Part 7
It's quite some time until he continues talking. Much as she dislikes seeing him overcome by the emotions that recalling their past life cause, she's also grateful for the brief respite. It gives her the chance to consider what he has told her so far, to fully realize that she apparently left him, despite the love between them.
"I let you go. I could barely do it, but I knew I had to. For once, I did all I could to do the right thing. I still don't know how you could forgive me, but you did. You remained living at your new home, but we went to see each other several times a week to share meals, or just to talk or be together. We were interrupted more often than not, but we grew closer. We talked, really talked, probably for the first time in this world... or ever. I think we would have gotten back together eventually, if it weren't for..."
He makes a sound closely resembling a growl, but she isn't frightened, knowing that it's not directed at her and by now very much aware that he would never do anything to harm her.
"What happened?" she asks softly, bringing one hand up to stroke his hair again, sensing that the soothing gesture is more than welcome.
"I had to leave town. Although we both wished that you could come with me, it wasn't possible for you to join me. We said our goodbyes at the town line. I had to leave you there, but... You were magnificent, Belle. You said that you would wait for me. I was beginning to think that it would all end well after all. But Hook had found us. You were about to... to kiss me when he..."
He tightens his grasp on her, as if afraid that he'll lose her right there and then if he doesn't do so, his grasp becoming painful. She squeezes his hand and whispers his name to let him know, smiling against the crown of his head when he mutters an apology and loosens his hold on her immediately.
The mentioning of the person named Hook causes yet more questions, and so does his plan to leave town, but at least she doesn't have to ask to find out what happened when they were found by Hook, whoever he is. There isn't much that she remembers, but the pain and confusion, the terror, is hard to forget.
"So that's how it happened," she mutters, more to herself than to him. She intuitively reaches for her shoulder, for a second almost still feeling her flesh burn.
"Hook shot you. The wound wasn't mortal and I healed it shortly afterwards, but the impact knocked you over the town line. That caused you to lose your memories. There wasn't anything I could do about it."
"So Regina is behind all this," she muses, "Regina and this Hook you mentioned."
"I have many enemies," he says, apologetic. "I presumed they weren't stupid enough to go after you. It's a mistake I'll never make again."
Much as she'd like to think that she wouldn't want him to get anywhere near the darkness she can sense within him, she can't help but appreciate that he'll use his power to look after her, to protect her. The woman she once was - the woman who she ought to be - would disapprove, judging of what he has told her so far, but the woman who she has become can't help but want the safety he can in all likelihood provide.
"What does Regina look like?"
Everything he has told her is swirling through her mind at a dizzying speed, connections being made slowly but surely. Regina was the one who held her in the basement; he hasn't explicitly told her, but she can read between the lines. Besides, except for the nurses, the only other person who she has ever seen there was the one to came to gloat, the one with the cruel face and...
"She has black hair, dark eyes, pale skin, blood red lips..."
She gasps at hearing the exact description of the woman who found such twisted joy in her misery.
"What is it, sweetheart? Have you seen her? Did she come to you?"
"She did," she manages, the fear and the panic and the helplessness returning to her all at once. "She looked through the little window of my door sometimes, when I was still in the basement. She never talked or did anything, she just stood there and... watched. She terrified me."
Now she is the one clinging to him instead of the other way around, and his strong yet tender embrace is just as unconditional as the one she just gave him.
"I'm so sorry, Belle. I should have known. I should have done something. But you're safe from her now. Something like that will never happen again, sweetheart. I promise. Never again."
She finds calmness and security of a kind she didn't know existed when he just holds her, caressing her hair ever so tenderly and whispering words of reassurance in her ear.
They remain sitting like that for a long time. She savors his nearness and the contentedness that comes with it, wishing that they could be like this forever, just sitting together and holding one another.
But he breaks away eventually, breathing in deeply one final time before doing so, regret written clearly on his face.
She shivers when they are no longer in each other's embrace. This time, it has nothing to do with fear or discomfort. The slightly increased distance is enough to leave her feeling chilly and bereft.
"You must be cold," he says, looking carefully at her.
It's the first time that he focuses his gaze on a part of her other than her face and she feels awfully self-conscious when he takes in the hospital gown she is still wearing. She is wearing little else and the worn gown doesn't do much to cover her limbs.
His distress tells her exactly just what he thinks of her lack of proper clothes, but if his only half intelligible mutterings about 'incompetent staff' are any indication, he doesn't think any less of her due to her current attire.
