Note: Again, pressed for time this week. Tell me about any obvious errors, logic gaps, or pieces that seem to be missing.

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Rumplestiltskin had stayed back after Belle's kiss woke Bae, breathing a sigh of relief. He'd never doubted Belle's love was strong enough. The woman would walk through hell and back—had walked through hell (and, he hoped, was beginning to find her way out)—for their son. Knowing that hadn't kept him from feeling his own fear when he'd seen his child lying still as death. Knowing all would be well also hadn't kept him from fearing for Belle—feeling his heart ease as life crept back into her pale, masklike face. In many ways, she'd looked closer to death than Bae had.

Now, as he watched her holding their son, for the first time since he'd found her, she was like the woman he had married so many years ago. Her features lit up with a happiness without any fear or wariness hiding behind them. He remembered this same glow when they had danced at the fair where they had first met and, later, when they had danced on the village green on their wedding day. Belle had seemed as beautiful as any queen to him, her wedding wreath as fine as any crown. Their neighbors had smiled and laughed with them, sharing in their joy.

It had been a long time since he thought of home with an ache for what was lost.

Then, Belle looked up, turning those shining eyes on him. She had been crouched down beside Bae. Now, she turned and knelt before him, a vassal to her lord. She had been like this in Maurice's court when he came for Baelfire, crouched down and holding him tight as she begged not to be separated from her child. He had been so blind to her courage that day.

Rumplestiltskin tried to do what he should have done then, reaching out to pull her up. Still holding Bae tight against her with one arm, Belle took his hand with the other. He thought for a moment she was going to kiss the back of it, as he had kissed hers when she finally told him, weeping, what it had meant to be Jones' slave. Instead, she pressed it to her brow like a supplicant or a servant—or a slave—pledging to her master.

"Thank you," Belle breathed. "Thank you. For saving my son—I can't—I can never repay what you've done, but I—"

Rumplestiltskin pulled his hand away as though it burned her. He knelt down in front of her and took her by the shoulders. "No. Belle, no. You're the one who saved Baelfire, who broke his curse. It was all you. I did nothing."

Belle shook her head. "It was my fault. I let Gaston in. I didn't watch over Bae. I didn't even—this dress you made me, you said it would protect me. But, Bae wasn't protected. I didn't even think of the danger to him—I didn't—"

His grip on her arms tightened. Without thinking (he was always so careful in how he touched Belle), he pulled her and Bae into his embrace. "You mustn't think that," he whispered into her hair. He began babbling about spells and poisons. "The apple, it got past every protection I put on your house and the grounds around it. It's a subtle spell. Magical protections don't recognize the sleeping curse as a danger. It's only sleep. It's not death or transformation or any other kind of harm. The curse won't even work unless you choose to eat what's been poisoned with it. Force someone to eat it, and it's powerless. The nettle cloth wouldn't have stopped it. You saved Baelfire, Belle. You."

But, she was shaking her head again, even if she didn't try to push him away. "You'd have saved him. With magic. Or true love. I know how you love Bae."

That was enough to make him loosen his grip and lean back, though he kept his hands on her arms with Bae still sitting on her lap, encircled by them. "I couldn't," he said. "Not without paying a terrible price. I—I can kiss the ones I love," his eyes strayed for just a moment to Belle's mouth as he spoke. He bowed his head, trying to look as though it was only shame that had made his gaze stray downward, not because he knew better than to keep looking there.

And he was ashamed. This simple, life-saving thing Belle had done so easily was something he hadn't dared do—not before exhausting all the other possibilities.

He had explored true love in all its many forms over the centuries. A spell shaped from the hair of Queen Snow, Prince-Consort Charming, and their daughter had been the final piece that had let him into the Marchlands. He'd learned about the odd dangers it presented to him and how to protect himself.

Not that he'd thought he needed protection, not really. But, he was a cautious, old lizard. And . . . maybe, in the back of his mind, despite all his stupidities, some part of him had always known how he felt towards Belle.

Though, true love was a tricky thing. There were elements of will and desire. He left most of that out of his answer, keeping it simple. "Even if I love them—even if it's true love, if I don't deliberately invoke it, it has no power over me." Or, even if he discarded all his protections, if he wasn't caught completely by surprise and kissed someone he loved while pretending it had to mean nothing to him and nothing to her. . . . But, there was no reason to dwell on scenarios only an absolute idiot could find himself in. Of all the blunders Rumplestiltskin had made since finding Belle, none of them were that spectacularly stupid. "If I broke his curse, I would destroy my own power doing it. You were the one who saved him."

"I was under a curse?" Bae asked. He looked impressed. Then, memory flashed through his eyes and he cuddled closer to Belle. "It gave me nightmares."

Rumplestiltskin's face fell. "Regrets," he said. "Another thing magic can't guard against, remembering things you wish you'd done. Or hadn't done." He looked at Belle. So many mistakes. . . . He turned his attention back to Bae. "What did you dream?"

"Mama," Bae said, nestling even closer. "People hurt Mama. I didn't stop them."

