Who: Belle and Mr. Gold What: Settling into their new room, dealing with nightmares When: Backdated to late night/early morning July 8/9 Where: Their room Ratings/warnings: References to imprisonment and mental/emotional/physical torture Status: Closed/complete (Gdoc’d)
Moving into this room wasn’t brave. It was desperate, a decision made after one too many attacks of narrowed vision and a racing heart in that cramped shower. You’re being foolish, Belle tried to tell herself as she folded her clothes. There are people here who need this room more than you. People who have....
When she thought of the fact that this room really should go to any one of the couples on board, Belle felt her heart hammering with a completely different panic from the one that had made her pack up in the first place. She thought about what had happened the day before. As embarrassing as it had been, she had meant every single word of that song. In fact, those words weren’t quite enough to say what and how much she wanted. Which was...not bad, certainly not. She was so glad that even after all the Queen's tricks, she did still want with every fiber of her being. But that want had changed, recently. At first it had just been in the form of gauzy daydreams fueled by those books she'd found in the baggage car. But in the weeks since his arrival, those fantasies had become so much clearer and...intense.
Last night, Belle had thought about how much she wished she’d just sent the song to him, yet at the same time wishing he would have ignored the posting entirely. He always made her feel like she was walking on eggshells, after what had happened at his castle. She didn’t fear that he would yell at her in disbelief again; no, she feared that his cowardice would simply make him run. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle losing him again. Not when she had fought so hard to hang on to what she felt for him. Even knowing what he had done to everyone in their land, how selfish and cowardly he continued to be, there had never been a moment where she didn’t love him. Want him. Not just chats over tea and hours watching the sunrise and barely touching. She'd told herself that those things would be enough, but that was cowardice talking. The brave thing would be to show him just how much he truly meant, how very much he was wanted, and not just when she was under the influence of charmed sweets.
And that was why she’d done the brave thing again and asked him to move in with her. She knew he was still far more afraid than she was of what ran between them. But she also knew deep down--not with blind, foolish faith but with absolute certainty--that he truly would do anything in his power to protect her. Knew he was unlikely to look kindly on possibility of some strange man sharing her room. Normally that would have bothered her, someone trying to guard her that way. But now it worked in her advantage. Somehow, she’d been certain that despite his cowardice, he’d accept her offer.
That didn’t mean that a little thrill of panic didn’t run through her when he actually did, especially when she started thinking of what could happen when he realised there was only the one bed in the room. Which was why, after setting the door ajar, she went to run a bath and was there now, face just barely breaking the surface of the water. She wasn’t scared of facing him, of course not. She just...wasn’t sure she wanted to see him right when he saw what the situation was.
When Mr. Gold got Belle’s message, he could only stare at it. He knew what she was implying, of course, but he didn’t know how to respond. He thought about ignoring it and pretending he hadn’t seen it, but she’d know. Belle knew him too well. So he just sat on his bed and stared at his device, deleting and retyping his message what seemed like forty times before replying. And after she told him which room it was, he sat and let it all sink in.
Belle had a point, at least. Mr. Gold would certainly be very cross should the train choose that vampire some young, strapping lad to be her roommate in his place. Yet still he felt unsettled. When he saw that Belle had succumbed to another of the bizarre effects the train’s candy seemed to be having on its passengers, Mr. Gold was surprised to see that it was a song. It had been too long since he’d heard her voice. What he expected was certainly not what he found. The lyrics were passionate and seductive and inspired feelings that had been absent in Mr. Gold for over 300 years. And now, the invitation...
He sighed, and got to his feet. He couldn’t hide from her forever, as much as he wanted to. The chipped cup was safely tucked in his pocket, and it was the only thing he had other than the clothes on his back and his cane. He made his way to the room that he would share with Belle, going much more slowly than necessary. He stopped several times, and thought of telling her, ‘I’m currently engaged in the most fascinating conversation with a Norse god. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ But he shook his head and continued on. When he arrived at the room labeled 301-B, he saw that, indeed, both of their names were on the door, which was slightly ajar.
He stood in front of the door for several moments, his hand hovering over the handle. He quickly retracted the hand, and limped down the hall. His entire being was telling him to run, and if he could sprint, Mr. Gold would have been on the opposite side of the train by now. Instead, he forced himself to walk back to that door. He engaged in a staring match with the wood for a good twelve minutes (or so it seemed - he wasn’t entirely sure) before he finally gathered up enough of what little courage was available to him and knock on the door.
Mr. Gold tapped his fingers on his cane, waiting for a reply. Silence. He tried again, but still nothing. Perhaps Belle stepped out to get a book and left the door open should I arrive before she returned, he thought. Carefully, he opened the door enough to peer inside. “Belle?” he called into the room. There was no sign of her, so he slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. His face paled when he saw.
