This one-shot was written for my dear friend Northern-Southern Belle as part of the 2016 Rumbelle fic-a-thon. Prompt: Rumbelle watches an old monster movie.

I thought it would be fun to have Rumple and Belle discover a television from our world while living in the Dark Castle. I hope you enjoy the fluff!

Only the plot belongs to me. I do not own Once Upon A Time nor any of the movies mentioned within this story. Possible spoilers for several horror movies including Dracula (1931), The Changeling (1980), and Rebecca (1940).

A Monster Like Me

All her life, Belle had been warned that her penchant for getting lost in a world of fantasy would bring nothing but trouble. Engrossed as she tended to become in her book of the moment, Belle regularly ran into stationary objects, burned the meals she was preparing, and forgot to complete her chores.

Since she'd come to live with Rumplestiltskin at the Dark Castle, not much had changed.

Ambling down the passageway, she eagerly flipped a page, absorbed in a gripping tale about a prince disguised as a monster. Sconces blazed to life as she approached, magically illuminating her path as well as the words on the page. Skimming her fingers along the stone wall, she slowly moved until she reached the curve where the corridor merged into the great hall. As she entered the expansive room, the fireplace roared to life, cracking, popping, and making the space cozy and warm. Another 15 steps, she thought to herself, and she would reach her window seat, her favorite spot to relax and read. Lost in the story, she couldn't help but imagine what would it be like if these creatures and characters came to life in front of her eyes. The thought made her shiver deliciously.

Still staring down at the book, she returned to counting; seven, six, five—crash! Belle careened into something hard and lost her footing, the force of the collision throwing her backward. Shaken out of her grasp, Belle's prized novel went sailing through the air. The sound of ripping fabric sent another shock of awareness through her as she tore through a picture frame, skidded across the floor, and came to a stop at the foot of Rumplestiltskin's spinning wheel.

At last Belle looked up, gasping at the sight of a veritable mountain of treasures occupying a vast portion of the room. Lamps, carpets, artwork, wardrobes, jewels, vases, armor, weaponry, and a host of mysterious objects glimmered and winked in the sunlight. It was as though she'd stumbled into a mystical crypt filled with forbidden treasures. Needless to say, those had not been there this morning.

Guiltily, she surveyed the painting she had ripped while falling, the canvas in smithereens and the image unrecognizable. Belle flinched, knowing how the deeply the owner of the castle valued his possessions. Perhaps the portrait had not been terribly expensive, although she doubted it. With his smooth words and cool manner, Rumplestiltskin was a genius with transactions and contracts. Never had she known him to be shortchanged in a bargain.

Although he was ruthless in his business dealings, he was a tolerant, even kindly master, especially now that they had become friends. Though their regard for one another was a tenuous, unspoken understanding, Belle knew without a hint of doubt that Rumplestiltskin would never knowingly hurt her. Snappish and sarcastic though he could be, he had a soft, sweet underbelly. Even so, Belle had no wish to provoke his ire.

"Belle!"

Too late. Belle winced, bracing for the onslaught. He was bellowing from the staircase between the great hall and his tower, and she could hear his booted feet punishing the stone on his descent.

Rumplestiltskin stormed into the room, his footfalls echoing along the ancient wooden planks. As he approached, the cloyingly sweet odor of magic burned away, leaving only the pleasant, comforting scents of leather and sandalwood. In his clawed hand he held her book, and he shook the tome in her surprised face. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It's a book, Rumple," she replied calmly from the floor, dusting off her dirty skirts.

"Yes, I know that, dearie," he barked impatiently, helping her to her feet. "How did it find its way into my laboratory?"

"I've no idea." Belle blinked owlishly, accepting the returned novel. "Thank you."

"That portrait is ruined and there's a bump on your head," he observed, looking at the mess. "You've been touching things, haven't you? What did you do?"

"Well, I tripped," she admitted, focused on the knothole in the wall where three tiny mice frolicked and nibbled on a chunk of cheese. Belle refused to meet Rumplestiltskin's perceptive golden eyes, certain that her many scrapes and follies since coming to manage his large estate would be reflected in their amused depths. She was not about to tell him she'd been walking while reading—again. Yes, her obsession with books could sometimes be a weakness, but what of it? Everyone had one.

Two gentle fingers tipped her face up to his. "Are you hurt?" he asked softly, concern for her welfare marring his features.

"No, but thank you for caring about me." Belle beamed, some of her embarrassment draining away.

