Chapter 2—"Broken Pieces of a Soul"

Rumplestiltskin told her his story haltingly, at first brokenly and then angrily. He spoke of a boy who he loved more than life itself, of a Seer and a prophecy, of making a deal he did not understand. Morgan listened without comment, burning to reach out to the man she could see clearly shining out from underneath an incredibly temperamental Dark One, but the way he kept himself in check stopped her from doing so. His emotions were clearly whipping back and forth between every imaginable extreme, yet somehow, he didn't lose control.

That was fascinating.

Only after he told her of Cora, of this miller's daughter who he had taught magic, fallen in love with—in love with!—and who and then betrayed him, did Morgan ask her son how long he had been the Dark One. She had expected him to say years, perhaps, or even decades. The former would be quite the accomplishment; Nimue's spawn did not tend to last long before some would-be hero put the dagger through their heart or some power-hungry sorcerer thought they could control the darkness better. There had been dozens of Dark One since the first, as any careful student of magic was well aware. Morgan had not expected centuries.

That made her look at her son in a new light. She had come to him because Rumplestiltskin was her son, and a chance remark from her longtime lover, Accolon, had let her know that her old enemy had always been watching the boy Morgan had thought long dead. Accolon had accidentally revealed himself a traitor with that remark, but she almost hadn't cared. Oh, she'd cast him out of her crystal cave, left him in the world to fend for himself and explain his failure to the Black Fae whom he served, but Morgan had little time for the lover who had betrayed her. Not when she had another living child.

It had taken two days of him demanding she leave and Morgan refusing before Rumplestiltskin had been willing to share his sad tale, and now she drank it up, listening to every word with a heart that wanted to break. I left him, she knew. I left him to this, when I could have changed everything. Yet it was too late to change the past; no one knew that better than Morgan did. All she could do was fight to make the future better.

"What do you care, anyway?" Rumplestiltskin snapped after he'd finished telling a story he should have known better than to share. The last time he'd dared tell anyone about his past, the last time he'd trusted enough, he'd been rewarded with a broken heart. Fool. The next words snarled out of him like a rabid animal. "If you'd ever loved me, you wouldn't have left!"

Morgan absorbed that blow with the same calm that she'd absorbed all the similar ones over the last two days, nodding in acceptance without trying to excuse herself. "I know." Her voice was soft, and damn her, he couldn't pull away from the hand that landed on his arm. "I am more sorry than words can express. I cannot change the past, but I can be here now. And I can promise you this: I will help you find your son."

Those words hit him like a lightning bolt.

She lies, the darkness whispered, sounding like Nimue. Or was that Gorgon, with his broken heart over the woman who had cursed him into beastly form?

But she was his mother. No one, not even Cora, had ever promised to help him find Baelfire. Rumplestiltskin had never so much as dreamed that anyone would.

"Why?" His whisper was harsh in the sudden silence, and Morgan squeezed his arm gently.

Morgan had squeezed his arm. The only person in the last two centuries to touch him without rancor had been Cora, and she'd never been gentle. There was nothing about Cora that had ever been gentle; she was all lust and power and ambition. This was a soft touch, a mother's touch.

It nearly broke him in two.

"Because you are my son, and he is my grandson." Brown eyes so very like his used to be—Bae's eyes—met his, and Rumplestiltskin couldn't detect a lie in the simple statement.

She'll use you! They all do. No one cares about you. You are nothing, and always have been, the voices inside him raced to whisper, and Rumplestiltskin felt his throat grow tight. He had never been worth loving, had he? Milah had learned to rightfully hate him for his cowardice, Baelfire had come to fear his darkness, and Cora had used his weak nature against him.

"I…" He didn't know what to say.

Morgan simply squeezed his arm again.

Another three days passed before Rumplestiltskin bent enough to ask his mother for her story—nay, to demand it. Having just finished making a deal with a pair of miserable peasant lads who reminded him far too much of himself, Rumplestiltskin was in a foul mood and returned to the Dark Castle find his mother gone. He didn't want her in his castle, of course, and he should have been relieved, but he felt strangely empty. I don't want her here. I am glad she's gone.

