Beauty, Her Beau, and Her Beast (A Rumbelle/OUAT Fanfic)

A New Friend

~* Wow! I really haven't updated in awhile. I'm so sorry guys, I didn't realize I actually had interested readers! I was just writing for fun! But now i'll try to update frequently for sure. Love you guys!*~

Rumplestiltskin's POV, Present Day

My head is reeling with this new information. However, I know there is more to the story.

Belle shakes her head and looks away, staring at the ground.

"Belle?" I ask, "Dear, that surely isn't all of it."

She merely shakes her head again. "Of course not," she replies, looking back up at me. "Of course it isn't. It's... I've managed to push those memories to the back of my mind for the past few weeks, and it coming all back in such a rush, well... It's just been so lovely being with you, Rumple."

I overcome my frustration, the realization that she may be having a hard time with this just hitting me. After all, I basically forced it out of her. Now, if it were anyone else, I would have no qualms about torturing every syllable out of them. But this is Belle. Belle is special.

"It's been lovely being with you too, dearie," I reply with a sigh.

"Oh, my!" Belle exclaims, looking out the window. "It's noon already! Didn't we just wake up?"

"I suppose you always lose track of time, dear, whether you're reading stories or telling them," I say with a smile.

She looks rather bashful for a moment before glancing back over to me.

"Should I continue?" she questions.

I nod. "Yes, but let's go somewhere more comfortable. The library, perhaps?"

"That seems fitting," she giggles, nodding back at me.

With a wave of my hand, we're in the library, sitting opposite each other in twin armchairs.

"This is much better," I mumble. "Now, if you'd like, please continue."

She taps her finger on her chin. "Where was I? Oh, yes..."

Belle's POV, 2 Years and 6 Months Ago

I've grown quite accustomed to the way things are now. It's simple.

Sleep. Wake up. Eat. Think. Drink. Mumble. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Repeat.

I've lost track of time. It could have been weeks, months, years, since I was first thrown in this cell and was confronted by the Queen. I gave up counting after the first few weeks.

I have seen her since our first "conversation", of course. Only seen, though. Sometimes she just likes to look in through my cell door, a gloating expression on her face. She really believes I'm her key to her victory, the piece for her checkmate. Joke's on her. Rumple doesn't care.

Of course, I can't bring myself to tell her that. Doing that would only bring more trouble to Rumple, and as much as I try not to, I still love him. I couldn't do that to him.

Now, however, with every passing hour, the option becomes more and more attractive. Maybe if I tell her, she'll think I have no use, and kill me. Then this torture would be over.

I roll over onto my back on my cot, staring up at the ceiling. I've become familiar with the cracks in it, though I've yet to count them all yet. I recently developed a game, trying to make patterns out of them. It's not very fun, and is probably contributing to my growing insanity, but it's not like that matters anymore.

Before long, I hear the familiar three raps on my cell door, and the very same voice calls out.

"Prisoner, get your meal!" The guard says. From my constant pestering, I've learned that his name is Graham, and that he came into The Queen's service a few months before I was captured.

"I'd rather you call me Belle," I mumble, shuffling over to the door to receive my meal. There is no reply. I grab the tray that's been shoved through the flap on the door, taking it back over to my cot.

I look down on the ghastly grime that is supposed to be my supper, and sigh. Taking the wooden spoon that was given, I manage to finish it off quickly, though it's hard to swallow. Then I enact my plan.

Glancing at the door and seeing no movement, I quickly reach for a sharp rock that I pried loose from the cobblestones under my bed. With the spoon in one hand and my rock in the other, I begin to whittle the handle of the spoon down to a sharp point.

It takes a lot longer than expected, and I begin to fear that Graham may become suspicious, but I still hear nothing outside my door. Finally, I am holding a half-decent weapon in my hand. Now for part two. Taking my tray and bowl, I walk over to the door and knock twice on it. The flap on it is opened, and I push my tray and bowl through it.

I step back and wait for a few seconds.

"Prisoner," Graham says, "the spoon as well."

The flap is opened again, and it seems he is impatient, since he is kneeling down to look through it. Perfect.

I hurl toward the opening and stab the pointed end of the spoon into his calf.

He shouts, and out of surprise, falls back on his bum. I am quick to shoot my arm out of the hole and yank his keys from his belt, withdrawing with them and my "dagger". Without the keys, he has no way to open the flap. I rapidly shove a random key into the keyhole, and with the greatest form of luck, it happens to be the one that unlocks the door. I grab a large, smooth stone that is by the door and run outside. I pause before taking the stone and knocking it hard against the side of Graham's head, knocking him out cold.

"Sorry," I hurriedly whisper to the now unconscious body, making my way down the many stairs of the tower, and to my escape. Thankfully, his shout hadn't alerted anyone. I can't hear any armor clanking or steps pounding up the stairs.

I am about halfway down when I hear Graham call out from behind me.

"Wait!" He shouts at me, but I can't afford any stops.

"Leave me be!" I shout back, still running down the steps as quick as I can. I hear him pursuing me, and soon he is right behind me. I suppose my weakness from the past few months is no match for his strength, even with his punctured leg and possible concussion.

"Wait," he repeats, breathing heavily, grabbing me by the arm.

"Let me go!" I whisper angrily, trying to wrench myself away from him.

"No," he says calmly. "You can't get out of here without me."

"I'm sorry?" I ask, astonished. Did I hear correctly?

"You heard me. If you want to escape The Queen's castle, you'll need my help."

"And why is that?"

"I've been planning my own escape for months. The Queen, she- she stole my heart," he puts his hand over his chest. "Standing guard outside your cell, well... It gave me a lot of time to think. I've decided to let you join me. Fail, however, and we're both doomed."

"If The Queen stole your heart," I start, suspicious, "then she may very well be controlling you right now. Maybe this is all a trick."

"What kind of trick would that be?" he asks, exasperated. "If you want to leave, we have to do it now. No looking back. I got my heart back- don't ask me how right now. I can tell you later. Can we just get out of here?"

His eyes have a look of desperation, and staring into them gives me a little flutter in my chest. They're a beautiful shade of brown... Wait. Stop.

I shake my head clear, and reply.

"Yes, of course. Let's... let's get out of here."

He grabs my hand, and together we take off down the twists and turns in the hallways of The Queen's castle.