A/N: Hey everyone! So here comes another update, once again happily on the night of a new episode! But we have to wait another two weeks for the fallout! Agh! I'm hating this every two weeks and again thing, it's breaking my soul. Anyway, this chapter is slightly, okay, really longer than the others, and we're finally getting to the good stuff. This chapter is a two-possibly-three part thing going on, all titled "Ingredients for Stew" which comes into play later, so stay tuned!

*On another note, for some reason my ff account had anonymous reviews disabled, and I'm fine with them, so I have them turned back on. I am kind of depressed with the lack of reviews to the growing up of updates lately, so could we maybe change that today? Please and thank you!

Later on that evening they sat in their respective seats; Rumpelstiltskin kicked back with his legs over one arm of the chair and his back against the other and Summerforth leaning against the wall on her stool. Each had a bowl of her stew in hand, and each was sipping it idly.

The Imp had returned only a little while ago, a gleaming smile on his face as he bolted up the stairs with some kind of white sinewy thing in his hands that she suspected had belonged to that pig he had mentioned earlier. She ignored him though in favor of finishing chopping the spices to add to the stew for dinner; if he even was to eat. She added them to the pot before covering it to let it simmer and headed up stairs to see what he was doing.

There were two rooms upstairs. One was the workroom, a large enough space that took up most of the top of the cottage, and was filled from the walls to the ceiling with things of different invention and all certainly from past deals, or even current ones. She had to clean it on a regular basis, and did a fine job if she said so herself, but every time Summerforth came back up after he had even two minutes in there it was even more of a disaster than the last time.

The other room was a complete mystery. It was always locked, so she couldn't go in there to clean. When she had asked him, the man had looked at her with a small smile and merely replied—

"There are other, much more important rooms to be cleaned. Off you get."

So when she had arrived at the top of the stairs and peered into the doorway to see him working in a cluttered and mismanaged room she was not surprised. He has thrown the—whatever—he had arrived with in a corner and begun working on something else; he was sitting at his spindle threading gold.

"How was the trip?" she asked as she leaned against the doorframe. He didn't turn around as he replied.

"Obviously I got what I wanted."

"In more ways than one."

"Of course."

It was a subject that didn't need to be spoken of. They both knew he had made a well triumph today, gotten her name as well as sealing a deal.

"Are you coming down for dinner? I changed something in the broth and I think it tastes less like grass now." She joked, walking further into the room to watch him work. It was a fascinating thing, watching someone thread straw into gold. Only one man in the whole wide world could do it, and he was sitting right beside her.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" he asked with an extravagant roll of his head and a groan. "I'm a busy busy man, dearie, run along." He met her eyes and they stared at each other for a moment, silent words passing through them.

"Yeah, alright." Summerforth replied, walking back out of the room. She trotted down the stairs and poured herself a bowl, changing her mind and pouring him one as well. Even if he wasn't going to be down here for it she would rather he have the option of eating or not, lest he get temperamental that she hadn't considered such. She placed his bowl on her stool and dragged it over to his chair before sitting down against the wall and beginning to eat.

She looked away from the stairway for one second, and the next he was in his chair, kicking the stool over towards her.

"No use sitting on the floor when there's a perfect sitting instrument right there." He scowled, and she grabbed it quickly to replace her spot on the floor.

And that was how they ended up eating in partially amiable silence.

The night was already crawling up on the horizon, the sun barely glinting in the window light from the kitchen area. She turned her head towards it slightly, admiring the orange rays and pink hues that came with the sunset. It was her favorite time of day, sunset, and it had been an awfully long day. Certainly one for resting and relaxation. If she was lucky, Summer hoped that maybe she could go to bed early.

On the rare occasions he allowed her to stop her chores to take an early rest she would do so, but wait until the cottage was silent before sneaking through the small door and going out to watch the stars. She had no idea whether Rumpelstiltskin knew that she did it or not, but if he did he had done nothing to stop her before. Summerforth actually had no idea where the man went during the night. But one twilight she had awoken and he was nowhere to be found, and she had stayed up the next only to hear him leave. It made it easier though, to sneak out. She never ran away, or attempted to hide where he could hopefully not find her. She sat on the hill below the well and watched the clouds drift by in the night and the stars blink in their ever-lasting hazy dance among the heavens.

When he finished his portion Rumpelstiltskin dropped it on the floor, eyes lazily watching its circular trail below him.

"You could get up and put it in the washing bin." She commented offhandedly not looking up from her food.

He turned his head towards her in a quick snap, a grimace on his face. "Then what would be the point of having you? Hop along, come on come on." He waved his hand wildly and she did as she was told just for the sake of being good.

