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.
Belle hums as she wanders through the library, tidying and dusting the shelves. It's been a week since her memories returned, a week spent adjusting to the awkward fit of two lives in her head – a week spent snatching precious moments with Rumplestiltskin. Several times he's brought her lunch to the library, and they've eaten together. Sometimes they've only had a few minutes during the day, sometimes they've had whole evenings together, Rumplestiltskin cooking for her in his home.
Several times he's seemed to be on the verge of asking her to stay, and Belle isn't sure what she'll answer if he does ask. She wants to stay, but there's part of her that's a little afraid still.
But he hasn't asked yet, so she doesn't need to have an answer.
Life is good, and even Emma has backed off a little, seems to have accepted that no matter what she feels, Isabelle wants Mr Gold in her life, and nothing can change that.
"Miss French?"
Belle grips her duster tight, feels a familiar dread and fear, feels ice down her spine and weight in her stomach. She steps out from the stacks, looks to the library doors. Regina Mills stands there, crisp and pristine and evil, and for a moment Belle can see her other face, can see the elaborate dresses and hairstyles of Queen Regina. The moment passes as Belle sees the Mayor's companions.
Orderlies.
Fear is a paralytic, and Belle can't move, grasps her duster tight and tries desperately not to panic, because panic is what Regina wants, panic will give her cause and justification, and –
Belle clears her throat. "Can I help you?" she asks, and it's a croak, a whisper.
"I'm here to help you, dear," says the Mayor, sickly sweet smile and knives behind her eyes. "I've been hearing some very troubling reports of your behaviour. I think it's in your best interests that you go back the hospital for a while so we can get you a proper, independent assessment."
"I'm not sick," Belle says, but it's weak and she has nothing to fight this woman with. "I don't need to go to the hospital. Dr Hopper has assessed me and the judge –"
"Judges look at the available evidence, Miss French," says Regina condescendingly. "He's been presented with fresh evidence, and he agrees with me that your behaviour lately has been alarming."
"Alarming," Belle echoes. "What behaviour?"
"Among other things, your association with Mr Gold." She's relishing this, revelling in it, this opportunity to tear down Rumplestiltskin, to hurt him again. But Regina doesn't know that Belle knows, and that's a weapon, she realises. That's a defence. She has something to fight with, and Belle lifts her chin, controls her tremors.
"I didn't know that being friends with someone was considered a symptom of mental illness," she says.
"Oh, but you're not just friends, and that's what's so worrying," says Regina. "He's a dangerous man, Miss French, and far too old for you."
"What are you really worried about?" Belle asks softly. Regina frowns, startled, and Belle clutches her duster and moves her other hand to her back pocket, to the cell phone she keeps there. Emma's number is on speed dial; she presses the buttons without looking, without letting Regina see what she's doing. She would call Rumplestiltskin, but he's at the pawn shop and she doesn't have that number in her phone. She'll put it there – it'll be the first thing she asks him, when she sees him next. "Are you worried that he'll try to take all this away from you?" she asks, and she gestures with her hand, waves the duster to indicate the room, the building, the town.
"What are you talking about?" Regina demands.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," says Belle. She is Belle, and she is brave; she faced the beast in his castle and spent years as the Queen's prisoner, and she is braver than Regina Mills. "You know exactly what I mean," she says. "Your Majesty."
There's shock on Regina's face, and Belle is allowed a moment to cherish it. Wide eyes and open mouth, her composure shaken and Belle knows Rumplestiltskin wanted to wait for the right moment, but sometimes moments cannot be chosen. Sometimes they happen, and this moment has happened because Belle needed a weapon against Regina, against the orderlies standing behind her waiting for their orders.
"What did you say?" Regina says at last, and she's overcoming the shock. "I see I was right about you – delusions are a serious symptom of – "
"You heard me," says Belle quietly. "You're worried he's going to trample over your precious little world and take all your power away." Regina's floundering, her footing unsure; Belle's unnerved her, but she knows it will be a short-lived victory. Already Regina is gesturing at the orderlies, speechless but her orders clear, and Belle takes a step back, glances around desperately. She hopes Emma's picked up her phone, hopes she's heard that Regina is here and is on her way, but she can't count on it.
If she runs…if she runs, that will only give Regina more ammunition, more cause to lock her up and throw away the key. No, not throw it away, because she has Emma and she has Archie and she has –
And he's there. Belle gasps, almost collapses from the relief of it, has to reach out and steady herself against the nearest shelf. Regina turns to see what's caused it, and the orderlies stop moving, uncertain.
