"Rumpelstiltskin, perhaps you don't remember due to the influence of several alcoholic drinks, but you and I…we…"
Oh, that would never do. It sounded foolish even to her ears. And what if the man did not have any memory of what he did the previous night? Most likely, he would assume she was making a clever joke this morning and giggle.
Belle sighed deeply, the sudden rush of air blowing a few loose strands of hair off her forehead. She cleared her throat, prepared to try again as she fixed together her master's breakfast. This subject could not simply be avoided; what happened last night was monumental to behold. It wasn't as easy to shrug off as picking up a fallen napkin from the floor.
"Rumpelstiltskin, I've noticed that you're overly sensitive lately. I was wondering if it had anything to do with…how you might feel…about me?" Was that too blunt of a question? Would he scold her for such nonsense or would it be the pickaxe needed to strike down his walls? Maybe he was afraid to make a move toward her that way. Sober, at least.
That way…
Belle laid the tray of tea and breakfast down and traced her finger around the rim of one of the cups as she lost herself in thought. Never before had she been this nervous or worked up over a man. Not the ones in her kingdom, not the royals seeking her hand in marriage, and certainly not Gaston. Gods, it was just a man!
So why all of a sudden did her head feel fuzzy inside and her mouth cotton-dry and her knees incapable of supporting her body? Her footwork was noticeably springier, her heart lighter, a smile coming easier to her lips.
It all went back to that trivial kiss.
It sent sparks dancing along her fingertips and chills skating down her spine at the same time. It made her feel like she could fly while still being somewhat grounded to the earth and…whole. It made her feel whole, as though she had been missing a piece of her soul all this time. It baffled her, excited her, it even scared her. She'd never felt this way in all her life.
Was that tremble in her limbs born of the possibility that Rumpelstiltskin might harbor something…intimate for her? Was such a thing even true? That underneath the guise of a beast there was a handsome prince in need of love? Or was she reading too much into his drunken kiss? That must be it, she concluded solemnly. It was a drunken kiss. Maybe I'm reading too many stories after all.
Her father often told her that her mind was a sponge, absorbing every little detail within every dusty tome she could get her hands on. She had a very good memory and spoke more than one language. It was safe to say that Belle knew a lot about the workings of the world, even if she had not seen much of it beyond her kingdom or this castle. But this…the meaning of this kiss…she did not know. For the first time that she could remember, her mind drew a blank.
She tried to pinpoint the exact moment that Rumpel might have begun to feel something for her—assuming there was a chance he might, anyway. Did it happen on their journey to find Robin Hood? Was there a spark when she hugged him after he spared Robin Hood's life? Was it before or after he caught her in his arms?
She did not know. The curiosity and need for answers bothered her.
There were so many questions on her tongue. Did he feel something special or did it involve this conundrum of his so-called illness? Would it fade once he got better? Or was there no cure for whatever was plaguing him?
She wanted to ask him; she just wasn't sure how to go about it. Her chance might come over breakfast. Brilliant, Belle, she chastised herself. It'll be something along the lines of: may I have the bowl of bread, sir? Oh, that reminds me…is there a reason you're so sensitive around me? Do you want me secretly? The poor man will spill his stew on his shirt.
The thunderous sound of a crash on the second floor jolted Belle out of her reverie. Rumpelstiltskin must be awake. Scooping up the tray, she hastily climbed the grand staircase and veered toward the dining hall. She pushed the door open with her hip and found Rumpelstiltskin sitting on the floor, massaging his thigh.
His eyes, which might have been bloodshot had they been normal, roved wildly about the sunlit room, his brows knitted together fiercely, and his lips puckered in a troubled frown. The hand that rubbed his thigh moved to the back of his neck, regardless of his obvious discomfort in rubbing, as though he could coax an elusive thought to the front of his mind. He had the lost, confused look of a drunkard trying to remember how they got from Point A to Point B.
"Morning, sir," she greeted politely, as she often did. No matter how dreary the situation, she felt it was always best to start the morning off on the right foot. Rumpelstiltskin blinked dazedly at her, woozily leaping to his feet. She crossed to the table and set the tray down. "Is something wrong?" Something that connects back to that mysterious illness of yours? Or maybe the alcohol is leaving its mark.
"Belle," he drawled dreamily. It seemed he was struggling to form proper words, his eyes uncomfortably closing. "Gods, I have a splitting headache. It feels…like someone is tapping my head with an axe. And I appear to be missing several hours of memory. What exactly…did I do when I came back last night?"
Belle immediately tasted him on her lips again and she fought the urge to bring her fingers to her tingling mouth. Her fingers itched to wring her blue skirts, but she denied them that as well. He was watching her closely, trying to gauge a reaction to his probing question. She sensed he would know if she was lying.
"You transported back to your castle by magic and landed on the table. You were too intoxicated to make it to your bed, so I brought you a pillow and blanket to make you comfortable," she explained, choosing her words carefully. None of those details were lies, but she supposed she was lying by omission. Her cheeks grew hot as they did when she was holding something back.
"That explains why I woke up and rolled onto the floor," he muttered, pressing a hand to his side. "I think I bruised my stomach. Or broke a rib. Or both."
Belle felt an overwhelming rush of sympathy for him. He blinked rapidly against the golden sun filtering in through the windows. She wished she had not ripped the curtains down or else she would close them to prevent the sunlight from blinding him like it was. He perched on the edge of the table, his back facing the windows and his head tucked down. His knuckles kneaded the gold-grey skin of his forehead, rising up and down rhythmically.
"A cup of tea might soothe your headache," she suggested, holding out a teacup to him in offering. She did not realize until he accepted it that it was the chipped cup. Their fingers lightly brushed around the cup and he shivered—from revulsion or pleasure, she could not say. He took tiny sips of the tea, experimentally tasting it on his palate.
The silence around them was thick. She heard every breath Rumpelstiltskin took, every moist slurp of the tea, every groan of the table under his weight. Even though he tried to hide it over the rim of his teacup, his reptilian eyes kept flickering back to her, as though tied to her body by a golden string. She wondered if her presence was helping him or unnerving him.
Perhaps if she got him talking, it would ease him. Perhaps it would provide her an opportunity to broach the subject of what was truly bothering him. You never know until you try, she thought optimistically.
"So," she started, settling beside him on the table. For what it was worth, he did not recoil. However, he was staring hard into his cup of tea and inhaling deeply like he smelled something pleasant. It must be the tea. "I've had a few months to look around. Upstairs…there are clothes. Small, as if for a child. Were they yours or was there…a son?"
The tea inside his cup rippled as his hands trembled. Grief etched over his mystical features, aging him vastly with creases around his eyes and temples. Belle gently touched his wrist and he gasped, sucking in air like he was afraid of running out of it.
"Yes, there was a son. I lost him," he said, his voice wrought with despair. He avoided meeting Belle's concerned gaze. She slowly withdrew her hand from his wrist and he seemed to relax a little, his muscles not so tense.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. In truth, she was sorry for so many things lately. She was sorry about his son. She was sorry for ripping down the curtains, even if it was accidental. She was sorry for not being able to understand the personal dilemma he was dealing with and thereby causing him greater stress.
He did not answer. She longed to break through those fearsome walls he had constructed around his entire being. Were the gods so cruel to him in this world that he learned not to trust a single soul?
"If I'm never to know another person in my entire life, can't I at least know you?" She craned her neck to peer at his face underneath the wiry strands of his golden-streaked hair.