Suddenly he reddened and dropped his hand, stepping away from her.

"'Tis not concern for you, dearie, but for my belongings," he corrected, snapping his fingers and presenting her with a bag of ice for her head. "When you so clumsily fell, you must have dropped your book into the transporter." Rumple pointed in the direction of a large, completely ordinary looking wooden box.

Sensitive one moment, churlish the next. And people claimed that women suffered from mood swings, Belle mused, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

"I'm terribly sorry, Master." Belle's voice dripped with sarcasm. Her embarrassment had returned full force and was morphing into irritation. How dare he be so arrogant? She lived here, too! "That heap of junk wasn't there when I cleaned this morning. I definitely would have noticed a giant pile of magical items cluttering up the great hall and leaving dirt and dust all over my clean floors. What is all of this anyway?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"My floors and my business," Rumple rejoined sharply. "You forget yourself, dearie. I am lord here."

"Yes, you are lord and a selfish one at that," she argued, closing the distance between them. "You travel all over the realms and bring back all sorts of incredible objects from your adventures, yet you tell me nothing. I have to trip over something to learn of its presence, let alone find out what it is!"

"What a mouth you have on you, little maid, and how unwise you are to goad the beast." He rubbed his fingers together unconsciously as though he couldn't decide how to deal with her, then shook his head on a sigh. "Those Charming dolts have gotten themselves into yet another quandary. I must go, but I'll be back in two hours. We'll continue this discussion at teatime. Stay out of trouble while I'm gone, and by out of trouble I mean away from this pile," he warned. "I won the entire lot in a deal and I haven't identified the contents and their purposes yet. Not all is as it seems. Some of these items are dangerous or beyond my comprehension. You wouldn't want to put me to the inconvenience of securing another caretaker if you decide to get yourself blown up now, would you?"

"Fine." Belle pouted. Let him be stubborn and refuse to admit he cared. Annoyed with his attitude and his orders, she stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.

"Ah, ah, ah, dearie," he cautioned, wagging a finger over his head. "I don't recommend making faces at me—unless, of course, you want that little pink tongue of yours coated in bright green spots!"

Belle blushed furiously at the scolding. How had he known?

With a knowing smirk, he inclined his head and disappeared in a cloud of crimson smoke.

Belle bit her lower lip in anticipation. Oh, she fully intended to snoop—and she didn't need his almighty permission to do so. Better to know he was gone before she attacked the monstrous pile, though. Looking around to make absolutely sure he wasn't hiding in some dark corner waiting to pounce, she tiptoed into the hallway, peeked into the foyer, and even checked the kitchens in case he decided to stop for something to eat before leaving.

With no sign of Rumplestilstkin, Belle returned to the great hall and cautiously began to pick through the treasures. To her delight, she noticed a silver tea service, a container filled with bubbling, jewel-bright liquids, and a lovely painted vanity set. Perhaps Rumple would let her have the little table and chair for her bedroom, she thought, settling herself in the plush seat.

Then all at once the sound of footsteps and the smell of magic startled her out of her enjoyment.

Rumplestiltskin had returned!

As suddenly as he had vanished he was back, and Belle ducked her head, staring in horror at his reappearance. It had only been five minutes! What was he doing back so soon? Fearful of being spotted, Belle darted behind a wheeled cart holding a strange black and brown box large enough to hide her from view. Pulse pounding, she clasped her clammy palms and held her breath, hoping he hadn't seen her. If he found her now, after giving specific orders to stay away from the mountain of loot, he would tease her mercilessly for weeks to come.

Belle listened and waited, the sound of her own heartbeat harsh and heavy in the stillness.

"What was I thinking, leaving these things out in the open?" he murmured to himself, though his voice was loud enough for her to hear. "I'll just put them away until I decide what to do." Waving his hand and whispering an incantation, he magicked the entire heap into his secret vault.

Belle crouched behind the cart, saddened. She had so looked forward to quenching her curiosity and passing the afternoon looking through all these wonderful items. Now Rumple would make it all disappear into the vault and she'd never have this chance again—unless, of course, he pulled something out for her to clean, she thought wryly.

Feeling a ripple pass through her body, Belle waited for all the treasures to vanish. Sighing, she stepped out from behind the cart, prepared to face him and be scolded for her disobedience. But Rumple was no longer in the great hall.