There was only one bed.
The hand on his cane gripped it tightly, while the other one fished into his pocket to close around the cup. His heartrate was completely out of sorts by now, so he attempted to distract by scanning the rest of the room. There were books on the dresser, and other traces that Belle would, indeed, be living here with him from now on. And then he saw the couch, and let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He went over to it and sank down into it, and waited. Many times, he thought to get up and get a book, but instead, he tapped his fingers against his cane and thought about Storybrooke, and Mayor Mills, and the boy, Henry. Anything to get his mind away from the present situation.
Belle wasn't sure how long she spent in the water. It was strange--the sensation of the droplets falling on her face, in the showers, was sometimes enough to make her throat close up. But submerging her entire body felt wonderful. Maybe it was because the walls of the showers made those droplets seem too much like the condensation that always hung on those stones, dark and rank. Whatever the reason, having this--not worrying that someone else might want in, as she did with the public washrooms at the ends of the hall--was very relaxing.
She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a small sound--maybe the door creaking, or feet stepping through the room--as she lifted her head to roll her shoulders. And then she realised that it must have been some time, as the water was noticeably cooler. She thought about calling out that she would be right there, but decided against it. She might have been hearing things, after all. She knew him well enough; there was a more than even chance that he had decided against it, was still sitting in his room trying to hide from her.
Well, she wasn't going to let that stand. She unhooked the plug with her toes and stood up, grabbing a towel as the water drained. The most-mischievous part of her mind thought of walking out with just the towel wrapped around her body. She decided against it, though--definitely too many bad romance novels. Instead, Belle grabbed the pale pink shirt and knee-length grey shorts she'd found in the baggage car and had been using in lieu of a nightgown and had set on the towel rack first thing.
As she dressed Belle tried to think about what she might say to him, if he was there at all. If he'd seen...the situation. What could she say? The truth? 'I was tired of not knowing if I would be able to make it through my morning routine without collapsing into a trembling heap?'. She shook her head. That wouldn't do. But she wasn't sure what would.
Well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. Rubbing the towel a few times over her hair, Belle then exchanged it for a brush, which she was running through her hair as she stepped out.
The bristles caught hard on a tangle when she saw him, though she hardly felt it. It was a good thing she'd not thought of anything to say, because all speech was lost to her now. Now that he was here. In her room--their room.
As Mr. Gold sat and waited, a thousand alternative routes presented themselves in his head. He could get up and wait outside until Belle showed up. Or perhaps he should get up and make a cup of tea and return...? He was mulling over option 857 when she emerged from the bathroom, still damp.
Their eyes met, and he instantly averted them. She was a lady, and it wasn’t proper to stare. “My apologies,” he said quickly, looking at his feet. “I called for you--I shouldn’t have--” he trailed off, not knowing how to finish. There was only silence between them, as Belle wasn’t saying anything either. “I can come back later, if you like...?” he offered at last.
He decided to keep silent, lest his words end up upsetting Belle. Instead, he kept his eyes on his shoes and awaited her reply.
For a moment, Belle stayed very still--fingers frozen around the handle of the brush, teeth finding and keeping in the corner of her lower lip. But then he suggested leaving, and she knew him too well to let that pass. He'd find some way to stretch into tomorrow, and the next day, and...
No. That certainly wouldn't do. Despite the fact that her face was burning, she didn't want to give him any excuse to leave now. She reminded herself she had faced much worse things than the man she loved seeing her after a bath. The mere idea of those worse things, the very reason she was in this room now, paradoxically helped her find calm in this moment. With a deep breath, she smiled--real, warm, but with perhaps a little teasing, all of which rang through in her words--and finished that pull of the brush.
"No, that's all right. I'm finished; didn’t even hear you come in." Well, that was mostly true. Oh, she'd been lying by omission to him far more than she would have liked, these days. “Honestly,” she said, with a little bit of laughter, as she pushed her hair behind her ear, “I was half-expecting you wouldn’t show up at all.”
When Mr. Gold heard the laughter in her voice, he looked up, a sheepish smile escaping onto his face. Belle knew him too well to let him out of her reach. Even if he had managed to escape, he knew that she would always come to him. Just like that time when he let her go, and she came back.
His mind recalled the kiss that had taken place shortly after, and Mr. Gold decided that perhaps it would be best to stop thinking now. “I almost didn’t come,” he admitted. “But now that that’s sorted, I’ll be going in next.” he smiled and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. He shampooed his hair, and was suddenly very glad for the clandestine missions at midnight to the baggage car. He got out and toweled his hair dry,and donned a pair of deep blue cotton pants and a matching button-up.
