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On the seventh night, right before 5am, Belle woke up to find her husband still asleep. He was unusually quiet. His breathing was steady, and the arm he had around her waist hadn't moved one inch. She didn't think much of it, though. After the last few weeks they had had, he more than deserved a dreamless sleep. If he wasn't tossing and turning tonight, Belle counted that as a victory.
She wondered if that had anything to do with the breaking of the curse. Maybe this was what Rumple looked like without that nasty voice whispering poison inside his head and, from now on, there would be no more nightmares, no more night terrors, no more screaming in his sleep. Maybe he'd be alright now.
Or maybe the quietness had little to do with the Dark Curse, and more to do with the fact that she had exhausted him. Would she have to do that every night, to ensure her husband had a decent night of sleep from now on?
Oh well, she thought, if I must!
Belle giggled quietly, but the sound was still enough to make Rumpelstiltskin's eyes fluttered open. The nightmares might be gone, but he was still a light sleeper.
“Sorry,” she whispered, reaching out to smooth his hair. “Go back to sleep.”
Rumple looked at her in a daze, his tired eyes slowly coming to focus. When he saw her, he frowned, confused, as if he was finding it difficult to place her there, lying by his side in bed. A whole week they had spent together, he had earned her forgiveness, but he still couldn't believe her to be real.
No.
No, this was something else.
He could see her, he knew her to be real but... she made no sense to him.
“Rumple?” Belle said, worried as she saw the wrinkle between his eyebrows grow deeper and his eyes give no sign of recognition.
But at the sound of his own name, he blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. And then he smiled.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice husk and wonderfully lazy.
Belle smiled back, whatever concerned she might have had already forgotten.
“It's dawn,” she said. “Morning only starts after a cup of coffee.”
“That so?”
The arm he had wrapped around her waist pulled her closer, until they were sharing the same pillow.
“And what should we do until morning?”
Belle smoothed his arm and tangled her legs in his.
She had a suggestion.
She had several, actually.
So much to do, and all the time in the world right there, in his arms.
Don't think about that, Belle told herself, though by now she ought to have accepted it was pointless to fight the memories. They'd come either way, whether she liked it or not. It was worse at night, as she lied by Rumple's side, watching as he faded away from her. At the time, she thought nothing would be worse than that, but she was wrong. Staring at the empty space he left behind, that was the real challenge.
And this was only the first night she spent on their bed.
There was a lifetime ahead of her.
Don't think about that. One day at a time. It will get easier.
Yes. Maybe some day she would actually get a decent night of sleep again. Though, if the last couple of weeks were of any indication, that wouldn't happen so soon. She had barely blinked an eye. When she was not researching a cure for her husband's condition, she was holding him, too scared to fall asleep, thinking he might disappear at any minute.
Except that he didn't disappear. He was right there, across the hall, sleeping on a bed that wasn't his and filling her with hope.
He might remember me, she had thought every other hour that night. He might remember me and he'll come and find me. And everything will be alright.
But he didn't.
As far as she could tell, Rumpelstiltskin didn't even stir in his sleep. She paid close attention to the sounds outside her bedroom, but there was none. Not the slightest indication that Rumpelstiltskin still lived in their house. Not the slightest indication that he lived at all, come to think of it.
As morning came, Belle waited as much as she could in bed. If he heard she was awake, he'd get up regardless of being tired or not, and she wanted him to rest as much as he could. But around 9am, she grew restless of the silence and the grief and got up. If she didn't start doing something, she might go mad.
After spending an absurd amount of time making the bed and reorganizing her clothes in the empty space in the closet – with a few exceptions, all his suits had been moved to the spare bedroom, where Belle wouldn't have to stare at them on a daily basis – she put on a robe and slippers and went to the kitchen to prepare their breakfast.
Pressing her ear to the bedroom door proved that Rumpelstiltskin was still sleeping, and he might be for some time. But he was bound to be starving when he woke up, since the only food he'd had in two days was a chocolate cookie. So Belle decided to make an effort and prepare a decent breakfast. Rumple had never been open about the life he led before becoming the Dark One, but from all she could gather from small bits of conversation, plus what Neal had told her, they were not used to having a lot of food, so she might as well surprise him with something nice.
She sliced fresh bread and chopped pieces of fruit. Strawberries, apples, pears, kiwis, and whatever else Mary Margaret had gotten to get them through the week. He was bound to like one of them. Would he like bacon? Or an omelet? Belle could ask that once he was awake.
She set the table nicely, opting for the simplest plates and silverware they had. After debating whether he'd prefer milk, orange juice or water, Belle decided to bring everything to the table, in glass jars. She resisted the urge to make tea, though, and kept the chipped cup in its cabinet. There was no point in having tea without it, but to bring it out would be too painful, especially since he would not recognize it. If she saw Rumpelstiltskin look quizzically at it, not understanding its meaning at all, she might finally have a break down, and there was no telling how he might react. He wouldn't know what to say, or how to hold her. Whatever attempt he made of comforting her would only make everything worse.
Belle had just finished setting the plates and ordering her hands to stop shaking when she heard the tapping of his cane, careful and timid, as he followed the sound to the first floor. By the time he found her, Belle had managed to get herself under control enough to give him a smile.
“Good morning.”
Rumple looked at her from the door. He had put on the same clothes as the night before. He looked wrinkled and gray and he needed a shave. Her husband would have never allowed himself to look like that.
He eyed her carefully and Belle wondered if seeing her in a robe was making him uncomfortable, even though it covered most of her. Then, his eyes fell on the table and they grew in size.
“Wow,” he whispered.
“I didn't know what you'd like,” she said, pulling a chair. “So I just got... a bit of everything.”
Rumple didn't sit, he just frowned and stared from the table to her as if none of that made sense.
“You mean... that's for me?” he asked, still finding it hard to believe.
“If you're hungry,” she offered, quietly, not wanting to press him. “I have eggs as well, if you'd like some.”
She pointed at the kitchen and Rumple looked at it, over the counter that separated it from the dining room. He regarded it with curiosity.
Belle explained, “That's the kitchen. That's where we keep the food.”
“Oh,” he replied, unsure of what to say. “And... and that bright wardrobe, what is it?”
“The bright wardrobe is called a fridge. It's a cold cupboard, that's where we put eggs and milk and vegetables.”
“A cold cupboard,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“But... why?”
“Because food lasts longer if you keep it cold. If you'd like to take a look at it, we can do that.”
He fidgeted with his cane and shook his head. “Maybe later.”
“I imagine there are a lot of things that you find strange.”
“Yes. A few.”
“I'll show you how to use them. I bet you'll be making omelets in no time.”
He frowned, but didn't ask.
Belle said, “It's, uhn, you'll see. Sit. You must be starving.”