Obsession was a strange thing. He would have always thought that obsession was persistent enough to drive a person forward no matter the risks or rewards no matter the circumstances. Experience told him this. For over a hundred years, Baelfire had been his obsession. His son was the obsession that fueled him. It wasn't easy to spend over a hundred years on the same project, not easy at all, but that was exactly what he had done, was doing, and would continue to do until he saw his son standing in front of him again. That was how obsession worked.

Or at least that was what he thought until the Blue Fairy had told him that his mother was the creator of the Curse he intended to use to get to Baelfire. Now he knew that obsession took on multiple forms. There was the form that he had where Baelfire was concerned, the one that allowed him to look for his son and never grow tired or weary or even consider giving up. And then there was a temporary form. Ironically, the temporary form was more powerful than the long-term obsession, at least on a surface level. The temporary form was all-consuming. For a short amount of time, it occupied every thought, every breath, every heartbeat. A temporary obsession might threaten a long-term obsession, but it would never kill it. For what drove the obsessions that could last dozens of lifetimes was hope and love; the strongest magic there was. All that drove temporary obsessions was greed, hunger, lust, and half a dozen other emotions that could never survive next to hope and love.

His mother was a short-term obsession. For weeks after the Blue Fairy told him about her relationship to the Dark Curse, she'd occupied his thoughts and plans. For weeks after the plan had failed, she'd taken up space in his mind, had him peering around corners looking for her ghost seeking a sign that she regretted what had happened. It turned out, all he needed to do get rid of her was wait it out. She was like some kind of drug introduced to his system or like alcohol in a drunk. It took time, and the burning of nearly every book he could find of the devil woman in the realm, but eventually, he cleared her from his mind. He accepted what happened even if he didn't like what happened. He was content to think that in destroying records of her, he had destroyed the hold she had on this world. He remembered Baelfire, and the hope born of his obsession to see him again shook the last dregs of the Black Fairy free from him. No one stood a chance next to his son. No one.

Cora had once upon a time been another short-term obsession of his. And now there were days when he wondered if Belle wasn't becoming the same thing. That woman…she was impressive. If pressed to admit it, he might even say she was stunning but it wasn't just her looks that inspired thoughts like that; it was her attitude, her actions. She'd promised to put the incident with his mother behind them, and though he had his doubts despite the deal they'd made, she seemed to be following through with it. It was her ridged schedule, her own hard work that had helped him purge the Black Fairy from his mind. Her stability helped him back to normalcy though that was not a secret he was keen to tell her. Breakfast in the morning, tea in the afternoon, dinner and spinning in the evening. The castle was cleaned. The grounds were beginning to sprout flowers she planted. His clothes were laundered. The sense of predictability she brought was a comfort.

But as for her…he couldn't tell if she forgave him for locking her in the tower or making her walk home that night with the baby by herself. He couldn't tell with the quiet there was between them. Most of their conversations had ceased after that night. He told himself it didn't matter, it was probably even better not to know, but the truth was that he longed to know if she had forgiven him. He wanted to know if she still thought about it and carried a grudge, if that was what kept their conversations at bay. In fact, for a time she'd gone so quiet he wondered if there was some kind of magic he was unaware of at work from their deal; if he had inadvertently taken her memories or her voice. Once, he'd asked her a question, what she was reading, just so he could hear her answer. But the smile she cast as she gave it with the look in her eyes of sadness and happiness mixed together told him all he needed to know. Yes, she remembered that night. No, she wasn't carrying a grudge. Yes, she could still carry on with conversations, she was just waiting for him to tell her it was alright to do so.

Her look helped him, but what came next did not.

He was prepared for his fantasies, most nights at least; what he wasn't prepared for was how they began to invade his daily life. In his bedroom alone at night, when he closed his eyes, he imagined all manner of interactions with her. They carried on conversations, talking about his mother and her father, about Baelfire and how she wanted him to complete his Curse. And he wasn't proud of it, but sometimes he let his mind wander to other things beside her voice. In his imagination, he touched her shoulder, and she didn't flinch. She willingly placed her hand on his chest, and he didn't back away. Touches escalated and he found himself wondering what it might be like to pick her up off her feet, lay her in his bed, and remember what it meant to be a man with a woman beneath him. He wasn't proud of those dreams, but at least he'd managed to keep them well checked for long enough.