He stepped out of the bathroom and carefully hung up his suit, and set his cane against the couch. “Might I borrow some reading material? I usually pass the nights in my shop, but...” he stopped and smiled. “Obviously, that’s not an option.”
While he was in the shower, Belle walked over and sat on the side of the bed, trying very much to focus just on brushing her hair and not the fact that he actually would be spending the night here. Truth be told, she’d not thought that far into things. She’d expected this all to drag out for so much longer, for him to dodge her for a few days at least. He’d surprised her. Which, really, she didn’t mind--quite the opposite, in fact--but now she was just a bit lost for what to do next.
After she’d brushed her hair so much it was nearly half-dry and beginning to curl, Belle had decided she needed to try and find something besides him to occupy her mind. She grabbed the sketchbook and pencils, taking them back to the bed with her and sitting with one leg crossed over the other, foot resting on her knee. She laid the book out on her leg and was still just flipping through the pages when she heard the door open.
She was grateful, then, that it hadn’t been uncommon for him to come upon her and startle her out of daydreaming in their old life. It was still hard, sometimes, to remember he was the imp who had stolen her away. Back then his cane had just been a prop, not a necessity; and it was hard to imagine the Dark One in anything close to what he wore now. But his smile, although maybe a little less mischievous, still reminded her of the man who had very unexpectedly taken her heart.
“`Of course,” she said, brightly--very glad she’d taken the more...’passionate’ books back to the baggage car a few days before. “Take anything you’d like.”
Mr. Gold saw that Belle had some sort of book in her hands, although that wasn’t unusual. He noted that the pages were blank (at least from his angle), so he assumed it was either a diary or a sketchbook. He decided not to pry, and decided to browse through the books that Belle had about the room. He normally wasn’t a man who slept soundly; rather, he busied his hands or mind - or both - until the sky’s first blush. Only then would he be able to sleep for a bit.
As he grabbed a random book, it occurred to Mr. Gold that he’d never had to share living space with anyone in Storybrooke. He usually only went home to go to bed, and spent the nights in the back of his shop. Especially after he remembered. Now that he and Belle were in the same space, he couldn’t help but recall the song that she’d left on the network. It was such a passionate song, and had awoken in him feelings that he’d long since forgotten. The smell of Belle’s freshly washed hair lingering in the room didn’t help matters, as it was rather enticing... And that was when he decided that now was a good time to start his book.
It turned out to be a biography of a female pirate in ancient China. Mr. Gold couldn’t help but smile to himself - this was exactly the sort of story that Belle would like. He found himself quite intrigued by the narrative unfolding and the exploits laid out on the pages before him. It was a while before he realized that neither of them had spoken a word since he got out of the shower. He couldn’t help but chuckle. It’s exactly what Belle would have done - get lost in a book and lose track of...well, everything. He peeked up at her and decided to break the silence.
“What’s that book that you’ve got there, if you don’t mind my asking?” he asked, his eyes traveling toward the book she’d been holding earlier.
For a little while, Belle found herself paying little mind to her own book. She usually only drew when she was in one of the observation cars, taking down every little bit of the landscapes, as if capturing them on paper would keep them with her whenever she wound up going back to the Queen's dungeons. Instead, without even realising she was doing it, she was watching him--from the corner of her eye, of course; on the surface she was flipping the pages and smoothing her fingers across them attentively.
It occurred to her that this part wasn't so new. So often when she'd been dusting and straightening things around the castle, if he was in the room, he would distract her from the task at hand. Really, that should have been a sign long before the way her heart had fluttered when he caught her. At this moment, she could see a little more of the man she used to watch spinning straw for hours on end.
She didn't jump at his voice, simply blinked a few times before tilting her head a little so her eyes looked on him a bit more directly. "Mm? Oh," she smiled a little, "Sketchbook. I picked it up at our last stop. I wasn't sure when the next one would be, and that one was quite pretty, so..." she shrugged slightly.
Sketchbook? That much interested Mr. Gold very much. When did Belle take up drawing? He didn’t remember her doing anything of the sort before... Then again, he’d hired her as a castle maid in their world. “You draw? How lovely. You’ll have to show your work to me sometime,” he said, with a hint of playfulness creeping into his voice. He wanted to see them now, but feared that perhaps the content might be far too personal to share with him.
She’d called the book pretty, and Mr. Gold assumed that it was so. However, in his mind, nothing was quite as beautiful as Belle herself. Now that he was properly focused on her, it seemed that her surroundings always wanted to present the young woman in the best possible way. The way the light hit her hair just so... He was getting carried away again, and he couldn’t help but inwardly sigh. This was going to be a long night.
