Rumbelle Secret Santa

If someone pointed out that there was no tinsel hanging from the shelves, no paper snowflakes tapped to the windows, well, Belle just ran out of time. Being the head (and only) librarian of the Storbrooke Public Library was no small task.

Belle didn’t feel busy, though. She felt listless, tired. Like she had taken a step off the sidewalk and was watching everyone continue walking without her.

What was the point of decorating anyway? She’d just have to take all the books, all the tinsel, every last one of the paper snowflakes that would have taken hours to cut out and pack them away again come January. It was all an exercise in futility. She’d just never noticed before.

Even little Alexandra’s gap-toothed smile didn’t move her. 

“And we’re gonna read it over and over and over!” she promised, reaching her little arms over the counter for The Polar Express.

“As many times as you want,” Her mother Ashley promised, running a hand over her hair indulgently.

Belle smiled, because that’s what was expected. She pushed the book towards the girl and her grasping hands. Usually, this level of enthusiasm filled Belle with warmth; how wonderful for anyone to be so excited about reading, even if Alexandra wasn’t quite old enough to be able to read herself.

“Enjoy your book,” Belle said, trying to keep her forced smile as natural as possible. “It’s a classic,” she added.

“You know,” Ashley said, with an exaggerated look around. “I’m surprised you haven’t decorated yet. You don’t have much time left, you know! It’s already December!”

Saying nothing, Belle kept her smile fixed as she waved goodbye to Alexandra. 

It was December second, and Belle hadn’t decorated for Christmas.

Luckily Belle didn’t have to think about that yet, as the next patron stepped up to the counter.

“Mr. Gold,” Belle said in greeting, because that’s what was polite. 

He gave her a nod to indicate he heard her, nothing more. It had stopped bothering her that he rarely said anything back.

Gold, in his pressed suit and shiny shoes. He was wearing a purple tie today that matched his purple shirt. He was also wearing his usual frown, like he was giving everyone he saw a once over and found them lacking. This also didn’t bother Belle much, anymore.

Mr. Gold set his book on the counter. He was always easy; book down, waiting patiently for her to hand it back. No idle chatter, hardly even looked at her, no matter what sort of pleasantries she fired at him. The townsfolk insisted it was because he thought he was better than her, than them, and wanted everyone to know it. 

Today he had chosen a western, something Belle hadn’t read herself but recognized from the movie it had been used to adapt. Belle slipped the receipt in the cover, then slid it back towards Mr. Gold.

Instead of giving his polite if curt “Good day,” his normal frown deepened, just the slightest amount. His eyes were deep, dark and searching in a way they hadn’t been before.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Belle felt a pressure behind her breastbone, felt the weight pressing into her chest. The shock of it was enough to have tears pooling in her eyes, and she cleared her throat to keep them back. The last thing either of them wanted was for her to burst into tears.

“Fine,” Belle said in as strong a voice as she could manage. “Everything is fine. Thank you, Mr. Gold. Please enjoy the book.”

Everyone knew Mr. Gold could spot a liar from a mile away, but he didn’t call her out. Didn’t do much of anything but accept her answer with a nod and then turn away with his book in hand, frown still fixed in place.

Belle kept her smile fixed in place as Gold walked away, waited until the door had closed before she slumped against the counter. Belle put her head in her hands.

It was December second, and Belle had not forgotten to decorate for Christmas. 

xxx

Christmas was her favorite time of year. Or, had been. Until very recently, even.

She hadn’t pulled up any of her Christmas playlists. As if on instinct, she turned away from the lights and decorations that cropped up on Main Street. She tried really, really hard not to think about sugar cookies and spiced rum.

But before she knew it, it was December and the lights were inescapable no matter what route she’d take through town, no matter how painstaking and thought out she made her return to her quiet apartment.

Belle was standing over her stove, idly stirring her sauce while it cooked, when the question came back to her. 

Is everything alright? 

For all the ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s she’d directed at him, Mr. Gold and her never spoke. All she knew about him for sure was that he was the main landlord and money dealer in their small town, and was hated for it.

Is everything alright?

No, everything was not alright. Hadn’t been for ten months and twelve days.

Belle turned off the stove, moving her pan to a cool burner. She took a deep breath, then released it. She took another.

She didn’t like lying, even when polite necessities demanded it. But then again, it was just Mr. Gold. He didn’t care about anything or anyone that wasn’t himself or his properties. So he didn’t care about her.

But then why ask her the question in the first place?

Is everything alright?

It was heavy, that spot behind her breastbone.

Belle added her noodles to the cream sauce, then the broccoli and chicken she’d prepared beforehand before scooping a healthy portion into a bowl.

She wondered what Gold was having for dinner tonight; if he cooked or hired someone to do it for him. Maybe he paid an exorbitant amount on take out, who knew.

Belle curled up on her couch, turning on a random sitcom to keep her company while she ate. It was a Christmas episode, something about missing presents. Quickly, she flipped the channel until she landed on a nature documentary.

She settled in, fork in hand, forcing all thoughts of Mr. Gold out of her mind.

xxx

(Dec 4th)

It was almost closing time two days later when Ruby walked into the library, Ariel close behind her.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she called, smiling with all her teeth in the way she did when she was scheming.

Ruby was carrying a box and a large IKEA bag, the blue plastic bulging with what suspiciously looked like plastic garlands. Ariel was similarly laden with a larger box, a familiar tote bag hanging on her shoulder with Belle’s former college emblazoned on it. 

“I have that exact bag.” Belle said, squinting at them. That was her bag. And she knew whose handwriting she’d see scrawled on the closed flaps of the boxes they were holding. “Where did you find those?”

”Where else?” Ruby asked, placing her box on the counter as she let the IKEA bag drop to the carpet with a thud. It sounded too heavy to be full of just garlands. “Your apartment, obviously.”

”I was so excited to try picking the lock,” Ariel said as she dropped her box next to the blue bag. “But the door just swung open.”

”Reckless behavior, Belle. You don’t know what sort of creeps might try to break into your home.” Ruby shook her head. 

“I could name a couple,” Belle said, keeping the counter as the only buffer between her and her friends. “What did you need so badly?”

”Your Christmas things, of course!” Ariel said. “This is just what we could find upstairs.”

“Come on. Tell us where the rest of the goods are.”

“The rest?” Belle repeated, still stuck on her living space being ransacked.

“We know you’ve got oodles more,” Ruby looked around, as if there’d be random boxes tucked behind a shelf for the taking. “Your apartment isn’t big enough to hold it all, so the stash must be somewhere down here.”

“She’s got primo storage in the creepy basement,” Ariel said thoughtfully, her eyes trailing to the old elevator.

“Let us into the creepy basement, Belle,” Ruby said.

Given the manic look in Ruby and Ariel’s eyes, Belle did the smart thing and opened her drawer for the keys. Instead of handing them over right away, she asked, “And why are you robbing me of all my decorations?” 

Ruby and Ariel shared a look with each other that Belle didn’t appreciate.

“Seriously, babe?” Ruby asked. She swept her arm out in a grand gesture. “Just look at this place!”

Belle did. All she saw was her workplace; the cozy library that served their cozy town. Exactly how she liked it.

“We’re already a week into December!” Ariel added.

“It’s December fourth,” Belle said, feeling cornered and tired and sad, all at once.

“December will be half-over before you know it,” she countered. “And then what?”

“There will be riots in the streets if the library does not show some holiday cheer, and soon” Ruby said, stonefaced.

Belle’s hand squeezed her keys, the metal a comforting weight. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to curl into a ball under her desk and refuse to come out until New Years, or scream and scream and scream.

She did neither. 

“I still have to do the shelving, and do my sweep of the study rooms—”

“Perfect.” Ruby cut her off before she could really get into her to-do list, as if sensing the hollow excuse it was. “Ariel and I will take care of everything until you finish.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Belle. We got this.”

Belle looked at her friends. Ruby with her hands on her hips (her classic fighting pose when she got into it with Granny), and Ariel, eyes wide and reassuring. What was the harm, letting them do the heavy lifting? They were offering, and weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“Just don’t make a mess,” she said, finally handing over the keys.

With a judgmental comment about what doors Belle prioritized in locking, Ruby and Ariel sauntered off.

Belle left them to it. The storage in the basement was well organized, thank you very much, and it took only two trips up and down the rickety elevator shaft for her friends to get everything they required. 

Not that Belle was paying attention. She had too many books to shelve. 

But she still couldn’t help but catch on to a part of their convo as she rounded the corner with a stack of history books in her arms.

“—scoot the table over to the other wall, then put the tree in the—”

Belle jolted, her body moving so fast towards them she almost flung the books across the floor.

“No tree,” she said with such volume and vehemence that Ariel startled and dropped the roll of tape she was holding.

“What? Why?” Ruby blinked at her sudden appearance.

“No tree,” Belle said again, louder, knowing she was acting like a madwoman but unable to stop herself.

“We already brought it up here.” Ariel bent down to pick up the tape. “But if you don’t want it in the library, we can move it up to your apartment—”

“No.”

Belle looked wildly around, spotting the box pushed against the wall, out of the way. Unobtrusive and plain, for all that it was the largest box there. It was a little worse for wear after all these years, held shut with bungee cords and the duct tape on the bottom corner from the two winters mice had gotten into it.

“No. Tree.” 

Ruby and Ariel shared another look. It was Ariel who shrugged. Ruby sighed, capitulating.

“Fine, the tree stays in its sad box. Do you want me to take it back down to the wet creepy basement?

“No, just—” She squeezed her eyes shut as if that itself could keep her together. It’d been almost a year. Why was the wound still gaping open? “Just leave it there. Don’t touch it.”

“Do you want help with those?” Ariel asked, nodding at her.

She looked down, surprised to see the books she was clutching to her chest like a lifeline, so hard she was surely leaving marks.

“That’s okay.” She turned away quickly to get back to work. To look at anything but the boxes and the broken pieces of her heart on the floor. To hide.

“Belle.” Ruby stopped her retreat.

“Put those books on the table, they can wait.”

“But—”

“No, you’re done with closing shit. I’m giving you something else to do.”

Belle turned her head to see Ruby moving the packing material and cardboard from the floor. She was clearing the view so Belle could better see what decorations they had to work with.

“You’re going to delegate,” Ruby said. “Tell us what’s getting used and what isn’t.”

“Great idea!” Ariel said. She clapped her hands.

“I don’t know,” Belle hedged, but her legs were already moving her to the appointed table, her arms already relieving themselves of their load. 

“This is how you get us to not put up a tree.” Ruby waited until Belle was settled in the plastic chair, facing them. “Now, what do you think about these paper chains? Are they salvageable?”

It took a couple hours. Belle played along as well as she could, giving her opinion on everything Ruby and Ariel put up. It was a relief when they finished, empty cardboard stacked up in the elevator to be taken back to storage in the morning.

Belle thought that was the end of it, but then Ariel started rummaging through the stolen tote bag, bringing out a bottle of wine and cheese and crackers. Ruby materialized to-go containers from Grannie’s, containing what Belle suspected to be apple pie.

With pillows from the children’s section, paper plates and cups leftover from the last bake-sale, the ladies sat in the middle of the library with their spoils. The perfect spot to appreciate the evening’s hard work.

And appreciate it, Belle did. It was beautiful, the tinsel gleaming, the strings of lights glowing, the red, green and gold garlands on proud display. There was no stopping the melancholy as it settled in the cracks of her chest. But as she took a sip from her cup, she let some warmth fill her, too.

“Alright,” Belle said after a while. “What brought this on? You two aren’t usually so frenzied about Christmas.”