"Perhaps…" He murmured, sliding off the table. He pointed a finger accusingly at her chest. "Perhaps you just want to learn the monster's weaknesses."
It was spoken in jest, not accusation. He made a few nonsensical nyeh sounds, earning him a smile. She grasped his hand again and guided it down to his side, much to his shock. Had a woman never touched him before? She knew he could not be that inexperienced, if he had fathered a child. She was naïve about some things yet, but not enough to be oblivious to how the world worked that way. After all, had she chosen to stay in her kingdom, the Ogre Wars would either demolish her entire kingdom or she would marry Gaston and be expected to carry a baby in her belly in as little as a year.
"You are not a monster," she argued. He looked like he didn't believe it. Fortunately for her, he had unknowingly given her the opening she needed to ask the question she truly wanted to ask. "Speaking of weaknesses, I've noticed you haven't been yourself the past few days. You told me you were ill, but I think there's more to the story. Is something bothering you?"
He straightened to full height, the sudden movement causing some of his tea to slosh out of his cup. He drew away a few paces. Belle recognized his reluctance and swooped forward to latch onto his silk sleeve. His eyes widened. Was her touch that vexing to him?
"Please, tell me. You always gasp when I touch you as if you can't bear it. Whenever I hum, you wince or sigh. Whenever there's a disruptive noise of some sort, you cringe. Last night, you resorted to drinking to escape your problems. Please, tell me so that I can help you."
Rumpelstiltskin stared down at her fingers clutching his sleeve. He either did not have the strength to pry them off or he was afraid of what might happen if he touched them. Not for the first time this week, he appeared worn and did not argue against her pleas.
"You have to understand: it's been a very, very long time since I resided under the same roof as another woman. Or anyone, for that matter." Belle nodded eagerly, though she felt sorrow for him. Have you been alone that long? "As the Dark One, I have heightened senses beyond human capacity. Every night, I heard you whimpering in your cell. Every day, I was surrounded by your humming. It was maddening; I couldn't take it. So I concocted a potion that was meant to dull my senses. But something went wrong and now…my senses are heightened twice-fold. No, ten-fold. You claim I came home drunk last night, but what you fail to realize, dearie, is that I am constantly drunk on you."
Belle absorbed every syllable he uttered, weighing its truth, replaying the events of the past few days with a new perspective. He was oversensitive. That was why he cringed following the scraping of a fork on a plate or a knock on a door. That was why he experienced euphoria over his meals, why he could not stand to have her touch him.
She did him a favor by releasing his sleeve. Her mind raced to process the new information. The screech of the ladder as she dragged it into the dining hall, falling into his arms, that paper-cut…Oh, the poor man must have been in agony. It's all because of me. And I never knew.
There must not be a solution or else he would have corrected his sensitivity by now. Meanwhile, she was simply making it worse by being around him. What was she to do except keep her distance?
"Thank you for being honest with me," she replied sincerely. She did not reach out to him. Before he could answer, there was a sudden knock at the castle's door. As she watched, he shuddered as the pounding echoed throughout the castle. Belle offered to see to it, but he readily waved it off.
"Let me handle it," he said, flitting off before she could object. She suspected he needed the fresh air and the excuse to escape her. She went about dusting the delicate items in the cupboard, taking extra care not to send flurries of dust wafting through the air. If she wasn't careful, Rumpelstiltskin might wheeze or sneeze, none of which would be pleasant for him.
She wondered if he heard her reciting what to say this morning. He didn't appear to remember that they kissed the previous night. It was amazing that the kiss did not make his heart give out then and there.
Rumpelstiltskin returned shortly, lingering in the doorway. It was the farthest he could be from her while being in the same room. Whatever the matter was, she doubted it was one of his deals. The way he bartered with most people, it took him more than a few minutes to reach a settlement. With a heavy heart, she knew that most people were not as selfless or quick at decision-making as she was.
"What was that about?" She turned around and noticed that Rumpelstiltskin had a long-stemmed red rose between his fingers. He stuffed his nose among its petals and sniffed, only to wobble on his feet, heady from the fragrance.
Did he have a secret admirer? Was that where all those roses in the foyer came from? Other women? Now, Belle, she berated herself. Do I detect a hint of jealousy? A spiteful green monster rearing his head? Oddly, she imagined the words spoken in Rumpel's lilt, not her own.
"Just an old beggar woman selling flowers," he said, twirling the flower through his fingers. Belle thought it strange that an old beggar woman would risk the freezing temperatures and steep climb of the mountain to sell roses to the Dark One, but she was too distracted by his next move to say anything about it.
With a graceful little bow, he held the rose out to her, challenging her to take it with a perked eyebrow. No one had ever given her a rose before. Closing the distance between them, she graciously accepted the rose and returned his bow with a curtsy of her own. A genuine smile spread easily across her lips as she inhaled the rose's aroma.
"Why, thank you." If she didn't know any better, a smile was tugging at his lips as well.
….
He was going to set Belle free.
Maybe it was selfish on his part—a way of letting the sensitivity get the best of him and this being a way to free himself of it—but it might very well be the only selfless thing he could accomplish in her name.
He never felt this way about any woman, not even when it came to his first wife and Cora. Milah had been an arranged marriage that he decided to make the best of and Cora was nothing but lust. He could not look upon Belle without wondering if she was indeed his true love (no, she couldn't be).
He writhed in his seat as she danced her way to the cupboard and found a vase to put the rose in and squirmed when the shears scraped together and snipped the end of the stem. He listened intently as she told him how she wanted to be brave and see the world, all the while acknowledging what Belle did not say: that he was the reason she could never fulfill her dreams. She was as beautiful as that rose, even if it was her fiancé, and she would surely wilt under his influence. He'd known for a while that Belle deserved better than this imprisonment.
So when Belle inquired about the story of his son, he did not allow his cowardice to talk him out of it. He pressed on without looking back. He had only ever broken one deal in his life. Now, he was prepared to make this one null and void.
"Tell you what…I'll make you a deal. Head into town and fetch me some fresh straw. When you return, I'll share my tale," he proposed. Belle was hopeless to hide her surprise, her blue eyes sparkling with amazement. Gods, he would miss the way her eyes lit up in the sunlight.
"Town? But…you trust me to come back?" She leaned closer over the table and he caught a whiff of her natural scent. He tried to preserve it in his memory. Hopefully, her absence would make these leather pants more tolerable to wear. It also meant he'd have to enchant the brooms to sweep the castle.
"Oh, no," he replied softly. "I expect I'll never see you again."
He thought the unexpected gift of her freedom would have her dashing for her belongings like her dress was on fire, but she remained sitting on the edge of that table. What was she waiting for? Did she want him to hang a going-away banner over the castle's door? Serve up some cake? Did she want gold?
"Does my release have anything to do with your sensitivity problem?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the guilt eating away at him from the inside-out. In a sense, he knew he was only trying to free himself of her, to be rid of such unnerving stimuli. In a way, he also realized he did not want to be free of her, not when she was the closest thing to a companion he had since…far too long.
It would be so lonely here without her and it would be so tedious living with this sensitivity problem. The castle would be darker and gloomier without her light, the silence would be deafening without her cheerful voice. It would be so easy to let her stay, to pass it off as a quip, to ultimately give into this sensitivity, and indulge in all things Belle. The scent of her skin, the velvet feel of it stretching under his palm, the silk of her hair threading through his fingers, the moans he could draw from her lips as well as his own—
No! That was the sensitivity talking!
