He tries to be patient, he really does. His plan to get Belle her independency – because he doesn't want to think of it as freeing her from her own father – takes time to work out properly. He could simply steal her, but he wants to do things right; she doesn't deserve to be locked up with him again; she should make her own choices and follow her desires. But more often Rumpelstiltskin feels like he wants to send everything to hell and take the easy path.
He could just give the girl her memories back, but he's afraid. He fears what he will see in her eyes, when her perception of him is no longer clouded by her feelings. He's scared of seeing the pain, as there will inevitably be the hurt from recalling the moment Regina plunged her hand into her chest and tore her heart out. He thinks of the unspoken blame, for she sacrificed everything for him and he didn't even look for her. And most of all, he dreads the change. Rumpelstiltskin knows that she can feel, but it won't be the same; just like after seeing the world in vivid colours she would be forced into grey existence and after tasting the richness of food left only with ashes in her mouth. He wants to believe that his love would be enough for both of them, but he can only too well imagine the hollowness in his chest after seeing her every day, knowing that it's not quite right, that her feelings are held back. And he is not a strong man.
His dreams have changed. The visions of Belle dead, her lifeless eyes staring off blindly into space that haunted him, are now gone. Even the short moments of restless oblivion filled with fantasies of finding her alive, that brought hot tears to his eyes, making him wish he either never slept again or never had to wake up are replaced with others, of an entirely different nature. Whenever he closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, he daydreams as if the image of his love has been burnt onto the back of his eyelids. She smiles at him and holds him close, cradling him between her slender thighs, grinding against him and arching her back lustfully, chanting his name over and over when he plunges into her; gasping for air when he buries his face in her sex, tasting her hungrily, drinking her in and feeling her come undone under his tongue, around his fingers and his cock over and over again.
Those dreams leave him hot and aching, and he wraps his hand around his prick, sliding his fist over the tight flesh in quick angry strokes until he grunts with release that brings little satisfaction. The memory of these moments of weakness, when he cannot resist taking himself in hand, makes him burn with shame when he sees the girl because how can she not see the guilt, plainly written all over his face Isabelle doesn't make it any easier on him. Her kisses burn him, and he craves more, always more, of those soft pliable lips and small sighs of pleasure she makes when he cradles the back of her head and his thumb draws circles on the skin of her neck. Distancing himself gets only harder with time and he's not sure he wants to keep fighting the feeling anymore.
She won't love him, but perhaps he can live with it. What if this is a chance for a fresh start? Isabelle is drawn to him, whether it's natural curiosity or their destinies are intertwined. She offered herself to him and it would have been so easy to succumb to her. The man's self-control nearly crumbled at the realization that he could indeed satisfy the carnal hunger for her. If he wanted only her body, he would do it. Instead Rumpelstiltskin cannot help feeling hurt, feeling disgusted with himself at even considering taking her. He almost feels used. He knows that Isabelle might enjoy his touch, but she asked him only because the act was her way out of her father's tyranny. Having once experienced the closeness of mind, body and soul and losing himself in his loved one entirely only to become more complete and alive, he doesn't want anything else.
So he bids himself to be patient and plots carefully, sitting at his spinning wheel or pacing around his turret, restless and full of zealous energy. Rumpelstiltskin knows high-born parents do not trade for their children but he also realizes Isabelle's father is not as good and devoted to his only daughter as he wants others to believe. A flood to destroy the crops, murrain of cattle, stories of terrible plague in the neighbourhood shire, a small mutiny on the border that ceases most of the trade make Sir Maurice worried about the future. The rumours of ogres approaching make him desperate enough for a deal with the Dark One.
It takes less time than Rumpelstiltskin anticipated but he's not about to complain. When the day comes, he bursts into the council room, a grin spreading onto his face at the tension written on everyone's faces. He's a bit annoyed that Maurice doesn't bother to get up and greet his guest – the man is sitting at the head of the massive oak table, leaning heavily onto one side, seeking support of a large throne-like chair. He looks weary but not weak and Rumpelstiltskin wonders if he hasn't rushed things; another incentive may be needed before he would give up his only child. He almost feels bad for the man, who had her love but not the ability to keep it. He doesn't want to think Sir Maurice and him are not entirely unalike.
"Why have you called for me?" Rumpelstiltskin asks in a sweet childish voice and he can swear he sees him shiver as his high trilling giggle pierces Maurice's ears.
"I want to negotiate with you, demon," Isabelle's father spits out scornfully and the sorcerer holds back a scowl, forcing the intimidating grin plastered onto his face to spread further.
"Ah, the ancient names, they sound like music to my ears," he remarks, catching one of the guards creeping up on him from behind out of the corner of his eye. Are they really so foolish to believe they can capture him?
"I warn you that if this thing touches my clothes, I will impale you on your own spear and perch you on the wall of my castle for the crows to feast upon your eyes," Rumpelstiltskin says lightly without turning his head and snickers smugly as the man stops dead in his tracks. He turns his large otherworldly eyes to Maurice and notices the sweat breaking over his shaggy brows. "Don't try playing games with me, old man, " he chides, wiggling a finger and clicking his tongue. "What is it you want?"
"Prosperity of my land," Maurice says and gulps heavily.
"And what do I get in return?" It's a bait and similarly to the hundreds of deals concluded even before the man's time, he takes it in a heartbeat.
"Anything."
Rumpelstiltskin's heard it before. They all say anything, hoping it means something insignificant. Their anything is limited to small tangible things and they are often shocked when he goes for something precious, even if it's only valuable for them. He claps his hands together and slides his joined fingers under his jaw. Rumpelstiltskin knows exactly what he wants, what he's going to bargain for but he likes the heavy silence and the expecting glares. So he walks around the table unhurriedly, the clicks of his heels on the stone floor being the only sounds in the room as everyone seems to hold their breaths. He circles the man's chair while he pretends to think.