Gleeful cackling filled his mind, but Rumplestiltskin tried to shove it aside. Of course she wouldn't want to be here, either, Nimue pointed out all-too-logically. Once she realized she had a monster for a son, she—

"You're back."

The voice startled him so much that Rumplestiltskin jumped. Then he whirled around, his hands full of fury and magic, ready to rip apart whoever had dared intrude upon his brooding—only to find that it was his mother.

"Where were you?"

"Looking for an old friend, only to find that he was indisposed." Morgan's voice was bone dry as she crossed the great hall, lowering herself into the chair by the fire. "I had hoped he might help with the problem of crossing realms."

"If you mean the oh-so-moral Apprentice, I'm afraid I've already bled that well dry." Rumplestiltskin laughed nastily, hoping that she'd assume he had killed the useless old bastard. He hadn't, of course, even when the Apprentice refused to help him.

I only want to find my son! He had begged and he had pleaded, as some vestige of the spinner's soul had demanded he do. Rumplestiltskin had sought a way to spare the world the curse he knew he would enact, but no, that was not to be. The Apprentice could have saved them all a great deal of trouble with a flick of his wand, but if the so-called protector of humanity could not be bothered to stop him, why should Rumplestiltskin care about anyone else's fate? He could have made me a doorway, and I never would have returned, he thought darkly. Brokenly. Instead, the Apprentice had refused him. Again.

Morgan swung to face him. "No, I meant Merlin. But he is, unfortunately, still a tree." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Though I may be able to work something out with his Apprentice, now that you mention it."

"Don't bother. He said that his magic couldn't create a portal for the Dark One."

Rumplestiltskin wanted to break something or kill someone; darkness boiled up under his skin like a thousand ants.

Another frown. "Hm."

"Hm?" he echoed. "Is that all you have to say? Hm? I should have killed the useless old carcass!"

Power ripped out of him, and Rumplestiltskin launched a fireball in Morgan's direction. He changed his aim at the last moment, letting the fireball explode within the fireplace in a shower of sparks and embers, but that wasn't nearly satisfying enough. Stalking to the left, he grabbed his old walking stick from the corner where it stood, wheeling on the bookshelf and swinging the stick wildly. It smashed into the shelves with a gratifying crash, splintering wood and sending books flying every which way. He hit the shelf again, and then again, smashing the walking stick into it until his shoulders ached.

Finally, he stopped, winded but still broken, fury still racing through his veins. Simple destruction often assuaged the darkness, but not today. Today it was feeding off of his despair, and even though Rumplestiltskin knew that, he could not do a thing to stop it. He hadn't needed the reminder that the Apprentice had refused him, that there was a human with the ability to send him into the Land Without Magic, and yet that one man wouldn't do it. Over the years, Rumplestiltskin had uncovered many pathways to the Land Without Magic that the infernal fairy had failed to mention, but none of them would have been so easy as that one.

Small wonder he'd collapsed so willingly into Cora's arms once he met her two weeks after the Apprentice's refusal. He'd known her daughter could cast the Curse to End All Curses, and he needed that. There was no other way.

But just thinking of Cora made fury rise again. He wanted to kill her, but he couldn't. Not while he needed her daughter, the girl not yet born. He'd seen that in multiple visions, knew what it would take. The darkness did not care, of course, and he could feel the pressure building, could feel it urging him to go to Cora and take his fury out on her.

No. Throwing the staff into the corner hard enough that he was surprised it did not break, Rumplestiltskin pushed back the desire to teleport across kingdoms and rip his former love to shreds. Still, fire began building in his palms, rage roaring through him like a thundering wind. This so-called mother of yours is useless. She is only trying to distract you! He could almost feel Zoso breathing down his neck. Kill her! Kill her and get on with the curse!

"Are you going to throw those fireballs at me, or are your hands simply cold?"

Rumplestiltskin's head snapped up. Morgan was on her feet now, and her tone was coolly disinterested. She didn't look ready to defend herself, but if there was anything he had learned about her over the past few days, it was that one could never tell with her.