She vaguely recalls the clothes she was wearing when she was brought in, almost each item torn and dirty but still so very, very pretty. They were unlike anything she has seen before, let alone worn. She imagines that he really likes these clothes on her, given their snug cut and the flawlessness of the material he wears himself.
The loathing in his eyes is not caused by the way she is dressed now, only by the people who made her do so, who took her own clothes away from her. As suddenly as inexplicable, she has the feeling that he doesn't care what she wears, just as long she is free to chose the clothing herself.
"Are you?"
It takes her a moment to recall that he asked her a question and that she hasn't answered it yet. Despite her slight embarrassment for being lost in thought just when someone is trying to help her for the very first time, she doesn't need much considering to be able to answer him.
"Yes, I'm cold," she simply replies. She may not have been so before, but she is definitely quivering now that his nearness no longer holds the chilly air back from her bare limbs and pure adrenaline isn't flooding her any longer.
In response, he shrugs off the heavy overcoat he is wearing and drapes it around her before she can object.
"You need it more than I do," he says, as if aware that she means to tell him that she can't possibly accept this.
"Thank you," she says, hoping that it's clear to him that way just how grateful she is for his generous gesture. With the heavy yet wonderfully soft fabric around her, she feels a lot warmer immediately - although that may also be due to the fact that he cares enough for her to do this.
"It's no matter. You can keep it for as long as you like."
He withdraws his hands from her as soon as he has placed the coat around her shoulders. It's as if he is afraid that she objects to his accidental touch, not even having brushed his fingers against her when covering her with the lovely material.
Really, who is this man who can be dangerous at one moment and so very meek at another, who can go from being completely self-assured to so very, very uncertain in a matter of seconds?
"Well then," he says, all business-like as he takes his distance from her, abruptly standing up with a speed that surprises her, given the cane she hasn't seen him without so far. "Is there something I can do for you at this moment? I've talked to Dr. Whale; he said you have to stay for one more day for observation, but after that you can go. I'll arrange everything for you when the time comes, anything you want. But is there anything I can do for you right now?"
Her head is spinning with the sudden change within him, much more so than because of what he is actually asking her. He held on to her as if he never wanted to let go of her again just a few minutes ago, but now he looks as if he wants to get away from her as quickly as he can.
She regards him closely, once more wishing that she could remember him - if only because that might make it somewhat easier to interpret the myriad of emotions on his face.
Longing still written on his face, it dawns on her that he indeed intends to leave, but not because he wants to. Even now, he fears that his presence might unnerve her, or at least that it will start to do so if he stays with her for too long. After her subconscious behavior during the past few days, she isn't surprised by that. If only she would have known...
But she does now.
It's ironic, really. Since the moment she was brought back to the hospital, she wished for someone to properly explain to her what is going on, for not being locked up again and for having someone to simply talk to... a friend.
One way or another, she has achieved these three things now, all thanks to him. And yet, now that she has had a taste of what she supposes what normalcy must be like, of friendship, she doesn't want to let go. Quite the opposite, she wants to hold on to it for as long as she can... wants to hold on to him.
"Stay?"
She doesn't know how to go about these things, how to request someone to talk to you and remain at your side for just a while longer.
But it appears that her request suffices for at least some extent. He lingers, not stepping away from her like he originally must have intended.
"I don't want you to go," she mutters, figuring that honestly telling him what she thinks is the best way to communicate with him. "Can we just sit here for a while longer? To talk? It's... nice to have you near."
For a long time she was certain that there would never be anything in her life which might be characterized as 'nice'. But just the way his eyes lighten at her request is very pleasant indeed.
Still, there is a wariness to him. After the things he just told her of their relationship, she isn't surprised by this either.
"I know what you told me," she says quickly, attempting to take away his obvious worries. "If anything happens that makes me uncomfortable, I'll tell you, especially when you cause it. But you aren't scaring me anymore. I think I'll be uncomfortable if you go."
"I'd be very happy to stay with you for now," he admits, before carefully lowering himself back onto the seat he just vacated. Smiling tentatively, he sits down just an inch closer to her than he was before.
Just seeing him like this is a joy. It's miraculous how much his face changes on the few occasions that he smiles. He looks much less severe and tired, and not just from a lack of sleep. He seems younger, too, but what she likes the most is that he looks so very gentle, so much unlike the man who had fire burning in the palm of his hand and who terrified her just by being near her.
She pulls her bare feet onto the seat and covers them with the edges of the coat he gave her, delighting in the sensation of the soft fabric against her skin. Soon, she is warmer than she has ever been before, for as far as she can remember at least. Much more than the coat itself, it's his continued nearness which brings warmth to her heart and body alike.