She took their dishes to the kitchen and began scrubbing them so they would have use for them tomorrow, humming to herself as she did so. Chores were no problem to her as long as there was nothing to distract her. And unfortunately in this tiny household the number one distraction loved to make her angry. It wasn't as if Rumpelstiltskin was bad to her. Apart from his occasional outbursts of fury that usually led to her being obedient and docile for a few days, he was barely even a bother. Sure, he liked to add to her already completed chores, and mock her about her incompetence, and such other things, but it was not as though he abused her. He was actually very gracious. She knew her cooking skills were rusty with the small amount of materials she had to work with, and that she wasn't the most adept at many other skills, but she made due. And he was alright with that. He could hit her every time she failed but he didn't.

She poured some of the leftover warm water into the sink and began washing the dishes with a spare piece of rag, scrubbing madly to get out the extra lumps of drying food.

"Summerforth."

She looked over to find him standing in the doorway, leaning on it casually with arms crossed as he watched her work. He was probably mocking her attitude earlier from before dinner. She acknowledged she had heard him with a nod and an inclined ear when she turned back to her work.

"I called you girlie."

"I noticed." She said with a tilted head and a shrug.

"You should be a good little servant and acknowledge me with something better than that."

She turned to look at him, hands soapy from the washing and dripping on the floor and glared at him as hard as she could, but it couldn't last. She never won the arguments between them; he was Rumpelstiltskin which meant he was always right.

"What would you prefer then, sir?"

He strolled jauntily up to her, eyes sizing her up. He reached out and began to stroke her cheek with one finger, and she couldn't help but flinch. The last time they had actual contact he was choking her to death, and she was not ready to give him the chance to repeat it. It seemed to go noticed by him as well and he gripped her chin firmly, but not roughly. He clicked his tongue while he turned her head over to the side, then to the other. She tried to keep a firm gaze with him but found it almost impossible without breaking. His eyes were like liquid gold burning on her skin and it felt strange. It should have been hot but it was more like a stinging, tingling feeling. It raced up and down her skin where there was contact and made her shiver.

"I don't lie being called sir, for one thing." He snarled at her. "Especially when you're only doing it to humor me." His face became closer and his upper lip twitched into a snarl.

"Don't humor me." His accent was thick and voice rough, the stew from earlier still tingling his breath.

"Alright." Summerforth replied smoothly, trying to hide the uncertainty within.

He eyed her frostily, before jolting back and away. "Be up early tomorrow. I'm having you go on a run for me." He called over his shoulder as he ambled up the stairs and into his workroom. She waited to hear the tell-tale shutting of his door, but there came none. Instead, it sounded as if a door was being opened.

Was he really…?

Summerforth bolted as quietly as she could to the foot of the stairs, cursing the creaking of the old wooden floors as she went. If Rumpelstiltskin was going into the infamous locked room then she wanted as much of a glance as she could get into its depths. From her spot crouching on the bottom of the stairs she could see the door was open, and he was moving in between that room and the workroom. She didn't want to get caught, for fear of finding literal skeletons in Rumpelstiltskin's closet, but her curiosity got the best of her and she began to climb up on all fours, keeping her body low to the ground. Every inch of the room that was revealed to her was a little more disappointing, as she could only see a dusty room with rugs hanging from the wooden beams above. She stopped quickly when he emerged from the workroom, hustling and bustling and apparently mumbling to himself. When he went back into the workroom she kept going forward, determined to see something to make it all worth it.

As she reached most of the way up the stairwell she saw something sparkle in the fading sun. It glimmered beautifully and she was about to climb up another step to see it clearer when a sudden dark figure stood in her way.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"

She looked up to a face livid with rage. Not even the other night sent any comparison to the look on his visage at that exact moment. All those months ago came flooding back into her at one time; the nightmares of a face glittering gold with the smirk of the devil lingering behind stained teeth. The fear of having to leave, the anger at being sold away, none of it mattered so long as that cold dread filled her. And that's exactly what Rumpelstiltskin wanted.

"I just uh…" she couldn't think of a good excuse, but continued to try and defend herself anyway. "You seemed very upset and I er…"

"WHAT?" He raged. "Out with it, if it's oh so important!" he lifted his foot and kicked her down.

Summerforth toppled down the staircase and onto the floor and her back crunching with a sickening noise. She attempted to get up but just as soon as she could feel the breath in her lungs she felt his hand close on her hair and wrench her upwards. She let out a scream of pain as he flung her across the room and into his chair, knocking them both over. He towered over her trembling form as she tried to back away from him, but only received blows to the stomach as she tried.

