Her heart fluttered against her ribs at the sound of footsteps approaching. The heavy measured thud of feet gave away how confident her master felt, while she was crouched in the corner, hyperventilating, hands trembling, her body shivering at every whisper of wind outside. She whined when the key turned in the lock, the screech of rusty iron slicing her eardrums and she made another whimper.

She kept her head low, as he slowly approached her, imagining him tall and dark, looking down at her with a face that gave nothing away. She did not dare look up into his eyes.

"You failed me, girl," his voice was low and vibrated with poorly hidden anger. "You simply had to read it out loud, but your mistake - instead of opening the portal - closed the connection between the worlds forever. You had one job. One. Job. Is that your way of repaying me for all the trouble I went through to buy you?"

Only a month ago Rumpelstiltskin had retrieved a thick volume and, holding it as tenderly as a lover, carried it to his desk. His hands shook a little as he wiped a thick layer of dust off the worn cover. The book was old – once what he guessed to be gold letters pressed into the jacket have now faded almost completely, making it impossible to read the title – but he knew it was the one he had been searching for for over a decade. The talent of stealing glimpses of the future came in handy, after all; he saw that book in his mind even before he realized it was in his possession. An ancient volume that could take him across the realms; the one that would finally help him reunite with his son. He flipped the cover to reveal the yellowed pages with uneven edges, running his finger across the rough bumpy surface to ensure that they wouldn't fall to dust under his touch. With a dry rustle, he turned another page and made an involuntarily giggle as his eyes came to rest on the first line. It made no sense.

Rumpelstiltskin closed the book and, sliding his finger in the middle, cracked it open again. The lines were there, in small neat handwriting, but he didn't understand a word. Which was impossible as the Dark One was capable of speaking any language. He glided his hand over the page, the magic tingling on his fingertips yet there was no change. He was forced to search for a scholar, his quest leading him to a slave market. Such an irony. The only one who could read the text was this mere slip of a girl but she misread one word, turning the spell backwards.

"Belle is sorry," she cried, the metal chain clicking against her collar as she threw her body around his legs. "Belle has upset her master, Belle is very, very sorry!"

The muscle in Rumpelstiltskin's cheek twitched when she began covering his boots with kisses, muttering apologies and paying no mind to rough leather edges that dug into her face.

"Don't do that!" he snapped and bent down to pry her off but the girl jerked away, her back meeting the stone wall with a sickening thud. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The piercing eyes of vivid blue that regarded him through the curtain of long matted hair were full of hurt and caution and mistrust. Oh gods, did she believe he was going to hit her?

The anger that had been plaguing him for several hours disappeared in a blink. He knew that look all too well, the vulnerability of a desperate soul who had little to lose but clung to life anyway. The man sat on his haunches to be at the same eye-level and not frighten her more. He gently pulled the hair away from her grey face - both from the streaks of dirt and malnutrition - and tucked it behind her ear.

"You are a bit dirty," he observed nonchalantly and she tried to recoil from him and hide, except that there was nowhere to go.

"Belle should be punished, Belle touched master with her filth!"

"No, no, no, hey, it's not what I meant!" She wasn't going to harm herself for it, was she?

"Master is not mad at Belle?" she asked carefully, her voice, even when she was frightened, strangely melodic either due to her accent or the delicate way her lips shaped the words.

"No, I am not," Rumpelstiltskin reassured her and summoned a bowl of warm water and a washing cloth. "I just think you should be cleaned up."

"Master is kind," the girl praised as he carefully dipped the cloth in water and wiped away the patches of dirt from her face.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" he inquired when he was satisfied with the results even though her face hadn't lost that haunted look. She needed a proper bath but he dreaded the reaction if he told her to strip. In his pursuit of a way to return to his son, he never imagined what it must be like for her - dragged from the slave market into the lair of the monster, being commanded to read a spell from the book on dark arts, being yelled at and thrown in the dungeon to await her punishment after she failed. He intended to punish her, but he couldn't bring himself to do so now.

"Master owns Belle; the collar makes Belle name her master for what he is."

"You speak of yourself as if you were a thing," Rumple snarled with loathing and the girl shook.

"Belle is sorry for upsetting the master again!" she wailed and he felt like smacking himself.

"You have nothing to apologize for, dearie. I will not harm you, I promise."

"Master Gaston said he wouldn't harm Belle but he would hurt her nevertheless," she murmured almost inaudibly.