Belle felt her face warm a little as he spoke. Of course, she wasn't embarrassed by her skill--she might not have been anything close to an artist, but drawing had been a host of 'ladylike' activities she'd been drilled in, so she was competent enough. It was just that scattered amongst the bonfire and lake and glaciers were pictures of a familiar castle and the way--at least in her memory, which she would admit was probably a little biased--the sunlight had fallen across his face that afternoon.
She managed a little laugh as she shut the book, holding it like that in her lap for a second, hands folded each other atop it. "I--if you'd like to, certainly. They're nothing special, though, really.” How did he make her so flustered, still, even after the more serious things that had passed between them? Not that Belle was upset that he could make her heart jump to her throat like this, but she would have appreciated not having to take five extra seconds to be sure her legs would support her as she stood, then, to put the book back with the others.
Mr. Gold tried not to dwell too long on Belle’s blushing face, nor the fact that she had stood, making her scent waft toward him once again. “Will you be going to sleep soon?” he asked, to keep him mind in check. He was starting to feel a bit heady. “I’ll be awake for a while yet, so there’s no need to stay awake on my account.” He thought about going for a stroll around the train too, when it was closer to sunrise. It helped relax him enough to sleep when he returned, or so he discovered in Storybrooke.
Although in Storybrooke, there weren’t lovely young maidens with delicious-smelling hair. Well, he supposed Snow White was the fairest of them all for a reason, but Mr. Gold had never really given thought to how her hair smelled. That was something he left for her Prince Charming to wonder. He tried to keep the strange turn in his thoughts off his face as he waited for Belle’s reply.
Perhaps he should make that walk sooner, rather than later. His mind was offering images of Belle asleep...
For a second, Belle thought of saying no. Because, in all likelihood, she knew she wouldn't be sleeping. While she hoped that this slightly-larger space might be enough to keep her mind grounded in the present, she was far from certain.
But, she decided, he didn't need to know that. Not now. Not after the way he'd reacted when she'd told him the Queen had taken her. If her nightmares continued to be a problem, if he noticed, then--maybe--she'd say something. But for now, she just pushed her hair back from her forehead and nodded.
"Yes, probably. You...still don't sleep much, do you?" she said, remembering seeing him--having clearly been about for hours--spinning when she would wake in the mornings.
Mr. Gold caught her gaze at her question and smiled a bit sheepishly. “Old habits,” he said, waving his hand in the air as though his sleeping habits were smoke that could be cleared away. Or maybe he was trying to make Belle’s scent leave him be. His senses were addled enough, and he was almost afraid of where his thoughts would take him if he spent a minute longer alone with her. in this confined space.
“Actually, I think I might walk about and stretch these old legs.” He picked up his cane and limped to the door. He smiled at her and wanted so very much to kiss her goodnight before he left, but he didn’t. “Goodnight, Belle,” he said softly instead. And then he clicked the door shut behind him.
Belle found herself twirling a lock of hair around her finger as he walked out, the only thing stilling her hand from reaching for him; voice only silent because she couldn’t think of what to say. That she wanted him to stay? That would sound...forward, she thought. With a huff, she switched the small lamp on, turned out the main light and got under the covers. Despite all the things swirling through her mind, it didn’t take long at all for her to fall asleep. ** Belle always knew she was dreaming. And that was the hardest part, it seemed--knowing none of it was real, and yet being unable to wake up, to make it stop, until it had run its course.
There was always blackness first. Not the faint light of the torches that lined the walls, just the dark. It was sound that broke through, always the same one; the sharp click of the Queen's heels. Belle wished that there were some sign of which visit this would be, some connection between what had happened during the day and what came to her at night. But she'd never found one.
The first thing she saw, this time, was that vile woman's white teeth against her painted red lips. And then her eyes, glinting yet cold.
"I saved you, you know," she whispered, and somewhere in the back of her mind Belle flinched because she knew the rest of this speech as well as she knew her own lines. She couldn't change it, no matter how she tried, because this wasn't a dream but a memory. Parts were omitted, of course, but never altered.
"Oh, and I'm supposed to be grateful for all this?" she snapped, rising to her feet, waving around the cell before grabbing the bars to be closer, better able to glare daggers at the heartless witch.
The queen's lips turned down in what Belle supposed was supposed to be a pout, her voice almost sounding--sorry, if such a creature was capable of remorse or pity. "You don't know what he does to pretty young girls like you, once they're no longer useful to him. He doesn't just ruin their reputations."
Belle was silent, then. Glaring, as she remembered everything her father and the townspeople had accused him of--all lies. Just like she knew this woman's words were lies.
The Queen shrugged, pacing a bit. "He's got another girl already, you know. Pretty, blonde, better figure, keeps her mouth shut. Knows. her. place."
That always hurt. Not the bit about her figure, but 'knows her place'. There were always tears in her eyes, then, but she kept her chin up. "You're lying."
