Part 18

"Will we keep the mirrors with us throughout the night?" she asks, taking in the identical objects with unceasing fascination "And how do they work?"

"You can keep them on the nightstand, if you like, or keep it with you, in..."

He shakes his head, looking away from her for the briefest moment, as if he doesn't want to think of her in bed with the mirror right next to her while the two of them are able to watch one another. She most certainly does want to think of just that.

"The mirror won't break, not by non-magical means at least, so don't be afraid of that. But it's probably best to keep it on a table next to your bed, so it won't fall or turn over accidentally. If that happens, we won't be able to see one another anymore. If you don't want to see me anymore, you can always put the mirror with the glass-side on the table. The connection remains intact, but I won't be able to see you anymore, or you me."

She shakes her head at the last instruction, wondering how he can even think like that. She appreciates his never-ending concern, she definitely does, but it pains her that he still thinks that she would want to break away from him like that.

He smiles sadly at her reaction, brushing his hand against hers for just a moment to show that he doesn't presume either that such an end of their communication will be required.

"I've kept you once against your will, Belle. That will never, ever happen again."

He continues to speak before she can either thank him for his consideration or ask him just when he kept her against her will. From what he told her, it sounded like she has always been willing to stay with him.

"If you knock on the glass as if it is a window, I will be notified," he says, doing so on his own mirror. "I'll come for you then as soon as I'm able."

She accepts his far from subtle change of topic, sensing that that neither of them are ready to discuss just how unwilling her stay with him has been.

Instead, she focuses on the mirror in her hands, finding that the glass is projecting flashes of red, all but already screaming 'danger' before it begins to create an increasingly loud sound, reminding her a bit of the alarm bell she heard in her cell every once in a while.

"If you knock again, it stops," he says, doing just that.

"I understand."

The picture in front of her becomes calm again, the noise ending immediately. It's just him in the glass once more then, ignoring his own mirror and looking straight at her. He loses hardly any of the strength of his presence when it's just this image of him, but it's somewhat easier to look at him then, when - in a way – his intent gaze isn't focused on her.

She smiles fondly at the image of him, so solemn and beautiful and hopeful, unconsciously brushing her fingers against the part of his reflection where a strand of hair falls over his eyes.

Naturally, it doesn't cause the strand to curl around his ear like it would it she were to do it for real. Then again, the concepts of 'real' and 'unreal' are blurring, but for once it's not a bad thing.

Only as he gasps she becomes aware that she's touching the mirror where it reflects him, causing her to withdraw her fingers abruptly.

"I didn't mean to start the alarm," she says hurriedly, belatedly realizing that the glass of the mirror is still calm and that there are no noises either.

"You didn't, sweetheart. That only happens when you knock."

"But then what..." she tries, wondering what caused him to react to her touch of the glass. "Did you feel that?"

"No, I didn't. I just..."

"You what?" she urges, ever so gently.

She doesn't need to recognize his faltering speech as embarrassment, his attempt to hide behind the curtain of hair which falls around his face giving him away already.

"I imagined that I could feel it."

"Oh."

She regards him, then shrugs, smiling again. Really, there is no reason for her not to do whatever she wants, not when it's regarding him... not anymore.

"Well then. You don't have to imagine, Rumple."

Doing exactly as she did when she was focused on the image of him in her mirror, she reaches for him. Slowly, lovingly, she brushes his hair around the curve of his ear. She sighs happily when his eyes flutter closed, as he shows himself in all his vulnerability to her once more, tilting his head and pressing his lips against her palm.

They remain like that for a long moment. But then he withdraws, giving her an apologetic smile.

"It's getting truly late. Let's get you to your room."

She nods her agreement, exhaustion starting to catch up with her. Today's events have been taxing to say the least. By now she is tired to the extent that she's certain that sleep will come for her right after she'll lie down.

She stands up, making sure that his coat won't fall off her shoulders. She finds the muscles of her legs sore with the disuse of the past evening. She winces, wondering how he must feel. Before he can object, she leans down and takes his cane from the ground, offering it to him.

He takes it from her, but lingers before getting up. She doesn't dare imagine just how much his leg might hurt now, how much damage it has suffered, and he right along with it.

"Let me help you," she says, offering him her hand.

"Thank you," he says, not quite looking at her but taking the provided help immediately. She takes both their mirrors and places them on the table next to the chairs which they have occupied for the majority of the evening, along with the other objects that have gathered there in that time.

She all but pulls him on his feet as soon as both her hands are free. She barely holds back a gasp at the look of discomfort on his face when he places his weight on his bad leg, as if to test the limb.

"Lean on me," she urges, wrapping her arm around his waist in an attempt to help him take weight off his injured leg.