"You," snarls Regina. "Mr Gold, this is none of your business. You don't want to –"
"I don't want to what, dearie?" says Mr Gold, mild and pleasant except for the look in his eye, the bite to his tone. He looks at Belle, and she can't speak, can't move, can't do anything but look back at him. He seems to accept whatever he sees, turns his gaze to the orderlies and there's a sneer on his lips now. "You two should leave," he says. "Now." They don't move, and he looks back at Regina. There's fire in him, the caged beast roaring, and Belle hopes Regina's afraid. "If you don't mind, dearie," he says. "Tell them to leave. Please."
Regina almost shudders, but she nods, waves a hand at the two men. "Go," she snaps. "You're done here."
"But you said she – "
"Out!" Regina orders, and they go. Belle feels a little easier when they are gone, when the door has swung firmly shut behind them. Still, Rumplestiltskin is too far away, and the Queen is still standing between them. Regina is still facing him, her posture rigid, and Belle can only imagine her expression. "What is going on here?" she demands, and his smile is twisted and dark, grimly promising.
"I think you're perfectly aware, your Majesty," he says. And Regina turns then, anger and rage and terrifying fierceness in her eyes. But Belle isn't afraid; he is here, and he will keep her from harm.
"You," Regina snarls. "How do you remember?"
"Ah, now, I think you won't be speaking to her again," says Rumplestiltskin. He walks past Regina, stick thumping the floor firmly, brushes against her so she has to step aside. It's deliberate, it's a power play, and Belle remains silent. She doesn't think she could speak anyway, doesn't think she can even stand without support. But she puts her hand into her back pocket, brings out her phone and makes sure the call is over. They don't need Emma to hear any of this, if she's still on the line.
Regina looks like she's waiting for something, and when Rumplestiltskin reaches Belle's side he speaks again.
"Please," he says, and Regina's jaw is tight, her eyes are dangerous, but she gives one brief, curt nod. "In fact," Rumplestiltskin continues, "let's be a little more specific, shall we? You will not speak to her, or try to put her back into the hospital, or in any way work to remove her freedom. You will in not harm her in any way. Physically, mentally, or emotionally. Please."
Please. Such a simple word, but it has power, Belle can see. In some way it gives him power over her, and he's being specific in how he uses it – but then, he's always been so careful in his deals, always twisted everything to his own advantage whilst making sure those on the other end of the deal have no loophole to exploit.
"Are we clear, your Majesty?" Rumplestiltskin asks, tilting his head slightly, and Regina nods. She doesn't speak; perhaps she can't. Perhaps, in the face of his power, even she is afraid of him. "Then I think we're finished here."
Belle watches as Regina, rigid with anger, spins around and storms from the library. She slams the door open, but it closes slowly behind her, shutting at last with a soft click. Belle drops her phone, drops the duster, flings herself at Rumplestiltskin and his arms are open, he welcomes her and holds her close.
"It's alright," he murmurs, and a sob catches in her throat. "It's alright, love, she can't harm you now."
"She – she was going to put me back there," Belle says, a pitiful moan, and she can almost feel the bare walls of her cell, can almost smell the antiseptic. Now that Regina is gone she can give in to the fear and it's a great darkness, choking and strangling, and only Rumplestiltskin's arms around her keep her tethered to reality.
"I know, love," he says, soothing her, soft and gentle in a way he so rarely is, and never with anyone else. He holds her tight, one arm around her waist and his other hand buried in her hair. She's shaking, her eyes squeezed shut, and she presses her face into his shoulder. "She won't get you," he promises. "She'll never hurt you again."
"I can't – I can't go back there!" Belle cries, and she can't stop shaking, wishes she could just stop shaking.
"You won't. Never again, Belle."
She wants to believe him – she does believe him – but the terror is still there, the panic, and her breathing is too fast, she knows she needs to calm herself down or end up having a full-blown panic attack.
In her mind she can hear Archie, in her mind he reminds her how to breathe. He reminds her to count, and Belle forces herself to listen, forces herself to inhale and count, exhale and count. Rumplestiltskin catches on, helps her to count, strokes a hand through her hair and sways her gently.
"What the hell happened here?"
It's Emma, she's finally arrived – she did pick up Belle's call for help, although she's arrived too late to do anything but pick up the pieces. Belle lifts her head from Rumplestiltskin's shoulder but doesn't look at Emma yet. She looks at him and nods, and he leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead.
"Sheriff Swan," he says then, "Miss French will be filing a restraining order against the Mayor. As soon as possible."
"The Mayor – Isabelle, are you alright?" Emma demands, crossing the space between them. She halts an arm's reach away, glances from Belle to Rumplestiltskin, and she's suspicious, wary, but less than before, Belle thinks.
"No," says Belle quite truthfully. "But I think I will be."