"Who is that Gaston?" he asked harsher than intended and she jerked at the sound of his voice again.

"Belle cannot speak badly about her previous master," she explained, bulging her eyes out to make him understand.

"And there is nothing good you could tell me about him, huh?" he guessed. The girl looked up at him, boldly meeting his eyes for the first time.

"Master Gaston said Belle was a thing," she confessed and his heart dropped at how matter-of-factly she made it sound.

"Is that where all that third person talk is coming from? But you are smart, dearie, you know you are not a thing."

Belle stared at him solemnly, trying to figure out what kind of answer her new master anticipated. Taking a deep breath she nodded, the movement so slight it could be easily ignored if he chose to.

"Do you know who I am, dearie?" he asked and her eyes widened.

"Master is a great sorcerer, master knows dark arts and makes deals," she replied with a mixture of pride in her knowledge and fear everyone seemed to experience when talking about his deeds.

"That is correct," Rumpelstiltskin praised, "and when I say I won't hurt you, that is the same as concluding a deal. And you know my word is as good as a written contract, which means..." Belle frowned and chewed on her already chapped bottom lip. She knew what he meant but she couldn't allow that flicker of hope to grow. Not to displease her master, she gave him a tiny smile.

"Good. Now, we need a fresh start."

He jumped onto his feet, his leather clothing creaking at the sudden movement and stretched his palm up. Puzzled, Belle couldn't understand what he wanted her to do but her master waited patiently for... for something as she dumbly stared at his palm. Her master was not an ordinary human and she didn't need to know his name to realize that. His skin was odd, all green and glittery with a texture better fitted for a reptile. He wasn't as handsome as master Gaston but she hoped it meant he wouldn't be as cruel.

Rumpelstiltskin clicked his tongue at her hesitance but didn't say a word as she stood up by herself, pushing her slim body upwards, preferring to support herself against the wall instead of his hand. He could only ask for so much progress, he mused.

Her master didn't chide her for not touching him but he looked at her shackles disapprovingly.

"Let's get rid of these first, shall we?" he snapped his fingers and the cool purple mist tickled her skin, but the chain that linked the cuffs on her wrists to the collar on her neck had not vanished.

"Fuck," her master said and she trembled. Belle knew what that word meant; it signalled her master disliked something and she should hide until he calls for her or she would get beaten. But she couldn't run from the cell so she hid her face in her hands (master Gaston didn't like it when her face got bruised because of her carelessness) and waited for the first blow to land.

"Dearie," Rumple called. "Open your eyes." Unable to fight a direct command, the girl obliged, peeking at him through her fingers. "I want to remove your manacles and the collar, alright? Now be still."

He tried again, the purple smoke of his magic thickening and swirling over her wrists, but nothing happened. He huffed and then frowned, a deep vertical line appearing between his brows.

"What the heck? It's just silver, it's supposed to be soft." He reached for the chain and wrapped it around his fist, yanking his hands in the opposite direction. The links clicked and stretched but didn't break. "How did you even get it?"

"Belle was told her father had disobeyed the wish of their family fairy," she swallowed under his attentive gaze as his clawed finger traced the silver band around her neck. "Fairy godmother gifted Belle with obedience, unlike her father."

"Fucking fairies," the man snarled. "Is that what that twisted pixie considered a gift?" he hooked his finger under the collar, raising it to inspect the tender skin underneath. Her master's hands were rough but warm and her skin broke into goose bumps at his touch. "It doesn't chafe you, does it?" he demanded and the girl shook her head, her greasy hair swinging from side to side and even hitting his hand but the sorcerer gave no sign of disgust.

"That's good dearie," he let go of her and the sensation of being touched was replaced by the familiar weight of her restraints. "So, you were rich, eh? A peasant can hardly afford to have a fairy godmother. Interesting. Fascinating, I'd say..." he murmured, tapping his chin with his long finger and speaking more to himself than her. "Tell me, dearie, would you like me to hunt that fairy down?"

"M-master?" she whispered, unsettled by his large eyes pinning her in place. She didn't understand what he meant but she didn't like the sound of his words.

"I can find that fairy who cursed you and bring her here. Make her break the spell, or," he sniggered darkly, "see how long the spell lasts after the bitch draws her last breath."

Belle gasped at the prospect, not sharing his dark amusement.

"Would you like that, dearie? To see her die?"

