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.

"So how are you feeling today?" Archie asks her, and Belle smiles.

"Actually, pretty good," she says. "I think things are…really coming together." The library, her friends, her whole life seems to be filling her with happiness, slowly working to numb the memories of her incarceration. The memories will never fade – she was a prisoner for far too long for the memories ever to fade completely. She will probably always have things that make her nervous or uncomfortable.

But things are better.

"The library's really working well," she says. "People are really glad it's open again, and since…since the restraining order, I haven't had to deal with the Mayor." Emma and Rumplestiltskin between them had made sure the restraining order was filed properly, swiftly, and without objection. Regina Mills can't come within a hundred feet of her now, and even without that, she has Rumplestiltskin's protection.

She is beginning to feel safe again.

"And how are things going with Mr Gold?" Archie inquires. "Still going alright?" Unlike Emma and Mary Margaret, Archie has never expressed any concern or worry over her relationship with the most feared man in town. He may feel it, but outwardly he has supported her, and Belle appreciates it.

"Great," she says. "Things are…going great." It's been three weeks since that night in his home, that night when they'd…The night they'd both been brave. She's spent most of her free time with him since then, stayed more nights than not in his bed. She's even started leaving some of her clothes there, at first in a bag and then in the drawer he cleared out for her, and part of his wardrobe. There's a collection of her toiletries in his bathroom, too.

It's too soon to move in – far too soon – but they can't be private in the apartment, there are too many other people in and out. Emma and Mary Margaret, of course, and Henry's there as much as he can be, as is David Nolan. No, his house is a far better place to be by themselves, to be alone, and they can only really be themselves when it's just them.

In other places – the library, the apartment, Granny's café and even here in Archie's office – Belle has to cloak herself in Isabelle, has to force her mind to work through the two sets of memories and not say anything that would cause any suspicion. Nobody except Henry believes about the curse, and Belle isn't going to jeopardise her life by saying anything that might give people cause to doubt her sanity.

"I know what people think of him," she says then. "But I…"

"Isabelle," says Archie softly, "I don't care what other people think of him. I care about what you think. And I've seen a remarkable transformation in you since you began this relationship." Belle nods slowly. "You've managed to work, and you're going out more," Archie goes on. "And you said the nightmares aren't as frequent?"

"I think once a week or so, now," says Belle. She'd had a nightmare a few nights ago, had woken up screaming, but she'd woken up in Rumplestiltskin's arms, her ears filled with his soft murmurs, his hands stroking across her skin to remind her of where she was, who she was with.

It had been easier to bear, with him, and there are fewer of those nights. With safety seems to come peace of mind, and although her nightmares are a mixture of things now – injections and the Queen's magic and long years of isolation all muddled together in her mind – it is enough, for now, to know that there are more nights without nightmares than with them.

"So you see, from my perspective, he seems to be helping you a great deal," Archie tells her. "I really don't mind what other people think. You feel safe with him, and he has gone out of his way to make sure you stay safe." He smiles, and Belle smiles uncertainly back. "You don't need to justify your feelings to me," he reminds her. "And I hope you know I wouldn't dream of interfering with your relationship – unless it becomes harmful to you, in which case we'd discuss it the way we discuss everything else."

"It won't," says Belle with certainty. "He…I can't explain it, Doctor Hopper. But he…cares a lot about me, and I…" She trails off, lowers her gaze to her hands twisting together in her lap. She loves him, but she can't say that to Archie, not yet. It's too soon for anybody else to know, because everybody else thinks she's Isabelle French and that this is a new relationship.

"I'm glad," Archie murmurs. "You deserve to be happy, Isabelle."

"I…yes," says Isabelle. "I do. I deserve it." She closes her eyes, thinks about everything that's changed over the past few months. "I still wish I knew why," she says, keeps her eyes closed as she speaks. "Emma and Mary Margaret think the Mayor's vindictive, that she's just…evil. But there must have been a reason to have me declared insane."

"Perhaps there was," says Archie, and she can tell he doesn't think there was; she knows he thinks Regina Mill did an illegal, evil act in having Isabelle French committed to the hospital. "I don't think any of us will ever know why she did what she did. Is it something you think about often?"

"Not often," says Belle, opening her eyes again. "Not any more. But sometimes."

"Try not to dwell on it," Archie advises her. "As I said, I don't think we can find any answers." He pulls out a handkerchief, takes off his glasses to clean them. "I have looked," he says. "I've spent quite a long time going through the hospital records – the physical, paper records. I've found bits and pieces but nothing going far enough back. I am sorry."

"You don't need to apologise," says Belle. "You've done so much for me, Doctor Hopper."

"Archie," he says with a smile, replacing his glasses. "Now, tell me your plans for the rest of the week."

