A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it, and if you don't, hope you have a great week too! Here's a chapter a bit early because I will definitely be busy all next week! Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!
Belle daydreamed her way through most of her Monday shift. Every slide of her skirt against her legs, every whisper of air brushing her cheek, the least movement reminding her of sore muscles, had her reliving moments from the weekend all over again. She wished she'd thought to call Rumple this morning, just to wish him well for the day—to hear his voice and have it be fresh in her mind. Not that she particularly needed the reminder.
But she wanted it.
Truthfully, Belle didn't have many pleasant memories of intimacies. While running from her own self, she'd thrown herself into several sticky situations that now made her shudder to think about but at the time had seemed merely the way life went or how things were always done. It wasn't until later, seeing Ariel with Eric, watching Phillip and Aurora shine so brightly in each other's company, that she'd realized there was so much more out there in real life. Not all her books were made up of imagination, and she grew determined to wait for her own real-life mystery to uncover rather than just accepting whatever came her way.
And, oh, was she so glad that all those determined decisions of hers—to be brave and do the right thing and see herself as a hero in a story rather than just another person making bad decisions to cope with life—had led her here. Here, to Storybrooke, to this library, where Rumple came to give her back her umbrella and volunteer and spend quiet evenings…and kiss her so thoroughly that even just the memory of it made her shiver and draw her finger over her lips. So many good memories now, of such intimacy that she could scarcely bear to think of it continuing without feeling like her heart might just burst out of her chest.
She wondered if he'd mind if she invited herself over to make dinner for him. She wondered just how often Bae was finding other excuses to stay the night with friends. She wondered if Rumple would still look at her with that dazed look in his eyes the next time she scraped her nails back over his scalp while pulling his hips tight against hers.
Okay, she wondered a lot, and very little of it had anything to do with her city job. But then, it wasn't like there were huge crowds to distract her.
With a quick look around to make sure it was still only Archie reading through the newest psychology magazines in the corner, Belle pretended to stare at her computer screen while she mentally ran back through the quiet caress of her cheek Rumple had given to wake her up early Sunday morning, the sound of rain a tinkling accompaniment to the quiet laugh he'd made as she'd thrown the sheets aside and tugged him down atop her. Every laugh she drew from him was precious, but that time, she'd been quite proud of how fast it disappeared as she'd licked the shape of his lips and reached down between them.
By the time she finally locked the library doors, Belle's hands were shaking with anticipation. Which made it all the more disappointing when she saw Gold's shop locked up tight, then got no answer on his phone. She was in line at Granny's, trying to decide what the least pushy menu item was to buy three of and take to his place when she received a text from him.
Bae needs me tonight. I'm sorry.
Disappointment flooded her so heavily she nearly overbalanced, but then her phone dinged again.
I love you.
Belle smiled, traced the words on the phone, and texted back.
I love you too.
It wasn't the night she'd planned, but his used teacup was still in the sink, the new razor she'd offered him still sat on the edge of the bathroom sink, and the pillows still smelled of him.
It was all real, and they had the rest of their lives, and even this chapter of it was worth savoring.
Tuesday, Belle peered through the many windows of the library to try to catch Gold opening the shop. Even so, she almost missed it by the time he finally came, and of course that was when she had a small rush of high school students on their lunch breaks coming through for the books they needed for their final classes. By the time she could close for lunch, she was afraid she'd miss him.
Maybe he'd been afraid of the same thing.
"Belle," he said the instant she yanked the door open at the sight of him outside, forgetting that she'd been about to lock it. Already, she was smiling so widely her cheeks hurt; already, she was pulling him inside and locking the door behind them. The bag of food in his hand that fell to the floor was ignored by them both. Belle couldn't hug him tightly enough, couldn't yank him back into the stacks quickly enough, couldn't kiss him deeply enough to satisfy the fierce, overwhelming want that sizzled through her body like lightning.
"I missed you," she gasped between kisses, and he shuddered and cupped her cheek to kiss her more thoroughly.
"I'm sorry," he panted. "Bae—"
And she meant to listen, really, she did. She hadn't been lying when she told him she loved that he talked to her about his son and that she was more than willing to listen to whatever was bothering him.
But his voice. That raspy edge to it, the accent, the textured way it slipped between her lips…how was she supposed to just ignore what it did to her?
