Rumplestiltskin watched over his Belle, his gaze heavy with a turbulent mix of love and an insatiable desire for revenge. The quiet of the room was underscored by the rhythmic ticking of the many clocks in his shop, a reminder of the passing time and the urgency of Belle's situation. He recalled how he had used his magic to lull her into a forced sleep. It was a necessary measure, he told himself, to prevent her from further straining her weakened body, but the action left a bitter taste in his mouth. His Belle wouldn't like that. Once conscious, she will be angry.
As he approached Belle, his attention was inevitably drawn to the wound on her ankle. The sight of it, scarred with darkened veins and the telltale signs of a poison, made his heart clench. His fingers hovered over the injury, a surge of protective anger coursing through him. Rumplestiltskin's face hardened, his usual facade of control giving way to a rare display of raw emotion. He knew he should act, and yet, he hesitated, torn between the impulse to seek vengeance and the fear of losing himself to darkness again, especially in Belle's eyes.
"Rumple?" And there came that soft voice, one that temporarily shook off the rising darkness in his soul.
"Belle," he whispered, more as a shock than a greeting at his research being interrupted. "You're awake." His magic should have lasted much longer than that.
"What happened?" her eyes try to focus but seem to get lost in the familiar room. Her brows furrow, "Why am I so... cold?"
Rumple wastes no time recovering Belle's blanket, tucking her in, up to the chin, as tight as possible in the hopes it would deter her from moving. "You went on a little adventure," he says in a sing-song tone with a dancing finger, "It's cold outside!"
Belle's gaze flickers briefly with recognition. As she attempts to sit up, she murmurs, "Rumple..."
He interrupts, "No, no, no. Don't try to move—" But it was too late.
Belle hissed in pain and jolted her knee up – her ankle grazes the blanket and she cries out. "Ow! What on earth...?"
"Stop! Stop moving," Rumple's hands hesitantly tremble above her legs, knowing a simple touch would only further her agony. "You have a rapidly spreading toxin in your leg, it has made you weak."
"A toxin?" Belle froze, recognition dawning on her innocent face. "Regina... I remember."
"Yes. Well, I can only guess as to what it is. I was hoping to get a closer look at it before you woke up; which, by the way, shouldn't have happened."
"You mean you don't know what it is?" Belle says weakly, her face growing weary with exhaustion. "We all thought you knew..."
"Would you really be in this state right now if I did?"
"Oh..."
Rumple's face softened when Belle didn't even try a sarcastic quip back. "Not to worry, my dear, we'll soon have the answers we need."
"How?" Belle whispers as Rumple scoots closer.
"With a little research of course," Rumple offers a gentle smile. "It's time you went back to sleep."
Belle's eyes widened as she realized Rumple's intention. "No, wait," she rasped, her voice a mixture of fear and fever-induced delirium. "Don't... I don't want to sleep. Not by magic. Please."
Rumple hesitated, his hand faltering mid-air. He could see the terror flickering in her eyes. "Belle, it's just to help you rest. The pain—"
"It's bearable!" Belle struggles to sit up, intent on proving her point. "I can… I can handle it."
"Clearly not! Look at you!" Rumple grumbles, heaving an exasperated sigh. If it wasn't for the urgent situation, her terrible attempt at hiding the pain would almost be humorous. "Trust me, it's just like taking a nap. You've done it before! Just an hour ago, in fact."
"No, Rumple…" Belle's voice fades, her strength melting away as quickly as it surfaced. "I can't let you do that…"
"If I don't fix this," Rumple caressed her cheek. "You'll die. I can't have that. I can't lose you, Belle."
To his surprise, his brave maid twisted her expression into an ugly sob, a reaction that took Rumple by surprise.
"Oh, Belle," he whispers, embracing her in a hug, being careful not to move her. "It's alright. You're burning with fever, that's why you feel like this. I'll look after you, I promise."
He felt her wracking breaths buried into his chest; a behaviour completely unheard of in the feisty girl. Her skin radiated warmth, but all he could do was wait for the rapid breaths to calm down.
Twelve minutes of contemplation gave Rumple ample time to quietly put Belle to sleep without her noticing. He was betraying her, but it was for her own good.
"Gold? You in here?" Shouted an unwelcome voice. Wonderful. Bad timing as always, Emma.
Rumple scoffed – he'd been so infatuated with Belle that he'd missed the shop doors jingling. He took one last look at Belle to make sure she was comfortably asleep, then turned to the main door.
"Emma," Gold struck his cane on the ground slightly harder than intended from behind the counter. "To what do I owe the displeasure this time?"
"Just wanted to make sure you got to Belle okay," Emma leaned against a glass casing of ancient artefacts that hadn't been dusted for three weeks. Gold scowled. "So, did you?"
"Belle is fine," he lied, not wanting to draw attention to her. "Although I appreciate you informing me that she was missing, I believe it's time for you to go."
