If this had been an ordinary day in Storybrooke, he probably would have left the shop to locate August Booth and then had lunch at Granny's. Hell, if everything had gone as he'd planned after the Curse broke, he probably would have left immediately to locate Booth and been on his way to find Baelfire by lunchtime.

But nothing about this day or last night was "ordinary." And nothing about where he was going for lunch this afternoon was "planned" in his grand scheme. But it was there.

He had a lunch date that afternoon. Granny's wasn't open, nothing in town was, and his cabinets at home were not well stocked, but for the first time in twenty-eight years, he was looking forward to having lunch. He was looking forward to having lunch just like he used to look forward to teatime in the Dark Castle. And he knew it was because that meant he would see her again. And he felt excited. Emma and Mary Margaret were gone, he had yet to see if the puppet was living and breathing or just a hunk of wood, Storybrooke was in shambles, and yet he was excited. Just to go home and see her, to hold her as he had all last night, to touch her as he had this morning.

He liked this new feeling. Love. True love. He'd studied the effects of it in their world, but he'd never experienced it. It truly was a bond, a bond that he felt as though he could feel all morning. Like there was a chord tying the two of them together, pulling him back to the house, daring him to go back to her every second.

He wanted her. He wanted her so much. He'd never wanted sex before, not really. He'd thought he'd wanted it because it was what he was supposed to want. But now that he had her, now that he'd really had her, he understood what real desire was. He counted down the hours until it was an acceptable time to sneak away, to go back home, to see her again. In the meantime, he wondered about her. Where was she? What was she doing? What was she exploring? He wanted to be there for every second of it, and he felt guilty for having his heart torn in two. Belle? Or Baelfire? He'd been with Belle last night, taken care of her this morning, and would see her again this afternoon. He owed Bae some dedicated hours.

That was the only thing that got him through to lunch until he glanced at the clock and realized he could leave. He thought he might actually leap for joy as he left before it all came crashing down around him and the reality of the situation hit.

Before he left, he'd decided to go to the bathroom in the pitiful WC he had in the back of his shop, and that was when he spotted it. A dark red line that he'd never seen before on his penis. He reached down to examine further and was horrified to realize what it was—dried blood. Just a small amount hidden away in a crease, but it wasn't coming from any cut that he could see, which left only one explanation.

Belle.

She'd been a virgin; he knew that. He'd known she was a virgin last night, but he'd never really perceived it, not until he saw that smudge of blood on him. He must have missed it when he'd been in the shower this morning. It was understandable, perfectly. He'd been terribly distracted when he woke up. But the sight of that blood set his heart thudding and washed him in cold water quickly. She'd been a virgin. He hadn't wanted things to go as far as they had. She'd been a virgin, and that was something that could not be undone, even with magic! Not really. He'd taken that away, that one small part of her! But it wasn't small. Not to him.

He knew that this was the part of the story when he should feel honored, maybe even excited, but instead, all he felt was guilt. How dare he? How could he?! What gave him the right to have taken such a special part of her?! Especially considering the future. He had her now, but for how long? This was only temporary until he found Baelfire, until "the boy" was his undoing. If they even made it that far. She'd always seen him for what he was. What he was a monster. There was a beast that lurked beneath his skin. She could deny it all she wanted, but eventually, she'd see it. And when she did, she'd leave. Just as she had last night. Tragic as that made him feel he'd want the best for her even then. He would have wanted her to go on, to find a gentleman to love her and hold her as he had, find true love with someone else. That was who should have taken that part of her, not him. He'd hurt her, not just socially, not only her future, he realized…but as he stared at the blood, he knew he'd hurt her physically too.

He'd never wanted to hurt her. Yet he had. She said that he hadn't, that it didn't, he could remember that clearly last night, but that had to have been a lie. The proof was right there in front of him. Blood! He'd hurt her, surely. And not just last night, but also this morning. He'd seen women limping around the day after they shared their first marriage bed. His stomach had turned, and he'd excused himself as the other men joked and made inappropriate comments behind their backs, slapping the newly married man on the back proudly. He didn't feel proud. The thought of her limping like that around the house right now because he'd been unable to keep himself in check made him want to curse himself to eternal loneliness. No, it couldn't happen again, it had to stop, and it would.

He cleaned himself up, then drove home without thinking about the act, suddenly not nearly as excited to see her as he had been. He'd have to move her into another room or move there himself. He just couldn't let what had happened last night happen again. Keeping her in the house with him for her safety was one thing. Making this into something bigger, anything that resembled a "relationship" was cruel given the inevitable outcome.

He stepped solemnly into the house when he arrived. Casting his eyes down, afraid he'd lose control again as he had last night and even been close to doing this morning before he left if he glanced at her. But the house was silent. Was she here? Had she left him already?