The girl made a pitiful whimper and shook her head so hard the metal jingled rapidly almost sounding like a melody.

"No, Belle doesn't like people or fairies to get hurt," she blurted out and instantly covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide with fear because she spoke against her master's will; but he asked for her opinion, had he not?

"Fine," he consented, "but the offer still stands. Now, I do believe a proper bath is in order and after that I shall let you go."

Belle dropped to her knees, horrified, and bent her head low in submissiveness.

"Don't send Belle away, master, please," she mumbled, gripping his shins and almost making the man lose his balance. "Don't rid yourself of Belle!"

"Why not?" he frowned, astonished someone would choose slavery over freedom.

"Belle lives to please," she answered simply, still keeping her head low. "Without someone taking care of Belle, she will die."

Rumple humphed, thinking that was too farfetched. Hades and Persephone, what kind of other ridiculous notions was the poor thing nurturing? Or was it something master Gaston wanted her to believe? In either case, she probably would not be up for the idea to test that theory.

"Alright, alright! Will you get up now, please?" her head shot up so quickly, her neck snapped and the girl stared up at the man in awe.

"Master said please," she repeated in wonder, straightening up and looking at the man like he was a half-god.

Rumpelstiltskin pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Yes, I did. Although not often, sometimes I can be polite," he sneered and to his surprise, her mouth curved into a ghost of a smile. "Now, as I said, bath and lunch. And please try to cease talking about yourself in the third person, dearie."

"Belle will try," she replied gravely and let him lead her out of the dungeon.

Rumpelstiltskin began to realize what he had gotten himself into only after he left the girl in the master bathroom, giving her directions on where to find him later. He had bound himself with an obligation to take care of another human being; scared and damaged and fragile as she was. Forty minutes later or so he began to worry she drowned, but as soon as he stood up to march to the bathroom and check on her, the doors slid open and she tiptoed into the room. He choked on his own spit, seeing her wrapped in nothing but a towel, her damp hair covering her shoulders modestly but her bare legs open to his glare. At least he had not noticed any bruises or visible marks on her body.

"Wha... Dearie, why didn't you put on the clothes I left for you? It wasn't to your liking?"

"Belle shall wear what pleases her master," came the reply and he groaned internally.

"None of that, dearie," he warned her, trying to keep his voice light instead of intimidating. "So, why didn't you wear the dress?"

She stretched out her arm while the second one held the towel to her chest so hard that her knuckles turned white. Feeling a complete idiot, Rumpelstiltskin stared at the chain that went from her throat to and between her wrists. Of course she couldn't clothe herself, how could she wear the sleeves? Dismissing the thought of what she felt like, walking here almost naked and hoping she understood his carelessness wasn't taken for some cruel joke, he put a modest white tunic on her and a pair of loose grey pants. She shifted on her feet, trying to adjust to the feel of clothes while checking how restraining they were. She offered another "thank you" that almost made him roll his eyes.

"I bet you are hungry, dearie. Have a seat." Clean, the girl looked better, more relaxed - if anyone in chains could be called that - and almost pretty, if you were into narrow shoulders and boyish figures. She hunched a little, trying to hide herself from his eyes while still avoiding glancing at him openly. At least she stopped wincing at the sound of his voice.

Apparently, she was waiting for him to sit, unaware that it should be the other way. With a sigh, Rumple lowered himself into a chair and turned away not to dismay the girl with his stare. Something soft nudged his ankle and then he felt pressure on his thigh. He almost jumped as she seated herself at his feet and looked at him expectantly.

"What is the meaning of this, dearie?" he demanded, fighting the ridiculous urge to shy away as if he was burnt.

"Did Belle do something wrong, master? You said it was feeding time."

"Dearie," he groaned and she made a small noise of distress. "You are not some kind of animal!" He hit the polished surface of the table in frustration, making the silver wear clatter and causing the girl to scoot away.

"Master will not feed Belle?" she asked sadly which made him want to slam his face against the table. He bit his tongue to hold back a snide remark. The silence stretched and the girl cleared her throat as two uneven blotches of colour spread down her cheeks. "Belle cannot eat unless the master gives her food," she confessed and Rumple just stared at her. So then she wasn't exaggerating when talking about dying without care?

"Are you saying if I locked you in larder full of food, you would starve to death because the curse prevents you from eating without permission?"

The girl nodded miserably and he sighed. What other curse surprises did she keep in store?

"Do you want to sit at the table?" he inquired and she blinked at him.