"Yeah, I kinda have to make sure she's actually safe. Y'know, with you," Emma pressed, striding towards the counter now.
"Given the alternative is Belle dying alone outside from the poison and assuming the hypothermia wouldn't kill her first – yes, I'd say she's safe here."
"She'd better be." Emma gave Gold a stern look that he quite frankly found pathetic. "But as sheriff, I'm supposed to make sure she's really safe, as she technically went missing. And since you're the one that found her…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Gold rolled his eyes and stepped back, gesturing loosely at the archway that led to the backroom. "Go through, but don't touch anything."
To Emma's bewilderment, just beyond the wall lay the young maid, sound asleep on a couch, a small candlelight flickering next to her figure.
Emma's gaze flickered over the slumbering girl, her voice laced with concern, "Oh, she's asleep."
Gold, leaning on his cane, his eyes sharp and annoyed, replied, "You noticed that too?"
A hint of frustration crept into Emma's tone. "Well, why didn't you say anything?"
Gold's expression remained unreadable, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. "You wanted to see her – you've seen her. Now, I must insist, leave."
Emma stepped forward, a determined glint in her eye. "Can't we wake her up?"
Gold shook his head, his voice firm. "No."
"Why not? Is this your doing?" Emma's suspicion was palpable in the air.
Gold's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "I do what I have to, to keep her safe. And you, Miss Swan, are certainly a complication to that safety."
"Right," Emma says with a hint of scepticism, restraining an eyeroll as she moves to Belle's side. Being wary of Gold came naturally to her, but perhaps given his relationship with Belle, she shouldn't be worrying so much. "You figured out what that stuff on her leg was?"
"I was attempting to do so before you interrupted me," Gold walked to the other side of the couch and gestured at the door with his cane. "Leave."
Emma threw her hands up, "Alright! Alright… just make sure to keep the rest of us informed, yeah? We're worried."
At the lack of a response other than a hard stare, Emma gave up trying to converse with the man and stormed out the room, muttering incoherently under her breath.
After waiting for the door to jingle shut, Gold slumped back down on the stool with an exasperated sigh, tenderly watching Belle sleep.
Without distraction, perhaps now he could decode this alien substance, which had since grown even further up her leg.
...
...
The problem wasn't Belle being awake. Oh, no.
It was looking her in the eye whilst making the smallest of incisions into her ankle and pretending this wasn't what he did as Rumplestiltskin but on a much larger scale.
He thought if she was asleep, it would be easier. It wasn't. His former self would skin a man alive for looking at him the wrong way, and yet he couldn't lay a finger on his Belle, not even if it was to help.
Alas, he must find out what this nefarious entity inside her was.
Wearing a mask of detachment on his face, he carefully made the incision over the skin, his hand quivering faintly. Clutching a vial tube, he watched as a sinister crimson and oil black substance emerged from the wound. Carefully, he applied just enough pressure to gather an adequate sample in the vial, no more than necessary.
Then, stuffing the vial inside his coat pocket, he waved a hand over the wound, watching as the skin knits itself together, healing within seconds.
He feels movement beneath him, a groan before a soft voice murmurs. "Rumple?"
Really? Again?
Did I forget how to do a sleeping spell?
Rumple frowns, "How do you keep doing that?"
Belle doesn't open her eyes, squirming slightly to get comfortable before soon giving up. "Doing what?" She blinks her eyes open. "What happened?"
"Well, either my magic is getting sloppy, or you've developed a very fast immunity to sleeping spells."
Belle tries to focus on him, blinking slowly. "You were doing something?"
"No, I was practicing spells on you for the fun of it," Rumple scoffed, "Yes, of course I was. Got myself a little sample, didn't I?" he displayed the vial in front of her foggy eyes for a second before hiding it away again.
"Sample of what?" Belle mumbled softly.
Rumple glared at her incredulously for a moment, then shook his head. "Never mind dearie, you're about as lucid as a midnight dream."
Belle's eyes fluttered weakly, staring right through him. Then, with an almost childlike vulnerability, she turned on her side, shifting her back away from him.
A beat of silence. "Am I boring you, dearie?"
"No," she mumbles, half-muffled by the thick blanket. "And I don't feel any different."
Rumple let out a weary sigh, "Well, of course not, I haven't done anything yet."
Belle groaned softly into her pillow, an impression of someone nursing a hangover. Her fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the bedside table, sending an unmentionable tug at Rumple's heartstrings as he watches her.
"In any case, I should analyse this now, before you forget the art of dusting," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood. The lack of response from Belle only heightened the sombre air as he hobbled towards the door, leaning heavily on his cane.
...
...
Belle awoke with a suffocating heaviness in her head. For a fleeting moment, she wondered where she was, a ripple of panic setting into her stomach. Her eyes struggle to focus on the dangling ceiling ornaments, their shapes blurry and unrecognizable. Something had happened to her in the hours she slept. In her gut, she just knew something was very wrong.