And then, the part that she always tried to rouse herself to prevent. A hand reaching between the bars, fingers curving against her jaw, one thin nail scraping below her chin, just enough to draw blood. "Am I?" *** Like every other time, she woke at that moment with a gasp. She tossed the blankets aside in a frenzied hurry and swung her legs over the side of the bed so she was sitting, elbows on her knees. She felt drenched in cold sweat, body shaking, and one finger of her right hand gingerly running against the practically-invisible half-inch mark on the underside of her jaw.
Mr. Gold felt his head clear a bit as he roamed around the train. Since this was going to be the room he slept in from now on, it made sense to at least know the surroundings. It was only their first night in the same room, so it was only natural that he’d be a little nervous. Although little was kind of an understatement at this point.
Still, he’d have to get used to it eventually. Though he had trouble admitting it, he couldn’t deny the effect the Belle had on him. He’d always been a fan of true love, just-- not very good at it when it was his own story. After walking about for about ten more minutes. he felt satisfied and started to head back . He found himself hesitating at the door again. He stood there, silent as a ghost before finally resting his hand on the handle. He tried to be soft, just in case Belle was already asleep.
When he closed the door behind him, he saw that she was sitting up...and something was off. When Belle’s body shivered, Mr. Gold was immediately by her side. “Belle? What’s wrong?” he asked in his most gentle and soothing voice. “Are you hurt?”
Usually, after these dreams, Belle found it difficult to think--much less move--for hours. She'd usually sit shaking but very still wherever she'd wound up falling asleep, and just...stare, until the darkness finally lifted away from her mind. She wouldn't be aware of the passing of time or anything going on around her until after. It was why she tried very hard not to go asleep in the dark. The light seemed to help...sometimes.
But this time, something did break through. A voice. His voice. And she could feel him beside her, a sensation that was comforting and almost familiar, despite the fact it really wasn't. She blinked once, hard, then turned to look up at him, forcing her lips to curve up. Of course, she couldn't see how very much they were shaking; or notice that her fingers were still touching the spot beneath her chin. It didn’t hurt, really--but it seemed like it did, something Belle could never quite make sense of.
"I'm all right. Just a bad dream."
Mr. Gold watched her movements, deciding that none of Belle seemed to agree with the explanation she had just given him. And the way her fingers remained under her chin...He wanted very much to take those hands in his and hold them against his heart, but he dared not move. “It seems like more than that, dearie,” he said softly. “Is it...” he trailed off, wondering if he had the right to ask. Was this the Queen’s doing, too? Had she broken his little Belle?
He inhaled and continued: “Is it something that you can talk about with me?” he finished instead. The young woman beside him seemed more than a little rattled. He could understand if she just wanted to sit in silence or even if his presence further upset her. So he sat and waited for her to speak.
Belle found herself unable to speak for a long moment. Not because she didn't know what to say; though that was true enough as well. She just found that she was practically hanging on the sound of his voice, his presence beside her. Once--maybe more, it had all blurred so after a point--the Queen had taunted her with an illusion of him. She'd known it for what it was nearly instantly, of course, but that hadn't stopped it breaking her heart. Nor had it ever stopped hurting when that vile woman--so clear in her mind now--would say that she'd spoken to him and he'd never once asked about his 'dear little housekeeper'. Knowing that he was here, now, was...overwhelming, almost.
But she didn't want him to leave. If she hadn't felt like she might fall over with the slightest movement, Belle would have put her arms around him then and never let him out of her sight. As it was, she ran her left hand over her eyes, taking a deep breath. It didn't steady her as she'd hoped it would, but she plowed ahead anyway.
"...You'd think, after the thirtieth, fortieth time, it would stop getting to me like this. I know what she's going to say, what she'll do, every time. She shouldn't..." she swallowed hard, tried to get the word and the feeling it defined to go away, but it was impossible. "...scare me. I know she's not here. But..." she made a helpless gesture with her hand. Belle knew she probably wasn't making much sense, or at least wouldn't to anyone else. But for him...she was a little worried even that would hurt him too much.
Mr. Gold listened to Belle rant silently. There was never any question about who ‘she’ could be, because there was only one person it could be. This was murky water, indeed, and it was best to tread carefully. “She imprisoned you and used magic to hurt you...?” He was trying to get information, that’s all. If he thought too much about the implication was behind the words, he feared that he might go into a rage. There was no one here to direct it at, so it was futile anyway.