His defenses were severely weakened and the raw instincts were becoming demanding, so much that his senses controlled his every desire and thought. He had to do this now. He had to let her go before he lost himself completely, before she got hurt for dancing too close to the flames.
"Perhaps," he forced himself to croak. "It would be better for both of us to end our story here."
He was still sitting in that rigid chair when she finally swept out of the room, collecting her green cloak along the way. He did not tell her about the dream he had last night. Not the one where he was stuck in a room of mirrors with Regina's face cackling all around him and taunting him with hundreds of poisoned apples—that was a nightmare. The one where Belle asked him about his feelings for her. He wasn't entirely sure if it was fragments of a dream or if his ears really heard her voice floating to him in the midst of his drunken stupor.
Always a coward, he did not gather up the courage to ask. He was afraid it might have been a cruel trick of his imagination.
…
It was a terribly long journey on foot from the Dark Castle to the nearest town and market. The distance inevitably gave Belle ample time to think about what had passed between her and Rumpelstiltskin as of late.
She knew he did not expect her to return with a basket brimming with fresh straw, he even admitted as much. Still, she had taken the straw basket with her out the door and it was now swinging from the crook of her arm as she descended the vast mountainside.
Belle did not feel right walking away from the Dark Castle and Rumpelstiltskin. Every instinct in her body was warning against it, no matter how many times she dreamed of her golden kingdom. She thought she would be overjoyed to be given the chance to see her castle again, but she felt only solemnity.
And yet, she kept walking on.
The question that tugged at her mind restlessly was this: did she wish to return to the Dark Castle because of a secret vow to help Rumpelstiltskin free himself of his sensitivity? Or was it because of the strengthening connection and the sweet gestures she did not expect from the dark dealmaker? Or was it both?
Perhaps…it would be better for both of us to end our story here, he had said after granting her permission to leave indefinitely. She tried to get a sense of whether that was true or not. To leave, walk away, return to her kingdom…she would be with her family once more. It would be a happy ending to her story…wouldn't it?
Belle's pace slowed.
What if she reached her kingdom and they shunned her for what they assumed happened after the monster took her away? Her father might believe her, but no one else would. Then there was the matter of Gaston. If she returned and was welcomed, her father would allow the betrothal to carry on, something Belle had never wanted. No one decides my fate but me; she remembered saying that fateful night. But wasn't she surrendering the reins of control if she walked back into that situation? Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin would once again be alone in his castle, suffering under the curse of sensitivity and his own misery. She wanted so much to help him, if she only knew how.
This is not better at all, Belle realized with a sudden ache in her heart. The only thing we're doing is running. I've never run from a problem before and I don't intend to start now. Another curious thought occurred to her then. What if this was some sort of test to see if she would break her deal? Everyone knew Rumpelstiltskin was manipulative in all his deals, but was there a point when the manipulation ever halted, especially when it served his interests? Oh, but he sounded so sincere…
Several times she looked over her shoulder to see if he was following her or coming after her, but he never did. Part of Belle knew that he likely never would, either. Instinctively, she knew he wasn't the type to believe he was strong enough to love another, let alone chase after them to avoid letting them slip through his fingers. A pang of sympathy shot through Belle.
She stopped completely and gazed into the distance, the path stretching far in front of her. If she kept going through these woods, she'd reach the town sure enough…but if she carried on past it and went further still, she would begin the journey to her castle.
This was it—town or home, stay or go. It was her choice alone.
Belle started walking again.
It was a good thing she checked over her shoulder for the tenth time or she might have missed the black carriage coming up the road behind her. It was a formidable shadow cutting through the brightness of the forest, complete with black drapes over the windows, powerful black horses, and black-armored men wearing funny helmets that reminded Belle of starving crows. She graciously stepped aside to let the carriage pass and tilted her head in puzzlement as the carriage slowed to a stop no more than a foot away.
This certainly wasn't Rumpelstiltskin's carriage.
A tingle of apprehension slithered down Belle's spine until the carriage door opened wide to reveal a beautiful woman in fancy garb. She looked to be a few years older than Belle, clad from head to toe in the same intimidating black hues as the carriage. Black boots, black leather pants, black corset cinching her waist…even the curls of her hair were of the darkest ebony that Belle had seen, as though woven from midnight shadows and powdery soot. The only splashes of color were her luminescent skin and the crimson lips that were now stretching into a full, inviting smile.
"Did my carriage splash you?" From the very start, Belle sensed something…off about the woman leaning out of the carriage. Her blue eyes flickered to a puddle of water a few feet away, her hands spreading over the dry sky blue fabric of her dress.
"No, I'm fine," Belle insisted in soft tones. The woman rolled her neck until there was a sharp crack.
"I've been riding in that carriage far too long. How about if I stretch my legs and walk with you for a spell?"
The warning bells went off in Belle's head. Her stomach curled as though she drank sour milk. It seemed this…royal? Was she a princess or a queen? Her attire was far too expensive for common folk. Either way, she seemed keen on talking with Belle alone.
Before Belle could object about the walk, the woman in black stepped down from her carriage and gathered up a lacy black parasol, popping it open over her head. She draped her arm around Belle's shoulder like they were old friends, the black umbrella blocking the sunlight from shining over Belle's head.
"You carry very little," the woman in black noted, motioning her chin to Belle's empty basket. It didn't matter whether Belle intended to go to the market or her kingdom—there was very little to carry just the same. All she cared to take was the dress and cloak on her back as well as the golden teardrop necklace around her throat. She had no idea what Rumpelstiltskin did with the golden dress. Much as she loved books, it was impossible to choose one for the road, so Belle did without.
But Belle was hesitant to share her ordeal with this stranger. The woman in black sniffled disappointingly in light of her silence.
"You're running from someone. Question is: master or lover?" Belle chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure how to answer. There was no doubt that Rumpelstiltskin was her master as she was his caretaker, but…lover? A pink blush crept into her cheeks, making the woman snicker. "Oh. Master and lover."
Suddenly, the woman's presence was too overbearing for Belle to endure anymore. Fortunately for this stranger, Belle knew her manners even in annoyance. She gently freed herself from the woman's hold and smiled politely.
"I might take a rest. You go on ahead," she said, gesturing toward the long path in the distance. The woman's lips pursed. Apparently, she was not one to be deterred easily. She latched onto Belle's shoulder again, her nails digging into the cloak's fabric, and directed Belle along with her step-by-step. Belle had no choice but to accompany her.
"So, if I'm right," the woman in black continued talking as if there had been no disruption. "You love your employer, but you're leaving him."
Belle felt her pulse quicken as this stranger put into words so easily what Belle had been trying to work out since the moment she stepped through the Dark Castle's doors mere hours ago. She pictured Rumpelstiltskin in her mind and the arm around her shoulders became less daunting. There was obviously no escaping this woman until she'd had her say, so Belle figured it might help if she at least used it to her advantage and talked to someone about what she was thinking. It was nearly impossible to discuss the matter with Rumpelstiltskin, given its personal implications.
"I think I could love him….but something dark has taken root inside him. Besides the sensitivity," she said. The last bit was meant more for herself than this unsettling stranger. It was hard to ignore the way her neck loomed over Belle's shoulder like some dangerous bird.
