Once Upon A Time: I don't own it, but I can totally OWN it. Get it?

(sigh)

So, in my other two stories I write a Mr. Gold character, and this will be the first time tackling the more traditional Rumplestiltskin. (Mmm... tackling Rumplestiltskin) It's a lot of fun, actually. I hope you enjoy this. I don't know how long it will be, but not more than 10 chapters I think.

This week's conversation w/ friends regarding Mr. Gold. I think we're right.

L: I realize I find all of Mr. Gold's earlier scenes in the show sexier than his later ones.

K: Why?

L: I don't know. I think it was because he kept checking Emma and Regina out and smirking at them in his certain way.

K: Haha

L: I don't think he does it later. Maybe as an actor, once he learned about the Belle storyline he revised his performance to not be checking out chicks.

K: What a Good dude.

L: "I was playing Rumplestiltskin as a Ladies Man… but I had to change my game."

K: "I may be a sketchy character, but I'm not a Jerk."

Belle worried over the handful of dirt she held over the washtub. She scrubbed hard, and little by little the mud fell away from her hands onto the floor, revealing beneath a small tuberous root. She turned it back and forth, rubbing a thumb over it to wipe a bit more of the mud away. It wasn't a feast by any means, but it would do. She set the root aside and took another glob of dirt from the basket next to her.

Hidden within the chunks of dirt were vegetable roots, and the broken off vestiges of the plants that grew from them. Carrots and rutabagas and yams. Belle liked to imagine what it would be like to have the ripe plants themselves here, instead of just the forgotten growths she managed to scrounge from some of her neighbor's fields at night. It was all too easy to close her eyes and imagine the meals those farmers shared with their families - the steaming plates and warm bread. Her mouth watered at the thought of it.

But this small pile of shriveled stems was all there would be for her and her father tonight. Every night.

She often thought about taking some of the roots she scrounged from the surrounding areas and planting on their own land - but the thought left her as soon as she entertained it. If anything could grow on their land they wouldn't be living the life they were now, scrounging, starving, shunned by their neighbors. Everyone whispered it under their breath, and Belle could see it in their eyes as they crossed to the other side of the street whenever Belle or her father happened to go into town.

Cursed.

Her family was cursed. Currently, that only encompassed her and her father, Maurice. Belle's mother had finally escaped (succumbed) to it when she died giving birth; taking Belle's new brother with her. Belle had been ten years old.

Time went by, and now Belle was nearly twice the age she was when she had learned the true meaning of the word curse.

The story of how it came to be was not something her father had ever been willing to share with her. Sometimes, when he was deep in his cups, he rambled about an "unpaid price" and them being worse off than when they had begun. It was all very puzzling, and frustrating, but no matter how she tried to coax her father - or once, to her shame, lured him into an even further drunken state than he was generally inclined - he would never say more.

Belle didn't like to think where her father was getting drink when food was so hard to come by. She imagined he took it by the light of the moon from her neighbors still the same way she stole their vegetable roots. And she imagined those neighbors looked the other way because, even if they didn't want her and her father around, they weren't quite willing to directly condemn them to death by robbing them of their only food source.

Belle finished washing the roots and sat up in her chair, beginning the process of pealing them before dumping them into the pot to her right that would later be placed over the fire to stew.

At first, she didn't believe in curses. Everyone fell on hard times at some point or another in their lives. It was cowardice to always blame fate. However, after her mother died, she and her father moved. They traveled for months to get away from the memory of their lost family, in search of a place to settle where nobody had any preconceived notions about them. Belle didn't believe until the new farm they settled on stopped producing food. The cows and goats they procured slowly died of illness - and the villagers began to whisper anew.

Cursed.

She couldn't escape it. Nor could her father, except through drink - she wouldn't deny him that.

She did want to find a true escape, however. She believed there had to be one - with the same fervency she used to believe there was no such thing as curses. The irony didn't escape her.

Reaching into her apron, Belle withdrew the only blade she owned. An old pruning knife, dulled with age and improper sharpening tools - but it did the job. She chopped the roots as she let them fall into the pot of water. She paused a moment, studying the skin of her hands. It was deeply calloused; rewards of a life spent in toil. She wiggled her fingers a moment, as if she could exorcise the years of abuse she'd imposed on them with a motion, before she continued her chore.

