This chapter sort of came out of nowhere. I was writing a piece set between "Child of the Moon" and "Into the Deep," when Mr. Gold reminded me that I'd forgotten something. Who am I to argue? Angsty, fluffy, and Rumbelle-ish. Enjoy. Reviews are fic world's most powerful magic. Have a magical day!

He heard the crowds outside, saw the mob storming through the town and had decided from the beginning that it was safer to stay out of their way. Rumpelstiltskin had no business with any of them, nor did he want any of their anger turned on him. Best to step aside and let them have it out with the wolf-girl. Ruby Lucas was cagey, and he was hardly worried about her.

What did worry him was Belle. He hadn't seen her in a few days, trying to give her the space she was wanted. If he'd had his way, they would both be at his home now, far away from the mess outside and certainly safe from a wolf on the prowl. He wasn't stupid; he knew Belle had struck up a friendship with Ruby Lucas. And while he was glad to see she was making friends, he knew he wasn't on the best of terms with the Lucas family. And he was more than aware of what a werewolf was capable of doing.

One of the first things he had taught Belle to use was a phone, making sure she knew the numbers to reach him and how to use directory assistance. Then again, public phones are scarce these days, and if she went anywhere tonight, the chances of her having a phone available were slim.

He'd told himself not to be such a worry-wart. And when that didn't work, he had phoned the library's main line. His call went un-answered. If he was being perfectly honest, all of his calls went unanswered. At first he had thought he should give it a half hour or so. Belle was smart and wouldn't get herself mixed up in a mob. She was probably lost in a book. And then he decided to try calling a few times in succession, reasoning if she was around, she might bother answering if only to find out who was so insistent. As time wore on, however, he grew increasingly restless.

Cane in hand, he took to the streets, crossing the short distance to the library and glad to hear the crowd several blocks down the street and continuing away from him. Good. Let them all go mad, let them run around like perfect idiots. They might as well hang signs with 'fresh meat' around their necks, all but asking to be attacked. He had only one concern, and she was about five feet and two inches tall and nowhere in sight.

"Belle?" he called loudly, rapping at the library's still papered-over door. After only a few heartbeats, his fingers fished into his pocket and he pulled out his copy of the key and let himself in, closing and locking it behind him. "Belle, sweetheart?"

Rumpelstiltskin winced as the second name tumbled out before he could stop it. They were feeling out this relationship again, and while they still had a standing date for hamburgers, their conversations were short and casual (although she had sought him out the other morning with a question about groceries and exactly how many books she might need to trade for the produce she wanted to buy). And yet, he couldn't have stopped the affectionate name from slipping out if he had tried.

"Belle?" he called a little louder, finding the section where she had recently been working. Books were piled all around, and there was a clear sign from where she was cleaning and what remained to be done. The dust rag was folded neatly, telling him that she hadn't abandoned it in a hurry. "Belle?"

In moments he was crossing to the corridor that led up to the apartment. "Belle? Belle, are you alright?" he called louder now, ascending as fast as he could and knocking loudly several times before fishing out the master key and finding her place as empty as the library below. He felt sick, and it took all of his focus to hurry back down the steps and remember to lock everything up behind him. Checking his phone yet again, he stepped into the deserted road, listening for the crowd.

The air felt charged, and he was certain a storm would be coming through later tonight. Across the street, he caught a glimpse of a light on at the diner. Giving another quick glance up and down the road, he crossed and let himself hope for a half a moment. Gods, please be there.

He all but shouldered open the door, grunting when it was locked firmly. "Belle? Belle!" He didn't care who heard him, he needed to find her.

"Here," came that soft, warm voice, the single word making him lean against the building, weak with relief as she fumbled with the lock and finally succeeded in pushing open the door.

"Sweetheart," he breathed, free arm crushing her close and rubbing at her back when she trembled against him. "Are you alright?"

The dark head nodded against his shoulder, her fingers curling into the cuff of his jacket. "I… they're… they're going after Ruby."

"She can protect herself," he tried to assure her, afraid if he didn't, if he let her go, that she would be out the door before he could stop her. "Are you alright?"

It was obvious to him that she wasn't alright. Belle was trembling slightly against him, looking flighty and nervous like she had on that fateful day the curse broke—when she had been standing in his shop looking like a frightened rabbit that would bolt if he moved suddenly. "Come on, now, inside," he coaxed, moving them forward and pausing only to lock the door. Magic at his disposal or not, Rumpelstiltskin wanted doors locked, and others kept out right now. He guided her at a snail's pace to the corner booth farthest from the door where he could see she had been sitting previously.

