For our souls have crossed oceans of time
To clasp one another more tightly than death could alone
*Cradle of Filth – Lustmord and Wargasm
In hindsight Belle should have asked where the hat would take her. Whether it would take her anywhere that Jefferson considered safe, or whether it was programmed to take her to one location. She'd always been impulsive; she'd have to work on that. Belle stopped spinning and her eyes adjusted to the view before her as the hat returned to its rightful owner. She was at the edge of the grounds of the Dark Castle. Yes, comparatively Jefferson was safer here than anywhere else. Inwardly she cursed Jefferson. She wanted adventure, not to run back to Rumple. Well, Belle consoled herself, if I ever see Rumple enact one of his threats on Jefferson again I'll wait longer before stepping in. As it was dark, Belle weighed her options. She'd reach the castle long before reaching the outlying villages. She also wanted answers and Rumple was the only person who could give them. So she started to walk in the direction of the castle, bathed in the glow of moonlight. The moon that she had stared at through the bars of her cell during her first nights at the castle, casting the grounds in an eerie dissonance against the serenity of the night. Belle shook herself out of her reverie. This is not one of your novels she chastised herself, and there is no white knight here to whisk you away to Happy Ever After. There is just...this, and what I choose to make of this.
Rumplestiltskin festered in the cell. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, or how he got there. He just knew it smelled of her. Still, after all this time and her own quarters in the castle, this one small bare stone walled cell retained her scent more than anywhere else. He breathed in, exhaling regrets. Sending her back to her kingdom where even now she was surely entering into another engagement made him realise just how much he loved her, now that she was denied to him. But it was better this way. She was an unnecessary distraction, and he had a job to do. Regina would enact the curse and he would find his son. He had no time for love. He curled up further on the floor; surely Regina would hasten in her desire for revenge against their world and he could wait this out.
A murder of ravens above drew Belle's attention and she tripped over her skirts. Making a mental note to reacquaint herself with her sensible castle wardrobe at the earliest opportunity, Belle hitched her skirts up and continued grimly on. She was met by the same scene as met Jefferson, except that Jefferson had closed the main doors on his rather hasty retreat from the castle. The entrance hall was in pitch darkness, sundown having taken place long before her arrival in the grounds. As Jefferson had done she made her way towards the great hall expecting Rumple to be spinning. But the great hall was now empty. There was no sound save for her feet treading on something. Looking down she could make out the shapes of broken glass and antiques littering the floor. Surmising Rumplestiltskin's actions, she paused to think. Well, he does so love poetic justice. Perhaps the dungeons...? Belle mused amidst the carnage. Picking her way out of the remnants of the great hall she made her way to her dungeons. It was just as dark as always but there was a torch burning in her cell. The only sign of life she had seen in the whole of the castle. She pulled the door open and the smell hit her. Alcohol. Judging by the discarded bottles surrounding the inert body curled up on the floor, a rather large quantity of alcohol. Belle looked down at Rumple. Yes, apart from her the torch was most definitely the only sign of life in the Dark Castle.
Being the Dark One had some advantages. In Belle's opinion the ability to look good in leather being one. The owning of dungeons without looking like a demented madman being another. A third would be an enormous tolerance for alcohol. Belle had only seen Rumple drunk once. He'd been out with Jefferson. Jefferson went home but seeing as he did not live far from their chosen tavern for the night it was no mean feat for him to arrive home in one piece. Rumple decided to take the lazy way. He'd transported himself but in his inebriated state hadn't managed the finer points of the magic. He'd crash landed into the dying embers of the fire in the great hall, sent Belle and the sofa on which she was reclining sprawling backwards, and most importantly to him singed his favourite dragon hide coat. He'd regretted that in the morning. He later regretted Belle's tongue lashing as it aided and abetted his already tremendous headache, and she went out of her way to be as loud as possible that whole day.
Belle sat on the edge of the pallet that had, in the beginning, been her bed, and nudged Rumple with her foot. He made a noise halfway between a moan and a growl. She nudged again and found herself the subject of a one eyed dubious glare.
Rumple squinted up at Belle through a haze of whisky. He attempted to move into a more decorous sitting position but the floor was not yet ready to relinquish its hold on him, so he contented himself with lying there, waiting patiently for the floor to come to its senses and at least stop spinning. Despite herself Belle smiled at him. The look on his face attested to his anger abating a long while ago.
"Belle?" Croaked Rumple.
"I leave you for two weeks and this is what you do?" Belle gestured with a hand at the signs of destruction and myriad bottles of alcohol. "I'm not cleaning this up".
"Why did you come back?" Rumple continued to squint through one eye. He was a little worried that should he open the other eye the wonderful vision in front of him would evaporate.
"I promised you forever. It may have escaped your attention that in that, you also promised me forever. Well, I haven't had forever from you. You know as well as I do that it was true loves kiss. It was working. Even if I had been 'in league' with The Queen, I couldn't have faked the evidence of true love. You owe me an explanation Rumple and I'm not leaving this time without it."
The floor mercifully began to slow down and gave up its iron grip on Rumple. He staggered to his feet and risked opening the other eye. The beautiful but undeniably angry vision in front of him did not fade. "Perhaps some tea is in order...?" Rumple ventured.
"Stay out of my kitchen then. You've done enough damage here. I assume you still have food in your larder?"
Rumple nodded his assent. He made his way slowly to the door of the cell and walked up the stairs, pausing to make sure Belle was still there and following.
On returning to the great hall, Rumple was able to use his magic to repair the damage he'd caused. Magic always came with a price and he knew he would pay it later. Hopefully this would just take the shape of a rip in one of his pairs of leather trousers, or one of his potions falling flat and failing to produce the desired result. Something innocuous like that he could handle. He waited patiently in the great hall, listening to the muffled sounds of Belle moving in the kitchen. Gods, even through the haze of a hangover this was music to his ears. If only the throbbing in his brain could beat in time.