"You know what they said to do." The words were whispered, one black-clad man to another.

"Fire…nothing more. Get out of there as soon as you see him leave."

They had been hired, by who they'd never found out, to set fire to the Dark Castle. It was a risky business, getting close enough to the castle of a dark sorcerer, but they would be paid well. The person who hired them had guaranteed they would be able to get onto the grounds and to the castle without Rumplestiltskin sensing them. They both wore bracelets with great charms placed upon them that made them invisible to his magic. It seemed whomever wanted them to do this was nearly as powerful as the sorcerer whose castle they were about to invade. Neither of them could really understand why this needed to be done when the person requesting it obviously had great power. But they weren't going to question it. Not for the amount of gold they were about to come into.

Sure enough, they had gotten through the gate's protection and onto the grounds surrounding the castle without anything untoward happening. Breathing a sigh of relief, the men slunk forward, keeping to the bushes and trees as long as they could.

When they stepped out into the courtyard they were bathed in moonlight. The two men looked at each other. Even though they were covered head to toe in black, they were doomed if the sorcerer so much as looked out a window.

Without any vocal acknowledgement, they took off running for the side of the castle, hitting the stone with a slight thud. For a moment both caught their breaths, silence reigning. Then finally…"Is this thing even going to catch on fire?"

"I was assured it would." The taller of the two had been the one to have the most contact with those who wished this done. He knew far more than his shorter companion and had been told to keep his mouth closed. No one but he needed to know more than the scantest of details. He had been instructed to reveal only that which was necessary to his companion to get him to do what needed to be done. Any alteration to the plan was done on pain of death.

They pulled out the torches they had been given, oddly colored ones the likes of which they had never seen before, and lit them. The person who had hired the pair told them to throw the torches through the window and run like hell. And that was exactly what they did. On the count of three, they threw them. Both torches hit the window and with a little pop, flew right through. There was no sound of glass breaking, no indication the window had even been touched. The torches were suddenly inside the castle and blue and purple flames were racing up the inside, first taking the curtains before hungrily moving onto other areas inside the room.

The men turned tail and ran, now not even caring if they were spotted in the courtyard. It was too late for the Dark One. The castle was going up in flames and soon he would be forced to leave or to perish.

The taller man stopped the shorter one before he continued his headlong rush into the forest surrounding the castle. "We have to wait."

"For? Looks to me like we did our job."

The taller man shook his head. "They said he'd leave and be carrying a dagger. The person who hired us doesn't care about the Dark One. This person wants the dagger." He glanced at the dark forest around them. "They'll be watching. I'm sure of it…"

Rumplestiltskin had been holed up in his tower room for most of the evening. He had had a pleasant enough dinner with Belle, one they filled with quiet conversation about books and deals and whatever else they could think of. They had settled into a decent camaraderie over the past couple months. He had softened a bit toward her (well, quite a bit if he wanted to be totally honest with himself…which he didn't…not really at least). She had been moved out of the dungeon (rather quickly if he really thought much about it), had been given her own comfortable place to read in the main room (she was supposed to be cleaning), and he wasn't even sure when "serve me my meals" because "serve us our meals" (probably sometime around the second week when he realized she could actually carry on a conversation with him). She had really wormed her way into his life. It was most certainly not what he had expected when he took her on as caretaker. He had expected tears and hate, silence and cold stares and disgust. Instead what he received was gentle conversation, laughter over his dark quips, and an interest in his life that no one had ever expressed before.

It drew him out little by little. And so sometimes, like this evening, he had to get away from it all. He needed to keep his wits about him, remember his goals. This evening he had spent several hours working on potions, things he knew he'd need for upcoming deals. It helped that he could see bits of the future. His gift, such as it was, often helped him to be prepared before even meeting with the person wishing for a deal. It kept them on their toes. Many thought he could read minds. He couldn't (and he was thankful everyday for that), but his ability to see bits of the future helped keep those sorts of mysteries surrounding him.

It was sometime after midnight that he began to smell the smoke. In the middle of a delicate potion his head shot up and he sniffed at the air. For a moment a small indulgent smile flitted across his features as he looked back down at his work. Belle had a terrible habit of burning many of the things she attempted to make. Usually she managed something simple for dinner but she often tried to recreate dishes that had been served back home and the results were rather uninspiring. The smell of smoke had become something he was just getting used to living with.

The first time it had happened he had, without thinking, sent a drenching spell to the kitchen to take care of the fire. Only when a very angry, very wet Belle stormed into his tower room did he realize what exactly he had done.

"Rumplestiltskin!" Belle's voice was harsher than he'd ever heard it. And he had heard it fairly harsh before. She never was one to back down from a fight and more than once they had shouted at each other from across the room, both storming off in opposite directions to cool down. She was as hard-headed as he was, something he was loathe to admit he really admired in her.

So when he heard his name spoken in that tone of voice, he was sure he was in for some unpleasant encounter.

The door to his tower room flew open and she strode in.

Rumplestiltskin glanced up at her, taking in the hair that was plastered to her face, the dress that was…well…he quickly looked away, not wanting to think about that. "You're dripping on my floor." If there was a slightly husky note to his voice, he was sure she wouldn't notice.

"I was cooking…and then it was raining. Right there in the kitchen…"

He didn't look up at her. "You weren't cooking, dear. You were setting fire to my kitchen…"

"My kitchen," she shot back.

"The water saved us from having the castle burned down around our ears." He smirked as he picked up the bottle he was working on, holding it up to the light.

"Will you look at me while I'm talking to you?"

He sighed and set the potion down, turning to look at her finally. If she wanted him to look, who was he to argue with her?

She had her hand on one hip and her mouth was set in a hard line. Her eyes flashed fire at him. He smirked slightly and glanced down, just a little bit further. The white of her shirt clung to her skin and had turned nearly transparent where it peeked out from beneath the drenched bodice.

Belle's eyes followed his gaze and she let out a small sound of dismay before bringing her arms up to wrap around herself. Her cheeks reddened slightly and he refused to think on how lovely she looked at that moment.

He grinned again and looked away.

"It was a small fire," she said, her voice equally small. "Can you just…not do that again?" And then she turned and walked out. He tried so very hard not to watch the way her skirt clung to her legs as she moved.

When the smell of the smoke grew stronger, he started to get worried. A few more minutes and he would go looking for her, make sure she hadn't managed to completely destroy their kitchen this time. He turned to pick up another ingredient for the potion he was working on when he noticed that a small tendril of smoke had drifted underneath the door, slowly creeping its way across the floor to him. He stepped closer to it and cocked his head to the side.

A moment later he was striding out the door, potions forgotten, deals forgotten. The smoke was not natural. This was not the smoke of Belle's kitchen disasters. It was not even the smoke from the time she got distracted while holding a candle and reading and set fire to the couch she was sitting on. This was magic and that did not bode well.

He reached the Great Room in record time, sprinting down the steps, refusing to use magic for fear it would react with the smoke. He was light on his feet and lithe and so had little worries about stumbling in his headlong flight down the stairs.

The entire back half of the Great Room was engulfed in the nearly silent flames. The cabinet where he kept so many of the trinkets that came to him in deals was burned almost beyond recognition. The settee he had given Belle was nearly gone. "Oh…Oh no…Belle!" She often stayed there long after he had retired, reading far into the night. More than once he had found her sitting up groggily in the morning, having fallen asleep over her book. Once he had even gone down to retrieve her, waking her up and chastising her for not sleeping in a proper bed.

He was rushing to the other side when he heard a slight groan. He wasn't even sure how he heard it really, for the magical smoke muffled and distorted his hearing, leaving him feeling strangely isolated from everything around him. He turned and there he spied Belle, asleep…or unconscious…in the chair by the fire. He tried not to think of how relieved he felt, the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes surely caused by the smoke.

At her side in an instant, he dropped to the ground in front of her. He leaned forward and spoke her name quietly. No response. He said her name again, even louder this time, shook her lightly by the shoulders. There was no movement from her at all, her hands limp at her side, the book she had been reading crumpled on the ground below her. He gently picked it up and closed it, tucking it inside his coat, knowing Belle couldn't abide a damaged book. The time she found him setting an open book face-down, nearly breaking the spine on it, she had been so horrified he had giggled like mad on and off for the rest of the day, much to her annoyance.

He remained squatting by her for a moment and finally, decision made, stood and scooped her up. She didn't move, hanging limp in his arms. He looked down at her for a moment, studying her ashen face, her limp hair that flowed over one of his arms. He adjusted her slightly so that he was cradling her head against his chest, the light warm weight of it reassuring somehow. And then he was moving rapidly toward the exit, his only concern of the moment making sure Belle got out of this alive. Whoever did this, whoever dared set magical fire to the Dark Castle was after him, not her. And despite what most might think of him, he would not let them take an innocent girl down with him.

The shorter man gripped the taller one's arm suddenly, drawing him out of the stupor he had fallen into during their long wait. The magical fire took longer to infiltrate the place than a standard fire would, having to fight against the magic that protected the castle. It had managed to find a weak spot and exploit it, pushing through, but it was slow going. The pair had held their breath waiting for something to happen and finally slumped against a tree, exhausted from the long, boring wait.

They weren't allowed to leave. Not until they verified that he was out of the castle with that damned dagger.

It felt like the longest wait of their lives. It might well have been.

And then finally, the doors to the castle flew open and they could see something emerging from the smoke.

On high alert, the taller of the two leaned forward. "Does he have it?" They had gotten paid well for what they'd done so far. If he emerged with dagger in hand as those who had hired him said he would, they would be given untold riches.

The shorter one rubbed his hands together and both watched him emerge fully from the smoke, striding forward in quick graceful strides.

For a moment both stared at what emerged from the fog of smoke, tendrils wrapping around his legs as they seemed to hang on tightly to the sorcerer. The magic knew its own.

"What is that?" The voice that emerged from near the two men was cold, dark. A shiver went up the taller man's spine.

They all watched as the sorcerer set the burden he was holding on the ground and knelt at its side. In the darkness they could scarcely tell what it was, but when he pulled it up toward him, the moonlight fell on him for just a moment, cutting a path of light through the murky darkness.

"His maid," came the other voice, hotter and harsher than the first. "He said she was a maid. A promising new maid."

"It appears she's a great deal more than a mere maid," the other one murmured, taking a slight step forward. Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, was bent low over the woman, first shaking her shoulders slightly and then leaning in close so that the two outlines became one. They all watched his increasingly frantic movements as he tried to revive the woman. The castle burned behind him, ignored, clearly not a concern in that moment. The woman finally sighed. "Come, dear. This is not going to result in anything. Leave him to his maid."

"But the dagger…" The other voice had turned somewhat whiney, clearly the younger of the two and not the authority figure.

Silencing the other with a mere look, the older one turned to walk away. The younger one grabbed the cloak as she passed by. "Mother…we can go inside and get it while he's distracted." She sounded like a young pup, so full of ideas that had not been fully thought through.

"Really dear?" The mother's voice was flat and aloof. "It appears you still have much to learn."

"But…"

"Come." And the older woman walked away, her cloak swirling out around her. The younger woman, the daughter, followed several paces behind, lips pursed in anger but body slumped slightly in defeat.

Nothing had worked. Shaking her hadn't revived her. He had even tried breathing into her, as he once remembered a fellow villager doing when someone had nearly drowned. In his frantic attempts to pump air back into her, to revive life where it was quickly fading, he barely noticed the softness of her lips beneath his. He had used magic, something he was sure would wake her up, heal her. But it could not combat the magic that had taken her down. Her pulse was there, but it was thready and she was fading fast.

Feeling his heart somewhere down around his stomach, sweat beading at his temples causing his already lank hair to plaster itself to the sides of his face, he pulled her back to him, holding her close to his chest.

"Bae! Bae!" His boy came running at him from somewhere near Morraine's, face dirty, eyes wide.

"Papa!" the boy shouted as he flung himself at Rumplestiltskin's already unsteady form. He took a step backward, rebalancing himself on his walking staff as his boy clung to him.

"Shep's still in there." The boy's eyes were bright with tears, streaks forming on his dusty cheeks as they fell down it. He reached up an trembling hand to his son's face and wiped a tear away.

This was not the first time they had dealt with people trying to chase him and his boy off. There had been the stolen sheep, the refusal to deal with him that caused him to make his halting way to the next town over to sell his wool, the jeers, the laughter. He had seen it all, heard it all. But this was the first time anyone had tried to cause them lasting damage, taking torch to their home, their one small refuge from the harsh reality of life as the crippled town coward and his only child.

