Belle felt completely lost. She wiped away the tears quickly; she wasn't a silly girl (even if she felt as one at times) and weeping neither solved nor achieved anything except for making her eyes red and swollen. She couldn't quite comprehend how they went from being wrapped around each other to quarrelling. Partially, it was about Regina, of course. No matter how casual and banal Rumpelstiltskin made a murder sound, it wasn't as simple as sneezing.

It was his soul she was worried about, not Regina's. The act of taking one's life would leave marks invisible to the eye; wounds and scars that never heal. He may not realize it, but he would just destroy himself. Surely, there were people who'd enjoy killing, but despite how hard Rumpelstiltskin would argue, she just knew that deep down he was different. He was good even though he preferred to see himself as a monster; and to be fair, he did everything for others to see him that way.

On the other hand, there was something else about their fighting, something far more personal. For whatever reason, he felt conflicted. He did promise to open up and let her in, that bought them about a week of sweet understanding and, well, normal co-existence - yet it seemed easier said than done. He didn't have to be full of doubts and scorn. Belle saw no ground for him to be insecure and push her away. Why did he question and argue everything she said? He didn't have to dissect her feelings, trying to get to the core in his search for motives or hidden danger. Why couldn't he just let go and accept being loved?

Wait, hold on, did she just use the word love thinking about Rumpelstiltskin? Oh. Did her brain merely gave her a suitable word for the sentence or did she really love him? Belle wasn't sure. The books described love as an overwhelming, life-changing feeling, something truly magical born at first sight but offered no advice on how to figure out if you were in love with a centuries-old bad-tempered spiteful sorcerer. Maybe she ought to write one, starting with a chapter entitled "Things that should not be discussed in bed with your Dark One" - even if the list could be miles long.

The first-sight definitely didn't apply to them and Belle didn't feel like meeting him drastically changed her. It altered her life, but did she feel different? Was she another person now?

It wasn't like Belle could just come up to him and enquire about symptoms of being in love. She wrinkled her nose at the word. Symptoms. Like it was some kind of a disease. There was warmth in her chest when she thought about him, different from when she'd imagine her friends, and there would be a fluttering in her stomach or faint pulsing in her loins if she thought about certain unchaste things they did. She liked him, being with him, touching him and just talking to him, but was it love?

If she told him about her feelings, avoiding the L-word, what would he do? Laugh at her? Not take her seriously? Hurt her with harsh words? Admit that he did feel something for her as well?

Belle hit her pillow with frustration. Books were so much easier than real life. In books people knew what they wanted and by fortunate events they got to live happily ever after, but she suspected Rumpelstiltskin was not the happily-ever-after material. Yet when she imagined somebody else at her side, the idea was repulsive. She didn't want someone else. She'd much rather live like this - even if it meant quarrelling every now and then and constantly struggling to make him believe her than be a common lady whose only job was to obey her husband and bear him heirs.

Still, all those thoughts didn't get her any further. She shouldn't have suggested Rumpelstiltskin was better on his own and it would take her more than just one apology to prove that she was truly sorry. Yet Belle suspected that he'd be hiding from her, unwilling to face her. Or if he did, he'd act as if she didn't matter. Well, that hurt. But he didn't banish her from the Castle, which, she hoped, was a good sign.

Belle slept, surprisingly peaceful, and woke up hugging her pillow and feeling well-rested. She stayed with her eyes closed for several blissful moments, feeling the soft hands of sleep release her until she remembered last night's events. Strangely enough, the thought didn't cause her as much discomfort as she expected. She stretched and glanced at her window - judging by the sun, she'd slept through most of the day. Just as well.

She dressed and made her bed, battling with herself whether she was ready to come downstairs and face him or not. She felt a pang of pity, undoing the braid he made, but her hair was still slightly damp at the nape of her neck, so she brushed it and let it down. Belle postponed leaving her room by untying the cotton bandages from her wrists - the skin still smelt of tar but the scratches healed overnight just like he promised.

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't in the dining room although there was food on the table. Well, that was to be expected, yet Belle wasn't sure if she felt disappointed by his absence. She didn't feel hungry and decided to settle for tea. Then, thinking that he was probably at his spinning wheel, she loaded a tray with honey, a teapot and a matching set of cups and carefully walked to the living room. Surprisingly, he wasn't there either. Belle sat in an armchair, picked up a book (she seemed to leave them open all over the place) and began drinking her tea. She felt slightly guilty, as if she prevented him from coming in here to spin, but it was silly. Surely, if he wanted something, there would be no obstacles for him.

Belle spent the following day alone too and she began to suspect that the man turned invisible; he wouldn't leave without letting her know. She didn't want to go into the laboratory, that was his domain, after all, but all this hiding was plainly childish.

The third day her mood turned foul. The day just started the wrong way. She hit her baby toe on the leg of the bedpost when she reached her foot under the bed searching for her slippers. Her toe was still throbbing unpleasantly when she went for breakfast. Belle couldn't quite explain why she was so annoyed - it was hardly the first time she hurt herself due to her clumsiness. While she stirred her tea, her eyes caught the light reflected off her sapphire ring. The piece of jewelry on her finger only added to her irritation; it was a sign that Rumpelstiltskin did care about her safety, even if he had to shove it down her throat. She pulled on the ring hard, trying to peel it off her finger, but of course it did not move a millimeter. Bloody magic; it caused more trouble than it brought good.

She finally worked up the nerve to go into the lab; yet the man wasn't there either. She scowled, seeing her ruined potion swirling lazily in the cauldron looking as thick living mud and opened the windows to aerate the room while she dragged the cauldron downstairs to dump its contents outside. When she carried it back to the room, Belle discovered there were black stains in front of her dress. That seemed to be the last drop; enough was enough, she was so fed up with this kind of behaviour! She was guilty, she was going to apologize and make things right.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she called loudly, but nothing happened. Nuh-huh, he didn't know who he was dealing with. She could be just and stubborn and pesky when she wanted. She tried again louder. "Rumpelstiltskin!"