Belle's eyes widened as she took in her new surroundings. The strange sensation she'd felt must have been the pulse of magic. Mistakenly, Rumple had sent her to the vault along with the pile of treasures! A door less, windowless temperature-controlled magical trove, the vault was surrounded by ironclad magical wards known only to the all-powerful mage. The secret room contained the darkest, most powerful, most unstable magic in all the realms. No one save Belle and Rumplestiltskin even knew of its existence, but she had never been inside. Unless you were the great sorcerer himself, there was no way in and there was no way out.

Belle was trapped.

By all accounts she should have been terrified, but she was far too excited to be fearful. She had ventured into the unknown, off on her very own adventure right here in the castle. Besides, she trusted that despite Rumplestiltskin's attempts to convince her that no charitable feelings toward her, he would eventually come to her rescue.

Glancing around the massive room, Belle pondered what to explore first.

Immediately, she was attracted to the wheeled cart she had hidden behind when Rumple had unexpectedly returned home. The cart resembled a moving tea tray, only larger. Far more intriguing, however, was what rested on the cart—a large, smooth black and brown cube fashioned from materials Belle had never seen before. A reflective, almost mirror-like surface dominated the front of the box and off to the right were two dials, several knobs, and a large button. Reaching out slowly, she ran a tentative finger along the level, glassy-looking front. Her bloated, misshapen refection was visible and Belle stared for a moment at the person looking back.

It had been many months since she'd looked in a mirror. Since she didn't concern herself with appearances, the lack of mirrors in the castle had never really troubled her before. Her beauty had always been more of a curse than a blessing. But now that she was becoming more aware of Rumplestiltskin—the way her heart fluttered and her pulse quickened whenever he was near—she occasionally wanted to see her image when she ran a brush through her hair or straightened her frock. However, Rumplestiltskin insisted on keeping all the mirrors in the estate covered, saying the practice kept the monsters at bay. "At least the strange ones," he remarked, and her heart plummeted, knowing he was referring to himself. Belle hated those self-deprecating quips. Rumplestiltskin was not a monster. He had a true, generous heart and the knowledge that he thought so little of himself brought her a pang of anguish. Belle heaved a sigh, uncertain of how to show him how much he meant to her without upsetting the delicate balance between them.

Snapping out of her depressing reverie, Belle returned her attention to the fascinating contents of the cart.

Protruding from the back of the large black and brown box were two black corded ropes, one with three shiny silver prongs at one end. The second cord disappeared into the back of a smaller black box sitting on the bottom shelf of the cart. The little box had a slot in the front, as well as five uniform buttons with the words Play, Stop, Forward, Back, and Pause and a larger button that read Power.

Belle gasped with excitement at her next finding. Next to the smaller box was a cluster of hard black cases bearing the names of several delightfully scary stories she knew and loved as well as some that were brand-new to her. Among the selections she found Dracula, Invisible Man, The Wolf Man, The Changeling, and Rebecca, and Sleepy Hollow. There were even stories about one of Rumple's business partners, Doctor Frankenstein. Opening the cases, Belle found not books but thick black and clear rectangles holding reels of smooth, shiny black tape. "Sony VHS," she read aloud. "Ultra-high grade video cassette. Hmmm. I wonder what these can do?"

She had no more time to marvel, however, as Rumplestiltskin appeared before her in a haze of magical smoke, a troubled expression on his face.

"Belle!" Rumplestiltskin blurted in relief, then angrily, "I've been looking for you everywhere! What the hell are you doing in here?"

xoxo

Furious, Rumplestiltskin waited for an explanation for his erstwhile maid. He'd spent hours searching the castle and the surrounding grounds, pounding his head against a wall of worry. Pessimistic as he was, he naturally assumed she had decided to break their contract and leave him. And where did he find her? Flitting about in the most dangerous room in the entire castle. She could have been hurt or worse, and he trembled to think of what might have happened to her in this labyrinth of perilous secrets.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" he demanded as she pranced around a large cart bearing a strange box, begging him to reveal its purpose.

Belle shrugged, barely able to pry her eyes away from the bizarre contraption. "Thirty minutes, maybe? It hasn't been very long."

"Ha! It's nightfall. I nearly went down to the village to find you." He glowered at the mental image of the townspeople disappearing into their homes and shops, barring doors and closing shutters when the fearsome beast came calling.

"That's impossible. I've only been exploring for a few minutes," Belle claimed.

The sorcerer shook his head, silently assessing her for any injuries. "No, Belle. Perhaps it seemed that way, but time works differently in the vault. All the various kinds of magic create a magnetic force that changes the properties of time. It's a mystery, even to me."

