Dreaming With a Broken Heart

Author's Note: So this is my first songfic. Heard this on the radio and thought of Rumplestiltskin/Gold. Might try one from Belle's POV but I don't have her in my head the way I do Gold. What that says about me, I'm really not certain. But I've always identified more with the villain trying to redeem himself than the perfect hero. So here's something from Gold's POV. Chronologically this would be set just before Skin Deep, the morning before Gold repossesses the truck. The song title is the same as the fic title and is by John Mayer

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
You roll outta bed and down on your knees
And for the moment you can hardly breathe
Wondering was she really here?
Is she standing in my room?
No she's not, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone...

Even before Regina's curse he'd dreamed of Belle. Of the joy on her face when she'd looked at him. Of the change that had grown over her face when he'd caught her in his arms. She'd been so lovely, pale skin and dark hair, her eyes warm and soft and kind. He'd known she was beautiful, but he hadn't know how kind she was, how brave, or how good a woman. Caged as he was, powerless, his dreams were both punishment and solace.

He dreamed of how she'd kissed him. How it had felt, the touch of her lips and her hands on his face. He dreamed of the pleading on her face when he'd thrust her away. And he dreamed the impossible that he'd begged her forgiveness. He dreamed that she'd given him another chance. And he woke cursing that his dreams weren't real.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The giving up is the hardest part
She takes you in with your crying eyes
Then all at once you have to say goodbye
Wondering could you stay my love?
Will you wake up by my side?
No she can't, 'cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone...

Terrible as his dreams were, the nightmares were worse. He dreamed terrible things. The look of scorn on her father's face when she returned to her village and his house. The accusations hurled at her regarding Gaston's disappearance. In his nightmares Belle begged her father to listen, begged him to understand. But the man would have none of her, disavowing her, insisting that he had no daughter.

The nightmares never stopped with her father breaking her heart, just as he had broken it himself. They didn't end with tears on her face. He saw her beaten over and over, bones cracked and her delicate body twisted and 'cleansed'. He saw her refusing to break even when her father himself whipped her, her skin splitting open, blood running from the nape of her neck to the backs of her thighs. The nightmares never stopped there. His conscience was never that merciful.

He saw her face grow numb with the torture and insults. Saw her beautiful eyes grow dull and listless. And he saw over and over again, her pained walk to the window of the tower where they kept her. Saw a bitter and anguished smile curve her lips as she threw herself from the window.

Now do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hand
Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Baby won't you get them if i did?
No you won't, 'cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone...

Gold woke in his palatial house with a curse. The same nightmare that always chased his sleep. He restrained a sigh and looked at the bedside table. He put a fresh cut red rose in a slender vase on that table every night so he'd wake to it opening slightly in the morning.

Morning ablutions taken care of he selected his clothing and mentally reviewed his calendar for the day. A wickedly smug smile curved his lips. Today was the day the loan was due on Mr. French's truck. His sources told him that Mr. French did not have the means to repay the loan. That meant Mr. French would lose his truck, and without the means to deliver his floral arrangements the business would suffer.

Gold's smile didn't fade until he set eyes on the chipped cup he kept on his desk. No matter what the punishment was, it didn't matter what he did to French, the man could never be tormented enough. Nothing in the world could bring Belle back.

Gold did sigh now. He could torment and punish French all he liked but Belle's death was as much his fault as her fathers. He sat at his desk and picked up the cup, pressed his lips to the chipped rim and shook his head as he set it down. "If I could change anything Belle, I would change what happened to you." He looked out the window, a pretty day, the sort that she had loved. "I would change my own behavior."

The most powerful man in Storybrooke left his home to do business, only the echo of his last words hanging in the still air. "You were right my love, I am a coward. But I am a constant one."

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part