Things were going…well…they were going. His night and day were peppered with small moments, moments that were good and moments that were bad, but all of them kept him moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Returning from his workshop to slip into bed beside Belle in the early hours of the morning, feeling her roll back into him and mutter his name sleepily, that was a good feeling. Leaving her only an hour later to get up and go to work, that was a bad feeling. Getting into the shop and seeing the shards of glass he's smashed up yesterday before leaving and hadn't cleaned, that was a low point, but using magic to repair the cabinets so that it looked as though nothing ever happened, made it better. Managing to go to the town line and cast a spell that allowed him to bottle samples of the magic at the Town Line, that was a positive piece of progress, not knowing where to begin with those bottles was a kink in his celebrations. Going home and having lunch with Belle was the same oasis it had been each and every day, but the call he'd gotten from her right before he'd left reminding him to bring home the art supplies he'd been purposefully forgetting was frustrating.

It was his own fault. When they'd stayed in bed talking over the weekend he'd let slip the news about the bulletin board he'd seen in town, the one where people where posting pictures and drawings of loved ones. Fortunately, he'd remembered himself enough not to mention that her father had done a very poor, very wrong drawing of her, one that he was still keeping at the shop, but ever since he'd told her about it, she'd been asking him to bring her back art supplies for her. She had asked about her father that day, he'd answered that he honestly didn't know where he was. It was the truth. He didn't have a tracker on the man, at that moment he legitimately didn't know where he was, he could be at home, or the shop, he could have been out at the Evil Queen's mansion protesting for all he cared. But he didn't know. So, it hadn't been a lie.

Still, after that conversation when she'd begun to ask for "art supplies", he'd known what she wanted them for. That was why he'd "forgotten" them. This time, when she'd finally appeared to master the telephone and asked for them herself before he left for lunch, there was no avoiding it. He told himself that it could have been worse. She could have chosen to ask him about his past and either forced him to lie or danced around not answering her at all.

But that night, when he saw what she'd actually drawn, he realized that simply drawing a picture of her father wasn't the worst thing that could come of it.

After she'd cooked dinner, he'd begun dishes and other clean-up tasks while she sat at the kitchen table and worked on her drawings. That was the first time he noticed that she was working on not one but two drawings. Two…one for her father and another for…he hadn't gotten a clear sight of it yet. Certainly not her mother, they both knew that she was dead, but perhaps there was another distant family member that she'd been close with. He practically swallowed his own tongue when he thought of the boy she'd once brought back to the Dark Castle. Samuel, that had been his name. He'd never quite found out about who they had been with each other, but he'd wanted to take Belle away with him and cared for her a great deal. He'd let him go and never seen him again at least not that he could remember. For the first time, he found himself wondering if that was a mistake, if he should have killed him or if he needed to look for him just to make sure-

He was being ridiculous, jealous. She was here with him, she shared his bed, his life, he didn't need to worry over silly things like that when he had a Curse to break.

"What do you think?"

His heart raced as he rung out the rag he'd been using on the counter tops then looked over his shoulder at the drawing she was holding up. A picture of her father, not the mysterious second individual, but not exactly a man that inspired great admiration in him either. Regina's story of the old man locking Belle up so that she killed herself might not have been true, but that didn't mean he wasn't responsible for a great number of other grievances. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he stared at the picture that was a little too accurate for comfort.

"I think it's surprisingly detailed," he managed to choke out before finishing his work at the sink. It was the only good thing he could think to say. He knew she loved to read, knew she loved to clean, but until she'd held that drawing up for him, he hadn't a clue that she was also an artist a far better one than her father. "I didn't know you could draw," he commented, changing the subject as he came to sit beside her. He hoped he might get a glimpse of the mysterious second portrait she'd been working on.

"I was a Princess," she shrugged. "It would have been improper not to learn how to draw. Besides…I didn't know you could clean."

He smiled at her jest, at the way she raised her eyebrows and managed to insult him while making him want to kiss her at the same time.

"There was a time long ago before you were born that I didn't have a caretake to rely upon. And good help is always hard to find, no matter what realm you're in.

