Title: Of Dreams and Awakenings
Rating: T
Word count: ~51k
Characters: Belle/Isabelle French, Mr Gold/Rumplestiltskin, Mary Margaret, Emma Swan, Archie Hopper, Henry Mills, Regina Mills, Moe French, various other Storybrooke characters.
Pairing: Belle/Rumplstiltskin (Isabelle/Mr Gold)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Once Upon A Time' does not belong to me.
It's dark by the time anyone finds her, sitting on a bench by the docks. She'd run for nearly half an hour before she'd stopped, her movements slowed by fatigue and breathlessness. She's been sitting on the bench for a few hours now, growing colder by the minute but totally unable to move.
It's Archie who finds her, who comes to sit next to her on the bench. He doesn't say anything, offers his coat silently, and Isabelle takes it, wraps it around herself and is grateful for the warmth.
She watches the boats bobbing up and down on the water, hugs herself. She can't speak, doesn't know what words would come even if she could manage to form them in her mouth. She feels broken, abused. She feels torn into a thousand pieces and has no idea how to reassemble herself.
She knows her own name, and remembers two lifetimes.
She was locked away for more than ten years. She is not the daughter of a florist. She spent five months in a castle with the most feared being in all the kingdoms.
She knows her own name.
"Let me know when you're ready to go inside," Archie says quietly. "I don't want you to catch a cold."
She wonders who he was, in that other land where she was born and lived and expected to die. She does not know his face, and his name holds no clue for her. Not like Mr Gold.
Gold for the fine thread he spun from straw. She presses her lips together, thinks of what he'd said when she told him that baking helps her to forget. He'd understood, and she hadn't known why. Now she knows.
And she knows that he, too, remembers that other life. He must remember, for he's called her Belle, and nobody has ever abbreviated her name here like that. Izzy, they called her here, before her incarceration began.
She wonders how she came to be here; how this world came to exist. She wonders how long she was in the locked room beneath the hospital, rather than in the locked cell in the tower of the Queen's castle. She remembers ten years; and remembers long years before that, of that other cell.
She needs to know, but the only man who can give her answers is Mr Gold, and she cannot…
"Mr Gold was very worried," Archie tells her then, and her breath catches in her throat. He was worried about her, and she wants to be grateful, because she thinks that must be a sign that he does care, that he hasn't simply been trifling with her. A sign that he does care for her as she still cares for him, no matter what has happened between them, no matter how hard he had pushed her away.
She still cares for him despite what had happened to her after he pushed her away. And he still has the cup. That, she thinks, is a sign. That tells her something, but she's not sure what that something is, can't grasp any of it. She's so confused, so battered. Nothing makes sense, and she doesn't even know where to begin to smooth out the confusion.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She swallows, shakes her head. She can't talk to Archie about it – she trusts him, but this is not…
This is too much. This is unbelievable. And Archie is her friend, is safety and comfort and a helping hand, but even he cannot believe what she now knows, the things that are now in her head.
It's too much.
"Did he upset you?" Archie asks, gentle but insistent. He's trying to help, trying to get her to open up to him, but Isabelle can't do more than shake her head again. She licks her lips, tastes salt from tears and the spray from the ocean before her.
She never saw the ocean in that other place. There were seas and oceans there, and she read tales and heard stories, but she never saw them. She went from her father's halls to Rumplestiltskin's, and from there straight into the Queen's dark tower.
She has seen little more of this world; she has been captive here, as there. Imprisoned by the same woman, for she knows those eyes now, knows the evil that dwells beneath the painted smile.
She lifts her hands, covers her face. She tries not to cry again, for she's cried too much this evening, feels exhausted and wrung out from it. But her eyes are dry; no more tears come.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it right now," says Archie then. "Do you think you feel up to going back to the apartment? You've been out here a long time, Isabelle."
The name is jarring; it is her own, and yet it is not. Belle drops her hands into her lap, glances at him. She finds only concern and understanding on his face, and it's comforting. Her whole existence has been altered, but Archie remains the same.
"I guess so," she whispers. Her throat is dry, and the words are cracked. She coughs, lifts a hand to cover it, rubs her throat. She wishes for water, but she hadn't taken anything to Mr Gold's that afternoon, has nothing but her cardigan with her now.
"We'll get you something to drink when we get there," Archie reassures her. "And do you think you can manage something to eat?"
Isabelle nods, closes her eyes for a moment. "Pasta carbonara," she murmurs. "That's on the menu for tonight."
"Okay," says Archie, and he stands up, holds a hand out for her. She stares for a moment, blank and apprehensive, and then she takes his hand, lets him help her up. She staggers for a moment – she's been still too long and her muscles are on the verge of cramping, but Archie supports her, holds her up until she can stand by herself. "That's good," he murmurs. "My car's not far. Do you think you can walk?"
