Belle's voice is so panicked and so high, it pierces his ears in the most uncomfortable way.
"Papa!" she shrieks but he keeps clinging to her. "Papa, help! Gaston!"
Rumpelstiltskin registers the unfamiliar name but it's no matter, he's too absorbed in the moment and the swirl of emotions that wash over him. He still cannot believe it's real and his mind races with ideas of how it can even be possible. Belle, however, manages to give him a hard shove and he steps back, feeling confused. Is it a part of a game of sorts? She takes a deep breath for what looks like will be a long, urgent scream for help and the best thing he can think of is to cover her mouth with his hand. He would hate to be interrupted at this moment, he drinks in the sight of her eagerly and he craves her presence more than ever. He will not share her attention with anybody else. The feel of her warm lips on his palm make him shiver, stirring the memories of soft whispers and bold touches from another lifetime.
Belle's eyes are as wide as saucers and she appears indignant, refusing to be silenced like that. Rumpelstiltskin holds back a curse as she bites him, sinking her sharp teeth deep into his hand. He watches the girl wipe her mouth with disgust when he jerks his hand away. He's bubbling inside with feelings that change and blend into each other like coloured glass in a kaleidoscope, and this situation, where she looks at him in comical wonder mixed with fear is just so ridiculous that he snorts. And then there's no stopping it. He doubles over and giggles for a good minute and her puzzled stare just makes him break into peals of laughter. Belle decides he will not assault her after all and takes a step closer.
"Who are you?" she asks cautiously and it sobers him up.
"It's me, Belle," he says simply, but she frowns.
"Belle? We are on no grounds for such familiarity, sir. My name is Isabelle, lady on Avonlea but I do not believe we have met." Her eyes swipe over him and Rumpelstiltskin becomes all too aware of his hideous appearance. He has never been particularly attractive but he has thinned down over the last year so much, his face looks like a skull, with his sickly greenish skin pulled tight over it and his reptilian eyes sunken deep into the sockets. He knows he's ugly but her look hurts him more than imaginable. She never used to look at him like that, her stare so… cold and distant, appraising. "I would have remembered that."
Rumpelstiltskin straightens and tries to appear calm. He's not sure what is going on, if he has angered her or whether Belle regrets her association with him and he tries to reason with her.
"Remember Prince Charming's dungeon?" he starts only to be promptly interrupted as the girl winces.
"Oh you are here to enquire about that incident? It was over two years ago and people are still too curious. You will be pleased to know that even though I spent five days in Queen Snow's prison; it was an unfortunate misunderstanding as I was mistaken for some assassin. Since I was completely innocent and the real bravo was captured, I was released shortly. Now, tell me your name," she demands.
Rumpelstiltskin admires how confidently she speaks and how well she looks. Belle seems slightly smaller, but that is probably due to the corset. The gold of the dress gives her skin a warm glow and her eyes are as bright as he remembers. Her hair is longer, although it's done up, a few locks that escaped the bun fall below her waist. He cannot help diverting his eyes from her flushed face to her chest, searching for the scar over her heart. He knew there wouldn't be any marks left by Regina's magic but his stomach still twists at the idea.
She looks at him expectantly and he decides it would not do any good to try her patience. He is trespassing, after all.
"But Bel… milady," the sorcerer corrects himself and the lady of Avonlea gives him a slight nod of approval. "Do you happen to recall who your prison mate was?"
She frowns again, irritated at his persistency but replies nevertheless.
"No one. There was no one else in the dungeons but me."
He blinks in confusion and feels like magically reaching out to her to see if there a mental block of sorts. Belle would not be able to keep the mask of ignorance for so long but he fails to understand why her memory has been wiped clean or, rather, why her memory of him is altered.
"State your name and the purpose of your being in my father's gardens or I shall call the guards at this very moment," she threatens.
"Forgive my manners, milady," he says with a sigh and put his left leg in front of him as he gracefully bows at the waist with a flourish of his hands. "Rumpelstiltskin," he introduces himself, rolling the R noticeably while keeping his bronze eyes fixed on her face. He silently hopes the name will ring some bells and it surely does. Isabelle's face lightens up and her mouth drops open in a look of childhood amazement.
"Ooooh I've read about you," she exclaims, lifting her skirt off the ground as she stepped closer. "You are the dealmaker!"
It's not the effect he prayed for but there is little else to do except to play along. He is both pleased she had heard about him but learning that her knowledge came from a book (like that is a surprise) makes him feel like a relic. Belle studies him with enhanced curiosity and he simply waits for what she's going to say next.
"Can I… Would it be possible for me to conclude a deal with you?" She smiles as he perks up at the word deal. Her being alive is the greatest gift of all and even if she doesn't remember him, it's her, looking at him, talking to him. Rumpelstiltskin could tell her it's unnecessary, that he'd grant her every wish despite the cost, that he could make her the queen of the world in a blink of an eye, to put his dagger in her small hand, crawl at her feet and have her command him for eternity and he would go it gladly. But a part of him is also curious as to what this Isabelle could want from him.