He walked through the house cautiously. Not wanting to confront her, but also wanting her to be there, safe and sound, alive. It was the never-ending war in his mind as he went room to room.

No, she wasn't downstairs. His eyes glanced over to the stairs, up to his bedroom door. It was still closed. Could she still be upstairs? He hoped not. He almost hoped that she'd left then. He wasn't sure he could talk to her about this downstairs; talking about it in his bedroom he imagined would be damn near impossible. He could ignore it, make lunch, leave something for her, go back to work and know whether or not she was home when he came home and found lunch gone or not. No. His worst flaw was curiosity, and he had to know.

He made his way upstairs quietly, thinking maybe he could delay it if she was still asleep, know she was there, and talk to her about it that night when he came home. But he wasn't careful; he was stupid. He knew that door creaked when opened at a certain angle, and as he peered in and observed her sleeping form on the bed, the door opened beyond that point.

She startled at the noise, opened her eyes, and looked around the new room with confusion before she found him. Damn.

"Hey," she muttered, reaching up to rub her eyes. The chord that bound them together tugged at him, and whether he wanted to or not, he slipped into the room.

"You're still here," he said, surprised as he stepped in and looked at her. Yes and no. She was still there, still in the bed, but she'd gotten up, she'd dressed, made the bed. She was simply lying under a throw blanket that he'd had lying around. But...she'd gotten up only to go back to bed? So early?

"I was tired," she yawned as if she could read his mind. "I couldn't keep my eyes open after breakfast, so I went back to sleep."

She sat up and moved the blanket off her as she made room for him to sit as he had that morning, but he was suddenly distracted by the pale bare legs she tucked underneath her. He should stay away; she was too intoxicating, and he didn't trust himself not to think of her if he got too close. Only it was too late. He'd already lowered himself onto the bed, but the least that he could do was keep away, keep to himself, and stay there at the foot of the bed…and it wouldn't hurt if he didn't look at her, or her legs, or arms, or any bit of skin that she was showing.

She was tired. She'd been in an asylum…he tried to focus on that instead of…her.

"I imagine, being where you were all this time…you still have chemicals in your body that could be making you tired…then last night…"

Last night…that thought only made him want to touch her more.

"I know." There was an insistence in her voice that instantly made him feel guilty he'd tried to explain it away. She knew why she was tired. Her tone told him that she didn't need him to remind her. He didn't want to remind her; he wanted to talk, to apologize for last night to explain-

"Is everything all right?" she asked suddenly, curiosity and panic in her voice.

He tapped his cane against the floor nervously. Worry. How was he ever going to get her to stop worrying about him and start being more concerned about herself?

"Are you?" he countered insistently. He wanted to know, genuinely needed to know that she was okay, that she wasn't hurt.

"Yes, I'm just tired," she breathed, but with a kind of air that told him she didn't understand the true depth of the question. He wasn't asking about her mentality, not as she thought he was.

"Are you in pain?" he clarified softly, his voice no more than a whisper through his clenched jaw. He turned his head and risked a glance, but after realizing that she was looking at him, he couldn't bear to meet her gaze. He was so angry at himself he didn't even know how to contain it.

She was quiet, she was quiet for a while, and for a moment, he feared that she still hadn't understood his question, and he'd have to be more specific, something that he feared he really wouldn't be able to get through. But then, finally, she answered, and it nearly broke his heart.

"A little sore," she admitted quietly. Sore. She was sore. The blood was just as telling as he'd feared. He'd hurt her. "But it's nothing I can't handle," she added on quickly. But it didn't sound nearly as convincing. He'd rather she didn't have to handle it at all. "I've felt worse."

He knew she meant to soften the blow, but those words only worsened it. "Worse" implied that she was at least bad. And she shouldn't have had to feel bad at all. He'd done that to her. He'd hurt her. How could he have?

"Being sore," she muttered suddenly, a curious pique in her voice, "Is that normal?"

Didn't she know? Wasn't she aware of all this already? He hadn't been, but Milah had been, and her mother had died before she'd ever met him. Was she really not sure or merely trying to start a conversation? A start was something. It was better than silence. Although, at the moment, he really wasn't convinced it was such a terrible thing given the situation.

"From what I gather…yes."

"Does it go away?"

Interest or desperation?

"Does the soreness go away?" she asked again, something firm in her voice demanding an answer.

"I think so," he answered honestly.

He wasn't entirely sure. Mr. Gold had no insights to offer, and if any of the female Dark Ones knew, they weren't sharing. Sex had been so different with her than it ever had been with Milah or any of his other women. How was he supposed to know for sure? But the men in the village were always virile, and eventually, their women stopped limping around after their wedding nights. And Milah hadn't complained after their first few times. The only explanation for that was if the pain faded after a while.

"Yes," he answered, but even he could hear the lack of confidence in his own voice, "with time."