"Didn't" he'd said, not "couldn't." Rumplestiltskin thought back on his own childhood. No, little boys never did understand when they were powerless to save the parents they loved.

Belle's face twisted with grief. "Oh, Bae. . . ." She'd tried to protect him, not just from danger but from the horror that was the bone and marrow of her life—and she had protected him from so much of it against impossible odds.

But, children always knew more than their parents thought.

"You did protect her, in the end," Rumplestiltskin told his son. "It was because of you I came to Maurice's court and brought both of you away. You saved your mama when she was in the snow and other times. You've been a good son, Baelfire. The curse tried to make you think otherwise, but it lied to you."

There would be other nightmares tonight. Unless Rumplestiltskin took steps. A side effect of the curse, Bae's mind would be drawn back to that dreaming world, and not in a good way. There were ways to deal with that realm—and ways to teach Bae to deal with it—but tonight wasn't the night. Tomorrow, he thought. He would deal with these things tomorrow.

He felt in his pocket and found a few strands of gold. There should be enough. He closed his hand over it, concentrated, and opened it to see the small amulet he'd made lying in his palm on a gold chain. He slipped it over Bae's head. "This should keep off any bad dreams tonight," he said.

"I'm not sleepy!" Bae protested. "I slept for hours."

"Magic sleep isn't the same as real sleep," Rumplestiltskin told him severely. Then, he relented. "Although, you can stay up a little longer, if your mother says so." He looked at Belle uncertainly. "Speaking of . . . I thought you might want to—to stay here. At the castle. But, if you want . . . if you'd prefer. . . . ."

"No!" Belle said, a flash of panic in her eyes. "I'd—I'd like to stay. If that's all right."

"Of course." He supposed he couldn't say that he was terrified of letting Belle out of his sight right now. Would telling Belle that frighten her? Make her think he wanted to keep her and Bae locked up in the castle forever? Not that it didn't sound like a wonderful idea to him, but he thought Belle might disagree in the long run.

"But, what about the Doves?" Belle said. "Won't they be worried?"

"I sent them a brief message," Rumplestiltskin said. "They know you and Bae are here." It had been very brief. Your lady and her son are at my castle. There's a mess in the front room. Clean it up. And keep your daughters away from it.

He'd been tempted to not even do that. Where had the Doves been while this was happening? But, Crystal and Bianca were just children. He couldn't let them stumble into that slaughterhouse without warning. Belle certainly wouldn't forgive him if he did. "Where were they while you were dealing with Gaston? Why didn't they help you?"

Belle looked embarrassed. "I was having luncheon served outside. I . . . didn't care to be alone with Gaston after telling him no. And, if he was difficult, he could have eaten out there by himself while I went in the house."

Ah, and slammed the door in his face. "You just weren't expecting him to be that difficult."

Belle put her hand to her locket. "I should have. I knew Gaston. I knew something was wrong when he offered me everything if I married him."

I would offer you everything, Rumplestiltskin thought. Everything and more, if. . . .

No, he couldn't say that. He mustn't say that, even if he was having trouble remembering why it was such a bad idea.

"Thank you," Belle said, still fingering her locket. "For coming."

"You called." And he had been terrified at the sight of her and Bae. He glanced at the work table behind him where a pale flower bloomed in a crystal vase. Sun-flowers could heal a variety of physical ills, but it took moon-flowers to heal the wounds of the mind. They were delicate. It was the nature of their power to be diminished if it was distilled or pressed into other forms. So, he'd held Belle, trying to soothe her, knowing exhaustion might be cure enough, and waiting impatiently for the white petals to unfurl in the moonlight. "I had to come."

". . . . Yes." Belle looked pensive. "Do you—" She stopped, and looked at him intently, trying to read secrets in his face. She reminded him of young boys back in his home village when they stood on the high rock over the forest pool for the first time, steeling themselves to dive into the shadowed waters below. Belle took a deep breath. "Do you remember when I found you looking at—looking at Morraine's doll?"

It was his turn to hesitate, wondering where she was going with this. ". . . . Yes."

"You said—or I thought—you kept mementos there. Treasures. From your past?"

"Yes."

"From. . . ." and, now she took a deep breath, preparing for the plunge there would be no turning back from. "From before you were—were the Dark One?"

"Yes."

She stroked Bae's hair, as if assuring herself he was there, that all was well. She dived in. "Could you show me? Please?"

He looked back at her. Easy to say no, to tell her those were things he wasn't ready to share. Easy to hide what she was looking for before she saw it.

Easy to do what Gaston did and take the decisions from Belle that were hers to make.

Rumplestiltskin nodded and got up, taking her hand. Bae yawned as they stood (cursed sleep and real sleep weren't the same at all. And nightmares had their own way of wearing people out). He picked up his son. Together, the three of them walked through the hallways till they reached the room.

Rumplestiltskin hesitated at the door. Last chance. Wave his hands, hide the proof. Tell her to walk away. Or just walk away himself and leave her staring at a locked door. . . .

He waved his hand but only to open the door. Then, he stood aside, letting Belle go in first.

