A/N: Thank you all for your continuing support and feedback! We are quickly approaching the end of this tale, but do not dismay, there are still surprises in store before then!

Disclaimer: We do not own Once Upon a Time or Peter Pan. May credit be given where credit is due.

~Chapter XXXIV~

Although two harvest moons now shone high in the sky, father and son still sat curled together in an embrace. Baelfire's sobs had taken a long time to quiet, slowly transforming into soft hiccups, and eventually fading to silence. All the while, Rumplestiltskin had not once ceased rubbing soothing circles between the boy's shoulder blades, barely registering the way his own muscles ached from slouching for so long against a wall. He had vowed to be the strength, the father his son deserved, and he would keep his promise.

Head leaning against his son's, Rumplestiltskin both felt and heard when Baelfire's breathing grew gentle and even. A cautious glance at the boy's tear-streaked face confirmed his suspicions: he had fallen asleep, snug in his father's arms.

A light smile curved the man's lips at the memory of countless nights in which Baelfire had done the very same thing as a toddler. The little boy had not a particularly serious fear of the night even then, but at times he had seemed to grow lonely atop his straw mattress, calling his papa over and pleading for a story or song as he slid into his arms. Warmth filled Rumplestiltskin's heart at the notion that he could still offer his son some semblance of comfort and security, even after all that had transpired.

However, too many hours slumped against a cabin wall would not do either of their backs any favors in the morning. So, as loathe as he was to untangle himself from his son's grasp, Rumplestiltskin uncurled the boy's fists from his shirt. He slid an arm beneath Baelfire's knees, resting the other against his back, and carefully pulled himself to his feet. The boy groaned slightly, his eyelids fluttering, but exhaustion apparently won out in the end as his head lolled against Rumplestiltskin's shoulder and he remained silent.

Gently, so as not to startle the exhausted boy awake or jostle his healing ribs, Rumplestiltskin stepped over to the makeshift bed and laid his son on top of it. He lifted one of the lighter quilts and carefully spread it over his son; although it was not terribly cold outside, Rumplestiltskin did not want to risk Baelfire catching a chill now that his fever had finally broken.

His task completed, Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a long moment to simply gaze upon the boy he had for too long feared he would never see again. The man could not withhold a relieved sigh when his son appeared to sleep peacefully, neither stirring fretfully nor whimpering at some unbidden nightmare.

He passed his hand through the boy's dark curls once more, smiling softly down at him, before quietly turning and exiting the cabin. Belle was undoubtedly waiting for an update on Baelfire's condition; she had glanced inside the main cabin once while escorting the other children to their beds, and upon seeing the father and son huddled on the floor, had decided not to interrupt, though her blue eyes had held a silent promise to confront Rumplestiltskin with her questions later.

Rumplestiltskin had not heard her descend the vine stairs after tucking Nibs and Tootles into their beds, and so ascended the steps leading to that cabin. Although all of the Lost Boys were terribly concerned for their leader, the two youngest seemed the least consolable, and Belle had needed to cajole them to bed with stories and lullabies. Pausing just beneath the cabin's hatch, Rumplestiltskin listened carefully for any sign that she was currently lulling Nibs and Tootles to sleep, not wanting to cause any unnecessary excitement. When only silence met his ears, he gingerly lifted the door.

A wave of awe and love with a whisper of desire coursed through him at the sight which greeted his tired eyes. Belle sat on a blanket in the center of the cabin, her knees tucked beneath her and her right hand delicately running a comb through her thick, russet tresses. Beside her knees rested a small silver mirror, tarnished with age but still functional. Beams of yellow light from Neverland's two moons filtered through the only window, catching in her hair and reflecting her natural auburn highlights. Around and above Belle glowed the cerulean mushrooms that had taken root in the cracks and seams of the cabin's walls, and in their soft light his true love appeared more enchantress than woman.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly; well, she had always enchanted him, from the moment she chipped his until-then replaceable china.

Belle looked up at the sound, her lips curving into a smile when her eyes met his. Rumplestiltskin returned the smile, carefully pulling himself fully through the hatch. He cautiously closed it behind him, taking care not to disturb the two boys curled together and snoring lightly in the opposite corner. After placing the borrowed fishbone comb and hand mirror beneath her beaded belt, Belle patted the space before her on the blanket, motioning for Rumplestiltskin to sit.

He followed her suggestion, seating himself before her and almost instinctually taking her hands in his own. His thumbs grazed back and forth across her knuckles, and she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, before worry suddenly creased her brow.

