Belle just watched him for a moment or two. He stood against the wall, leaning the side of his head against the window, his eyes closed and his arms crossed. His suit was in almost the same condition as her own outfit. Though his clothing was a bit more mud covered and bloodied, torn in a few places as well.

Rumplestiltskin knew it was Belle before she came in the room. He could hear the women talking on the other side of the wall. He couldn't face her. He knew that somehow he had messed up, again, and his cowardly nature was winning this particular battle. He wanted to forget, to hide, to be alone. He didn't want to listen to her rage, he didn't even want to know what he had screwed up. He just wanted her to let it go so they could forget about it.

But this would be one fight in front of many he could suspect would happen. And this fight, he worried, would be nothing compared to when she finally remembered… A hand on his arm removed him from deep in his thoughts. She didn't say anything, only held out his cane towards him.

He turned his head and looked at it, finally moving to take it from her hand. She hadn't moved her other one from his arm, and he shifted, both to relieve his left leg from some of his weight and to pull away from her. He steeled himself for a reaction. None came.

None that he could see, anyway. Inside, Belle was being crushed. He truly wanted nothing to do with her. She had taken a step of her own and had only pushed him away. Or maybe she read the situation wrong entirely and he never did want anything to do with her, only pitied the poor mental patient. But Granny said, she reminded herself. But what did Granny know. She had only seen them together once. But that night alone, she remembered. She also remembered not seeing him for two weeks after. When he caught you, the back of her mind prodded, just like before. Again with the before. Before what?

"This morning," he broke the silence, the need to know finally defeating the cowardice, "you were mad. I want to know why."

Belle was quiet for a while, slightly befuddled. He wanted to know why as in, he didn't know about her invitation? Or he wanted to know why him not being there affected her the way it did? "You didn't come," she stated simply and quietly, "I was hurt by that,"

He laughed a little. She was hurt by him not showing up somewhere? He could only imagine how hurt she would be when she remembered he had thrown her out of his life, because at that time he thought, convinced himself, that he valued his power more than her. At that time he was so cowardly, and afraid of becoming what he had been if he ever lost his power, he couldn't bear to keep her around and risk slipping up.

"This was a big mistake," she whispered and turned to leave. He had laughed at her heartbreak; she had all the answers she needed. His arm instinctually whipped out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her in front of him. Sometimes acting without thinking landed him in prison, and other times, it was exactly what he needed to do.

"You're right. It's all a mistake. Rather, a misunderstanding." He smiled, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed, completely puzzled, "I invited you to the docks to see a sunrise this morning. You never showed up. At first I thought that maybe something had happened or you were busy or some other legitimate reason. But the light in your shop gave you away. That you had been up and in there and had left in the time it took the sun to rise. And you hadn't bothered to come meet me…" She turned her head away, avoiding his searching gaze.

He put a hand under her chin, and turned her face back towards his, "Why did I not get the invitation?" the bridge of his nose ached as he thought of bashing Regina's face in again for meddling in his personal life.

"It was in the envelope with the rent money that I gave you earlier this week. I slipped a note that you would find when you counted," his hand left her chin.

"Ah, well, that explains it then," he whispered. He turned back to the window, leaning on his cane. "I never counted your money." He said matter-of-factly. Belle sighed and walked over to the table, picking up the damp cloth and icepack, and returned to his side. She pulled out a chair and tugged down on his shoulder so he would sit. "What… What are you doing?" he stuttered. He remembered sounding and feeling like this only once before. He would not let it end the same way.

She didn't say anything, only slipped his wet suit jacket off his shoulders. He helped her by shrugging it off and pulling his arms out the sleeves. She placed it neatly on the table and grabbed the washcloth. Turning back to him she placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes becoming heavy lidded in the intimacy of the moment, which ended when she pressed the cloth against his nose. He jerked away and sucked in air, the pain banishing all pleasant thought from his mind.

"Stop it," she told him firmly. She moved her hand from his shoulder to the back of his head, as if to hold him in place, and slowly pressed the damp fabric back against the break.

"Why there?" he practically whimpered.

"You have a nasty gouge. I'm now convinced our mayor is more animal than woman." They both laughed softly, smiling at each other. She worked her way down his face, wiping at dripped blood and doing the best she could to clean open wounds. She finished with the blood under his nose and over his mouth. He had closed his eyes a while ago, opening them when she stopped.

"What's wrong?" he asked when he realized she was frowning.

"Doesn't this scare you?" Belle's eyes were wary, "Doesn't it seem… unnerving?"

"You seem to have a knack for stumping me," he half-smiled.

"Us." She whispered. It was enough for him to know what she was talking about. "I should still be mad at you, frustrated, upset, even annoyed. But nothing. I get angry and I let it out, but I can't stay angry with you. The part that scares me most is that I know nothing about you. I've only seen you a handful of times, yet I can't get you out of my head. "

He wanted to tell her it was true love. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and she was right, he regretted everything he had done and said to her that day. He wanted to tell her that they needed to be together, or he might just die. But he couldn't say any of that.

"I don't know what to say," he rose from the chair, walking back to the window. If she didn't understand her feelings towards him, she wouldn't be able to handle the way he felt about her. Not yet anyway. "I know what I want, and I suppose I need to let you determine what it is you want."

"And what," Belle cleared her throat, "What is it that you want?"

"Oh, no," he turned, smiling at her, "I wouldn't want to influence you in any particular direction."

Belle opened her mouth to speak when the door opened. Emma had been eavesdropping the entire time and assumed now was as good a time as any to break it up. She had only imagined the visual part of the happenings behind the door: Belle by one end of the table, Mr. Gold standing near the other. She was surprised, and a little spooked, at their proximity to each other. She was even more shocked to see his face cleaned up and Belle with the wash cloth in her hands. Emma was absolutely amazed at the way they had been looking at each other: practically a reincarnation of the looks David and Mary Margaret not so sneakily snuck.