”You’re usually frenzied enough for the both of us,” Ariel agreed.

Ruby snorted in agreement. “Gold just got under my skin, I guess.”

”Mr. Gold? What do you mean?” Belle asked.

“He was at the diner yesterday, waiting for his coffee when Mary Margaret came in, cute as a button.”

”Wearing a Santa hat?” Belle guessed.

”Reindeer antlers.” Ruby rolled her eyes affectionately. “And you know how she is. Wished Leroy a loud and heartfelt Merry Christmas, and I guess Gold took it personally. Like an asshole.” She gestured with her wine, and Belle was mildly worried about her spilling. “He started complaining about Christmas and all the decorations me and Granny put up, as if he expects the rest of the town to be as much of a Grinch as he is.”

“And the diner doesn’t even have that many decorations!” Ariel cut in. “It was so rude!”

“And then he said—get this,” Ruby pointed at Belle for emphasis. “That bastard said ‘at least the library has better taste this year’.”

“A ridiculous thing to say!” Ariel said. “Your decorations are legendary!”

“Yeah!” Ruby agreed, taking a swallow of her wine. “Then we realized you were late putting your decorations up, which obviously meant you were—“she waved her hand—“you know. So here we are, come to save your holiday.”

Ariel nodded vigorously. “And it’s your first Christmas without your father!” Ariel said, too late in catching Ruby’s warning look. “Of course you’d be slower to get things up.”

“Oh,” Belle said, pressure ballooning in her chest. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Sighing, Ruby topped up Belle’s wine, even though she’d barely touched it.

“Holidays are stressful and a pain in the ass, even in the best of times,” she said. “And this year is going to suck for you, given the,” she waved her hand towards Ariel, as if the careless words were printed across her sweater. “Well, the everything. But we can make it suck a little less.”

Is everything alright?

”I don’t know what to say,” Belle finally managed, when her chest stopped caving in on itself.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ruby said, raising her cup in a toast. 

“Sorry it took us so long,” Ariel said, leaning forward with her cup to join in. “But we’re here now.”

They touched their paper cups together, and drank deeply. It was a cheap wine—a step above boxed—but it went down easy. It paired well with the pie, and the cheese and crackers helped it all settle in her stomach.

There, in her newly festive library, her friend’s laughter ringing in her ears—it wasn’t exactly peace that fell over Belle in that moment, but it was the best she’d felt in a long time.

xxx

(Dec 13)

The days dragged on, and the ache in Belle’s chest slowly turned into an itch. Like there was something she was forgetting. The final ‘to-do’ on her list that was left uncrossed.

Which is how Belle found herself at the stoop to Gold’s shop, staring through the window. She couldn't see him, but the sign on the door was flipped to open.

All she had to do was enter, like a normal person with completely normal business, and then…what, exactly? Thank him for manipulating her friends into making her decorate for Christmas?

He hadn’t been back to the library since he’d checked out his western, which was longer than he usually took to read a book. But then, Belle couldn’t remember if his visits usually slowed down this time of year, and she was annoyed at herself for her lack of insight.

Of everyone in town, Belle should know these things. Gold wasn’t as heartless as the town believed him to be, she could feel it.

Gold waited patiently for his coffee order at the diner despite always choosing to go at the busiest time in the morning. He took walks around town for his ankle. Never anything strenuous, but his route was through the main streets, at the time of day that people were out and about. He’d often sit in the park, or along main street, and watch the town pass him by. 

And, he came to the library, sometimes twice a week. He checked out a single book, and returned it when he finished so he could check out another. Gold was always in the periphery of the town and its gatherings, always in the background out of focus, but there all the same.

Sure, the townsfolk might call it skulking, or him merely biding his time. Even reconnaissance for blackmail purposes. But it felt like something softer to Belle. To her, it painted the picture of a child too shy to ask to be included in the playground games. A lonely man, trying to connect to his town in the only ways he knew how.

Belle rubbed at her chest. She’d been standing out on the snowy sidewalk too long; her feet were cold in her boots, and there was still no sign of Gold. 

C’mon Belle, she chided herself. It’s not like he was a wizard who was going to pop out and curse her at her first misstep. 

Forcing herself to do the brave thing, she pushed the door open, the bell giving a loud jingle, sounding more merry than she expected.

Bracing herself for Gold to emerge from his den, she let the door close behind her, bell still going. The latch clicked. Everything remained still in the shop. Gold had not appeared.

As if the ground were about to open up before her, Belle took a careful step towards the glass.

The silence stretched. Belle strained her ears, but there was no sign of movement. She gave a cursory look around the shop; she’d never had much reason to come here and she was sorry she’d never made one up. The shelves were bursting with things; baubles and books and ceramic figures. From the ceiling hung mobiles and empty birdcages; even the walls were adorned with thick heavy frames of pictures and paintings alike.

“Mr. Gold?” she called when it got to be too much.

Finally, the sound of a cane on hardwood flooring. The curtain flicked aside, and the man himself came through. His shirt was a paisley blue, his tie a deep maroon.

“Miss French,” he greeted. His face betrayed no emotion, as aloof as he was on any given day.

Belle had a whole speech planned. A way to express her thanks in the simplest, most straightforward way possible. And yet, when she opened her mouth, what she said was: “There’s no tree in your shop window.” 

Said like an accusation, as if she expected him to have one. In all the years Belle had lived in Stroybrooke, Gold never so much as hung a paper ornament on his door.

At least there was emotion on his face now, even if it was indignant annoyance.

“Have you come to harangue me for my lack of holiday cheer?”

“Every front of every store has at least a wreath,” Belle said, unable to stop herself from digging her hole deeper. “Marco risked life and limb hanging up all those lights for the bakery.”

“Good for Marco.” He gave her the same inscrutable look he’d given her in the library when she’d seen him last. “I thought you’d be on my side, given the state of the library.”

“I think you know the current state of the library, thank you.”

This quick exchange was the most they had ever spoken, and Belle was surprised at how easy he was to talk to, once he let himself do it.

“I do mean it, though,” she said.

“Mean what?”

”Thank you. For helping me.”

”I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His face was perfectly blank again, damn him.

“It’s extra hard this year, because of. Well.” Belle shrugged, her chest hurting again.

Gold nodded his understanding at that, an emotion Belle couldn’t identify flickering across his face.

“Yes, I know holidays are hard without loved ones.”

There was something so empathetic in how he said it. The tone, or the look in his eyes.

”Have you lost someone, too?” She asked before she could think better of it.

That was the final strike for Belle. As quickly as it came, the open look on his face shuttered. 

“Was that all, Miss French?”

The suddenness surprised her enough to take a step back from the counter.

“I—“

“I have work to get back to. Good day.”

Not even waiting for her to leave, he swiftly pulled aside the curtain and disappeared behind it. 

Belle was left with no other option than to see herself out, mind whirling as she did.

xxx

(Dec 14th)

Belle pulled the box from the trunk of her car; it wasn’t that it was heavy, just awkward in its bulk. Never had she been more thankful that her father had gone for the mid-sized spruce all those years ago, standing just under five feet tall, instead of a nine foot monstrosity.

Pivoting towards her goal, she used the steps to her advantage and set the long side of the cardboard across the diagonal slope they made, then slid the tree up until it reached the top step. From there, she kept pushing until every part of the box was on the porch.

Quickly, she went back to the car to get her reclaimed tote bag and slung it over her shoulder. She must have attracted more attention than she thought, because as she was climbing the stairs, the door opened to reveal a bewildered Mr. Gold.

Belle didn’t think she had been making that much noise, all things considered, yet there he was.

“Ms. French.” Polite. Formal. Exactly what she’d come to expect from him. 

“Mr. Gold,” she greeted.

He stared at her. She stared back. 

“What are you doing?”

Obviously, Gold had hit the nail on the head: holidays were hard without loved ones. Which was why it was the most important time of year to be looking out for each other.

So if he got to bully her into celebrating, she figured turnabout was fair play.

“You were pretty adamant about not wanting a tree in your shop.”

His eyes flickered down to the long box a mere two feet from his leg.

“So you thought you’d accost me in my home?”

“I thought, maybe, you’d like to be talked into it.” Belle bit her lip. It was too late to back down now. 

“Talked into what?”

”Christmas.” When he did nothing but stare at her, she added, ”At least I’m not breaking into your house.”

”What?” He asked, baffled.

”Forget it. Look, you’re a pawnbroker,” she said as if that explained everything.

Amazingly, Gold continued to stare at her blankly. At least he didn't look annoyed yet.

“So, that’s what I’m doing. Pawning my tree.”

“I don’t want your tree.”

“Since when was that necessary to the process?”

“Miss French,” Gold said with the tone of immense patience. “Pawning is simple. The idea is you exchange an item of value for a cash loan.”

“Lucky you, because I don’t want cash.” 

“And the payment for your tree is what, then?” He made a grand gesture with the arm not holding his cane. “The privilege of displaying your shrub in my home? How exactly do you propose to pay something like that back?”

“I’ll come take it down for you in January."

Gold looked from her to the box, then sighed.

“You know, this feels a lot like you breaking in.”

She didn’t bother hiding her smile. “Me? I would never.”

Gold rolled his eyes, but pushed his door open wider, giving her the room she needed to bring everything inside.

It was decided to put the tree in the living room, in the corner next to a couch and the window.

Mr. Gold had a beautiful home, just as busy and cluttered as his shop, only much more lived in. The furniture was a rich dark brown, tasteful in how it complemented rather than mismatched. The room was made all the better with Belle’s tree, once they took it out of the box and assembled it. It stood proud and full, not a plastic pine needle out of place.

The tree skirt was a lacey, shimmering rug that laid perfectly against Gold’s hardwood floor. While not strictly necessary for fake trees since they didn’t have needles to shed, it still felt complete to have it. Heaven forbid you don’t have a nice place to put the presents.

”Why all this, then?” Gold asked.

“Hm?” Belle was fiddling with the branches, fanning out the wiring so everything wasn’t clustered together.

It didn’t take a genius to know what Gold meant. And it was a reasonable question. Obvious, even. Why was practical Belle French so pressed about a single Christmas tree? Belle hoped the truth would be explanation enough.

”It was the first thing we’d put up, me and my dad. Then the last thing we took down. We’d do it together, every year.” She stepped back, looking over her work. “This is the only tree we’ve ever had.”

Gold didn’t say anything, but she could sense him standing there, watching her.

”It was impossible to put it up without him. But then that only made a hole in my life and I couldn’t fill it.” She had a tree she couldn’t bear to use. A tree that was unthinkable to throw out or keep hidden.

”Even now,” she said, “it doesn’t feel right without him to admire it with me.”

“It’s—nice,” Gold said. “It’s nice to have it here.”

Belle turned to look at him, wondering what that emotion was in his tone. Gold wasn’t looking at the tree, but at her.

For a moment that could have lasted minutes, hours, days—they stared at each other. Then, Gold cleared his throat. 

“What’s a tree without its baubles? I assume you’ve brought some with you?”

Belle blinked. “Sure did.” She brushed her hands over her dress, flattening invisible wrinkles. “Just the basics, mind you. Nothing fancy. But nothing tacky, either,” she added.

“I‘ll be the judge of that,” Gold said.

The round balls were made of glass, and were uneven in number due to two decades of reckless packaging and clumsy hands. But Belle was proud of how many had stood the test of time, and they still filled out a tree quite nicely.

Belle let Gold choose the first one to hang; a frosted white ball with red stripes. He hung it carefully on a branch by his waist. 

“We take turns, is that it?” He asked.

”If you’d like.”

He made a gesture for her to choose a ball next. She chose one that was a midnight blue. 