Belle looked around. She seemed to have an instinct for how the room was organized. Of course, she did. They'd been married a long time, and she'd helped him in his work. He'd had to teach her how he kept his tools and dyes and dozens of ingredients for his work. She knew exactly how he thought.

Belle pulled back a sheet. A small cradle was underneath it, still the same as it had been the day Rumplestiltskin found it the day he came home. Only the dust had been wiped away.

He made a small gesture at a nearby chest. Its lock snapped open. No need to say anything, not now. He put Bae down and stepped back. Whatever was about to happen, he shouldn't be holding the boy like a shield between them.

Belle opened the chest. There were quilts and worn linens inside, things Belle had made. There'd been a time when he'd meant to keep her clothes—she would have only had the clothes on her back when Hordor sold her to Jones—despite beliving Hordor's lies, that she hadn't needed the rags he'd made for her when her lover, a rich sea captain, had carried her off.

But, he'd been so poor. He'd had to sell nearly everything he could make, and still he and Morraine had been near starving. As Morraine grew, he'd hemmed and cut Belle's old clothes, making new ones to fit her. When Morraine was killed, he'd found what was left of them in the same ditch he'd found her doll. Those clothes were also carefully stored away in this room, along with the rest of Morraine's small treasures, just not with the things that had been Belle's.

He heard the crinkling sound as she unwrapped the tissues (there were wizards whose spells were all made of words, linked one to another. Their spells to keep off hungry bugs and other ravages of time were some of the best in the realm, designed to protect their books. These sheets of tissue had been part of his price to restore a library the Ogres had destroyed. It seemed appropriate, he thought. Belle would have wanted him to save those books).

The tissue out of the way, Belle lifted up the contents, a wedding wreath. She stared at it, looking over every blossom and leaf. Then, she put it aside and brought out the other thing Rumplestiltskin had wrapped in that paper, the shattered pieces of the comb he'd once given her.

"It's broken," she said.

"I found it that way," he told her. His voice was rough and hoarse. "Lying by our—by our bed. I thought you'd broken it."

"No, I. . . ." She closed her eyes painfully at the memory. "It—it was my first day of mourning. I was wearing it. In memory." Her hand went to the locket again. "When Hordor came . . . it must have been knocked out. I—I didn't have it when they locked me up."

She'd lost her temper, she'd told him. She's struck Hordor and driven him into the street in front of the whole village. He'd told her to get rid of Bae, to send him to the orphanage to die. Rumplestiltskin could imagine Belle attacking him with the same fury she'd attacked Gaston.

That he expected her to attack him with.

"I—I suppose he stepped on it," Belle said. "I suppose he ground it beneath his heel. That—that would be like him." Her hand was shaking. She put the comb back in the tissue and looked at him. Shocked—afraid—disbelieving—he couldn't read her expression. She was tottering on the edge of a precipice, not knowing what waited for her when she fell in.

"You can't be him," Belle whispered.

Shape-changing was such a small spell. With a flicker of thought, he became the man she would have known, the man he'd once been.

And what would have happened if I took this form in the inn instead of those others?

Belle was pale as Bae had been under the curse. She shook her head. "No. You can't be. You can't."

"We met at the fair in Longbourne," Rumplestiltskin said. "I mended a tear in your dress and danced with you. I met your mother afterwards, and she didn't think I was good enough for you. I never knew why she let me come to dinner. The roses in your wedding wreath, they're from a bush your mother nursed through our harsh winters. On—on our wedding night, you had a nightgown of fine cambric your mother had given you. Your hair smelled of roses. . . ."

Belle was still shaking her head but it wasn't denial anymore. Shakily, she got up and walked towards him. "Where were you?" she said. She was crying again. She balled her hands into fists and beat against him. "Where were you? I needed you. I needed you!"

He put his arms around her, pulling her to him. "I know. I needed you, too."

"You were dead. They told me you were dead!"

"I nearly was," he said, "My leg—I'm sorry, Belle. It was months before I could even walk. When I came home, you were gone. Hordor lied. He told me you'd left with Jones. That you'd chosen to. He never told me he'd sold you. I thought—I thought you were ashamed of me. Or—or wanted a rich man. I didn't know, Belle."

She was crying into his chest. "You weren't—you weren't a wizard. You were just—just an ordinary man. How. . . ?"

"Becoming the Dark One. It's passed. Like a curse. It—it changes you. Your appearance. Unless you will it back. Belle, I—" But, that was when she looked up at him. Her mouth was so close to his.

They weren't the kisses he wanted to give her, crushing and fierce. Even these, delicate, gentle, worshipful, might horrify her, he thought, pulling back. This might be no different than the way he'd nearly destroyed everything between them on All Soul's Night.

Belle didn't return his kisses but, as he pulled away, she looked up at him wonderingly, as if he were rain and she was dry earth in a desert. Her hand cupped his cheek. Hesitatingly, shy as a deer afraid of the hunter, and she lifted her face to his. Still gently—so afraid of hurting her in some way all his power could never fix—he let his lips meet hers, drinking her in.

"Ewww," Bae interrupted. "What are you doing?"