"Rumple," she breathed, and pulled him back, back, back to the couch buried deep in the fiction section. So few people in Storybrooke were avid readers that this cozy little corner didn't get enough attention, something Belle had always thought unfair. Now, she was pretty sure Rumple would be more than willing to help her rectify the situation.
They tumbled in a flurry to the couch, Belle remembering only at the last moment to tilt so that he landed on his left side—he'd never complained over the weekend, but she'd noticed his heavier limp as he left her Sunday evening. This meant he landed somewhat heavily on her, but Belle didn't mind at all. In fact, she welcomed the weight of him pressing her deep into the cushions. It made every inch of her skin tingle with new sensitivity that had her nearly gasping as she kissed him with a greedy, open mouth.
"Belle, sweetheart," he said, and she braced herself for his retreat. For conversation. For having to watch him from a foot of distance.
Instead, he cupped her face in his hands and stared at her. There was something lurking behind his eyes, something dark and broken, but it had always been there, in some form or another, since she'd first met him and she was much more intrigued, presently, by the taste of his breath mingling with hers in the few inches between them.
"Are you all right?" she asked. It was a soft question—she was proud of herself for asking it—but the whole time, her hands were mapping his chest, his throat, the nape of his neck where his eyes rolled back if she touched it just so.
"I am now," he breathed. "With you."
And he kissed her. Belle smiled in triumph, in sheer glee, when she felt his hand slide beneath her shirt and start pushing it up. She lifted her legs, letting her skirt fall back, and locked her ankles behind his thighs, beyond glad he seemed just as eager as she felt. His hips stuttered against hers, Belle let out a choked sound in reply, and the rest of their—long—lunch was entirely taken up on that couch as the scattered food by the door grew cold.
Wednesday, she met him at his shop where he was just arriving, her hands full with her own bag of lunch, prepared and packed the night before in hopes they could share it again.
"Belle." Her name was little more than an exhalation as he stared at her. His arms were loose, open, but he didn't reach for her. Belle didn't mind. She stepped right up into his chest, and that was all the permission he needed to melt down into her. The hug was tight, and she thought he might have shuddered against her, but when she lifted her head from his shoulder to ask what was wrong, he kissed her.
Turned out, the cot in the back of his shop was just as comfortable and useful as the couch in the library, and Belle wondered how long the Mayor would let her get away with two-hour lunch breaks.
"I'll bring lunch tomorrow," Rumple half-said, half-asked as she helped him center his tie, his own hands clasped tightly at her waist and edging downward.
Belle bit her lip to keep from grinning at his bravery in asking. In assuming. She could read a bit of nervousness in his eyes, but he'd asked anyway. Planned for the future—their future.
"Yes, please," she said, and bounced up to kiss him again. The kiss got a bit away from her, so they were both a bit flushed and, well, rumpled by the time she left him, barely remembering to throw a glance up toward the nest that now looked rather empty.
It appeared she wasn't the only one to have thrown themselves forward into a better future.
Thursday, Belle had the key in her hand ready to lock the library doors for lunch, her heart already quickening at the sound of the spring on the door, when her idyllic week crashed down around her.
It wasn't Rumple coming through the door.
"Hi, Belle," Ariel said. She smiled brightly, dressed in green and purple, her red curls loose around her shoulders, and there was Aurora, happy and excited with their surprise, just beside her.
Belle felt her stomach drop so fast she felt as if she were on an elevator that had sprung free of its moorings and was now plummeting toward an abrupt end.
"Are you surprised?" Aurora asked as she came forward to hug Belle around the small bump of her belly. "Ariel said you loved surprises. She wasn't pulling my leg, was she?"
"Excuse me!" Ariel joined the hug, and despite the terrible timing, Belle couldn't help but lean into her friends and enjoy their closeness. It had been so long since they'd all been able to be together. If Mulan were here, it'd be just like old times.
Well…except for all the ways it was different now.
"Belle loves twists she didn't see coming!" Ariel continued, which was why Belle couldn't help but think it was the absolute most appropriate time for Rumple to come through the door with a bag of food neither one of them had actually planned on eating.
"Belle, I know I'm a bit early, but—" He cut himself off and blinked at the sight of her surrounded by two strangers, and Belle felt a sudden burst of panic.
"Oh, thank you!" she blurted, darting forward to take the bag from him. "Just what I ordered. Thanks. I…"
His brow wrinkled in confusion and he opened his mouth—probably to ask what on earth she was talking about—when Ariel joined them.