Slowly, they added the baubles to the tree. Belle hung what she thought was the last one, another white and red. But then she watched as Gold lifted something from the box that was loosely wrapped in tissue paper, and certainly not the shape of a glass ball. He carefully unwrapped it.

In Gold’s hand was a ballerina. A ceramic girl leaning forward with her weight on the toes of one foot, her other leg stretched behind her with her arms out like a dainty bird. She was wearing a pink tutu, of course, and her brown hair slicked back in a bun. It could very well have been Belle when she was a child, practicing for her dance routine, and she had always liked that best about it.

In careful ink, Belle’s name was written along the ballerina’s calf, and a year on the bottom of one of her feet.

Belle gasped.

Gold looked up at her outburst. “What? What is it?”

”Im sorry, I didn’t—“ She hadn’t expected to see that. Were all the others in the box, too, just waiting to be revealed from their tissue paper? Belle pressed her hands to her chest, unprepared for that possibility.

Patiently, Gold continued to look at her as he waited to be told what to do.

“I hadn’t meant to bring that one,” she confessed. Did she dare look through the box to see what else had ended up in it?

“Would you like to put it on the tree, Miss French?”

Belle swallowed. She didn’t know.

Gold decided for her.

”I believe you pawned your entire tree, and that implies all the ornaments you have for it,” he said. When she only stared at him, he added, “You should know that I take impeccable care of the items that are entrusted to me.”

Belle gave him a watery smile. “You have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

“Quite right,” he agreed. He held the ornament out to her.

Belle took her little ballerina by the ribbon. With a deliberateness that she hadn’t shown any of the other ornaments, she placed it on a branch, high up on the tree.

“I got a new one every year. My grandmother worked in a Christmas shop, so—it was open year round. Did good business, too.”

“Here in Maine?”

”No, Australia. She was my mother’s mother. This woman, on the other side of the world that I had only met in person a handful of times. She’d pick out something from the shop for me and my parents, and send it to us.”

Belle turned from the tree, her gaze landing on the box. Gold was still standing next to it.

”The ballerina is my favorite. I got it the year before my mom died. Even after Mom—my grandmother would still send an ornament for me and my dad.” Belle nodded towards the box, all the tissue-wrapped memories. “She wrote our name and the year it was sent.”

Carefully, as if not to spook her, Gold reached in and plucked out an ornament. He unwrapped it with a care that Belle appreciated.

It was one of the final ornaments Grandma Becky had sent them: a lighthouse standing tall on its little rock. Her father’s name was written at the base of the tower, the letters shakier than those on the ballerina.

Belle guided Gold’s hand to the switch that was under the rock. The light in the light house flashed on, and Belle was warmed to her toes by the small smile Gold gave her.

“That’s cute,” he said.

Taking it from him, she hung the lighthouse on the tree, a little lower down.

Slowly they worked in tandem, uncovering all of Belle’s treasures. Belle would sometimes talk about a memory, or explain why a particular ornament had been chosen. 

Soon enough, the box was finally, truly, empty. Belle was curled on the sofa, a tea cup warming her hands. Gold sat at the other end, his tea cup on the table in front of them.

The tree was gorgeous. The best one she’d seen in years. It had no lights or tinsel, but was brimming with precious ornaments. It had no tree topper, either, but neither Belle or Gold minded.

“When was the last time you had a tree?” Belle asked. It was starting to hit her that all the ornaments were her own—Gold had not offered any of his, should they exist.

Gold ran a hand down his face. “Been awhile,” he murmured.

“Do you…” she started. His eyes flickered over to her.

”You haven’t added any of your own ornaments.”

Gold shifted uncomfortably. ”It’s your tree, dear.”

”I’m happy to share.”

“Ornaments are not the things I kept,” he said, voice soft.

“So you kept something else?” Belle couldn’t help but dig, but then cursed herself. She was angling to get thrown out as swiftly as she had been from his shop yesterday.

Instead, Gold surprised her. He looked from her to the tree, but what he was looking for, she didn’t know.

“How do you feel, now?” he asked.

“I feel fine,” she asked more than said.

He waved his hand. ”Before, you said this didn’t feel right without your father.”

She had said that. And it didn’t. Perhaps it never would again. 

”It feels like a hole in my chest,” she said, but that wasn’t quite right. That’s how it felt when she’d kept the tree hidden, its absence overshadowing everything. Belle did as Gold asked, and really thought about what she was feeling.

“Right now, I feel like I’ve swallowed a stone,” she shrugged, helplessly. “And it just keeps getting bigger and bigger.”

Gold nodded. His eyes were on her again, inscrutable.

“But, I don’t know. I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I made you do this with me. I know this is a weight that I will carry for a long time, but it’s not as heavy now. I guess because it doesn’t hurt you like it hurts me.” Belle smiled at him, the brightest she could manage. “It feels good to have shared that weight with you. I know I barged in uninvited, but, thank you, Mr. Gold. For carrying it with me.”

Gold stared at her. He had stopped fidgeting, could have even stopped breathing with how still he had gone.

Belle registered the last thing that came out of her mouth.

”That’s horrifically selfish, isn’t it,” she said, aghast.

Gold blew out a lungful of air. ”Oh, be a little selfish. It’s the time of year for it.”

”Pretty sure it’s the opposite, actually.”

”Nah, Scrooge made some good points.”

Belle’s loud laugh surprised the both of them.

Gold’s gaze drifted back to the tree. Belle sipped her tea, letting the silence settle into something comfortable.

It was when she was thinking of snagging another biscuit off the tray that Gold stood abruptly. Belle almost dropped her cup—wouldn’t that have been a disaster?

“I’ll be right back,” he said simply. Without another look in her direction, he limped out of the room.

Not sure about what else to do while she waited, Belle refilled their cups with the remaining tea in the pot, but there wasn’t much left to split between them. Was it presumptuous to go into the kitchen and boil more water himself?

Before she had decided, Gold was back, cane in one hand, a small box in the other.

Setting the box on the middle cushion, he sat back down in his spot. He didn’t seem sure what to do after that.

“If you’ll allow me my own selfishness,” he hedged. His eyes flickered to his refilled tea, to the tree, then finally to Belle. 

“Of course. Please.” She shifted, bringing her knee up so she was sitting with her back to the armrest, giving him her full attention.

Gold held her gaze briefly; when he spoke next, it was to the box between them.

“I haven’t celebrated Christmas since my son died.”

Belle tried to keep from reacting too expressively, but she couldn’t stop the heartache. She had sensed that whatever pain Gold had been carrying was immense, but she never could have dreamed it as tragic as losing a child.

“How old was he?”

”Barely eighteen. He was in his first year of college, had an entire life ahead of him.” His voice cracked as he stumbled over the words. 

Belle wondered if he hadn’t spoken about his son in a long time. She reached behind her, to the end table that had a box of tissues. She grabbed a whole wad before reaching across the box and pressing them into Gold’s hand, who startled at the sudden contact.

”What was his name?” she asked to distract him.

“Neal.”

Belle squeezed his hand in thanks.

”Did Neal like Christmas?”

”Of course he did. We never spent one apart, even when his mother and I separated.” He stared at their hands, not inclined to pull his hand back. “Since he was old enough, he’d get me a tie. Insist on picking it out himself. We’d go through the shops together and when something caught his eye, he’d banish me so he could buy it without me seeing.”

He looked down at the box between them. It was unassuming. A black shoe box with a lid. She knew exactly what was contained within it.

“I have them. Every single one. Still. I couldn’t bear to part with them.”

"And could hardly bear to keep them,” Belle guessed.

Gold nodded, his lip wobbling.

Belle recalled the gentle push he’d given her with the ballerina.

”Can I look at them?” she asked.

Gold’s throat bobbed. He cleared his throat. He nodded his acquiescence. “I can’t remember the last time I opened this box.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Belle lifted the lid of the tie box. Based on Neal’s age, Belle had assumed that the ties would be hideous novelties, but they weren’t. At first glance, they could have fit right in with the rest of Gold’s wardrobe with no questions.

One was navy blue with strings of shining lights. One was a forest green with a print of small candy canes, as if someone had spilled them carelessly across the fabric. Another was a dark red, with swirls of golden snowflakes.

“He wanted me to actually wear them,” Gold said, reading her mind. “Less chance of that if it’s a gaudy reindeer with felt antlers sticking out the sides.”

“You’d have worn anything he gave you,” Belle said with certainty.

“Aye,” Gold said. He reached out, lightly brushed one of the ties with his fingers, the silk sliding past his fingers.

“He sounds like a sweet boy,” Belle said. It broke her heart that there were so few ties in the box at all—less than a dozen. Gold hadn’t deserved to have his son ripped away so cruelly. No one did.

“He was perfect,” Gold agreed.

“What else did you two do for Christmas?”

”I’m sure what everyone else with a child did. Waited up for Santa only to fall asleep, then had cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning.”

“I also had cinnamon rolls,” Belle said. “Although ours were store bought.” Pillsbury canned cinnamon rolls were the backbone of the holidays at the French house. None other would do.

”I’d make ours fresh,” Gold said.

Belle couldn’t help smiling at the image of Gold fussing in the kitchen early Christmas morning.

”I bet you did,” she said. “I bet each batch came out perfect.”

“And don’t you doubt it.”

They shared a smile. His eyes were so deep and dark and earnest, and she wanted to sink into them like a stone into a lake.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle said, voice too loud in the sudden quiet of his living room.

”Yes, Ms. French?”

“I’m glad you let me do this for you.”

He swallowed, but he didn’t look away. He looked tired and sad, but Belle was sure she saw a weightlessness, too. Something like relief at old cobwebs being swept out, some light finally getting in.

“I am, too.”

xxx

(Dec 24)

It wasn’t something Belle had planned. It honestly wasn’t. She was content to sit in her apartment all day and the next, putting a dent in her to-be-read pile while drinking hot cocoa and tea.

She’d sent her well wishes to Ruby and Ariel, promised they’d get together sometime in the New Year. And then she’d looked out her window at the freshly fallen snow, then was reaching for her boots and coat before she fully realized it.

It was risky, of course. And presumptuous. But her nerve had already gotten her this far. With the foresight (the hope?) to pack an overnight back, Belle jumped into her car and drove to Gold’s house.

If she hesitated, she’d talk herself out of whatever harebrained scheme this was, so she simply walked right up to his front door and knocked.

The door opened to Gold, dressed impeccably, as expected. “Belle,” he greeted her, a small smile breaking free on his face.

It warmed Belle to her toes, hearing him say her name with such wonder in his voice.

“Hello, Gold.”

He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, which made it all the easier for Belle to see his tie: it was the dark red one with gold snowflakes that she’d seen on her last visit. After years of shutting them away, he was finally wearing his son’s gifts again.

Gold squirmed at her blatant staring, thumbing at the end of the silk. “Yes, well.”

”That one was my favorite,” Belle confessed, saving him from his floundering.

“Mine, too.” He cleared his throat. “Can I help you, Miss French?”

”I was wondering if you wanted company. For however long you want it, if you do.” Belle had left her overnight bag in the car, feeling that was the safer choice. She had already shown up uninvited once, after all.

Instead of answering her, Gold moved aside to invite her in. 

“Would you like some tea?” He asked, leading her to the living room.

“Yes, please.”

She smiled at the sight of her tree, just where she left it. But then she noticed something odd. A single present, there under the branches.

When Gold entered with the tray, she said, ”Santa’s come for you.” Belle was delighted that he had gotten himself a gift.

“Ah,” he said, looking awkward. He set the tray on the table. He motioned for her to sit, and she did, taking her place on the sofa.

