Once Upon A Time Was Wednesday

By EnigmaSphinx

A/N: Happy Endings aren't always happy for everyone. I got bitten by a particularly vicious plotbunny and here is the result. Rated M for future details/scenarios. Pairings: Rumplestiltskin/Belle, Rumplestiltskin/OC, Gold and whoever gets to him first, LOL.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story except for my OC, Shayde. I am not making any money off this venture, just craving an AU where there's a little more action and a lot more angst. OUAT belongs to ABC et al.

Chapter One

The garden was awash in brilliant color. Bordered by immaculately cut box hedges, the plots of rich black earth had given rise to a veritable ocean of flowers. The elegant greenery was divided by pristine white gravel paths that shone in the sun, dazzling in their purity and perfection. The occasional tree that had been permitted to reach it's adulthood was filled with songbirds and butterflies fluttered from flower to flower in a ballet of silent beauty. Bees from the apiary at the farthest end of the garden bumbled with lazy industry, gathering nectar for the hive.

The caretaker looked over the garden and was pleased with her work. She was the only one who saw it anymore and so the effort of managing it paid off in her happiness. Only the glass windows of the castle reflected the view and she fancied that the dark building, grim and stark against the cloudless sky, appreciated the reflection of the glory of its environs. There was no master to look out at the gardens anymore but the caretaker tried very hard not to think of that fact. He was missed by her, if by no one else, and she couldn't quite shake off the feeling that he might be pleased with the work she'd done out here.

Outside took more work and contemplation than inside. There was no one to cook or clean for anymore. Aside from the basic maintenance of dusting and airing out various rooms on a schedule set long ago, she had little to do inside. Outside, nature was forever altering and undoing her careful tending and she had learned patience in caring for the plants, in preparing for the onslaughts of vermin or pests, and her will was made visible in the delicate order of the garden. Outside there was life and its ever-changing idiosyncrasies. Inside was dead and static, without change or deviation.

She missed her master. It was no longer fresh, the wound of his abandonment, but it was constant, He was gone, long dead and dust, his life taken by some stupid mortal ailment, but she remembered him well. Better than his predecessors, to be honest. He had been a decent master and she had liked him best of all the ones she had served prior. She belonged to the castle's possessor and her service was the only thing that the last master had asked of her. The previous ones had demanded more than that. They had wanted everything she held as her own but he'd been different. He had given her more freedom and taken less of her than any other so she recalled him fondly and with a sense of loss that never quite went away.

Walking along the graveled path, her feet made no sound in the silence. She followed the path to the fountain in the center of the garden and looked in at the golden fish that slid gracefully beneath the crystal waters. With a wave of her hand, she conjured a palmful of food and scattered it, amused by the sudden splashing as they fought over the tidbits. They made her smile and their mindless greed was entertaining.

A small sound alerted her to something strange in the garden. She lifted her head, her brows drawing together in concentration. What had just happened? Quizzically she scanned the area, looking for whatever might have caught her attention. No one came to the castle and certainly no one dared to broach the serenity of her garden.

A flicker of motion attracted her gaze. She turned and found a rectangle of light behind her. It appeared to be a doorway of some kind. As she stared at it in surprise, it flickered oddly and a small packet came through it. It landed almost at her feet, making her jump slightly. The moment it landed, the door winked out of sight.

Astonished, the caretaker stared down at the package, wondering where it had come from. She eyed the small bundle warily. After a few moments, when nothing happened and the odd door did not reappear, she picked up the packet and turned it over in her hands.

It was tidy, a square of sheepskin tied with a bit of milliner's ribbon, and on one side, the elegantly written label read "Open Me". The caretaker smiled a little and carried the bundle back into the castle.

She set the square on the heavy wooden table and gazed at it curiously. It wasn't going to open itself, she thought, and settled herself to explore the contents. With a quick tug, she untied the ribbon and unfolded the edges of the square. A neatly written letter lay atop a small stack of strange squares. She picked up the letter and her eyes fell upon the shiny squares beneath it. She uttered a small cry, half-horror and half-joy, snatching up the strange thing and squinting at it,

It was a portrait, painted in some fashion she didn't recognize, the lines so crisp and lifelike that she couldn't imagine the magic involved. Despite the beauty of its craftsmanship, she was taken by the portrait's subject. Her master, looking much as she'd last seen him, looked back at her. He was dressed in strange and peculiar garb, his normally tousled hair sleek and framing a face that looked as human as anyone in the village. He looked toward the artist but didn't seem to see him, for the cast of his eyes was far away. She touched the image reverently, half afraid that her fingers might somehow reach through the picture to touch him. When they didn't , she wasn't certain if she was relieved or disappointed,

There were other portraits of him only, some with other people. She studied them all wonderingly. Their clothes were all so odd, she thought, and the women were positively indecent. Their skin showed in nearly every picture, their hair unbound or cut so short that it was mannish. None of them had a proper retinue or companions. She glimpsed a carriage of some kind, obviously magical, as there were no horses to draw it. She puzzled over them all, lost to her own amazement and disbelief, until the light faded. Only when she'd waved the candles into lighting did she remember the letter,

Unfolding the missive, she read it aloud to herself.

My Dear Lady,

If you recognize the man in these photographs, I can bring you to him. I will reopen the doorway at the same time tomorrow. Come through it and I will reunite you with him. Your Obedient Servant…

The signature was a graceful "J".

The caretaker looked again at the portraits, (photograghs?) and her heart throbbed painfully at the thought of her master. In the many years he had been gone, she'd dreamed of the chance to see him again. Not as the sickly old man he'd become before his death, out of his wits with age and infirmity, but as he had been before he left the castle (and her) forever.

What magic would make such a thing possible?

She thought about it all evening and well into the night. By dawn, she had come to a decision and she set about preparing to enact it at once.