Yet Mr. Gold couldn’t chase away the darkness that crept into his heart as he pondered Belle’s words. His face showed the sadness he felt as he again blamed himself for this- for everything. Yes, the Queen was at fault, but if only he hadn’t cast her out... The hand farthest from Belle reached for his cane, the teacup, ANYTHING solid . He hadn’t realized that his cane had clattered to the ground when he entered the room and saw Belle’s state. And the cup was stowed away in the pocket of his suit across the room. Desperately searching for something to hold onto, he clasped his hands together tightly and tried to keep emotion off his face .
Belle shook her head slightly at his question, not exactly sure how to describe what that woman had done. All she knew of magic, really, was what she’d observed in her time with him.
“Not really. She--preferred to use it to...” her head tilted slightly as she grasped for the right words. Even if she was still pale and trembling, her mannerisms were slowly coming back to normal; brows knitting in thought. “She didn’t hurt my body with magic. She liked to...confuse me with it. She’d bring in illusions of people I cared about.” She almost rolled her eyes at that. “They weren’t terribly good, really.” Well, that was half true. Some of them had been--maybe just for a moment or two, but that had been long enough to hurt.
She tried very hard to smile, to act brave--remind herself that she had spit in the woman’s face more than once. But what had it earned her? She clenched her hand a bit before continuing. “She liked using her nails for the other parts. Or she’d just let her guards get their swords far closer than I’d have liked.”
Mr. Gold found Belle’s words most distressing indeed. It may not have been physical for the most part, but it was still torture. You would do that, he thought bitterly of the Queen. While he enjoyed scaring people, it was never quite at the same level as her mind games. The Queen’s intention was always to hurt.
It suddenly dawned on him. The place where Belle’s fingers lingered...There must be some mark of her evil - either the scratch of a nail or the tell-tale sign of a sword point that got too close. This time, he allowed a hand to squeeze Belle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Whether for one thing or for all of them, he didn’t know, but he felt like it needed to be said anyway. And then, hesitantly: “Can I see?” He pointed to her throat, where her fingers had been. Or at least that’s where they seemed to be. But knowing the Queen, her marks wouldn’t be in such an obvious place.
In the daylight, when her bravery was actually there and not just an act, Belle might have told him that he had nothing to apologise for. She didn’t want him to be sorry. She wanted to tell him how she’d bit the Queen’s hand, how she’d told the heartless woman she was wrong when she tried to say that love was a weakness, that he wouldn’t want her after her time in those dungeons.
But she couldn’t find those words, right now. She was, however, able to make her fingers slip over his for a moment. Then, she let out a long breath, nodded jerkily, and wordlessly dropped her hand away from her neck, eyes falling at the same time because she didn’t know how to meet his gaze. She knew what the mark looked like--barely a scratch, almost the same colour as the rest of her skin, really only visible if you were looking for it. Nothing to feel self-conscious about, by itself. But knowing the guilt he felt, warranted or not, made this act twist her stomach into knots.
Mr. Gold’s hand twitched when Belle’s covered it, but in a good way. Her warmth was inviting and full of light and life. The touch helped to chase away a bit of his own darkness. And when she moved her fingers away, he scanned Belle’s skin for a mark. It was there, though very faint. He couldn’t suppress the sad sigh that escaped him when he saw it.
As far as he was concerned, he may as well have put it there himself. “You’re so strong, Belle. How did you manage to not give in?” Mr. Gold’s mind thought of all the times that the Dark One had shown him things - horrifying things. Sometimes, it was nightmares of the things the magic drove him to do. Other times, it was just cruel games.But that was the price he had to pay for giving those sinister powers a new host. Belle didn’t deserve any of what had transpired.
I’m the sinner. Why punish the saint?
Belle lifted her head when he spoke, a little confusion on her face. Her eyes were damp, still, but also bright--not as glassy as they had been when she woke.
“She asked me that, many times. Why I--” she had to pause for a second, as she heard that hateful voice in her mind. Why do you insist on loving him? “...wouldn’t stop loving you, in spite of it all.” She realised with a little shock that it was really the first time she’d said that out loud, to him, since that day at his castle.
She swallowed, pressing her lips together for a moment. “I told her that...I’d left my home, the only family I had, because I couldn’t stand what they thought you’d done. That when she took me, I was on my way back. That I wasn’t about to let all that be in vain.” She remembered, once for a brief moment, seeing a flash of pain in that woman’s eyes when they’d had one such exchange. For an instant, she’d felt sorry for her captor, for whatever or whoever had taken her heart.
Belle smiled slightly, then, though it wasn’t without sadness. “That gave me a reason to a hang on. It made me stronger, reminded me why I couldn’t give in no matter what she did.”
Hearing her say that word aloud made the last of the sorrow and anger in Mr. Gold’s heart recede. The last time he’d heard Belle say that she loved him was 28 years ago for him. Hearing it again now made him indescribably happy. He used his free hand to reach for her face, letting his fingers trail down strands of her hair before he pulled Belle close. He hardly thought that he was worthy of this beautiful young woman’s unconditional love, yet she always seemed ready to give it or remind him that it was there. “I love you, too,” he whispered into her hair.
