Part 25
He holds her for a long time, his hands on their by now slightly familiar place on her waist and his head resting on her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck.
Sometimes he moves slightly, to nuzzle her throat or to kiss her temple, becoming once more as relaxed as she can remember him.
She thoroughly savors his ministrations, her own hands never leaving his hair and his back. She finds it increasingly easy to return his touches, her confidence growing that she can make him feel as wonderful as he does her.
"You should go to sleep," he mutters at length, his words whispering against her throat. He withdraws before she has the chance to object.
Right then, she wants nothing more than pull him against her, being as close to him as she can for as long as possible. But she reminds herself again that this is what they have agreed on, that she'll give him one night to think this over and that he'll give her a lifetime of togetherness afterwards.
"Yes, I'll go to sleep," she agrees, breathing him in deeply one last time before stepping away from him. She's only capable of doing so because she knows that, from tomorrow on, they can enjoy one another's nearness as much as they want.
He sighs deeply, shivering as soon as she isn't in his arms any longer. Unpleasant as it is to see him like this, obviously not quite as happy as a moment ago, she can't help but find some joy in the discovery that he reacts exactly the same to their approaching departure as she does.
Now that she isn't pressed against him any longer, she's able to focus on anything other than him. She regains awareness of the beautiful nightgown she's wearing and the doubtlessly very comfortable bed that's awaiting her.
It reminds her of the coat that he gave her earlier that night. She steps back to retrieve it from the edge of the bed, offering it to him with some reluctance.
The coat is his after all, and she wants him to wear it again. He probably needs it in the world outside the hospital, but that won't stop her from missing the comfort that the material offers her.
"Would you like to keep it?"
She startles at his question, still not quite used to the fact that he can understand her so easily, that he often doesn't need words in order to know what she longs for, what she needs.
She didn't intend to tell him that she'd indeed like to keep it, not wanting him to leave without his coat for her sake. Surely it's cold outside; surely he needs the warmth that the fabric provides more than she does.
But his tone is yearning, as if he hopes that she wants to keep his coat with her, either as a reminder of him or simply as a means to be more comfortable.
So she nods at his inquiry, beaming when he takes the material from her, gesturing at the bed he conjured for her. He tentatively spreads his coat over the blankets, as if it were another cover – almost as if he leaves a part of him with her.
No matter how warm and comfortable the actual blankets doubtlessly are, she already knows that it's the carefully placed coat that will keep her warm the most throughout the night.
She can't think of anything else that might keep him with her any longer, except for him to bid her a goodnight. He was the one after all who was so very insistent for her to have some time to herself, to make up her mind regarding him without his nearness and influence.
But he lingers, as if there's something else that he wants to do.
"What is it?" she asks, sensing that he is reluctant to bring up whatever it is he wishes to do or tell her.
"I would like to leave you protected in my absence tonight, if you don't mind."
Only when she recalls her previous self's apparent dislike of magic, she understands his hesitance.
"You mean to use a spell or something of the like," she concludes, already mentally weighing the possible benefits and disadvantages of such a possible solution.
"Indeed. If you don't object, of course."
"I don't know much of this world, of what might happen when you're not here. But I think I'll sleep better knowing that there is something keeping me safe even when you're gone for the night."
He brightens at her words, but she isn't finished yet.
"But you've said that magic has a price. And you... you've already done so much for me. Do you really think that I need such protection, that something might happen to me tonight?"
"I'm not the right person to judge that, Belle. I know that I tend to be... overly protective whenever you are concerned."
"I can imagine," she replies, smiling a little.
"It's just that... yes, it's true that there's a price. But I'll pay it. Of course I will. Don't ever doubt that."
"I don't," she says, having learned by now that it's the opposite that she has to worry about. Her True Love tends to forget himself and his own well-being in his determination to keep her safe or even comfortable.
There must be a reason that the woman she used to be was so opposed to him indulging in his powers; it might have to do something with whatever costs such actions require.
"What's the price of the magic that you would need to protect me tonight?"
"You want the honest answer, I presume?"
She nods in response to his resigned question, taking the fact that he asks this in the first place as a good sign.
"Proper wards require a lot more than a simple trick such as conjuring the rose and the brush, or even the bed. But it's nothing I can't handle, nothing I haven't done before. It'll be harmless."
"All right then."
He visibly relaxes. It'll never cease to amaze her that this man can be so happy simply by doing things for her.
There's more to him than the considerate, gentle man he is with her, she knows that. One look at his face right after she was shot in the forest was enough for that, his anger burning more violently than the ball of fire in his hand did.
Whatever she may have known of him before then is gone however. The missing memories are still a loss, of course they are, but she more and more revels in the unique opportunity of getting to know this man all over again.
"Do you need anything for the wards you mentioned?" she asks, this sort of magic currently unknown to her.
