He had been the one to cast her out, but it left a hole in his heart. No matter how many times he told himself it was no use regretting the (self-inflicted) wound, Rumplestiltskin knew he was lying to himself.
Dove never said a word of reproach — was even more laconic than ever — but he didn't need to.
Rumplestiltskin tried not to think about it (about her). He told himself he was well rid of a spy and a distraction. It would be absurd to miss her! It had been a mistake from beginning to end. No one had touched him in years. No one would ever want to. Anything he imagined in a warm smile or a gentle hand was no more than self-deception.
Why did he feel so empty, then? He could barely find enough energy to drag himself out of bed after a night of haunted sleep. He withdrew from the world as a shroud of darkness seemed to close around him. Only the reminder that his son was still waiting for his papa kept him to some semblance of activity, though his focus was shot to hell, and not even spinning helped. He kept seeing her ghost in the corner of his eye, watching him — a silent, impossible illusion.
When the bell rang to announce a visitor, Rumplestiltskin couldn't stop his traitorous heart from leaping even as he raced to the door.
It wasn't her. That was all he could think of, until the man standing on the doorstep shifted uneasily from foot to foot and cleared his throat. Rumplestiltskin blinked slowly, recovering his wits enough to sneer, "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."
The man shot him a pleading look. "Rumple-bumple..."
"What, employment under the Evil Queen not the golden opportunity you hoped it would be?" Rumplestiltskin twirled a hand in emphasis. "The clue's in the name — she didn't earn it by feeding widows and orphans."
"Feeding them to the Dark, maybe," the other muttered under his breath.
"You see my point. Why are you here, Jefferson?"
"Come on, Rumplestiltskin, don't be like that. We had a good thing going."
"Which you threw away to chase a dream of romance." He reminded himself that he despised romance. It was all a lie to manipulate the gullible. The Dark One was not so foolish as to fall into that trap.
"To marry the woman I love."
Rumplestiltskin let out a derisive grunt, even as he felt a stab of painful memory. Love was a disease that rotted away good sense before it withered and died, leaving the victim more alone than ever. But he was a monster. Love had never been in the cards for him. Then again, Jefferson was different — he hadn't traded away his humanity for power. Rumplestiltskin couldn't begrudge the man a chance at happiness. "Then you should have persuaded her to move."
"It's her home."
And unlike the Dark One, Jefferson wasn't going to simply uproot a woman from her home. "So? Why come to me now?"
"Because she's pregnant. And... Regina may be the Evil Queen, but there are also good people in Misthaven, people my wife won't abandon. So." Jefferson met his eyes. "We can help each other again."
"What did you have in mind?"
Marriage had turned the engineer into a revolutionary, it seemed. And though it had never been the priority in his research, the Dark One had over the years accumulated an armory's worth of weapons and dangerous projects that could be turned into weapons. He had more than enough to supply Jefferson's wife's conspiracy to overthrow the Evil Queen. Jefferson tried to talk him into a more active alliance, which Rumplestiltskin refused point-blank.
"You don't want me to open that door, dearie. They don't call this planet the 'Threshold of Night' for nothing."
"Fine." Jefferson sighed. "Let's see what you've got stashed away."
Later.
"The brain worms are new."
Rumplestiltskin didn't want to explain that it had been Belle's attempts at gardening that had inspired him in their creation (not that she would have approved). "Take the lot." He didn't want to look at them and be reminded of her.
"Hmm." Jefferson packed the jars away, but his gaze lingered on the Dark One.
"What?" Rumplestiltskin snapped.
"So what's eating you, old bean? You're being even more of an ass than usual."
Rumplestiltskin glowered. Jefferson waited. In the end, Jefferson inveigled the sorry tale out of him.
The man had the sense not to laugh too blatantly in his face. "So that's how it is. Who'd have thought...?"
Rumplestiltskin grunted. "Forget it. It changes nothing." He shooed Jefferson to the door. "You have what you want. Try not to get yourself killed."
"Are you sure you won't—"
"No! Scram."
The next visitor was even less welcome.
"Where is that miserable bastard?" The Evil Queen marched past him down the corridor without waiting for an answer. "Jefferson!"
Rumplestiltskin regretted ever allowing her into the Dark Castle. He gritted his teeth against the nearly overwhelming desire to throttle her. He could do it as a favor to Jefferson...
"If he thinks he can just hole up in this rat's nest..."
"No." Alas, he had bound himself to strict rules about whom he permitted himself to murder. Regina had so far kept herself outside those bounds, and he had too tenuous a grasp on his remaining humanity to risk breaking his own strictures. Besides, he couldn't help hoping that she might mention—
"No?" She stopped to give him a long look.
"He's not here." No, better not to even think about it.
Instead of leaving, she invited herself in for a drink, undeterred by the messy state of the kitchen and dining hall. It was a lonely place these days, and Rumplestiltskin couldn't be bothered to clean up the dirty dishes piled everywhere.
"This place is a dump," said Regina. She ran a finger along the edge of a table and grimaced at the results. "I can see why you would have trouble retaining employees."