Gold bent to pick up the present, carrying it with him as he sat on his side of the sofa. “Here.”

Belle stared at him, not sure why he was offering her his gift. But he was holding it out, not quite looking at her, so she took it.

It was as she thought; a gift box well wrapped in golden paper with a blue ribbon around it. It was small, but large enough that it probably wasn’t jewelry. Not too light, not too heavy. But then she noticed the gift tag, with her name written on it. Her jaw dropped.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she realized in horror. Exchanging gifts hadn’t even crossed her mind. And what could she have possibly gotten Gold, anyway? The man already had every material thing he wanted. 

Not able to think of anything else to do, she tried to hand the little box back. He wouldn’t let her; his hands wrapped around hers, stilling her movement.

“You’ve given me plenty,” he said quietly. “Please, Belle. This is the least I could do.”

“Oh, well.” Belle swallowed. His hands were dry and warm. “Should I open it now?”

”If you’d like,” he gave her hands a squeeze and then let go. But he was looking at her expectantly.

She wasn’t immune to a surprise, and she did like presents. Belle pulled the ribbon and tore the wrapping, then opened the box.

It was an ornament. A beautifully crafted glass dove, hung from a delicate silver ribbon. On the tail feathers was her name and the current year, carefully written in black ink.

Belle felt tears come to her eyes, felt whole and warm and so touched. She pressed the ornament to her chest, feeling the pressure there dissipate.

”I should have gotten you a tie,” she sniffed. “Or, or socks, or something.” Or even an ornament that he could call his own.

Gold huffed. “I told you, that’s entirely unnecessary."

“Can I hang it on the tree?”

“Of course you can.”

Belle shot up, looking immediately for the best place to put it. The tree was still lacking a topper, and so Belle put her dove as close to the top as she could, not so much hanging off a branch as resting on the fan on the needles.

“Perfect,” Gold decided when she turned around. He had stood when she had, watching her.

Before she could think better of it, Belle went and threw her arms around him, hugging him as if that could ever be enough to show how much this meant to her.

Gold’s arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him.

“You were right,” he said softly into her hair. “About the stones. They’re so hard to carry, and for so long, Neal’s memory was too heavy for me. It hurt to think about him, even when he was happy. But this year, well—thank you for carrying some of that weight for me.”

Belle pulled back from their embrace enough to look him in his face. 

“We’ll carry it together,” she promised.

And then she kissed him. Or he kissed her. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was that Belle was in his arms, and she wanted to stay there for as long as she could.

By the time they broke apart, the tea had gone cold and Gold’s leg was stiff from standing still so long. They drank the tea anyway, and Gold invited her to stay the night, which Belle was luckily prepared for.

She can still recall the day they went public, walking into Granny’s diner hand in hand. The room usually boisterous, maintaining at least two conversations at a time, went completely silent.

He became a frequent patron of the library, spending his evenings leaning against the circulation desk, in his crisp suit and tie, with his eyes focused squarely on her. At first the other patrons of the library shot hateful glances towards his presence, their eyes burning hot as coal, but with every passing month the embers whittled to a tolerant aversion.

She pushes the empty book cart back to the cataloging station, passing the golden pools of illumination that spills from the small lamps perched along the library tables. She loves this time of night, an hour or so before closing, where the library houses only a scarce few faces that glow softly in the reading light. The familiar aroma of an exorbitantly rich cologne shimmers the air, and she knows without having to turn around, that her boyfriend of seven months, Rumford Gold, has arrived.

She turns, their eyes locking immediately, as he bows his head in acknowledgment. They have agreed to try and keep things discreet and proper when others are around them, especially at work, but behind closed doors they cannot keep their hands off each other. He lavishes her with affection and tells her repeatedly how much he loves her, and she in turn loves him completely and utterly.

She can feel the weight of his stare, as she pushes the empty cart against the back wall. A tempting idea dawns on her, as she makes her way to her office, reaching for her silenced cell phone sitting on the desk. Her intent of a naughty text message to her lover is diverted, as a text notification from Ms. Potts lights up her locked screen. Hastily she unlocks her phone, tapping the screen to open the paragraph long text.

She tries to stay focused as panic floods her nervous system. The last sentence of Ms. Potts’ resignation text starts to blur, as tears fill her eyes. This was bad. Ms. Potts, the library’s beloved storyteller, the woman who could weave magic with her voice and hold a room full of children spellbound, just quit the night before the library’s annual weeklong children’s reading event. Stumbling out of the office, she soon finds her footing, as Rumford grabs her arms to steady her. His eyes frantically sweep over her before asking sharply, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

The words pour in a jumbled rush, of the unexpected resignation, the impending children’s reading event, and her despair to find a replacement at the last minute. He listens intently, but she can see the tension melting from his shoulders upon learning that she is physically okay.

“Where am I going to find someone who’s available all week, and willing to do it for free?” she asks miserably, her eyes darting around her beloved library. She could just picture all the disappointed children and angry parents’ tomorrow morning, which inevitably would lead back to the ears of Mayor Mills, who was always looking for any excuse to scrutinize the library, due to her own hostile working relationship with Mr. Gold.

And then, it hit her. There was only one person that she knows whose voice could captivate an audience for hours. Gazing up she asks her boyfriend with bluest puppy dog eyes she can muster, “Maybe you could do it Rumple?”

He stares blankly at her for just a moment, before scoffing. “Are you mad sweetheart? Half this town thinks I hunt children for their pelts!”

“No, that rumor died months ago,” Leroy interjects, causing both of their heads to swivel to find his gruffy short body leaning against the circulation desk with his head propped up in his hands, clearly eavesdropping. “Now the town mostly gossips about whether you’re blackmailing or paying Ms. French to date you.”

“How dare you…” Rumple gnarls his teeth, taking a step towards the buffoon as Belle places her hand on his chest, halting him in place. She can feel his body vibrating under her touch. His cold unwavering gaze is still fixed upon Leroy, as Belle spots his hand creeping towards the return bin, his fingers grasping for a book, which would no doubt be hurled at Leroy’s head.

“Don’t you dare,” she scolds giving his arm a warning squeeze, and is relieved when he lets out a faint grunt, as his hand releases the book.

“I would help you out sister, but tomorrow I got to fix the plumbing at the convent. The pipes are clogged again.” Leroy states, stretching his arms over his head.

“Yes, well that’s good,” Gold grits out with clenched teeth, “since everyone knows mother superior is full of sh…”

“Well thank you for the thought, Leroy” Belle interjects before her boyfriend could finish the insult.

“But if you do need someone, I could talk to Gaston,” Leroy says with a smile. “I just saw him last night at the Rabbit Hole, and he was mentioning wanting to spend more time at the library.”

The book was already hurling through the air before she could even get a word out, but luckily for Leroy he was able to dodge it at the last moment. She casts a glance at Gold, his eyes are pure black from blown out pupils, and his face stained a fuming red.

“If you ask that vainglorious oaf of an ass to come anywhere near this library, I promise I will raise you and your brother’s rent tenfold.”

His tone is as cold as a glacier, and Belle can see the few remaining patrons packing up their belongings for a quick exit. His jealousy fuse has been lit, and she knows of only one way to defuse it.

Reaching for his lapels she pulls his lips in for a kiss. She greedily sucks on his lower lip before biting it drawing a small lustful whimper from his mouth. She lifts her hand, waving for Leroy to make a hasty exit while she still has him distracted. His tongue plunges deep into her mouth, as her head becomes lightheaded with desire, as his dominating tongue assures them both that she belongs to him. She pulls back, breaking their kiss, as his own lips trail after her not wanting it to end. Opening her eyes, she finds his burning directly into hers with a mixture of love and benevolence.

“What time do you need me here tomorrow, Sweetheart?” he asks huskily.

“11:00am,” she replies with a soft smile.

X

He shows up bright and early the next morning, helping her set up the small colorful chairs into a half circle. She can see the uneasiness in his eyes, as he adjusts his tie for the hundredth time. She had told him the night before, after the library closed and they were alone, that he really did not need to do this if it made him uncomfortable. She could ask one of the children’s parents, or even try to do it herself, if the library wasn’t too busy, but he insisted that he would at least try to help her, before the town folk chased him away from the children with pitchforks and fire.

She knows he is only doing this to make her happy. It still amazes her that she was able to breach the walls he had built around his heart, but once she did, she had his unwavering love and devotion.

Worried whispers buzz through the air as the children and parents file in to see Mr. Gold with a tight-lipped smile standing at the children’s corner of the library. To settle the looks of trepidation, Belle put on a warm smile, announcing that Mr. Gold has audaciously volunteered to be the new storyteller for the event. As the children grew closer to taking their seats, she made her way back to the circulation desk, trailed by a line of parents.

Their concerns quickly turn to gossip as she explains that Ms. Potts had unexpectedly quit the night before.

“I heard she was on that fairytales dating website and met someone,” one mother interjects, before another pipes in, “Well I was told she was having money problems.”

Leaving the gossipy occupied parents, Belle makes her way to the bookstacks near the children’s corner. Pushing aside the books, her eyes land upon her boyfriend sitting in the roomy chair in front of the children.

She is amazed at how he reads with such gusto, giving the characters different voices, and adroitly changing the infliction of his voice to indicate moods and atmospheres. He is natural, and the children before him are a captivated audience.

She cannot help but admire the way he holds the storybook—his fingers delicately tracing the spine, as if savoring every word that flows before him. The deep, rich timbre of his voice resonates in her ears causing a delicious shiver down her spine. She can feel herself getting wet, and leaning her forehead against the wooden shelf, she tries to cool her growing desire. An ache builds between her legs, as she squirms trying to relieve the pressure, but knows only her fingers can relieve it. Visions of her crawling on her knees and sucking him off while he reads aloud tease her brain as her throbbing intensifies.

“I’d like to check out please.” The soft voice of a patron standing at the end of the aisle jerks back her wanton hands, as she smiles and nods, hastily ushering the patron to the checkout counter.

X

Belle wanders through the stacks of the public library, her fingertips brushing against the spines of the well-loved books. This place has always been a sanctuary for her, a place where the outside world fades away and the delicate scent of old pages fill her lungs, but for the last four days it has been nothing but a torture chamber of primal unsated longing.

She has always been attracted to the rich and velvety depth of Rumple’s accent, which washes over her like a warm tide every time they are together. But she now knows after the last few days that his reading voice sweeps through her body like a raging sexual current. Every word he mutters stirs ripples of desire, which break the surface of her skin, and burst into tiny fragments of salacious heat.

She is wearing her best armor, a light blue blouse, paired with a long gray skirt, and sensible black kitten heels on her feet.  Ditched is the lingerie that Rumple has bought for her over the months, replaced with a white pair of granny panties with little red roses over them. She has a sliver of hope that if she wears the attire of a demure proper librarian, she will trick her body into believing it. But alas with a new day the tendrils of his words as he reads to the children penetrate her librarian chic barrier leaving her once again with a pining ache in the pit of her belly, and slickness between her thighs.

She feels a heavy weight of shame and guilt settle on her small frame. What was wrong with her? Her chest tightens as she wonders what he would think of her if he knew of her kink. Here he is, reading to children, and she was a horny deviant mess with no self-control. Her worry and unyielding guilt tugs at her heart, manifesting in shorter smiles and fewer words to her beloved.

She just had to get passed this week of children’s events, quell her shameful secret kink, and then things could go back to normal with Rumple.  

She’s reaching to shelve a large Roman history volume on a higher shelf, when a familiar hand, with a large seer stone ring, comes around her to help push the book into its place. She can feel his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“What’s wrong?” he questions bringing his forehead to rest against the back of her head. Her heart breaks at the sound of worry in his tone.