"Only my magic and focus, nothing more than that."
He steps away from her, gesturing for her to step back, so that there's nothing between him and the bed she'll occupy that night.
"A ward is like an invisible shield to protect whatever is inside of them," he explains. "There are many different kinds, but the one I'll raise will prevent anyone and anything from harming anyone who is inside the wards - which is you, in this case."
"I like that," she says quietly.
She doesn't fully grasp the notion yet that no one can do anything against her while she sleeps, if only because she can't remember experiencing this level of safety before. That doesn't mean that she can't appreciate the offered protection very much indeed.
"I'm glad," he simply replies. "It's unlikely that anyone will bother you here, that someone is foolish enough to attempt it, but one can never be certain of these things. I prefer you to be as safe as you can be, and if I'm not here myself, the wards can keep you safe regardless."
Nodding her approval, she curiously watches him as he closes his eyes and raises his hands, obviously about to perform whatever magic is necessary to create the wards he told her about.
There's a shimmer of something flowing from his hands, spreading around the bed. It's not quite visible, like liquid and semi-transparent silver, but she can feel its warmth in the air around her.
The silvery shimmer becomes thicker and larger, quite literally forming a wall around the place where she'll sleep that night. She's standing a few feet away from it, but even there she can sense a sort of protectiveness radiating off it.
He mutters under his breath, keeping his eyes closed and his hands upwards. She doesn't understand the words, but she doesn't need to in order to know that they are part of the magic.
Before long, this most peculiar kind of barrier has been created. Or at least, that's what she thinks. There's a silhouette of the liquid not-quite wall right in front of her, becoming thicker with each moments that passes.
He doesn't stop enforcing it, though. His voice is becoming hoarser, his breath harsh, and there's perspiration on his brow. Yet, he continues, more of the silvery matter flowing from his hands to the wards.
"Rumple?"
She supposes he knows exactly when the defense is finished, when he ought to stop, but she doesn't like the way this is going.
Whatever magic he is performing clearly puts a strain on him. She knows nothing of magic except for the few things he has told her throughout the evening, but there's no doubt in her mind that this can't be good for him.
He hasn't told her just how demanding this is, only that he'll gladly pay the price for her. But if this is the cost of her protection, she doesn't want him to pay it.
"Rumple!"
He doesn't react. Whether he can't hear her or simply ignores her, she doesn't know.
His teeth are bared now, sweat sliding down his face in thick drops. The silvery shimmer is still thickening. It's like it's draining him, sucking magic out of him.
She has been powerless for as long as she can remember, but never has she felt more helpless as when she witnesses this magic consume him.
It's as if he's pouring himself into these wards, his way of keeping her safe in his absence. Or rather, it's almost as if the magic drags his life out of him.
He's gradually starting to shake, the strain on him visibly increasing. He is speaking no longer, but the magic doesn't end. His eyes are closed tightly, too tightly, as if he is in pain.
She wants to stop it, to stop him, but she doesn't have a clue how she can safely do so. She's afraid that she'll harm him if she were to interrupt him... but she's just as scared of doing nothing and letting this go too far, for as far as that hasn't happened already.
"Rumple!"
She's yelling now, but it doesn't appear to make any difference. She doesn't have to look around the room and the hallway outside to confirm there's no one else around to help him; his own spell to keep onlookers away has made certain of that.
She doesn't dare leave the room, let alone the hallway, in search of any help. She can't bear to leave him alone for even a moment; she wouldn't know anyone who might be capable – and willing – to help him anyway.
Sheer panic rising within her, she recalls the dislike of magic she supposedly used to have. Only now she's starting to understand why her former self disapproved of this power of his, even if used for good.
If only she would have been herself, she wouldn't have allowed him to do this. If only she wouldn't have been stupid, letting him use his powers on her account, if only...
The flow of matter coming from his hands is becoming thinner, but she doesn't suppose that it's a good sign. Rather than purposefully using less energy, it looks to her like the magic simply has less to take from him instead.
Deciding that she'll have to take matters into her own hands, she steps towards her still shaking True Love. He can barely stand any longer, which makes it easy to determine her first course of action after all.
Making sure not to touch whatever it is exactly that's spreading from his hands, she embraces him from his side, supporting his weight.
"Please, Rumple, stop this," she whispers, pressing her face against his damp hair, hoping that he'll somehow understand that he can't go on like this.
He tenses at her embrace, seemingly becoming aware of her at last.
"You've got to stop, Rumplestiltskin," she pleads, for the first time using the full name he has given her, hoping that it'll somehow make a difference.
Nothing changes for several frantic heartbeats, but then he finally lowers his hands, the flow of magic coming to an abrupt end.
She pulls slightly back from him, just in time to see him stare into nothing with wide, unseeing eyes.