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.
"Miss French, what's this I hear about you being late to open the library?"
Isabelle feels a momentary flush of panic, a spreading of ice down her spine, as Regina Mills lets the library door swing shut behind her. The customary panic she feels whenever she comes into contact with the Mayor – but somehow it seems…faded now. Less intense.
She knows the truth now, remembers everything. And she is under Rumplestiltskin's protection; nobody but him has any power over her. He promised that Regina won't get her again, and she believes him – now, more than ever.
"I'm sorry," she says, putting down the book in her hand, gathering together her courage. "I wasn't well. But I'm fine now, and I'm planning on staying open later to make up the hours."
"I'm afraid that's not good enough," says Regina. Her heels clatter on the floor as she approaches; her sneer is vicious. "You're contracted to work certain hours, Miss French, and if you can't work those hours –"
"I'm also allowed sick leave," says Belle, and Regina's brief look of shock is gratifying. Not many people interrupt her, but Belle is being brave. Belle is Belle, and she is strong and she will not let this woman scare her any longer. "It's in my contract. Up to two weeks sick leave a year."
Regina recovers swiftly. "Of course," she says. "But you are required to give notice for hours missed."
"Well, I'm sorry," says Belle. She stands up, folds her arms. She remembers how Rumplestiltskin had looked at her earlier, remembers what he'd said. Always. He's always loved her, and that gives her strength. "It won't happen again. And as I said, I'm going to stay open later tonight."
"I'm not sure that's good enough, Miss French," Regina retorts. "We may have to review your employment here." Isabelle can't speak for a moment, outrage and anger and fear drying out her mouth. She remembers long, long years in Regina's castle, locked in a cell. She remembers not having enough to eat, remembers being too hot in summer and so cold in winter she thought her blood would freeze in her veins. She remembers ten years where her only visitor was Mayor Mills, feels once again the fear that the Mayor will fling her back into the hospital and bury the key where nobody could ever find it.
"Ah. Mayor Mills. What an unexpected surprise."
Fear flees with the tap of Mr Gold's cane as he comes across the library towards her. He ignores Regina, comes around the desk and glances Belle over; she smiles, restored, and he gives her a brief, approving nod. He puts a paper bag onto the desk and then he turns to face Regina, offers a politely bland smile.
"Mr Gold," she says, clearly a little shaken, her smile fitting her face badly. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Well, that's the thing about me, dear," he says. There's malice in his voice, a twisting serpent that's been woken and it should scare Belle – she should be afraid of the darkness in him. But she's never been afraid of him, not even during those days long ago when she and her father had been waiting to see what deal he might offer them. "I like to do the unexpected," he continues.
"So I see," says Regina flatly. "Miss French, I do hope you remember what I said."
Belle lifts her chin, hides her trembling hands. "Oh, I do," she says. "I remember everything you've said." Regina gives her a long, assessing look, but Belle hides herself away, folds herself up in Isabelle French and hides away the daughter of the knight, the housekeeper of the beast. She buries herself in the daughter of a florist and the strength of Mr Gold at her side.
She knows, somehow, that it will not end well if the Queen discovers that she knows.
"Don't let it happen again," Regina snaps at last, and she turns on her heel, leaves at a smart pace. Isabelle stands still until she's gone, until the door is shut and she can see through the windows that the Mayor is far away. Then she collapses, strings cut and mind empty, sits down and covers her face with her hands.
"Belle," he murmurs, and he leans against the desk, puts aside his cane and reaches for her, gently brings her hands away from her face. "What did she mean? What did she say to you?"
"Oh, it…" Belle manages a smile. "It was a while ago. When she gave me this job. She warned me away from you."
Shadows in his eyes and a scowl lingering about his mouth, Rumplestiltskin looks almost more dangerous than she's ever seen him before. "Did she," he says, flat and angry, and Belle takes his hands, lifts one to her mouth and kisses his knuckles – loves that she can do this, loves the freedom to do it.
"It didn't work," she confides, and the darkness leaves him, something softer comes into his expression.
"I can see that," he says. He holds her hands tight, links their fingers together. "Belle," he says, and she smiles. "I still can't believe this," he says, more to himself than her. "The curse was watertight, I know every inch of it. Every loophole. You shouldn't be able to remember."
"You know it," Belle says slowly. "You – you created it?" She tugs her hands from his, stands up and takes a step back. "Rumplestiltskin," she says, and for a moment she can see his other face, see his real face. The dragon hidden behind the gentleman. "This – this whole – where are we? Did you send us all here?"
"No," he says, quick and abrupt, but he isn't looking at her and she knows how to tell when he's not being quite truthful. "No, not me, dearie."
"But you know the curse," she says. "Tell me." He glances at her, jaw tight and eyes narrowed, and Belle steps forward again, stands in front of him and takes his hands. "Please," she says softly, "I have to know."
