Remember (Rumbelle AU)

Sunlight streamed through the branches of the maple trees that surrounded the hospital park. It was a lovely autumn day, the leaves just starting to turn so that the trees looked as though they’d been lightly brushed by paint. Belle walked along the dirt path to sit on her favorite bench. Belle…at least, that was the only name she had for herself. That was what people kept calling her. It was so…strange…not being able to remember anything about herself. All alone in this strange place, she felt as though she was wandering lost through a forest. And she could feel the pains and joys of unreachable memories like the phantom limbs of an amputee.

With a heavy sigh Belle sat down on the bench, thinking hard. It sounded silly, but she wanted someone to trust, like a friend. There was a woman named Ruby that claimed they were friends, but she wouldn’t tell her the truth about the healing and the fireball. Then there was the sheriff, who said she didn’t know her very well but did know someone she had been closely involved with; Mr. Gold.

Yes, then there was Mr. Gold. If Belle was being honest with herself, the man frightened her. He, after all, had been the one to heal her shoulder and hold the ball of fire in his hands. He was also the first one to call her Belle. Many of the nurses and doctors simply called her “Ms.,” “dear,” or something of the like. But Mr. Gold always called her Belle. It was a pretty name, and she had decided to try it on for size. And then came the phone call…

“Hi!” a voice said, dragging her out of her reverie.

Belle looked around to see a young boy approaching her, grinning and carrying a shoulder bag.

“Hello,” she said, surprised.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. She was glad of the company.

“My name’s Henry,” he said as he sat down.

“Belle,” Belle murmured in response. “Did we know each other?”

“No,” Henry said, “but I’ve read all about you.”

“You’ve…read about me?” Belle was confused.

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything,” he assured her. “But I should start at the beginning.”

“Explain? Explain the beginning of what?” Belle asked.

“I’m going to tell you who you are.”

Belle couldn’t think of anything to say to that. This was the second day in a row somebody had decided to tell her who she was. Mr. Gold had told her everything he believed she was in the phone call. It wasn’t all that strange coming from him, as he seemed to believe they were in some sort of relationship. But what did this boy know? And would their stories match up?

“Okay,” she said tentatively.

“This town,” Henry began, “is called Storybrooke. It was made by a curse that my mom, the evil queen, cast to take away all the happy endings. Everyone here, including you, once lived in a place called The Enchanted Forest. But the curse transported them all here, and they couldn’t remember who they were. They were given fake memories.”

“Did this happen to you, too?” Belle asked.

“No, I was born here. My other mom, my birth mom, is the savior. She was born in the Enchanted Forest, and sent to grow up here so one day she could break the curse. And she did, even for you.”

“So, if what you’re saying is true, why can’t I remember now?”

“You crossed the town line. Anybody who does that loses their memories again and reverts to their cursed selves.”

“But…I don’t have any memories,” Belle said, and the thought made her sad. What had her life been in the curse? Was this story even true? After everything Mr. Gold had told her things seemed easier to believe.

“There was something different about you. I haven’t quite worked it out yet though. Think hard; can you remember anything?”

“Sometimes…” Belle said, eyes glazed and staring, “if I think hard enough, I seem to remember being trapped somewhere…somewhere dark and lonely. And sometimes I wake up crying, but I can’t remember what I was dreaming.”

Henry looked at her intently. “I think my mom—the evil queen one—was keeping you prisoner somewhere, as a weapon.”

“A-a weapon?” Belle was shocked. “Why would she—I’m not a weapon, how am I a weapon?”

“Hey, calm down! I’m going to explain, but I can’t do that if your out on tranquilizers.”

Belle took a deep breath and blew it out, hugging her arms over her chest. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Why are you so jumpy?”

“I’m not jumpy!”

Henry gave her a look. “One of my moms is the mayor and the other is the sheriff. I know how many tranquilizers they’ve had to give you.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to make of that. She stared at Henry, looked away, and looked back again. Finally she said, “Wouldn’t you be? If you were lying hurt on the road, no idea who you were, with a strange man standing over you calling a name out like you belong to it, who then heals you and conjures a ball of fire like some sort of magic, which is impossible, and then you were taken to a hospital and sedated over and over and everyone was lying to you and talking to you like you were a porcelain cup that could shatter…” she paused for a breath, “that would make anybody upset.”

“I didn’t really think of it that way. But you’re right. I also think it has something to do with what happened to you when you were cursed. Like, you were traumatized or something.”

