Holding Hands

I wrote this for a DeviantArt challenge I'm participating in. We're challenged to write something about our favorite pairing every day.

The air whipped Belle's hair across her face, stinging her flushed cheeks. All around her was a fog of terrible violet, an eerie and forbidding mist that whispered of unpredictable power. It stirred in her with the squirming like a snake. It crawled over her with the clamminess of dead flesh. It glowed around her with the evil shadow of magic.

She held her breath, tried to shut it out. She closed her eyes, tried to force it out. She clenched her fist, tried to keep it out.

And finally, there was a breath of something soothing against her skin, something natural and cleansing. Fresh air, a breeze made of healthy, regular, forest air. And with a flicker, her brilliant blue eyes flashed open to the clear trees, the clean air. No sign of the purple mist remained. Belle could breathe again.

It was then that she noticed her hands were clutching something. Something warm, and it was gripping her fingers just as hard. Belle glanced beside her to see the one person who could guide her through it all, who could keep her safe from the violet magic.

She forced herself not to remember that it was he who had conjured the magic.

Rumplestiltskin held her hand in his, gripped it as if she could blow away if he slackened. He held onto her hand as if his life depended on it. And Belle had never felt more needed than in that moment. For there was something in his eyes, something dark and alien, something painful and pitiful. It made Belle's soul cry out, her heart twist inward.

She gripped his hand tighter.