“Nothing,” she lies trying to force cheerfulness into her weak thin voice.

Letting out a small sigh, he lets his hand slide down from the book to her hip, gently guiding her to turn around. She is not surprised to find his face pale, trepidation, and concern afloat in his liquid brown eyes.

He repeats again, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’ve been acting distant the last few days. Did…” he stutters trying to find his courage. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she shakes her head her heart catching at the vulnerability in his tone. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” She grabs his hand, pulling him towards her office where they can escape from the prying eyes of the library. She knows him and knows the dark places his mind can go if she leaves him to his own self-doubt.

Once in her office, he stands rigidly before her, as if he is preparing himself for a firing squad. She cannot allow him another moment of worry.  Tilting her head back, she lets out a calming breath. Do the brave thing, she thinks to herself.

“It your voice.”

He watches her for a stretched moment, before his head cocks to the side, his eyebrow arches. “Go on.”

The dam of her pent-up guilt and embarrassment burst forth, as every deviant sexual thought and desire that had crossed her mind that week cascades out. She explains how hearing the man she loves reading stories in the library is a sexual trifecta that makes her toes curl and panties wet.

A wicked smirk falls upon his lips, as he steps forward his hands grasping firmly around her waist pulling her flush against him. Judging by the solid bulge that she pokes against her stomach, she discerns that he finds no distaste in her kinky confession. His mouth tickles her right ear, as he purrs. “Never be embarrassed sweetheart. I have fantasies anywhere and everywhere about you, my beautiful Belle.”

His right knee presses forward between her skirted legs, and she instinctively presses herself against it.

“In all of my fantasies with you, I am on my knees,” he confesses in her ear.

“I’m on my knees, with your pretty little arse up in the air as I’m buried deep inside of you.”

She slides her hands into his suit coat, running her fingers up his chest, as his muscles twitch beneath her touch.

“I’m on my knees when I’m tasting your pleasure on my tongue,” he continues his voice rougher, as she rubs her mons harder against his leg.

“And I’m on my knees, when I’m asking you to marry me,” he whispers.

“Rumple,” she whispers, before grabbing his neck with one hand and pulling him down in an eagerly kiss, while her right-hand glides down brushing his rock hard

Cock.

A guttural groan releases from his mouth just as the office door flies open. Frantically she pulls back from him, looking over his shoulder to see the revolting eyes of Mayor Mills upon them.

“Damnit Gold, what the hell?” she shouts rubbing her eyes as if she were trying to wipe the image of the two lovers from her memory. “This is a municipal building not your own personal brothel.”

“Is there something in particular you needed, Mayor,” Gold grits out with a casual glance over his left shoulder.

“I need the meeting room unlocked to prepare for my presentation,” Regina replies sharply.

“Yes of course, Madam Mayor,” Belle calls out. “Let me just get the keys,” she scrambles to her desk searching for them.

“And since you’re already here Gold, I see no excuse as to why you can’t attend this committee meeting, since you’ve missed the last three.” She takes a few steps forward, straining her neck to look over his shoulder. “That is unless something else has come up,” she mocks with a cold sarcastic tone.

“Got them,” Belle calls out, the keys jingling in her hands, as Regina wordlessly stomps out of the office. Her body slumps in relief, as she moves next to Rumple’s side.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” she says her eyes casted down on the floor. She feels his fingers under her chin, guiding her to look up at him. She sees no shame in his eyes, as he lifts her hand, his lips pressing gently against her fingers.

“To be continued,” he growls under his breath. A tiny spark of anticipation tugs at the corner of her mouth, as she moves to the door before turning back.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I need a moment, love,” he glances down at the tented arch in his pants. “To compose myself.”  

X

It takes twenty minutes to cool her overheated blood after the body rush she just experienced in her office. She has borne her innermost secrets to him, and instead of scorn she was met with his accepting arms and words that made her heart stutter and explode. To learn that he has given thought of marrying her only makes her desire and love for him grow stronger. He is her forever, her always, of that she was sure, but now she needs to find a distraction from the enchantment of Rumford Gold.

She decided the best distraction is cataloguing the newest donations to the library. Sitting at the counter, she punches away at the keyboard.

Raising her arms to stretch, she casually glances across the library peering at the glass wall of the meeting room where her boyfriend currently sits against the back wall. While she truly tries to focus on work, his angular silhouette supplants all her motivation. She glances down for a moment, but as she looked back up, his sparkling eyes are looking directly at hers, a smile on his lips that sends her heart libido into overdrive.

Her heart is beating heavily within her chest, as neither of them look away. His breathing becomes heavier, and she wonders if he can tell the erotic nature her thoughts are currently taking. The invisible thread that ties their gaze is quickly clipped as an irritated Mayor Mills rashly comes into view, drawing the curtain to the room closed.

Placing her head in her hands she lets out a heavy sigh, as she continues working for the next 30 minutes. She can only imagine her boyfriend sitting in the meeting exacting his revenge for the closed curtain with curt words and gruff objections to every proposal by the mayor.

It was only 5 minutes till closing when she heard the voices of Archie Hopper, and Mary Margaret echoing back to the reference stacks where she currently is working. The meeting must be done, she thinks, biting her lip in anticipation of seeing her boyfriend again. Walking into the outskirts of the library, she sees Mayor Mills and the others heading towards the exit.

She moves towards her office, taking a quick glimpse, finding him not there. She then looks toward the meeting room with the curtain now pulled back and sees it to be empty as well.

“Rumple?” she calls out her inquiry bouncing off the library walls.

“We may sit in our library, and yet be in all quarters of the earth,” a whispering voice, familiar and warm answers back. Turning around, her heart flutters as Gold steps out from behind a towering bookshelf.

“How did the meeting go?” she asks, the question answered by a dismissive wave of his hand.

“There are much more pressing matters to focus on my dear,” he hums with a mischievous smile.

Tilting her head, she is aware that he is hiding something behind his back. Curiosity piqued she takes a step forward, “And what matters would those…,” the words die on her lips, as he pulls the well-worn cover of, “Her Handsome Hero,” from behind his back.

A delightful shiver dances down her spine, as her cheeks warm.  It was nearly three months ago, during a wine fueled game of truth and dare, when asked about her first sexual experience, she confessed to touching herself for the first time while reading that book.

“Would you like a bedtime story, my beautiful Belle?”

She is not sure if it is the sultriness in his voice, or the wicked gleam in his eye, but the room starts growing warmer and sweat begins to form across her brow.

“Yes,” her reply stumbles nervously out of her mouth, as her body trembles. She watches as he drags a wooden chair out from one of the tables and takes a seat. The world around her seems to pause, as she holds her breath, as the book opens.

“Start with chapter 22,” she says, moving her thumb to her mouth and biting it softly. She has read that book front to cover endless times, but right now, she wants to hear those specific words from his mouth.

His voice fills the air, as she breathes in his words. Her body sways gently as he reads, her hips undulating in a sensuous rhythm. She can feel her wetness start to build. She glides gracefully towards the long wooden table nearest him, as his words stutter for the first time, as he watches her approach. She hops on the table, her feet dangling off the side. Gently she lowers down to lay on her back, as her fingers start hiking up the hem of her skirt.

As he reads on, she can hear his struggle to stay focused, as he reads the same line three times. Her hands move to her chest, as her fingers unbutton her blouse, and tease her nipple. She hears moans as his pauses getting longer between every word.

“Don’t stop,” she commands, moving her fingers down to brush her underwear aside, to play with her folds. His deep breathing overtakes his voice, as the noises he now makes are almost incomprehensible, as she lets out a gasp of pleasure, her body convulsing as her body goes limp on the table.

As the moment passes, she slowly comes back to herself, savoring the afterglow of her orgasm. The room is silent, as she finally opens her eyes, a small smile of satisfaction plays across her lips as she stares at her boyfriend. She has never seen him looking so completely undone. His skin is pale and dampened, his breath is heavy and ragged, his hair wild as if he raked his hands through it, and his eyes bewildered. For a moment she is worried that he may be having a heart attack, but her eyes land upon his engorged manhood straining against the crotch of his pants.

“Come here,” she whispers, and he obeys her command without hesitation, placing the book on the chair as he stands up, and moves to the table. She feels a strong grip on her ankles as he yanks her body to the edge of the table before getting on his knees. His tongue enters her thick and fast, as her hips buck upwards begging for more. Waves of ecstasy crash down with every stroke of his tongue, until her climax comes hard and fast.

“Roll over,” he commands standing up. As she rolls over, she hears him climb up on the table behind her. He mounts her back as she feels the tip of his cock near her entrance. Gripping her hips, he slowly presses into her and soon picks up the tempo as she moans approvingly.

“Won’t last,” he mutters out, right before he falls over the edge. She smiles, as she feels the weight of him go limp as his gasping breath starts to slow. He kisses her shoulder blade and massages her spine, before he slips out of her.  She moves over, as he takes his place laying by her side on the long wooden table.

“I love you,” he whispers, placing his forehead against hers.

“I love you too,” she breathes back.

He chuckles for a moment. “If it always ends like this, I swear I will read you every book in here.”

Belle was visiting Darkhaven again. Ever since Rumplestiltskin refused to go down to the small village in the valley beneath the Dark Castle for the Midwinter Festival, she had been going there every day. It wasn’t that he refused to let her celebrate. Belle decorated the castle with so much holly and mage lights that he was sure the villagers could see it all the way from the valley! The intimidating Dark Castle now looked like a lordling’s winter manor dressed up like a turkey for the holidays. 

Belle had already been transforming the dilapidated, haunting castle into a renovated, welcoming estate, so there was no harm in hanging a few holiday trinkets if it made her happy. The gardens were overflowing with flowers and produce. She asked him to repair the west tower and stables, which were falling apart, and he did. Even inside, things had changed, with pulled-back curtains, colorful decorations, and roses scattered about. He refused to move his displays. He was still the Dark One, and any unwanted visitor needed to be reminded of his power, even if Belle seemed to be doing her best to ruin his reputation. Surprisingly, she had agreed. The dangerous displays, his tower, his lab, his personal chambers, the dungeons, and any magically locked-away corner remained unchanged. 

Never before in all his curse’s history had the Dark Castle been so festive and bursting with life. But there were limits. He refused to attend the village festival. People feared the Dark One. He was the monster in their bedtime stories, threatening to take their children away. Even though the village was close by, he avoided it as much as possible, venturing down only to bargain for wool or foodstuffs. 

Hell’s, when the town first formed centuries ago from a group of deserters, they tried to give him tribute! As if he were some vengeful god who would strike them down. He had refused the maiden, but the following year, they tried offering him their harvests instead. He had to spell it out to them very clearly, with lots of flashy magic, that he didn’t accept tributes. He was a dealmaker. He didn’t steal. Well, at least not from the peasantry. He still questioned his decision to let them stay, but he was too new a Dark One, still fresh from battle himself, not to sympathize with fellow deserters and cowards. Over the years, they multiplied, and even after many of their children left for the outside world, more people began to show up until it became a proper town. 

They wouldn’t welcome him, and he would ruin the holiday, so he thought it made perfect sense not to go. But Belle insisted he was wrong. She argued that although the villagers were wary of him, they wouldn’t have turned him away. It must have been homesickness that made her go mad for a moment, because next she told him the townsfolk saw him as their eccentric protector. Him, the Dark One! What nonsense! So he refused to go, and Belle went alone. When she returned, she told him about the fun she had and how welcoming everyone was. Of course, they had always welcomed Belle. Belle was light and good, and under his protection. They wouldn’t dare harm her. 

