Disclaimer: Unfortunately not mine in any sense of the word.

This began as a little rambling drabble and...well, it took on a life of it's own. I simultaneously loved and hated The Outsider last week, and this is the product of my quirky sense of humor taking a different route on the material from that episode. I have a love/hate relationship with angst. I love it, and it hates me; that's why it overwhelms me with all these feels. So, I went with humor; the more humor in this fandom right now, the better!

This is moderately improbable, as Rum would never take Belle's loss of memory so cavalierly, but...certain concessions must be made for the sake of humor. All that aside, I can't wait until tomorrow night's episode! Hopefully this will be something to bring a smile to all of we poor suffering Rumbellers as the agnst-fest continues!

As always, read, enjoy, and please review!

The hospital at nighttime was an eerie place, dominated by darkened hallways and flickering auxiliary lighting, the muted fluorescence casting a ghostly glow on the patients lying int their beds beyond the windowed wooden doors. Rumplestiltskin strode purposefully down the hall, footsteps silent against the scuffed tile floor, the rubber head of his cane keeping muted time with his steady steps. Halting before the door at the end of the hall, he peered through the glass at his Belle, pained longing twisting his mouth into a tortured grimace. The lightest flick of his fingers had the door swinging open before him, and he eased his way into the room.

Coming to rest at the her of her bed, he looked down upon Belle, drinking in the sight of her still form with darkened eyes. She seemed so small, so frail, wrapped in hospital linens and ensconced in the narrow bed with her mass of curls tumbling down to frame her face. He reached out, caressed her cheek, trailing one trembling finger from temple to jaw and tilting her head beck just an infinitesimal amount. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, the lightest brush of skin against skin. He reveled in the moment, relished the moment where they breathed the same air.

It had to work. True love (although he would typically profusely deny this fact on any give day) was the most powerful magic of all; it had to be able to bring Belle back.

For the briefest moment he felt her respond to his embrace, felt her lips move against his with a delightful friction, a gentle joining of their souls.

Then Belle woke up and screamed, and ruined it all.

She jerked back from him, eyes wide with confused panic, mouth open in a startled shriek. "Who are you?" she yelped, recoiling from him. "What are you doing?! Why were you-"

As quickly as he had awoken her (but unfortunately not with the intended result) with his kiss, Rumplestiltskin sent Belle spiraling back down into the realm of sleep, brushing his thumb and middle finger down over her eyelids and sending her into a deep slumber. "It should have worked," he murmured, sadness shadowing his expression. "She should have remembered." Gently, he drew the covers up to his loves chin, tucking her into the bed and ghosting a light kiss across her brow, confident in the strength of his magic to keep her asleep. Retrieving his cane from where he had rested it against the bed frame, he slowly made his way out of the hospital, already deep in thought; perhaps it was only a matter of timing...

Coward though he was, Rumplestiltskin did not believe in giving up (except in certain circumstances, of course). As it stood, though, he had a sense of pride and tenacity that rivaled that of even the most stubborn hero, and in the particular matter at hand he refused to concede defeat. True love's kiss was the solution-it had to be. If it was strong enough to break his curse-the purportedly unbreakable curse of the Dark One-then it had more than enough power to re-instill Belle's memories.

He tried again two days later.

Belle was leaving the hospital, freshly discharged and healed to the point where she could return to the world outside. The other residents of Storybrook had dithered accordingly over how best to help her; with no false memories to draw upon, Belle had no identity with which to revert. She was an amnesiac, plain and simple. Her friends (though he was loath to call them such) had presented a variety of options on Belle's living arrangements, and after a day of careful, wide-eyed consideration she had agreed to take a room at Granny's.

Rumplestiltskin waited alongside the building in silent anticipation, lurking behind a particularly lush hydrangea bush (undignified, to be certain, but a convenient hiding place nevertheless). Belle was still terribly uneasy around him; though she appeared to have written the first disaster of a kiss off as a dream, she continue to flinch away from him during the few times he had dared to make an appearance during daylight hours.

Now he stood in the bush, straight-backed and still, bushy blue flowers brushing against his head and obscuring him from the sight of the casual observer. His hands gripped the head of his cane, twisting the burnished golden head in his hands. Between branched and bursting blue blooms, he tracked Belle with his eyes, following her progress with a coolly calculating stare. "Come on," he murmured, eyes narrowing in concentration, "just a little further."