"I'm Ariel," she introduced herself. "And that's Aurora. We're old friends of Belle's. And you are?"
Rumple's hand reached for her. "I'm—"
"Mr. Gold!" Belle said quickly. "A new friend. Just came by to drop off lunch, right?"
The feeling of falling only intensified as the words dropped at their feet, landing and squishing like old water balloons too deflated to pop on impact. Belle wished she could slap herself. Or stop herself.
But she couldn't. She felt as if she were a million miles away, hearing about this whole horrible conversation long after it had already happened, powerless to stop it from careening off the rails.
"Oh." Ariel looked between them, her bright eyes observant and her warm heart searching for the most optimistic reading of the situation. "If you two already had plans—"
"No!" Belle didn't dare look at Rumple. "No. He just…just offered to bring lunch. In fact, you're here at the perfect time, Ariel. It's my lunch break. You both are. Here. Right now. Um, what, you—how are you—you both took a long weekend?"
"I haven't heard from you in ages," Ariel said, "and when Aurora mentioned you'd called, I thought it was past time for us all to catch up."
"Besides," Aurora added, "Phillip had some time off coming after some big case he cracked a couple months back, so this seemed like a nice idyllic place to spend some time together. You don't mind that he came along, do you?"
"Of course not!" Belle protested. "I love Phillip, you know that."
"Eric will be joining us tomorrow," Ariel added. "He gets back to shore early and will drive over after."
"Mulan?" Belle asked hopefully.
Aurora bit her lip. "No. She said she was planning on staying overseas another six months."
"Well, we can facetime her," Ariel said in a clear attempt not to let the excitement die.
And Belle was excited. She hadn't seen all her friends together since she'd moved to Storybrooke. There was a part of her that was overjoyed to have Ariel and Aurora both there.
But Rumple was standing just that much removed from them, and there were shutters over his eyes, his face blanker than he'd worn it around her since he'd told her of his list, and Belle wished she could rip herself in two and let one half of herself be with him, safe in their private, self-contained world, while the other half caught up with her best friends.
The best friends she'd never said one word to about Rumple. About her new life choices. About this bold future she'd plunged into so wholeheartedly. So recklessly.
Biting her lip, she made herself look at Rumple. "Mr. Gold, I—"
"Never mind, dearie," he said with a cold smile. "I can see you're busy."
A tiny voice at the back of her mind begged her to stop him. To say his name. Take his hand. Kiss his cheek. Anything to take that aloof coldness from his voice and demolish the walls blanking his eyes.
Another part of herself longed for Rumple to introduce himself. Take her hand. Claim her in front of her friends and the world and know that he was right and welcome to do so.
But that wasn't who Rumplestiltskin was.
And Belle wasn't as brave as she wished she was.
So she said nothing. And Rumple walked away with a stiff, "Enjoy your lunch."
And she wondered if she'd already ruined everything between them.
Granny seemed pleased enough to keep bringing iced teas over to their booth long after lunch was cleared away—Belle picked at her chicken parmesan and tried not to think of the hamburgers shoved so hastily into her refrigerator before Ariel and Aurora's excitement swept her up with them—and the three women never ran out of topics to talk about. Belle felt a sliver of guilt for her absence from the library, but a quick phone-call to Ashley ensured the front desk was covered. The young mother could always use a bit more cash anyway, so it worked out.
Really. Of course it did. Everything was fine.
Shuddering, Belle forced herself to focus once more on Aurora as she shared the names that she and Phillip were considering for their baby.
"It's ridiculous," she said. "I understand the name Rose—I'm not saying I'm attached to it yet, but it's pretty. But adding Briar to it just because I was caught in some briers the first time we met? He thinks it's romantic, but I guarantee our daughter won't."
"I thought you were having a boy," Belle said.
Aurora rolled her eyes. "We are. But Phillip's already planning for the next one."
"I love that," Ariel said. There was an uncharacteristic shade of moroseness in her voice when she said, "Eric's gone so often I can't imagine having one baby, let alone two."
Reaching across the table, Aurora took her hand. "I thought he was going to ask for a shoreside transfer."
"He said he would. Now, whenever I ask him, he just says something about it being tricky and he has to wait for the right time and maybe I should just try traveling with him."
"Why don't you?" Belle asked. She never had understood Ariel's attachment to the land when she came from a long line of sailors and had fallen in love with a man who adored the seas.