But every day since the Midwinter Festival, she had been visiting the village. When he asked why, she just smiled and said, “Why don’t you come with me and find out?” 

It was driving him mad, well, madder than usual. 

He was always busy in the days after the Midwinter Festival, preparing for the first new moon after the Winter Solstice. So he hadn’t had time to investigate her sudden interest in the town. 

That was until now, the evening of the new moon, when Belle walked into his lab, snow still covering her black wolf-fur coat, wearing a light-blue dress with snowflakes on the skirt. 

“Back from your little jaunt into town?” he asked without turning from the basket he was packing. It was a specially crafted basket woven from vines and foliage. 

Her footsteps drew closer until she stopped just short of him. She had learned early on that touching or startling him in his lab could have dangerous consequences.

“Everything dangerous is bottled and put away. I’m just finishing up,” he assured her. Belle wrapped her arms around his neck as he placed a glass bottle of silver powder into the basket and secured it with the twine latch. 

“I’m back, but not for long,” she said, her breath softly grazing his neck and making him shiver. 

“Two trips in one day? Tsk, tsk. Trying to escape the beast, dearie?” he sing-songed, hiding his worry that she was doing just that behind his impish mask. 

Throw her in the dungeons! 

Why do you always let go of what’s yours? 

All women leave you! 

He ignored the voices of the previous Dark Ones, a feat that took him over a century to master, and even then, they could still overwhelm him. Fortunately, love—especially true love—helped keep them quiet. 

Belle kissed his scaly cheek, easing the gnawing darkness and relaxing his tense body. 

“No, Rumple. I may have been upset, but I’m not leaving you. You, however, called me dearie again.” 

Rumplestiltskin winced. “Habit, my dear, ‘tis just a habit.” 

Belle hummed, hearing the unspoken apology. She tilted her head, resting it on his shoulder. 

“Wait, ‘may have’?” he asked. 

Belle sighed, “I was terribly upset. I really wanted to go to the Midwinter Festival with you, Rumple, but I understand why you felt you couldn’t go. You, however, are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, even more than Gaston.” 

Rumplestiltskin gasped, turning around in her arms until they were face-to-face. Their bodies pressed together, leather against fur. 

“How dare you, my lady! That is an insult to evil sorcerers everywhere!” he teased. 

Her laughter was like a bird’s song, full of life and joy. It still surprised him every time she laughed at his morbid humor, but not as much as when she touched him without a second thought. 

Belle slapped his chest and shook her head, replying, “You’re not evil, Rumple. I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. Now, stop distracting me. We’ll be late if we don’t leave now.” 

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “We?”

“Yes, you are coming with me,” she said resolutely.

He sighed, “Belle—”

“Before you say no this time, just listen to me for a moment,” Belle interrupted. “You’re officially invited to attend Darkhaven’s festival tonight.” She drew her arms back from around his neck. He immediately missed them. Then, she pulled a sealed envelope from her coat pocket and handed it to him. 

It was a black envelope, the kind he’d only ever seen other magic users use. They were a dramatic bunch. “I’m invited?” he asked, confused. “Wait, the Midwinter Festival is over.” He looked up at Belle, a suspicion growing. “Belle, you didn’t persuade an entire village to host a festival for me, did you?” 

Belle’s eyes widened in surprise, then she snorted, “Rumple, you think I could convince an entire town to hold a second festival just because I wanted to go with my—” She blinked, considering what to call him, “—my suitor? Don’t be silly. I don’t have that kind of power. I found out about it at the Midwinters Festival while talking to the baker. It’s a centuries-old village tradition.” She smirked, then leaned up on her toes to bop his nose, “—which has fascinating origins I’m not going to tell you unless you go. And since you’re invited, you have no excuse.” 

The village held a second celebration so soon after the Midwinter Festival, and it just so happened to fall on the night of the new moon. He did not like those implications. He made sure no magical beings could enter his territory without his knowledge, so he doubted it was an outside force influencing the one town that lived within his lands. But the Fates were never kind to him. If the people of Darkhaven created a religion that worshiped the Dark One because he had been hands-off for too long, he was going to rampage. 

“Okay, I’ll go, but!” he twirled his hand and held up one clawed finger. “I’m only going to see what nonsense has sprouted in my little village, then leave. Some people are actually working tonight, my fair lady. I have an appointment that I absolutely cannot miss. We must leave before the new moon reaches its zenith.” 

Belle’s smile lit up her face and warmed his cold heart. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. It was a quick kiss, a lover’s thank-you, but it made his heart race. 

“You won’t regret it. I promise,” Belle said with her dazzling smile. 

For a moment, he basked in her light, but the outside world and his inner darkness never let him stay there for long. 

She’s not asking what you’re up to? 

She never shuts up! 

This is a trap!

The voices clamored inside his head. He hated it when they made sense. It was easier to resist their influence when he could recognize the whispers as temptations and nothing more. 

Once Belle had overcome her fear of him—which, if anyone asked, had taken months, not days—she kept asking questions, especially about magic. She had practically become his research assistant. Unlike everyone else he had taught, she didn’t want to learn how to practice magic but instead wanted to learn as much as possible about how it worked and its history. 

Her skill in translating languages, particularly fairie, was invaluable. He didn’t answer all her questions. Some knowledge was too dangerous, and there were things he wasn’t ready for her to know yet. Somehow, she had accepted that. Still, she always asked questions. Not doing so now was suspicious, but she could also be so excited to go to a festival with him that she thought she could ask about it later. 

It was probably nothing. 

“Well! We’d better get going now. Wouldn’t want the guest of honor to be late!” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand, and his leather vest transformed into his infamous dragonhide cloak with a feathered collar. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint our hosts, hehe!”

He grabbed Belle’s waist and disappeared in a cloud of maroon smoke. He left the basket on the table, knowing he could always summon it later. Next to the basket was the sealed black envelope. 

“Are these any good, Papa?"

Rumplestiltskin smiled at his son as Baelfire bounced towards him, a bundle of wood clutched tightly to his little chest. The boy lowered his arms proudly to show his father his wares.

“These are wonderful, Bae." Rumplestiltskin leaned down slightly to examine the collection, reaching in to select a particular stick and holding it up so Bae could see it closely. “This one in particular is perfect. Can you find me lots more just like it?”

“Okay, Papa!" Bae grinned, allowing the rest of the sticks to fall from his arms before turning and running off to continue his mission.

Rumplestiltskin winced as he leaned on his staff, using its support to help him bend down and gather the scattered offerings into the basket at his feet, taking the opportunity to dispose of some of the less useful ones as he did so. Their first winter without Milah and he could already tell it was going to be a cold one. The weather was turning and his ankle was screaming even more than usual. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had snow soon.

Their supply of firewood had dwindled and try as he might, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t keep on top of it by himself. He hated having to rely on his son, but Bae was such a sweet boy, so eager to help.

Rumplestiltskin stood back up, watching as Bae scampered around with all the energy of a child his age. He seemed to be enjoying himself and Rumplestiltskin was glad of that. A boy should have fun.

It wasn’t long before he returned with more sticks. This time his arms were so full Rumplestiltskin could barely see his eyebrows above the wood.

“Look, Papa! I found lots more just like that one you showed me!”

“You did, Bae!” Rumplestiltskin smiled, even though he was pretty sure Bae couldn’t see him over the pile in his arms. “Well done! You’re done such a good job. That should be enough for today.”

Rumplestiltskin reached out, taking the sticks carefully to place in the basket. Once he was done he reached down to pick it up but Bae was quicker, hefting it up into his arms.

“I can do it, Papa!" Bae insisted

“All right, but be careful." Rumplestiltskin watched intently as Bae strode forward confidently, leading the way back home. His son was growing up so fast.

The sky darkened as they walked and as their cottage came into sight the first flakes started to fall from the sky.

“Snow!" Bae squealed in delight, almost dropping the basket, and Rumplestiltskin was reminded of how young he really was still. “Look, Papa! It’s snowing!”

“I see it, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin replied. He wished he could take the same joy in the white flakes that his son did.

“How much do you think we’ll get?" Bae’s eyes were shining. “I hope we get lots! I’m going to build a snowman! I'm going to build the best snowman ever!”

“I’m sure you will." Rumplestiltskin smiled. “But we need to make sure we’ve got the fire going first. And we might need to gather some more wood tomorrow morning.”

“And then we can build a snowman?”

“Yes, Bae. Then we can build a snowman.”

~*~

Three Hundred Years Later

“You know, you could help me with this.”

Rumplestiltskin glanced up from his spinning at the sound of Belle’s voice. His maid was currently standing beside a half decorated fir tree that reached nearly to the ceiling, hands on her hips, glaring at him with the expression of someone who was under the mistaken impression that she had any influence over him and his decisions. It was the same expression she’d worn right after he’d told her she couldn’t bring a tree into the Dark Castle. And after he’d told her he couldn’t summon her decorations from Avonlea.

“Why would I do that?" He looked back at his wheel, shrugging. “If I recall correctly you were the one who begged me for that thing. If it’s too much for you I can always get rid of it.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Belle retorted. Rumplestiltskin kept his head down towards his wheel but angled slightly to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She turned her attention back to the tree, the bottom half of which was covered in carefully placed candles, red ribbons, and gleaming gold and silver baubles in contrast to the bare upper branches. “Fine. But if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need a ladder.”

“Absolutely not!” Rumplestiltskin’s head shot up. He waved his hand and smoke engulfed the tree. When it cleared, the top half was decorated to perfectly match the work that Belle had already done. All the candles were lit and the light from their flames reflected in the baubles, casting a warming glow over the whole scene.

Belle gasped in delight and Rumplestiltskin fought to keep his face neutral.

“Oh, Rumplestiltskin! It’s beautiful. But what happened to not wanting to help?”

“Fear for my castle.” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand dismissively. “I didn’t want you falling off another ladder and damaging my floor.”

“Right. Of course,” Belle smiled knowingly and it made his skin itch. She walked over to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Well, thank you for looking out for my safety."

“Hmm." For one wild second he thought she was going to bend down and kiss his cheek, but of course that was a ridiculous notion. Instead he heard the rustling of her skirt as she moved behind him.

“Oh, look! I think it’s snowing!"

“Wonderful,” Rumplestiltskin muttered sarcastically.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s magical!”

He heard her footsteps move across the floor to the window, and he turned to see her leaning on the glass, her eyes transfixed on the flakes that were indeed falling outside in the fading light. “Do you think we’ll be able to build a snowman? I always wanted to build a snowman. I’d read about people doing it and it sounded like so much fun, but we never got enough snow for me to try.”

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes as the memories assaulted him.

Do you like my snowman, Papa? He’s you! See, he has a hat and a staff. And that’s his spindle!

“Or maybe we could have a snowball fight?" Belle’s voice broke through his reverie and he realised she was smirking at him. “But I suppose you’re going to tell me that the Dark One is far too dignified to have snowball fights?”

Ah ha! I got you, Papa! I got you good!

Bae’s laughter as he pelted him with snowballs rang in his ears, causing him to stand from the wheel abruptly.

“I…" A call for help interrupted whatever he’d been about to say and Rumplestiltskin grabbed onto it gratefully. “I have important business to attend to. I expect my tea to be ready by the time I get back.”

He magicked himself away before Belle could respond and found himself in a circle of trees. No one was in sight but this was definitely where the call had come from. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so distracted he would have been a bit more suspicious.

A figure moved in the shadows and he snarled in their direction. “Come on out, dearie. I don’t have all day!”

“Rumplestiltskin,” the figure called softly. They took a step forward but were still hidden in the trees.