But he could hear the lack of confidence in his own voice even as the silence stretched out between them. He couldn't figure her out. Why was she still sitting here with him after he'd hurt her as he had? After he'd taken something he had no right to? After how he'd treated her in the castle and yesterday...

She should hate him, be angry, mad, not…not like this.

"I don't regret it, Rumple," she said suddenly, breaking into the silence and doing that trick again that made him think she could read her mind.

Yes, that was it. She should regret it. She should regret what had happened between them. It hadn't been right. If he could, he would have taken it back himself and left her as whole and perfect as he'd found her.

"Please," she begged suddenly, "I don't want you to either."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he insisted. "I didn't mean to lose control-"

"I don't think you were the only one last night," she interrupted strongly.

His hands tightened on his cane, and he did his best to avert his eyes. He just couldn't look at her right now. Not the only one? She meant herself. She'd lost control? He'd never thought she would. She couldn't have. He'd given her no choice, plain and simple. He'd been the experienced one. He was responsible, this was his fault, and no one else's.

"I'd do it all over again," she muttered suddenly, confidently, "in a heartbeat. It felt…"

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, the beast that had claimed her the night before suddenly reared in his mind. What?! What did it feel like? Painful? Bad? Maybe something good. It certainly had for him last night, at the moment. Better than anything he'd ever felt before. The pain…it couldn't have been worth it, though. Could it?

"Beyond words…indescribable…" she finally spat out. "I've never felt anything like that before in my life. I've never felt so perfect or complete."

Perfect? Complete? But the blood! The pain she must have felt!

"Does it feel that way for you?" she asked suddenly, quickly. Oh, yes. Perfect and complete. Of course, it felt that way for him. But how could he even think that? How could he let himself admit that he'd taken pleasure in her suffering? It was unthinkable, and it was wrong, and it was-

Suddenly he felt the bed shift, and she did the unthinkable. She moved closer to him, closing the distance so that her knee bumped into his leg. The beast inside roared as the invisible wall he'd tried to build between them came falling down. He remembered that knee, how she'd slung it over his hip. And just like that, he wanted her again. He wanted her badly. And they were already here, just as they'd been last night. It would be so easy, so wonderful to just…

NO!

No, no, no, absolutely not! This was the kind of behavior he was trying to get rid of! He moved his leg away from her, clear of her tempting touch. If he didn't, he'd do something that he was certain he'd only regret later. He couldn't touch her; he couldn't even take the risk of looking at her.

But as soon as he'd resolved this, she reached out and grabbed his hand. The screaming in his head worsened. "Get up and walk away!" one cried. "Take her again!" the other screamed. "She's telling you she's fine with it," one female insisted in a bored voice. "Stop making a mountain out of a molehill and give her what she wants."

No, he had to resist.

"I love you," she murmured suddenly, squeezing the hand she held. "I know you love me too. The people in my life have been saving me my entire life, trying to protect me from what I felt last night. Now that I've felt it, I don't want to give it up. I love you, and I know that you love me. That is what matters to me more than anything."

Oh, he did love her. He loved her more than anything, maybe even anyone in the world. The one exception might have been his son, but what he felt for Bae and what he felt for her was so different that he really couldn't begin to compare them. For sure, he loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone romantically in his life. But that didn't make it right.

His mind was splintering off into a million different directions, a million different thoughts. She loved him, and he loved her. Her family had saved her for someone else, but he'd taken her instead. She loved him, and he loved her. She'd felt wonderful last night, and it was because they loved each other. That was what mattered to her in the end. Not that he'd taken her virginity away or ruined her or hurt her. It was that he loved her; that was what mattered. He wanted that to be all that mattered, that was important. But it wasn't. He was older than her, and he knew better.

"You know me better than anyone else in the world," she went on, ignoring his silence, "so please, Rumpelstiltskin, please don't ever be afraid to love me like you did last night."

His mind was splintering, but every thought he had faded with a touch. She moved the hand that she held onto the skin of her leg. Her bare leg. And he couldn't help it, he looked.

He stared mesmerized at the fingertips that disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt as he considered her words. He knew her. The only one that knew who she was, that had experienced her heart and her body. And she seemed to understand maybe better than he did. To her, he hadn't hurt her last night. He'd loved her. And he definitely loved her. More than she knew, maybe even more than he knew. And she wanted him to love her like that again. He wanted to love her like that again. At least part of him did. He knew her. He knew her like this, what was under that skirt, and no one else in the world did.

Suddenly his objections fled, his fears, his shame, all the words saying "don't," "can't," and "shouldn't" seemed to evaporate into thin air. The only thing left in his mind was "want" and, much to his surprise, "need." He didn't just want her. He needed to feel his skin on hers. Without telling it too, the hand she'd placed on her leg began to migrate, up the curve of her thigh and onto her hip, over the angles of her body that he'd learned and worked so hard to memorize last night.