"No, master, that would mean shaming your house."

"Oh for fuck's sake," he swore and conjured a pillow, offering it to the girl. "For your knees," he explained as she accepted it and stuffed the cushion under her. They ate in silence, or, rather, Rumpelstiltskin said nothing. He picked the bits and pieces of food from his plate and fed them to Belle, his chest throbbing painfully each time her eyes shot to his face with gratitude and worry that he would snatch the fork away.

"Do you want dessert, dearie?" he suggested when he judged the girl was full; he didn't bother to ask and receive another reply, as in spirit she was satisfied only when her master was. She hesitated, her mind pounding for the right answer so he picked an éclair and offered it to her lips. She nibbled on the pastry, squeaking in delight when the rich creamy taste burst on her tongue. A few crumbs dropped onto her chin and she quickly picked them up, wiping the white cream from the corner of her mouth. She nearly licked his fingers clean, but shook her head when he offered her a second one.

"No, thank you, master, Belle is full," she said and put her head back onto his thigh which had him frozen in place more effectively than squid ink would. He looked at her still wet hair, spilled across the leather of his breeches. The tips regained their auburn shade with hints of red in it and some of the locks began curling up. If she didn't brush it now, it would be an impossible task in the morning. The man summoned a plain wooden comb, consciously avoiding anything silver, and put it in her hand. She shifted on the floor, straightening up and put it to her hair. The girl ran the comb through her tangles almost furiously, yanking and pulling, tearing more than she brushed and it was painful to watch. Did she not know how to use the thing or simply expressed the loathing to her position, to being commanded, even if indirectly? Suspecting it was the latter, Rumpelstiltskin gently pried the comb from her fingers, cupping one of her hands in his large palm as he took hold of the comb.

The girl closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever was coming next but he simply separated a strand of hair and began slowly combing it, gradually going from the tips up, careful not to pull and cause any discomfort. Eventually, Belle's shoulders relaxed and he heard a muffled sigh of contentment once or twice. Rumple cocked his head to the side, admiring his handiwork.

"Thank you, master," she said in a shaky voice, not turning around and he wondered if she was upset because he did the brushing for her.

"No matter," he said rather gruffly and rose from his chair. "Come, dearie."

Her chains clanked softly as she stood up. The girl bit her lip and by the way she fidgeted he guessed she wanted to say something but was reluctant to ask for permission.

"You can speak whenever you want, dearie," he prompted as they began climbing the stairs, her making several quick steps to keep up with him.

"Where are you taking Belle, master?"

"To your bedroom."

"Why?"

"So that you can rest."

"Belle is not tired," she said, half-pouting and he smiled. Well-well, wasn't she getting used to his company? "Belle wants to be useful."

"Oh alright, dearie. How about this: since we are stuck like this until I find a way to deal with... that," he waved his hand at her collar, "you can be useful by teaching me."

"Belle teaching master?" she repeated with a hint of disbelief.

"Why not, dearie? Fill in the educational gaps. Or help me search for a solution to your little problem." They stopped in front of a single wooden door, obscured from the view of those standing at the main entrance as it is hidden in the nook of the corridor. Rumple raised his hand to push it open, but her feverish little fingers grasped his wrist.

"Master is not joking? Master wants to free Belle?"

"It is no joke. Do you mistake me for a slave driver?" He itched to ask if she wanted to be free but decided to keep away from difficult questions; she had enough shock for one day. "Now, the room has a small adjoining bathroom, there are a few books to keep you entertained, the kitchen..." he paused, quirking an eyebrow at her, "would it work if I just ordered you to eat whenever you felt hungry?" She shook her head but he didn't feel discouraged. "Well, then... Should you need anything, you find me, alright?"

"Where does master sleep?" there it was again, that nervous lip-biting; she was going to draw blood.

"My bedroom is in the West wing of the Castle, quite a walk from here," he said lightly, trying to keep himself from scowling. Did she imagine he would try? With a sigh, he fished an old key out of thin air. She took the key wide-eyed. Of course, it was no big accomplishment, she had seen him perform magic so she knew no lock could stop him. But on the other hand, it was a token of trust and she gripped it tight in disbelief, watching the man turn onto his heels and walk away, leaving the girl to herself.

A/N Sorry to leave you hanging like that, dearies. The smutty part is on ao3 under the same name and title if you want! Buckets of love to you for reading this cropped version!