"Live on a ship for three months at a time?" Ariel raised an eyebrow at her before shuddering theatrically. "No thank you. I'd never be able to survive that again."
"But can you survive not seeing your own husband for six months out of the year?" Belle looked down at the condensation ring eking out from under her tea, the ice cubes melting and cold against the glass as she played her fingers over it, painting letters in the beaded water. She longed to dart a glance outside Granny's, down the street, toward the shop tucked away at the very end of it. But what was the use? It wasn't like she could see the pawnshop from here, and it wasn't likely Gold was still there instead of at home with Baelfire.
"I don't know," Ariel said in a small voice. "I guess I just thought marriage was about both of us compromising. It's been five years of this, and he still can't bring himself to find a way to live in one place with me?"
"Oh, Ariel." Belle's brow creased as she scooted closer to her friend. "I'm sorry. I had no idea you were having such a hard time."
"I'm not." Ariel didn't acknowledge the wry look Aurora sent her. "Most of the time it's fine. It's just…sometimes it really hits me, you know?"
"Well, I appreciate you sacrificing your first few days with him alone to spend it here," Belle told her.
Ariel's eyes dropped to the table. "It's not entirely unselfish."
An awkward silence fell. Belle assumed Aurora, being married herself, would jump in with some advice, maybe even just commiseration, but she didn't, and Belle didn't know what to say. Who was she to give advice when she was treating the man she loved like a dirty little secret?
"So!" Ariel straightened in her seat with a bright expression that looked only a little forced. "What about you, Belle? I never hear from you anymore and Aurora says you sounded a bit down the one time you called her. Do you still like working at the library here?"
"I love it!" Belle said honestly. "The city council leaves almost everything entirely up to me. I get to pick the programs and decide on the budget needs myself. It's a little exhausting sometimes, I'll admit, and I had to ask for volunteers last year, but…"
But she'd only ever gotten the one. Just Rumple, desperate and lonely and trying to find a reason to live. He didn't know it—she hadn't told him, not in so many words—but he'd saved her too. She'd been feeling so unmoored back then, drowning in her own expectations for herself and desperate for someone to care for, someone to care about her. And then he'd walked into her library and stared down at their joined hands and nearly broke down into tears over a children's book.
"That's good, right?" Aurora asked. "If you need extra help, it means you're getting good turnout?"
"Yeah. Something like that." Belle didn't feel like elaborating about how she was pretty sure she was just the town's cheapest form of childcare. "Anyway, I love it."
Ariel's eyes narrowed as she studied her. "And your personal life? Last I heard, you said it was hard trying to break into the crowd here. You still felt like a newcomer even after two years."
"Yes, well," she shifted in her seat, "you know small towns."
"Not really," Ariel said, and Aurora shrugged. Aurora had lived in Boston her whole life, and Ariel had gone straight from her family's shipyards to Boston where they'd met.
Belle laughed despite herself. "It's tightknit. Everyone knows everyone and people are judged on who they were twenty years ago rather than today."
Like Rumple, still considered nothing more than strict landlord and ruthless lawyer rather than a bereaved father and struggling man. Or Baelfire, accepted back as just a kid who'd been out of town for a while rather than someone who'd survived a horrible kidnapping and life on the streets.
Ariel and Aurora, who both knew the reasons Belle had fled from Boston—from her life as Lacey—to this small town, exchanged quick glances. "You're okay with that?" Aurora asked.
"They don't know about my past," Belle said quickly. "They just think I'm a bookworm who keeps the library going."
And dated Mr. Gold, the bogeyman of the town. Belle hadn't missed the stares, the whispers, the lightning rumors running in all directions ever since she'd first sat down to dinner with Rumple here at Granny's. At the time, it hadn't bothered her. Now, knowing her friends would be in town for at least four days—more than enough time to hear those whispers—she wondered what they would think to hear Granny's or Ruby's or Mary Margaret's version of events.
"And you're okay?" Ariel asked, much more diplomatically than she'd managed years ago. "No…impulsive urges to run away with you again?"
"I'm fine," Belle started, but just then, she remembered the look on Rumple's face when she called him Mr. Gold and said he was just a friend. Closed off. Blank. Impassive.
Shattered.
Be brave, she thought.