When the back of her legs hit the booth's seat, she automatically sat, looking up at him with a dazed and lost expression that broke his heart.

A quick glance to the table showed a nearly full cup of milk in a soup mug and a toasted muffin, already split and butter but scarcely touched. His fingers lifted slowly, cupping her cheeks and sliding through her hair, feeling and testing. "Look up at me," his voice pitched low and soothing as he stroked reassuringly, feeling for anything amiss. "Are you hurt?"

"N-no," she answered, shaking her head and still flighty but not avoiding his touch or his nearness. If anything, Belle pressed into the caresses. By the time he stroked over her shoulders and back, he was standing directly in front of her, and she was still seated but almost all of her upper body rested against him.

"It's alright," Rumpelstiltskin continued to repeat, gently stroking her upper arms and down her forearms, coming to a dead stop at her wrists when she hissed softly and flinched. "It's alright, let me see," he implored as she shifted suddenly.

"I'm fine," she tried to protest, but he caught her arm and carefully turned it upward. A few dark spots marred the fair skin, and he crouched beside her, ignoring the protest from his leg. He ducked a little lower, catching her attention and finally getting weary crystalline blue eyes to meet his gaze. "It… it's nothing."

He shook his head. "They're bruised. Who did this to you?"

Again her head shook slightly, and she ducked, breaking his intense stare. "No… it wasn't… it was an accident."

"Someone accidentally bruised your wrists?" he asked skeptically, thumb ghosting over the dark mar but not actually touching it. "Who did this?"

"No one," she answered, picking at her skirt and leaning her head against him again. When he pressed again for an answer, she huffed and swallowed, mumbling something into the fabric of this clothes and making him ask her to repeat herself as he struggled not to give into the sick feeling and the urge to go on a rampage against everyone in this idiotic town.

It was unnerving to see her like this—so small and seemingly fragile. She was undone, and frankly he still didn't understand how she had survived so long in a basement. Belle couldn't stand small spaces. She'd balked the first time he tried to coax her into the car, and he was sure only the numerous windows made it bearable. For the most part, they walked everywhere, and thank magic that this town was relatively small. As large as his basement was, she had never set foot inside it, nor did he think she was ever like to do so, magic or not.

Pulling himself back to the present and to the woman still shaking, he gently rolled back the sleeve of her blouse. He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her. It hadn't escaped his notice that she still had yet to answer his question. She had only delayed a response. The darker parts of him yearned to go on a rampage, hunt down whoever hurt his love, and make sure it never happened again. Somewhere in the siren of anger, he has managed to realize that she's afraid and terribly upset, and he can't run off and leave her like this.

"Sweetheart, you're frightening me," he murmured gently, letting her roll the sleeve back into place, covering the offending marks. He slid one hand slowly upward, giving her time to see the movement and not startle, and he cupped her cheek lightly, thumb rubbing lightly over the soft curve.

"She was afraid she'd hurt me," came the helpless answer, the first of the words followed by a fresh sheen of tears brimming but not falling. It was almost worse this way—when she tried to be brave and hold it in. She didn't have to be brave for him. He knew she was everything he was not.

"You are hurt," Rumpelstiltskin countered, his voice pitched steady and coaxing. "Did she… Did …" he was afraid to mention Regina, afraid it would send her into a panic, afraid it would set off his own barely contained anger.

"We… we were going to chain her up in the library," Belle whispered. "They were hunting her down, and they would have killed her, but… She… She said she couldn't stay there. And before I could stop her, she handcuffed me to the… I don't know… Shelf? Pipe?" The words spilled out, each faster than the last, her voice pitching higher and higher as the story tumbled from her lips.

His fingers rubbed a little firmer at the questions, careful and calming, all while hoping it was something to ground her. "Alright… it's alright, now. How did you…"

"Granny," she breathed the word and sniffled hard, still trying to swallow the emotions before tears streaked down her cheeks. "It was alright at first. I tried to read a bit… it…I kept hearing things outside. And I couldn't get away, and then it was too much like… when I couldn't get away…. Granny, anyway… She came to check on us… She… She brought me over here, and set this out, but she had to go again. And I couldn't remember your numbers," Belle finally admitted, blinking and sending a few more streaks down her face. Another sniffle, and her hands came up to rub away the dampness and rub at tired, red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh, Belle," he murmured, offering his handkerchief. He paused for several moments, hand carding through her hair and rubbing between her shoulders until she seemed to have regained composure. As much as he wanted to be angry with a certain Miss Lucas, he found that he wasn't nearly as upset as he'd anticipated. Although Belle was frustrated and hurt, even he had to admit that Ruby Lucas had acted in Belle's best interests. The mob would have torn her apart had she tried to intervene. And there was no way Belle would have let the girl leave without her.