"How is he?" She asked, her tone urgent even though her voice was soft. "Did he—Is he going to—"

"His fever's broken. He's going to be fine," Rumplestiltskin answered, unable to keep back a grin at the wonderful turn of events, "Truly."

Belle visibly relaxed at the news, releasing a breathy, relieved laugh as she beamed up at him. Rumplestiltskin shared in her joy, his eyes bright with it, before something more subdued entered his gaze. The strength his son had exhibited amazed him, and he once more felt breathless with admiration for the brave boy.

"He forgave me," Rumplestiltskin breathed in an astonished tone, almost to himself. Belle, however, did not seem as surprised by the revelation. She removed one of her hands from his own, placing it tenderly against the side of his face.

"Of course he did," she said softly, a smile still brightening her features, "He loves you."

The corners of Rumplestiltskin's lips twitched lightly at the reminder, but the sentiment did not quite reach his eyes. "Even though I've given him plenty of reasons not to," he stated gravely.

"People make mistakes, Rum," she countered straightforwardly, meeting his gaze intently, "But there is always a chance to make things right. And you've done just that."

Rumplestiltskin stared at her, drinking in her words like a man dying of thirst. Belle, however, seemed to interpret his awed silence as disagreement, sighing lightly and shaking her head.

"There is so much goodness in you, so much to love about you," she whispered fervently, raising her other hand so that she cupped his face in her palms, "When will you see that?"

So many emotions welled up within Rumplestiltskin, he could not even hope to put them into words. His Belle, his brave, beautiful, bookish Belle, gazed at him with such open sincerity and love, he could not find the will nor the strength to refute her words.

"You spent a lifetime—several, really—looking for your son," she continued, her cheeks flushing lightly with the passion of her whispered words, "You've sacrificed so much, just for the chance to be in his life again, and you've changed." Her turquoise eyes became glassy with unshed tears, but she blinked them back, rising to her knees so that her face was perfectly even with Rumplestiltskin's. "Baelfire is blessed to have you as a father. Any child would be."

"Oh, Belle..." The sheer magnitude of the meaning behind Belle's words left Rumplestiltskin breathless once more, his throat uncomfortably tight with wave after wave of love and joy cresting within him. He closed his eyes and covered the petite hands framing his face with his own, turning his head so that he could place a soft, lingering kiss on her left palm.

He heard Belle's breath hitch in her throat, and at first worried that he had perhaps offended her, but a moment later she ran her thumb against his cheekbone, encouraging him to open his eyes. He did so, and when their gazes met his heart began to pound at the ardor with which she regarded him.

The sweet, chaste kiss Rumplestiltskin had pressed to the flesh of Belle's palm sent her blood singing in her veins. There was so much adoration behind the gesture, and in his mahogany eyes now, she wondered at her ability not to weep at the wonderful feelings he stirred in her. She let her gaze travel over his features, taking in the strong lines of his jaw, the sharp angle of his nose, and the sweet lines that appeared beside his eyes and lips when he offered a smile she was certain was meant for her alone.

Their faces had somehow drawn closer, until they were practically sharing one breath, though neither knew who had leaned in first. Belle felt her eyelids grow heavy with the desire to close as she watched Rumplestiltskin's gaze slowly trace her cheeks, before settling on her mouth.

"Tinker Belle?" A sleepy child's voice called from across the cabin.

Both Rumplestiltskin and Belle released low sighs of disappointment, and their eyes met briefly in a silent laugh. Belle gently squeezed Rumplestiltskin's hand, before rising and turning to walk to the messy-haired, weary-eyed boy peering up at her. She knelt down beside him, watching as he tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes. Nibs lay a foot away, snoring lightly with a small pillow over his spiky-haired head. Tootles pushed himself up with one arm, casting a quick glance at his sleeping friend, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Where's Peter? Is he okay?" He asked in a hushed voice, his large green eyes staring worriedly into Belle's as he struggled into a sitting position.

"He's going to be just fine," she responded quietly, smiling down at him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to encourage him to remain in his bed. The youngest of the Lost Boys lied back down, but his expression did not indicate that he was fully convinced all was well with his dear friend and role model

Rumplestiltskin carefully pulled himself to his feet and approached them, crouching beside where Belle knelt. "I told you my boy was brave, remember?" He asked the Lost Boy gently. "He's going to be back on his feet before you know it."

"But, I heard him crying," Tootles exclaimed, fighting to keep his voice low enough so as not to wake Nibs.

"Shh, he needed it, that's all," Rumplestiltskin responded comfortingly, not missing the affection in Belle's eyes as she watched him soothe the fretful boy, "He's had a very difficult few days."

"Did you make him feel better?" Tootles asked, gazing wide-eyed between the two adults, "Peter always makes me feel better when I cry."