"Sensitivity?" The woman's eyebrows lifted, oblivious to Belle's meaning. Then her dark eyes glimmered with recognition. "Oh, I see. In other words, your master and lover…has a deep connection with his inner feelings." The woman's lips quirked in an odd way, as though she were holding back laughter. Belle tried to squirm from her grasp, but her grip was stern as steel. "There's nothing wrong with that, to be sure. Even sheep seek the sanctity of love, I suppose. Before prowling wolves rip them to shreds, that is."
Which are you? Belle longed to ask. Sheep or wolf? Belle surreptitiously examined the woman who so casually strolled alongside her on the road. Wolf, definitely. And Rumpelstiltskin was a sheep in wolf's clothing.
"No, you don't understand. It's not that he's…It's complicated, brought on by magical means instead of inheritance," she explained, wondering how much she should reveal. The woman nodded thoughtfully.
"Sounds like a curse to me," she declared. "And all curses can be broken. A kiss born of true love would do it."
Belle felt the information sink into her mind, lighting a spark that quickly burst into wildfire. True love's kiss…was that the answer in helping Rumpelstiltskin? They'd already kissed, but he didn't remember it and it had taken her by surprise before she'd ever truly considered feeling something deeper for her master. But if they both felt this connection….and if she returned to the castle and kissed him a second time…it might work…
"A kiss…true love's kiss…would be enough to cure him of his curse?" Belle was always susceptible to the beauty of hope. It filled her every pore, lightened her heart, made her want to run back to Rumpelstiltskin and help him like she never could before.
The woman finally removed her arm from Belle's shoulder and grinned, her red lips splitting apart to reveal white teeth.
"As I said, my dear…True love's kiss will break any curse." To Belle's knowledge, that was the moment she ultimately decided where she was headed.
…
To knock or not to knock…that was the question.
It was a shabby-looking hovel in the middle of the woods and it took Rumpelstiltskin hours to find. He was pretty sure he went around in circles for most of that time until he asked a couple of maidens in the next town over if they'd seen his little hatter friend. Women were always trustworthy for picking a handsome face out of the crowd. Though, their crying and cowering were almost as bad as the shrieking woman who just gave birth. It took him unnecessary minutes to get them to shush enough for him to ask for directions.
Now Rumpelstiltskin stood outside the door of a miserable hovel, inexplicably having second thoughts. He kept raising and lowering his fist, debating whether to knock. His mind was a blank slate and he couldn't think of a single decent thing to say. After all, he hadn't requested the hatter's help this way in years.
Maybe he could pretend to be selling roses like the old beggar woman and feign surprise to see that Jefferson lived here. That might work. Hello, dearie, would you care for some fresh, beautiful flowers to please your special lady? Oh, Jefferson, fancy seeing you here!
No, Jefferson would never believe that. He could sniff out a false story as easily as Rumpelstiltskin himself.
Knock, don't knock, knock, don't knock, he thought, doing a funny dance every time he went to knock on the door. He began to pace restlessly, tromping through Jefferson's pathetic garden. Maybe he should ask someone else for help. But who else was there to ask? Belle was gone. Maybe he would knock and Jefferson wouldn't be home. Then he could shrug, walk away, leave a kind note…
Oh, forget it. He was just going to do it and get it over with. This sensitivity wasn't worth the excuse of cowardice. He strode up to the door and pounded his fist on it. Afterwards, he waved his hand in the air, easing the stiffness out of his palm. Sensitivity Rule #1: Doors are not my friend. Sensitivity Rule #2: Neither are leather pants.
"Took you long enough," Jefferson said by way of greeting as he thrust open the rickety door. It squeaked and Rumpel clamped his hand over his ear. He jumped back, puzzlement robbing him of words. "Grace told me there was a little green troll sneaking around our garden. I wondered how long it would take you to knock. A little longer than I expected."
Beyond Jefferson's shoulder, Rumpel caught a glimpse of his daughter pretending to pour tea at an imaginative tea party. She met his snakelike eyes and gasped, dropping the kettle. He made a low humph in the back of his throat. No one invited him to tea parties.
"I am not a troll! How insulting," he grumbled. Jefferson blocked Rumpelstiltskin's view of Grace. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The humor—or what little there was of it—had vanished.
He arrogantly raised his chin, his neck unscarred. That would change in time. Ever since having the vision, Rumpel considered warning Jefferson of Regina's betrayal, a grisly act that would leave him stranded in Wonderland and Grace fatherless, but Regina needed the thing she loved most to cast this curse and sweep them away to a land without magic where Bae waited. So he held his tongue and pushed the image of that gruesome neck scar out of his mind.
"Whatever you call yourself is irrelevant. Why are you here?" Rumpel observed Jefferson's pinched and guarded expression with amusement. This wasn't quite the greeting he expected from an old…acquaintance. Furthermore, when was the last time Jefferson took a bath? He smelled like mushrooms.
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Rumpel taunted, grinning impishly. "Or did someone pour vinegar in your morning tea? Sounds like something I would do."
He tried to squeeze past Jefferson to get into the cramped house, but the hatter intercepted every move he made. Left, right, left; if anyone passed by, they would think the Dark One and Jefferson were dancing together.
"You're not getting inside, so stop trying," Jefferson shouted angrily, spreading his arms wide over the door. If Rumpel wanted in, he'd have to go directly under Jefferson's legs. Some hospitality. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it from where you're standing. If you're here to boast about a new pair of leather pants, I'm not interested. Go tie the Queen to a tree and strut in front of her."
The mention of their fair queen gave Rumpel an idea. He scanned the ground, but luckily there were no puddles. Jefferson had no mirrors in his hovel, clever boy. Rumpel knew precisely how to earn an invitation inside.
"Rumor has it that Regina is destined to appear if you say her name multiple times in a row. Hmm…shall we give it a try? Summon her up like a genie? Set up some torches, sit in a circle, and hold hands for dear life?" Jefferson's seriousness boiled down into fear. The last thing he wanted was for Regina to find out where he lived. Rumpel resisted the urge to giggle. "Oh, never mind. I'll just go ahead and do it. You talked me into it. Hem-hem…Regina, Regina, Reg—"
Jefferson picked up a handful of straw and shoved it into Rumpel's mouth. Rumpel's eyes boggled and he spewed out the straw. Bending over at the waist, he started to gag and ran his palms over his tongue to rid it of the taste of straw. Bleh! Bleh! Gods, straw tastes terrible. As a matter of fact, so do my hands. Bleh!
Was this an assassination attempt?
"You can come in! Just stop yelling that! Ever since I jumped into Oz, I never trusted trees." Jefferson waved Rumpel inside, pushing him in when he moved too slowly. He slammed the door and bolted it. Grace sat frozen on her chair, the tea party forgotten. "Grace, why don't you go and make sure the mushrooms are ready for the market tomorrow?"
Grace's wide eyes switched from Rumpelstiltskin to her father.
"But, papa, we already—"
"Please, Grace. Just go," he urged, never taking his eyes off Rumpelstiltskin. After a beat or two, Grace hopped off her chair and disappeared into the back of the house. Rumpel suspected Jefferson did not want his daughter associated with the Dark One. Jefferson waited a couple of minutes before he spoke again. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"
Rumpel strode to the miniature table that hosted Grace's tea party and dared to help himself to a cup of tea. He had to get rid of the straw flavor on the roof of his mouth. Before he even gulped it down, he spat it out. Jefferson leaped out of the way to avoid the stream. How much sugar did Grace put in this tea? A gallon?
