Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time. May credit be given where credit is due.
~Chapter I~
"Because magic is power."
Belle's blood turned to ice in her veins at the covetous note in his brogue, which seemed both familiar and unfamiliar.
The massive plume of violet mist enveloped the pair, cutting off any view of their surroundings. Despite herself, Belle pressed closer to Rumplestiltskin's side.
The magic snaked over and round their bodies, permeating their layers of clothing and coating their skin in a way that reminded Belle of the cheap, chalky soap the nurses had used on her once a week for as long as she could remember. The magic was simultaneously cold and hot, making Belle's skin erupt in gooseflesh and flush a delicate pink. She fought back a wave of nausea as its sickly sweet scent invaded her nostrils.
Rumplestiltskin, however, seemed to revel in it. He welcomed the pervasive mist like a second skin, releasing a low hum of delight as he felt the beginnings of that heady sense of control he so enjoyed when he reigned as Dark One take root in his core.
A sudden breeze whistled past the pair's ears, and for a moment Belle wondered if it was a product of the magic itself. With the encouragement of the breeze, the musky cloud of magic slowly dispelled. When all that remained was a lavender haze, Belle removed herself from Rumplestiltskin's side. She could not tell if her knees quaked from anger or fear.
"What have you done?" Belle breathed, her tone more shocked than accusatory.
Rumplestiltskin did not appear to hear her. He remained motionless, his brow crinkled in concentration. He stared unblinkingly ahead, the glaze in his eyes indicating that he directed his gaze not at something far away, but something deep within.
Belle opened her mouth to speak again, halting the effort with a slight gasp when Rumplestiltskin's cane suddenly dropped from his grasp, clattering noisily against the stone base of the Wishing Well. She watched as he experimentally flexed his leg, and immediately understood. He had healed whatever injury had caused him to limp.
Rumplestiltskin's face did not sport the look of relief Belle had expected to see there. Rather, his lips pressed together in a hard line, his eyes tightened in consternation.
"Rumplestiltskin, what does this mean?" Belle finally asked, desperate for any response, any explanation, any indication that he was not making the same mistake that had infused both of their lives with tragedy.
The sound of Belle's lilting voice curling around the syllables of his name yanked Rumplestiltskin from his reverie. He looked about jerkily, as though ensuring that they still remained alone.
"We need to leave." He moved to grasp Belle's hand. A brief flash of hurt crossed his features when she jerked her hand out of his reach, stepping back.
"Not until you explain what is happening," Belle countered, folding her arms across the front of her hospital shift.
"Later, Belle. I'll explain everything lat—"
"No." For a moment they merely stared at each other, surprised by the force of Belle's tone, before she continued.
"Now. You owe me that much." Rumplestiltskin flinched at her words, and for a moment Belle almost felt guilty for throwing his past mistakes in his face. But his earlier words echoed in her mind, which still ached from the recent onslaught of memories, strengthening her resolve to confront rather than flee.
She stared at him, wondering if he understood how much she needed his assurance that history was not about to repeat itself.
"You're right." Belle nearly choked on the shock of hearing those words come from his mouth.
Rumplestiltskin approached her cautiously, as though afraid she might sprint away like a timid doe.
"And I promise, I will explain. But, Belle, please..."
The sheer urgency in his voice, the desperation for her to understand, silenced any protest she might have offered. He gripped her petite hand in his own, his eyes softening in relief when she did not pull away, and for a moment Belle expected him to magic them to his home, as he had done an eternity ago when he was a deal-making imp and she a self-sacrificing princess.
But he did not. He merely pulled her along the same forest path they had originally followed to the well. The breeze that had dispelled the violet smoke seemed to follow them, whispering against the backs of their necks and toying with their hair.
As they trekked through the hilly terrain, Rumplestiltskin still did not use magic, not to bend branches nor remove stones obstructing their path. Belle wondered if perhaps he had not regained his powers after all. No, that could not be; he had repaired his lame leg, walking now with an unfettered, albeit anxious, gait.
His brow remained furrowed, whether in fear or concentration, Belle knew not. She had only ever seen him afraid once before, and the memory of the way he had yelled and shook her still made her insides clench.
Finally they reached Rumplestiltskin's home in this world. On any other occasion Belle might have laughed at its uncharacteristic coral pink paint job, but not today.
Today she was a poorly dressed marionette whose every move seemed dictated by strings of trepidation and Rumplestiltskin's hand.
She remained silent as Rumplestiltskin led her over the threshold. He hurriedly closed and locked the door. The curious breeze that had accompanied their journey seemed to whistle in protest as it found its path obstructed.