Gone were her desires to be independent and brave; instinct took over, desperate to feel safe and secure like a sick child.
"Rumple?" she weakly called out, instantly regretting it when it brought awareness to her raw throat. There was no way he heard her, not with that small of a whisper. Her eyes wanted to close, to give into sleep. It was hard to fight when your physical body had given up on you.
Mentally, though, she was determined to keep going, pulling the energy to survive out of thin air.
Only one thought raced through her mind – find Rumple. He would fix it.
With one foot on the floor, she was sure she would fall over. The wooden floorboards spun in circles like an optical illusion.
"Rumple!" she tried again, managing slightly more volume this time.
But nothing happened.
Where was he?
Having no choice but to keep going, Belle dragged herself to the shop archway, hoping to find him standing behind the counter.
But there was no figure of a man, not a person in sight. She was alone.
And the dagger – where even was the dagger? Her cluttered mind couldn't even begin to fathom where the secret hiding place for that was.
Drained of strength, the only option left was to find her phone. Or perhaps, the telephone on the shop desk?
Stumbling over to the counter, and deprived of visual references, Belle was only able to hit the right antique buttons purely thanks to muscle memory. Clinging to the desk for support, she fought to remain upright, the drone of the dial tone piercing through the ringing in her ears.
"Belle?" The voice was stunned and noticeably out of breath, the words seemingly having to fight their way out, "Are you alright?"
Belle's heart was beating out of her chest so hard that her vision was caving in. "Rumple…"
With the world fading to black, she almost missed the flurry of purple smoke unfurling in the distance. She let go of the counter, diving sideways and preparing for a world of pain.
Just as the ground rushed up to meet her, a sturdy pair of hands suddenly leapt out and stopped her fall, finding herself being cradled securely in his man's arms.
"I've got you; I've got you," Rumple's voice hissed in her ear, "I've got you."
Belle gasped with a sigh of relief and exhaustion. "Ugh..."
"What on earth were you doing?"
"Trying to find you."
"I think we've established that, dearie," Rumple said gently. He scooped Belle into his arms, lifting her effortlessly. Her head rested against his shoulder as he carried her back to bed.
As she was laid down, Belle noticed the faded droplets of blood blending in with his black suit. "Rumple... what's that?"
"What's what?" he genuinely looked perplexed for a second and followed her gaze to his suit. "Oh, that? You need not worry about that. Just needs a clean."
"That's blood," Belle frowns, sitting up in bed. Again.
"No, you really shouldn't—" he reaches out to stop her.
"Rumple, what did you do?" Belle demands in an accusatory tone. "Did you go after Regina?"
Rumple frantically tries to erase the evidence of the deed from his shirt and nervously shakes his head, "Belle, you really need not worry about such things! For now, you need to rest."
"No! You've done something horrible again!" Belle exclaimed, forgetting her precarious leg for a moment. "Is she okay? What did you do?"
"Enough about that wretched witch!"
But Belle refused to back down. "I'm not going to relax until you tell me what you've done."
Rumple's expression wavered, concern flickering across his face. "Belle, love, you must understand, some things are better left unsaid. And you need your rest," he urged.
Belle's hurt gaze pierced right through him, a seething look of determination before she jumps off the bed, wincing at her complaining leg. "Then I'll just have to ask her myself, won't I?"
"Belle—"
"No! I won't let you hurt someone because of me!" she marches off, with great difficulty, to the front door, a pout on her lips.
With a sigh, Rumple flicked his wrist, and a bubble of blue appeared around Belle, freezing her in place. She visibly tries to struggle but it doesn't take long for her to figure out what's stopping her.
"Sorry dear, I can't let you do that." He hated the look of betrayal in her eyes, but he couldn't very well let her waltz off into the street to find the aftermath of his rage. Oh, and the toxin too, there was that.
Belle could only look at him with such distrust it made his stomach sink. "Because I'm vulnerable, right? This time I can't stop you?"
"No," he fervently shakes his head, "It's nothing like that. I—"
"Get me out of this magic… thing, Rumple! Now!"
Rumple hesitates for a second, finding her contained in this little bubble was about the best place she could be for both their sakes. But then, he has an idea.
Another flick of the wrist and suddenly they find themselves both engulfed in purple smoke, whisking them away from the musky shop, with the containment spell fizzling out along with it.
As the smoke recedes, their new location is recognisable instantly to Belle as the lakeside mansion.
She blinks in confusion, her pulse racing with a turbulent mix of shock and outrage, the abrupt transition leaving her disoriented and frustrated. "But..." she starts, her voice trailing off in bewilderment.
"There," Rumple declares proudly, "Now you can rest, and you can't go running off. Enjoy your little vacation," he retorts with an arrogant smirk before poofing into mid-air before Belle could respond.