"I have a…little problem," he said vaguely, squeezing his fingers together to demonstrate how little. He dusted off a stool and plopped on it. At least it was more comfortable than the ones in the tavern. Jefferson towered over him, rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Well, I certainly wasn't going to be the first one to say it. I'm glad you've come to your senses about the size of your estate," he remarked. Rumpel glanced down there and gaped openly at the hatter. "If you're thinking of asking me to fetch you some Wonderland mushrooms so that you can adjust it, fair warning: someone already hired me to do that once. It didn't work."
"Not that problem," Rumpel exclaimed, crossing his legs. Ooh, that didn't feel right. He uncrossed them and tried the other leg. Nope, still not right. He resigned to positioning his body away from Jefferson. "For the record, I have no problem in that department. My problem consists of…oversensitivity."
Jefferson arched an eyebrow.
"You're oversensitive?" Even worse than the smirk, Jefferson began to chuckle. Rumpel narrowed his eyes threateningly. He'd like to see how Jefferson handled this problem, especially with a little girl that likely never piped down until she was fast asleep.
"It's not funny! I can't eat anything without my tongue feeling like it's been dipped in the saltiest of the salty and the sweetest of the sweet. I can't make a single move without these leather pants riding up the wrong way and I refuse to revert to peasantry. I have to pinch my nose because the slightest wrong smell will make me sneeze and blow my brains to bits. And I am inches away from clogging my ears. The torture is never-ending!"
Jefferson held up his palms, signaling Rumpel to calm down. That goofy grin was still plastered on his lips.
"Down, boy. How exactly did you get yourself in this mess? Or is this Regina's latest move on the chessboard?" Rumpel scoffed. Regina only wished she could devise this sort of torture for him. Her form of torture was the same as her mother's—glaring incessantly and thrusting her cleavage in his face.
"It's a bit of an interesting tale. Practically worthy of a campfire story," Rumpel boasted. Inside, he was scrambling about, wondering how to best explain his screw-up of the century. Jefferson tapped his foot on the ground, waiting. Tap-tap-tap-tap. "Stop tapping! Do you realize how irritating it is, listening to tap-tap-tap-tap-tap drilling into your skull?"
"My apologies," Jefferson said…and tapped his shoe one more time for the hell of it.
Rumpel scowled. The hatter was enjoying his vulnerability way too much. If he didn't need Jefferson's help so much, he'd storm out of here and never look back. Then again, maybe that was exactly what Jefferson wanted. It was manipulation at its finest. It was a con; making a person do something they believed was their idea in the first place.
Well, Jefferson would be sorely disappointed.
"See, my senses were already heightened due to my Dark One status and my maid was…bothering me. She was everywhere and driving me up the wall. So I crafted a potion to dull my senses, but it backfired. Miserably. It made it worse, heightening my senses twice as much as before."
Jefferson's face was turning red from the effort of not laughing. Rumpel aimed his finger at him warningly, which helped Jefferson gather his wits a little quicker. For all the hatter knew, Rumpel could turn him into a stuffed bear and sit him down at Grace's tea party.
Jefferson lowered his body into a chair opposite Rumpel and ran his fingers through his shaggy mane of hair.
"Dare I ask what you put in the potion?"
Rumpel tilted his head inquisitively. He never considered that before. Of course it had something to do with the ingredients. The only problem was: he'd never made a sense-dulling potion before, so he sort of…tossed in anything and everything in his stock of ingredients.
"Let's see…there was squid ink, Munchkin tears, Wonderland mushrooms, a spoonful of sugar to make the potion go down—" Rumpelstiltskin was in the midst of ticking the items off on his fingers when Jefferson abruptly slapped his knee.
"Well, there's your problem right there." Rumpel stared at the hatter uncomprehendingly, his fingers raised and the items left to be spoken now forgotten.
"Sugar?" He vowed never to swallow another spoonful of sugar again. Jefferson shook his head.
"No, the Wonderland mushrooms. You tried dulling your senses, but the potion did the opposite. That's because Wonderland mushrooms do the exact opposite of whatever you want them to do." Rumpel swiveled in Jefferson's direction. His eyes were two slates of molten gold.
"Gee, you didn't think to mention that little de-tail earlier in life? Say, when you were stuffing your pants full of my gold?" Jefferson shrugged.
"I would have…but then I figured it would be amusing if you used the mushrooms to make yourself six feet tall and you turned yourself into a Munchkin." Rumpel sniffed angrily. Turning him into a stuffed bear was too generous. He'd turn him into a rabbit instead. With the head half-torn off and missing one eye.
"I wonder how hilarious you'd find it if I used my tiny body to my advantage, crawled somewhere you wouldn't want me to be and I started biting? Bed-bugs will be the least of your worries." Jefferson began to protest, but Rumpel silenced him. "You asked me what I want. It's not so much as a want as it is a need. I need a cure."
Jefferson's eyes traveled to the dusty amber-colored hatbox hiding under the poorly-shaped bed in the corner.
"No can do. I hung up my hat after I lost my wife," he said. No one had rejected the Dark One before. It made Rumpel's blood boil to come so close, yet be so far away. Jefferson must have sensed his temper flaring. A Rumpelstiltskin temper tantrum was worse than ten children having tantrums at the same time. "It doesn't mean there isn't a solution. Take True Love's Kiss, for example."
Rumpel stomped his foot on the ground. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning as a reverberation shot up his leg and then groaned simply from chomping on his cheek. He didn't come here for something as ridiculous and untrustworthy as True Love.
"Oh, yes! Why didn't I think of that? Silly me. I'll just arrange a picnic in a field of flowers with my lady love, sweep her off her feet, and plant an enormous sweet kiss on her willing lips. Ka-boom, fireworks, happy ending. Except for the fact that I seemed to have misplaced her. Somewhere in Never-Gonna-Happen-Land."
"Everyone has a true love. Even small, sad imps like you," Jefferson shot back. If his true love was out there, he hadn't met her yet. At least, he didn't think so. It'd be easier if his true love was wearing a makeshift sign on her breast: Kiss Me, I'm Your True Love. "What about your maid?"
That startled Rumpel so much that he tumbled off the chair and banged his elbow. He rolled on the floor rubbing it before regaining his composure enough to jump to his feet. It didn't help that Jefferson had water streaming from his eyes and was cackling like a hyena.
"Belle? My true love?" Could it be that easy, truthfully? Belle, a princess and his caretaker, being his one true love? Belle, with her easy smiles, extraordinary wisdom, kind heart, and habit of seeking the good in others even when they believed it wasn't there? "No, it can't be her. Besides, she left my castle today and I have little faith that she'll be returning."
"Can't say I blame her," Jefferson commented. Rumpel used his magic to lift up one of the bears from Grace's tea party and whack the back of Jefferson's head. "Ow! You know, you just attacked me with Grace's good friend Mr. Teddy." Rumpel rolled his eyes. Mr. Teddy—how creative.
"How do you suppose I find my true love? This is no small world, dearie."
There were so many variables to consider when it came to finding his true love. The Enchanted Forest was large, though he'd traversed most of it during his centuries of living. There was also the concept of time. What if he wasn't supposed to meet his true love for another handful of years? What if he already did and passed her by?
Jefferson lounged back in his chair, stretching his muscles leisurely and taking the time to examine his nails.
"I suppose I can help you search for your True Love," he said. Rumpel had conducted deals for far too long to miss the unspoken message trailing behind that sentence.