Do it. She mocks you. His hands were shaking with rage, not all of it his own.

"Why did he refuse to help you?" Morgan asked softly, stepping forward fearlessly.

"Because I am the Dark One, of course." He let out a high-pitched giggle, trying to prove that he didn't care, that it didn't break his heart. "I always have an ulterior motive. Dark Ones always do. Suppose I can't blame him for knowing that."

"Do you?"

"Of course not!" The words burst out of him with the force of a hurricane. "All I want is to get to him! All I want—I want—"

The last words caught on a sob, and much to Rumplestiltskin's surprise, Morgan reached out for him. He still teleported away from her to grieve in peace, but the gesture was as nice as it was unexpected.

"I grow tired of watching a Dark One for no reason," Accolon had told their unexpected visitor, right when he thought Morgan was not listening. But that had gotten her attention, for the last Dark One she'd known of had been Atlantes, whom she doubted would last long, for all the power he'd possessed.

"Our Lady would have you do so. Yours is not to reason why."

Those words boiled in Morgan's veins like ice, because she knew who our Lady had to be. Only one being across all magical realms insisted upon being addressed as such, and that meant her old enemy had a specific interest in the current Dark One…and that her lover was spying for her.

Morgan blinked, stopping in the doorway of the tower room where her son practiced his magic. Her son. Somehow, the Black Fairy had known that the Dark One was Morgan's long lost child, and she had corrupted Accolon into doing her dirty work. But it no longer mattered; Morgan hardly bothered to mourn the loss of her longtime lover. Accolon had been sweet and simple when she had been adverse to anyone complicated, but he had never held her heart. She had learned long ago to reserve her love for her children…only two of which still survived.

Once, she had been utterly certain that her firstborn would be the most troublesome of the lot. But Rumplestiltskin was quickly surpassing Mordred in that regard; he was mercurial and volatile, furious and broken. He was everything a Dark One should not be, and yet she thought he was the most knowledgeable yet. The way his hands moved over the potion he was working on caught her eye, and Morgan did not need more than a moment to realize that he was indeed an expert in the magic he practiced. That made a small smile touch her lips, and Morgan finally walked into the room, enjoying the fact that Rumplestiltskin was either ignoring her or had not noticed she was there.

Either way, that meant she'd earned some small measure of his trust, and that left her breathless with hope.

"What are you working on?" She had been in the castle for two weeks, and had bene careful not to question him, even when she burned to. It was important that Rumplestiltskin not think his mother wanted to control him in any way, particularly not using the thorny method they were both aware of.

"An experiment." Rumplestiltskin's voice was deeper when he was focused, lacking the high-pitched tones of the imp.

"I can see that." Morgan would not have had to ask, otherwise.

Golden eyes slid to study her inscrutably. "True Love. I am trying to bottle True Love."

"That's impossible." Centuries of practicing magic told Morgan that no one, no matter how knowledgeable, could harness the most powerful magic of all, but Rumplestiltskin scowled at her automatic response.

"Impossible only means someone hasn't done it yet."

"Sometimes impossible is simply impossible."

One of those off-putting giggles rang out, but Morgan thought it was more a nervous habit than an attempt to frighten her. "That's what they want you to think, dear—uh, forget that last part."

"Of course." Morgan barely managed to keep a straight face. She'd witnessed her son's habit of calling anyone he didn't like—and some that he did—'dearie', but apparently he thought that was not a suitable way to address his mother. Instead, she studied his handiwork, watching the golden spark inside the rose colored potion fade into black ash. "Your catalyst isn't strong enough."

"I know." He scowled, the imp's voice vanishing again. "Something's missing. It should work. This is the Age of True Love—I've Seen it."

Those last words made her cock her head. "Seen? You are a Seer?"

Her breath caught; how could she have missed that? Of all things to miss, if her son was marked by such magic—

"Ah, yes. I took that power. Not that it's been terribly useful." A nasty laugh. "Made another deal I didn't understand, that one. Should have asked why she wanted to be rid of the blasted power so badly."