"Aye, I think so. He's sleeping now, as should you be, little one," he said softly, ruffling the tiny boy's sandy curls.

Tootles smiled at the gesture, stifling a giggle behind his hand. His mirth did not last, however, and something graver entered his youthful eyes.

"You're going to leave us, aren't you?" He asked miserably, reaching out for one of Belle's hands. Belle felt her throat clench at his words, holding his hand snugly in her own.

"I'm not going to have a mother anymore," he added in a whisper, staring down at the hand wrapped around his own.

At a loss for words and feeling as though her heart were breaking, Belle met Rumplestiltskin's gaze. He, too, seemed not to know what to say, his brow furrowed in empathy for the despairing boy.

Belle cleared her throat quietly, blinking back the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She ran the tips of her fingers through the boy's hair, pushing it back from his forehead in attempts to soothe him as much as herself. "Hush now, darling. We'll talk about everything in the morning," she said gently, relieved when he nodded with a sigh, not noticing the quiver in her voice.

"With Peter?" Tootles asked suddenly, his eyes hopeful.

"With Peter," Belle promised, rubbing her thumb across the back of the boy's tiny hand. "Would you like a story to help you back to sleep?"

Tootles nodded again, his mouth opening in a wide yawn as he nestled his head back against the pillow. "Can it have a dragon in it?" He asked tiredly, his eyelids already beginning to droop.

"Of course," Belle responded, smiling tenderly even though her eyes were still shadowed with sadness.

Rumplestiltskin remained by her side as she weaved a tale about a little boy who grew to be the best dragon tamer in the world. Tootles struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking and squinting, but very soon the length of time between when he lowered his eyelids and when he lifted them again grew longer and longer. Perhaps ten minutes into the story, they slid closed and remained so. Belle continued for another few minutes, her voice dropping until it was merely a whisper, before she stopped speaking altogether.

Her gaze met Rumplestiltskin's then, and they both nodded as they gingerly rose to their feet and tiptoed to the hatch. Rumplestiltskin lifted it, stepping through and holding it up so that Belle could descend the steps untroubled. Once both their heads had cleared the entryway, Rumplestiltskin quietly shut the hatch. As quietly as they could, they descended the stairs wrapped around the trunk of the oak tree. As they passed the main cabin, they both paused to peer inside, checking on the boy sleeping inside. Once they determined he was slumbering peacefully, they turned about again and finished their descent into the clearing.

Embers still smoldered in the fire pit, and Rumplestiltskin moved to stoke them back into flame while Belle wordlessly seated herself on a nearby log. He threw some more kindling into the pit, watching as they caught fire and filled the glade with flickering orange light. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned to Belle, his eyebrows knitting in concern as he took in the way she bit her lower lip, eyes unfocused and filled with sadness.

"Belle, what's wrong?" He asked worriedly, striding over and sitting beside her. She hesitantly met his gaze, releasing her bottom lip from between her teeth. Her chest heaved with each breath and she seemed to struggle to find the words she wanted to say, her mouth opening and closing several times.

Finally, after swallowing thickly and shaking her head, she managed to regain enough of her composure to speak. "We can't leave them, Rum," she whispered frantically, her eyes boring into his, "Baelfire loves those boys, and they love him...and I love them and—"

Rumplestiltskin gently placed two fingertips on her lips, pausing her speech before she could work herself to tears. "I know," he said quietly, the corners of his lips twitching when she gasped, "We won't leave them here. If they want to come, there are plenty of spare rooms in my mansion. We'll find them good homes; some of them may have family still living."

Belle's answering smile could have outshone the stars, and Rumplestiltskin could not withhold a light chuckle as she threw her arms about his shoulders, nearly knocking him off the log. He returned the embrace, one hand at the small of her back and the other buried in her cascading curls. For a long moment they held each other, enjoying the feel of each other's chest rising and falling with each breath. They pulled away slowly, their gazes locked as they remained sitting only a whisper apart.

The first chords of Neverland's night music floated into the air, caused by the gentle swaying of the cattails surrounding the clearing. A long, hushed note issued forth from the choir of vines hanging from the branches of the willows, its volume increasing as a breeze wafted across the land. It had been days since anyone had heard the mysterious melodies, and judging by the enthusiasm with which the breeze carried the notes, they had been sorely missed.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Belle breathed, closing her eyes for a moment to revel in the sweet, lilting sounds. Rumplestiltskin let his gaze trace her features, the elegant curve of her jaw, the shadows her long eyelashes cast on her cheeks...

"Yes," he whispered as her eyes opened and met his, "Very beautiful."