"What do you want, Regina?" Whatever deal she was here to make, the sooner done, the better. Rumplestiltskin ignored the pathetic part of him that wanted to ask—
"Missing your pretty assistant?" The Evil Queen smirked knowingly.
Rumplestiltskin scowled. He wouldn't ask.
"What was her name? Margie? Verna?"
"Belle." The name escaped through his teeth before he could stop it.
"Right." Regina moved into the kitchen, opening cabinets and tutting at the lack of clean glassware.
"Your little deception failed," Rumplestiltskin snarled, following close on her heels. "You'll never be more powerful than me. You're never going to beat me."
"Now, now, don't take it so personally." The Evil Queen's voice dripped with insincerity as she added, "Granted, it didn't work out so well for the poor girl, but you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy."
Rumplestiltskin glared, knowing he was being baited, but he still had to ask. "What tragedy?"
"Oh, you didn't hear?" Regina's eyes gleamed with relish at having one over on him. She turned away from the cabinets and gave up all pretense of pouring herself a drink.. "She insisted on returning to Avonlea, so naturally I indulged her. But after her stay here — her association with you — she was suspect. Shunned."
Rumplestiltskin froze. His knuckles went white where his fingers clawed the edge of the table. The taint of darkness. Your darkness. What did you expect?
Regina continued remorselessly, "Her father turned her in to Earthgov for decontamination."
"...decontamination." He knew what that meant, but Belle was strong. Surely—
"I'm afraid she didn't make it."
"You're lying." He sounded uncertain even to his own ears. It had to be a lie. But he knew how few survived the cleansing process, and doubt wormed its way into his heart.
"Am I? Looks like you need a new assistant." Even as she spoke, Regina had the sense to retreat from the rising tide of dark power that threatened to engulf them.
"Get out!" His voice rose, betraying far too much. Darkness blurred his vision. He forced his anger into safer channels. A plate crashed against the wall, narrowly missing Regina's head. He reached for another one and flung it after the first. He barely noticed when she was gone, smashing everything in reach, the violence drowning out his inner turmoil.
When he could see again, when the blood stopped pounding in his ears, when there was nothing left to smash except for the chipped mug in his hand, he... stopped. Breathed. Closed his eyes for a long, long moment. Oh, Belle. I'm sorry.
He went to the sink and washed and dried the mug with the gentleness he had denied Belle. He saw in his mind's eye her face when he drove her away.
Regret was futile. He had wronged her. He had ruined everything.
Rumplestiltskin knew he had to look. No matter that it was too late, that she had hated him at the end. He had to know. He hacked into the Earthgov records.
It was all true.
She was dead. Regret was futile, but it was all he had.
Captivity had a routine. Belle didn't realize how much she had come to rely on it until it changed. The serving girl stopped coming. No one answered Belle's questions. A different girl showed up two days later, one who avoided her gaze and pretended not to hear her pleas. Belle was no longer subjugated to the 'therapy' sessions. It should have been a relief, but the shift filled her with a vague terror. Had the Evil Queen slated her for execution after all?
Regina came in once to look upon her, her face unreadable behind her customary smirk.
Belle huddled in the corner of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering. She wanted desperately to speak, but words eluded her. Then the Evil Queen was gone again, the opportunity lost. She stared at the ragged rows of tally marks scratched into the wall. A day was a day was a day, but she couldn't remember from one to the next if she had made a mark or forgotten, or done it twice or thrice over.
Night came and she heard muffled voices outside her prison. The heavy boots of the Black Knights trampling over the sound of someone lighter, running away. Shouting.
More days passed, blurring one into another. The servant changed yet again. Once she woke to the sound of gunfire and the bone-chilling rumble of sonic weapons. The walls shook. Terrified that the building was about to collapse, Belle shot out of bed and pounded on the door, screaming to be let out.
No one answered.
Hands bruised and painfully throbbing, she crept back to bed hours later. The world outside had gone silent again.
Three nights later, a stranger opened the door. Not one of the Black Knights, but still clad in black, with a dark gray cravat around his neck and a pistol in his right hand. For one heart-stopping moment, Belle thought, This is it. They're going to kill me. She shrank beneath her blanket, irrationally hoping to be overlooked. Maybe it's a mistake. Go away...
Then the stranger met her eyes and the illusion shattered. "You're Belle?"
Belle swallowed, the involuntary dip of her head giving her away. "Who... who are you?"
"My name is Jefferson," he said. "Come with me."
She stared at him wordlessly. When she didn't move, he reached out to take her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Wait..."
"There's no time. It's not safe here." He gestured at her to put on her shoes (slippers, really, assigned to her along with her drab prison pajamas).
Still lost in a fog of confusion, Belle let Jefferson lead her outside. Her legs felt weak, her weight almost too much for them to bear. She hadn't left the room in weeks. A Black Knight sat on the floor in the corridor outside, back against the wall and legs outstretched, head lolling. Jefferson hurried her past. She dug in her heels. "Is... is he dead?"
Jefferson shook his head. "That's for the committee to decide."
"Committee?" Belle fought free of Jefferson's grip, not trusting his intentions.