She laughed as she shook her head and returned to her work. They'd done this sort of joking in the castle, when they were relaxed with each other, to see it return to her instead of anxiety and wonder at the world around her…that was a highlight of the day. Finally catching a glimpse at the other picture she was drawing, was not a highlight. He picked the finished drawing up and examined it closer in disbelief. Dark hair, chiseled chin, cold eyes, haughty expression; he recognized that face. Not her father or a family member or even Samuel. Her former fiancé…Gaston. He'd been prepared, in a way, for her pronouncement that she wanted to find her father. But he couldn't have been prepared for her saying she wanted to find him, not after the way she'd described him in the castle. "I never truly cared for Gaston." She'd said that. So why was she so preoccupied with finding him now?

"I still don't understand why you need to find him."

"Well…" she sighed casually before taking the drawing from him. The expression on her face as she looked it over was comforting in a way. It wasn't care or concern he saw there. Curiosity, perhaps, maybe even a bit of sadness. But it didn't help him to understand. "As vain as he was, I did know him. I didn't love him enough to want to be married to him, but he was part of my life for a long time and…I just want to know he's all right, Rumple. For me, not for him. I don't suppose you've seen either of them around town, have you?"

Honesty or nothing. Just because he wasn't bound by magic, just because he hadn't made a deal with her when she thought they had didn't mean that he wanted to lie to her. Yes, he had seen her father around town, not since the Curse had broken, but he could probably get a hold of him fairly easily. And as for Gaston…he'd never told her that he'd killed him already and he couldn't see himself doing it now. He couldn't be honest with her, so he chose to continue staring at the picture and give her no information at all and allow her to interpret the silence as she wanted to.

Suddenly she shifted beside him, put her pencil down and overturned the picture of Gaston so his face was out of sight. She took his hands in her own and looked up at him. "Love comes in different forms, Rumple. I love you differently than I love my father. Just like you don't love me the same way you loved your son."

"I know," he answered, feeling his hands tighten over her own.

Jealous. She thought he was jealous of Gaston or else scared that she was going to leave him for her father. She was only correct on one of those counts. He was scared she was going to leave him, in fact he was almost certain it was going to happen one day. One morning she'd wake up and notice the monster she went to bed with, and she'd want to leave him behind. He could accept that. He'd promised to keep her safe all the days of her life whether she was with him or not. If she went back to her father…that might be harder than he wanted it to be. Maurice had caged her, kept her closeted, used her as a bargaining chip more than once in a war against ogres…if she had to leave, he didn't want her going back there. The idea that these drawings, if ever hung on the bulletin board as intended, might reunite father and daughter, that they might grow closer, that they might figure out Gaston had died at his hands…it made him shiver. Was he staring at the catalyst to the end of what they had? Was their time together already coming to a close?

"Come on," her voice penetrated the silence, forced his eyes up away from where they'd drifted to the picture of her father. She was up and out of her seat and pulling on his hands to rise with her, taking him away from the table, away from the memories and the faces. "Let's sit out back."

"Sit out back." In all his years in Storybrooke he'd never sat out back on the patio. He'd never seen the purpose of it, certainly not in his good pants and since he owned nothing but good pants there was simply no reason. The sun was setting, it would be dark soon, it might be growing warmer during the day, but it was still chilly at night, and he couldn't fathom why she'd want to sit outside in a dress that barely covered her shoulders. But he followed. Because something about even the simplest of requests from her rendered him useless to fight back. She sat down on the steps, and he followed suit so that she could thread her hand over his arm and lean her head against his shoulder.

"Why, exactly, are we sitting here while it's freezing?" he asked, playing the role of Scrooge just so he could get his mind off her father. It wasn't a bad question, to be honest. She would catch cold if they spent too much longer here.

"We are enjoying each other's company like we always do, we're just doing it outside this time. Since you prefer me to stay in the house while you're out, this is the only time I have."

That was a fair and valid point. He figured he had to wait at least another five minutes before he could make the argument that it was too cold and insist she go back inside. In the meantime…he turned his head and kissed the top of her head. She sighed into him, and it was then that the wind blew a scent that was distinctly her own in his direction. Her own scent…he hadn't realized how he'd missed it. Since they'd been living together their scents had begun to twine together in a way that complimented each other's beautifully. He hadn't smelled her uniquely for days now. It was a welcome scent, but also a lovely realization. She'd begun to smell like him, and he'd begun to smell like her. He didn't ever want to lose that. If her father came back into her life and took her from him-

"I love you, Rumple," she insisted as if she'd read his mind. "Whether or not I find my father and Gaston won't change that fact."