“Yes, yes, you know my name. Congratulations,” he trilled. “Now, what is it that you want?”

“I want…" They took another step forward. “I want…”

“What?” Rumplestiltskin snapped.

“For you to begone, foul beast!" Another voice rang out behind him and Rumplestiltskin spun around just in time to see a second person emerge from the shadows and throw a vial of liquid on his chest.

“What…" Rumplestiltskin snarled again, raising his hand to turn the pair of them into snails, when he felt the potion start working. It felt like molasses seeping through his clothes and skin, penetrating his bones and coating his magic. Panic flared in his chest. Realising he didn’t have much time he changed tactics. He transported himself back to the Dark Castle, appearing in the great hall much to Belle’s surprise.

“Rumplestiltskin!" She held her hand to her chest, “You scared me. That was quick!"

“No time,” he growled, waving his hand to bring a supply of firewood in from outside. Some he directed straight to the fireplace, where he sent a spark to light it, and the rest he piled up to the side. A comfortable sofa replaced the single chair in front of the fire and he felt the last of his magic fizzle out seconds before the pain in his ankle returned with a vengeance.

“Rumplestiltskin!" Belle cried out in alarm as he collapsed to the ground. “What’s wrong?"

“Nothing." Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth as she knelt at his side, reaching her arms out to him. He shooed her away before she could make contact. “I’m fine. Go sit by the fire."

“You are clearly not fine. What happened?"

“You did." Rumplestiltskin glared at her. “You distracted me with your silly prattle about trees and snow.”

“Excuse me?" She pulled back in indignation. “How is this my fault?"

“Because if it weren’t for you, I would have realised that the call was a trap and our garden would have two more snails right now.”

“A trap?" The concern was back in her face as she leaned in again, her eyes scanning his body as though searching for a wound. “What happened? Are you all right?"

Rumplestiltskin sighed. Was there really any point in hiding it from her? She was going to find out eventually.

“It’s some sort of magic-dampening potion,” he admitted.

“What does that mean? Have you lost your powers?”

“Only temporarily." He snarled again thinking about the pair in the woods. “Although I’m sure they were aiming for a more permanent outcome.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he snapped at her. “I can still feel my magic inside, trying to break through. The potion is already starting to weaken. Shouldn’t be more than a day or two. So don’t even think of using this as an opportunity to break our deal!”

He thought he saw her roll her eyes at that. “So what happens until then?”

“Until then…” He fixed her with a hard stare. “It’s about to get very cold in here. All that snow you so admired earlier is going to bring freezing temperatures and without my magic to keep it warm this is about to become just another drafty castle.”

“And that’s why you lit the fire." Belle nodded her head towards it.

“Obviously.”

“Well come on then." She stood up and held her hand out to him. After eyeing it for a couple of seconds, Rumplestiltskin reached out and allowed her to help him up. He winced as he jarred his ankle, despite his best efforts to not put any weight on it.

Belle frowned again. “Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?"

“It’s an old injury,” he explained dismissively. “Normally my magic masks the pain, but not right now.”

“Oh." Belle seemed to accept this easily but he could almost see the cogs turning in her head at this little revelation about his past as they limped to the sofa together.

He settled down on the cushions with more help from Belle than he would have liked. She seemed reluctant to join him and while he couldn’t blame her, she didn’t exactly have much choice.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” he snarked.

“Not at all. I was just making sure you’re comfortable. I’m going to go down to the kitchen to fetch your tea.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s far too cold to be traipsing about the castle."

“I’ll be fine." Belle smiled at him. “I grew up in a castle like this. Yes, it’s going to get cold but it’s not going to freeze in a matter of minutes.”

Rumplestiltskin looked away, embarrassed. Of course it would take a while for the heat to dissipate. If he’d thought about it for more than a few seconds he’d have realised that. But he’d panicked. The loss of his magic had sent him straight back to being a poor spinner, constantly fighting to keep warm in the harsh winters.

“Fine." He waved a hand at her dismissively. “But take a candle. I’m not coming to find you if you fall down the stairs and break your neck.”

Belle gave him a look he couldn’t interpret before grabbing one of the candles from the holder next to the fireplace and using the flames to light it. After she left, he stared into the fire, cursing himself for his slow reflexes. All this could have been avoided if he’d just been paying a bit more attention. At least it was only temporary. He could already feel his magic fighting against the restraint. He just had to get through this night somehow.

He winced as he flexed his ankle. It wasn’t throbbing quite so badly any more, but it still hurt. He’d forgotten just how much it hurt without the magic to mask the pain.

It wasn’t long before Belle returned carrying a tray. The candle she had taken with her was now held in a single holder balanced carefully on the surface along with a selection of other items. One in particular made Rumplestiltskin raise his eyebrow.

“Wine, dearie?”

Belle blushed slightly. “Well, the tea will only last for so long and it sounds like we’re going to be here a while. I saw you had a rather nice collection of bottles, so I thought this could tide us over for the evening.”

“Of course you did." He reached out as she approached and took the wine from her tray, examining it in the firelight. “Hmm. A fine choice. I believe Dionysus himself gave me this bottle.”

Belle fixed him with a hard stare. “You did not know Dionysus.”

“And what makes you so sure?” He replaced the bottle on the tray and tilted his head at her. “Hmm?”

“Well, because he’s a myth. Isn’t he?" She sounded uncertain.

“All myths start somewhere.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Belle allowed. “Here, hold this for me.”

She thrust the tray at him and he took it automatically, examining the contents. As well as the bottle she’d also brought up a pot of tea, two cups, including his chipped one, and some sort of misshapen loaf which appeared to have dried fruit in it. There was also a serrated knife.

“Planning to stab me, dearie?” He aimed for sarcasm, but had to admit the thought had crossed his mind, powerless as he now was.

“It’s for the fruit bread,” Belle called back.

He looked up to see her dragging a small table that he was pretty sure used to hold an important magical artifact across the floor. She placed it between the sofa and the fire before taking the tray back from him and resting it on the table’s surface.

“And that would be this thing?” He poked the loaf.

“I baked it earlier.” Belle sat down next to him, reaching forward to pour the tea and cut the bread. “We always had spiced fruit bread for the Solstice back in Avonlea. Trust me, it’s delicious.”

She handed him the chipped cup along with a slice of the loaf. He took a cautious nibble, finding himself pleasantly surprised by the rich spices.

“Well, it certainly tastes better than it looks.”

“I’d have thought you of all people would know not to judge a book by its cover.” Belle took a bite of her own slice, closing her eyes as she chewed. She opened them again after swallowing. “So, we’re going to be here all night?"

“Unfortunately,” Rumplestiltskin sighed. “Until my powers return, this is going to be the only warm room in the castle. If I’d had a bit more time I’d have lit the fireplaces in our rooms as well, but I didn’t get the chance. I know this isn’t the ideal set up, but needs must.”

Belle opened her mouth but paused, seeming to rethink what she was going to say. “So why is this fire still lit when all the others have gone out? And the candles too?”

“Because this fire is natural, even though I had to use magic to create the initial spark. The others were all magical."

“Even the candles on the tree?”

“Especially the candles on the tree. I didn’t want that thing catching fire and burning down my castle."

Belle looked offended. “I’ll have you know we had candles on the tree every year at Avonlea and not once did the castle burn down.”

“Good for you. But I’d rather my castle not be your first."

Belle laughed, reaching forward for the wine bottle and examining the wax seal. “Now, how do we open this?”

“Allow me.” Rumplestiltskin held out his hand and Belle passed him the bottle. He leaned over her to pick up the knife, trying to ignore the way she moved backwards to avoid touching him as he did so.

Deftly removing the wax seal and loose cork inside, Rumplestiltskin held up the open bottle triumphantly.

“Very impressive,” Belle laughed.

“I am a man of many talents.” Rumplestiltskin smiled as he poured wine into both their teacups with a flourish.

“Well, cheers.” Belle held up her cup and he paused briefly before clinking it with his own. They each took a sip and Belle looked thoughtful. “You know, back in Avonlea we would mull wine at this time of year. Heat it with sugar and spices. Serve it with slices of orange.”

Her voice was wistful and it irked him. As though he needed another reminder that she’d rather be anywhere but with him. “I don’t think Dionysus would appreciate us using his gift like that."

Belle looked up at him. “Were you serious about that? This bottle is really from Dionysus?”

“I’m always serious, dearie." He took another sip. She didn’t need to know that Dionysus was a minor lord a few kingdoms over whose parents had had delusions of grandeur when they named him.

They settled into silence, sharing their wine together while the fire crackled away. It was doing an admirable job of keeping the place warm, but it wasn’t perfect. Rumplestiltskin had never before considered the implications of having such a vast great hall with only one fireplace. He’d never had to.

He stood up and moved to the fire, leaning over to add some more logs to the flames.

When he turned around he noticed Belle looked flushed and uncomfortable.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Her answer was suspiciously quick. “I’m fine."

He sat down, studying her intently. She shivered and he inwardly cursed himself. She was only in her blue work dress, of course she was colder than he was.

“Here." He removed his coat, reaching behind her to drape it around her shoulders. Belle shuddered, closing her eyes and leaning away from him. He felt his mouth twist. “I’m sorry my touch is so repulsive to you, dearie, but that’s no reason to let yourself freeze.”

“Oh no, I…”

“Hopefully that will be enough to keep you warm,” he interrupted her, smiling nastily. “Otherwise we might have to resort to sharing body heat. Hard to imagine anything more repugnant than that.”

Belle swallowed heavily and he looked away. He didn’t even know why her rejection hurt so much. He was well aware of who and what he was. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that she would be repulsed by the idea of being in such close proximity to him. .

He supposed he had thought she might be different. That she might not be as disgusted by him as the rest of the world. That she wouldn’t flinch away at the mere indignity of sitting next to him.

He’d been a fool.

He closed his eyes. Maybe he could feign sleep for the rest of the evening. All he had to do was get through the next few hours and then they could move on and never mention this night ever again.

~*~

Thirty Years Later

“Belle?” Rumplestiltskin called out as he entered the front door to his pink Victorian house in Storybrooke. “Are you home, sweetheart?" He really hoped she was. The snow outside was getting heavier and it wouldn’t be long before the roads became impassable.

“I’m in the kitchen!" Her voice floated out into the hallway and he followed it to find her standing over a pan of red liquid, staring at it intently. The scent of cinnamon and cloves tickled his nose as he approached.

“Something smells delicious,” he said, undoing his coat buttons as he leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek before directing his attention to the pan. “Mulled wine?”

“Yeah, an old Avonlean recipe. Most of the spices in this land are the same, so I hope it’ll taste good.”

“I’m sure it will." He finished removing his coat and gloves, hanging them up before returning to her side, watching as she strained the wine into two mugs.

“Here.” She handed one of the mugs to him. “Shall we…”

Her voice trailed off as the lights went out, plunging them into darkness. A few seconds later he heard the sound of a drawer opening, followed by a bright light shining directly in his face.

“Oops, sorry!” Belle directed the beam of the flashlight down as she made her way to the window. “Looks like a power cut. I think the whole street is out.”

“And beyond, I’d wager,” Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes as his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket to answer. “Gold.”

“Mr Gold, there’s something wrong with my house! Nothing’s working!" The voice on the other end of the line was almost panicked.

“It’s a power cut, Mr Samuels. Don’t worry. I’m sure your electricity will be back soon.”

“Well can’t you fix it? I need my lights! And my TV!”

“I’m afraid town-wide power outages are beyond my purview as landlord. Perhaps you should contact the mayor and see what she plans to do about it?"

“Well, okay, if you think that will help."

