Part 8
Sitting there in the hallway, with her supposed True Love at her side and his coat comfortably around her, she feels safe and protected. Despite all the new sides and layers she has seen of him this evening, she doesn't forget for a second that this is the very man who inadvertently scared her more than anything else in her life just a few days ago. There is no denying that there is something about him that should be too impossible to be true, if it weren't for the fact that she witnessed it herself.
It is so very tempting to ignore it, to savor this unknown closeness and warmth for as long as he is willing to give it. But she can't truly relax without having an explanation for the fireball in his hand and the blue haze that healed her.
"Is there something you want to talk about?" he asks quietly, almost as if he is afraid for what she might say. She doesn't know whether he already expected her unease or that he knows her so well that he can simply see that something is bothering her. Both possibilities are more appealing than they have any right to be.
"When we were on the road, in the forest, when you healed me..." she starts, figuring that it is better not to mention the fire which burned in his palm without hurting him and the look of pure hatred and anger on his face. The same goes for his rant about magic earlier that day, when he presented the cup to her as if it would miraculously fix her memory problems.
"What about it?" he asks, his expression and his posture as neutral as they can be. By now, she is quite sure that it's all a mask, a means to conceal his true emotions in order not to terrify her again.
"Can you truly do magic?" she blurts out, unable to keep from asking him about that what has been bothering her so much on top of everything else, as she finds nothing but gentle patience in his eyes.
"I can," he simply says. The statement would be utterly ridiculous coming from anyone else, but his steady gaze alone would have been enough to persuade her, even if she wouldn't have seen his acts of magic with her own eyes. "Would you like me to show you? Just a small example? To prove it?"
After years and years of complete isolation, she would welcome just about any distraction to break the bleak emptiness of her existence. But to watch him do anything like what she saw in the forest through a daze of fear and pain... in all likelihood, it would be spectacular indeed.
More than that, she longs to get to get to know him better, to learn more of him. If magic is part of him, she wishes to understand it as much as she can.
Still, she doesn't allow herself to give in immediately to her probably misguided excitement. He can be threatening, even without mysterious fire in his hand. She doesn't dare think of all other things he might as well be capable of.
"It's not dangerous or harmful, is it?" she asks, not entirely managing to conceal her eagerness.
"There are many kinds of magic. The one I practice... it's dark. That's mostly due to its source, although there were many, many years that my own intent..."
He looks at her, shaking his head. It clearly troubles him to tell her this.
"I acquired these powers against my will, but they have become essential to me. My dependency on magic is stronger than myself, sometimes. Well, most of the time. You were helping me to change that."
The fact that he is actually telling her this, leaves her to think that she tried to change more than that alone. She only has to see the pained look on his face to know that those challenges weren't going all that well.
"Still," he says, relaxing a little, "I can use my magic for many purposes, not all of them unpleasant ones. I can show you, if you wish."
"Yes, please. But just something small, and not unpleasant."
Although there was an implicit warning in his earlier words, her curiosity is only fueled more. She just hopes that the conditions she gave will prevent anything bad from happening.
"Please behold," he says, smiling again, as if he is very much delighted by the prospect of doing this for her.
She watches him intently, her mouth actually falling open when a cloud of something like purple mist appears at a snap of his fingers. When it clears, he is holding a single red rose in his hand.
"How did you..."
Despite the obvious answer, this question is the one that most significantly springs to mind at the sight of this seemingly impossible display. Of all the things she might have expected, this wasn't one of them. To actually conjure something out of thin air, a rose of all things...
And not just a rose. It's a blood-red rose of the type of which she somehow knows that it symbolizes romantic love.
"Here, if you'll have it..."
She hesitates for only a second before taking it, the look of sheer gratitude on his face more wonderful, more magical, than the flower which he made appear out of nowhere.
"Why, thank you."
She giggles a little, the sound just welling up from deep inside of her, sounding unfamiliar to her own ears. It might as well have been the first time that she ever laughed and she savors the utter joy of it.
"I'll gladly have it," she murmurs, wanting to make that as clear to him as she can when a flash of something bittersweet crosses his face for the briefest moments. It's almost as if her words remind him of something both beautiful and painful, something that she doesn't understand and can't do anything about.
"Any time. I mean it, Belle. Whenever there is something you need or want, anything at all... just come to me. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," she breathes, not sure how to react to this. She can't think of any words that might express just how grateful she is to him, how delighted she is by his extremely generous offer. "I... I don't think I can thank you enough."
"You don't need to," he says, his voice just as soft as hers.
Her shoulders sag a little at the expression on his face. He truly expects nothing in return for his efforts, as if it would be fine with him to provide for anything she could possibly need even if he were to rarely see her again.
"There's one thing though," she says, his earlier words echoing through her head. He seems to be under the impression that she intends to leave him, despite their love, and that just won't do.
"What is it, sweetheart? Name it, and I'll take care of it."
His eyes are burning with purpose and she has to clear the sudden lump from her throat in order to be able to continue talking audibly. After remembering nothing but loneliness and fear, it's incredible to have this man at her side, vowing to do whatever he can to help her. And yet, it isn't as good as it should be, not when he has so very little faith in their relationship.
"You said that I should come to you whenever I need something."
"I did, yes," he says, looking at her nervously. Whatever he expected her to say, this clearly wasn't it.
"I really appreciate that offer," she quickly says, wanting to make an end to his uncertainty. "It's just that... Rumple, I can't really come to you when I'm already with you, or can I?"
His eyes widen in realization. She holds her breath when she sees the change come over him which her remark caused.
