So Much More
By Lina Muro
Summary: AU, Dark One!Belle, Rumbelle. "The curse of the Dark One is a strange one. It doesn't change you. Not as much as you'd want to believe. It takes your strongest traits, your desires, and warps them...draws them to the surface and forces back the rest of the things that made you human. It's nice to be brave. But when you stop feeling fear…after a while you don't feel anything else either."
Disclaimer: I don't own Once.
The spinner found himself uncertain at how to proceed with the woman. The reputation of the Dark One preceded her, a history of violent outbursts and death, yet he still couldn't find it in himself to be frightened of her. The apathy in her face was too present. Baelfire was tense at his side as he struggled to find the right words to say.
"Would you, uh-" Rumple coughed to clear his throat. "Would you like some tea, miss?"
Surprise flashed across her face, but it vanished quickly. After a pause, she nodded, taking several steps toward them, and Rumplestiltskin turned to lead the way. Bae moved with him.
They entered the small, run down shack and Rumple patted his son on his back. "Start some water on the fire, would you Bae?" he asked, hobbling to a seat at the crudely carved table. "And then take care of that lip." He collapsed into it, feeling the pain in his body. He hoped his ribs were not broken.
The Dark One entered behind them, her eyes sweeping the single room of the house. The table sat in the middle of the room, a wash basin and cupboards to one side and a fireplace to the other. On the far side of the room, a spinning wheel stood, a half spun bobbin resting on it. To its left a set of cots were pressed against the wall.
Rumplestiltskin felt himself flush in shame as she examined the small, dirty hovel. "I…I know it's not much," he admitted. "Life is trying when you're crippled and your only skill is spinning. Bae helps as much as he can with the sheep and gathering and treating of the wool, but I try to let him take the time to play with his friends in the village. A boy needs a childhood."
The dark entity turned her eyes to him as he babbled nervously. Her face betrayed no emotion, and Rumplestiltskin bit his lip to stop his geyser of words. What would the Dark One care of the troubles of a poor spinner?
Baelfire returned to his father's side with a clean cloth and small jar of green salve. He began to clean off a cut on his father's head that the man hadn't realized was there. Rumple turned to smile gratefully at his son. As the boy dabbed at the blood there and prepared a bandage for the cut, his brow furrowed, and he looked to the woman hovering in the doorway.
"What did you mean," Bae asked. "When you said we were your business?"
The woman was silent, watching them, and Rumple had the fleeting fear Baelfire had angered her.
The whistling of the kettle broke the tense moment, and Baelfire moved to gather the tea, bringing over two wooden cups, and one of metal. He set them on the table, along with a small pot of honey. He had the water steeping with dried leaves, and sat at the table, wiping the blood off his own face.
"Please join us," Rumple timidly suggested, gesturing to the bench opposite. "How do you take your tea? I'm afraid we have no cream today…."
"Whatever you have to sweeten with will be fine," she responded, moving to sit on the bench opposite the spinner. Rumplestiltskin couldn't help but start at her voice. It belied the dark aura she gave off, sweet and small.
The metal spoon in the honey was bent and rusting, but she took it up with no comment and added several spoonfuls to the brown liquid that was offered to her. She sipped at the drink, and silence once again overtook them.
"I am here to collect a debt," the woman said at length. "Where is your wife, Milah?"
Whatever Rumplestiltskin had been expecting, it wasn't that. He choked in surprise, coughing while Baelfire patted his back.
What was Milah doing making deals with the Dark One? After he had regained his composure, he shook his head. "Milah is….no longer with us," he whispered.
Her brow rose. "I can see that she isn't here," she responded. "That does not tell me where she is."
Rumplestiltskin hesitated, glancing at his son from the corner of his eye. Bae looked confused, but no longer frightened of the woman. "Bae," he grimaced. "I'm hurting, son. Can you take a copper down to the apothecary and get us some willow bark?"
"Of course, Papa," he answered immediately, rising from his seat.
They remained silent until Bae had gathered his scarf and one of their few, precious coins. He grasped his father's shoulder once, nodded to the Dark One, and left.
Rumplestiltskin rose once the door had closed. "Will you walk with me?" he queried.
The Dark One followed him without comment. They ventured outside. The sun was well over the horizon now, warming the cool air. Rumple watched his son retreat toward the village before he turned to lead the woman into the forest.
"Baelfire believes his mother is dead," he began. He didn't look at his companion as they walked, ashamed of the history there, but knowing he couldn't lie to the powerful being behind him. "When I returned from the Ogre Wars fourteen years ago, Milah was…less than pleased. She took to drinking, and most nights was not to be found at home. Then one night, she was…taken. There was a pirate, Killian Jones. It was seven or eight years ago now. He took her from the taverns." Rumplestiltskin paused, as if waiting for a response, but when the Dark One said nothing, he continued. "I don't know where she is, or if she lives."
"She's alive," The Dark One said, without so much as blinking. Rumple stopped walking and turn to look at her in shock. "I couldn't very well collect from a dead woman." She looked thoughtful for a moment, calculating. "Will the soldiers return for your child?"
"I don't know."
Rumple felt fear stir in his gut again, and he turned back to the house, his pace quickening.
The Dark One followed him quietly, her silence contemplative. As they neared the house again, she paused, taking it in. Small, dirty, with holes in random places….
"You can't stay here," she mused.
Rumple turned to look at her, confusion on his face. "What do you mean? It's all we have."
"Until I can collect from Milah, you are under my protection," she frowned. "My responsibility." The Dark One didn't look happy about the idea. Rumplestiltskin began to feel nervous.
He watched the sun glint off the worn hovel. There was a path out front, worn from years of the same travel, day in and day out. The dirt yard had been disturbed from the morning's visitors. The stones were uneven, the grout between them worn away by the weather. The straw roof was in the process of being repaired, a ladder pushed against the side. It wasn't much. It smelled of straw and sheep and dirt. But it was home.
"I don't run charities, Rumplestiltskin," she continued. "If you're to have a place, you'll earn it."
"A place where?" he whispered.
She turned to look at him. Her eyes remained dark, but for the first time, he saw the stirrings of life in them. "The Dark Castle."