A/N: This one came to me from my own theory that half of Rumpel's behavior in FT land is an act or exaggeration on his part. A way of playing the beast, so to speak. I also wanted to explore the idea of Belle getting to know the real Rumpel while living in the Dark Castle. Shout-outs go to orthankg1, Grace5231973, NinaGold, crazykat77, SparrowsFlight, and CharlotteAshmore for their reviews.

The more Belle came to know Rumpelstiltskin, the more she realized that ninety percent of his impish behavior was an act. When dealing with his customers, he was prone to acting mysterious, sinister, stalking about them like a vulture to prey. It was the way he had behaved the night she first met him, when she agreed to go away with him to his castle.

Now she knew the truth.

It was an illusion. A cleverly constructed mask meant to scare people off, to prevent them from getting too close. The people he dealt with expected him to be menacing, merciless, monstrous. So naturally he played the part, always giving them what they wanted. With time, perhaps he had come to believe it.

Belle didn't understand why he desired to push people away. Was he afraid that someone might peek under the mask and recoil from the real man underneath? Was he afraid that doing so, allowing someone in, would only lead to tragedy and heartache? Did he think he was undeserving of such care?

She knew his impish nature was an act because he eventually dropped it after months of sharing his castle with her. It became too tedious to keep up the ruse. He never stalked around her, never even wandered too close to her if he could help it. He never resorted to cruel punishment if she accidentally broke something or carried on reading when she was supposed to be tending to her duties. He certainly never harmed her or defiled her as most people in her kingdom likely assumed. When he spoke, it wasn't with a strained, unsettling voice. It was...rather normal.

With each passing day, she could almost imagine the man he had once been.

The hard evidence of his act occurred one early morning, when she set out to perform her chores. Making her way into the dining hall, she found him standing in front of a full-length mirror. Lingering on the threshold, she observed him quietly for a moment. He was making odd choking sounds punctuated with that high-pitched squeal of laughter he often made during his dealings. Occasionally, he would shift the sound of his laughter, allowing it to rise or descend in volume and pitch.

It was then that she understood what he was doing.

He was practicing. Mastering the technique of his high-pitched laughter as one might master the skill of horseback riding or swordfighting. He released a shrill cackle that resembled the cry of a sheep.

"Ooh, that's a better one. I can use that..." He murmured to himself, his fingers tented under his nose.

"What are you doing?"

Belle ventured further into the room, until her sky-blue reflection showed in the mirror. He whirled around, nearly toppling backward and into the mirror in fright. Quickly he draped the thick velvet cloth over the mirror. Even from where she was standing, a few feet behind him, she could see his fingers trembling and clutching the cloth a little too tight.

"That, dearie, is an excellent way to get turned into a roasted chicken," he scolded. Belle didn't take any offense. She glided across the floor to stand by his side, gazing up at him pointedly. "I...I'm practicing."

Her shoulders sank. No matter how hard she attempted to hold his gaze, he stubbornly avoided it. Suddenly it was clear to her how ashamed he was of his insecurities. Even someone as powerful as the Dark One had faults.

"Why?" He pursed his golden-gray lips and did not answer. Her hand dared to cup his cheek. A gasp shuddered through his body. He flinched, but did not pull away from her tender touch. "You don't want people getting too close."

He took a step back, his body bumping into the mirror. All that was left for her hand to cup was air. Her fingers furled into her palm and she let her hand drop back to her side.

"Why do you insist on getting too close?" He remarked defensively. Belle smiled sadly. That was the protection of his mask she'd come to recognize. He felt safe behind it, his true nature guarded by impenetrable walls. She was determined to chip it, just like that delicate teacup.

"Let me hear your real laugh," she demanded. He carefully licked his lips, uncertain about whether to obey. It would mean surrendering the mask and letting her glimpse the man underneath.

"Give me something to laugh about," he challenged. Belle pondered over what might make the Dark One laugh. She didn't know many worthy jokes off the top of her head. However, she did have one trick that seemed to work on everyone in the kingdom. Every child, anyway.

She stepped closer to Rumpelstiltskin. He pressed himself flat against the mirror, giving her a wary look. Then her fingers attacked, scrambling over his chest, waist, under his arms, every spot she knew children to be ticklish. Sure enough, his body writhed against the mirror and peals of laughter flew from his open mouth. This wasn't the high-pitched shriek he practiced in the mirror; this laughter was warm, deep, natural.

"Ah, ooh, ah! Belle, stop! Please! I...can't...take it!"

His mask had broken wide open, euphoria leaking through the cracks. Laughter bellowed up from his throat, his chest puffed in and out rapidly, tears soaked his cheeks. Desperate to make it stop, he gently caught her wrists. Belle smiled victoriously nonetheless. Who ever knew that the Dark One was a child at heart?

"No one...ever...tickles the Dark One...and gets away with it," he panted heavily. His voice had yet to revert to its impish quality, his accent splendidly thick and drizzling over her head like melted butter. It sent a tendril of excitement springing from her head to her toes.

"No one has ever tickled the Dark One, period," she said. He tilted his head admirably.

"Fair point. I suppose I should give you credit for being the first." He released her wrists and wiped his palms on his leather pants, as if paranoid about being infected simply by touching her. Then he pointed toward her face with one long, golden finger. "But no more!"

Belle nodded in agreement. She figured that was another good way to get turned into a roasted chicken, assuming he ever lost control of his magic during a fit of laughter.

"I like your laugh. Your real one," she told him. Then she headed off to complete her early morning chores, with Rumpelstiltskin staring after her in awe. From that day on, he only ever used his real laugh in the Dark Castle.

...