"I promise, I'm fine. No scrapes, bruises, or broken bones. And coming in here was an accident, Rumple. I was just as surprised as you are. Whatever spell you cast sent me here along with all these things," she reasoned, hugging several small boxes against her chest.

"If you hadn't been meddling uninvited—no, where you were specifically told not to go—none of this would have happened!" he thundered.

Grinning, Belle set down the precious cartridges and he eyed her warily as she crept closer. Stopping just a handbreadth away from him, she patted his shoulder fondly, skimming down the length of his arm to squeeze his hand. "You like me."

"What?" he sputtered in disbelief, his skin electrifying at her gentle touch. "I do not."

"Yes," she repeated in a sing-song voice as she rubbed his knuckles. "You do. You were worried about me. Again. That's why you came looking."

"Hmmpphh," he snorted, snatching his hand away to cross his arms over his chest. How had she turned the tables on him so quickly? Hastily, he tried to regain his lost ground. "You are my employee, and an abysmal one at that," he grumbled. "I haven't eaten in ages and I want my tea."

"Right away, Rumplestiltskin," Belle agreed pleasantly, threading her arm through his. "And may we take the mystery boxes with us?" she asked, offering a winsome smile.

"Man has his will but woman has her way," he relented, after quickly testing the devices on the cart with a magical detection spell. "These don't appear dangerous. From the World Without Magic, if I'm not mistaken. I'll do some research and we'll find out what they can do."

xoxo

An hour later, Rumple had rolled the cart in front of the fire in the great hall, and both the large machine and the small one hummed with life. Scratching his head, he stared down at a scroll bearing instructions for how to use the devices. "It says here we need to put the little rectangular 'cassettes' into the VHS Player—that's the small black box on the lower shelf. Go ahead and push the Power button and choose a story, then turn the dial on the television—that's the big box—to the number 3."

Belle sifted through the options, choosing Dracula to enjoy first, and slid the cassette into the player. The screen flashed, a picture appearing inside the machine as dramatic music swelled, setting a foreboding tone. "Rumple, look!" Belle breathed in amazement, digging into his arm with her nails. "There are people inside the machine acting out the story! It's…magical."

"It seems like magic, doesn't it? It's called a motion picture," he explained. "Oddly enough, it's from the World Without Magic. Instead of magic like we have in our land, they have something called technology. Apparently people gather and watch these stories on very large screens in dark theatres. Many of them also watch them in their homes on machines like these."

Thrilled with the discovery, Belle skipped to the kitchens in search of something to nibble on while they watched the moving pictures. This was a special occasion, and cozy nightclothes and delicious tidbits were definitely in order. She prepared a large pot of tea spiked with peaches and cinnamon, and opened the larder, searching for a tasty treat. Spying some fresh potatoes she sliced them paper thin, fried them in oil until they were very crispy, and sprinkled the hot potato slices with special salt from Lake Nostros and a pinch of black pepper. Humming, Belle dumped the warm potato thins into a basket and loaded them onto a tray with the teapot. Next, she pulled out a paper sack of cherry candies and chocolate chews that she'd purchased last week from Gingerbread House Shoppe in the village and added them to the tray.

While the tea steeped, Belle scurried to her room to change out of her dusty blue work dress and into her nightgown. Desperate to return to the moving picture box and looking forward to an excuse to sit in the dark with Rumple, she tried her best to hurry, but exhilaration made her clumsy. Before she was through, she'd stubbed her toe on the foot of the bed and ripped her favorite stockings. Belle hated mending, but she neither thought about the dreaded task nor felt the throbbing of her foot as she raced back to the kitchens to collect her tray of treats.

Belle returned to the hall with the special tea, barefoot and clad in her voluminous white nightgown. Rumplestiltskin was seated at his spinning wheel, transforming piece after piece of straw into gleaming threads of gold. "Aren't you going to come and watch?" she asked hopefully.

"Just the tea for now, thank you, Belle," he declined politely, then noticed her attire. "This is a drafty old castle," he reminded her, and with a flick of his fingers her shoulders were covered in a deep blue woolen shawl the same shade as her eyes and her feet were cushioned by warm slippers.

"How perfectly lovely. Thank you, Rumple." She stroked the soft wool fondly as she beamed at him. "Are you sure you won't join me?"

"Perhaps later," he hedged, waving her away.

Disappointed but resigned to his decision, Belle left him to his task, knowing that pushing and prodding him to keep her company when he wanted solitude would do no good.

