Author's Note: So, currently I am obsessed with two men: Fitzwilliam Darcy and Rumplestiltskin/Mr Gold. The lovely thing about Once upon a Time is that any and all fiction is fair game (theoretically), soooo...here you are: a crossover. Enjoy. Reviews would be awesome; constructive criticism, also awesome.

P.S. "Rumplestiltskin" is right (as opposed to "Rumpelstiltskin"); it's the name on his dagger.


"You've spent a lot of time lookin' for me, dearie."

Darcy winced. The voice sounded cheerful, even friendly, but the high pitch and the mocking lilt sent chills up and down his spine.

He turned. Perched high on the wall about ten feet away sat a little man in a cape, black lizard skin waistcoat, red silk shirt, knee high lace-up boots, and leather breeches. He was swinging his legs. His skin sparkled in the dim light, but the shine had nothing friendly or comforting about it—it reminded Darcy of a reptile's scales, all grey and slimy. His half-ingratiating, half-jeering grin revealed two rows of crooked and stained teeth; the eyes he turned on Darcy glittered maliciously; the fingers he pressed together had sharp nails, black to the roots.

Darcy took a step back and cleared his throat. "I have, yes. I have need of your assistance."

"Of course, of course!" spat the other. He gathered his long cape up in one arm and hopped down from the wall, landing as soft as a cat. "No one comes to me unless they want something!"

"I should imagine that to be true," Darcy said. "If you are indeed who I have been looking for…"

The grin reappeared, and the little man swept an elegant bow. "Rumplestiltskin, at your service. And you must be young Fitzwilliam Darcy! A sincere pleasure, I assure you!"

Rumplestiltskin barely came up to Darcy's shoulder, and yet the flamboyantly dressed creature emanated an aura of power and primal terror, like a particularly loathsome crocodile or shark. He smelled of burning wood, wet earth, and blood—the smell of magic.

"Now that we've been introduced, dearie," he said, "Let's get to the point. What is it you want?"

Darcy squared his shoulders and forced himself to look straight into the glimmering, protruding eyes. "I've been searching for someone for months, and I'm no closer than I ever was."

"The name of this…person?"

"George Wickham, a lieutenant in Colonel Forster's regiment, which is currently encamped at Brighton. He's eloped with a young woman named Lydia Bennet. I need to find them. I suspect them to be in London, but have no reasonable method of discovering them. Can you help me?"

"Of course I can; the question is, what are you willing to pay for such a service?"

"Whatever you require."

"Whatever I require, dearie? Are you sure?"

"What do you want?"

Rumplestiltskin emitted something between a giggle and a shriek.