Nighttime fantasies were one thing, but the moment they started to invade the waking hours, when he began to watch her turn and walk away, wonder what her reaction would be if he actually touched her shoulder, or even what her hair smelled like, that was the minute he began to wonder if she was to become his new obsession. Short-term, of course. He wasn't so stupid as to let a woman take Baelfire's place. But it was enough of a concern that he often found himself thinking about how he was going to take care of the situation.

"Send her away!" the voices shouted at him until they were hoarse.

But the thing was, it was difficult to imagine his life without her around, especially when memories of that terrible night threatened to invade, and her presence was the only thing he felt keeping him tied to sanity and determination. It was a conundrum. Short-term obsessions threatened the lasting ones, but he never felt that she was a threat to Baelfire, if anything, she encouraged him, in some way.

Besides, it was difficult to convince himself to send her away when she had a tendency to strike him to the point he felt breathless.

He'd just tended to a deal. This one no different than any other only this one had interrupted the pair of them. Well, not interrupted them exactly…someone had merely knocked on the door after dinner, a time when they both sat in the Great Room and made themselves busy. He would cast glances at her when she wasn't looking, and every now and then, when he was focused on the wheel, he felt an itch at the back of his neck that made him feel like someone was looking at him. But every time he looked up at her, she was always looking at her book.

On this particular night, he'd seen to the business at the door quickly enough, it was an easy case of giving a man a spell to grow wings. When he returned to the Great Room he'd expected to find her still sitting in her chair but was caught off guard to see that she wasn't.

He should have been furious. She'd uncovered the mirror that he was currently keeping in the Great Room, the one that could connect him with Regina if he so desired. He could smell soap in the air and knew that she'd taken the opportunity to clean it, the bucket and rag resting nearby told him that much. But as he found her now, she was just staring into it, unaware of the danger that lurked on the other side. She didn't even take notice that he'd reentered the room. Something held her attention, but he could tell that she wasn't admiring herself in the mirror as Cora used to. This was different. She was examining herself. For what, he wondered. What did she see? The sunlight in her hair? The seriousness of her features? The comfort in her back that made his own fingers itch to-

Behind him, the door slammed shut, and they both jumped.

"Careful now, dearie!" he squealed unintentionally, trying to hide the fact that his mouth had suddenly gone dry as he'd stared at her.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked suspiciously. Her cheeks had gone red with embarrassment, and he suspected that her chest had too, but it was difficult to tell with her hand resting over it.

"Long enough," he answered, amused. She was a beautiful woman, but she wasn't a vane one. It was obvious the idea that she'd been caught staring at herself was atrocious to her. If he'd allowed it and been quiet, she'd have picked up her bucket and rag and marched away to hide much the way he did. But that was becoming of him, the Dark One. She, on the other hand, wasn't one to brood. She didn't have the darkness to pull it off. "Mirrors can be dangerous objects," he explained, nearing her. He'd been groping for some way to talk to her, to take her mind off her embarrassment. An explanation was the first thought he'd grabbed. "If you must possess one, it's best to keep it covered."

She shook her head in confusion before she looked back into the mirror. "But why? It's just a simple looking-glass."

"That may be true," he conceded, coming to stand behind her. "But when you look into a mirror, you should always keep in mind that you never know what might be looking back…"

Looking back…

She was looking back. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to look in a mirror for a good long time, and what he saw wasn't himself but rather her. Her eyes were still, and yet he could feel them everywhere at once, taking in not just herself, but him as well. She saw them both. The big picture. And he…

His heart was racing so fast he wondered if she could feel it. She was right there, practically leaning against his chest. It was the closest he'd been to her in a long time, the closest he'd certainly allowed himself to ever be while he was alone with her. He'd envisioned something like this once before, alone at night in his room. They hadn't been looking into a mirror in that fantasy, they'd been standing by the fireplace in his bedroom when he'd snuck up behind her. In his mind's eye, she'd smiled when he put his arms around her waist and lowered his head to nuzzle her neck and then kiss her there. She'd even laughed.

