"I want Mama to tell me a story," Rosalind Gold huffed, with all the righteous indignation her five years could muster.

"Well your mother has had a long day," her father (Rumplestiltskin in the other world, Rumple to his wife, and Mr. Gold to everyone in this place) replied as patiently as he could. Rosie's baby brother, Ben, slept in a cot in the next room where their mother, Belle, had finally gotten him to sleep after a full day of cutting teeth and crying. Belle had theoretically been sent off to a nice relaxing bath and an early bed by her husband after putting Ben down for the night, but had felt too guilty to skip Rosie's story after also missing her bath time and teeth brushing. She'd been on her way to perform this final bedtime ritual when she'd been stopped outside the door by her husband's voice. She would indulge herself in listening to them just a moment longer, she swore, then she would go in and do the story and save the day. She just loved watching him with the children, he was a beautiful father.

"What story would you like to hear?" he repeated the offending question, the gentleness of his voice not betraying any frustration at Rosie's rejection, nor a hint of the power he possessed.

"You don't do the voices," Rosie huffed. "Mama always does all the voices."

"Well perhaps I'll tell you a story of my own, then, hm?"

"What story?" Rosie sounded skeptical, and Belle smirked, wondering which of his exploits he could possibly want to share with their daughter.

"This is the story of another girl, from a very long time ago," he began.

Belle risked a peek into the room, Rumple was squeezed awkwardly into the small mattress next to Rosie who was laying against her pillow but not relaxed in sleep yet. The scene warmed her heart, her husband awkwardly posed in most of a three-piece suit and their daughter not quite realizing that most father's didn't do bedtime in expensive waistcoats as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Was she a princess like mama was in the old world?" Rosie chirped, and Belle heard Rumple chuckle.

"Your mother was a lady – not a princess," he reminded her. "And this girl was a peasant, like papa."

"Oh," Rosie said sounding only mildly disappointed. "I thought you were a wizard."

She knew the gist of her parents' history, enough for a little girl of this world anyway, but his life before he was the Dark One was something he rarely spoke of and Belle knew only a little more than her daughter did.

"I was a wizard," he corrected (it had been an easier word for her to understand than 'sorcerer'), "and before that I was a peasant. I made string and yarn."

Rosie didn't reply, just gave a soft hmm that Belle knew meant the girl was beginning to grow sleepy.

"This little girl was named Morraine," he continued. "Her family made string like papa, but they were very poor. Things were very hard for peasants, in the old world, and when Morraine was about fifteen years old her mama and papa became very sick and they died."

Belle debated interrupting now, reading her daughter The Paper Bag Princess and then taking her husband to their bedroom to demand why he thought a story about a teenager losing both her parents to the plague was a good bedtime tale for their kindergartener, but Rosie interrupted for her.

"But you didn't get sick, did you, Papa?"

"No," he replied, and Belle could hear the sad smile in his voice. "Papa didn't get sick. Papa was far away when this happened."

After he'd become the Dark One, then. Funny, Belle had never heard this story. She wanted to, though. He rarely spoke of his past, and the memories of the time before he was the Dark One were tinged with sadness over the loss of Bae. He never refused her questions, but information was never volunteered and Belle could tell it hurt him to think of and didn't like to bring it up. This felt like a story he needed known for whatever reason, else he'd not have chosen it. She lowered herself to sit on the hall carpet with her back to the wall as she eavesdropped.

"After Morraine lost her parents, she went to go live with her godmother, who was a very old woman, but very good at making cloth, spinning thread, and sewing."

"Just like you?"

"She was even better than me," he whispered this part as though it were some special secret they shared and Rosie giggled happily to know this new thing.

"Morraine got a little older," he continued. "And better at spinning and making things. One day when she was a young woman – not much younger than your mama was when I met her – her godmother died."

"And she was alone?" Rosie sounded more curious than scared, else Belle would have intervened. Rosie knew nothing of being alone, in addition to her parents she was quite attached to her much older nephew Henry (who was also her godfather, and guardian to both Rosie and Ben if – gods be merciful – anything were to happen to her parents) as well as Henry's rather large extended family. 'Alone' would not be an easy concept for her to grasp.

"Morraine was all alone," he parroted. "One day, though, Morraine was spinning thread on her godmother's wheel and a prince came through the town..."

"Did he fall in love with her?" Rosie murmured, sleep seemed to be claiming her slowly, but she was valiantly hanging on.

"No, my dear, not right away." Rumple sounded far away, now, himself. "He was looking for a wife, and had promised to marry the richest and poorest girl he could find, and Morraine was the poorest in town. He went to her door, but when he saw her she was too shy to introduce herself and too scared to speak to him so she kept working and he went away."

Rosie made another small noise of acknowledgment, and Belle wondered how he knew this story at all or what his place in it was. Who was Morraine to him?

"When he was riding away, though, what do you think happened?"

"What?"

"Morraine's spindle jumped off her wheel and rolled out after him, trailing gold thread behind it towards her door!"

This detail seemed to charm Rosie, who squealed at the image – she knew what a spindle was better than most people of this world, and while the idea of gold thread being on one would not strike her as odd, she'd definitely never seen one chase a man down the street. This, at least, answered Belle's question about Rumpelstiltskin's place in this tale.

"Poor Morraine was so nervous, that she went and grabbed her shuttle – that's the thing that holds the string when you're weaving cloth – and began weaving as the spindle ran off after the prince."

"Then what happened?" Rosie was completely entranced now, fighting her exhaustion to hear the end of her father's story.

"Well, she wove a little bit of cloth and then the shuttle flew out of her hand and began weaving a beautiful tapestry – that's a thick fabric like the dining room curtains – in front of her door."

"And then the prince came?"

"Not yet, be patient, dearest," he soothed. "So she grabbed her needle and began to sew but the needle flew out of her hand. It sewed new tablecloth, curtains for all the windows, and finally put a new dress on Morraine."

"And then the prince came." She said the last bit with perfect confidence.

"And then the prince came," he confirmed. "The prince had followed the thread all the way back to her house, and when he discovered the tapestry he went inside to see where it had come from and he found Morraine wearing a dress of the finest silk he'd ever seen."

Rosie made another one of her sleepy noises, and she knew the story was nearly over. Belle could get back up and sneak away – these stories tended to end the same way – and he'd never know she'd listened to this, but she wanted him to know. This story had given her nothing but questions, and she didn't want to hide from him.

"So when the prince saw Morraine in her fine dress and her magical items, he realized that while she was the poorest girl in town she was also the richest. So he took Morraine to be his wife, and carried her off to his castle."

"And they lived happily ever after?" Rose was on the verge of sleep now, her voice soft and muffled.

"They lived very happily for a very long time, yes," Belle heard her husband begin to move as he slid off the bed and kissed his daughter's forehead. Rose hummed a little, but Belle knew she'd sleep soon. Belle listened as Rumple walked across the room, shutting the light off and leaving the door open just a crack in case she woke during the night.

"Enjoy the story, sweetheart?" he said with a smirk, turning to look to Belle for the first time.

"Did you know I was out here the whole time?"

"I saw your shadow in the doorway," he smiled at her. "You don't have a future in espionage I'm afraid."

Belle rose to her feet and kissed him quickly on the lips before answering him.

"Come," she said, not wanting to risk waking Rosie with their whispered conversation in the hallway. "Let's go to bed."