"How DARE you. How dare you even LOOK at it! That room is none of your business as I so specifically said earlier. But NO, noooo you just couldn't keep your curious little eyes to yourself, could you! You bitch!" He paused every once in awhile to throw another kick to her, inching dangerously closer to her face every time.

"I'm sorry!" She coughed out through empty lungs, tears flowing down her cheeks. This only served to make him angrier it seemed, and suddenly he was kneeling in her face, eyes of liquid gold now raging with the fire of the sun.

"You will be." He hissed. "Oh lord you will be." He took hold of her hair once more, dragging her scrambling figure through the tiny house.

"Pick up the pace now dearie, wouldn't want you to get hu~urt!" he cackled as she was knocked into the wall frames.

Summerforth finally grabbed onto a corner and was able to pick herself up, stumbling over her own feet as he yanked her into her small room. He threw her in and into her straw lump of a bed, whole body vibrating with anger and hands clenching on air. He looked absolutely murderous.

She truly knew now what people meant when they spoke of the Rage of Rumpelstiltskin. When she would occasionally take a trip in with her father to town she would hear of the war going on in the land and of a man who could take down an entire army, whether it be the King's or the Enemy's, with a snap of his fingers. And now all of that energy was focused on her. And she was scared.

"Get some sleep girl, I'm still having you go out in the morning." He said with a wicked sort of calmness to oppose his body language. "I'm going to have you finish my deal!" he laughed manically while strolling from the room. He slammed the wooden door behind him, the echo of it reverberating through the walls.

He lost most of his anger as he retreated up the stairs and into his special room. It was his home away from home; while he was testing the girl here and getting her ready to serve him in a much larger place; his beautiful castle. Not that he cared about the place. A place to work was a place to work, no matter how large or small it was or how ornately decorated it was.

Rumpelstiltskin shut the door behind him slowly, not wanting to disturb any of his precious objects. Two puppets hung in a corner atop a few boxes, beside them a golden chalice, a blue wizard's hat, and the head of a rather large and quite possibly silver boar. All around the room were his various conquests, all laid out like a list to him but a jumbled up mess to others. But the things in this room were so precious that he did not want them touched or even looked at by another living soul, especially not her.

He walked deeper into the room, which was larger than his spindle room, just so as well. There were rolled up rugs in one corner, and then a few hanging from the walls. He usually had the window covered by a thick tapestry but had pushed it back today because he was feeling particularly jovial today. Until the incident with her that was.

How dare she, he thought loudly, his head pounding with the things that had happened in the past few minutes. It all had blurred so fast by him, his reactions were not his own, they were out of his head. But then again, it was all her fault. He would not have reacted so badly if she had just stayed in her place and finished the dishes before returning to her room. He might have even let her sneak out to the hill like she enjoyed. He had known about that since the day she had begun it. She never ran, or met anyone in the nightfall, but she laid there among the stars while he sat in his special room unmoving from his spot at the window where she had never thought to look. Once or twice he had even entertained joining her just to see what was going on in that crazy and unpredictable mind of hers. She was captured, a prisoner for his own amusement really, and yet she never once tried to escape. That in enough was a fantastic and disconcerting thing, and he wanted to know so desperately what made her choose not to; what made her choose to stay no matter how much she obviously disliked it.

Huffing, he continued to check the things around him as though merely the placing of her brilliant hazel eyes upon them would have ruined them somehow. But no, he knew exactly what she had been looking at; it was the highest object in the room. He kept it on its marble pedestal from his castle, something so dear to him that he could never part with it, ever.

Rumpelstiltskin removed the cup from its velvet cushion and held it gently. He still felt the urge to break it; to smash it against the wall like it's brethren in pure defiance for the woman and what she had said.

Belle, his Belle.

He turned the cup over in his fingers still trembling with rage, and decided in the best interest of the cup to put it down and look away. He walked from his special room taking sure care to lock it before sitting at his stool in the workroom and beginning to thread more straw.

The spinning of the wheel made him forget after all.

Summerforth sat huddled up in a ball, nursing a split lip and a possibly sprained hand. She wanted to cry harder, to escape, to run as fast as she could and cry out for help; for salvation from her current predicament. Tomorrow would be undoubtedly worse. But she knew that she wouldn't, she never would.

As the moon rose high she finally drifted off into a restless sleep, dreams of the beautiful object she saw on a pedestal filling her uneasy mind.

Dreams of a porcelain cup, decorated with a small flower and glaze, with a chip on its rim.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed it! Next chapter she finally gets to interact with other characters, which I as a writer am very glad for. So, please rate and review, it makes me happy!

Ciao everyone!