"What?" he shouted from behind her, making her jump and turn towards him.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she repeated, half-amazed he did appear.

"Is it some new game?" he jerked his head back to get rid of a wavy strand of hair that fell over his eye. "Am I supposed to say your name too? Belle, Belle!" he made his voice thin and girlish and Belle giggled at that nervously.

Suddenly, he just slid across the floor, positioning himself barely an inch away from her. Startled, she stepped away but he kept the proximity, moving closer until there was no way for her to step further and her back was pressed against the wall.

"What do you want?" he snarled, enunciating each syllable and Belle shivered, feeling the cold from the stone bricks seep into her through her bodice. Her pulse quickened for no apparent reason and it was hard to breathe, as if his mere presence robbed her of oxygen.

"To... to talk." She was also aware how close he was standing, dressed in a high-collared vest. The collar was curved, ending in sharp pointy edges you could cut yourself on; it was of some insanely bright orange that probably would look ridiculous on anybody else, but somehow it suited Rumpelstiltskin. Her eyes were drawn to the opening of the vest and the fluttering point of his pulse against his greenish-gold skin. His heart was beating fast, faster than hers - was he nervous, irritated or was it always like that but she never paid any mind to it? She was mesmerized by this little evidence that he did in fact have a heart and found herself counting the rapid beats - one, two, three, four…

"So talk, or you're going to stand there all day ogling me?"

Belle licked her lips; that wasn't a bad alternative. She had already forgotten what she was going to say. The smell of his leather, mixed with a faint trace of smoke that clung to him tickled her nostrils and the heat of his body, even though he did not touch her, robbed her of all the words she had prepared.

"I… I wanted to apologize."

"Is that so, dearie?" he drawled, but his dearie didn't have much of its usual cutting edge.

She nodded but found it hard to say anything else.

"I thought I made it clear we were done discussing the subject days ago."

"Yes, but you also made a promise to listen to me when I have something to say." Belle chewed on her lip, uncertain if she should be reminding him of that.

"Indeed." Well, he didn't sound angrier; that was good.

"Can you… can you move a little away?"

"Oh ho, why would that be, dearie?" His eyes dropped to her cleavage and he dragged his long fingernail along the border where the top of her dress met her skin. Belle had to bite down on her lip to stifle a moan; gods, it was wrong, she suddenly felt hot and bothered and wanton and the last thing she wanted to do was to talk. She shivered at his touch and Rumpelstiltskin misinterpreted it.

"Not so willing now, are you? Do I frighten you, dearie?" She trembled but it wasn't fear; she could be afraid for him but not of him. Her body was tight as a bow for an entirely different reason. He bent down so that his hips lips nearly touched the shell of her ear. "Do I… disgust you?"

His proximity and the low voice seemed to forgo her brain and shoot straight to her belly. No, that wouldn't do. If they intended to have a conversation and she wished to retain some of her modesty - proper ladies did not desire to be ravished on tables - he needed to move away.

"My neck hurts from having to look up at you from this angle," she replied calmly, proud that her voice didn't waver and Rumpelstiltskin did move away slightly, putting a dozen inches between them. Did he really believe she'd be intimidated by this closeness?

At least now she could see his eyes; not that it made her any more concentrated on what she was going to say.

"Do you ever shave?" she lifted her hand and brushed her fingertips along his jawline. His skin was soft and she didn't know why she'd never asked him before. She'd never seen him shave or smelt any cologne on his skin but it didn't meant he didn't do it. Rumpelstiltskin winced as if she slapped him instead of a light touch and she quickly jerked her hand back.

"What, you called me here to ask if I shave?"

"No, sorry, I don't know why I asked that."

"It seems that I'm just wasting my time here." Belle wrinkled her nose. She didn't like being talked to in that manner, but at least he was talking instead of hiding.

"Legends say you're immortal, so you cannot be wasting your time," she pointed out and he blinked at her with surprise.

"I wanted to apologize - again - for suggesting that you'd be better off alone."

"But it is true," he argued through gritted teeth.

"No," she said firmly. "No it's not. Otherwise why didn't you order me to leave?"

"No need to burden myself with that task; you'll leave quickly by yourself soon." And if she stayed, he'd probably think it was out of stubbornness just to prove him wrong.

"You don't mind my company then?"

He didn't reply and Belle just shook her head. The conversation wasn't going the way she hoped; maybe she was trying the wrong approach.

"I was thinking…"

"Always a bad sign," he snorted and Belle pursed her lips giving him a stern glare.

"Fine, dearie. Share with me the fruit of your mental… exercise."

"I was thinking and I decided that you… complete me." She paused but Rumpelstiltskin didn't laugh. He simply looked at her and she went on. "You see, I realized that even though we are different…"

"Oh, it's because I'm so much more charming," he said dryly.

"…we are connected. So when you do something, it affects me as well. If you hurt someone, it'd be the same as if I did it. Do you understand?" She knew her words were uncertain and sounded weak but that was exactly how she felt.

"So when I told you I didn't want you to harm Regina, it was partially because it'd be me doing it, because it would be my fault."

"I do understand," his voice was soft and she glanced up at him hopefully. "But it's too late now. I've already made arrangements."

"Oh." Her heart dropped, his words making her feel like someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water on her. Deep down she expected it. Did it change anything? Most likely not; she made her choice long ago but it didn't make her feel better.

"So, what are you going to do after that touching little speech of yours when you discover it doesn't change anything?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly.