Again, I do not own Once Upon a Time -

Chapter 4

The stunned man turned and stared with his mouth hanging open.

"Well, Behr? Which is it?" Sheriff Piperson asked with ill-concealed impatience. When Behr couldn't answer, the sheriff swore under his breath. The two of them quietly attempted to sort out the problem.

Rumple swiftly moved to his wife and sisters-in-law. "Gerta," he hissed in a whisper, "it was you, wasn't it?" But Gerta would not answer.

With a jerk of her chin, Milah hissed with anger, "That great clown can't prove which it was. Gerta's wedding is tomorrow at noon. Say nothing."

Rumple clenched his teeth and looked up at his taller wife. "But, Milah, dear," he told her softly, "if she is guilty, we dare not defend her. Our neighbors will believe we condoned her actions, and they will no longer buy my wares no matter how fine my work."

"No, Rump!" she ordered in a hushed voice. "Gerta marries Don Juan tomorrow. As for your spinning, didn't Juan offer you a place in the army with him?" Seeing the hesitant look in his puppy dog eyes, she pressed him. "Think about it, Rump. This is your chance to be more than a mere spinner. You'll be getting regular military pay, and we can afford to move to a bigger house," she urged him. She ran her soft hands through his fine, flyaway hair. "And maybe we'll soon be needing another room for a babe," she hinted. "With luck you may even be promoted on the field of battle. And wouldn't we be a fine pair then? Sir Rump and Lady Milah? I'd be so proud of you, Rump."

Rumple replied earnestly, "I'd like nothing better than to make you proud, Milah, but - "

"It seems, Mr. Behr, isn't sure which girl it was, Rump," admitted the Sheriff. He shot an angry look at the larger man. "At any rate, we're sure it was one of them." He pointed between the two sisters. "So, I'll take one into custody. At this time of night and with it beginning to snow, I don't care which. Pick one, Rump, and we'll be going."

A horrified Rumplestiltskin turned to face his three women folk. He whispered fiercely, "Milah, I can't choose like this. We all know it's Gerta who -"

"No mind," Lucy stated quietly. "I'll go in Gerta's place."

All three answered together - "You'd do that for me?" "No, Gerta, you can't!" "Gerta, so brave."

Gerta mastered her quivering voice, but was she was still shaking with fear. "No, listen to me. If I go, then Gerta can marry the Don. Rumple can join the army, and Milah will be happy." She faltered, then regained her voice and spoke loudly, addressing herself to Sheriff Piperson. "If I admit that I am the thief, what will my punishment be?"

Tom Piperson was a fair man, and he was also a fair judge of character. He knew Lucy was not the thief, but he had no way to prove it. Unfortunately, the penalty for thievery, especially when confessed, could not be altered. "The Duke will have you auctioned as an indentured servant, and you will serve between five and ten years, depending on your master. At the end of that time, you'll be freed."

Swallowing hard again, Lucy nodded at the unexpected fairness of the sentence. Before her frail courage could fail her, she donned her sister's yellow cloak and hugged her small family goodbye.

"I promise you, Lucy," Rumple whispered before Tom Piperson took her away, "when you are freed, I will find you a husband you can love."

STORYBROOKE The Sheriff's Office

Mr. Gold stared blankly at his attorney. There was a long, tense moment of silence. He set the cup down elaborately casually and picked up his spoon. The tension mounted as the stillness dragged on, broken only by the soft scrap of his spoon against the Styrofoam bowl.

When he finished the stew and bread, Mr. Gold leaned back against the back of his chair. He tilted his head to the right and eyed her critically. Finally, he broke his verbal fast. "Well, Miss Cucurbita, I thank you for the food, and I thank you for your offer to defend me, but it is entirely unnecessary."

She didn't buy his overly casual attitude. "I think it is," she told him. "There isn't another lawyer in town who'll take your case." She, too, sat back against her chair and crossed her legs as if she had all day. "Everyone else is terrified of you," she smiled. She could play the game, too. "Although why they are," she pitched her voice low, "I wouldn't know. You're hardly an intimidating fellow."

He grinned like a shark, but let her last comment slide. Oh, he did enjoy playing with her. "I propose," he told her as he folded his napkin and place it on the table, "to represent myself."

She gave a most unladylike snort of laughter. "Hardly, Mr. Gold," she told him between laughs. "Your degree is in contract law not criminal law, and you know what they say. 'The lawyer who tries to defend himself has a fool for a client' ."

"Nevertheless, I'll handle my own affairs," he told her harshly. He didn't like her laughing at his expense.

"The magic word," she muttered to herself. The mystery of the chipped cup seemed to resolve itself.

A stunned Gold, stammered, "I - I - I beg your pardon? Did you say 'the magic word'?"

"An affair," she restated. "Your word, not mine. A Freudian slip if ever I heard one." Gesturing towards the cup, she continued, "There was an affair, wasn't there? Was she his wife or yours?"

"I don't know what you mean," Mr. Gold answered brusquely and pushed back from the table. "I'd like you to leave now."

But the lady lawyer didn't budge. "Your wife, then," she continued relentlessly. "Moe French somehow took her away from you, didn't he?" When he didn't reply, she forged ahead. "She must have been a fool to choose him over you."

A warning growl crept up from his throat. "Be careful where you tread, dearie."

"Yes, it's starting to make sense now," she spoke softly. "It explains why you're obsessed with that broken cup, and it explains why you're alone." She tapped the table with her fingers. "Some sort of love triangle when the two of you were younger? You loved her beyond reason, didn't you?"