Mr Gold looks old for a moment, grief-stricken and ancient beyond measure, and she waits. She waits because she knows he will answer her, if she gives him the space to do so.
"I thought you were dead," he says, and she nods. "And I think it sent me a little…mad."
She forces a smile, but the fondness she feels isn't forced at all. "You were always a little mad," she says, and he nods, accepts it. "But you didn't cast the curse?"
"I created it, which is perhaps almost as bad." He sighs, looks down at their joined hands. "The Queen cast the spell, and I suppose I could have stopped her, but I had no reason to."
"What is it? The curse?"
"It's the darkest magic possible," says Mr Gold, and if he regrets creating it, it doesn't show. There's nothing of guilt in him, nothing of remorse. "To leave behind the world we knew, and bring us to one in which nobody could have a happy ending." His lip curls; he shakes his head and pulls his hands from hers. "Nobody here finds their true love," he says. "There are no magic solutions or fairytale endings."
Belle nods slowly, thoughtfully. "I see," she says, and she thinks she does. She thinks she knows the why of it, even if she can't hope to comprehend the how. She suspects, at least, that she knows when he created this curse.
He'd thought she was dead; the Queen had told him she was dead. And he loves her. Loves her always, has always loved her. He'd already lost so much – his son, his wife – and then he'd lost her too.
"When did she do it?" she asks then. There are other questions she would like answers to – why did Regina do it, what drove her to it – but this seems the most important for now. "How long ago? I remember ten years in the hospital…"
Rumplestiltskin bares his teeth, shakes his head. "Longer," he says. "Twenty-eight years." Belle's breath leaves her in a rush, and for a moment she feels dizzy, for a moment she can't comprehend it. Twenty-eight years. Isabelle French's entire life, but she doesn't think it works like that, she doesn't think…
"Time stood still," he continues. "For most of that time, nobody…nothing changed. Ashley Boyd was pregnant for twenty-eight years. David Nolan was in a coma. Mary Margaret Blanchard has taught the same group of children for nearly thirty years. The only person who's ever aged is Henry Mills."
"So what's changed?" Bella asks in a whisper. Something has changed, something must have changed, because David Nolan woke up. Ashley gave birth. Isabelle was discovered and released.
There's a flash of approval on his face, as if he's proud of her deduction, proud that she's realised that something must have changed.
"Emma Swan," he says. "Henry's mother." He pauses, considers, visibly weighing up his options. "What do you know of Snow White?" he asks, and Belle frowns, tries to think. She knows the name, but she can't remember if it's from before or after her imprisonment. After, she thinks – she thinks the Queen spoke of Snow White, but her memories still feel fragmented, the edges sharp and jagged and not fitting together neatly in her mind.
"I…was she the Queen's daughter?" she asks slowly. "Or stepdaughter? I'm not sure."
"Stepdaughter," Mr Gold confirms. "Much-loathed stepdaughter. This," he gestures, "is the Queen's revenge on her." He smiles at her confusion. "I'll explain," he says. "But not here. Too…public." He glances at the large windows, at the door, and Belle nods. They're alone now, but there's too much risk of interruption.
"Later, then," she says, wants a promise from him, wants an assurance that he won't just gloss over it. She needs answers, because she has woken to this world and needs to know the rules that govern it.
"Later," he agrees, and he looks back at her, rises, retrieves his cane. Belle bites her lip for a moment, then presses closer to him, rests her head against his shoulder and feels his arm come to rest around her waist. "Oh, Belle," he murmurs. "I will never let you go again."
"I'm not going to let you," she whispers. "I won't let you be a coward this time."
He doesn't say anything, but his fingers tighten at her waist, and Belle lifts her head, presses a kiss to his jaw. She doesn't want him to regret, doesn't want him to blame himself for believing the Queen's lies, but she can't do anything about it. Not now, not yet. There is still so much they have to talk about, answers they must each be given. Forgiveness to be sought, although she forgave him long ago for his fear. She gives no blame to him for what has happened to her since.
He sighs, lets his cane rest against the desk and lifts his hand to stroke through her hair. "I never thought I would be able to do this," he admits, and Belle nods. She never thought she would have this, in either of her lives. There she had lost him, had made one mistake and lost all hope of him; here she has been too frightened, too bruised and battered to dare ask for what she wants even when she knew he wanted the same.
"But you must have lunch," he says then, and his hands fall away from her; Belle straightens with a sigh. "You need to eat," he says. "You're so thin, love." Her heart swells at the endearment, her smile cannot be contained. He doesn't seem to notice what he's said, and Belle doesn't draw attention to it as he turns to retrieve the paper bag he'd brought with him, begins to unpack it.
For the first time in so long – in months, in years, even – she thinks she might be really and truly happy.