Rumplestiltskin brought the hand buried in her tresses to the side of her face, the pads of his fingers grazing her neck in the process and feeling her pulse jump in response. Her skin was silk beneath his fingertips, and he could not resist lightly running his thumb across her bottom lip. She stared up at him, her blue eyes bright with passion as they glinted in the dancing firelight.

Pulse racing, Rumplestiltskin slowly leaned forward, stopping only when his lips met the smooth skin of Belle's forehead. He lingered for a moment, feeling her hands slide along his chest to rest on his shoulders, before pulling away. Marveling at how her auburn curls reflected the warm light of the fire, he gently trailed his fingertips along her temples, encouraging her eyelids to slide closed. Ever so softly, he placed a kiss on her right cheek, then her left, breathing in her sweet scent and enjoying the warmth of the light blush he felt rising in her flesh. When his gaze settled on her mouth, he slowly closed his eyes.

Then finally, after decades of believing he would never be able to do so again, he pressed his lips to hers.

They both inhaled shaky breaths as their kiss lingered, so reminiscent in its sweetness of the only other one they had shared. But this time, there were no underlying suspicions of betrayal, no fears of a ploy to strip Rumplestiltskin of his power, because he had none, and Belle loved him regardless, truly, wholeheartedly loved him...

Belle lifted a hand to delicately cup his cheek, a quiet, needy sound rising in the back of her throat that Rumplestiltskin answered by pressing closer. Something within both of them seemed to break at the movement, and in the next moment their arms were wrapped so tightly around each other it was a wonder they could draw breath at all. Sinking his hand once more into Belle's sleek locks, Rumplestiltskin slowly parted his lips…

He was certain his heart skipped a beat when her tongue tenderly touched his, rewarding him with her sweet, ambrosial taste. Overwhelmed by the innocence and devotion behind it, Rumplestiltskin imagined he might fly, had he any desire to leave her embrace.

The cool breeze blew across them again, and all at once Rumplestiltskin felt an entirely different sensation spread throughout his being. It was cold but not unpleasant, and seemed to radiate from his heart, as though it were fleeing the love that pounded there. The wind around them increased slightly, carrying even more soaring notes of Neverland's night music. But Rumplestiltskin barely registered the change, too enraptured by the intimacy of Belle's closeness.

When something at his waist suddenly began to grow warm, however, his blissful oblivion began to ebb. He was loathe to part from his true love, but when the heat intensified until it was nearly unbearable, he was forced to pull away slightly.

"It's hot," he mumbled, his thoughts, scattered from their kissing, desperately trying to comprehend what could possibly be the source.

"It is rather warm," Belle breathed with a soft laugh, before bringing her lips once more to his. Rumplestiltskin briefly indulged himself once more in her kiss, before reluctantly forcing his eyelids to open when the object at his side grew even hotter.

"No, I mean this," he said more clearly, glancing down and disentangling his hand from Belle's tresses so he could remove the dagger from beneath the sash. He kept his other hand against the small of her back, unwilling to allow too much distance between them. Brow delicately creased, Belle glanced down at the object in his hand. She carefully reached out a hand to touch it, but paused with a gasp when the black writing on its surface began to change.

They both watched in amazement as the letters inscribed on the blade's surface melted together, before sliding off of the metal like oil. As the black substance dripped off of the sharp point and onto the ground, the entire knife's appearance began to alter. Rust gathered along the grooved edges, and the paint covering the hilt chipped and peeled away. It was as though the dagger was finally displaying its true age.

The meaning behind it all suddenly clicked in Rumplestiltskin's mind, and he could not stop the relieved laugh that next floated out of his throat. He jumped to his feet, feeling as though he could perform a jig in his elation. Belle rose to her feet as well, one eyebrow raised at his behavior and a small smile stretching her lips.

"The curse," he said in response to her silent query, staring down at the now useless weapon as another note of laughter escaped him, "It's broken."

Belle gasped at his words, before releasing a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. In his peripheral vision he saw her bring a hand to the side of his face in astonishment. Rumplestiltskin turned the knife over in his hands, reveling in how aged and feeble it now appeared, his smile stretching more broadly than he imagined it had in centuries. When he finally did lift his gaze to Belle's, his smile grew puzzled at the expression of abject awe she wore.

"What is it?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow as she practically gaped at him.

"Rum..." She breathed, lifting a hand to slide the tips of her fingers across his forehead and down his cheek. Her turquoise eyes eagerly traced his features, wonder whirling in their depths. She did not appear to hear his question, continuing her soft exploration with her fingertips.