After what seemed an eternity, Belle rounded the corner and approached his floral facade, Ruby flanking her to the right.

Rumplestiltskin tensed; this was it.

As Belle drew alongside the hydrangea, he slipped out onto the sidewalk directly into her path. Belle yelped in shock, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the surprised sound. "Who are you?" she exclaimed. "You were always lurking around outside of my hospital room (don't think I didn't see you) and I have no idea who you are. What do you want?"

"For you to remember, of course," he said, turning to her with a darkly intense gaze.

Baring his teeth, gold glinting in his crooked smile, Rumplestiltskin gave what he hoped appeared to be an innocent shrug. "Why, me, love," he declared, a hint of his enigmatic alter ego resonating within the quiet words. Quickly-for he only had one shot at this and she was due to duck around him at any given moment-he leaned forward and caught her lips with his, caressing her mouth with all the care and compassion and love he could muster. His hands slid into her hair, burying themselves in the thick curls as he tried to pretend all was as it should be and his Belle still loved him, tried to pretend that she had not been shot and forgotten all aspects of her identity.

His fantasy came crashing to an all-too-sudden halt as Belle recoiled, shrieking for the second time in five minutes. "What are you doing?!" she yelped, pushing him away from her. Her hands connected with his shoulder, knocking him back and away so forcefully that he could not catch his balance and found himself planted uncomfortably on the sidewalk, legs sprawled and arms splayed out behind him with palms rubbed raw and red from the force of his fall.

"You stay away from me," Belle commanded. "I don't know who you are, but you have no right to touch me in such a manner." She stomped around his prone form as though he were simply a crack on the sidewalk, pausing only to allow Ruby to catch up (the other woman was trying and failing miserably to contain a barrage of amused snickers).

Watching them walk away, his backside throbbing painfully and his scraped palms pulsing, Rumplestiltskin fell in love all over again. She was a fighter, his Belle, memories or no. Grasping for his cane, he levered himself to his feet with a soft, pained grunt, fresh determination already surging up within him. She would remember; it was only a matter of time. All it took was true love-he knew it.

He set his next attempt into action three days later as Belle was arriving home from a day out on the town with Snow. The Charmings and their entourage were taking turns escorting Belle about town in the hopes that something might job her memory, as well as to re-introduce her to life in general; the curse of the boundary was not kind, and had left her wanting for many memories of even the simplest things.

Rumplestiltskin snorted and shook his head. Fools-only true love had an chance of bringing Belle back to her buoyant self. He watched as she paused outside the back door and fumbled with her keys, an animated curse floating through the darkness. Seeing opportunity rear its head, he slid out of the darkness to stand just behind her

Rumplestiltskin gave her no opportunity, taking that last step he needed to sweep her into his arms and crash his lips to hers. He held her in place for a long moment, delving into her mouth, exploring every crevice even as she squirmed in his arms and strove to escape. breaking the kiss, breathing heavily from his exertions (and noting with no small amount of satisfaction her own shortness of breath and rather flushed face) he drew back just far enough for her to see his face. "My name," he told her, eyes darkened by desire, "is Rumplestiltskin." He leaned in and slowly kissed the corner of her trembling mouth, drawing his lips all the way across hers to lavish the other side with attention as well. "See that you don't forget it, love."

Before she was able to anything more than blink in stupefied silence he was gone, flowing back into the shadows and melding with the darkness. Belle pressed a trembling hands to her tingling lips; she definitely had a problem at hand.

He waited a few days before initiating their next encounter. This time, Belle was out with Emma, the savior having volunteered to take her grocery shopping so they could make dinner that night. Belle perused the produce aisle with pursed lips, lost in thought as she contemplated the selection of available fruit. She had just turned her scrutiny upon a pomegranate, grasping the fruit in her hand and plucking it from the pile, turning it this way and that, when her hypersensitive ears (she said it was from spending too much time with Ruby; Ruby claimed it was sheer paranoia) picked up the sound of light footsteps behind her.

Hands caught her arms halfway through her about face, holding her steady and disoriented enough to allow Rumplestiltskin time to plant a swift kiss on her mouth. It lasted no more than a few seconds, but the pomegranate still had time to slip from suddenly numb fingers and drop unheeded to the floor.

