As much as I love Belle and Rumplestiltskin together, the fact is, Once has put a huge wall in front of them. I don't think they can tear it down without a lot of motivation and some outside intervention. So this is my take on how that could be accomplished.

The graying man stumbled down the last of the bus's steps, barely catching himself from a nasty fall. He was disheveled, in balmy Boston without a warm enough coat, and seemed slightly confused as he looked around himself.

Spotting a Starbucks he stepped inside, the air warmer reeking of burnt coffee and false cheer. His drip was met with a knowing look, and when he reached into his pocket to pay, the wallet was thin and contained not a bit of plastic.

Mr. Gold—Rumplestiltskin—was a man used to being stared at, but he found the looks inside the afternoon shop too reminiscent of his past life, a life when his clothes had looked much like they did now. Taking his cup, he moved to one of the tables outside—empty due to the chill in the air, and sat heavily, tipping his feet so his burning soles could rest, and ease the blisters caused by his foreign shoes.

Angry voices filled the streets, impatient and cursing, but he ignored them, focusing on the warm cup between his hands and the constant litany of images that plagued his mind. Always, there was Belle's pain filled eyes and Bae's accusing ones.

The metal chair across from him suddenly screeched noisily across the concrete as it was drawn back, before a handsome young man with blond hair and cold blue eyes sat before him. Rumplestiltskin glared at the rudeness, intent on telling the college student to remove himself, when another metal chair scraped across the ground, right up to the table, and a tall man, slightly older than the first but still young, slid into it with easy grace.

"Hello Dark One," said the first, his accent grating as he sounded exactly like that damnable pirate. "What, no scone? You strike me as the scone type. I can spare you a few if you'd like one." Reaching into the pocket of his wool coat, he pulled out his wallet and removed a ten, "Actually, that sounds good about now." He turned towards his companion, "You want one, Mate?"

The older friend shook his head, turning instead to draw around his body, an object Rumplestiltskin both loathed and needed. Deep brown eyes held a measure of knowing as he passed the cane, his voice, like his companions, was British, but his dialect was refined and he spoke with soft, deepness that fit well with his rugged good looks, "I thought you'd be wanting this." He waited the half second for Rumplestiltskin to reach out and take the object, his fingers moving restlessly over the handle, getting the feel of it.

Turning to his companion, he nodded to the bill in his hand, "Yes, thank you, Liam. I'll have whatever you are for the drink."

Rising, the younger man smiled down at the other, it was a familiar look, and as he rounded the table to enter the storefront, Rumplestiltskin watched his hand glide across the other's shoulder blades in a parting caress.

When the sound of the glass door shutting reached him, Rumplestiltskin turned to give his full attention to the other. He remained silent, a trick he'd learned long ago was best when dealing with those who truly knew more than he did, as this man obviously did.

For a long moment they regarded each other, and he couldn't help but experience a feeling of familiarity, as if he'd seen this man with the dark brown, nearly black, hair and day old stubble, before. It needled at him, and he felt frustrated at his failed memory.

"You've looked better, Mr. Gold." The younger man leaned back in his bistro chair, his posture completely relaxed. "I dare say, you've looked much better."

He sneered, "Your point?" He let the "T" sting sharply in the air between them.

The man shrugged, "An observation. I wish I could say we were here to do more, but sadly, we're only here to point you in the right direction."

"Direction to what, exactly, Dearie?" Rumplestiltskin leaned back in his own chair, but his cold hands were still wrapped around the warmth of the cup, a fact that did not escape the other.

With a sigh, the young man stood and swiftly removed his jacket before handing it to him, "It'll be too cold for this jacket in a few weeks, but it should keep you warm for a while."

Shock warred with the sneer on his face, "And why should you care about such things?"

With a shrug, those dark brown eyes looked down the street at nothing, "Because out here you're not immortal, Mr. Gold, and for my purposes, you can't be drowning in your own lungs from pneumonia in the gutter somewhere."

Well this had certainly turned into an unexpected day he thought, draping the jacket over his chilled legs. "Who are you?"

With a casual turn, those eyes locked back on his own, "Roland, Roland of Loxley, Robin's son."

And then the pieces fell into place, the rugged good looks, the accent and dark hair, yes, this was that thief's son, but not three weeks ago, he'd stared right at that four year old boy, and this was no four year old, more like a twenty-four year old.