And in her mind's eye she could see it—herself being brave. Sitting straight. Meeting Ariel's eyes. Opening her mouth and saying, defiantly, "I met someone. Someone amazing. Someone special. I love him, and I know it's fast and I know it might be reckless, but maybe some things are worth taking that risk for. If anyone is, it's him. Because he loves like no one I've ever seen before, and thinks he deserves nothing in return, and has been hurt so badly, and I don't want to fix him but I do want to show him how much better things can be. I want to be something better in his life. Because I love him and I never want it to end and I think this could be forever—as long as I'm willing to fight for him. For us."
She could see it so clearly. But Belle, for all her love of heroes, wasn't brave. She put up a good front, talked a good game, but the closest she'd ever gotten was being rash and stupid and nearly ruining her life a dozen times over.
So even though she straightened in her seat, even though she met Ariel's eyes—so caring and searching and knowing—and even though she opened her mouth, the only thing Belle ended up saying was "I love it here."
Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. It had been her motto most of her life.
She wondered if she'd ever live up to it.
"Hey, Belle," Baelfire said when he opened the door to her knock.
Belle blinked at the sight of him. He looked smaller, somehow, than he had the last time she'd seen him, pale with shock and running out of Granny's. There were shadows under his eyes and a tremor to the hands he kept on the door standing between her and the interior of Gold's house.
"Hi," she said. "It's good to see you again, Baelfire."
"Yeah." His smile was nearly invisible in the dusk light. It had taken her longer than she'd hoped to slip away from Ariel and Aurora as they unpacked in their rooms at Granny's. "Uh, you too."
But still he just stood there. The beam of light from inside the house fell, staggered, around his form, one solid, thin bar against the shadowed porch. A more diffuse glow emanated from the stained glass windows, but not enough for her to be able to peer through and see Rumple inside.
"I…I was hoping I could talk to Rumple," she said awkwardly. "It's important."
"Yeah." Baelfire shifted his weight—but made no move to step away from the entrance. "He's not here."
Belle blinked and felt a lump in her throat. Even if Baelfire were a better liar, Rumple's car was parked in the driveway and the porchlight was off. He was home.
He just didn't want to see her.
And she couldn't blame him. Of course she couldn't.
She should have texted. Should have called. Should have run after him when he walked out of the library.
Or better yet, she should have been brave, and when Ariel asked who he was, she should have stepped right into his embrace and introduced him as her boyfriend. If she'd invited him to lunch, or at least to dinner with her friends, she could have brought him deeper into her life instead of shutting him out of it.
"Oh," she finally managed past the painful lump in her throat. "Right."
Baelfire's gaze fell to their feet. There was a thin scratch along the side of his throat, just under his chin, and idly, Belle wondered if he'd gotten it shaving. If he had, it must have deterred him from continuing because he had a bit of scruff still growing on his chin.
"Could you…" Belle bit her lip, not entirely comfortable with using Rumple's son as a go-between. "Would you please tell Rumple that I'm sorry and I would love to talk to him?"
"I guess."
Nothing else seemed forthcoming, and disconsolately, Belle turned to leave.
"Hey, Belle." At her hopeful look, Baelfire actually half-closed the door, only one half of his face now showing, as if he thought Belle might dart past him. "What did you do? You hurt him?"
"I didn't mean to," she blurted before wringing her hands together in front of her. "I just…sometimes I speak before thinking things through. I've been working on it, really—for years—but sometimes I just get ahead of myself, I guess."
It was a weak explanation, almost cowardly, but Belle couldn't say more, not to this young man struggling with his own demons and burdens. Not with Rumple possibly listening in from within the house but not wanting to see her.
"Just…please tell him I'm sorry."
"I know the feeling," Baelfire said, and then he closed the door between them. The click of the deadbolt securing made Belle flinch and hurried her off into the night.
Early the next morning, Belle slipped from her apartment and stationed herself outside Rumple's shop. She wasn't entirely certain he'd open today, but the long sleepless hours—and the dozen texts Rumple hadn't replied to—had convinced her this was her best chance to try to fix things between them.
The mug of hot tea she'd kept her hands clasped around had long since gone cold when Rumple finally arrived. He was limping heavily and though his step checked when he first caught sight of her, he didn't turn and retreat. Belle chose to interpret that as a hopeful sign.
"Rumple," she said. "I'm so—"
"Good morning," he said. "You look lovely today."
Caught flat-footed, Belle could only stare at him as he pulled the keys to his shop from his pocket.
