Rumplestiltskin was awoken by a slight breeze blowing in his ear and the sound of quiet chirping. What surprised him most about the arrival of Jiminy Cricket was his own overall lack of surprise. Contrary to his many years of experience, he felt that the more absurd this thing became the more likely it was that he was dreaming. Allowing that logic to be his guide, Rumplestiltskin swatted the insect away and sipped at the contents of his chipped tea cup.

"Be off with you, Dr. Hopper. We have no need for counseling today."

He had expected the cricket to falter, much like Archie would have done. Instead the bug briskly replied, "Rumplestiltskin, you can't brush me off and you can't push me aside. We have much to see and I suggest we begin now."

"I don't think so, dearie. Now get out of my house or I'll limp into my kitchen and fetch the flyswatter."

"There's nothing you can do to hurt me, Rumplestiltskin. I'm not Archie; I'm not even Jiminy Cricket. I am an embodiment of Archie's compassion. The same compassion that compelled him to reach out to you today."

"Well, he can't be that compassionate if his ethereal spirit is only the size of a cricket," the Dark One quipped.

"If it were measured by size, Rumplestiltskin, yours would be the size of a speck. But there is too much to be done for us to waste time quarreling." Without further comment the spirit hopped onto Mr. Gold's shoulder.

0

Colors changed and paradigms shifted. The scene before Gold was both foreign and achingly familiar; he was glad that whatever magic had brought him there had allowed him to remain seated. If he were standing he would have fainted dead away. He and his favorite chair had been transported to the high meadows beyond his father's farm. A place that had been all but destroyed during the First Ogre War.

As Dr. Archie Hopper would tell you, the first stage of loss or shock is denial - Rumplestiltskin couldn't believe his eyes. The next stage is anger - in one deft motion, The Dark One captured his guide, pinching the cricket between his thumb and forefinger. "How did you find out about this place? What exactly do you know about it? About me?" The words hissed between his teeth like poisoned curses. Rumplestiltskin was afraid of his secrets being revealed; he had spent too many years building a legend to allow a mewling, measly insect to be his undoing. He had done far worse than murder to protect his dagger.

A voice answered Rumplestiltskin from the general direction of his shoulder. "You can't kill me. I'm spirit. I'm made from the immortal qualities of your acquaintance; I brought you here through the power of your own memories. If it makes you feel better, know that Archie will never remember this. I have absolutely no bearing in his conscious thought."

"You are sure?"

"I give you my word."

Rumplestiltskin could feel a scathing reply forming, but he was interrupted by a group of young boys. The urchins were dressed in rags with dripping noses; in spite of the numbing cold and biting wind they seemed to be enjoying rowdy ball game. Another boy limped twelve paces behind them- unable to catch up and unwilling to stop trying.

"Oh look, it's me," said Gold sardonically. "You see me, Cricket? I'm the little gimp trying to play ball with the kids that gave me the limp in the first place. What ARE we doing here?"

The spirit ignored Gold's sarcasm. "Your knee injury happened in your childhood?"

"No, the knee came later. That was from a minor trouncing. They ambushed me when I was taking Mama's thread to market."

"Why would they do that to you?"

"I expect you know the answer to that question already. Why don't you tell me?"

"Because you would feel better if you said it out loud. Tell me, why did the other boys in the village beat you up?"

"They thought I was weak. I never fought back. The first time it happened because I wouldn't join them in tormenting another boy. That runty one over there. He entered their ranks when they started bullying me. I've been branded a coward my whole life."

"Half a dozen against one isn't my idea of bravery."

"No, but you weren't there." Rumplestiltskin decided to change his tactic. "Do you remember the time I sold you that potion? You know. The one that turned Gepetto's parents into puppets? What an adventure that was! Can we go home now?"

"You never forget the moments that change your life, Rumplestiltskin," said Jiminy. "That potion was a mistake, but I learned from it. I learned to put others first and to let my compassion lead me. It set me on a path I haven't deviated from since."

"The incident with the runt taught me a lesson too. Compassion leads to suffering, and putting others first will turn you into a pariah."

"We both know that's not true. You learned to look at yourself in a different way. You saw your bravery as cowardice."

Silence. Rumplestiltskin stared out at the group of boys playing ball and the smaller one lagging behind them - lame but determined, rejected but hopeful. He imagined he could feel the breeze that was cutting up his younger self; with a shudder, he crossed his arms for warmth.

"We're done here," he said.

0

The world once again spun out of control beneath the wing-back chair. When it stopped, Rumplestiltskin noticed he was setting in the draftiest corner of the cottage he shared with his wife. A younger version of himself was groaning on a straw bed.

Standing above him was Milah, Bae's mother. She was a beautiful but cold woman with little use for her baby son and even less for her husband. Mr. Gold felt himself flinch at the maelstrom he knew was coming. "She's about to tell me she's leaving," he said through numb lips, barely audible. "She can't let herself be tied to a deserter that didn't have the decency to die with the rest of the men in our village. She would rather I have been sent home in a coffin or splattered across a shield."

"And you remember this vividly?" asked Jiminy.

"In your words, it was a moment that changed my life. I came home with a wrecked knee. They hobbled me for trying to run, but I was ... lucky they did it. While I was laid up with fever, the brave knights led the men from my village on a raid and no one returned from the action." Rumplestiltskin thought for a moment, face pensive. "All I could think of was my son. She told me we were expecting before I was conscripted. I knew it would be a boy. I ran because I couldn't die before I got to see him."

