Alright, congrats. I've been convinced to continue this. Partly because of the awesome reviews and partly due to my inability to write anything else at the moment. But I warned you: It's going to be drabbly, and I don't have much of a plot, but I do have a rough sketch of some sort of story line. Anyway, Here goes:

They both slept deeply but fitfully. He was propped uncomfortably against the head board and she was curled awkwardly in his arms and against his chest. He dreamt of a hopeful future, and a tragic past. Not uncommon for him, especially after an encounter with Belle. She had the strange dreams again, the ones she started having after Henry finally showed her his book.

Nothing was ever seen in its entirety, only bits and pieces that she mostly forgot by mid-morning, so she was never able to piece together anything, make any connections, form any timeline. They were dreams, she had reminded herself one particularly frustrating morning, they didn't have timelines and they weren't supposed to make sense. And tonight they were back, with all sorts of fragments, muffled voices, cloudy faces and emotions. If anything was ever vivid about these dreams it was the emotions.

"Why do you spin so much?" Her voice was always clear, as if she had actually spoken the words at some time or another. Now she only registered she was high above the ground, watching a golden man spin straw into gold.

"It helps me forget."

"Forget what?" And just like that she was falling from that great height, and he caught her. They made eye contact and she knew she had seen that face somewhere recent… somewhere real…

"I don't want you anymore, dearie." The same golden man stood with his back to her, then she was standing in front of him, "My power means more to me than you."

Now she was all flustered and kneeling on the ground as he sat at the other end of a table, staring at her. "It's chipped," she held up a small teacup, a chunk missing from the lip, "You can hardly see it."

"It's just a cup."

She followed him now as he very nearly backed away from her, finally setting herself on the table, smiling at him. He had the chipped cup in his hands.

Now she was running away from him, tears in her eyes, briefly pausing to stare at the wreckage of the tea set, and then an image of a silver tray she had just seen on the floor beside her in a dungeon, the teapot and chipped cup unharmed.

And her vision went blurry, whispers of a chipped teacup floating in the corners, but the golden man scowling in the center of the image, "All you'll have," she choked out, "Is an empty heart. And a chipped cup."

And then the pain would start. The muffled chanting and her own protests against the lies, her own struggles against the flaying.

She twitched in her sleep, instinctively curling more inward, the real pain entwining itself with the dream pain. Mr. Gold roused from his own dream and sleepily pulled her closer, adjusting the position of his neck so it was less kinked, but still kinked. He would pay for this night later, but it was worth it. He put an arm around her shoulders and noticed Belle was shaking, though she was not cold. He realized she must be dreaming, but not about something pleasant.

"If only he had come," She registered someone saying between the cracks of the whip. Then a woman in black was in front of her, helping her up.

"I'm going to take you somewhere nicer than this, don't you worry one bit."

"If only he had come," the voice echoed as she found herself in yet another dungeon.

"Well he didn't, did he?"

And usually at this point she would be haunted by images and whispers of a 'chipped cup' and how he didn't come, and an evil woman in black cackling at Belle's misfortune. This time was different.

This time she was being called to. "Belle, Belle it's okay. I'm here," she smiled as she recognized the voice of the golden man, and relaxed as warmth surrounded her. "I'm here now, you're okay. Belle can you hear me? It's going to be alright."

"It's all going to be okay, you're going to be fine," he whispered to her in the dead of night, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other wrapped in her hair, "Belle, you're going to be alright."

She slowly opened her eyes, the large red numbers on the bedside clock coming into focus. 2:26. She lifted a hand to rub her eyes but stopped as she registered she wasn't alone. A gentle yet strong hand turned her chin to face him, "Are you alright?" he asked, eyes scanning her silhouette, searching for a face in the darkness.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, wondering if it was just another dream. The transition had been much too graceful for this to be the conscious world.

"You had a death grip on my jacket," he exaggerated, chickening out of telling her his real reason for staying, "and I didn't want to move you and have you wake up." The last part was the honest truth.

Belle was silent for a long while as she recalled the previous night. Her stomach sank as she realized how pathetic she must have seemed, pouring everything out to this man she hardly knew. But then, he had come running to her side, looking desperate and distressed. Why did he care what happened to her? Why did he care how much pain she had been in? And why had he comforted her during her nightmare? "You do know the door was unlocked," she joked.

One side of his mouth turned up in a smile, "I suppose I do enjoy a dramatic entrance," Belle laughed and shoved at him, then sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, the concern back in his voice.

"Why is this so easy? So comfortable? I don't even know you."

His face fell, "I can go, if you would like." He was begging the gods she wouldn't say yes.

"I don't want you to," Her words made his heart soar, "but I think you should." And then it plummeted again, in a matter of seconds.

"As you wish," He stiffly made his way off the bed and to the door way. An oven light in the kitchen illuminated the way out as well as glinted off the handle of his cane, forgotten hours ago on the floor. He leaned down on one knee to get it, his aching joints, and his aching heart, begging him to go lay down beside her. After standing back up he paused and turned over his shoulder, "You have a good night Miss French. I'll be back to collect your payment sometime later."

Her body was screaming as she heard him remove and then replace the broken door, his footsteps and cane deafening in the quite of the night against wet sidewalks. It wasn't protesting at the act of lying back down, although it was protesting. The worst part was her heart, telling her she was an idiot for sending him away, and idiot for listening to logic and reason. She had broken the vows she made to herself, and she justified it by saying she was delirious when making them in the first place.

And as he begrudgingly made his way towards his own home, the cramp in his neck and the knot in his leg omens of painful reminders to come, he damned himself for making that vow. If fixing things meant building a relationship the proper way and protecting her meant doing what she wished, he should have broken it right then and there, convincing her that if he stayed, in the end it would be a good thing. If he took her away, in the end it would be a fantastic thing. If she gave him a second chance at love, in the end it would be perfect.