"Excuse me," he murmured, side-stepping her so he could unlock the door and open it, the jangle of the bell overhead ringing discordantly in Belle's ears.
"Rumple, I—"
"Did you want to come in?"
Though she was startled to see him holding the door open so widely—so welcoming—for her, she was quick to seize the opportunity. "Yes," she said and slipped past him into the familiar confines. She couldn't help but think of the last time they'd entered the shop together, already wrapped so closely that their steps mirrored each other, her lips swollen from his kisses, his hair mussed from her hands weaving through the silken strands, both of them blindly stumbling toward the cot in the backroom.
Today, though he didn't seem to be avoiding her, there was a good bit of distance between them. And for all that Rumple's lips bore a slight, polite smile—for all that he invited her in and seemed pleased enough to see her—Belle couldn't help but feel there was a bullet-proof barrier keeping her from reaching him.
Rumple closed the door behind them, turned the lock, then looked at her. His smile widened. His hand reached for hers, tentatively. Slowly. "Belle," he murmured.
His eyes were still so guarded.
Her breath caught in her throat when she slid her hand into his. "Rumple," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. Please believe me, I didn't mean to hurt you. I wanted to take it back as soon as—"
"Don't be ridiculous." With a gentle tug, he separated his hand from hers. He turned and flipped the lights on, as if that was why he'd removed himself from her, but Belle wasn't so easily fooled. "You did nothing wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."
"There…isn't?"
Belle liked to think of herself as fairly intelligent, but she'd also never felt as in the dark as she did now. She'd tortured herself all night long with thoughts of Rumple curled up alone in the dark, hopefully running through his list, possibly contemplating dark avenues that made Belle shudder to consider, convincing himself that she'd never loved him and didn't care for him. She'd braced herself for his anger, for his fierce temper—even for a cold shoulder and aloof silence.
She didn't know what to do with his soft voice and restrained smile and understanding smile.
And shuttered eyes.
When he turned back to her, Rumple seemed to take in her wary stance.
"Belle," he said, and just the sound of his voice saying her name brought tears to her eyes, which only seemed to further soften him. "Oh, Belle, please, don't cry."
He stepped toward her, his arm outstretched, and Belle couldn't resist stepping into him and winding her arms around his waist. The feel of him hugging her back only made the tears fall. He was being so kind. So forgiving. And she didn't deserve it.
"I don't even know why I did it," she mumbled against his neck.
He stiffened beneath her before forcibly softening once more, a tiny reaction so quickly gone that if Belle hadn't been holding onto him so tightly, she'd never have noticed it.
"They're your closest friends. Of course their opinion matters to you. Please, Belle, it's no matter."
"But I hurt you," she said, afraid to pull back and see his expression.
She felt the movement of his throat against her cheek as he swallowed. "I just didn't understand. But I do now."
"You do?"
"Of course." And he kissed her. It was quick, almost rushed, so that Belle nearly flinched before instinctively relaxing into the warm familiarity of it.
"Rumple," she whispered, her eyes slowly fluttering open.
Rumple bent his head and kissed her again, intently, thoroughly, backing her up farther into the shop. Belle tried not to sob as she wound her fingers through his hair, so fervently grateful that she hadn't messed this up. That she hadn't lost him.
Tangling her tongue with his, she pulled him down into her, one arm winding low on his waist to hold his hips tight against hers. A tremor shook his frame and Belle felt nearly frantic. The backroom seemed miles too far, and she pushed him up against the counter. Or tried to. His arms turned stiff and his cane kept them both upright.
"No, no," he murmured between kisses, "someone might see through the windows."
He nipped her lower lip with his teeth and nudged her back again with his hand on her hip, hot as the sun, but Belle felt, suddenly and absolutely, frigid cold.
With the hand in his hair, she pulled his lips from hers. "What?" she asked, the only word she could make emerge.
Rumple blinked. His hand loosened from her hip. His eyes cleared—and were still just as blank as they'd been since she'd pretended to feel nothing for him in front of her friends.
"We've kissed out here before," she said, trying to work it through her sluggish mind. "The blinds aren't even open."
"Your friends are here now," he pointed out, and bent his head, as if to kiss her, while still walking her backward. As if his five spoken words had cleared everything up.