"I see you're confused," he smiled with a bit of sarcasm, and despite himself, Rumplestiltskin found he rather liked his sense of humor. "Sadly I can't answer any of your questions, and I suspect you'll worry that mystery like a dog does a bone." He shrugged, "Suffice it to say, magic is involved, and really, what more needs to be said after that?"

"What more indeed. But I must say, I'm not sure why you've come to me. As you've pointed out, outside of Storybrooke, I have no magic to assist you in," he waved his hand dismissively, "whatever it is you want from me."

"I want to go home, Mr. Gold." The honestly took him by surprise, and Rumplestiltskin looked openly at the boy turned man. His face was earnest, "I want to go back to Storybrooke, and then I want to go home. Away from all of," he threw his hand out, "this."

"That makes two of us," Liam returned, balancing a plate of scones on top of two paper cups. The dark haired man took the plate as the blond rounded his chair to sit, once again, across from Rumplestiltskin. A quirk of his mouth was a knowing smirk he threw at Rumplestiltskin as he handed his companion one of the cups, "Though I'd say it's more like three." Reaching out, long fingers snatched a scone off the plate and shoved half of it into his mouth before turning to the other man, "So how much did you tell him?"

Roland rolled his eyes at the muffled words before bringing the drink to his lips. He immediately made a face, "Did you forget who you were buying this for?"

Swallowing, Liam beamed his pearly whites, "You said you wanted what I was having, not my fault you don't like pumpkin spice."

A soft growl under his breath was followed quickly by, "Damn cinnamon."

"Oh boo-hoo, a little tree bark'll be good for you. Put hair on your chest," and he gave that cheeky grin again and winked. Turning back towards Rumplestiltskin, Liam pushed the plate of scones a few inches closer, "Well go on, if it sits there another minute, Roland will inhale it like he does everything."

With a perturbed look, Roland reached for the plate and took a scone, leaving the last for Rumplestiltskin. He took a bite and eyed Gold, waiting expectantly until Rumplestiltskin too held a scone.

"Right," the blond said, "So as I was saying, how much does he know?"

Roland took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully, "Nothing yet, just who I am."

Rapping his knuckles on the table once, Liam smiled, "Good." Turning towards Rumplestiltskin, he nodded, "Short version then. I'm going to tell you where you can find Ursula and Cruella, and then you three evil sods are going to bust us into Storybrooke."

Rumplestiltskin blinked—that wasn't what he'd been expecting. "And how exactly do you expect us to do that, we have no magic outside the town line?"

"Rather easily actually," Roland said, leaning forward in his chair, "Ursula and Cruella each have one magical object with them, and when the three of you use those talismans together, they'll wake up Maleficent who'll bring down the boarder."

Despite being shocked to hear that Ursula and Cruella were in this realm, he chuckled at hearing their foolish plan hinging on Maleficent. Out of habit, he picked up the cane, the fake gold handle feeling cheap in his hand, "You are sadly mistaken if you believe Maleficent can do anything more than moan and wail, let alone bring down a magical boarder even I," he stressed the pronoun with bitterness, "couldn't bring down. Especially considering she's nothing more than a wraith."

Across from him, Liam popped the last of his biscuit into his mouth, chewing happily before swallowing. "Oh ye of little faith, Dark One. Recall it was Maleficent's spell that created the curse in the first place. And as Prince Philip is happy to tell anyone foolish enough to listen, she sure knows how to build a barrier spell."

"And if she knows how to build it," Roland finished, "she knows how to tear it down."

He had to hand it to these two, it was a sound argument, but, "That still doesn't do anything for your cause. As I said, Dear Maleficent is dead, a tortured soul, trapped in a prison of Regina's construction. Even if she could be placed back into her body, she can't escape the spell binding her to that place."

"You're right," Liam smiled, taking a healthy swig of his steaming drink, "Which is why she's going to have a little help."

Roland interrupted, "The specifics aren't important, at least not for you, Mr. Gold." He stood, and when he did, Liam did as well. "You'll find what you need in the pocket of that coat." Stepping around his chair, he courteously pushed it into the table. "You have a month to find Ursula and Cruella and meet us at the town line."

By way of a good bye, he threw over his shoulder as Liam fell into step next to him, "Don't be late, Mr. Gold, we wouldn't want to have to involve your wife to hurry you along."

In Storybrooke, on the cold tiled floor of the master bathroom, Belle sat numbly staring at the stick in her shaking hand, at a complete loss for what to do.

Author's Note:
Well there you have it, the first chapter. What do you think? Do you want to know more?