"Belle?" Rumplestiltskin prompted, holding back a chuckle at her bizarre behavior, "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"No," Belle murmured somewhat dazedly, staring up at him, before shaking her head and smiling, "I'm going to show you."

She excitedly fumbled with the old hand mirror tucked beneath her beaded belt, extracting it and returning her brilliant gaze to Rumplestiltskin's. Slowly, she held it up before his face, and the man only just registered the cool metal of the dagger slipping from his grasp and landing with a thud on the ground as the image reflected in the looking glass shocked him into speechlessness.

The lines of hardship that had indented Rumplestiltskin's forehead had almost completely vanished, the creases at the corners of his eyes appeared shallower. But perhaps most startling of all was the brightness of his eyes and the ease with which his smiles appeared, no longer haunted by the shadows of his past. He looked perhaps ten years younger, and felt as though centuries of anguish and loneliness had been lifted from his heart.

"What magic is this?" Rumplestiltskin heard himself ask in a voice barely louder than a whisper as he brought a hand to his cheek, though he already knew the answer. It was not magic that created this change; it was his liberation from magic, and from the crippling price it demanded.

Once more he felt a celebratory urge to leap or jig. But, preferring not to risk falling into the healthily burning fire pit or looking a fool, he settled for something even better: another kiss to his true love's lips.

Belle released the most beautiful little sigh when his lips caressed hers. The tiny mirror clattered to the ground as he lifted both hands to cup her face, inhaling deeply when she entwined her arms around his neck. The sudden closeness set their nerve endings aflame, and their mouths met and danced with greater fervor. When Rumplestiltskin felt the cool flesh of Belle's palm slide beneath his shirt to settle above his racing heart, sending a surge of desire down his spine, he knew they were careening toward a bridge they were not ready to cross just yet.

Gently, he pulled away from their kiss, covering Belle's hands with his own. Her eyes flashed in confusion and worry, but he soothed her fears with a swift kiss to her knuckles as he struggled to slow his breathing.

"I want this," Rumplestiltskin began, clearing his throat when he realized how hoarse it sounded, "I have for a long time."

His mind whirled back to their brief moment of intimacy in the boys "loot" cabin, to the morning when she had excitedly hugged him after he had shown her the Dark Castle's library, to the time when she had fallen into his arms after tearing down his curtains... His blood had sung in his veins at her touch then, just as it did now.

"Me too," Belle whispered, and the fierce desire Rumplestiltskin glimpsed in her eyes was enough to send his heart sprinting in his chest again. Never in this life would he understand how it was possible someone as exquisite as she could love him, let alone want him. But she did, and he would ensure that he cherished what they had for as long as he lived, and beyond if possible.

"You told me once," he continued quietly, "That love was layered, a mystery to be uncovered."

He traced the fingertips of one hand down her cheek, smiling softly at how amazed she seemed that he had remembered her beautifully honest words.

"And one day, when you are fully mine," he continued, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. "And I am fully yours," he pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose, grinning at her answering chuckle, "We can peel back every," he kissed the right corner of her mouth, withdrawing before she could catch his lips with her own. "Single," he whispered, kissing the left corner. "Layer."

His mouth met hers in another long, lingering kiss that he hoped would convey all the emotion he could not capture with words.

When they parted again Rumplestiltskin felt a stab of concern as he watched a large tear spill over Belle's long eyelashes and slide down her face. But he soon realized she was smiling, her slightly swollen lips trembling as she gazed at him with more love than he would ever feel he deserved. His own throat constricting, Rumplestiltskin tenderly wiped away her tear with the pad of his thumb, before resting his palm against her cheek.

"I love you," he breathed, "So much."

"I love you, too," Belle responded shakily, "More than you'll ever know."

They simultaneously leaned closer, wrapping their arms about each other in a tight embrace. Rumplestiltskin buried his face in her hair, feeling her do the same to his neck as they swayed lightly on the spot. He could not withhold a sigh at the delight it was to have her here, safe and whole, in his arms. The music swelling around them quieted to a gentle symphony of forest sounds, filling them with a pervasive sense of peace.

It could have been seconds or centuries later when they pulled apart, their fingers entwining as they seated themselves before the gently crackling fire. They situated themselves as close to each other as possible as they leaned their backs against the log, Belle laying her head upon Rumplestiltskin's shoulder, and he laying his atop her chestnut curls. When Belle shivered at the caress of another cool breeze, Rumplestiltskin wrapped his arm about her, smiling as she released a soft, contented sigh. Wordlessly they watched the flames, their eyelids gradually growing heavy as their minds conjured dreams of love, their future, and most importantly:

A new happy memory.

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