"Rumple, what—"
His tongue tracing the shell of her ear almost covered the fact that he pulled the curtain completely closed behind them. Belle shivered, her body screaming at her to just let him kiss her, let him pull her down to the cot, let him unwrap her from the clothes she'd grabbed without seeing this morning—let him control this situation and leave her clueless and him still convinced of whatever horrible scenario he'd concocted during the night.
With his hand on her cheek, Rumple angled her face toward him to invite her mouth open deeper against his. His cane fell against the cot with a muffled thump as he slid her coat off her shoulders.
"How long do you have?" he murmured, fingers quick on her buttons.
Belle tore herself away from him. It was hard—he was so warm and felt so good and was so tempting. But she was hurting him. Just like when he flinched away from the pressure against his hidden bruises. Just like when he nearly crumpled at her weight atop his bad leg. Maybe worse, this time, because Belle wasn't sure she could alleviate this type of pain.
"Rumple. What did you mean, when you said you understood? Why will you only kiss me behind closed doors?"
Gentle as she tried to keep her voice, there was a thread of tension running through the words, and she knew Rumple picked up on it because he flinched. It was a tiny movement, but one Belle had begun to notice more often. She thought, sometimes, maybe she was the only one who could see it, and it broke her heart every time because a reaction that controlled, that instinctual, spoke of pain so accepted, so inherently a part of his life, that he expected it. Even from her.
Maybe…especially from her?
"Belle," he said, sounding nearly helpless. As if he had no words.
As if he didn't know what she wanted to hear. What he could say to make her not upset with him.
Of course, Belle wasn't upset with him. She was furious with herself.
"Yesterday," Belle said as clearly as she could, "I made a mistake. A huge one. My friends surprised me, and then you came in and…" With a deep breath, she stepped toward him but stopped when he looked away. "That's not an excuse, okay? I just… My friends are the ones who saved me, remember? They pulled me back from the brink where all my stupid decisions had led me."
"Belle, you don't have to explain this. I'm fine." Rumple's smile was tight and small and did nothing to warm the blankness of his eyes.
"No—" Belle bit her lip to keep from telling him he wasn't fine. Some truths hurt too much to be spoken out loud. "Please," she said instead. "I have to say this. I should have told them about you months ago. I meant to. I thought about it. You just seemed…too good to be true. You were the best thing in my life and I was afraid that telling them about you would…I don't know, break the magic or something." She paused, then forced herself to say, "No. I was afraid that they'd think you were another foolish decision. And you deserve better than that."
"Belle." Rumple stepped forward, a limping step without his cane, and gathered her hands together in his. "I admit, I…I didn't get it yesterday. But Bae told me what you said, and I thought about it all night, and…"
"And what?" Belle asked, bracing herself.
"And I'm okay with it. I know that on paper, we're a complete mismatch. I know no young woman would want to show off a man twice her age with so much baggage. But please, Belle, please trust me when I say that whatever you're willing to give me is more than enough. And if that means we don't have lunches for a weekend or two while your friends are visiting, then—"
"No! No, no," Belle moaned. With a tug, she freed her hands from his and then threw her arms around him. He went still, his arms loose. Belle pressed her nose against the hinge of his jaw and breathed in the scent of him, all crisp air and dry straw and something that spoke of dark rooms cluttered with untold treasure.
He was so fragile. So brittle, even. And so undeniably precious.
"You matter," Belle whispered into his skin and dropped a kiss there to seal the truth. "You aren't twice my age." Another truth, another kiss. "I love you for your past and what it's made of you." This kiss lasted longer; she envisioned it sinking down through his flesh and blood to engrave itself in his bones. "And I am proud of you—I'm proud that you're mine. Maybe too proud because that's why I never mentioned you. You're too…good, too much, to put into a few words over the phone or to try to compress into a text. Every time I tried, I could feel how inadequate any words were to describe you." She pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth, her tongue darting out for a quick taste. "And I wanted to keep you all to myself. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Rumple, and I didn't want to share you with anyone."
His breath was small and shocked and shaky with disbelief.
Belle moved her mouth to hover over his, a millimeter of distance between them. But she didn't kiss him, not yet, because to do it now would be to steal it from him—would be to convince him that she was only saying pretty nothings to ensure he didn't hold her silence against her and to cement in his mind that she got to choose how things progressed between them.