"Shep?..."

The boy nodded, wiping a grubby hand across his face, doing little more than smearing the dirt around. "He was asleep by the hearth when we left this morning. I could hear him barking…"

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Stay here boy." Shep had been their faithful sheepdog for nigh on five years now. But he was more than a mere dog. He had become their companion and he had especially become Bae's companion, keeping him warm through the harsh winter months. It was the heart of winter now, the ground frozen and covered in snow. During those months, Shep remained inside, the sheep housed in their covered pen attached to their small cottage. It was the dog's time off and he enjoyed lazing by the fire.

At least one whole wall of the cottage was on fire and heaving a sigh, Rumplestiltskin forced himself to continue into the cottage, the smoke thick around him. He could hardly see and though the heat was fierce, was able to at least continue forward without being burned. By instinct alone he managed to head toward the hearth, tripping over Shep in his haste to rescue him. "Shep…" The word came out on a croak, voice hoarse from the smoke he was inhaling. Shep was not moving and he feared the worst as he knelt by the dog.

Shep was, thankfully, a small collie. Of course, he never would have gotten the dog off the prize sheepman if it weren't for that fact. Shep had been small, too small really. The sheepman was sure he was going to die and so asking even a pittance meant he would get more than he ever expected. He sold the dog to Rumplestiltskin at only five weeks old and laughed. A runt for a runt. Rumplestiltskin had taken the tiny puppy home and nursed him to health. He had ended up being a fine specimen, though small, and the sheepman had cursed him more than once for the dog's abilities. Rumplestiltskin found he quite admired Shep for his pluckiness. In some ways he reminded him of everything he wanted to be. Small, but fierce. Tiny, but capable. Admired despite his small size and being branded the runt. Shep was a good dog. The best. And he would not let him perish in this fire if he could help it.

He set his walking staff down and lifted Shep's limp form into his arms, balancing him carefully before picking up the staff and pulling himself to his feet.

It was slow going to get out of the cottage and the entire time he felt the flames licking at his heels, waiting to devour him along with all their worldly possessions.

And then he was out, the air fresh and crisp and cold. He shuddered as he stopped some feet away from the cottage. He laid Shep carefully on the frozen ground, Bae rushing to him.

"He's not breathing Papa," the boy cried.

"His heart's still beating." Rumplestiltskin bent down over the dog and could detect no breath. With only seconds, maybe minutes to spare, he picked the dog up, and with all the strength he had left, tossed the dog face first into the nearest pile of snow.

Bae howled. "Papa you're killing him!" The boy's sobs were loud and the crowd around them seemed stunned and yet unwilling to come near to comfort the boy. It had been the same way since Milah had left. No one dared approach for fear others would treat them poorly in response.

"No Bae…wait…" The snowbank that Shep had been tossed into suddenly moved and a head popped up out of it, a snout formerly so white now covered in thick black smoke and white snow working its way out. The rest of his body followed and with a little help from Rumplestiltskin the dog heaved himself out of the snow, coughing and shuddering on the ground at their feet. His tail thumped once, twice, and then he lay quietly at their feet, panting.

"He's alive," Bae whispered and turned to look at his father, eyes shining, a look of pride about his small mouth.

"Aye, son." Rumplestiltskin smiled at the boy as those who had been watching slunk back to their own homes, not once giving any thought to saving the cottage that burned behind them.

Rumplestiltskin stood suddenly, Belle clasped tightly in his arms. She seemed to weigh so little, less even than the sheepdog he had once hauled out of the fiery inferno his cottage had become. He was stronger now, more easily able to lift even the heaviest objects, and so she seemed like nothing but air to him.

It wasn't winter at the Dark Castle, but it was not too far out from the extremely long and harsh season they experienced so high in the mountains. Above him, he could still make out bits of snow on the mountaintops. Down in the near impregnable valley where the castle was nestled, spring was just making itself known, so there were no snowbanks that he could use in a last desperate attempt to revive Belle.

But there was the lake. It was situated just on the border of his land and he rarely went there, except when he needed one particular plant that grew near the shore. Within seconds of thinking of the location, he was there on its shore, a scant few inches from where the water lapped up on the sandy beach.