Belle bit her lip, feeling distraught. She didn’t like where this was going.

“Hey,” Henry said, “it’s okay, those memories aren’t real. And we’re going to get your real ones back.”

“You say that I’m in a story…that you’ve read about me. How can that be possible? How can I be in a storybook?”

“They all are,” Henry said. “Everyone in this town. Snow White, my grandmother, gave me the book during the curse. It had every story in it. That’s how I learned about the curse. That’s how I learned about my real mom, the savior. I found her, and brought her here. I made her believe. That’s what I am; the believer.”

“You’re grandmother is Snow White?” Belle said skeptically.

“Yep!”

Belle shook her head with a little laugh. “Why am I even listening to this? I never listened to anybody else. I didn’t believe Mr. Gold. Why are you different?”

“I’m the believer,” Henry said with a shrug. “That’s my job. I make other people believe.”

Belle studied the boy. His face was young, but his eyes held the look of one who’d seen many horrible things. And yet, they still shone with childlike innocence. And after a moment Belle smiled, and put a grain of trust in the boy’s pure heart.

“Okay,” she said. “Show me the book.”

Henry smiled back at her and pulled a large leather-bound book out of his bag. The title read “Once Upon a Time.” He flipped it open to a page that pictured a woman with chestnut hair and wearing a gold ball gown. Belle cocked her head. The woman did look a bit like her. She skimmed through the story’s beginning; a princess whose kingdom was plagued by war, a deal made with a madman called Rumplestiltskin.

“Rumplestiltskin…” Belle murmured.

“That’s who Mr. Gold is. That’s how he knows you.”

“He was my captor?”

Henry shook his head. “You’re his true love,” and he flipped to another page. It showed the young woman and the madman kissing in front of a spinning wheel. It was so tender that it brought tears to Belle’s eyes.

“That can’t be me,” she insisted. “That can’t be him. Whatever he said on the phone yesterday, this can’t be our story. He’s got me confused with somebody else. Life isn’t a fairy tale.”

“The stories keep growing,” Henry insisted.

He flipped to more pages, showing more pictures. And there they were, dressed in modern clothes living in the town. The man was obviously Mr. Gold now, human-looking. And the woman looked more and more like her. Belle felt strange looking at them, like they were old childhood photographs, half forgotten. Could she really be Belle?

“You have to remember,” Henry said, flipping to a final page and placing the book in her lap. “You love him.”

The picture showed the back of Mr. Gold’s head, and over his shoulder was Belle’s own face, her arms wrapped around him, an expression of intense relief and love in her face. It was like she had been through hell, and now at last she was safe in her true love’s arms. Tears dripped down Belle’s face and splashed on the pages. Did she really have love like this?

“Henry!” a voice called from across the park. Belle looked up to see the sheriff standing at the gate.

“Coming Mom!” Henry answered. “I gotta go,” he said to Belle. “You can hold onto the book for a while if you want.”

“Thank you,” Belle said thickly.

Henry dashed off to join his mother, and Belle was left sitting with the book. She flipped through the pages, looking carefully at each picture. Whether this was her life or not, she wanted it. She thought back to the phone call and found it twice as moving as before. She found a picture of Rumplestiltskin holding a chipped teacup—the same one she had smashed—with a devastated expression and placing it reverently on a plinth. Suddenly she was sorry for smashing it. She tried to wipe the tears away but they kept coming. So she stood, book under her arm, and walked towards the gate. As she reached it she heard a nurse calling after her to stop, so she started to run.

Belle ran until she was out of breath and had to stop and lean against a building. She looked around and found she was in the town square, leaning against the library. When she’d caught her breath she walked on. Though she didn’t know where Mr. Gold’s shop was, her feet seemed to have mind of their own, and in a few moments she was standing in front of the door. A deep breath, and she stepped inside.

Bells tinkled as the door swung open, revealing the dimly lit pawnshop. It was full of myriad treasures and strange objects, but Belle paid them no mind. She charged into the shop, heading strait for the front desk where Mr. Gold—Rumplestiltskin—stood doing some meticulous task. By the time he looked up she was already halfway to him. He looked shocked to see her, which she supposed was understandable considering the last time they’d met she’d hurled his treasured relic to the floor and the last time they’d spoken he’d seemed to be on his deathbed. Plus, though she didn’t know what her face looked like, she could feel tears spilling down her cheeks. That was probably a bit startling.

“Belle, what—” Mr. Gold started.

