The sun was low in the skies, lighting up the lab with warm orange glow when Belle finally began working on the potion. Rumpelstiltskin fetched all the necessary ingredients lining them up in a neat row on the table and had a cauldron perched on a tripod. She felt slightly awkward and blushed a little when she looked at the table – she'd probably never be able to glance at that piece of furniture without remembering what sort of activities took place there – but she told herself to stop acting silly. Rumpelstiltskin didn't tease her or speak a word of what happened; he merely went back to his books, scribbling on their margins or flipping through the pages. It was oddly comforting, the silence and the cosiness of the room.

Belle shuddered when there was a sharp tapping noise against the glass. She frowned, seeing a raven perched on the window ledge, its dark smooth feathers glistening in the setting sun. The bird repeated the noise, its beak hitting the window none too gently. Rumpelstiltskin let the bird in and it hopped over the frame with a quork; there was a small shred of parchment wrapped around its grey leg and she watched the man's agile fingers untangle the cord to unroll and straighten the message to read it. Somehow the raven unnerved her; it titled its head sideways, its small shiny eye fixed on her. Belle wasn't superstitious, she never believed those birds were ominous but she never felt particularly fond of them either.

She was curious but thought it would be impolite to ask. After all, she'd not appreciate anyone reading her private letters. Whatever it was, Rumpelstiltskin was not happy about it. He dismissed the bird with a flick of his hand and returned to his books, but his eyes didn't follow along the lines; instead he steepled his hands under his chin, and appeared to be deep in thought. He was still pensive during their dinner and they didn't exchange more than a few words. When it was bedtime, he followed her to his chambers wordlessly and held her in his arms almost absent-mindedly.

Belle sighed and decided not to push. He'd tell her if he wanted to; his moods changed so quickly sometimes that she was concerned she'd anger him for being too nosey. She knew he wasn't asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily under her cheek as they lay in the dark.

"It was a message from out dear friend Prince Charming," he finally said, his voice dripping with bile and his body vibrating under her cheek.

"What… what did he want?" Belle asked carefully. She'd nearly forgotten about him. She was so absorbed in her apprenticeship, trying to figure out Rumpelstiltskin, separated from the outer world that it was easy to forget there was something beyond the castle walls. "Does he seek satisfaction for… for our escape?"

The man chuckled humourlessly.

"Even such a dimwit oaf as Charming is smarter than that. Besides, it's been over two months. Pursuing me with such a delay would seem rather strange, don't you think? If that was what he wanted, he'd come to the Castle, but he knows making all that fuss over me getting out of the dungeon is not worth it." She could almost hear him grin darkly above her. "And the princeling damn well knows he's no match for me in a fight."

Belle winced at those words; she didn't like to be reminded that the man she felt so attached to was not as gentle and considerate with everyone.

"What did he write to you about then?"

Rumpelstiltskin paused, raking his fingers through her curly hair.

"Queen Snow White is… unwell," he said gravely. "She is heavy with child but her condition is worsening and the healers cannot assist her." His body tensed a little.

"Charming wants me to help her and he's willing to pay any price for it. If words in ink could convey emotions, I think the accurate one would be desperation." His long fingers moved to the back of her neck, massaging and stroking and Belle couldn't hold back a sigh of pleasure. "I think Regina finally got to the queen, after all," he confessed.

She wrinkled her nose at the name; that vile woman again. No good would come from anything where she was involved.

"Are you going to do it?"

"I don't know," he admitted sincerely. "Personally, I couldn't care less about Charming's wife or offspring, but the idea of Regina occupying the throne in case of Snow's demise is… unsettling."

Despite the fact that long ago he was training her to do just that, he didn't wish to see Regina ruling. She was destructive, guided by greed and often blinded by anger. She wasn't a threat to him now, but she could turn into it with that power – and collected magic – of the kingdom.

"I think you should." Belle was uncertain whether he was just sharing his thoughts or asking her for advice. He didn't sound hesitant and she didn't attempt to affect his decision, but she was used to speaking her mind freely and, well, that's how conversation was to be made, by offering one's ideas.

"I didn't know you were so fond of the royal family," he teased and she smiled, feeling at ease that he didn't chide her for her words, that he saw her as an equal.

"I'm not, but you could help and… it's a nice thing to do."

"Nice," he sniggered. "The Dark One doesn't do nice."

"What does the Dark One do then?" she asked playfully, trying to distract him. She felt bad for Queen Snow White, but she didn't want the man to spend the whole night brooding over it. It was selfish of her, but she felt cosy and warm under the sheets and she didn't want him to think of anyone else when she was pressed against him. Belle decided not to dwell on where this new possessiveness had come from or what it could evolve into.

"He steals the maids from their keeps or, sometimes the dungeons," Rumpelstiltskin whispered dramatically, leaning down so that the warm puff of his breath was coming against her ear. "And brings them to his castle."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, not certain if it was another quip of his or if he was being serious. "How many have there been?"

"What?" he sounded taken aback, as if that question startled him.

"The maidens," Belle explained. "And what does the Dark One do with them? Makes them clean the Castle? Uses their blood for potions? Corrupts them?" It was hard to keep her voice serious when she was making such silly suggestions. He made a tsk noise of irritation.

"Not quite. I think there is one particular lassie who tries to corrupt the Dark One," he replied, ignoring the first part of her question. "And wants to see him do nice things."