"For a price," he finished the hatter's thought, though he wasn't as enthusiastic as when he said it to his customers. He never enjoyed the irony of people turning his game on him and leaving him with unsettled debts. He hated owing others. "Are we role-playing? Ooh, I'll act out your part. Sorry, I'm not in the mood for portal-jumping at the moment. I'm too busy sipping tea with my daughter and her stuffed friends. Cheers!"
Jefferson bolted up from his chair. At first Rumpel thought the hatter was going to throw a punch, but he turned his back instead.
"Fine. I retract my offer. I won't help you. Good luck with your….'little problem'." Rumpel tented his golden-grey fingers under his nose to hide his growing agitation with the hatter's insolence. Jefferson casually started to follow in his daughter's footsteps, the distance between them steadily increasing. Rumpel's only—and possibly last—saving grace was walking away.
"What is it you want?" Jefferson stopped. His back was turned, but Rumpelstiltskin felt the victory radiating off him. It disgusted him worse than the tear-stinging smell of onions and the taste of straw combined.
"Grace's birthday is coming up," he said, turning back around to face his guest of honor. It didn't take an army of dwarves to understand where this was going. The hovel spoke volumes for Jefferson. This should be an easy matter to settle, Rumpel thought gleefully.
"And you have no extra money to waste on her birthday gift," Rumpel filled in. "What should I—and by extension, you—get the child? A nice pink dress with satin bows? A diamond necklace? Strawberry-filled biscuits to go along with the tea?"
Jefferson did not give any sign of begging Rumpel for any of those things. Rumpel twitched his fingers nervously. Why was Jefferson grinning like that?
"Wrong. If you want me to help you, you have to bring Grace a gift for her birthday," he corrected.
"Deal," Rumpel agreed. That was simple. He was sure he had a bow and a few arrows lying somewhere around his castle. Women enjoyed archery, didn't they? But Jefferson wagged a finger and made a little tsk-tsk, clucking his tongue.
"I wasn't finished. There's more." That's what I was afraid of, Rumpel thought, slumping back on his seat. Was this how his customers usually felt whenever he tacked on a price for his services? "You will bring a reasonable gift for Grace…and you will be a guest at Grace's tea party."
Rumpel blinked. He didn't expect that request at all. He observed the round table on the other side of the room, surrounded by chairs that hosted stuffed animals with a kettle and teacups decorating the table. He wasn't sure his rear end would even fit in one of those chairs. I take it back, he thought, gulping. I'd rather not be invited to tea.
"Here I thought you preferred to keep your daughter a safe distance away from me," he remarked.
"I do. But she'll be under my supervision while you're sipping your tea. I guess I can't resist a chance to bring the Dark One out of his comfort zone," he replied. He swooped forward and held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
Rumpel examined Jefferson's hand, then the tea table, then his hand again. If this worked, if he found his true love somehow and some way, if he shared a kiss and lifted this dreadful sensitivity problem from his shoulders…it might be worth an afternoon of tea. He clasped Jefferson's hand.
"Deal."
Jefferson took back his hand and feverishly wiped it on his leather pants. Rumpel wriggled his nose in distaste. Did Jefferson think Rumpelstiltskin had some infectious disease or something? Or was he afraid of having the sensitivity rub off on him? He wasn't the one who had to massage his hand because the hatter squeezed too hard.
"We can start at the market. But first, you'll have to help me find Grace. You have no idea how long it takes me to find her hiding spots."
…
The marketplace was arguably the best place to meet new people excluding royal celebrations and those awkward times you ended up getting taken hostage in the woods.
Marketplaces were to women what seedy taverns were to men—a nesting ground, so to speak. Women tended to do most of the shopping for their families while husbands, fathers, and brothers worked to put bread on the table. They all flocked together in their brightly colored cloaks and dresses, scanning for bargains, and catching up on the latest gossip of the kingdoms.
Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his palms together for a brief moment as he took in the activity of the marketplace. He must have been nervous since his palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his leather pants and earned a rough leather burn in the process.
He had devised several plans on how to find the right woman, but Jefferson shot down Plan A long before he even created Plan B.
"For the last time, Rumpelstiltskin, you are not using my daughter to impress women," Jefferson snapped, steering his daughter toward a stall with handcrafted toys. Grace was too busy eyeing the various rabbits and bears to listen in to their conversation.
Rumpel pouted.
"It's a brilliant plan! Flawless, even! It's not as if I intend to keep her," he pleaded, but Jefferson didn't budge. Oh, why didn't he ask Mary-Ann to owe him a favor? He could have borrowed her for an afternoon and claimed she was his little cutie-pie, then send her back home to her shoemaker of a father.
Rumpelstiltskin took him by the shoulder and led him a few paces away. Not too far from Grace, just enough to warrant a little more privacy.
"What's the harm? Women relish a single man raising his daughter all by his lonesome. It comes off as endearing and sweet. Makes me wonder why you're not interested in the dating scene. Women should be crawling over you like flies on a dead man's corpse by now." Rumpel nudged Jefferson in the ribs with his elbow and winked.
"Charming comparison," Jefferson muttered. He would have glared, but he was constantly checking over Rumpel's shoulder to keep Grace in sight.
"Thank you," Rumpelstiltskin said with a little half-bow. He either missed the sarcasm completely—unlikely, given the imp's dark humor—or he chose to ignore it. Jefferson pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
"First of all, Grace doesn't even look like you, thank the gods for that. And before you ask, no, I am not letting you smear mud or dust on her face to give her the appearance of your…reptilian skin, nor am I letting you use magic for that same purpose." Rumpelstiltskin snapped his mouth shut. "Second of all, lies are not the way to begin any relationship with a woman you intend on keeping. You have to be honest and open-minded. You have to allow her to see the blackened parts of your soul, not just the good. Otherwise, all you're doing is hiding behind a colorful mask."
Rumpelstiltskin mockingly studied his sharp nails, waiting for the lecture to end. He tapped his chin considerately.
"Yes, I'm sure most women will be impressed with my record thus far. Let's see…I'm considered dangerous, dark…and while that may be appealing to some women, the rumors claim I cook the children I collect, I have a forked tongue like a snake, and—wait for the kicker—I sneak into castles at night to suck the blood of virgin royals so that I may devour their life source and prolong my miserable existence. Oh, I can hear the chime of the wedding bells now! Da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da!"
Jefferson sighed in response to Rumpelstiltskin's skepticism. This was going to be harder than he thought.
"Honestly, what do you think women will do when they see you toting around a little girl? They'll think you've stolen her. If they do believe she's yours, they'll run screaming in the other direction because they'll assume your offspring is evil incarnate. I refuse to put my daughter through that trauma, so no Plan A."
Rumpel kicked his boot against the ground, unleashing a flume of dust into the air. He slapped his hands over his mouth and nose until it was gone—otherwise, he'd risk slipping into a coughing fit.
"Then what do you suppose I do? Stand up on a barrel in front of those women and shout: who wants me?" An odd grin slithered over Jefferson's face. Rumpelstiltskin dared the hatter to laugh. Luckily, Jefferson was smart enough to stifle it.
"I've made up my mind," Rumpel stated. "I'm going to stroll in there, I'm going to casually bump into a woman, and with any luck it will be the right conversation starter to earn me a fighting chance and perhaps a drink." He spiffed up his leather attire, ran his fingers through his wiry hair, and felt his eyelids well up with water when he yanked on a particularly messy knot. He looked to Jefferson for approval. "Well? How do I look?"