But Belle didn’t let him finish. She reached the desk and dropped the book down between them. “Tell me more,” she said.

Mr. Gold looked down at the book, then back up at her. “I don’t understand…what’s this about?”

“Yesterday you called me to tell me who I am,” Belle said, then she pointed at the book. “This life…the life this woman has with you…I want that. I’ve seen it here in this book, I’ve heard it in your voice, and it’s beautiful. But I can’t remember. So tell me more.”

Mr. Gold—Rumplestiltskin—looked at her with those intense eyes, and slowly reached out his hand to gently wipe a tear away. “My sweetheart,” he whispered. “I can tell you…I can help you remember.”

He reached behind him to take something out of the locked cabinet, then turned back and placed a velvet purple bag on the counter. He opened it to reveal the fragments of the teacup. Belle watched curiously as he waved a hand over it. Purple smoke swirled around it, and when it cleared the cup was whole again, except for one chip.

“That cup again,” Belle said, not knowing anything else to say.

“Just something from my past…our past,” he handed it to her. “Look at it. Really look, and listen.”

Belle took the cup and gazed at it, turning it over in her hands. She tried desperately to glean some sort of meaning from it. All she could recall was the picture in the storybook. It wasn’t her own memory.

 “You are Belle,” Mr. Gold  began. “You stayed with me in my castle for a few years, as my servant. But that started to change. You, started to change…me. You wanted to know me, and you were able to open me up at least a little bit. You became a joy in my life, though I never admitted it to myself then. You brought light into my life. You have one of the purest hearts I’ve ever known. You have a special talent for seeing the goodness in others, especially when they can’t see it themselves. You found the man behind the monster, and somehow, you brought him back to life. I never could understand it. During the short time we were together again, I was baffled by your love and your belief in me. You never cease to amaze me. Even this, now, amazes me. And I love you.”

Belle bit her lip to keep it from trembling. The phantom emotions filled her, but she could not recall the memories.

“I want to be her,” she said in a strangled voice. “I’m tired of being nobody. I want to be her! But I can’t remember!”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll find a way, I promise.”

Belle looked into his, Rumplestiltskin’s, eyes. She saw the love in them, and acted on instinct. She stretched up on her tiptoes over the counter, reached her hands out to grab his shoulders, and pulled his face down to hers. She felt him stumble in surprise and fall against the desk, but she didn’t stop. Her lips found his, and they shared a kiss. Belle’s lips were desperate and searching, his responded soft and tender. Suddenly, Belle felt a sort of heat building up in her chest, like a tiny sun had been hung in her heart. The feeling grew until it burst out between them like a shockwave of emotion. She felt it ruffle her hair and loose garments. In that moment their lips stilled, and Belle opened her eyes in wonder. She pulled back as though in a trance, staring without seeing. For a second everything seemed to hang frozen in time, then everything came rushing back. Every memory of her life in the Enchanted Forest, every memory of Storybrooke, every memory of Rumplestiltskin.

“Rumple,” Belle whispered, her eyes finding his. “I remember…again.” She was beaming.

Rumplestiltskin smiled back at her, reaching out to stroke her face. “My darling Belle,” he whispered.

Their lips met again, and this time Rumple clutched Belle and lifted her up and over the desk so that he could hold her. She clung onto him, never wanting to let go again. She’d been through too much, lost him too many times. After a moment she broke the kiss and rested her head contentedly on his shoulder. Rumple stroked her hair.

“What made you come?” he murmured.

“Henry came to visit me. He showed me the book with all our stories in it.”

“I’ll have to remember to thank him,” Rumple said, and he sounded surprised.

“I know,” Belle said. “I was surprised too. Why would he want to help me? He doesn’t know me at all.”

“Maybe he was interested in helping me,” Rumple mused.

“But, why would he want to do that?” Belle wondered. “He doesn’t know you very well.”

“Perhaps it’s because I’m his grandfather,” he said.

“What?” Belle said. “When did that happen?”

“I…I found my son yesterday.”

Belle pulled back to look at him. “Oh my god, that’s wonderful!”

“Yes. But I feel that the only reason he came back with me was because of his son, Henry (he and Emma went with us). And the fact that I was dying,” he added as an afterthought.

Belle tightened her grip on Rumple for a second. “Well, it sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Indeed we do,” Rumple agreed. “But there’ll be time for that later.”

“Yes, there will,” Belle said.

But for that moment, they wanted only to revel in each other’s company.