"I inherited my grandmother's Sight." Morgan wasn't sure why the words came out so easily; she didn't usually tell people she was a Seer. Then again, how many centuries had passed since she'd encountered another? "She was the Lady of the Lake. You come from a long line of magic."

Rumplestiltskin snorted, swinging to glare at her as he abandoned the potion. "On your side, maybe. But that was hardly the one that mattered, was it?"

"I am here now." She kept her voice quiet, knowing this was another one of his mood swings. Morgan was even starting to be able to figure out where they came from; Rumplestiltskin grew ever angrier after he opened up about anything. He seemed to hate his own need for affection and acceptance, and she burned to know how that had happened to him.

Was he so broken before he became the Dark One, or did this come after? He had told her his life's story, but only the broad strokes of it. She knew of how he'd crippled himself, how his wife had abandoned him for a pirate, and even how he'd killed said wife—which had been said with a devastated glee that Morgan sensed hit utter self-loathing. She knew how he'd lost his son, and the many paths he'd tried to find him. She even knew a little of that foolishly ambitious miller's daughter, who had for some reason thought that abandoning the Dark One—a trained sorcerer of a Dark One!—for a king's fourth son would help her rise in the world. But Rumplestiltskin had yet to let her see more than glimpses beneath the surface, and she suspected that a long time would pass before he did so.

"Yes, because that matters so much!" he snapped, his temper out again.

Morgan met his eyes. "How much it matters is up to you. As I've said, I cannot change the past."

"You cannot do anything! You weren't there!"

Images sizzled through her mind, and Morgan had to grab ahold of the table to keep herself from falling. She could see a man becoming a boy, a crying child—her child—and a lost doll. Her voice came out in a suddenly broken whisper. "What did he do to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The broken expression was replaced by bored disdain, but Morgan reached out to take his arm before he could teleport away.

"Yes, you do." She did not see the past often, but she knew that she had. "Your…father left you, didn't he? I always thought that he got himself killed in some foolish tavern brawl, or tried to worm his way into the wrong woman's bed."

"As if that would kill him." The sharp giggle did nothing to hide the hurt in the eyes that turned on her. "You didn't."

"I was…not myself." Morgan was loathe to volunteer more, but she could see that he needed it. And perhaps I am not the only one that hated Malcolm of Hamelin, she thought, swallowing hard. "I was grieving and wallowing in self-hatred. I had done something I still hate myself for, and I found the nearest place of ill-repute to drink the memories away. It did not work."

"He took advantage of you." The words were surprisingly hard, and Morgan was stunned to see that the pain in his eyes had morphed to anger. Anger on her behalf?

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Perhaps. Perhaps I was simply a drunken fool. I do not remember."

"Is that why you left me? Because I made you think of him?" Rumplestiltskin's voice was suddenly so very small, and Morgan finally allowed herself a liberty she had not yet dared, reaching up to touch his face gently.

"No," she whispered. "I had hoped you would be part fae, as I am, or at least magical, so that I could take you with me. But I could not remain away from the crystal cave for long, lest my people die without me to sustain it…and entering that cave would have killed you. I thought it best to leave you with humans, in a world that would not look down upon you for your lack of magic." She bit her lip. "I was wrong. I should have come back for you."

"It does not matter." He looked down. "I'm used to it."

"Used to—to being abandoned?" Rage surged up inside her, and Morgan did not need to ask, even though she did, anyway. "He left you."

The bastard.

"He traded me for power and eternal youth," Rumplestiltskin spat. "But I did much the same to my boy, so I am quite certain I deserved it."

"You are not like—"

"I am." He jerked away from her, turning away almost before Morgan could see the tears shimmering in his eyes.

"Rumplestiltskin."

"I am!"

He teleported away again, fleeing the castle to who-knew-where. When he returned, he would not speak to her for days.

A/N: Thank you so much to all my lovely readers! Stay tuned for Chapter 3—"Those We Have Loved", in which Rumplestiltskin slowly opens up to his mother, and Cora pays a visit to the Dark One.