With her favorite blanket on her lap and the tray of food by her side, Belle settled onto the sofa to watch Dracula, the story of the Transylvanian count who feasted on the blood of mortals and fell in love with a woman named Mina. Completely enthralled, she stared at the screen as though in a trance.

xoxo

The image of Belle transfixed by the tale bothered Rumple more than he cared to admit.

As the moving picture continued, Rumplestiltskin tried to focus on the familiar creak and whir of the wheel, intent on ignoring his maid's gasps, shrieks, and frightened giggles. From his position on the spinning platform, he felt a terrible sense of dread as the immortal vampire enter the heroine's room, drinking her blood and wooing her over to the undead. Rumplestiltskin had committed a great many unsavory deeds in his 300 years of living, but these despicable activities made his stomach churn. This was entertainment? How could Belle be enjoying the sordid, sad, sadistic tale of such a hopeless wretch as this Dracula?

Yet she was—if her glowing expression was any indication, she was loving every moment. Finishing the story, she selected another, and then yet another. As the hours ticked by and the moon reached its zenith, he grumbled to himself, glancing longingly at the untouched stack of books sitting at her feet. He missed her reading out loud and falling asleep on the settee. Apparently, however, she was intent on a moving pictures marathon and not retiring for the night anytime soon. Increasingly aggravated, he continued his attempts to ignore her. But try as he may, he couldn't tune her out any more than she could prevent herself from watching the bizarre stories.

Finally, he could take it no longer. "What are you watching now?" he demanded, stalking across the room in a huff. Boorishly, he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the screen. "I think I liked you better with your nose in a book."

"It's called The Wolf Man. Come and watch with me," she entreated sweetly, her eyes bright with excitement. "Oh, it will be so much more fun if we can be scared together."

He sniffed irreverently and cocked a brow at her, indicating that this conversation was a giant waste of his time. But that was a lie. He, too, was fascinated, albeit disturbed, by the people inside the strange contraption. "I'm more apt to be doing the frightening than to be frightened," he quipped. "However, I cannot spin with you hyperventilating over here so I suppose I may as well sit with you."

"Yay!" she clapped her hands gleefully and he bit back a smile. Her innocent joy in the fictional monsters was infectious, piercing the hardened heart of the real monster seated next to her. Rumple perched stiffly on his side of the couch, crossing and uncrossing his legs and arms as the images danced across the screen. He couldn't seem to get comfortable and he wasn't sure why.

Then it dawned on him: in all the moving pictures they had seen so far there was one commonality—the monster didn't belong with the beautiful heroine and everyone's purpose was to kill the beast. Now here he was, a monster in his own right, basking in the presence of this lovely innocent. A woman who he had stolen away, yet she chose to stay with him. It defied logic.

Unaware of the direction of his thoughts, Belle shifted closer, seeking his nearness. Onscreen, the wind howled and a villain attacked from the shadows, causing Belle to shriek and throw her teacup, spilling the now-cold contents all over Rumplestiltskin's dragon hide vest.

"Rumple, I'm sorry," she giggled anxiously, blotting rivulets of tea off his clothes. "I wasn't expecting that!"

"There's only to be one chipped cup in this house, Belle," he said, picking up the unharmed teacup. "You're lucky you didn't break this one, too. If you're afraid, why don't you turn the device off?" he suggested pragmatically. "You don't have to watch this."

"No, I'm all right. You're here." She reached for him, lacing their fingers together and drawing their joined hands into her lap. With her free hand, she took a fried potato slice from the tray and popped it into his mouth.

"Good," he praised, chewing the crunchy tidbit.

"I made them," she said proudly, fixing him a plate. "Would you like some of these cherry candies?"

Graciously, he accepted the unusual tea snacks without comment, forced to eat with one hand because Belle was holding the other firmly in her grasp. He wasn't complaining.

As Belle watched her moving pictures, Rumplestiltskin watched her, the flickering of the television and the light from the fire giving her an ethereal glow as she gnawed on her lower lip and gripped his hand tighter at the frightening parts.

At one point she shrieked, burying her face in his chest and throwing her soft, slender arms around his neck. Once again, he wondered how she could relish the antics of these monsters and specters while seeking comfort from one. He did not understand, but he was too overwhelmed by her delicate scent of lavender and vanilla to think very carefully as she tucked her curly head under his chin.

Before he realized what was happening, she had him wedged in the corner of the sofa with his feet up while she reclined against him. She'd long since removed his skin-tight leather boots, fussing at him to change into nightclothes until he finally agreed and whisked himself into a midnight blue nightshirt and soft sleeping pants that matched the color of the shawl he'd given her earlier in the evening.

