Dark

Rumpelstiltskin held the candelabra aloft. "Watch your step, dearie. Wouldn't want you to take a tumble, would we?"

Belle gripped the drippy wall as she followed him down the steep steps into the cellar. Even with the light from the candles, the narrow stairwell was ominous. "Do you have any particular preferences? I could maybe help you pick out something."

He glanced over his shoulder, candlelight glinting off his eyes. "Time I spend here generally isn't devoted to the wine cellar."

She nearly stumbled.

"Oh, calm down." He chided. "I have potions, ingredients and salves as well as a root cellar down here. Mind that you don't go mixing them all up. You might have a nasty… complication."

"Erm… maybe something your guest might like?" Belle calmed and walked more carefully. "Where is your friend from?"

The candelabra flared as Rumpelstiltskin flung his head back and laughed. "My 'friend' is the most vicious slag to ever mutter a spell. If you think I'm a horrible monster, then you better brace yourself because at least I'm honest."

Belle stopped and stayed put as walked on. He slowed, presuming that she would recover and hurry to catch up, but she remained planted to her stair.

"If you're feeling as though I've slighted some delicate lady of the higher classes, your sympathy could not have found a worse target, dearie."

"No."

He turned and held up the candelabra, and took one step up. "Are you scared?"

Belle held her chin up. "No."

"You should be. Then what the devil is your problem? All I want is to pick out some horrid bottle, dust it off, and dump something awful in it so I can enjoy watching her face as she has to swallow it. I know what she's here for, and she wouldn't dare offend me."

She looked directly into those eyes. "I don't think that at all."

For the briefest instant, Rumpelstiltskin's face relaxed, then the moment was gone. "Try me, dearie." He teased, and began to turn to descend the last few stairs. The edges of a room were picking up stray tendrils of light below. "I was thinking rotten turnips or perhaps ogre paste..." He started reciting a disgusting list.

"That's not what I meant." Belle interrupted.

Rumpelstiltskin flung the candelabra to the floor. "Then what did you mean?"

The narrow passage was plunged into darkness. Belle was quite certain he could see her perfectly clearly, but she was uncertain of where her hands were in relation to the railing anymore. Her heart pounded as she heard the creak of leather and the swish of velvet draw near.

"You know exactly what I meant." She groped for the wall. "Now help me to see or –Oh!" Her hand slipped without purchase along the wall and her feet tangled with a cracked board. She tumbled in space and did her best to protect her face from what she was certain would be either stone or splintered wood.

Instead, her head pillowed gently onto velvet and her hands gripped leather. Strong, wiry arms had her round the shoulders and waist, solidly anchoring her away from harm. Her breath was coming fast, but the fear of injury was being replaced with restless awareness. Neither spoke, and they knew they only had seconds before this was no longer a rescue.

The characteristic mockery he spoke with tempered. "Are you…well?" He still held her.

"Let me check my ankle. Don't let go."

"Never."

When she was sure she could bear her weight, she stood pushed against his shoulders gently to right herself. He took longer than necessary to release her arms.

"Well, Maybe I should just stay here until you get a candle?" Belle started to fold her skirts beneath her to sit upon the stair, but Rumpelstiltskin stopped her.

"Ah-ah." He snapped his fingers and the room below burst forth light and a row of torches blossomed flames along the wall she'd been clinging to. As he skipped down the stairs he nudged the broken candles aside with his boot.

Belle gave Rumpelstiltskin a half-serious glare. "Why did you bother bringing that ridiculous candelabra? I spent an hour polishing it and now it's bent and on the floor!"

Rumpelstiltskin spun in front of the rows of bottles. "You know me, dearie." He sang to her. "I just love theatrics."

When he was finished, Belle followed him back up the stairs, pausing at the cellar door as she closed it as he carried his bottle off to his workroom for tampering. She whispered, just to herself to hear the words and know they were true. "I don't think you're a monster."

Suddenly he was in front of her, eyes empty of mirth and teasing but full of something more alien to him, something so human.

"I know."