He glanced down at Belle for a moment, tightening his grip and walking a few feet out into the frigid water. And then without giving himself a moment more to think about it, he dropped her into the lake, watching as she hit the water harder than he intended, sinking below the surface.

For a second…then two…there was nothing. The water began to calm after the splash, flying out around her as her body settled into the frozen depths. Rumplestiltskin held his breath, not feeling the coldness as it seeped into his boots, causing the leather to constrict around his calves. Time seemed to stand still, no sound reaching his ears, the darkness near complete even to one such as he.

The Dark One stood, alone, always alone, and watched as the world faded around him. She wasn't supposed to mean anything to him. She was supposed to be a prize, another beautiful bauble he had swooped in and claimed from some desperate soul looking to deal with him. She was meant to be a caretaker of the castle, not of him. She was meant to be afraid of him, wary of his every move and always trying to stay out of his way. She was meant to be angry and to keep her eyes down, never confronting him, never speaking to him except to ask him how he wanted his tea. She was supposed to be nothing. As he had vowed so long ago. Do nothing else. Love nothing else. Not until he had his son back at his side where he belonged.

But she had wormed her way in, always facing him down, never showing fear. She met his eyes. She laughed at the morbid quips that were meant to chase her away. She gave him looks, looks that said she didn't believe half of what he said, looks that said she knew he was all bark and not one bit of bite. She knew him. He wasn't sure he could have said that of anyone else. And that made her unexpected, dangerous.

She wasn't supposed to be anything. And yet she was everything. He sank to his knees in the water and reached out a hand. He wouldn't leave her here, so cold and so alone. She deserved better than that.

He was so wrapped up in himself, in the unexpected pain, that he didn't feel the hand that touched his for a moment. Then it gripped harder, pulled, and he found himself falling forward, balance utterly lost, the icy water wrapping around the lower half of his body as he slipped.

And then he was face to face with Belle, her eyes wide, her mouth open and gasping for air. Her name slipped out of his lips and he reached forward, grabbed her, plucked her out of the icy grip of death and pulled her back to shore with him.

She was shaking, silent. With nary a thought, he dried them both and pulled her to him. He wrapped himself around her, still kneeling in the sand. The night was cold, too frigid. Holding her tight, he allowed the magic to transport them to a nearby inn.

Belle's eyes opened as they rematerialized and he could see her try to focus on him as he stood and deposited her on the bed behind them. With a wave of his hand she was covered head to toe in a thick nightgown. He pulled the covers up and over her and cast a quick warming spell over them. She would be snug and comfortable in the bed. He started to walk away.

"Rumplestiltskin." Her voice was soft, hoarse. He turned to look back at her. "Your castle?"

He shook his head. "The fire will burn until the first light of dawn. I will assess the damage then." She started to speak again and he stepped closer to look down at her. "You need rest."

"Rest with me?" The words were tentative and she reached one hand out of the covers he had buried her under to touch his hand.

He looked down at where her hand rested on his own for a long moment.

"You saved my life." She gripped his hand, harder than he would have expected considering what she had been through that night. "You did." The words were fierce. He nodded, unsure what to do in the face of such a thing.

He cleared his throat. "And after that ordeal you should rest…"

"I don't want to be alone tonight, Rumplestiltskin. Please." He could not resist such a request, no matter how much he wanted to. Magic wrapped around him, relieving him of the uncomfortable leather and leaving him clothed in the softest silk. Clutched in his hand was a long, wickedly curved dagger. Belle's eyes widened and he glanced down at it, a smile cloaked in darkness gracing his face for just a moment.

"I'll keep us safe Belle."

She slid over and he pulled back the covers to crawl gingerly beneath them. The dagger he tucked under the pillow before he laid his head down on it. Before Belle had a chance to say anything, he turned away, resting on his side with his back to her.

All was quiet and still for a moment and so he extinguished the candles with just a thought and closed his eyes. His last thought before falling into an exhausted slumber was the feel of one light arm sliding under his own and of her body, now warm and pliant, pressed up to his.

A/N: The idea for throwing the dog into the snowbank came from a real life incident. When I was 10, we had serious smoke damage to our house and our dog almost died. My Mom saved her life by throwing her into a snowbank. The shock of the cold got her breathing again.