"Much better," she approved, covering them both with the blanket and snuggling closer after she slid The Changeling into the VHS Player. It was the story of a composer who moved across his country to live in an old mansion following the accidental death of his wife and daughter.

"That house is not fit to live in…it doesn't want people," someone said onscreen, speaking of the giant secluded house that is haunted by the ghost of a young boy.

"A scary house, barely fit to live in. Rather like this old place," Rumple commented, gauging Belle's reaction.

"It's not the same at all," she protested, looking at him in surprise. "We're not haunted here, we're safe. Rumple, what's troubling you?"

"Nothing," he answered, evading her scrutiny.

"Yes, something," she insisted, pausing the movie to give him her full attention. "Tell me. Please."

"How-how can you bear to watch these stories knowing that you're essentially…living one?" he stuttered hoarsely. "You're the hero and I'm…the monster." He whispered the last two words.

"Oh, Rumple. No! Is that what you think?" she asked urgently, framing his face with her hands. Softly she stroked his cheekbones and studied his golden eyes, moist with tears. "Please," she begged, "don't say such things. You are not a monster."

"Belle, don't you see?" He laughed bitterly. "I'm just like the creatures that the people in these pictures run screaming from. Actually, I'm worse, because I'm real. The stories about me and my terrible deeds would rival any of these."

"Rumplestiltskin, I may not be as widely traveled as you are, but life as a woman has taught me something of the world. Believe me when I say that true monsters take many forms. They come in all shapes, sizes, and packages." She grasped his shoulders, looking at him intently. "Why do you think I chose forever with you over marriage to Gaston?"

"To save your village," he answered miserably. "Any decent person would have done the same."

Shaking her head slowly, Belle shuddered and wrapped her arms around his narrow waist, inhaling the soothing scent of his skin. "Gaston was cruel in ways that you would never even imagine being," she said. "You see yourself as my jailor; but I see you as my freedom. And that was before I ever knew you. And now that I do? Rumplestiltskin, a woman would run through fire and water for such a kind and gentle heart." Carefully, she brushed his forehead, eyelids, nose, and chin with loving, feather-light kisses.

Accepting the words and the affection, Rumple sighed and relaxed his tense muscles, sinking deeper into her embrace. A while later he pulled back, searching her face with an inscrutable expression, then broke into a smile. "You stole that line from a book," he accused teasingly.

"Shakespeare," she confessed happily. "When trying to woo the object of one's affection, the words of great writers do prove useful."

"Is that what you're doing? Wooing me?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes," she said bashfully, staring at her slippers. "Let's get back to the moving pictures now. There's a rather romantic one I would like you to see called Rebecca. It's about a dashing, mysterious, misunderstood man and the wide-eyed young woman he brings to his estate as his bride. A ghost from the past threatens to break the bond between them, but true love wins out in the end."

"I would like to see that," he ventured, his face alight with wonder and hope.

"So would I," she nodded.

xoxo

Two hours later, the credits rolled as Rebecca concluded and the motion picture marathon came to an end. Halfway through the story, Belle had fallen asleep, snuffling and snoring against Rumple's chest. Now she stirred as she felt him shift and turn off the machines, plunging the room into total darkness. "Is it over?" she asked groggily.

"It's over," he echoed in hushed tones.

"Should we rewind the cassettes?"

"Not tonight. Bedtime for you, my Belle." He touched her nose lightly, lifting her into his arms. "The pictures will still be here in the morning, sweetheart. We may as well make tomorrow a proper holiday. You've been awake half the night and I doubt you'll be fit for any decent labor."

Swiftly and surely, he carried her to her chambers and deposited her on the bed, sliding the covers snuggly around her body. As he turned to leave and seek his own rest, she caught his hand. "Rumple?" she swallowed hard. "Perhaps I'm a little more frightened of the motion pictures than I thought."

"Indeed?" he probed gently.

"Yes." Belle's formerly sleepy eyes were wide and uncertain in the silvery moonlight. "Will you stay here with me tonight? Keep me safe from the monsters?"

"Of course," he breathed effortlessly, lying down beside her and tucking her against his side. Smoothing a wave of russet hair back from her face, he kissed the crown of her head, unable to stem the flood of pride he felt at the sound of her relieved, contented sigh. "Yes, Belle," he promised, holding her close. "I will always keep you safe."

The End