"Anything, you say," he drawls pensively and Maurice shifts in his seat anxiously. "Well, I know what I shall have," he says and bends in the waist slightly, dropping his voice to a confiding whisper. "Your daughter."
"No!" Maurice protests but Rumpelstiltskin notices something; it's a delay for a fraction of a second but it's enough to catch the hesitation. The man's eyes are searching, jumping from the imp in front of him to the faces of his subjects in the room. He clearly wishes they would have chosen to talk in private but it's too late to remedy this now.
Rumpelstiltskin narrows his eyes but he knows he's won.
"It seems that I have wasted my time then," he shrugs and half-turns towards the door, keeping his eyes glued to the man's large reddening face. "No matter. I will still have her when your reign is over, your people have starved to death and your domain has burnt in the fires of the ogre wars. I just wanted to do things right and get her dear papa's blessing first." He bares his stained teeth in a snarl and waves his hand in a departing gesture.
"W-wait." Ah, there it is, the point of no return. "What… what are you going to do with her?"
Rumpelstiltskin approaches and stares at the man hard. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps Maurice will back out but despite any logic he presses further.
"I might have her chained in my dungeon or in my bed. But that's the risk you take with any suitor. I merely happen to offer a higher price."
Maurice clenches his jaws hard and the sorcerer studies the throbbing vein in his temple with mild disgust. The fact that the man is even considering his offer is outraging by itself. How could he have fathered someone as perfect and kind as Isabelle only to ship her off to the monster? Does he value the power over anything else?
"You can have my daughter in exchange for the prosperity of my lands… and wealth," he finally consents and instead of glee Rumpelstiltskin wants to hit the man.
"Now it's wealth? When you sell your child, you'd better make sure you get the best bid, eh?" He clenches his fists and reminds himself that he wanted it, he's buying the girl's independency and ability to choose for herself and not her.
"Sign on the dotted line," he barks and snatches the parchment back as soon as Maurice's shaky hand finishes drawing his name on it. He feels the tingle of magic and knows that now it's done. "The deal is struck. And oh, don't even think of ever seeing her again. I'd also advise you against trying to come after us." Rumpelstiltskin lets his eyes slide across every face in the room and his mouth twists in a smirk when he sees everyone divert their glare. "Congratulations, kind lords. Hope you shall find the outcome to your liking."
He tries to control his anger and exhales noisily upon appearing in Isabelle's chambers. Her maid is startled and she begins to scream but he flicks his hand, muting her.
"Out with you, you silly cow," Rumpelstiltskin snaps and idly wonders how much time it'd take for her eyes to pop out of the woman's forehead – truly, he cannot be this frightening.
"It's okay, Martha," Isabelle's voice is gentle and soothing and she pats the maid's hand before carefully nudging her towards the door. "I know the man, he will bring me no harm."
Martha trips over the threshold but he swings the door shut without caring a bit whether the hag fell down or not. Isabelle turns to him with a frown.
"That was uncalled for! You scared her. Would it hurt you to be nicer?" she says reproachfully and it somehow calms him although he doesn't feel any pang of guilt.
"Collect your belongings. I have… arranged things."
Her enormous blue eyes widen as she steps closer, hopeful but not quite believing it.
"Really?" she breathes and there is a smile beginning to bloom on her lips. "My father…"
Has sold you, a bitter thought dances on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it back.
"…has let you go, dear," he offers uneasily and then he hears her squeal and his vision is obscured by a mass of scented brown hair as Isabelle throws her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life.
It was worth it, after all, he thinks, shutting his eyes and giving himself a moment to enjoy her closeness before slowly prying the girl off him. It's so tempting to just take her to the Dark Castle but Rumpelstiltskin can come up with a dozen reasons against it and only a few in favour of the idea.
"What do you want to do next?" he asks when they separate and Isabelle looks a little lost, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I… I don't know," she confesses. "I guess I will just… See the world."
He exits the room while she changes but he doesn't trust to leave her alone until he makes sure she's safely away from her father's home. When Isabelle opens the door she's wearing something painstakingly similar to the outfit Rumpelstiltskin first saw her in – practical worn leathers for horse-riding and simple white blouse. Her hair is pinned up and she has a sack over her shoulder which he eyes doubtfully.
"Is that all you're taking?"
"Well, yes," Isabelle shrugs, "I do not need much. There will hardly be any use for jewels or dancing gowns on the road."
He smiles and they follow along the corridors to the outside. Whether it's a coincidence or Maurice's order, the strange pair doesn't encounter anyone trying to stop them or reason with the girl. He watches her climb on horseback and there's a pulling pain in his chest. It's so hard to let her go but before he can open his mouth to say anything, she reaches down to brush her fingers across his cheek.
"I never even thanked you," she observes and it takes all of his power not to lean into the touch. She catches his eyes, her own serious and slightly moist. "Thank you, Rumpelstiltskin," she says and it seems it's all she dares to say, keeping the rest unspoken.
"You can always count on me. Milady," he adds teasingly and she smiles.
Rumpelstiltskin turns her hand palm up and places a dry kiss in the centre.
"It's… not a farewell, is it?" Isabelle asks in a small voice and he feels he may just burst with all the emotion. He doesn't trust himself to speak and just shakes his head. He doesn't know what the future holds for them but she takes it as affirmation. Her smile turns into a hopeful and slightly playful one.
"See you soon then."
Isabelle spurs Philippe and the man watches her until her body is nothing more than a quickly receding small shape in the horizon. It is difficult but it also feels good. It's only fair she gets the adventure she desires.
Whether she needs him or not, he will be there to watch over her.