"Sorry," Emma said warily, "Time's up."

Belle huffed, "Right now?" she glared at Emma, who only nodded.

"You should go," Mr. Gold told Belle quietly, "I'll be out of here in no time. Don't worry about me. Go home and dry off." Belle opened her mouth to protest, "I'll be perfectly fine. You'll see." They smiled their goodbyes and Belle left the room, Emma closing and locking the door behind her. Alone again, Rumplestiltskin muttered an incantation that would heal the break, knowing all too well that it would do nothing. He wrapped the icepack back into the rag and buried his face into it, both contentment and frustration thickly layered in his sigh.

"I'm not sure I will ever understand what's happening between you two," Emma began as she walked toward the station door with Belle, "But I don't see how any good can come of it. You're my friend and I want to see you happy. But if what happened in there is your idea of happiness, I'm not sure I approve."

"I understand that and I appreciate it very much," Belle gave her a friendly smile, "But I don't think anyone is supposed to understand it but us. And I'm not even sure I understand it quite yet. I go from being furious at him to wanting to be with him within hours of each other. I don't think I've ever been in love, but if that's what it's like, I think I'm in it."

Emma frowned, "He certainly is a different person around you. And what you're saying does sound a lot like love. I think I know what you need right now," Emma gingerly put her arm around Belle's shoulders, "Go home, take a hot shower and think long and hard about today. After that, go to the bar and have a drink or five."

"Thanks, Emma," Belle laughed, "That sounds like a really good idea."

Belle now found herself warm and dry, sitting at the diner bar and staring at the bottom of her third glass of Storybrooke's finest local brew.

"What're you drinkin' for, sister?" Leroy shuffled up to the bar and onto a stool. Ruby slid him a full glass. Belle just shrugged, this not having been her first encounter with the town grump, "Penny for your thoughts," he sneered.

She looked over at him, raising her eyebrows, "Love," she said dreamily.

He laughed, "Ain't we all. Want some advice?" she shook her head no. He didn't listen, "Somebody told me this ages ago. I don't even remember who or when it was," he took a long sip of his drink, "Love is the most amazing thing in the world. Love is hope. It fuels our dreams. And if you're in it," he pointed at her, "you need to enjoy it. Because love doesn't always last forever."

Belle looked up at him. "You need to be with the person you love…" she drained the rest of her glass, signaling for another. "Yeah but why do I feel so bad? And I don't even know for sure if he feels the same way."

"Beats me, I ain't ever been in love. But I've heard it's a great excuse for drinking," he grinned and raised his glass towards her. She grabbed her full glass and touched his with it, and they both took long swigs, gasping for breath when they finally set their glasses down.

Three hours and ten glasses later the dynamic duo had everyone at the bar drinking and singing The Unicorn Song. Emma couldn't help but laugh as she walked in on the scene. Leroy was standing on the counter gesturing wildly with his arms as he told some dramatic story, and Belle was reduced to a mass of giggles as the horribly drunk elderly man she was sitting next to professed his undying love for her not so charismatically.

"Alright, Alright," Emma called out, "Let's settle down here." Leroy climbed off the counter and sat down and everyone began chatting amongst themselves and enjoying their meals. Everything looked once again like a typical evening in Granny's Diner.

"Ah Sheriff," Belle walked over to her and leaned, very heavily, on Emma's shoulder, "Here to ruin the moment yet again?"

"I said have five drinks, not fifty," Emma scowled playfully, "Come on, I think you need an escort home." Emma led Belle out the door and into the dark night. The rain had stopped before Belle had made her way to the diner four hours ago, but the night air was still fresh and the sidewalks still damp.

"What time is it?" Belle asked stopping and rubbing her eyes.

"It's just past ten, time for bed," Emma tried urging Belle forward. She wouldn't budge, "What's up?" she asked, noticing Belle's scrunched up face.

"Where am I?" She looked up at the street light, shielding her eyes. It was familiar but… not. Hadn't she just been in a tavern? Where very drunk dwarf was dancing on the bar?

"You're in Storybrooke." Emma was worried now. It had been a good two months since Belle had been out in the world, why was she confused now? And how would Archie feel about late night appointments? Emma placed blame on the alcohol, "I'm going to take you home and you're going to go to bed. You are very, very drunk."

"No," Belle pulled her arm out of Emma's grip, "No I can't go back. He made it very, very clear he doesn't want me there." Belle's eyes were glazed over.

Emma put both her hands on Belle's shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact. "Belle, look at me. I'm not sure what's going through your head right now but I'm taking you to your apartment. Do you understand?" Belle's gaze cleared up as Emma spoke and Belle nodded in agreement.

They made it into Belle's room and Emma laid her in the bed fully clothed, turning off the lights and leaving once she was sure Belle was going to stay in bed. Henry's theory tugged in the back of Emma's mind and she briefly wondered if Belle was remembering something about another life. No… that would be ridiculous.

That night Belle dreamt of a tavern full of dwarves, telling one of them what love felt like, her own heart still freshly broken. Then the voices started, the usual ones telling her she wasn't wanted, he didn't come, and the hot irons crept closer and closer and she screamed and suffocated and called out for him. But how could she call when she didn't know his name? How could she express that he was the one she wanted when she couldn't remember his name?

And she remembered the heart ache when he threw out her out. And she remembered the brokenness when he told her, 'I don't want you anymore'. And she remembered facing him, anger bubbling in her veins, 'You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin.'

Her eyes sprung open, his whispered name dying out on her breath.

And she remembered…