"Never mind that. Come on." He reached impatiently for her arm again, but she shied away. He stilled, then, and looked at her. This time, when he spoke, it was slow and precise, as if intoning a password to a glitchy interface. "Rumplestiltskin."
"He sent you?" The question burst out of her in a flare of hope, extinguished at the quick shake of his head.
"He doesn't know." But something in Jefferson's expression rekindled her belief enough to pick up her feet and follow him.
He led her through a door into a dark, deserted courtyard. Blinded for a moment by a swirl of cold air, she blinked to see him holding a top hat, smooth and pitch black against the night. Then he flung it to the ground with a twist of his wrist that sent it spinning in place. A pulse of energy shot outwards from the center of the hat, engulfing them in an unnatural vortex.
Light and heat returned. They stood inside a circular chamber with some two dozen closed doors in every direction.
Belle looked around in bewilderment. "Are we... inside your hat?"
"The finest piece of dimensional engineering on Sumaya, if I do say so myself." Jefferson strode towards one of the doors. "This is the one you want."
Belle eyed the door in question. "It is?" How could he know what she wanted when she hardly knew herself?
"Make sure you tell him Regina locked you up." He opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing at Belle to go through.
A seething darkness loomed on the other side, whispering of an incomprehensible hunger.
Belle scrambled away, heart pounding. "Are you insane? That's... that's..."
"A static passage through nullspace. Perfectly safe."
Nullspace is never perfectly safe, came a voice out of memory. Belle shook her head. "Then you go first!"
With an exasperated hiss, Jefferson reached for her wrist. He gave her a long look, then stepped through the doorway. Belle had only a moment to balk before he yanked her through after him.
An arctic wind blasted through the flimsy fabric of her clothes and she gasped at the shock of a cold far deeper than that outside her prison. That, more than anything, convinced her of the truth of Jefferson's claim, that they had crossed miles in a single step through nullspace. She shivered uncontrollably, wrapping her arms around herself and ducking her head against the wind.
"It's just ahead. Best get a move on before hypothermia sets in," advised Jefferson. He draped an oversized coat over her shoulders."Good luck!"
"Wait!"
"Sorry. Can't stay. My family is in Misthaven." Then he stepped into a gap in reality and was gone.
Fighting back a wave of panic, Belle squinted against the icy air. Just ahead? Yes. Lights. Artificial. She started forward, then broke into a jog, numb fingers clutching at the edges of the coat to hold it closed. The ground stabbed at her feet, ice and snow in a thin layer soaking into her slippers as she ran. She forced herself to keep moving.
Then she was there.
A door that she almost remembered. A trembling hand lifted, pressed the button for the doorbell. Then she waited. Finally, tried again. A third time. Another wait. And then a line of light — the door cracked open, a voice abruptly audible, shouting.
"I told you, I have no interest in starting a war..." The words cut off abruptly as a pair of black-rimmed inhuman eyes met hers. Even his breath seemed to stop.
Belle's voice shook as she scraped out the name. "Rumplestiltskin..."
His eyes went even wider. He reached out a trembling hand to touch her shoulder. He whispered in shock, "You're real. You're alive." Then, "You're freezing!" And caught her when her legs finally gave way under her.
She closed her eyes against the tears that had half-frozen on her face. But inside her mind, everything snapped back into focus as his arms wrapped around her. His touch seemed to burn away the fog that had nearly suffocated her in Misthaven. She let him carry her inside, breathing in his familiar scent. She felt embraced by a purifying darkness.
And she remembered everything.
"I'm sorry." She opened her eyes to find herself in the infirmary. Rumplestiltskin set her down on a bed, wordlessly urging her to lie down, but she sat up and caught his hands. She couldn't bear for him to believe that she had betrayed him. "I should never have looked at your memories without your permission."
"Belle..." He slid down, crouching at her feet to peel off the shredded, waterlogged slippers. He glanced up at her, his face twisted in shame and regret. "I'm sorry, too. I should have listened. I should have believed you."
She reached out with a clumsy, cold-numbed hand, wishing she could smooth away his pain. "But you were right about Regina."
His expression sharpened. "What did she do to you?"
"She can wait. But what I saw. Your son... you're looking for him?"
"Baelfire is his name." His voice was suddenly shy, quiet.
The name she had stolen now became his gift to her, spoken in a soft tone full of forgiveness and apology. She smiled, looking at him through her tears. Her fingers brushed his face, and some of his tension eased. "We'll find him. I promise. I'll help you however I can."
"And you... what you said before?"
"I meant it." She poured all of her love, her acceptance, into the words. "I love you. You. I want to stay." And if someday, no longer needing the Dark, he wanted to free himself of that burden, she would help him with that, too. But it was his choice. "With you, if you'll let me."
"Oh, Belle." He pulled her close, his arms fitting around her as awkwardly as if he had not hugged anyone in centuries (and perhaps he had not, she realized). "And I love you. I... I want you to stay, too. If that's what you truly want...?"
"Yes," she said at once. "Yes, that's what I want." She knew it wouldn't be easy, and she had heard the hesitation in his question, warning her against himself. But she refused to pull away. When you found something worth fighting for, you didn't give up. And this? Their future together?
It was worth fighting for.