Shifting forward in her seat, Belle bowed her head over the task at hand, allowing herself to be lost in thought. She hadn't told her father what she'd discovered recently - overheard from two of the village women. She'd heard talking, and they hadn't seen her - standing slightly behind them in the marketplace, and dressed with disguise in mind.

"They say that he murdered his wife, and that's why he ran with his daughter so far away from their village."

"Is that why they're cursed?"

"Partly. I think they're cursed because his reason was unforgivable. He probably wanted his little daughter all to himself, if you take my meaning..."

"That's a terrible thing to say! I heard from the miller's boy that they made a deal with The Dark One and then refused him payment."

"Perhaps. They say That one never lets those who owe him get away."

"Never."

Belle had been mortified at the thought that the villagers thought her father was inclined to use her that way. It was idle gossip, but the very idea they could think that hardened Belle's resolve to not regret the lack of contact she had with them.

Talk of The Dark One, however, was not usually so idle. People didn't care to speak of that one, except in hushed tones. No one knew his true name, and it was said if he learned yours he would have power over you.

Which seemed silly to Belle. If you stood for any amount of time in any village square you would learn the names of dozens of people, if not hundreds. Was power so easily obtained?

Not that it mattered. The Dark One was the figment of children's stories, which seldom had to make sense.

She finished with the roots and brushed her hands off, moving the pot over the fire that was already glowing strongly.

Root stew, for the third night. At least they weren't starving.

The next day, Belle went into town. She was prepared to avoid the eyes and paths of her fellow villagers. She didn't have people to visit, but there was only so much time she could spend in the small house with her father - and Belle liked to watch people, to listen.

Another reason to skirt the market was to collect leftovers. She took a moment to be thankful the villagers policy towards her and her father was more one of avoidance than outright hostility. It could be worse. They seemed to ignore when she foraged through the trash brought out from the stalls, looking for scraps. The village wasn't rich, and even its merchants were taught not to be wasteful. Perhaps she and her father should move to one of the larger cities - where anonymity was easier to come by, and the beggars better fed.

Belle was crouched on the ground, turning one of the less moldy chunks of bread over in her hands, when she heard voices carrying over from the baker's stall around the corner.

"Ella is pregnant. She must be three months at least, now. It's beginning to show."

"She didn't waste any time, then - once her husband came back."

Belle hesitated. Ella was the wife of the local woodsman. Her husband had gone missing in battle over a year ago. It was news to her ears if he was returned - and for months it seemed. Belle frowned. Perhaps she had been avoiding the town too much.

"How was it that he was gone for a year? The ogres don't take prisoners."

Exactly what Belle wanted to know.

"I don't know exactly what happened. The man seems to have no memory of it. Said he got a head wound in battle, then...woke up in the middle of the woods, a year later."

"How odd."

Indeed.

The first person snorted. "Odd, right. It sounds like dark magic to me."

"You wouldn't suggest that Ella..."

"Made a deal with The Dark One for her husband? Widows are known to do desperate things."

"It's been a year, though. If it were my Bartholomew that were lost, I'd act sooner than that."

"I'm just offering up my opinion. Now, if you'd like to buy some bread..."

Belle stood, putting the crusts she'd gathered in the pockets of her skirt. What if, like her family's curse, tales of The Dark One were more than just conjecture? She knew she wouldn't be well received, but it seemed like it might be worth it to pay the former widow a visit.

Belle regarded the small house before her. From what she'd heard, Ella herself had not had things easily during the time her husband was missing. The home was in slight disrepair, but not overly so. The roof thatching was new, and some boards in the walls freshly cut lumber - things that had likely fallen into disrepair in Sean's absence.

Belle rapped hard twice on the wooden door. A muffled voice bid her enter. Deciding to not think too long about what kind of reception she might get, Belle took a deep breath and pushed the door inward. Ella was sitting in a chair by the fire, her hands full with needle and socks in disrepair. She looked up at Belle with a brilliant smile, which quickly faded.

"Oh... it's you." She didn't sound surprised, which surprised Belle. She looked back down at her sewing. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I had a question." Ella turned to her reluctantly, and raised an eyebrow. Belle cleared her throat. "I hear your husband has been found. That's wonderful news." Belle looked around the room "Is he not here?"

"He went to market to fetch a few things." Her eyes narrowed. "Did you come to ask after my husband?"

"No, no. I just..."

"Then please, ask your question and be gone. I'm sure it's not good for the baby to be around someone who..." she stopped speaking and tensed suddenly, her eyes downcast.