There's warmth, so much of it, when she touches him like this. It's as mesmerizing as it was the first time she touched him, but this is the first time that her arm is across his waist like this, her hand holding onto him just above his hip. Despite the various layers of fabric between them, she is quite certain that she can feel his muscles working beneath her.

He places his arm around her shoulder in return, groaning when they take a tentative step together. She wonders whether he can use magic to decrease his pain, but she supposes that there must be a very good reason why he doesn't. She'll ask him about it, later.

They eventually reach the room where she has been the past few days, the distance so much longer now that he is struggling at her side. Still, she can't help but have a sense of gratitude for having the chance to help him for a chance - and, most of all, that he lets her.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asks, gesturing at the chair which is next to her bed.

"I'd certainly like to, but I'd better stay on my feet for at least a few minutes if I want to be able to go home tonight."

Tempting as it is to keep him right here, at her side, she knows by now how important it is for him to let her gather her thoughts, alone, until he comes back in the morning.

"I'm going to retrieve our things," she says, making a gesture towards the hallway with her head. "Will you be all right here?"

"I will be, thank you Belle."

She lets go of his waist carefully, only stepping away from him after a few seconds. Wanting to be away from him for as little time as possible, she races back into the hallway. She smiles in delight when her legs don't protest in the slightest at the seemingly unusual activity.

Reaching the small table next to the various seats, she carefully gathers the repaired cup, the two mirrors, the hair brush and the rose into her hands.

When she returns in the room, he is walking up and down the length of it, his expression somewhat less tight and his movements slightly less strained than before. The additional movements must make it easier for him to walk and she's grateful for it.

She leaves him be for a moment, giving him the chance to calmly regain control over his limbs as she regards the interior of the room where she has spend her time the past few days.

It seemed so much, earlier, in comparison to the bleak cell she has been in until now. But with the promises of a room of her own or maybe even sharing one with him, of a home, she can't help but be disappointed with the white walls and gray curtains, the lack of color of her worn bedclothes and all the furniture .

There's at least something she can do about that. Her spirits lifting already, she lovingly places the personal items she is still holding on her nightstand. She gives the second mirror to him, her fascination the same as before when he casually envelops it in another cloud of purple smoke, doubtlessly to send it to his home, ahead of him.

"It's not much, is it?" he remarks, nodding at the bed while shaking his head in disapproval.

"It's much better than what I had," she replies, knowing it to be true in between memories of nothing and the prospect of everything.

"Indeed. But it won't do, don't you think?"

"Well, it's better than what I'm used to, and it's only for a single night and..."

"Will you let me make it better? Please, Belle?"

She is in favor of anything that might make the room any less unpleasant and impersonal, but his request is particularly difficult to refuse when he's looking at her like this, as if she would do him a huge favor by letting her do this for him.

"Of course."

Her earlier tiredness is long forgotten when it's becoming clearer yet just how willing he is to do anything to help her - to make her happy – while she isn't even exactly who he wants her to be.

Then again, for quite some time she has almost lost awareness that she isn't who she should be, that she can't actually remember her past. Forgetting turns out to be not such a bad thing after all when the forgetting is what she doesn't remember.

If the way he is standing next to her is any indication, enthusiastic and almost mischievous despite his pain, she is quite certain that the same goes for him.

She already expected him to use magic, to do something to brighten up the room, yet she is taken by surprise when there's more of the purple substance than she has seen all night combined - much more.

When it clears, her mouth falls open in joyful shock, and she needs to blink several times to make sure that her eyes aren't playing tricks on her.

There's a bed in front of her, but it couldn't differ more from the ones she has slept in before. There is still a world of difference between the thin mattress atop the heightened, unyielding part of the cell and the actual bed she could use when she was out of the basement, but this is something else entirely.

It's at least twice as big as the two beds she's used to, but that's hardly the most major difference. This one is made from wood instead of the cold, hard metal she has known so far, and there are bedclothes on them which actually appear to be very pleasant, both soft and warm. They look valuable but out of place, just like the bed as a whole does, beyond the sight of such gorgeous furniture in the bleak, impersonal hospital room.

Turning back to him, the not completely concealed expectation on his features is telling her that he wants her to say something without having to ask for it. He must be wondering, hoping, that the bed he conjured has some sort of meaning for her.

"Is this mine?" she asks, still finding the notion of her owning anything so hard to grasp after a lifetime of not being allowed any possessions, not even the thin gown that used to cover her. "Or is it... ours?"

She knows by now that this man is her True Love and that they lived together. She doesn't know however what exactly happened between them during that time in this particular part of their relationship.

Still, she finds herself hoping that they indeed shared the bed. Whether she can remember it or not, it's lovely to at least know that the two of them have enjoyed such a thing together.