmares." And she knew she was right. Even without feeling his leg tense beneath her hand, even without seeing the muscle twitch in his jaw, she knew she was right.

"Yes."

"The screams then, the anguish…it's yours." He stayed silent and she slipped over a bit further, until her leg came into contact with his. One hand came up without her really thinking about it, and lightly touched his face, coming to tangle in his hair. The wild curls were as soft as she thought they would be and her hand wound into them easily.

He turned to look at her then, the first time he had since the beginning of this conversation. He was close, so close, those otherworldly, almost reptilian eyes boring into hers from mere inches away. He leaned just a fraction of an inch closer to her. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." The words came out in a whisper and they were the honest truth. She had no idea what she was doing, but she wanted to do it anyway. As she leaned in closer, she pulled him to her. He came easily, no resistance, still that furrow between his eyebrows.

She touched her lips to his. Gently, tentatively. She had never been kissed before and never even attempted to kiss someone. This was the first time she wanted to. He froze and for a moment she was afraid she had done it all wrong, had done some sort of irreparable damage to whatever this was that was forming between them.

And then his lips moved, his hands came up to tangle in her hair. He tilted her head to the side, his mouth opening slightly as his tongue came out to taste her. Belle gasped at the sensation and he took advantage, dipping his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers.

She had never felt such a thing, never imagined she would feel such a thing. Just as she was wrapping her arms around his neck, clinging close to him, he ripped himself away. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her, not ungently, further away from him.

For a moment he said nothing, his erratic breathing matching her own. He slid away from her, putting a bit of distance between their bodies. "Go back to bed Belle." She flinched at his quiet words.

"Rumplestiltskin…I…" She had no idea what to say. I'm sorry. I think I love you. I want you to kiss me again…

"Just go." He raised one hand, pointed at the doorway.

Belle glanced down at her half-drunk cup of tea, touched her lips, and then she stood. She took a couple steps toward the door before speaking again. "Please. Don't send me away." And she didn't know if she meant at that moment or if she meant permanently.

He pointed more emphatically at the doorway and with all the dignity she could muster she swept out of the room. She paused, however, at the doorway and looked back at him.

Rumplestiltskin, the great monster of the Dark Castle, was slumped over the table, his head in his hands, a soft broken sound escaping him. She wanted to go back to him, oh how she did. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him close as the emotions washed over him. But she didn't. Instead, she left as soundlessly as possible, hoping to leave him with some dignity intact.