"Yes," says Belle, and she tries to stand tall, tries to be composed. She can walk, but she hopes it really isn't far. She is tired, so tired, wants to crawl into her bed and sleep the world away.
Perhaps she can; perhaps, when Archie takes her back to the apartment, she can just go into her room and shut the door, and pretend none of this has happened.
Pretend the kiss had never happened, that it hasn't broken whatever magic spell was cast to bring them here and make her forget who she is. She could pretend, perhaps, if she tried hard enough, if she could sleep for a while first.
Except…except she doesn't think she can, she doesn't think she can bury the things that have been unearthed in her mind. She can't forget her own identity, not know she remembers everything.
Not now she remembers him.
"Isabelle?"
"Sorry," she says automatically, shaking herself free of the tangled thorns in her mind. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologise," Archie tells her. "Not to me." She nods; that's something he'd said early on, soon after she'd been released. She never has to apologise to him for anything – and she doesn't owe apologies to other people, either. She might want to apologise for all the things she does and how she reacts to things, but she doesn't have to.
It's not her fault. None of it's her fault. Except…except some things are, and Belle feels tears coming again, feels her throat close up, as she thinks of the things she now remembers.
She thinks of that last day in the Dark Castle.
"Come on," says Archie, and he wraps an arm around her, leads her away from the docks. "I'll call Emma and Mary Margaret when we get back," he says as they walk. "They're out looking for you. Mr Gold as well, I think."
"I probably should have told you about that," Isabelle mumbles. "I…he…"
"Isabelle, you don't have to tell me everything," he reassures her. "In fact I hope you don't. I want you to be able to strike out on your own. All I'm concerned about now is what's happened to upset you, and helping you work through it."
Isabelle fights back tears, shakes her head. "It wasn't him," she says wearily. "It wasn't anything he did. It's…me. It's just me." Archie's arm is supportive, warm around her shoulders. His coat is too large on her, hangs down to her ankles, the sleeves covering her hands. She remembers that evening in the rain, in the library, when Mr Gold had given her his coat.
She remembers wanting to kiss him then, but being too afraid.
It was the first time he called her Belle; she wonders now how he'd kept himself away from her, because surely if he loved her he'd want to see her. But he hadn't, and she doesn't know what that means except she thinks he was probably afraid.
He has always been a coward, after all. A coward hiding behind his magic and his tricks and his manic laugh and his spinning wheel. Just a coward.
They reach Archie's car and he helps her in, turns the heating up high as soon as the doors are shut. She's shivering now, cold and tired and feeling immeasurably old, and she closes her eyes as Archie starts the engine and pulls the car away from the kerb. She doesn't want to see anything; she doesn't want to think.
She wants the world to make sense again and she doesn't know what to do.
"Don't think about it right now," Archie murmurs. "You don't have to think about anything right now. You're exhausted. You just need to warm up, eat something, and go to bed."
"Aren't you meant to get me to talk about stuff?" Isabelle murmurs, barely able to summon the energy to form the words. "Isn't that meant to be better for me?"
"Not tonight," says Archie with a soft laugh. "You can barely talk at all. We can meet tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she repeats. She can't think about tomorrow. Tomorrow is a vast, yawning chasm that will swallow her whole if she thinks about it. Tomorrow she will have to face the world, face him, face herself.
She can't think about tomorrow. She wraps Archie's coat tighter about herself, leans her head against the cold window of the car. She opens her eyes, watches the streetlights passing, watches the people moving about the town. They draw closer to the apartment, reach it at last, and Belle can hardly force herself to move but she knows she has to, knows it's only a short walk and a few flights of stairs up to her bedroom.
Ashley's there, waiting outside the apartment, and she opens the car door and holds her arms out to Isabelle.
"I'm glad someone found you," she says, quiet and calm, not showing any anxiety or concern. It's what Isabelle needs, and she tries to smile at Ashley. She wonders where the baby is; inside, she guesses, or with Sean. "Come on," Ashley says, and she helps Isabelle out of the car, holds her when she stumbles. "Granny sent over some soup and sandwiches from the café," she says. "You should eat that and then go to bed."
"I don't…" She wants to say she doesn't understand, wants to say she doesn't want anything. But she has to eat; she knows she has to eat. She can't afford to skip meals.
"I know," says Ashley. "It's alright."
She and Archie help Isabelle inside, and Archie calls the people who are searching for her while Ashley helps Isabelle get into bed and brings her the food Granny sent over.
Belle's asleep before she finishes the soup.