Thinking of that as he stood behind her now was enough to make his ears feel hot while he listened to his own pulse race. He should step away. She was a drug, intoxicating, overpowering…but he couldn't stop wondering if she would smile if he touched her like he did in his dreams.

He held his breath and his hands trembled as he reached out and placed them over her hips. A gentle gesture, he didn't want to scare her. The touch was hardly wrapping his arms around her as he had in his fantasies. And it was certainly less invasive than it had been when he'd caught her by the window. And yet he could tell that she was aware of it.

Not right away. She was too caught up in whatever her mind was thinking about, but it wasn't long after that he noticed the slightest hitch in her breathing and her eyes wandered down herself to stop at her waist where his fingers were clearly visible.

Back away! The voices urged. Back away before she steps away.

Before she stepped away...surely it was only a matter of time before she stepped away from him.

But the next second, she did the unthinkable and leaned back into him.

She leaned back! She was the one to get closer! Her heart was racing just as much as his own was, and for once he didn't need magic to know that! He could feel her heartbeat in her back, against his chest. She didn't pull herself free, and suddenly he couldn't bear to do it himself. Whatever spell the mirror had cast over them seemed to hold them in this limbo state, unwilling to go backward, unwilling to go forward…

And he wished he hadn't thought of that damn mirror! For every second they stood there together, frozen like this, it was a potential window for Regina into his world, a glimpse at Belle he wasn't willing to share with any other villains, not after what happened last time.

"Best to keep this old thing covered," he whispered into her ear. It took everything he had to pry his hand off her and use his magic to cover it once more, especially knowing that in doing it, he might break the spell it had on her, and she might come to her senses and step away. But once again, at the flash of magic, she gave a small start and leaned back further against him so that her back was nearly flat against his chest and oh he was suddenly grateful the mirror was covered, that she couldn't see his hand return or how he was enjoying this. He could smile now without risk of her seeing. Her arms stayed still but he wished, he longed for her to cover his hands with her own. They'd fit perfectly, he knew they would. How could they not when she fit so perfectly right where she was? When her hair smelled like his childhood home and her heartbeat reminded him of the small pulses a wheel could give as it worked? He had the sense that if he dared to lean down, to place his nose along her neck, or even his mouth to her shoulder, she wouldn't mind. Maybe that was why she was still here. Maybe she wanted him to do it. Maybe he should just-

Suddenly her head twisted on her delicate neck, just enough that he could see the corner of her eye. "What happened?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence between them. "To your family?"

Her heart began to pound faster, it matched his own, and he didn't have a thought as to how she knew he'd had a family, only that she did and he didn't mind. And that was very dangerous thinking. It was dangerous information. Not only for her, but also for him. This obsession, this passing urge of lust was nothing. It would get him nowhere, no closer to Baelfire, no closer to home, no matter how much she made him feel like he was finally home. They both needed to know that.

"What happened…" he whispered into her ear, trying to ignore the smell of lemons in her hair, "is I'm a difficult man to love."

She opened her mouth again to speak, and the warmth he felt from inside at the desperation for whatever words were going to come out were doused by sobering reality. He was a difficult man to love...even for her. He let go of her so fast that she staggered, and he had to turn around to fight the urge to help her keep her balance. She didn't call out to him as he strode over to his wheel, she didn't follow him either. The room suddenly felt hot and cold as he sat down and tried to ignore yet another instance of swelling in his groin.

He knew what images would haunt him tonight.

This chapter was a lot of fun to write. For anyone who is a bit clueless, this is a partially deleted scene. We didn't get to see the full thing in the extras, it was instead just a small snippet we got to see in a BTS extra. But, when I was writing Moments, I loved that snippet so much that I expanded it and built upon it.

Thank you Jennifer Baratta and Grace5231973 for continuing to leave me very kind reviews. I hope you like this chapter. Writing it from Rumple's perspective rather than Belle's was interesting. It's sort of a very sensual moment for both of them, though here we can see that it's really a lot deeper where Rumple is concerned. He's still in denial, but he's also sort of taking a step forward and allowing himself to say "yeah, I kinda like her in that way." It's one of my favorite Rumbelle moments in this fiction and it's going to lead to something really awesome in a couple of weeks. I hope you like it! If you're ready, let's move on tot he next for a chapter I am positive you don't see coming. Peace and Happy Reading!