"Of course not." Belle's practiced reply came smoothly. "I overheard a rumor in town..."

If possible, Ella's shoulders tensed up even further. She had ceased to sew, but clutched the socks and needle in her hands, still not looking up.

"Yes?"

Unsure of what provoked such a response in the other girl, Belle continued without preamble. "I don't want to imply anything about you, but I heard someone say in the square that they believed you made a deal with The Dark One in order to bring your husband back." Ella looked up and Belle met her gaze directly. "Is it true?"

"...Yes."

"I see." Belle clutched her dress between her fingers. "So he does exist."

"You would know." The girl's voice was slightly bitter.

"Would I?"

"They say your family made a deal with him and refused to pay. It's why you're cursed." She bit her lip, as if wishing she hadn't used the word. Her voice now sounded slightly unsure.

" 'They' also say my father molests me. That certainly isn't true." She stared at the other woman, daring her to argue. "My father hasn't ever told me the story of what curse afflicts our family." She shrugged with feigned nonchalance.

Ella frowned, confused. "Then why are you here?"

"I need to find out how to release our family from this curse, wherever it came from." Belle hesitated. "I thought this might be a fool's errand."

Ella stared forward into the fire, saying nothing.

"How did you call him?"

"I didn't," she replied quietly, her eyes never leaving the fire. "He just appeared. I was in the garden. It had been a year to the day of Sean's disappearance. I wished that he were with me again. It was the strongest I'd ever felt about it, even since it happened. Then The Dark One was just... there. Suddenly. Offering me relief from the pain."

"What did he want in return?" Belle asked softly. Everyone knew that part of the story. There was always a price.

"He didn't say." Ella's voice clouded, her gaze distant. "He said it would be a small price, and that he would collect it at a later date."

"Oh, Ella." Belle tried to keep the reprimanding tone out of her voice. After all, if her family had indeed made the same kind of deal, how could she pass judgment? She continued with her true question.

"So you know of no other way to summon him? Besides wishing?"

"...No." the other girl's reply was hesitant, and something akin to regret flashed across her expression.

Belle swallowed her bitterness. If wishing and desperation were the only keys to summoning The Dark One, he certainly would have come to her and her father long ago. She turned to leave.

"...Belle?"

Belle turned back, surprised. She wasn't used to hearing her name on the lips of anyone but her father. Ella's countenance had changed slightly - fear flashed through her eyes, and Belle waited.

"The Dark One... he told me his name."

"Why?" Belle's eyes widened. She'd always always heard that The Dark One never gave his name.

"I don't know." Ella sounded more miserable than glad, knowledge of the name a weight on her shoulders.

"What is it?" Belle whispered. If she had his name, perhaps she would have a way to bring him to her after all.

"Rumplestiltskin."

Rumplestiltskin

Belle sounded the name over in her head, and rolled it over her tongue, tasting it. It was an unusual name, to be sure - which seemed to befit such an unusual beast.

Walking through the forest back to the small cottage she shared with her father, Belle reflected on the conversation she'd had with Ella. How much power did one wield who knew The Dark One's name? Certainly it couldn't be anything much - or he never would have revealed it to the other girl - or at least would have put stipulations on her telling other people.

When Ella had given Belle the name, the walls seemed to sigh - as though they were echoing her. What did it mean to say the name of The Dark One aloud, really?

Shaking her head, Belle kept her eyes on the road as she walked, paying little attention to the familiar surroundings of the path that led from her home to town. Perhaps she was imagining all of it. She'd followed market gossip to the home of a woman who was traumatized by the loss of a husband then his miraculous yet unexplained return. What kind of stories might a woman make up to cope that that sort of ordeal?

Her small house finally came into view. When Belle reached the front door she stomped her feet on the stone that served as the front step, attempting to knock the road dust from them. Entering, she found her father sitting at the small wooden table that was one of the only pieces of furniture in the room.

"Hello, Belle." He sat, staring forward at nothing in particular.

"Hello, Father." She removed her cloak, laying it over the back of the second chair at the table. She frowned down at the figure of the man occupying the other one. "Are you alright?"

"Did you go to town today?" He acted as though he hadn't heard her.

"Yes." She took a seat across from him, pulling the slightly molded bread from her cloak pockets. "I brought some bread for you." She drew the old pruning knife from her skirt and began to cut the bad parts away from the crusts.

"You are a good daughter. You were such a perfect little girl. Suzette wanted to keep you. She can't be blamed for that."