Belle let herself cry for the second time that night, this time at her own stupidity. She should have let him stay, should have seen what would happen, and then made her decision in the morning when she was awake and aware. Not at two thirty in the morning when she was upset by her dream and confused by his actions and baffled by her reactions. What she did wasn't fair to either of them. If only there was a way to redo things. If only there was an easy way to fall in love. If only everything was a fairytale…

She was in a new dream this time, walking down a muddy road. She heard horses and stepped to the side watching them pass. They slowed to a stop and a carriage door flew open, a woman dressed in black hanging out of it, "Did my carriage splash you?"

Despite Belle's best attempt the woman was determined to have a conversation with her, tricking her into admitting that she was falling in love with the man who held her captive. The richly dressed woman wove a fine tale about curses and true loves kiss, and how he would be 'an ordinary man'.

Belle quickly finished the task she had been sent for and hurried back to a looming castle, practically running inside to the dining room. She opened the door to find the golden man sitting at a spinning wheel.

"Oh you're back already? Good. Good thing. I'm uh, I'm nearly out of straw," As he spoke she set down a basketful of the very item he spoke of.

"Hmph, come on. You're happy that I'm back," She teased him.

"I'm not unhappy," he smirked at her.

"And uh," she circled around behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders, "you promised me a story."

He was silent for a moment, avoiding looking at her, "Did I?"

"Uh-huh," she chirped, taking the thread from his hands and sitting down beside him on the wheel, "Tell me about your son." She leaned in close to him.

He sighed, "I lost him. There's nothing more to tell really." He seemed flustered and confused.

"And since then," Belle looked deeply into his golden eyes, "You've loved no one, and no one has loved you?"

He leaned closer to her, "Why did you come back?" he whispered, searching her bright blue eyes for answers.

"I wasn't going to," she stumbled, "But then, something changed my mind," She slowly leaned even closer towards him, closing her eyes, and was amazed when she felt his lips atop her own. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy and she deepened the kiss, loving the soft warmth and gentle touch shared between them. They pulled apart and she looked into the eyes and face of Mr. Gold.

Belle shot up in bed, crying out in pain and falling back down into the mess of pillows and blankets. She was breathing heavily and there was sweat on her brow, as well as sunlight peeking through the cracks in the blinds and birds chirping in the bush outside her window. The space next to her felt empty...

It was just a dream, she told herself, dreams aren't supposed to mean anything, aren't supposed to make sense. But why did this one linger? Why was this one so much clearer? This one was more like a fond memory than a figment of her imagination.

She glanced over at the clock. It read almost nine, which meant Emma might check in soon. And Belle would have to explain why the door was busted open… and why the space next to her smelled so damn good… Where had that come from? Belle tried to convince herself that it was just expensive cologne, any woman would be captivated by that scent. But her heart knew otherwise, her heart knew it smelled of fresh air and peppermints, with hints of aged pine and ink. No man made fragrance would make her swoon like that, make her feel so comfortable.

"Belle?" she heard Emma call out cautiously, "Belle, you okay?" She shook herself out of her trance. She had to come up with a reason why Mr. Gold had busted down her door and quick, too.

"Yes, I'm fine." She answered, mind whirling. The only logical solution she could come up with was the truth. Lying never got anybody anywhere. But leaving out memorable details wasn't lying…

"Why is your door busted off its hinges?" Emma stepped into her bedroom doorway, pointing in the general direction of the door to the apartment.

"Mr. Gold stopped by last night. He came to collect rent."

Emma looked at her skeptically, having filled in the gaps about how Belle felt towards the man. "Uh-huh… and charging through your door was entirely necessary, as opposed to waiting until morning. I see." She winked at Belle.

"You see what?" Belle huffed, "There's nothing to see. That's what happened."

"All that happened?" Emma gave her a knowing look.

"Don't be disgusting," Belle snapped.

"If you say nothing happened, I believe you. Nothing happened. But your door is broken and it does need to be fixed. I'll charge him with breaking and entering and he'll have to pay for it."

"Wouldn't it be faster if we just asked him to pay? And if he doesn't then I can take care of it."

"Okay we'll do things your way," Emma shrugged, "And if he says no, there are plenty of people willing to split the cost and help you out." She came over and helped Belle sit up against the headboard. "And I'll probably still press charges. Anyway, how are you feeling today?"

Belle rolled her eyes at Emma's topic change before Belle had the opportunity to protest about the pressing of charges, "I'm fine, thank you." Her gaze crept over to the window where the sun was streaming in, "I'd like to go outside today, if that's at all possible."

Emma paused, looking her over. "Today is what? Monday? It's been five days since your accident? The doc said you needed a week of bed rest. Going outside today is not an option, sorry."

"Well me staying in bed all day again is not an option," Belle protested, "I'm restless and I feel lazy, but honestly, I'm fine. It just hurts. I can get past that and go on with life," she briefly wondered if she was talking about her bruise or her silly affection.

"It's not about the pain. It's about the broken ribs. The week of bed rest is to ensure they start to set and won't puncture your lung. And even after the week you still won't be allowed to do much." Emma informed her. "And if I hear that you've been trying to get up and about," she leaned in to finish her threat, "I will handcuff you to the bed."

I did something I said I wouldn't do: I used a scene from Skin Deep... I wasn't going to but then something changed my mind... I guess it was the necessity of needing Belle to dream that and the inadequacy of just saying "she dreamed about kissing the golden man who had the face of Mr. Gold."

And I want to add that Mr. Gold's smell had all the women in my household in a full fledged debate. Damn my need for descriptions...