Rumple's voice trailed off as the woman in front picked up a bundle from a rough-hewn cradle. She handed the baby to the man on the bed and calmly walked out of the cottage.

"I thought she was going to shout at you," said Jiminy.

"Weren't you paying attention? She just did - granted, she'll do it louder when she gets back from the pub."

"She's coming back?"

"Oh yes, Bae and I will live with her disappointment for another few years."

"And after that?"

His younger self whimpered from the pallet, the heels of his hands digging into sunken eyes. His face was worn and dirty, with dried blood streaked over his trouser legs. With a weak, painful sigh, the younger Rumplestiltskin looked down at his son with dampened eyes. He opened his mouth - to the little boy, he began to speak.

"We're done," said Mr. Gold.

0

The earth trembled and Rumple was sitting in another hovel, smaller and shabbier than the first. Before him was a spinning wheel and a tired-looking man working at it. Rumplestiltskin could barely stand the sight of his own careworn face. He stood for the first time since the start of the bizarre journey, lifting himself out of his chair. He circled the spinning wheel, lip curled in disgust.

"Would you look at him?" he asked. Jiminy looked with soft, sad eyes and saw a gentle father's face, weary but working nonetheless. Spirits could feel sorrow; observing two faces of the same man standing opposite each other, one mocking and derisive while the other doggedly worked on, Jiminy had never felt it more. "Just sitting there spinning away," said Gold, sneering. "Useless. Worthless. Never enough food on the table. Bae was always working to make up for his father's game leg. He would have been better off with his mother..."

"Your son loved you, Rumplestiltskin," said Jiminy. "No father could have done more to protect his child."

As if to illustrate the point Baelfire burst into the hovel. "Bae!" Rumplestiltskin was so taken by the sight of his son it took him a moment to register what the boy was saying. It was the day the Duke's men came for Morraine [spell-check says this is wrong, but it only says 'moraine' is right because a moraine is run-off from a glacier or something]. Mr. Gold collapsed into his seat.

"No," he said. "No. I can't stay here. I can't watch it again! I relive this day every day! We're done."

"Very well," said Jiminy.

0

Rumplestiltskin's chair was in its old place in the Dark Castle, tucked away in a quiet corner of the library. Belle's library. A soft voice beckoned to him from behind hazy memories; his heart gripped painfully in his chest. "I have a surprise for you." His hands grasped convulsively at the arms of his chair. It was the one she always favored. With Jiminy's eyes on him, he slowly rose and turned, transfixed by the blue eyes that were staring straight past him- locked onto the other man in the room.

Calling the impish figure hunched over a crumbling tome [a man] might have been an overstatement. "What's that, dearie?" the creature drawled. Gold stood where he was, frozen by the images before him. This wasn't a moment of sadness or tragedy, like the others had been. This was a memory of happy times; it ached inside him, mingling hurt and happiness in the cruelest way.

Belle all but danced across the room to join the creature. "I said I have a surprise for you."

"I doubt that, dearie. Not much surprises someone with my abilities." He tapped a clawed finger at his temple and gave her a knowing look. Belle giggled and leaned in conspiratorially.

"I don't believe that a bit," she said. "You don't have the sight. You just let people think you do."

Gold hovered over the couple in a state of awe and longing. The imp was giggling and clandestinely enjoying the scent of Belle's hair.

"When did you realize you loved her?" the cricket chirped quietly, his voice making the scene recede from Gold's eyes.

"Shhh," he replied.

Belle was leading Rumplestiltskin out into the corridor and Gold hobbled after them eagerly.

"What was the surprise?" asked Jiminy. In the hall -

"It's a log," said Rumplestiltskin blankly. Belle took his hand and led him closer to the Great Room's massive fireplace.

"It's not just any log," Belle began.

"It's a Yule log," Gold murmured, dazed and wet-eyed, his voice blending with hers.

"A what?" Rumplestiltskin exclaimed.

"Every year in my village we began the winter holidays by cutting down a tree. The clerics would bless the first log chopped from it and everyone would touch it and make a wish. If the log burned the wishes were bound to come true."

The Dark One smirked. "That's a charming custom. But tell me, dearie, was your wish last year to be imprisoned?"

Belle flushed and Mr. Gold could feel his own color rising. "Not exactly. I always wished that I could go on an adventure. And in a way I have." There was a heavy pause and Gold found himself inhaling the same breath as Belle before she asked, "What were the holiday traditions from your home?"

Rumplestiltskin giggled; the sound grated on Gold's nerves. He hated his old selves, each one of them - and to an extent, he hated- "Every year we sacrificed three unwilling virgins to the Swamp Beast," Rumplestiltskin said. "The girls always came back relatively unharmed, but complaining about leeches."

Belle tried to look properly shocked but chuckled instead. "Someday, I'll wring the truth from you," she said.

"Not likely dearie."

Jiminy Cricket flew in front of Mr. Gold's view. The man blinked, eyes glazed.

"It's time to go, Rumplestiltskin," Jiminy said. Mr. Gold shook his head.

"I'm not ready." He crouched down next to Belle, not caring about his knee for once. The girl was feeding the log to the fire. "We never celebrated anything in our village. Especially winter. We were right on the borders of the Ogre territory. Food was scarce and the moors would get so cold..." he said.

The floor dropped from beneath Gold - the sky swallowed Belle and the ground swallowed him - and in the next second, feeling all too well the ache of something lost, he was back in his Victorian sitting room.