Marie sat quietly on a bench in her father's workshop as she read a book for school. It was a humble sized workspace, but with the doors to the shed open wide, it felt just the right size for the carpenter and his fourteen-year-old daughter.

Papa was working away on a large bookshelf for some lucky customer. The piece was one of the most beautiful things Marie had ever seen him make. He had certainly spent enough time on it; it seemed every free minute he was carving away at its sides and shelves. The design was becoming so intricate it looked like vines, living vines, were clinging to its surface and climbing up its sides.

Her father brushed his hands off on his pants as he stood up and looked over at her. "Do you like it?"

Marie looked up from her book. "Oh, papa, it is the best work you've done yet!" She had a wide smile.

"I am glad you like it. I made it for you." He grinned.

Marie was clinging to her papa before he finished his sentence. She squeezed tightly, pretending to suffocate him. He gave a deep-chested laugh.

Making his daughter happy was all he had ever wished for. She meant the world to him. Since her mother's passing when Marie was a small child, it had just been the two of them.

His daughter released him. Though Marie was growing into a beautiful young woman, all he could see was his lovely little girl smiling up at him with childlike joy.

"It is so beautiful!" She exclaimed, running her hands over the selves.

"I thought with all those books of yours, you'd need a place to keep them."

She laughed light heartedly. "I thought that's what those boxes in my room were for."

He smiled at her sarcasm; she was a witty girl indeed. "Oh, well, I guess I can sell this ol' thing then."

She glared at him darkly, playfully. "You wouldn't dare!" She ran over and punched him, not too hard, in the gut. He pretended to be injured and gripped his stomach.

"Alright, alright. Keep it. It's yours." He pleaded.

She hugged him again. "Thank you papa!"

"You're very welcome, my angel."

Her father grabbed a damp rag to wipe out all the dust from the crevices. It needed to be clean before he could add the mahogany finish. Marie returned to her reading, The Great Gatsby, for school. She was lost in Nick's description of Gatsby:

"He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself."

A knock came to their ears. Marie looked up from her book again, this time she saw a tall, slender man with dusty brown hair and a cane in his right hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dupont." His voice was smooth and pleasantly accented. She thought it sounded Scottish. He wore elegant attire, mostly dark colors with highlights of silver and red. He looked almost noble.

"Good day, Mr. Gold. What can I do for you?"

The man leaned into his cane as he entered and Marie began to wonder what had really happened to his right leg. As he came closer, Marie felt somewhat captivated by him. Though she feared being rude, she couldn't help but stare. So far, he hadn't seemed to notice.

Marie was instantly annoyed with her classmates as she blamed them for instilling her with her current sense of awe at Mr. Gold. Her peers often passed around rumors about the strange man. Some claimed that he was a vampire, a notion Marie's logical mind quickly deduced as ludicrous. Others, particularly the older kids, claimed he was a serial killer dwelling in Storybrooke to alleviate any suspicions. Marie, unlike the other students, was up on all the news in the surrounding areas and was unfamiliar with any random or reoccurring murders close enough to the town. It was an illogical notion. While the children all made up such silly tales, Marie would laugh at Ruby's hypothesis, "that creep needs to get laid already. I'm sure THAT would change him, make him smile!" Red had always been a bit crude. While Marie compensated for losing her mother by hiding within her intellect and dreaming of better times, Ruby chose to become the strongest bad ass Marie had ever known in Storybrooke. Ruby could wear anything, say anything, do anything. Marie envied her freedom. Ruby wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, save Gold of course. Then again, Marie didn't know a single person in town who didn't have some fear or suspicion or (probably founded) dislike for the refined gentleman currently standing in her father's shop.

She snapped back to reality to listen to their conversation.

"My, my. This is a lovely piece, Mr. Dupont. Surely you've outdone yourself." Mr. Gold let his long fingers roam about the bookshelf's décor.

He added, "Exquisite."

Mr. Dupont nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Gold."

"I could use a book shelf like this in my study." He turned to face the carpenter. "How much?"

Her father spoke politely. "I'm sorry sir, it is not for sale. I made it for my daughter."

Mr. Gold's eyes found Marie. She flinched a little, as if caught watching something she was not supposed to. "Hello, my name is Mr. Gold."

"Marie." She said quietly.

Mr. Dupont coughed a little. "Marie, why don't you go get dinner started. I'll be up in a minute."

For one reason or another, her father did not want her near Mr. Gold. Marie nodded. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"The pleasure is all mine." Mr. Gold gave a short bow, gesturing with his hand as if the two were about to dance. Marie giggled and left the shed, the man's intriguing smile stuck in her head.

"Sweet child." Mr. Gold said, turning to look at the carpenter.

"She is. So, Mr. Gold, what are you here for?"

"Ah yes. I wanted you to fix the clock in the center of town." There was no expression on Mr. Gold's face, but his deep eyes twinkled.