"No one decides my fate but me!" The memory came unbidden, and he had to recognize that the stubborn streak was as alive now as ever. These emotions had nothing to do with some bruises, but they had everything to do with loss of control, loss of independence.

He had given her space and freedom, given her the means to become independent. Mostly. To be honest, he wasn't charging her rent, and he was privately funding her salary. So far, she had not asked, and when she does ask, he will answer truthfully. Until then, he'd decided to quietly take care of this for her. To take care of her, even knowing she would object. And if she decides to move on to another place or another job, he'll let her go—but he's going to be sure she's treated fairly, no matter how much she protests.

The quiet settles around them, and she gives the front doors a fleeting glance. "Will you stay for a bit?"

"Of course," he answered before she even finished the question. He wanted to take her to his home, to pull her close and settle like a blanket around her, to fall asleep and wake up breathing in the soft coconut scent of her shampoo. But he'll settle for this diner and its secluded booth. "Finish up some of this." He slidthe plate in front of her and reached for the milk. It was no longer warm, and he eyed it suspiciously. "Should I re-heat it?"

Her head shook as she took a small bite of the muffin and toyed with the fork. "I don't think I want it. It tasted good when it was warm, but now…" Belle trailed off, and he left it at that. Eating seemed to ground her, even if she was taking small bites and eating slower than he could ever remember seeing someone eat.

Eventually even the little chewing slowed, and she set the fork down, hands falling to her lap to toy with the napkin. "I don't think I can eat anything else."

"That's alright," he soothed, glad to see she'd managed at least half of the muffin, all told. He was leaving the plates and dishes here. Even if she'd acted in Belle's best interests, he could only imagine what it did to Belle to be left alone in the library. To be helpless. Miss Lucas could manage to clean up the remains of the snack come morning.

Her hand lifted to her forehead, rubbing against her brow as her eyes closed briefly. Although some of her color was back, she was worn from the evening's events.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to stay in one of the guest rooms," Rumpelstiltskin murmured lightly. Her room was still made up as it had been when she was with him, and it was tempting every night to sleep in there. But he hadn't. It didn't feel right to be in that room without her. The room waited, like him.

She reached with her free hand, closing it around his in a soft squeeze of thanks. "I don't think it's for the best," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, attempting to be chivalrous. "Come on, then." Sliding carefully out of the booth, he took his cane and offered a hand up, trying not to seem pleased when she followed docilely, her small and slender fingers twining with his.

They were crossing the threshold into the inn when she paused for a moment. "Where…"

"Granny can spare a room for you tonight," he answered briefly. And a good brunch come morning, too, he added silently, glaring at the empty front desk as if Widow Lucas was standing there. He reached across the counter and found a key for a room that would be tucked away from the noise the diners would make come breakfast. One hastily scrawled should be sufficient to convey that the room was occupied and was to be left undisturbed. He trusted his handwriting was enough to speak volumes. It was, in fact, the very least the Lucas family could do.

His hand slid around Belle, leading her to the stairs and then to the room in the back corner. At the door, he unlocked it and dropped a warm kiss to the top of her head.

Her fingers wrapped a little tighter around his. "Rum?" she burred, letting her head drop to his shoulder.

"Yes?" he answered, rubbing her back.

"I… Could you…"

"Anything, Belle." He meant it. Anything she wanted.

"Could you stay a bit," she asked, starting to pull back slightly. "I don't… I'm so tired, but I don't want to be here with everyone else away." She meant alone, and he tried not to think about just how much of her life she had spent exactly like that.

"Of course," he saved her having to stumble through any other explanations, leading her in and locking the door behind them. "The sofa, then, yeah?"

She went straight to it, her feet automatically obeying though her mind was clearly hazy with exhaustion. Belle toed off her shoes, and she settled onto the seat, her head lolling against the back of it and eyes sliding half shut.

He snagged the quilt from the end of the bed and joined her, settling at one end and guiding her with little urging to curl against his side. One pillow and his thigh provided a cushion, and together they settled the quilt around her. He had tried very hard to give her space, but he couldn't resist the urge to slide fingers through her silky curls, the faintest smile teasing at the corners of his mouth when she gave a gentle sigh and relaxed.

A slender hand curled around his knee, and he relaxed, too. Her hair was tangled, and he knew it would be a mess come morning, but the motion of his fingers was calming her, sending her off to much-needed sleep. And an aching back for a day would be well worth the price of a night spent sitting her and keeping watch over his Belle. "Sleep, sweetheart."

Rumbelle on, friends!