His wife would have kissed him to manipulate him, she was certain. Not that Rumple mentioned her much, but sometimes the silences around Milah spoke whole volumes. She and whatever other woman Rumple had been brave enough to risk his heart for had done nothing but hurt him and abuse his trust. Belle had figured that out a long time ago.
She didn't want to be just another in that list.
She wanted to love him the way he loved her.
Freely. Unconditionally. Wholly.
For a long moment, Rumple made no move. He stood there, in her arms, his own hanging limply at his sides, his breath ghosting past her lips, his heart racing so rapidly she could feel it in the thundering of his pulse against her palm.
But then, finally, something in his shoulders eased. Some thread of tension in his arms bent. Some last shred of unbelief in his heart faltered.
"Belle," he breathed—
—And his mouth dropped over hers. His hand traced the line of her spine from her shoulders down past her hips. His tongue slipped free to trace the interior of her mouth, and he tasted of hope and love and forgiveness and a hundred other indefinable, abstract things that were so tantalizing Belle couldn't help but suck on his tongue and press herself tightly against him. They stumbled, teetered, but didn't fall.
He caught her, bore her up on his one good leg, until she shivered and pressed him down to sitting at the edge of the cot. He welcomed her into his lap and Belle marveled, not for the first time or the last, at how well they fit together. She slotted so easily into place against his chest, her legs placed so neatly on either side of his, their hips meeting so perfectly that for a moment her mind turned incoherent with lightning flashes of sizzling pleasure.
Gasping into his mouth, Belle dragged her lips back over his chin, down his throat, past the loosened tie and the opened shirt collar to nose at his chest. His hands kept her steady against him, tightening and relaxing in a rhythm she couldn't help but sway to, each rock forward making him groan and her suck in high, quick breaths.
"I love you," she vowed, over and over again, with each kiss, each button undone, each inch of skin she covered with her mouth to brand him with the truth of her heart.
His hands tightened almost spasmodically over her when she knelt before him, her curls tumbling down her back, and Belle memorized every sound, every look, every taste—not that she wouldn't require a refresher later. Many times later. Maybe every day of the rest of her life. She was sure she'd never seen anything more beautiful than the sheer emotion in his eyes, the unguarded wonder that shone there in golden-brown as he pulled her up into him, impatiently brushing away her clothes, her slowness in leaving her place, and lifting her up and over him. There was nothing closed or shuttered about his expression as he fell back against the bed, her toppling over him, catching herself on his chest, her hungry mouth eager for something still to devour and finding it in his own thin lips and crooked teeth and silver tongue.
"Come to dinner with me," she invited as sparks became fires that built up into supernovas between them and their fingers met and married and clasped tight to hold each other together and coherent for just a moment more, perfectly balanced one against the other.
He strained up against her, his thumb rubbing complex patterns against her own. "Yes."
"With my friends," she clarified, and leaned down to let her hair cocoon them in a warm shelter as her body shook and burned.
"Yes. Belle," he keened, and the heat of his eyes turned her molten until she dripped like purified gold, melting and conforming to his silhouette, and she knew, she knew, that one day there'd be a band of gold around her left ring finger and a home of golden memories to retreat to at the end of the day and a lifetime of Gold in her future.
She saw it all, clear as day, as suns ignited and gave birth to galaxies in her vision, a spark of life begun by the tiny, poignant kiss Rumple pressed to her lips, a genesis of minute but epic proportions, one she would never forget but would treasure close to her heart until her very dying day.
It wasn't nearly as hard to tell Ariel and Aurora that she was in love as she'd once thought it would be. They were confused why she hadn't said anything, of course, but Aurora's baby kicked, making Phillip light up with joy, and Eric arrived, and soon enough, they were all swept up in reunions and plans and Belle didn't even have to go into some long psycho-analysis of her own foibles and flaws.
And that evening, Belle waited outside of Granny's for Rumple to arrive. She didn't want him to have to walk in alone and wonder, even if just for a second—or knowing him, for long moments—that she'd once again disavow him. At the first sight of him, she skipped out to greet him, and took his hand, and kissed him right there in the street in front of the whole world. His smile was small and sincere and achingly beautiful.
Belle walked beside him into the diner and led him over to the table where her friends sat.
She straightened her spine—tightened her hold on his hand—met her friends' curious gazes—felt Rumple's eyes so soft and affectionate on her—then opened her mouth and said, "Everyone, I have someone special I want you to meet."
And for the first time, because of Rumple, she was as brave as she wanted to be.