Belle stopped what she was doing, and slowly lowered the knife and bread, laying them on the table. Her father rarely spoke of her mother.

"What do you mean?"

He looked hesitant - as though he felt he didn't want to say too much - but continued. "You were so small. So...sick. You were going to die. We both knew it." He swallowed hard. "There was a man. He said he could save you. He said..." her father stopped speaking. Belle reached out and covered his hands with hers.

"Said what, papa?"

"He said he would save you if he could have you."

"Who?" Her grip tightened over his hands.

"What else could we have done but agree? Better alive and somewhere else than dead, and buried in the ground."

"Who are you talking about?" Her voice ended on a louder note this time in an attempt to snap him from his reverie.

"I think you already know my name, dearie." Belle's head snapped around, looking toward the corner of the room where the voice seemed to originate. She stood up quickly as she took in the sight of the small man standing there. His skin shone like burnished gold with a slight green tint. He was dressed in what appeared to be leather that hugged his slight frame and ended in a high collar that brushed the edges of his shoulder length hair.

"However, we haven't been properly introduced." He grinned, his blackened teeth showing between his lips. Leaning forward in a deep bow, his arm stretched forward towards her in a style more suited for a royal ballroom than a farmer's hovel.

"Rumplestiltskin is my name." Belle had the ridiculous urge to curtsy in return, but squelched it.

"You." Her father stood as well, facing the strange newcomer. "You look different."

The man smirked, straightening. "Indeed. Well, dress for the occasion as they say." He snapped his fingers, and his garb changed to something Belle felt she was more likely to see on a villager. A long, burlap cloak covered a loose brown linen shirt and pants.

"I feel as though I fit right in." He let loose a high pitched giggle. "I suppose to do that properly, I need quite a bit more dirt covering me." His observations caused Belle to self-consciously finger the torn, stained edge of her dress.

He swished the cloak around him, his mannerisms now at odds with his attire. "Is this how you remember it?"

Maurice shook his head. "You looked more human."

The man's grin turned to a grimace, and his dark eyes took on a dangerous glitter. He looked as though he was about to say something caustic or threatening, and Belle decided to speak up. She stepped forward, placing herself between the strange man and her father.

"So you're The Dark One?" He inclined his head, flashing his maniacal grin once again. "May I ask you a question?" She tried to put as much politeness into her voice as possible, knowing with whom she spoke.

"Obviously." The constant smirk he wore unsettled her. "Ask me another."

"Why are you here?"

He crossed the room, his smooth motions bringing himself face to face with her, as though he was performing his part in some dance.

"I should be asking you that. You're the one who called me, after all."

Belle's eyes widened. "I didn't!"

Her protest parted his lips into an even wider smile. "Oh, but you did. I followed you from that ex-widow's home in town. You whispered my name, over and over." His finger darted out to trace the bottom line of her lip, and Belle inhaled sharply. "I could feel it on your breath. It seemed rude to ignore such continuous pleas."

"You gave Ella your name on purpose. For this."

His eyes seemed mocking as he drew away from her. "And why would I do such a thing?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, meeting his gaze.

The hard glint in his eyes faded, softened somewhat, and he regarded her with a more level expression. "Regardless, I am here - and there is something you want from me. I can sense these things. Luckily for you - you also have something I want."

"Belle" She could feel her father's hand against the crook of her arm, as he pulled her back from the dark figure of Rumplestiltskin. "Don't talk to this man. Nothing but ill comes of it. It was because of him your mother died, and your brother..."

"That's a lie," the man hissed through clenched teeth. "I saved your daughter, and you refused to pay. You ran from me - hired a witch to hide yourselves from me. Magic has extracted it's own price from you and you dare blame me..."

"Stop, please!" Belle exclaimed. The man had been advancing towards her father, who had suddenly looked fearful. His motions stilled at her voice.

"Father, is what he's saying true? And what you said earlier? Did he want to... take me as payment for saving me?" She felt self-conscious voicing the statement when it related to herself so intimately.

"Yes." He said in a pleading tone. "You can't blame us for wanting to keep you. Any parent would." His voice grew softer. "You were such a beautiful little girl."

Belle furrowed her brow, trying to absorb all that had happened in the past few minutes. She wanted answers. "I wish to speak with him, father."

"Belle, you shouldn't..."

"You heard the lady. Let the adults talk for a while." The Dark One waved his hand, and with that flourish her father disappeared.

"What did you do!"