"Indeed we can, dearie," he drawls in his impish voice as he cocks his head to the side. "What is it you desire?"
She licks her lips nervously.
"You see, ah… There's actually a betrothal feast as my father has arranged for me to marry sir Gaston," Isabelle explains and his heart drops. Rumpelstiltskin is not sure he can take it. This evening has been too much for him. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins as the day turned from pain to joy and to disappointment again. He should be happy she's safe and sound, or that she has a love-life; but all he wants is to snatch her away back to his Castle after turning this bloody Gaston to dust. She's come so close he can count each of her lashes but it makes no difference. She's not the Belle he knew and this twisted torture of not having her is even more cruel.
"Say no more, dearie. So you want a dress to outdo every bride that ever lived? A grand castle for you and your young fiancé? Or, perhaps, to ensure your first born is a boy?"
This not-Belle scowls at each of the suggestions apparently finding that since there're just two of them in the gardens she no longer needs to act like a lady.
"Gods no! Actually, I do not want to marry him at all and since I failed to communicate this to my father, I thought you might be of assistance. I need a way to escape this marriage and not to worsen the relationship with the Duke."
Rumpelstiltskin giggles as he walks around the girl to give himself time to think. It's perfect, he's content that she holds no feelings for the Duke's spawn but he also needs to figure out a way to bring her old self back. Memories are complicated and fragile, but it's not an impossible task. He cannot just give up, not now.
Isabelle turns her head, not quite trusting to have the sorcerer behind her but she doesn't seem unnerved by his presence anymore.
"So thoughtful," he notes as his fingers stroke his chin and his boots thud softly on the ground. "Putting your interest first but at the same time not forgetting about the happiness of your people. Well, I might have just what you need!"
Rumpelstiltskin makes a full circle and stands in front of her, leaning over till his hair almost brushes her face. She doesn't flinch and he wonders whether she's always been brave or her body at some level recognized him as no threat.
"The question is, dearie," he breathes the word right into her face but she tilts her head up to meet his gaze with a challenge, "what price are you willing to pay?"
"Name your price and I shall say whether it is acceptable," she offers and he raises his eyebrows at her, smirking.
"Oh-ho, but that's not how it works, don't you know?"
She licks her lips again and his eyes dart to the tip of her tongue that wets the seam of her mouth before disappearing. Rumpelstiltskin knows it's not an attempt at seduction but he finds it quite distracting.
"Then… you could make an exception, perhaps?" she says boldly and the sorcerer pulls back with surprise. It's supposed to be the other way – him prancing around, intimidating his victims who shake in their boots but with not-his-Belle he feels cornered. How far into him can she see, really?
"A kiss," he whispers and her eyes widen. It's wrong, he knows, to trade for her affection but he believes, he desperately wants to believe that it will work. He's never loved anyone but her and as she willingly gave up her heart for him, she loved him, too. He clings to the hope that some remainders of that love are still in her and that a kiss would trigger them. "That is my price."
Isabelle frowns but at least she doesn't shriek at this perverted imp in her garden or look nauseous.
"Why would you want that?" she questions and Rumpelstiltskin waves his hands dismissively.
"I have my reasons. Consider it a whim. Do we have a deal?"
The girl spends the longest time gazing at him. She's not looking at his scaled skin or uneven yellowed teeth. She stares into his eyes, searching for something only she can find, neither of them blinking until it gets too uncomfortable and he turns away briefly.
"Deal," she finally agrees and puts her hand out for a shake. Rumpelstiltskin squeezes her fingers lightly, making sure the touch doesn't linger longer than necessary.
"So, where do I sign? We need a contract, right?"
"If you insist," he jokes but her response is firm and could pass for a command.
"I do."
"Very well," he consents and produces a scroll out of thin air. Snapping the fingers of his left hand, he makes a fluffy blue quill appear in them and Isabelle gasps at the small display of magic.
Rumpelstiltskin smiles and offers both items to her. Instead of instantly signing it, her eyes scan the contract. She doesn't need to bother with it, he has no intent of tricking her, never her, but he swells with pride a little at her foresight.
"Is Gaston truly not the Duke's son?" Belle glances up at him and the sorcerer shrugs.
"Does it matter, dearie? Fact or fiction, it will get you out of this marriage."
"I think it matters," she presses and he clicks his tongue. Why can she bend him so easily with so little effort?
"Yes it's true. The Duchess has never burdened herself with being faithful," Rumpelstiltskin confirms and the girl relaxes a little as she signs her name at the bottom of the scroll in bold confident letters. The parchments glows faint purple before the man rolls it up and hides it in the inner pocket of his coat.
"Now that it's done…" his voice trails off and he feels awkward. Perhaps, it wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. He's nervous and his palms become damp and sticky with sweat. He can swear his heart is someplace in his throat. He is a mess and he hopes it doesn't show much.
"I guess you want your payment now," Belle says calmly and closes her eyes.