"It has been broken for years. I don't know that I can fix it… I don't have all the right tools." He brought a hand to his slightly scruffy chin, thinking how he could make the clock tower work again. Marie's papa was in desperate need of work. The reason he had so much time on his hands to build the bookshelf was due to the ongoing lack of customers. They were a few weeks out of the slow season, yet business had not picked up again. He could not compete with the prices of warehouse and home furnishing stores springing up in the cities and larger towns surrounding Storybrooke. People simply did not want homemade pieces anymore; at least not at the prices he sold them to make a living.

"I will purchase anything you need. I can pay you now as well. The tools will be yours as an additional bonus." A kind smile found its way onto Mr. Gold's narrow face.

Mr. Dupont nodded. "That'll work, Mr. Gold. I can get started first thing tomorrow."

The burly carpenter put out a hand to shake on it. Mr. Gold's smile deepened, revealing dimples. "Thank you, Mr. Dupont." The un-calloused hand gave a firmer shake than Mr. Dupont was prepared for. As he looked Mr. Gold in the eye, something inside told him he had made a terrible mistake.

…

Marie left the hospital in low spirits. The doctors told her that the medication, which should have helped her papa get ten times better, were merely helping to stabilize him. Her father's various attendants were unable to figure out all that was wrong with him. A few had said it was a combination of things they had never seen before. Marie did not care that his case was "unusual," to quote his surgeon, she just wanted him well and nothing seemed to be helping.

…

Marie lay on her side in the black satin sheets as she stared out the window in Mr. Gold's luxurious master bedroom. It was the third time she had "cleaned" for the man that week. Although she was tired from her newly acquired extracurricular activities, she never slept there, nor did he while in her presence.

At that moment, he was breathing slowly near her ear. He had finally regained composure since their last stint in bed. He began to kiss her neck, to bite it.

She could not tell if he expected more or if he was merely enjoying his bliss.

The hand that had been resting gently against her stomach slowly traced down to her navel.

"I have a few things in mind to do today." He sounded like he could be talking about the weather, although his voice was a bit breathier than how he spoke to her at the shop.

"Like what?" She asked quietly, unsure. He was never predictable in bed, or anywhere else for that matter.

"Can you think of nothing I might like to do?" He asked in his soft Scottish accent.

…

He sat up in bed for a while. She could feel his eyes scanning form before he got up and headed to the closet. She could tell he was dressed by the sound of his cane on the floor as he neared the bed. He was soon clad in a dark charcoal suite with light pinstripes and a silver tie. He sat down in front of her this time so that he could look into her emerald eyes.

He brought a hand to her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "My dear, how is your father?"

While she would normally appreciate the question, she hated him for his timing. Why did he always have to remind her that this was a business transaction to him? Or… did he actually care?

"Same as usual." She felt the all to common hopelessness returning.

"Pity." He let his thumb gently circle her shoulder. He looked at her as though he expected more.

"If you want something, just ask." Her tone was rough, and Mr. Gold did not seem to appreciate it.

He squeezed her shoulder, digging his thumb into her soft flesh. She felt the jabbing pain in her muscle. "Now, now Belle. I wanted to hear how your father is doing. Is that too much to ask? I am paying his bills, am I not?"

She finally met his gaze.

"I'm sorry."

He released her shoulder, and kissed the spot where there would undoubtedly be a small bruise.

Marie felt her mind whirling. How could she have ever thought this man was kind? She couldn't fight the continuous thought, because he listens. He listens well. Intently. Today isolation seemed safer, better, easier to bare.

"Mr. Gold." She tried to steady her voice. His eyebrow perked up; he did not expect her to continue after he did that.

"Yes?"

"I…I'm alone with all this. My mother died when I was so young. Now…now my father is…is…" She tried so hard to speak, but her words had abandoned her. Instead, she found herself crying.

Mr. Gold stroked her cheek and shushed her gently, much like he had done at the hospital. Though part of her mind was trying to remind her that he had done so only to win her over, to convince her to give in, the other part willingly accepted his comfort.

"My dear, you are not alone." His accented voice was like a purr in her ear as he bent down to kiss her.

She welcomed him, kissing back, tears running down her face. He used his right arm to brace himself as he leaned in for more of her. After the passionate kiss, he pulled away slowly, and she made a slight whine in protest.

He grinned. "What I want to do today and what I need to do are two very different matters entirely, my sweet." He looked down at her. She was pouting for him. Why? What could he offer her? He had already taken so much, had already proven to be a selfish bastard, had already treated this gorgeous woman like a prize to be won in a cruel transaction.

"Please don't go." She put a hand on his right leg. He went to brush her hand away, but decided against it.

"I must." He stood up slowly, pushing some hair around her ear. He loved being able to touch her face without her flinching. "I will meet you at the shop tomorrow." For now, Mr. Gold wanted to leave his estate as quickly as possible. Had he known her flesh would so capture his own mind, he may never have made the deal in the first place.

…

It had taken her a few days to think how to describe the relationship between herself and Mr. Gold.

She then found her answer.

He owned her.

But like anything on a chain, both the master and the creature are in close proximity, connected to one another. What would stop said creature from turning on the master, gaining the upper hand?