"Fear not. He's merely a ways down the road. We will have time to chat before he makes his way back." Rumplestiltskin used his hands to throw either edge of his burlap cloak over the sides of the chair vacated by her father before he sat down, legs crossed. Leaning back, his posture gave Belle the vague impression of a duke about to hear the pleas of his vassals.

"Now, what would you have of me?"

Belle considered the man, or creature, before her. "Did papa really hire a witch to hide from you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is this the information you wish to barter for?"

"No, I just want to understand what's happening."

"And why should I tell you the specifics of your father's sordid dealings?"

Belle raised an eyebrow, mirroring his earlier expression. "It seems like I'm already part of a deal no matter what happens. Can't you just tell me on faith?"

"That's not what I do."

"I could ask my father. I'm under the impression you'd rather not wait for him to return."

The Dark One snorted. "He and your mother both made the decision to hide you from me. It wasn't unexpected - people often try to back out of these things. Usually they aren't successful." His eyes shone with a dangerous glint. "However, the witch they consulted was extremely powerful. They would have to be. And so, the price was very high."

Belle experienced a slight feeling of satisfaction at having convinced him to part with information he hadn't intended to. She frowned, however, at what he told her. "Do you mean our... misfortune?"

"A lifetime of poverty and struggle? The death of your mother and brother? Misfortune... aye, you could call it that."

She clenched her skirt nervously in her fists. "When they called you to save me... why did you want to keep me?"

He regarded her, his expression intent. Standing, he approached her, leaning forward slightly and peering up into her eyes. Belle backed a few steps away from him but he simply matched her pace. "Now that, dearie, I won't answer." He turned away, looking back down at the table, picking up the knife resting there and fidgeting with it.

"Enough questions." He turned back toward her. "Tell me what you want."

Belle sighed. It seemed she'd run out of time to negotiate, so just spoke. "I want our curse removed."

Tilting his head, he tapped one long fingernail against the knifepoint. "Of course you do."

"And what do you want?" Determined not to look away, she stubbornly met his gaze, trying not to let her fear of his answer show.

"Well, since this all began with a price unpaid - it does seem we should start there." He advanced on her a few steps, and this time Belle didn't back away, but she tensed. His eyes gleamed, and Belle thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his mouth. "But since all the subsequent... misfortune... your family suffered was a result of that. Well, I think we could take some of that off of your tab."

He walked past her and Belle turned to keep him in her sights. He was still toying with the old knife.

"I'd like something I think is rather special to you. Given freely."

Belle felt completely at a loss as to what he could mean. "What?"

More quickly than Belle could react, he closed the space between them, placing his hands on her shoulders. Belle could feel the handle of her knife in his grip pressed against her arm. His face was so close to hers their noses nearly touched.

"Your virtue."

She gasped, pulling out of his grasp and stumbled away from him. He stayed where he was, but his eyes remained on her, watching.

"You... you jest."

"Why so hesitant? Are you using it?" He giggled lightly, that same wide smile across his face, and Belle thought he must be quite mad.

"But... why?" Her mouth opened and closed in an effort to form words, and she imagined she must look like a landed fish.

"Tsk. No more questions." He reproached, his tone playful. "Is it a deal?"

Belle just stared at him for several moments. He couldn't be serious - but, no - he clearly meant all he said. Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow after nearly a minute of silence passed between them.

She look away from him, her eyes on the floor as she gathered her thoughts. She wondered why one such as Rumplestiltskin wanted this from her. How he even knew she was still a virgin, she didn't want to contemplate. Could he simply take her if she refused? Wasn't her life something that was already owed to him?

He wasn't asking her for her life, however. He just wanted her virtue. She almost laughed out loud as that thought hit her. If she thought that was funny she must be nearly on the verge of hysteria herself – what a fine match for him, indeed.

One night given to The Dark One. One night, and a curse that would certainly span her lifetime would be lifted. It was not a bad deal, as they seemed to go.

She finally looked up to meet Rumplestiltskin's gaze, and nodded. "Yes."

His eyes flashed briefly with triumph. Reaching his hand, he disentangled her fingers from where they were once again wrapped nervously around the cloth of her dress.

"The rules declare all deals must be sealed with a kiss."

Belle frowned, and searched her mind for all the tales she'd ever heard of The Dark One and his dealings.

"I've never heard of that rule" she said, as he pulled her forward into his embrace.

"It's new." He whispered, lowering his head and pressing his lips against her own.