"I know," he answered honestly. It wouldn't be finding her father that would change that fact, it would be listening to her father, to the rest of the world, learning what happened to Gaston. He hadn't ever thought that he'd have to answer for killing that man when he'd done it, he hadn't ever assumed she'd care enough to want answers for him. Why it was coming back to haunt him, of all his sins, all these years later was something he couldn't understand. "But you told me you didn't care for him. You said-"

"I don't care for him and never will. I just need to be sure he's all right in this world. It's like…this strange feeling I have that he's not."

Fuck.

"And your father-"

"Whether or not he approves of this isn't something I care about."

Whether he approved wasn't something that he cared about either. Whether or not he took this light from him, the light that he saw in Belle and snuffed it out again when it was just starting to burn bright…that was what he cared about. That was what he couldn't allow.

He felt her turn to look at him, his neck burned as she stared at him but he refused to yield. The answer was simple. Those drawings could not make it to the bulletin board. He couldn't allow it. For her sake, not just his own, he couldn't let her father get to her yet, not when she'd only come this far. She wasn't ready to be on her own in this world with neither of them. Of course, that begged the question, would he ever be able to admit when she was ready to live without him? Would he be able to let her go?

Suddenly the fingers he'd been tapping nervously together were frozen by the presence of her own fingers lacing with his. Her head fit perfectly against his shoulder, his mouth fit perfectly against the crook of her neck, and their hands matched beautifully…how was he supposed to let her go when the time came?

"I left them once for a reason, Rumple," she whispered. "Many reasons actually, but one of them was that they didn't understand me. They didn't see me and I doubt they ever will. Not like you do, no one sees me like you do. You were the better option once and you're not just the better option now, you're the only option, the best option."

He turned to meet her gaze and felt guilt twist in his belly the second he saw that she believed that. He was the best option for her now, but he knew it was only because this was what she knew. The second she left, the second she had other options and saw other ways of independence-

"I have no intention of returning to the life they planned for me," she assured him. "I just need to know they're all right, that their life here is good…like mine is wither you."

He forced a smile to his face. He believed that in part. She'd never let her father auction her off to the highest bidder again, she'd certainly never marry Gaston or be Queen and bear royal children, not so long as they stayed in Storybrooke and Gaston remained dead. But as for the rest…

"I believe you," he smiled just so that he could watch her smile and drag him down to kiss her. He squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head before letting his smile safely falter as he stared into his own backyard. He believed her when she said that. But he also believed that just because someone believed something, that didn't make it true. Information could change opinions and beliefs-they could change people too. She was smart, her opinion could be changed with more information. He imagined her opinion would change with more information.

So, for now he was content to hold her close while he still could and watch the sun set in the distance until he moved a hand over her bare skin and felt the chill himself. "You're cold. Come on, let's go back inside."

"Rumple," she muttered as he moved to pick up his cane and get himself on his feet again. "Will you take those drawings into town for me tomorrow morning? Put them on that bulletin board?"

He sighed as he stared out at the lawn. Honesty or nothing. He couldn't let those drawings back it to the board. He wasn't ready for this to end. So he settled on a truth that was easily misinterpreted.

"I'll take care of it," he answered honestly. He'd take care of it by burning the pictures to ash so they never saw the light of day again.

Looks can be deceiving. Yes, this is a Rumbelle scene and I loved writing it from Rumple's POV, but I like to think that what is really exciting about this chapter is what you found at the very beginning. Did you catch what happened there? He managed to bottle magic from the town line. Yep, one sentence, and it's done, but really, plotwise, that's the most important part of this chapter. Here's the thing, in Moments, Belle has her Research!Belle moments. She learns about magic, studies the history and art behind it, and uses that to solve their magical problems. But Rumple is different than Belle, I look at him as the one who wrote the books that Belle studies. He's not going to be studying how to get over the town line he's going to be inventing the magic himself. How do I write that? Well, I honestly started with our understanding of the scientific method. First, it starts with a question which we encountered in the last chapter. "How do I get over the town line with my memories intact?" Then he has to start proposing answers, collecting data, and experimenting. All that requires samples of the magic at the town line. Now that he has that...he's going to be off to the races!

Thank you Alarda for your generously kind review of the last chapter! I'm happy that you enjoyed reading it from Rumple's side and confirmed that Rumple was very much so "in character" there. Yay! That makes me so happy. I'm hoping that you'll enjoy this chapter, this Rumbelle moment just as much as that one. Up next we're officially starting into the 2x03 chapters. Peace and Happy Reading!