Have been frozen by reading all the other amazing Rumbelle fic out there and am woefully intimidated. My deepest apologies for the long, drawn-out "Room With A View" vibe and the spaces in-between.

She leans in and brushes her lips to his. He can taste the honey on her tongue from her tea, and as he moves towards her to return the kiss, the warmth spreads across his face like a ray of sunlight.

This time, though, he knows he's dreaming and stifles the panic of her stealing his power. There's no Queen here, only Belle and her love, impossible as it seems. He's had this dream before and clings to the moment of their shared kiss for as long as he dares.

But this time, the flush of heat spreads further, across his head and shoulders, and then sweeps over him completely in a sudden blinding light and he's falling…

He's standing in a deserted town, on a wet street strewn with autumn leaves, in a suit and a coat, a familiar cane beneath his hands. And she's behind him in that blue dress and a traveling cloak, a basket of straw in her hands.

It doesn't seem right, but his attention is drawn to the mist coalescing before him, green and black and a swirl of ominous red. Regina, a smug smile on her face and a glowing heart in her hand…

The terror washes over him. A enemy before him and a prized possession behind him and he's weak and human and without magic, powerless to protect what matters most. He can't tell if it's her spell or his own fear that wraps around his throat, but he's struggling to shout for Belle to run, to breathe…

He woke up in a cold sweat and sat up in bed, crushing the heel of his hand against his eye socket. The dream echoed in his head. He looked at the clock, then the lightening sky out the window, giving up on sleep. No point in lying in bed for an extra hour or so.

He showered and changed into his suit of the day and as he limped down the stairs, paused at the light from the kitchen.

Of course, he had remembered Belle was in his house, but the reality of it was quite different. She was curled up on the corner bench of the breakfast nook, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea, and the other holding open a book against her bare knee. Her hair was freshly washed and still wet, a jumble of brown tangles.

What stole the words he had planned was the fact that she was wearing his bathrobe.

She was so riveted by what she was reading that she didn't notice him until he managed to cleared his looked up with a trace of excitement in her eyes, and he reeled from the memory of that look. It was as if she was looking directly at you without seeing you, instead seeing the world imagined through words on paper, lingering over reality for a few seconds longer before fading. He'd seen her look up at him like that too often when he had walked into the library, or any time she was buried in a book. The familiarity of it, of her looking at him through her vivid imagination on fire, made his heart ache and he steeled himself against the fresh pain.

"Found something worth reading, I see." He looked away from her and reached for the tea kettle. She flipped the book over on the table, and stood, carefully holding the front of the robe closed.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I should have asked, but I couldn't sleep and it was so early…" She looked down at the robe. "I couldn't bear to put on the clothes from before and… this was in the bathroom. I hope it's okay."

"Of course." He concentrated on steadying his hands as he measured out the tea for the pot. "But, if you would like, there are more suitable clothes for you in the closet in your room." He didn't need to look at her to feel her curiosity and confusion. "Don't overthink it, my dear," he said, pouring the hot water. "It was only a phone call or two as soon as I found you."

There was a weighty silence in the air as she processed that and then spoke. He was surprised at the lack of accusation in her tone, but that was Belle, always surprising him. "You knew I would go with you." It was a statement, as neutral as he could have delivered. He turned to look at her, a cup of tea in his hand. "Not exactly," he said, taking a sip. "But I was reasonably sure you did not want to go… home."

She stiffened at the word, and her chin came up slightly, though she avoided his eyes. "No."

"Right." He set his cup down. "Well, then. Best get ready for the day, and we can get started." He looked at her expectantly. Neutrally. She smiled slightly and nodded, then slipped around him and headed up the stairs.

He waited until he heard her room door close before picking up the book on the table. Pride and Prejudice, second edition. He put it down. Of course, she would simply love Jane Austen. He made a mental note to acquire a few more classics for her as he finished his tea, the glow of sunrise beginning to spill over the windowsill before him.

There's more, but only until OUAT gets back on a major Rumbelle storyline. Thank you for taking the time to read, and for being you.