He spent his days in the lab, flipping through the pages of some books, often working long hours and forgetting that he should eat. Belle brought Rumpelstiltskin food which often remained untouched unless she talked him into eating. Whether it was poor nutrition or the magic feasting on his energy - and considering he'd never been much of an eater she rather believed the latter - he was thinner, looking gaunt and fragile. She hated the pangs of pity that pierced her heart every time she saw him like that – slumped, pronounced shoulders even through the layers of clothes that failed to keep him warm. His eyes were the only animated thing on his now grey face - large vividly burning points of hope. But the more time passed, the more the hope shifted, giving way to something else. Fear.
He was afraid, the sticky, almost tangible strings of fear hanging in the air. It was wrong, this tired man had nothing in common with the image of the giddy sorcerer everybody knew. It made the girl realize that no matter how well he could pretend, he was a plain human. And both of them were suddenly aware, even if neither said it out loud, that despite the legends, he was also mortal.
Belle had never paid much mind to that before. Death was a relatively abstract notion - she knew she'd eventually die and that if she didn't play along with Regina's rules people in her village could get hurt, but she would never imagine that he could cease to exist. He was Rumpelstiltskin, he was just there and he would always be, even after everyone else was gone. She didn't want to speculate on what it would be like living with him - she'd age, even if he could possibly treat any of her illnesses while he remained as unchanged as stone. Would he want her then? What would he feel if she passed away? What if he could grant her eternal youth? Could she live with him forever, just two of them locked away in the vast Castle?
Time few past, seeping between her fingers as elusively as sand. When Belle would look back, separate minutes dragged on forever, filled with worry, unease and agitation, but evening always came as a surprise, indicating that one more day was lost to them, that another futile day brought him no closer to finding the cure. Because there was a cure and he would find it. Belle squished the malicious nagging worm of a thought that tried to tell her otherwise. She would do anything it required - cook for him, support him, help him look through the myriad of books in the library and the laboratory - even if he chose ancient volumes written in a long-forgotten language she couldn't understand - and hold him at night close to her heart to remind both of them that there was hope for the better.
Except that most nights she woke up alone - Rumpelstiltskin retired back to his lab once she would fall asleep, too nervous to rest.
Belle woke up when her fingers encountered only empty space on his side of the bed. It wouldn't do, she decided, he'd burn himself out. Wrapping herself in a shawl over her chemise she tiptoed along the corridor. She didn't like how quiet the castle was, the silence somehow ominous and deadly.
The man had his back to the door but didn't turn at her soft knock.
"Rumpelstiltskin..." she began. He raised his hand, indicating she shouldn't continue and Belle stopped in mid-sentence.
Yet he didn't break the intimidating silence and Belle tried again, coming closer but not daring to touch him when he seemed so unfamiliar and distant.
"Please come to bed," she said meekly. "You need to rest."
"Shhh, dear," he whispered loudly. "Do you hear it?"
Belle held her breath but she couldn't make out any sound except for the creak of his leather breeches when he turned onto the stool towards her. His eyes were bloodshot and his usually neat hair was sticking up as if he ran his fingers through it repeatedly. He looked unsettling, half-mad and she involuntarily took a step back.
"I don't hear anything," she answered carefully and his cold clawed hand grasped her wrist tight, pulling the girl towards him, his tired round eyes pinning her in place more efficiently than his grasp.
"No? Here. Tick-tock, tick-tock," he trilled. "Hear it? Tick-tock," he made a rhythmic clicking sound deep in his throat and Belle shivered, feeling her nightgown stick to her clammy backside.
"Do you know what it is?"
She shook her head and he let out a high-pitched chilling giggle.
"Why, it's so simple. Tick-tock. Guess what it is."
His forced smile drooped at the corners when she refused to guess and Rumpelstiltskin pouted.
"You are no fun, my dear. Tick-tock," he pulled her down sharply until his face was inches away from hers making it hard for her eyes to focus. The man dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper, making it nearly impossible for her to make out the words.
"It's my time, dear. My time on this earth is running out."
"Here," he continued feverishly as his fingers squeezed her arm harder and he slid her palm inside the opening of his coat and pressed it to his chest. His skin was slick and cold like that of a snake's despite the blazing fire in the tower that made tiny beads of sweat appear on her upper lip and forehead, evenly caused by the heat and eerie fear curling in the pit of her stomach. Rumpelstiltskin's heart raced under her fingers.
"Feel it? It beats, my darling, but I'm already dead." His proclamation was followed by another uncontrollable mad giggle and Belle felt utterly horrified.
"Dead-dead-dead," he chanted in time with his pulse, slurring the words together to match the rapid beats.
The girl straightened up and regarded him sternly. It was clearly the fright speaking in him, having haunted his mind for far too long to be contained. His nostrils flared and his eyes wandered about the room, looking for threats but when they returned to her, they didn't move. He didn't even blink, just staring at her. He reminded her of an animal, cornered and dangerous, pretending to be harmless but ready to pounce at the tiniest opportunity.
"No," she said firmly, hoping her voice could possess the power to convince him. "No you're not. We'll find a way out of this, just tell me how I can help."
"Help, eh?" Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head, looking at her appraisingly. Then his grin widened. "Oh yes, I know how you can help. Let me tell you a story, about a dark wizard who could only be killed by a certain dagger. Or so he thought." Another giggle fell from his chapped lips, thin and high, making the hair on Belle's arms stand on ends.
"I'll tell you where it is, dear. All you have to do is stab me right through the heart – here, feel its useless pounding - and it will end. Just imagine, the power of the Dark One shall be yours!" Rumpelstiltskin let go of her wrist and clapped his hands together gleefully, as if it truly was a good solution.
"I would never do anything as terrible as this!" Belle protested.
"You'd let all my magic boil off into thin air?"
"I have no interest in power," she said carefully, hoping that this strangeness was due to fatigue and not a newfound madness.
"Ah! I knew it! You are weak," he spat, the smile replaced by a scornful grimace in an instant. "You want me dead just as much as the rest of the world but you'd rather wait. Oh yes, you're too smart to get your hands dirtied!"
His accusing rambling was interrupted by a loud slap of Belle's palm against his cheek. She immediately felt an urge to blurt out apologies – he did look hurt and taken aback, but she was shaking uncontrollably with anger and the girl found herself almost shouting.
"How… how dare you say that!" she swallowed nervously. "How dare you even think of something like that?"
He looked quite comical as his jaw fell open in awe and his hand cupped his burning cheek – she must have hit him hard, her own palm stinging. Belle almost burst into hysterical laughing, shaken with emotions.
"Never – do you hear me? – never again you shall speak of it!" She took few quick breaths to calm down but her chest contracted painfully with a mixture of anger, sympathy and hope.
"Now you'll come to bed with me and rest and in the morning we'll pretend like this did not happen."
Rumpelstiltskin's eyes were watery and she wished it was just a trick of the firelight. Before he could blink them away or let them fall, he pulled her close, hiding his face in the softness of her chemise and letting out a ragged sigh.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her middle. "I'm so lost, I don't know what to do, Belle," he confessed and her heart throbbed with the thick despair in his voice. He clung to her and she petted his hair, wishing she could do more than just stand there, helpless.
"We'll find a counterspell, or potion or something and you'll be alright."
Because she was too afraid to let different thoughts cross her mind.