He didn't fight her when she reached forward, pulling on the lapels of his coat, and kissed him. He was still, just enjoying for the moment the feel of her against him. Something like triumph ripped through him. Triumph and pride. Him. He, Rumpelstiltskin. He alone knew her body, knew her movements, and how she looked without clothes on…and how she confessed she'd felt when he moved inside her. He knew how he felt when he moved inside her. How could he have ever thought that such an awful and terrible thing? How could he not want more? How could they not want more of each other?

She drew a sharp breath when she opened her mouth and reached for the back of his neck, bringing him closer, but he was already moving forward. He reached for her, pushed with his body, tried to get as close to her as humanly possible. He didn't realize how hard he was pushing until she squirmed, and he realized he'd pushed her back against the bed, and she was doing her best to figure out how to accommodate him at this angle as she had last night. It wasn't entirely necessary. They fit together so well. It was as if their bodies had been designed for each other, made just to hold each other perfectly. They'd discovered it well enough in the dark of the night, in the light of day…

The light of day. It wasn't night yet. This had been what he was afraid of that morning, what he feared would happen if he stayed there in the bed with her. He'd take time away from Baelfire that he didn't have.

He dragged his mouth away from hers and opened his eyes to find hers looking back at him, her lips glistening and raw but her face looking confused as her fingers rubbed his hair and scalp.

"We can't," he finally muttered sadly.

"We can," she corrected and quickly reached up to close the distance again before he could argue. Oh, she was the greatest temptation he'd ever come across. A kiss could make him forget the world and when she touched him?! His hand traveled further up her hip, then reached down for the skin at her leg. It was when he wanted to place her knee over his waist again that he realized they were going too far. She'd pulled him back into her again. This couldn't happen now.

Baelfire.

His son's name sobered him. As much as he wanted to make love to her again, it simply wouldn't have been fair to his son, to the real reason he was here.

"We can't," he repeated, breaking free of her. "I have to be in town again shortly," he supplied as an explanation before she could fight him again. It seemed to be the best excuse he had. No one would check to be sure he was at the shop, but if they came by looking for the Dark One, they would certainly be suspicious if he wasn't there. And if they came here and disturbed them or found her, he'd never forgive himself.

She gave a sharp, sad nod, then reached up to kiss him again. But not nearly as deeply as before. They were chaste kisses, loving kisses.

"Later?" she asked in the spaces between. "Tonight?"

He tamped down a shudder of anticipation. He smiled and kissed her neck and jawline so she wouldn't see the joy that must have been dancing across his face now. Later? She wanted him. She wanted him! Maybe he hadn't taken anything. Maybe she'd given him something instead. How could he not return her affections? How could he be this lucky after everything he'd done?

"Tonight," he agreed.

Tonight seemed far away.

Yeah...so here we are. Fun fact, Chronicles Readers who were originally with me when Moments Seen and Unseen went live what feels like eons ago might not recognize this chapter. That's because it was not originally part of Moments Seen and Unseen. It, along with two other chapters, were all scenes that were rescued from Exile when I rearranged Moments Seen and Unseen, created Known and Unknown, and prepped for Moments Missed and Moments Shared and Unshared. When all was said and done, I had three open slots in MS&U, and there were three chapters in Exile that were not exactly unfit for MS&U but were certainly deleted for a reason. This one and one other were in Exile because while they're not explicit sex, they are certainly sexual in nature. They basically resurrect an old sex education plot that I had for Belle. I spent a lot of time questioning whether or not I wanted to add them to this fiction or keep them in Banishment, but ultimately I decided that if I put them in Banishment, I'd forever have people reading Moments and Chronicles and writing in to ask why the scenes were in one but not the other. So really, to save time, I just decided to publish them and get it over with. I imagine die-hard Rumbellers will be okay with it. We've been deprived of Rumbelle for so long that even these awkward chapters are welcome. For those of you who don't really care, my apologies.

Now, for those of you who are not original readers and have never known Moments without these chapters, I hope you'll enjoy getting Rumple's side of it. This is another one of those chapters that I've been dying to let you see through his eyes because without his side of the story, him coming home to Belle suddenly sullen over what happened the night before seems random. But I've always known the blood was the reason behind it. I enjoyed getting to write Rumple in a sort of woobie!Rumple form, freaking out over the idea that he caused her pain. And I enjoyed getting to show his age a little bit in taking him back to the way of thinking that would have been popular when he was a young man, pre-Dark One, pre-Margery, and sort of panicking at what happened. And I enjoyed watching him fight those feelings as Belle finally brings him around to acceptance. I always thought that a reaction like this from Rumple would be very in character for him, and I'm hoping you do too! Thank you to Grace5231973 and Alarda for your reviews on the last chapter! Peace and Happy Reading!