Releasing Belle's hand, Rumplestiltskin removed his jacket and threw it over the long mirror in the front hallway, before bolting into an adjacent room, mumbling a promise to return in a moment.
"Oh, no you don't!" Belle called out to him, the invisible strings which had seemed to keep her paralyzed and silent snapping at his actions. She hurried after him, maneuvering around the assortment of antiques and trinkets—some of which she remembered from Rumplestiltskin's collection at the Dark Castle—that littered the place.
She pursued him up a set of rickety stairs that groaned under their combined weight. He snatched a towel out of a small linen closet and then sharply rounded a corner into another room; Belle followed suit, nearly colliding with Rumplestiltskin as he raced out of that room—a bathroom, she realized—and into another room across the hall. Panting, Belle chased after him.
She froze in the doorway. It was a room, a study, but it looked so much like his makeshift laboratory Belle found herself momentarily disoriented.
"Please, let it still be here..." She heard Rumplestiltskin mumble as he threw open an old trunk and rifled through the mess within. Papers spilled over the trunk's side and floated to the floor.
"What are you—" Belle's question died in her throat when he pulled out a small, antique wooden chest. His movements suddenly stilled, and the caution with which he opened the lid made Belle apprehensive of whatever lay inside.
Nonetheless, she shuffled closer to look over Rumplestiltskin's shoulder as he released a long, low sigh at the contents.
It was a dagger, with a thin black hilt and a long crooked blade. But the weapon itself was not what caught Belle's attention. It was the slanted letters inscribed into the silver blade: Rumplestiltskin.
Though she had never come across it during the months she had lived with Rumplestiltskin in his castle, Belle had heard rumors about the Dark One's dagger.
"I am such a fool," Belle whispered, more to herself than the man before her.
Rumplestiltskin jumped slightly at her words, snapping the chest shut and turning to face her.
Belle backed away slowly, shaking her head. "I thought you were lying, when you told me your power meant more to you than I."
Rumplestiltskin approached her, "I was—"
Belle cut him off with a laugh completely devoid of mirth, and Rumplestiltskin felt a wedge of unease slide between his ribs.
"No, I was wrong. I am a complete fool...for ever thinking you could change."
"Belle—"
She turned on her feet and bolted from the room. She did not know where she would go, could go, but staying in the same room with a man who could simultaneously make her feel more love and pain than she felt in her entire life was unthinkable.
Terror at the sudden thought of losing Belle again propelled Rumplestiltskin after her. He caught up to her at the foot of the stairs, grabbing her wrist. She whirled about to face him.
"When are you going to realize that love is not a weakness?" Belle threw the question at him, her lilting accent thickened by her rage.
"Belle, I am not choosing magic over y—" She cut him off, shaking her head.
"Then why bother bringing it back in the first place?"
Rumplestiltskin ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
"It's...complicated. But, Belle, trust me, there is a reason—"
She scoffed at his futile words and made to turn away again. Rumplestiltskin reached out and grasped her upper arms, firmly but not violently as he had done all those years ago.
"Why won't you believe me?" For a moment they both paused at his words, remembering how Belle had asked the same question when Rumplestiltskin was denying her love for him.
Belle shook her head sadly, "I wish I coul-" Her words broke off as her eyes caught something beyond Rumplestiltskin's shoulder. The little color she had gained during their feud drained from her face.
Rumplestiltskin turned around, his eyes following her gaze.
It was the cup she had chipped on her first day as the caretaker of Rumplestiltskin's castle.
Belle approached the mantle on which the cup sat cautiously, as though afraid it might disappear at a sudden movement. She stretched a trembling hand toward it, her fingers hovering over the porcelain surface.
"You kept it..." She breathed, disbelieving.
"It was all I had." A silence passed between them as the words of Belle's dark prophecy—"All you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup"—seemed to echo ethereally in the room.
She turned to face him, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes.
"Belle, I thought you were dead." And then he was clutching her to him, and though she wanted to smack him for his foolishness, she only fiercely held him closer.
They stood like that for what might have been centuries, letting their embrace voice all the apologies, and prayers, and pleas and promises they had wanted to say for decades. Eventually, when she could no longer tolerate the lack of blood flow to her hands, Belle relinquished her grip on Rumplestiltskin's jacket, and he followed suit.
They pulled apart far enough so they could look in each other's eyes. Rumplestiltskin smoothed an errant curl behind Belle's ear.
Belle wondered if he was remembering their first (and only) kiss, too.
"I will kill her for this," he murmured.
Apparently he was not.
A/N: Reviews are inspiration!