Half an hour later Belle leaves Archie's office, steps out into bright sunshine and has to squint as her eyes adjust. When she can finally see properly again, she smiles; Rumplestiltskin is waiting for her, sitting on the bench outside the building reading a newspaper, ever-so-casual except there's no other reason for him to be sitting there right now.

"You didn't have to wait for me," she says, and she sits on the bench next to him, lifts her face to the sky and revels in the warmth of the sun. He folds up his newspaper, puts it on his other side, and he doesn't quite reach to take her hand, but their hands brush and she knows the sentiment is there.

"I know," he says. Belle nods, glances sidelong at him. He didn't have to, but he did. It's true of so many things he does for her. "Did you have a good session?"

"Yes," she says. "I think…I think maybe soon I won't need to come so often." She's stunned even as she voices the thought, surprised that the thought of coming less often doesn't terrify her. She certainly isn't ready to stop coming, and neither she nor Archie will suggest she is, but…perhaps they could go to fortnightly, soon. She'll probably wait until Archie suggests it, but it's good that she can think about it, she knows.

"There's no rush," he says quietly. "Take your time, love."

She knows he's right; the curse will be broken, eventually, but there's still time before that happens, and her mental health is not something she can hurry with. But knowing he supports her means more than she can say, and she reaches for his hand, squeezes it once and then releases it. He doesn't like being affectionate in public, doesn't like gestures that might make people stare or whisper, but he doesn't push her away when she initiates something like that.

He will never push her away, she knows. He's lost too much already. He lost her by pushing her away, although she played her own part in that tragedy, and she knows it's useless to think about it now.

He lost his son, too, and she knows the guilt of it eats him up. It has been so long – more years than she knows, she's sure, because Rumplestiltskin was myth when she persuaded her father to call for him when the ogre wars threatened their village – and yet every day, every minute, he misses his son.

If Baelfire is in this world, Rumplestiltskin has not found him yet. But Belle believes in miracles, now. She believes that Rumplestiltskin will find his lost son, some day. She doesn't really believe in happy endings, not anymore, but that's not quite the same thing as believing that father and son will be reunited. She's sure there will be blame, and angry words, and she's sure that Rumplestiltskin will do what he always does and lash out.

But they'll find each other, one day.

"What are you thinking?" he asks her, and Belle smiles, shrugs her shoulders. She won't tell him her thoughts, because she knows he's almost given up hope now. She knows there's part of him that no longer believes Baelfire is anywhere to be found in this world, because it took Rumplestiltskin so long to follow that Baelfire might be…

Many things may have happened to his son, and Belle won't remind him of the possibilities.

"Nothing terribly important," she says. "I was thinking of cooking this evening."

"I'm sure my taste buds will recover eventually," he says, mischievous behind feigned solemnity, and Belle doesn't take offence, laughs at his teasing. "Are you staying tonight?" he asks then, and she nods once more.

"If you're not tired of me," she says. The look he gives her is wry, amused, and she leans into him, nudges his shoulder with her own. "Well, it could happen," she says, straight-faced. "I mean, some day I'm sure I'll stop baking so much, and you know you're only interested in me for that."

"Of course," he says. "Perhaps we can make a deal? You'll continue to bake for me, and I…will never get tired of you."

"Doesn't sound like much of a deal," Belle murmurs. She can't look away from him, caught in the sincerity he's exuding, the love revealed in every aspect of his face. "Seems like I'm getting the better side of it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, love," says Rumplestiltskin with a smile; Belle blushes, and he lifts a hand, strokes a finger across the curve of her lip. "I wouldn't say that at all." He withdraws, turns to pick up his cane and the newspaper, rises gingerly to his feet. She knows him well enough now to know that it's a bad day for his leg; he's in pain, but he won't show it. "Shall we?" he says, holding out a hand to help her up.

Belle nods, takes his hand, laughs happily when he lifts it to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"We shall," she says. "You didn't walk here, though?"

"It's a lovely day," he says, and Belle shakes her head, rolls her eyes. No wonder his leg's hurting, she thinks, but she won't say it. She slips her arm through his, a steady presence if he needs to lean on her, and he looks down at her for a moment, a strange look on his face, as if he can't quite believe that she's real.

"Home," she says firmly. "And I'll cook. You can sit and mock me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, dearie," he says, but the disbelief is gone, replaced by something happier. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The end.

Thank you everyone who's read and reviewed. I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing and exploring these characters. Yes, this is the end. No, there isn't going to be any more (although I never rule out anything, so there may be a one-shot or so in this 'verse in the future). Seriously, thank you to everyone who's reviewed, I've been so pleased to see it's been so well-received!

Many thanks to my beta-reader pinkfairy727 for hand-holding and proof-reading, as well as everything else.

I am working on another Rumplestiltskin/Belle fic, but it's looking like it's going to be looooong, and it won't get posted until it's finished. So watch this space, I guess? :)