"What was that?" Belle demanded, eyes flashing with irritation.

He gave a wicked grin and tapped her nose with one long, lean finger. "True love's kiss, dearie," he proclaimed, eyes dancing. "You'd do well to remember it."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away. "You aren't my true love," she told him. "I think I'd remember that."

A flash of something (was it pain? She instantly brushed the thought away; how could he be hurt by the truth?) passed across his face, fading as quickly as it had come. He mustered a knowing smile. "And that's where you're wrong," he proclaimed. "You just don't know it yet." By the time Emma returned from foraging in the bakery he had disappeared, leaving a bemused but no-less=irritated Belle in his wake, her thoughts churning turbulently in her head; these encounters had to stop.

The fourth time they kissed, Belle was sitting in the passenger seat of Emma's yellow bug, her gaze unfocused and wandering as she stared absently out the open window. The duo was stuck at what appeared to be the red light of the century, the slew of crossing traffic uncharacteristically incessant.

A sleek black Cadillac rolled to a stop in the lane to Belle's right, and before she had time to register what was happening Rumplestiltskin had thrown his car into park, slammed the door closed behind him, and claimed her mouth for his own...again.

For the briefest of moments he felt her respond, felt her lips part slightly and move against his, felt her head shift and tilt to give him a better angle as she sighed into his mouth.

Then, all too soon, she withdrew and jumped to her window controls, methodically rolling up the pane of glass, using it as a barrier between them as she stared at him with an interesting mix of bewildered resignation playing across her face.

"Remember me yet?" he inquired through the rapidly-dwindling gap in the glass.

Ignoring the part of her that nudged to to wish she could, Belle shook her head resolutely. "No," she declared. "Not at all."

He shrugged one shoulder as if he'd already anticipated her answer, brushing it off with a single, casual movement. "You will," he promised, giving her an infuriating smirk that made her think he knew exactly what was going through her mind.

The light chose that moment to shift, and Emma (grinning broadly, damn her) threw the car into drive, stomping on the gas. The little yellow Bug peeled away and left the sorcerer standing alone in the middle of the road, oblivious to (or simply electing not to care about) the honking line of cars behind him.

The encounters only progressed from there.

"How about now?" he queried, swooping in and planting one on her soft mouth. Belle sat still and waited for him to withdraw, knees planted firmly in the earth and up to her elbows in dirt as she weeded Granny's back garden.

"Nuh uh." She shook her head, the slightest tinge of amusement gleaming in her azure eyes. "Not a thing."

Two days later, she found herself repeating yet another variation on this theme. "No, Rumplestiltskin," she sighed in response to his unasked question, leaning resignedly against the drug store's glass doors and rolling her eyes. Her lips tingled from his latest effort, and if the smug smile he sported was any indication, he was well aware of the havoc this little "game" of his was wreaking on her mind. "I do not remember a thing." The infuriating man simply shook his head and sauntered off down the street, his remark about "simply having to try harder" lingering in the air long after he had departed.

The next day found her in yet a different position of discomfort, sandwiched between Rumplestiltskin and a hard place (quite literally, as luck would have it, for she had been passing a rather resolute brick building when he cornered her).

"Now?" he asked, smirking. Their faces were mere inches apart, noses brushing, so close that Belle had only to shift slightly forward to have his lips on hers once more-not that she would ever consider such an action, of course. The thought disturbed her more than it probably should have, for somewhere along the course of this strange game it appeared she had developed some sort of affection for this irritatingly persistent man; it was absolutely absurd.

"No," she said firmly, to herself as much as to him. "Nothing at all."

Belle found this to be her mantra over the course of the next few weeks. Rumplestiltskin managed to "bump into her" at least once per day, and in the most unlikely locations, from the salon ("No! And if you actually try to cut my hair...") to the school ("I'm helping Snow with the class, that's what. And just think of all the poor children you probably just traumatized...") to even the pet store where she had taken to volunteering ("I swear you're as bad as these puppies! Don't know the meaning of the word no..."). He just wouldn't stop; it seemed he was hell-bent on drawing her "memories" (of whose existence she was still skeptical) back with merely his mouth-either that, or he had simply decided to kiss her into oblivion.