She seems gathered and unafraid and he doesn't dare touch her. He needs the kiss to work, otherwise…
Carefully, making sure no part of his body comes into contact with hers and still half-expecting to wake up, Rumpelstiltskin closes the distance between them. He holds his breath as his lips ghost over hers. Belle doesn't pull away and the need to be gentle almost breaks him.
He presses his lips to hers slightly; she gives a shaken sigh but remains still. Even such a small touch seems too intense, he remembers so many other kisses and shuts his eyes tight. Her lips are warm and her breath is sweet and he wills the overwhelming love he feels for her to work the miracle his magic can't. Her lips are soft and he moves his mouth over hers so lightly the touch could be mistaken for a caress of wind. Rumpelstiltskin doesn't feel any whisper of magic and thinks that perhaps he needs to loosen up; his body is as tight as a bowstring. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, he wishes he could pull her in an embrace but he's afraid she'll get scared away if he paws at her, even though the kiss appears cold and impersonal when their bodies don't touch.
Rumpelstiltskin increases the pressure of his lips and Belle sighs, parting hers a little. He takes it as an incentive and captures her bottom lip, nibbling on it softly. She raises her hands but doesn't push him away, resting them on the lapels of his coat. Rumpelstiltskin nearly ceases to breathe, the excitement shooting through him as she mimics his movements. She's a bit clumsy and he hopes it's due to the lack of experience – or, more likely, the altered memories – than her ex-fiancé being a poor teacher. Belle's lips stretch in a smile as their noses bump but she tilts her hand to the right adjusting the angle. His control is about to fly out the window when the tip of her tongue carefully slides across his bottom lip and he does his best not to moan.
"Isabelle, my girl, where are you?" A deep voice cuts through the summer air and Rumpelstiltskin jumps away from Belle as if he was burnt. "It wouldn't do to miss your own betrothal feast," the man chides and the sorcerer hopes it's her father and not Gaston who took a habit of calling her "his girl".
Belle is flushed both from the kiss and the embarrassment of being nearly caught. She looks at him and gives Rumpelstiltskin a tiny smile and her eyes hold a different expression now but it's not one of recognition.
"Leave," she whispers and he feels like he was punched hard in the stomach. His face contorts and he hopes Belle didn't notice that or at least couldn't decipher what exactly it relates to.
He's just been dismissed and he has no reason to stay. The man tries not to look her in the eye and he nods, turning away, his back stiff.
"Rumpelstiltskin?" she calls before he exits her grounds. It's the first time she says his name tonight and it rolls from her lips effortlessly, sweet and gentle sounding where others pronounce it like a venomous curse. It only adds to the stabbing pain.
"It was a real pleasure meeting you," she adds and he shakes his head. She cannot mean it to be as playful as it appears to him; she's just being polite and is not talking about the kiss, but still it sounds ambiguous. He waves a hand over his shoulder in good-bye, and even though he doesn't turn, he can swear she's watching him depart with a smile on her face.
Rumpelstiltskin paces around his lab, reflecting on the events of the evening and out of all emotions, he feels anger rapidly boiling inside him. He spent a whole year drowning in pity and self-loathing, a year full of regrets while suffering the maddening weight of his loss. And all this time Belle was near, painfully close, a breath away, smiling, reading, getting engaged.
He kicks a stool watching it hit the bookcase with dark satisfaction. He was such a fool. Why did he never search for Belle's body, why did he take Regina's words by faith, what if he burned the castle while his love was still inside, alive but unconscious?
Rumpelstiltskin grunts and feels like he deserves a good kick. Then, remembering something, he darts to his desk, picking up the mirror.
"Show me my Belle," he barks but as before, nothing happens. He grits his teeth hard but the surface is cloudy and grey. Rumpelstiltskin grips the silver handle so hard he's certain the imprints of his fingers will remain on it. "Damn you! You filthy lying…" He mutters a curse, shaking the mocking object for good measure but nothing changes. Except that he finally realizes what the problem actually is.
"Show me Isabelle of Avonlea," Rumpelstiltskin commands and this time the stupid glass obeys. He watches Belle talk gravely to a large man who he guesses is her father, and then they start arguing. He puts the mirror aside face down.
So much time wasted, so many unnecessary excruciating breaths taken and to what avail? But what if that's how things were meant to be? Belle is with her family, she has her own life, she is… happy. He offered her nothing but solitude, locking her up in his castle. Does he have any right to interfere, to selfishly influence her destiny, to put his wishes over hers? Perhaps he should leave things as they are, to pause and think about what she wants and needs?
The bloody mirror may have caught him on a technicality, but it's right. Belle is not his, she doesn't love him, not anymore. Falling for him once was a miracle, but asking for it twice? Could she even love him? Would she love him if she remembered? Did loving him bring her anything but misery and suffering? He knows he won't forgive himself for giving up on searching for her just because he presumed she was dead, so why should she do it?
Rumpelstiltskin's hands reach once again for the forgetting potion. Simple and clean, even with a great price to pay. Since Belle holds no memory of him, wouldn't his own oblivion be fair?