When he touched her like that--not just the fleeting grip on her shoulder--Belle swore she could feel it radiating through her skin, shaking away the chill that always seemed to settle over her after those nightmares. And then he was holding her and her whole body felt loose and warm instead of tense and frozen.
She would have been happy with just that after recounting what that woman had done. To just stay in his arms would have been enough, because she knew what an effort that alone was for him. While she had always hoped (but not too much) that he might have the courage to say those words one day, she certainly had not expected them now. She knew he felt it, despite how often he pulled away from her, and that was enough. She told herself it was enough. But then she heard it, knowing very certainly that she wasn’t dreaming because he was always Rumplestiltskin in her dreams, and felt like her heart might just burst out of her chest.
Her arms went around him almost instantly; knowing him, he was likely to slip away quickly and she wanted to hang on to every second. She wanted to say something, but no words would have been sufficient even if she’d been able to speak. She managed a soft, slightly-tearful gasp and smiled, ducking her head against his shoulder.
Only when Mr. Gold felt Belle’s head touch his shoulder did he realize what he’d done. He hadn’t realized that he was physically reaching out to her and drawing her near until that very moment, but he didn’t move. He let her stay there. Belle was his flicker of light in an ocean of darkness, and to see her dim so hurt him. And the Evil Queen was the one to blame. Yet Mr. Gold refused to let her have Belle, even in nightmares. He had promised to protect her, and power or no, he meant it. This was the only way he could, at least for now.
Some time passed in silence as he tried to think of what to say to her after that. After all, it was a very big confession. He reflected on what Belle had said about the Queen and her nails. Why did that strike him as odd? He seemed to recall her mentioning something before, but he couldn’t remember. All he could think of was her fingers where that woman’s nails and perhaps even swords had cut Belle. He suddenly looked up at her when it clicked. When Belle had lost her memory and thought she was sixteen, she seemed cross about a missing item: her mother’s necklace. If she had been imprisoned, then... “Did the Queen take it? Your necklace,” he said at last, softly, so as not to startle her.
His question brought the memory with it, and instinctively Belle tensed for a moment. But she made herself relax against him--she’s gone. he’s here. Safe. The only things she was hanging on, right now. Poor substitutes for bravery, but they’d do.
She nodded slightly, lifting her head a little but keeping very close to him. “Yes,” she said, softly. She pulled her face back a bit, and this smile very nearly reached her eyes. “It took her three tries. I spit in her face the first time, bit her hand hard enough to draw blood the second.” There was something close to pride in her voice, then, but not quite. Because it hadn’t been enough. “Third time...she had one of her men put his sword to my throat.”
There was more than sadness in her voice, though. For all that she’d felt pity for the woman when she saw that something had corrupted her heart, Belle was furious that along with everything else, she’d had to take something that truly had value to only one person.
Mr. Gold then fretted about his words, wondering if he had further hurt Belle by making her remember. But when he heard of how she fought off the Queen, his lips upturned. This was the strong and brave young woman that he loved - the only one who could break his curse. Belle was good and pure of heart, so he knew even without feeling it in her voice that she must have felt a great sorrow on the Queen’s behalf. How terribly dark and twisted was it that the same woman who told Belle that true love’s kiss can break any curse could not feel love herself? There was once... he thought, but left it at that.
“The Queen abhors such things,” Mr. Gold began carefully. Despite having a trinket of her own. “If she finds a single flicker of happiness, she will put it out. It’s possible that she still has that necklace, even in Storybrooke.” He paused for a moment. “If I knew where it was, I would get it for you,” he sighed. Why did his entire life seem to be about finding things that were lost?
Belle smirked a little, bowing her head again. “It’s all right. Anyway, it probably would have just gotten scratched and scuffed, either while I was traveling or in that dungeon of hers.” She was trying to make that hurt stop, but it really hadn’t. The confusion she’d felt when her memory was lost had given way to anger when it came back; at the Queen, of course, but also at herself for not being able to do more. She could talk all she wanted about her love being her strength, but it was really so limited. She was grateful she’d hung onto it for him, of course she was, but...
There were times when Belle truly wished she could do more, that she wouldn’t be reliant on him and the others here for protection if that vile woman came. That, if--when the train sent her back...
Her heart seized a bit at that very real possibility and her fingers curled against his shoulders without thought. “Well, it won’t matter whenever the train decides it’s done with me, anyway,” she said, trying to keep her voice light but mostly failing.