Either way, Belle could always count on at least one peck (or sometimes more) on the lips.

The day he approached her in the library, though, Belle decided to turn the tables. She had been contemplating the reason for his for his dogged persistence, unable to believe herself so important to him that he would indeed dedicate so much time to "helping" her remember, and had reached the conclusion teat he was attracted to her resistance -the thrill of the chase, so to speak. Therefore, when she heard him creeping up behind her as she sorted stacks of books in the silent library, she spun quickly on her heels and leaned up into his mouth, pressing her lips to his with soft intensity.

Unlike, the others, this kiss was reciprocal, and that changed everything. Belle brought her hands up to the lapels of his jacket, smoothing the silky fabric with shaking fingers then letting hands drop and curl around his shoulders.

His mouth was heavy and warm, covering hers in so possessive a manner she barely managed to bite back a moan. For weeks now she had been denying how right he felt against her, how much she had wanted to press herself flush against him and allow him to plunder her mouth, taking as much as she was willing to offer and then some. It was crazy-she knew nothing of the man other besides the little she had gleaned from personal experiences and the gossip that she had picked up around town.

He was Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and landlord. He was Rumplestilstkin, imp and Dark One and deal maker. He was like a dog with a bone, obnoxiously persistent and in a constant state of denial regarding her own mental state. He was-an amazingly good kisser, she decided, squirming in his arms as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, caressing her lips with a soft flick and going on to trace the roof of her mouth.

His palms skimmed up and down his sides, dancing lightly along her body and stopping to cradle her face, thumbs gently caressing her cheeks as he gentled the tenor of their kiss, making slow sweeps of her mouth and savoring the burst of flavor that sent his synapses spiraling Finally he pulled his head back, gasping for want of air. "And now?" he inquired, resting his forehead against hers, grip on her face unrelenting, staring into her cerulean eyes and practically daring her to deny him. "What do you remember now, Belle?"

There was a tone of absolute knowing in his voice that had never been there before, and Belle opened her mouth to contest his overwhelming, smug certainty-and froze as a blinding bold of clarity, of memory, rocked through her body. There was a castle, a spinning wheel, a chipped cup, a glimmer of scales. She shook, closing her eyes and tossing her head, trying to physically dislodge whatever consisted of this assault on her mind.

Saying nothing, Rumplestiltskin lowered his hands to her shoulders, drawing her into his chest and cradling her to him.

Another flood of memories-thoughts and emotions and images all rolled into one, compact little ball-imploded in her head, besieging her with a rush of sensation. The mines, the library, Gold's shop, a pirate, his ship, the boundary-the boundary. Belle gasped, jolting back to the present, her eyes flying open. "I remember," she breathed, lifting her chin to look at Rumplestiltskin with awe-filled eyes. "I remember it all." Suddenly realizing her amnesiac self's actions, she blushed furiously and turned her gaze away. "Oh, Rumple, I forgot you," she murmured, horrified and ashamed. "I'm so sorry." She wrapped her arms around him, burying herself in his warm embrace.

His arms tightened around her, and she could feel him smile into her hair. "It's alright, Belle," he murmured. "You're back-that's what matters."

She drew back just enough to look at him through narrowed eyes. "If true love's kiss didn't work the first time," she queried, why on earth would you assume it would eventually?"

"It has to be mutual," he said simply, taking advantage of her being there in his arms, to nuzzle his nose against her neck, relishing her gentle shiver.

"Ah," she sighed, in response both to his reply and to the delicious sensations resonating from where he had his lips pressed to her pale neck. "I see."

She felt him smile into her collarbone. "Plus," he murmured, lips tickling her skin, "it gave me an excuse to kiss you every day. Even without true love, my dear, you're quite... delectable." He bit lightly on her neck to prove his point, then ran his tongue over the tender spot.

"So you weren't even sure it would work?" she asked, incredulous.

He smirked. "Oh, I knew it would work," he declared, "but how could I deny the lovely opportunity..." Deciding enough words had passed between them, he leaned forward and claimed her lips once again, relishing the knowledge that Belle was whole and happy and his once more. There was something to be said for persistence, and if ensuring his Belle never forgot him meant he must always be on hand to kiss her memories back into being, well-that was certainly an ending he could live with.