halfamoon | Day 4: Books! - OUAT - Rumpel/Belle

Title: A Wife's Hope
Dedicated To: My Beast, My Dark and Wounded Warrior, My J <3
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Rumpelstiltskin/Belle
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Belle is on the verge of leaving, again. But she doesn't want to, again.
Word Count: 1,475
Written For: Half A Moon Day 4: Books!
Warnings: Slight AU
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.

Belle watched. She was cloaked in shadows, but she knew he knew she was there. He always knew when she was there. Her heart thudded in her chest as she watched him reach out and caress the spines of several old, leather-bound books. She knew those covers very well. They were not tomes of magic, neither ancient nor young. They were ancient stories, but they were her favorite stories.

They were the books she had first read to her husband in this very library what both felt like, and actually was despite her age, centuries ago. It marveled her mind sometimes, when she allowed herself to truly contemplate the entire reality, of how much their times had changed, how magics had interwoven to bring them back and forward and back again, all in the name of a father desperately trying to find his beloved son -- after, of course, he'd sent him away.

Not unlike he was trying to do to her. Belle's fingers curled around the thick, rich tapestry of the curtain beside which she stood. She knew Rumpel had his periods. She'd seen the changes the full moon took in Ruby, but his changes were not caused by a full moon, or any other monthly visitor. She had come to understand the reasons behind them but remained clueless as to how to break him free from them. Mary Margaret had reasoned with her many times that she could not break him free for it was not a spell of magic. What held her husband captive was much harder, a curse from which only he could free himself. She could try to lead him with love and patience, but both of those had an end, despite what her favorite stories bespoke.

They had an end, and yet... Yet, she stood here, watching him, his eyes closed as he held a book and danced across the library's floor, much as they had done so many centuries before. He had gifted her with this library twice now. Though she'd forgotten the first time for a long while, the more time they had spent inside the library, the more she had come to remember until she'd finally realized that this was the very same room, with the very same books, same antiques, and even the same flooring where they had first danced, where she had taught him to read, had tended once when he'd actually allowed it to his wounds, and where... Where they had made love for the very first time.

Her hand drifted down to her belly. If what the Widow Lucas said was true, she no longer had only herself to think of. She had her suitcase packed in her room, but had come back to the library, intending to take her favorite tomes with her. She had been cast awash in memories the second she'd entered, and had hidden when she'd heard him approach. She shouldn't mind hurting him, especially after all he'd made her endure. Yet...

Yet there was still a part of her that, even now, even at his worst and her worst, still ached for Rumpelstiltskin. She had never feared him. She had felt sorry for him. She had been cautious about him. She had feared what he might allow to happen, especially when wrathful or grieving for his son. But she had never feared the man himself.

Indeed, from almost the first day, she'd seen through his beastly exterior to the realization that he had wanted someone to be with him. It had not had to necessarily be sex or love, but he had ached for a companion, not unlike how she had once ached for adventure. Belle almost snorted but covered her hand with her mouth and silenced herself just in time to keep from giving away her location -- not, of course, that he had not known she was within the room from likely before he'd ever entered it.

This could all be a show, she realized, her heart pattering. Her husband was truly a Master of manipulation, and he'd used his skills far too many times to keep her at his side. Yet, somehow, she didn't think he was. She dared think... hope perhaps might be a better word, that the memories this room held for them had swept him underneath their spell of manipulation as well. After all, his eyes were closed as he danced with her favorite book of all in his leathery hands. She knew those hands so well, even better than the cover of the book they gripped, and knew too how silken they could feel despite their dryness.

She could not leave him again, she decided, not just yet, not like this. She slipped from behind the curtain, and to her surprise, he actually jumped when she reached out and gently touched his hand. He ceased dancing immediately, his eyes popping open to look at her in alarm. "Belle, I was just -- That is -- "

She smiled, her eyes meeting his, and in that moment, she remembered when she'd first wanted to reach out to him, to become more than his cleaning lady or companion. Her heart had first began to melt for him when she had first witnessed the pain etched in his old, thin face. Her husband was a man who had seen the world throughout more centuries than even Regina or the Magic Mirror. He had seen more than any being in all of Storybrooke, now or then, or the Enchanted Forest. And he had endured far more pain than any soul should have to bear.

Granted, he should not allow the pain to influence him as it did, to be the source that drove him to constantly hurt, torture, and kill others. But he had never known love before her. He had never been shown kindness or compassion, not as a boy nor any time in his adult life. Even those few who had helped him had always possessed an ulterior motive. Even she had an ulterior motive: She wanted to see his pain end. She wanted to be able to stay with him and continue to love him, to build a life with him where neither she nor he would ever again feel trapped. She wanted to love him, and not be hurt or used by him any longer.

But the only way she could, she realized, forcing down a lump in her throat, was by continuing to stand by him, continuing to fight with and, when necessary, against him, continuing to show him love and as much understanding and forgiveness as she could muster. Lord, give me strength, she started to think, but when his eyes blinked and then opened wide in clear surprise she was still there, she found her heart melting again.

Gently, she pried the book from his hand. She kept hold of his other hand while placing it back on the shelf behind them. She did love the dusty, leathery scents of old books, but she loved his aroma more. He smelled of the forest and leather not unlike the books. He smelled, too, of the magic he weaved, but she was not afraid of it. It could be bent to his will, if he could only learn to control his temper and grief. He smelled of darkness too, but there had been so many times in which he had held her and comforted her in the dark that she could no longer feared it, literally or proverbially.

She turned back to him and met his eyes again. She could not leave this man; even when she had left him before, she had always regretted it, had forced herself to stay away, and had yearned to be back beside him throughout her entire absence. She'd tried to fool herself many times, but had never quite succeeded, even with Will. She held both his hands now, and he seemed as sheepish and afraid of her as he had the first time they'd performed this courtship ritual that was, quite likely, even older than the tome she'd replaced on its shelf.

"Dance with me, husband," she murmured, and as they swayed together in the dying sunlight filtering in pass the thick curtains she now opened every morning, she found herself once again hoping, hoping that these quiet and calm hours together could last, hoping that she could find the man lost in the beasts of his grief and fury, hoping she could find the courage to stay. She'd love him regardless of whether she stayed or left, so she might as well stay. She sighed, laid her head on his thin shoulder, and heard his heart beating like a drum. She moved their dance in tune to the music of his heartbeat. She'd stay tonight. She only hoped it was a better night than last.

The End