Jefferson leaned back and tore his eyes from Grace long enough to give the imp a sprawling once-over. He looked to be choosing between several answers, especially when Rumpel made a show of revolving so that he saw him from every possible angle.
"That depends on whether there are women out there who find the Dark One insanely attractive," he responded wryly. Then again, some women in this world had strange taste. "The good thing is that some women also love sensitive men." Rumpel bristled.
"Ha, ha," he remarked humorlessly. That quip didn't even deserve his trade giggle.
The two returned to Grace's side, who had an eye set on a bear in a dress. Jefferson didn't have any extra money to spare, but Rumpel strode forward and pulled some strings with the vendor. The guy owed him a favor and the last thing Rumpel needed was another Mary-Ann, chirping pleases left and right. Grace thanked him sweetly, but he waved it off. There's your birthday gift, Gracie. Congratulations.
This sensitivity was burning a hole in his reputation.
"Let me be the first to say…good luck in your endeavor, Prince Charming," Jefferson said and proceeded to slap Rumpel on the back three times. He knew it was on purpose. Rumpel ignored the way he nearly choked up a lung and slid away from Jefferson. Far away.
"Need I make this perfectly clear? Touch me again and you will end up in worse shape than the pirate whose hand is still on display in my castle. Understood?" Grace clutched her new bear tightly to her chest and clung to her father's side, never taking her eyes off Rumpel. Jefferson appeared nauseated.
"You have a rotting hand in your castle? And you let your maid touch it?" Rumpel might have found it amusing once that Jefferson's voice shot up several notches when he expressed disbelief. Now it was just whiny and annoying to his ears.
"She wears gloves," he explained it away, shrugging. He waved his hands over his body. "No touching. See all this? Look, don't touch. You'll…disturb my groove." Jefferson's eyebrows rose to the sky.
"I'm sorry. You're what?"
"My groove," Rumpel repeated, prolonging the sound of the O's. "You know…mojo. Finesse. Aura." Jefferson gave Rumpel another critical once-over, this one making him a little uncomfortable because it lasted so long.
"Groove," Jefferson muttered dubiously. Rumpel gave up trying to coax the hatter to seeing his side of things long ago. It seemed Jefferson was always fighting with Rumpel about one thing or another, whether it was a particular style of clothing or the way his thick accent slurred some of his words.
"It'll catch on."
…..
"How about that one?"
Jefferson pointed to a willowy brunette toting a basket filled with bread and clothes, with a colorful shawl hiding her face. When the sunlight hit the few exposed strands of her hair, red streaks shined through the brown, reminding him of Belle's locks. But when she finally turned her head to scan another stall, he gave a quick shake of the head.
"That one has green eyes," he pointed out. Jefferson let his hand fall limply to his side. He switched his gaze between Rumpel and the young woman who was now strolling away, clearly not comprehending.
"So?"
"So," Rumpel snapped. "I prefer blue eyes."
Jefferson wiped his forehead with his sleeve and scanned the crowd of bobbing heads again. A couple of passing women gave him longing glances, which quickly shifted to fear when they realized he was accompanied by the Dark One. Rumpel had an urge to put a brick wall between him and Jefferson—the hatter wasn't doing him any favors by being a preferable suitor to the ladies. He didn't see the appeal and prayed to the gods he never would, either.
It must be little Gracie. The kid was the lucky charm, surely. If I had Bae, I probably wouldn't be in this mess, he thought bitterly. I would be in a land without magic, with him.
"Alright…what about…that one?" Jefferson motioned subtly toward a nearby blonde who was sifting through a stall of apples. Rumpel scrunched his nose and waved his hand back and forth to say so-so.
"Won't do. She has blonde hair. I prefer my women dark and feisty," he said. Jefferson groaned to the high heavens, coming within inches of tearing out his hair. Grace looked up from her toy to stare bewildered at her papa.
"Are you sure you're not pining for your maid? Because it seems like you're envisioning her in every one of these faces," he said testily.
Rumpel opened his mouth to deny it, but realized Jefferson had a point. It wasn't that Belle's face was swimming in his mind, but he kept finding things wrong with these women. Their eyes weren't the right color, their hair wasn't the proper shade, they smelled funny, they were too tall or too small compared to his stature. He had no interest in any of them.
Jefferson paced restlessly, snapping his fingers. Rumpel seriously contemplated breaking them.
"Maybe…there's a loophole," Jefferson suggested. Rumpel audibly scoffed, begging to differ. He was Rumpelstiltskin, the infamous dealmaker. If there was a loophole, he would have found it by now. "Maybe the terms of the love required to break it is not as restrictive as you think."
Jefferson's desperation and exhaustion were starting to show. Rumpel only snorted decisively. True love was nothing but restrictive; it was either there or it wasn't. It was either true or it wasn't.
Jefferson ignored his nonverbal protests and rattled on, so Rumpel started playing a tune inside his head. Only, the concentration needed for the tune and the disruption of Jefferson's voice became too overwhelming. He reluctantly listened to the hatter.
"Searching for your one true love is like finding a needle in a haystack. A really, really big haystack, considering the fact that you've been alive for centuries. I propose a new tactic: you…I can't believe I'm putting this in your deranged little head…you make a woman fall in love with you instead. It might be enough to break the curse."
Rumpel wished he stuck with the tune in his head. It was much more cheery and promising. He had a terribly sour taste clinging to his gums. This entire scene was beginning to smell rancid to him. It was a foul odor known as hopelessness.
"I'd rather have a woman by my side because fate had its way with her than try to make a woman unnaturally fall for my flaws. Even I have to admit there are plenty of them to go around. For instance, I've learned that not many women fancy a man who…drools in his sleep," he said. If his skin hadn't been an odd greyish-gold pallor, there might have been a pink blush of embarrassment.
"Yeah…that's your biggest flaw," Jefferson mocked.
Rumpel kicked a mound of dust at the hatter's legs, but the wind made it fly up his own nose and he ended up wheezing on the ground for several minutes. Women and men alike continued on their way as if nothing was happening. It was so difficult to find good help these days.
Once Rumpel was done choking up particles of dust, Jefferson raised his chin defiantly.
"What happened to your mojo? Losing faith in it?" Rumpel tossed Jefferson a scathing look. It was the most he could do without tempering with this dreaded sensitivity. Was he questioning the Dark One's seductive potential?
"I'll have you know I am nothing short of confident in my mojo. It's these women! It's not me, it's them! Sometimes, the female population can be so unreasonable. There's just no pleasing them all the time!"
Jefferson smirked. Rumpel looked pointedly down at Grace, but the child was keeping a close eye on her bear. He sensed she didn't want to be here, but was too polite to intrude on their personal matter. Or his personal matter, anyway.
"Look on the bright side," Jefferson advised. Rumpel cocked his head. What bright side? "Maybe your maid will surprise you and come crawling back." Oh, yes, dearie. And pigs will fly and Regina's breasts will deflate and fairies will dominate the world as we know it and force all of us to wear jellyfish skirts.
It was obvious who Jefferson was voting for to be his true love.
Suddenly, his enthusiasm for window-shopping for his true love dried up. What was the use? The Enchanted Forest was extensive to say the least. More than likely, none of these women were destined to be his. Besides, he had lived for centuries. What if his true love existed centuries ago? What if they never crossed paths? What if she were inadvertently betrothed to someone else? What if she died?
Gods…what if it was…Cora?
And Belle…
No, Belle could never be his true love. Not his. She deserved so much better than a beast.