Rumplestiltskin blinked as Samuels hung up on him. He wondered if the man would actually be stupid enough to call Regina about this. Probably, but it wasn’t going to be his problem. He switched his phone off, putting it back in his pocket.

He looked up to see that Belle had been busying herself with finding their supply of candles. She was setting them up around the room, lighting each one as she went.

“What do you think?” she asked him once she had finished.

“Beautiful,” he replied sincerely. She might have been asking about the set up, but he only had eyes for her. Her face was illuminated by the flickering glow from the flames and he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything more beautiful in his life.

She smiled softly and he knew she’d understood his meaning. “We should light a fire as well. Keep ourselves warm.”

While she worked on doing that, Rumplestiltskin brought their mugs of wine over. Once she had a blaze going she stood up and he handed her her mug. She smiled her thanks and they settled on the sofa. He took one side and she curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and pulling her legs up beside her.

He put his free arm around her and they sat in contented silence for a while, watching the flames and savouring the wine, before Belle spoke again.

“You know, this reminds me of that night in the Dark Castle when you lost your powers.”

Rumplestiltskin tensed. “I thought you might have forgotten about that.” He kept his voice light.

Belle snorted. “That was one of the most memorable nights of my life. Do you really think I would forget it so easily?”

“I suppose ‘hoped’ would have been the better word,” he sighed, draining the rest of his wine and putting his mug down on the side table. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it made you uncomfortable having to be so close to me back then.”

“It was certainly a challenge, I’ll admit,” Belle agreed.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. He knew he was monstrous in that form, but it still hurt to hear it from the woman he loved. “I should have come up with a better solution. When I think back on it I realise we could have taken the wood up to our rooms and lit the fires ourselves. But I’d become so reliant on magic I didn’t even think of something that simple. I’m sorry, Belle.”

“Well it’s not all on you.” Belle finished her own wine and leaned across him, placing her mug next to his and cuddling further into his shoulder as she settled back down. “I didn’t suggest it either.”

“I imagine that as a highborn lady the concept of lighting your own fires was rather foreign to you.”

“Not really,” she shrugged against him. “I lit the fire in the kitchen for our tea, didn’t I?"

“Wait...” Rumplestiltskin sat up, dislodging her head as he turned to face her. “Are you saying you knew we could have gone to our own rooms the whole time?” She nodded “Why didn’t you say anything? You could have saved us all that hardship.”

“And miss out on the chance to spend the night with you?” Belle was looking at him like he was an idiot. “No way was I going to pass that up!”

“But you just said it was a challenge.” He frowned.

“Oh, it was,” Belle said cheerily. “Sitting so close to you while having to resist the temptation to tear your clothes off was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done!"

He paused as his brain tried to make sense of her words. He settled on the only explanation he could think of. “Are you mocking me?”

“What? No!" Belle sat up abruptly. She turned, throwing one leg over his to straddle his lap and his hands automatically moved to hold her waist. She brought her own hands up to cup his face and leaned in close to look him straight in the eyes as she spoke. “Rumple, do you have any idea how attracted I was to you back then? You’d walk around the castle in those tight leather trousers and I would forget everything I was supposed to be doing! When you bent over the fireplace that evening it took everything I had not to jump you right then and there!"

His brain was working in overdrive, “But…”

“And your skin!” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “The way it sparkled in the firelight. I was already barely holding it together and then you went and took your coat off! I thought I was done for!"

“Oh." He thought back to her reaction. The way she’d shuddered and pulled away from him. “I thought you were disgusted.”

“I was aroused.” She said the words earnestly before sliding her hands down to his neck, undoing the knot of his tie. “Your shirt had an open neck and I could see the top of your chest peeking out. I longed to undo your buttons and follow that strip of flesh down.”

Her hands mirrored her words, nimble fingers slipping open the buttons of his black shirt, pulling the sides apart to reveal the skin beneath. Her nails gently scratched over his nipples and he felt his cock twitch in response.

“I… I had no idea.”

“I wanted to touch every inch of you. I wanted to see how much of your skin would sparkle like that.”

“All of it,” Rumplestiltskin whispered. “All of my skin looked like that.”

“All of it?” Belle repeated, brushing her hand across the bulge in his trousers meaningfully.

He gulped. “Yes."

She shifted further back, her hands now going to his groin to undo his belt and fly. “I would have loved to have seen that.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She pulled the waistband of his underwear down, allowing his cock to spring free.

“I could…” he began but then trailed off. No, that was a stupid idea.

“What?" Her fingers reached out to lightly stroke him.

“A… glamour?” he suggested tentatively. “If you really wanted to see what I looked like then.”

Belle’s eyes lit up and her fingers twitched. “You would do that for me?"

“If you want me to. But I know how you feel about magic.”

“I think this is fine. Please, Rumple.”

Before he could think better of it he raised a hand, smoke engulfing him from head to toe. When it cleared his sensible black dress shirt had transformed into gold silk underneath a red brocade waistcoat, both of them undone and lying open at his sides. His black trousers were now brown leather, the laces undone. And the scales that he’d worn as the Dark One now covered the skin of his entire body, including his cock, proudly jutting up from the opening on his leather pants.

Glancing down at his lap he suddenly felt foolish. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He risked a glance at Belle, fearing that she would have changed her mind now that she was faced with the reality in front of her.

But far from the disgust he expected to see, he was shocked to find her face dark with desire, her pupils dilated and her lips slightly parted as she took him in.

“Oh, Rumple,” she breathed, slowly moving backwards off his lap and sliding to her knees in front of him, never taking her eyes off his cock as she did so. “You have no idea how often I wanted to do this. How often I would dream about the various ways I could accidentally find myself on my knees in front of you."

Rumplestiltskin swallowed heavily. “I had no idea a highborn lady would even know about such things.”

“I read a lot of books.” Belle smirked at him. “And that library you gave me had some very interesting literature in it.”

Whatever he had been about to say in response flew out of his mind as she leaned forward, her hot mouth engulfing him completely.

“Oh, gods! Belle!”

She pulled back and he nearly cried out in despair before she returned to kiss her way up and down his shaft.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, bringing her mouth back up to take him in completely once again. She hollowed her cheeks, alternating between sucking hard and laving him with her tongue. He knew he wasn’t going to last long.

“Belle, sweetheart, I’m going to come,” he managed to croak out.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but she responded by sucking harder. He groaned as he came, and she swallowed down everything he gave her.

Pulling her mouth from him and pressing a quick kiss on the tip of his cock Belle raised herself up, leaning forward to kiss him. He responded eagerly, tasting himself on her tongue.

“Thank you, Rumple,” she gasped out between kisses. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

He hauled her further up, pulling her towards him so she was straddling his lap again. Reaching out, he worked his hand under her tights and underwear, hissing at the slippery fluid he found there.

“You’re so wet, Belle.”

“I enjoyed that.” She leaned her forehead against his. “You have no idea how much.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea.” He pushed one finger inside her, circling her clit with his thumb. She gasped as he added another and crooked them gently to rub against the sweet spot inside. She threw her head back and he leaned forward to kiss her exposed neck. He never stopped thrusting his fingers in her wet heat and it didn’t take long before he could feel her trembling above him. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

She did so, crying out in pleasure as he continued to pump his fingers and circle her clit. When she was spent he pulled his fingers out, licking them clean as she collapsed against him.

Rumplestiltskin pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Belle.”

“I love you too, Rumple,” she replied, kissing his neck softly. “In all your forms.”

~*~

Three Years Later

“There you go, Gideon. That’s better, isn’t it?" Rumplestiltskin smiled down at his son as he finished changing his diaper. Gideon gurgled happily as Rumplestiltskin dressed him in the red and green patterned romper Belle had bought. “All done. Shall we show your mother how handsome you look?”

He picked him up and they walked out of the bedroom as the doorbell rang. A few seconds later he heard the sound of the door opening and the voices floating up from the hallway let him know that the rest of his family had arrived.

“Rumple! Neal’s here!” His wife’s voice called out and he smiled, quickening his pace.

He made it to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Bae, Emma and Henry finish hanging up their snow-flecked hats and coats.

“Bae!” Rumplestiltskin smiled as he approached.

“Hey, Papa.” Bae reached out to hug his father. “Happy Christmas Eve!"

Gideon squealed in delight at seeing his older brother and reached his chubby arms out towards him. Bae laughed, scooping the boy up.

“Hey there, little man! You excited for your first Christmas?"

“Not nearly as excited as his mother,” Rumplestiltskin laughed, thinking about Belle’s insistence on everything being perfect. “Have you seen the tree she chose? It’s about four times the size of the one we had last year! I had to pay David extra to deliver it.”

“Oh hush, you.” Belle elbowed him in the side gently. “It’s a beautiful tree.”

“That it is,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “She also bought a reindeer onesie for Gideon that she’s planning to put him in tomorrow. Are you going to be here for that?”

“Maybe,” Bae kept a hold of Gideon as the group walked through to the living room, Henry leading the way. “We’re supposed to be seeing Emma’s parents in the morning but with the way the snow’s coming down out there I’m not sure we’ll be going anywhere. I’m already worried about making it home tonight.”

“Well you know you’re always welcome to stay here. There are rooms ready for you upstairs with everything you might need,” Rumplestiltskin offered casually. Having his whole family under one roof sounded perfect to him, but it had to be Bae’s decision.

“Thanks, Papa. We might take you up on that.” He paused as the tree came into view. Emma and Henry were already underneath it, sorting through the presents there. From what Rumplestiltskin could see, Emma was carefully arranging the gifts they’d brought with them while Henry was eagerly checking the tags on the ones already there to see what was for him. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. How did you even get that thing in here?”

“He paid David to help with that too,” Belle answered for him, coming up by his side and squeezing his hand.

“Very wise,” Bae laughed, stepping closer to the tree to take a closer look. His brow furrowed as he noticed the decorations. “These look like the ones I made when I was a boy.”

“They are,” Rumplestiltskin said softly. “Belle found them in the attic. I’d never realised they were there, but they must have been brought over with the curse along with the rest of my most valuable possessions. I wondered if you’d even recognise them."

“Of course I do.” Bae reached out to touch one, laughing slightly when Gideon tried to do the same. “Do you like it, Gid? You’ll have to make some of your own when you’re older. Papa and Belle will end up with their tree completely covered in our handiwork!”

That sounded absolutely perfect to Rumplestiltskin’s ears.

His vision of a future tree covered top to bottom in decorations made by his sons was interrupted by Henry’s voice. “What’s wrong with your TV, Grandpa?”

Rumplestiltskin followed his gaze, landing on the screen currently showing a flickering fireplace.

“It’s a virtual fire. It seemed like the safer option with a baby in the house.”

“Oh, well can we turn it off?” He reached into his backpack and produced a DVD case. “I brought Muppet Christmas Carol to show Gideon!”

“He might be a bit young for that, kiddo,” Emma laughed, ruffling Henry’s hair. “Maybe in a few years time.”

“You’re never too young for the Muppets!” Henry protested.

“I don’t know about that,” Emma muttered. “That Ghost of Christmas Future is pretty terrifying to me.”

“And we have to start now because we’re going to do it every year on Christmas Eve,” Henry continued. “This is going to be our tradition.”

“Sounds like a fine tradition to me,” Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Of course we can watch it.”

They moved to the sofa, Rumplestiltskin taking Gideon from Bae’s arms as he began to fuss. Bae and Emma sat close together at one end while Rumplestiltskin sat next to them, Belle on his other side snuggling close.

Henry put the DVD in the player and grabbed the remote, hurrying back to the sofa and wedging himself between his parents and grandfather. He pressed a button and settled back.