Mr. Gold felt Belle’s fingers against his shoulder and unconsciously sought them out. She needed this comfort, after all. It was both pleasant and troubling all at once, though he didn’t say as much. He still felt guilty about this, but that, too, he kept to himself. Belle didn’t have to tell him any of this, yet she trusted him -- LOVED him -- enough to do so. But when she mentioned the train being ‘done’ with her, he didn’t quite understand.
He knew that the train picked up passengers at random, but he hadn’t really thought about what would happen if you were let off or thrown off. That was terribly inefficient of you, he mentally scolded himself. He should have gotten every bit of information he could once he arrived. But when he knew that Belle was here, too... She’d been here longer than him, so perhaps she knew. Mr. Gold weighed whether or not he dared ask, but decided that it would be useful to know. “What does the train do to people for whom it has no further use?” he asked, not really sure of what sort of answer to expect. It was a sentient train, after all.
Belle swallowed; she’d assumed, by now, that he would know that part. He’d been so good at seeking out information back home, after all. But she supposed things were a great deal more complicated in some ways, here. She tilted her head so her it was her cheek instead of her chin propped against his shoulder and spoke--quietly, but steadily.
“Apparently there are people here who have come and gone several times. And they say that-unless you decide to stay at one of the stops beforehand--it takes you right back to the exact time and place you were before, with no memory of what happened while you were here.” She tried to make her voice buoyant, like when she was rattling off random facts and stories from one of her books, but nothing could disguise what that meant for her.
A few words of Belle’s reply stuck in Mr. Gold’s mind: right back and no memory. For him, it meant spending Valentine’s Day night in a cell and not knowing that Belle was alive, much less where she was in Storybrooke. For Belle...right back to the dungeons and that woman’s attempts to purge hope and light from her prisoner. If he were blunt, her situation seemed a lot less inviting.
“Ah,” was all he could manage to say aloud. That meant that there was no telling how much time they had left together. The train could simply return one or both of them, and then it’d all be back to how it was in their heads before. Assuming that he did eventually find out that Belle was alive and was reunited with her, they would only have memories of their homeland, and none of here. But she had mentioned staying at one of the stops, hadn’t she? Dare he leave their fate in the hands of the train? No, that sounded foolish, all things considered. That left two options: somehow taking her back with him, or getting off at another stop.
Even if Mr. Gold somehow figured out how to depart the train with Belle, there was no guarantee that they’d end up in the same place together. And it would be like their reunion here: he would know her at once, and she would not recognize him. There’s a third option, he suddenly realized. He could go back, and Belle could stay on the train and be happy. She deserved so much better than him, after all. Knowing her stubbornness, she’d never buy it. “There’s no telling what the train might do, but it’ll at least give us time to...adjust,” he said carefully. If only he had his powers.
“Mmm,” Belle wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, for one. She’d not thought, much, about what might happen after her time here before his arrival. Then, she’d just been reveling in feeling the sun and wind and water again. And after he showed up...well, her head had been filled with him again, more and louder than the background noise that seemed to have been constant since she’d left his castle.
But for another thing, being in his arms now had quieted her mind far more quickly than it would have otherwise after one of those nightmares. Normally, it took her hours to even feel like her breathing was back to normal. But now...now, already, her body felt lax and warm and--safe. At a better moment, she might have laughed to think what everyone she’d known before would have thought of that, that she felt safe in the Dark One’s arms. Safe enough that, despite the queen’s close memory, her eyes kept blinking closed; a fact that was making it harder to string a coherent thought together.
Mr. Gold didn’t need to hear Belle’s voice to know that she was probably exhausted after this whole ordeal. It seemed like she leaned more heavily on him now, and he had to smile at bit at that. “Perhaps you’d best get to sleep,” he chuckled. He wanted to stay and keep her close, but he dared not suggest it. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” he said, getting up slowly.
Despite the drowsiness that was quickly overtaking her, Belle’s hand found his as he moved--she wasn’t thinking about it, not immediately, but as soon as their fingers touched she realised just how much she didn’t want him across the room. And that want didn’t feel childish, as she’d have thought it would at another time.
“Stay here,” she said, soft and obviously drowsy but very clear; somehow both a request and a demand at the same time. “Please?” The last was said as a complete afterthought, as she remembered just how difficult all of this must have been for him already.
Mr. Gold stopped when he felt her fingers brush against his, but he didn’t push her away. He simply smiled at her and nodded. “As you wish,” he said softly, and seated himself fully on the bed. He moved some pillows around so that he could have support for his back for when he did fall asleep. And that way, Belle could be close to him while she slept. “I’ll be right here, Belle. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” He drew her close and propped her head on a pillow before nestling himself against her, head leaning against hers. His lips ghosted over her hair as he whispered, “Goodnight, Belle.”