"I'm done searching," he muttered, waving his hand toward the flock of women in the marketplace. What he really meant in the back of his mind was: I'm done fighting. This sensitivity was like a marriage to a woman—he was stuck with it, for better or worse, through thick and thin, until death do they part. "Thanks for all your help," he dryly hissed at Jefferson before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.
Somehow, he had been thinking of the gardens outside his castle and ended up in the rosebush instead of inside. It wasn't pleasant plucking thorns out of every part of his body. Hopefully, no one on the mountain heard him scream.
…
Rumpelstiltskin never knew his castle to be so gloomy and cold than when every last fragment of light was swept out of it. Not just the afternoon sun, either. It seemed the entire castle was in a state of gray depression since Belle left with no promise of returning.
The halls appeared longer in length, empty, the walls whispering with memories. The stone was old and decrepit with a new layer of dust already settling over it. The shadows were darker and livelier, writhing along the walls like ambiguous dancers. His bones were filled with ice water, his body slower in moving from step to step. The only scent of Belle that proved she had been there at all was embedded on the pillow where her head once lay. Rumpel compulsively buried his nose in its fabric and inhaled deeply, drowning in Belle. The scent made him woozy in a good way.
He confined himself to the library, only to stare helplessly at the many colored vials on his worktable. There was no solution except for true love. What was the use in hoping when he might never stumble upon his true love?
Forlorn, he let his weary mind wander beyond the tower's windows, trying to imagine his dreary future whilst dealing with this sensitivity. Would he ever adapt to its harsh conditions and restraints? Or would he go madder than ever before? Would his eyes and ears betray him, pushing him to hearing and seeing things beyond reality?
Either way, he took back everything he ever thought about the Dark One Curse being a pain in the arse. It was a heavenly gift compared to this.
He was about to turn away from the window when a flash of color outside caught his eye. An unmistakable glimpse of pale blue amidst the deep greens and browns of the forest and mountainside. He rubbed his eyes, just to make sure this wasn't a trick.
It couldn't be…could it? He squinted his eyes, but the image did not change except to sharpen in clarity. Was this a trick of the light? A product of guilt or a phantom come to haunt him for his misdeeds? Or was she truly winding her way toward his castle?
Belle…
Rumpelstiltskin did not spare any time to think—or perhaps he did not want to think this through for fear of destroying that glorious image below his tower window. His mind was bursting at the seams as it was. Whirling around, he ran down the stairs faster than his legs ever carried him, cramps be damned. He'd never known hope for centuries, but this overwhelming feeling must be it.
Run wasn't quite the word, come to think of it. On the third step, he tripped and tumbled the rest of the way down. He hit every possible portion of his body—his elbows, his knees, his back, even his nose bumped a stair or two. He lay sprawled at the bottom, dazed and confused with every limb stinging like someone pulled him in several different directions. Help, he cried inside his mind. I've fallen and I can't get up.
It was by the grace of the gods and the fact that Belle was coming that he even batted an eyelid, let alone pick his bruised body up from the floor.
He reached the dining hall just as he heard the Dark Castle's doors creak open. The sound of carefree humming accompanied a set of soft footsteps in the foyer. Oh, yes, that was Belle. He perched on a stool in front of his spinning wheel, wiggling around for comfort.
Should he reveal his true feelings and act overjoyed and relieved to have her back? Should he express how much he regretted letting her leave and throw himself around her curvy legs? Or should he feign indifference, pretending he did not care the least whether she stayed or not?
It was a tough choice. Honesty never did suit him all that well. Better to feign indifference. He learned from his past loves that too much emotion was a dangerous weapon in a woman's hands.
He heard her climbing the stairs, each footfall echoing in his ears. He heard her coming down the hallway. With every step she took, his heart pounded heavier in his chest until he failed to understand how his chest could accommodate it at all. His fingers fumbled clumsily over the arch of the wheel. By the time she shoved open the doors and glided into the room with a basketful of fresh straw swinging from her arm, he was weak with anxiety and working up a cold sweat.
Act normal, he reminded himself. She's only a woman, is she not?
No, Regina was only a woman. Cora was only a woman. So were Milah and the Blind Prophet and half the royal females that flowered in castles and kingdoms. They were all just women, their charms ineffective to his desires, if ever they once held him mesmerized. This was Belle; sweet, kind Belle, the epitome of wisdom and goodness of which he'd never seen before, who had unknowingly unraveled him and held the power to break him completely.
Be calm, be rational, be suave, he recited. Indifference, remember?
"Oh, good, you're back. I'm nearly out of straw," he said, holding up the rapidly decreasing bundle of straw in his hand. The more he thought of Belle, the faster he spun. He despised the comment, even if Belle thought nothing of it. Was that the best he could do? Welcome her back because he was running low on straw? And I'm running low on sanity, too.
"Admit it; you're happy I'm back," she teased, drifting close to the spinning wheel. She set the basket of fresh straw by his feet and folded her hands together with pride. He watched her through the barricade of rotating spindles.
Was it just his imagination or did this room seem brighter with her presence?
"I'm not unhappy," he relented, lifting a shoulder carelessly. The wheel slowed in pace as Belle circled it, joining his side. Taking the bundle of straw from his hand, she set it down at their feet and claimed the stool directly beside him. Her delicate hands smoothed down her bright blue dress, so blue that it made him think it was woven from the sky itself.
The wheel stopped completely. It was impossible to concentrate on spinning and ignore the way she was sitting comfortably a mere foot away. Comfortably being the key word. No woman had ever been truly comfortable around him. Yet here Belle rested, smiling contently as if dining in the hall of a king or a handsome prince than confined in the Dark One's castle.
It was riveting and perplexing to the point where Rumpel had no choice but to address the mystery head-on.
"Why did you come back?" Surely it couldn't be just the promise of a story.
Belle leaned towards him and gingerly placed her hand atop his leather-clad thigh. He couldn't breathe. His heart had ceased beating. His lungs failed to inflate. His stomach had a gigantic hole in its middle. Her hand is on my thigh, her hand is on my thigh, oh dear gods her hand is on my thigh…
"I wasn't entirely sure whether I would come back, but something changed my mind," she spoke gently, her eyelashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. She licked her pink lips and the sight of that tongue sent shivers down his spine. "I think I may have found the solution to your sensitivity problem."
He knew what was going to happen next, unless he chose to put a stop to it. Only…he was tired of running from Belle. He did not want this to stop. In fact, he couldn't move a single muscle if his soul depended on it.
Belle continued leaning forward on her stool, her hand sliding along his thigh. He quickly became enveloped in her enticing scent of roses, afternoon sun, and the pages of books. The sinking sun shined upon her hair, making it glow with a variety of rich shades unlike any he'd ever known. He wondered how silky her hair would be if he touched it now. Her neck craned to reveal the fullness of her throat, her lips parting. He admired the way her breasts rose and fell with her every breath.
He knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and let it happen.
That was when Belle kissed him.
….
Only a few days until the Season 2 DVD comes out! I know I'll be getting my copy. Anyone else?
I want to thank all those that have left me a review last time. Shout-outs go to Huntress4455, Lolita Girl55, ZombiesloveMangoes, asalia, Revenessa, thedoctorsgirl42, Spinning Folly, NicoleMuenchSeidel, cheesyteal'c, DragonRose4, RoxyMoron, SwanQueen4055, and Grace5231973. Well, this is the moment of truth. Do you think his problem will be fixed? Or will it take something a little…more? (-;