"You don't have to say that, Belle. The offer stands no matter what."
"Do you really think I would say that if I didn't mean it?"
It's a bit of a risk, but there's a strong urge to be nothing but honest with this incredible man. She has the feeling that it's similar for the woman he remembers.
"No, sweetheart, I don't think that. But..."
She can't help but smile again, aware that her assumption was completely right.
"No 'buts'," she says, reaching to take his hand again to reassure him. She has discovered that those little touches can calm him down or persuade him much more easily and completely than any of the words she has found so far. It's almost as surprising as finding herself so bold to talk to him like this in the first place, almost berating a man who is so much more powerful than her.
He takes her lower arm in his hands, his quite abrupt touch belied by his trembling fingers. To her confusion, he brings her hand to his mouth, his lips hovering just above her skin.
"Can I..."
She doesn't know what he is referring to at first. But then his warm breath is ghosting over her skin and he nervously licks his lip, and she has a fairly good idea.
"Yes," she breathes, realizing then that it's not true that he is more powerful than her. He might be able to do the most impossible of things, and others might fear him, but there's something about her that doesn't make her one of them. She doesn't know how or why, but there's something about her that has him granting her every wish, as if she is the one who can do magic and holds so much power.
That's the last rational thought she has for quite some time. For when his lips brush against her knuckles, there is nothing she can do but surrender to the unfamiliar and overwhelming sensations of his mouth against her skin.
She brings the rose to safety while she's still somewhat capable of doing so, placing it carefully atop the shards of the cup before fully dividing all of her attention to him.
He cradles her hand between his own, reverently kissing every inch of the top of it. She has no point of reference for this but even if she would have had, she wouldn't have had much use for it. Especially when he makes a soft sound of appreciation, telling her that he too finds joy in this kind of touch, she simply lets her eyes flutter closed to fully enjoy whatever it is exactly that he is doing for her.
For this alone she would happily stay with him, for the feeling of his lips running along the back of her hand, peppering light kisses against every part of it. Not to mention when he opens his mouth slightly and starts using his tongue as well, drawing non-existing patterns anywhere he can reach.
She is making noises now too, sounds of a kind she didn't think herself capable of. It doesn't bother her in the slightest that he makes her feel completely out of her depth this way. She happily welcomes the sensation of getting utterly lost; with him touching her like this, she doesn't ever want to be found.
He withdraws and turns her hand around, causing her to make a sound of objection. But before the absence of his touch fully registers, his lips move to the inside of her wrists.
She gasps when he latches onto something, a vein perhaps, and warmth of a kind she never knew before rushes through her.
He is suckling on her skin there, grazing his teeth against it ever so lightly. Although she can't imagine how it can possibly feel so wonderful, it most definitely does.
Opening her eyes slightly, if only to reassure herself that this is truly happening, she finds him bending over her. His eyes are shut tightly as he touches her, almost as if worshiping her, fully dedicating himself to making her feel cherished and whole.
She may barely know him, but especially now it isn't difficult at all to imagine herself being with this man, living with him... loving him.
She isn't quite sure how she can let him know that she likes being touched like this so very much, but to her it's essential that she finds a way. Not just because she only wants him to stop if she's sure that he'll start again at a later point in time, but also because he's still awfully tense. It's as if he isn't entirely convinced of both her willingness to be touched like this and that realness of this situation, as if he might perceive this as merely another one of the fantasies which he may have cherished when the two of them were separated.
Hoping that it'll suffice because she doesn't have any other idea how to go about this, she reaches for his hair with her free hand, twining her fingers into it. Experimentally, she caresses both his silky tresses and his scalp. The sound coming from somewhere deep inside his chest convinces her that her plan is working. It's another one of those sounds that she simply doesn't want to live without from now on.
He rubs nose and lips alike against her skin, using his teeth and tongue too every once in a while. He breathes in deeply, as if bewitched by the smell of her skin and wanting to memorize it just in case he'll never get close to it again. She can imagine that only too well.
She shifts a little until she can bend forward, enveloping him in a slightly uncomfortable embrace. Only then he completely relaxes once more. She smiles against his hair, equally glad that she is as close to him now as she can be.
Stroking his back, she is once more taken aback by how nice he smells. For too long all she has known is the disinfectant scent of her cell and the smell of her own despair. There have been other things since she has been in the much nicer hospital room and dared wandering to the end of the corridor a few times, but nothing is nearly as remarkable as the subtle smokiness which she can inhale every time she gets near him.
This time she doesn't get to enjoy it for long either, because he abruptly moves away from her after a few moments. He guides her arm back in her lap and when she glances down at it in surprise, she can see some moisture as a result of the lovely things he just did. She wouldn't know whether such a thing is normal or not, but it doesn't matter in the slightest. It feels right and that's so much more than she can ask for after having lived for so long without feeling anything pleasant at all.
She raises a confused eyebrow at him, not understanding why he stopped, let alone so suddenly. She may not know anything about these things, but it seemed to her that it was going rather well, whatever it was exactly that he was doing.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I got... carried away."
The hint of redness on his cheeks tells her that he's blushing and heat rushes to her face as well upon realizing that he's influenced by this just as much as she is.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," she whispers, shy and emboldened at once.
His blush deepens and so does hers upon openly acknowledging that she enjoys the effect he has on her. He appears to know almost as little on how to go about such things as she does, but this too doesn't matter to her. Unconventional or not, this is definitely the start of something between them... and for as far as she's concerned, it's a very good one.