Music I listened to while writing:

The "Archangel" and "Invincible" albums by Two Steps From Hell (good shiz, you guys should listen if you like soundtracky-type stuff).

The woman caught Rumplestiltskin's eye from across the room, and beckoned him. Taking Belle by the hand (she didn't hesitate to lace her fingers through his, he noted), he led her across the hall, where the woman ushered them into a private salon.

They would begin. This was the part he enjoyed the most—watching his 'clients' squirm at their indecision. Most of them were fools, selfish and oblivious to consequences. Everyone had a choice, but the question was whether or not it was the right one. They wanted so badly to get what they desired, but were always so reluctant to pay his asking price. They should have known better. Making deals with the devil never ended well.

Ever.

"Lovely party," he chirped as he ambled leisurely into the parlor. Belle remained several paces behind and slightly off to his right. She was to always remain in sight; it wasn't unusual for potential bargainers to attempt to 'get one over' on him.

"I'd ask what the occasion is, but ah…" he examined his fingernails. "I don't care."

"Who is this?" the woman asked, with a nod to Belle.

"She's my caretaker," Rumplestiltskin said wryly. Why hide the truth? "She takes care of me." Belle's eyebrows went up. So did the woman's.

"I see."

"To business, Madame Sapph."

"Indeed."

Rumplestiltskin spread his hands expectantly. "Well, out with it already."

"I have information," Sapph replied in a grim tone.

"Regarding?"

"The Queen. She's been scouring the countryside. She's looking for…it."

It? He squinted at her. His limbs ran cold, and he leaned in to peer at her more closely.

"…It," he echoed. Was she talking about…?

The woman nodded and shifted uncomfortably. He studied her face for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. Without warning, he lurched forward and grabbed Sapph by the lapels of her magnificent dress coat.

"It?" he shrieked in her face.

"Promise me our arrangement and I'll tell you more," she gasped, pawing at his fists. His lip curled derisively, and he released her with a disgusted shove.

"Fine," he spat. "It is done."

With trembling hands, the woman adjusted the front of her clothing and smoothed over her hair.

"And how is it that you know of this?"

"I have ears in the Queen's court."

"How very convenient," he snarled.

"It is," she responded sharply. "From what I've heard, she and her entourage had intended a visit to the Dark Castle. Since you're not there right now, I'm willing to bet that she is."

The blood drained from his face. "What?"

—

"What—what was she talking about?" Belle panted as he dragged her by the elbow along beside him. It was late; the streets were empty. Most of the villagers were still at the ball.

"The bloody dagger," he said under his breath. The dagger he'd used to kill Zoso…the dagger that was now his. How did the Queen even know of it? He had hidden it quite well, but the last thing he was going to do was run straight to it. The Queen was watching, always watching, somehow, and he'd certainly be damned if he led her to it. He needed to guard it, but how—

"A dagger?"

Abruptly, he swung Belle to face him and dug his fingers into her shoulders. "You are not to speak of this to anyone, do you hear me? Do you hear me?"

She leaned away, startled by his frantic rampage, but nodded in compliance. "Tell me what's happening. Let me help you." She leveraged her way out of his clutches.

He burst into a fit of maniacal giggles. "That's rich," he laughed.

Belle scowled, clearly insulted. He came within an inch of telling her to leave, but stopped himself. He couldn't send her off alone. His brain was quick…he was thinking ahead—if the Queen had found the dagger, she would have forced him to return by now. Or would she wait for him to come back on his own? The Queen had a routine habit of dropping by uninvited; she always managed to find a way around his security measures. But there was no way she could have found the dagger, none whatsoever. He was certain it was concealed well. At least, from anyone that was actually looking for it.

Rumplestiltskin curled his fists against the sides of his head, pacing as he racked his mind. What to do, what to do…

Did the Queen want to control him, or kill him? Most likely the latter. Then she would have his powers, and would be virtually unstoppable. His eyes darted to Belle. Her arms were crossed, and she was giving him a most peculiar look of…amusement? She looked extremely proud of herself—in fact, she looked rather triumphant. He was all too familiar with demeanors of triumph.

"Are you referring to…this dagger?" She hiked up the side of her gown, and there, gartered to her lovely thigh, was a large knife with RUMPLESTILTSKIN emblazoned across it.

He gaped at her leg, his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. "Wha-at? But…how? How did you—" he stammered, a surge of both relief and anger rolling through him.

"Well, if you're going to invite a girl into your house for eternity, at some point she's going to get bored and go poking around."

He wanted to kiss her. But he also wanted to slap her and scream in her face.

"You stupid, stupid girl!" he seethed, marching up to retrieve his property. Quickly, she backed away from him and lowered her skirts, masking the weapon. She was clever. He wouldn't go fishing for it, and she knew it.

"Give it to me!"

"You tell me right now why this thing is so important," she demanded, shoving her finger in his face. "And I'll give it back."

She was bargaining with him; she was certainly a quick-learner.

He gazed at her in stark wonder. This girl had saved his life, and she didn't even know it. But lords almighty, was she stupid. They needed to get that dagger as far away from them as they possibly could.

—

They went back to the mainland under the cover of darkness, and settled down in the woods for the night. Rumplestiltskin started a fire without any sort of real effort, to the disgruntlement of Belle.

"How does it feel?" she asked, curling her arms around her knees as she sat by the fire. "To just…have nature at your beck and call?"

He paced around the fire, refusing to sit. He considered her question for a moment. It was hard for him to remember what it was like to be an ordinary man. He did, however, recall being weak. And fearful.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he muttered, more to himself. But that was a lie. There was one thing he was afraid of. Two things, actually. One of them was strapped to Belle's thigh. The other was Belle herself.

"That doesn't really answer my question."

He glanced down at her, through the licking and popping flames. He stared for a moment, the image of her distorted by the heat.

"Do you still regret bringing me?" she asked quietly.

He looked into the fire, his eyes dark. "I suppose not."

"You were going to tell me about the dagger."

"Yes, well." He sighed. "It is…the source of the curse. It is the curse, I suspect. With it, I can be deprived of existence, if you will. Or be manipulated. You can imagine what might happen if it were to fall into the wrong hands."

"So. With this pretty little blade, I can control you, hm?" she pulled it out and examined it. He looked at her in alarm.

"Belle…"

"Oh, I'm just ribbing you. Don't worry; I'm not going to make you kiss me or anything like that."

He watched her uneasily. His life was in her hands, to direct him as she pleased. To kill him, even, if she wanted. But he was content to realize that he believed, with absolute conviction, that she would never do either of those things. Yet even though he allowed her to be responsible for it, he couldn't help but imagine trying to retrieve it in the middle of the night, his hand snaking up her thigh….

"Why don't you just destroy it?" she asked.

"It can't be destroyed."

"How do you know?"

"…I tried."

"How did you know destroying it wouldn't kill you?"

"I didn't."

"But if you're so hell-bent on retaining your powers, then why would you try to destroy it?"

He heaved another sigh. "Because the dagger is the one thing that can undo me—" he glanced at her—"besides the other…thing. You know."

Her eyebrow went up coyly.

"The dagger is a vulnerability. My attempts to destroy it failed, so I hid the damned thing best I could. Clearly, I didn't do a good enough job, since it's now strapped to your pretty little leg."

"You used magic to hide it…but I didn't use magic to find it."

He wondered at that—was the Queen using magic to try to track it down? It was likely she was having her soldiers do the painstaking work of actually looking for it. He imagined his house in shambles, books pulled from shelves and trinkets pulled from smashed cases.

No, they were definitely not going home. Not now.