"A sober companion? You're joking, surely."
"Not at all. And don't call me Shirley, dad." Gold rolled his eyes dramatically at his son's terrible sense of humour.
"Neal, son, don't fuck about. This is serious. I don't need a sober companion." His son shook his head and sighed.
"Dad, you've been in rehab for a year. This world is full of life's… 'Temptations'. You need someone to help keep you off that." Gold stood up, and began walking around the meeting room he and his son has been given to talk briefly. This place, Moorhill Rehabilitation Centre, reminded Gold of a prison with all the whitewash walls, grey lino flooring, and white cotton clothing only for the patients. He'd done his time and gotten clean, now he wanted to move on with his life. Someone hanging around reminding him not to drink was the last thing he needed.
"Dad?" his son Neal was sitting at the meeting desk in his work clothes, a black suit with a red tie. Gold could tell his son genuinely cared about him with all the effort and money he'd put into this rehabilitation programme for him.
"Neal, sweetheart, I really don't need someone reminding me of my problems, a'right?"
"They won't remind you of your problems, they'll make sure you don't have any problems again, okay?" Neal reached into his briefcase and took out four file folders. Each one had a small coloured label at the top with a last name on it.
"Here, at least consider some of these." Gold took the files from his son and finally gave in.
"Oh, bugger it, fine, I'll take a look and tell you what I think." A grin swam across Neal's face as he stood up and hugged his father.
"I'll be back on Wednesday to collect you and your things. See you then dad." He picked up his briefcase and the supervisor watching their meeting let him out. The smile on his son's face as he walked away made Gold's heart flutter a little. His son's happiness meant more to him than he would ever let anyone know.
"Mr Gold?" The supervisor and Gold's therapist, Archie, said. Gold was about to snap at him when he realised all he wanted was for him to return to his ward room.
After briefly speaking to Archie about the meeting with his son and about the possibility of a sober companion (which Archie was ecstatic about), Gold returned to his room with tiredness sapping his strength. Every night around the same time he would get a craving for his old whiskey flask which he once carried everywhere with him. The wrinkled fingers on his right hand would shoot to his hip pocket where he always kept his flask, but then they would ball up uselessly when all he felt was white cotton where his whiskey should have been. Perhaps Neal was right; a sober companion would do him good.
The peeling whitewash-painted walls of his room all of a sudden did not seem so bland any more, as he realised with joy this was the second last night he would ever have to look at them. All that decorated the small room was his single hospital-like bed, a metal locker underneath the window, and a bedside table with a lamp on top of it. The lamp had been a present from Neal. It was a simple purple colour that Gold had initially hated, but over time had grown used to its deep tones.
Gold climbed into bed with the files and turned on his lamp so he could read them. The first one had a plain white label with the name "SHAW" proclaimed in a garish all capitals font.
Hester Shaw was a military surgeon that spent several years treating violent war injuries in Afghanistan, after becoming horrendously disfigured herself in a landmine explosion. In her profile photo there was a large scar cutting across her face from her eyebrow to her chin that came from shrapnel, and had permanently left the left side of her mouth twisted up in a harrowing sneer. Natively, she was Scottish, like himself, but her severe history and overly strict companion reviews was too much for him to overlook. She ran her ship with military precision. Something he could not fully put himself in for.
The second folder had a pale green label. This one proclaimed "Watson" in a more calming typeface. Gold smiled. It looked more promising than the first already.
Hailing from New York, and previously China, Joan Watson had been a sober companion for the past four years after leaving her career as a medical doctor. She'd dealt with tens of alcoholics, drug addicts, nymphomaniacs, you name it. On her file it said she was currently working with a man named Holmes in New York who was a recovering heroin addict. Gold placed her file folder to his left, away from Miss Shaw's file. He would enquire with Neal about Miss Watson.
The third file had a yellowish label, with the word "Nolan" embossed gently on to the paper. This file seemed more worn than the others, and Gold assumed Neal had been observing this one with a closer eye than the others.
Gold was surprised to see a male sober companion in the mix, sexist as he felt. He had not expected his son to consider a male sober companion for him. In fact, he hadn't even considered what the common gender for sober companions was.
James Nolan had previously been a volunteer at an animal shelter and did continuous charity work for several organisations, despite being an almost full time sober companion. He was a married man and his wife Mary Margaret had the same job as he did. Gold could not understand how their relationship would have withstood days and weeks away from each other. He could also not understand what seemed to be Neal's particular interest in this file.
Gold checked his simple plastic digital watch and blinked sleepily. It was almost eleven, much later than he normally stayed awake. Lights out was at eleven exactly, but the staff had grown so used to seeing Gold asleep before nine that no-one so much as glanced in the direction of his room when eleven o'clock rolled around.
"Finally." Gold murmured as he picked up the last file folder Neal had left him. The sticker label in the corner was a delicate blue colour, much like the colour of the china tea set he had at home. Handwritten in black lettering was the name "French". The file was much lighter than all the others, which Gold soon found out was because she had no previous experience as a sober companion. This meant that this girl had no references, no previous companions, not even a shred of credentials that would prove her worthy of being his sober companion. Gold was about to throw her file in with Miss Shaw's and Mr Nolan's, but something stopped him momentarily. There was a yellow sticky note covering the girl's picture, which was covered in Neal's familiar scrawled handwriting.
"Volunteered specifically for this job, others were chosen by experience. Seems eager. You would be her first companion – Neal."
Gold frowned. A media-vilified alcoholic business tycoon and she had volunteered to be his companion? That didn't seem right to him. He peeled the sticky note gently off her file photograph and crumpled it up on his bedside table. The volunteer's name was Belle French, an Australian girl who lived with her father. She had majored in psychology and, strangely, horticulture in college. Gold noted the odd combination of choices. Currently she was working in a flower shop named "Game of Thorns" which her father was the sole proprietor of. She'd applied to fourteen different agencies and private families looking to be a sober companion, but none had taken her into consideration except Neal. Cursing his son's more compassionate side, he once more was about to throw the file away when Miss French's photograph crossed his gaze.
She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. He had barely glanced at the other companion's photographs, valuing quality of work over appearance of work. Miss French, however, had startled him. Her skin was ever so slightly paler than most, and her gently rounded face was framed by rich, chocolate brown curls. There was a smirk playing on her rosy lips, which Gold felt ill looking at once he realised how much he would like to kiss them. Shallow was something he was not, but this woman was the most beautiful creature he'd ever had the joy of looking at. And there was something more than a silly attraction to her looks he felt when he looked into her piercing blue eyes. He shook himself. He must have been drifting off too much already. Miss French was not qualified, and had no previous experience. No matter how gorgeous she was this would always play against her favour. He added her file next to Miss Shaw's and Mr Nolan's, and then put Miss Watson's on the top of the pile. When the morning came, he would give Neal a call and tell him, much to his son's probable delight that he had elected to the choice of having a sober companion. Joan Watson would hopefully be as good as her reputation claimed she was, and if not, well, there was always Mister Nolan to take her place.
Neal waved over to Gold as he limped out of the white sliding doors of the hospital back into the world. A severe looking nurse accompanied him, who Neal had met several times before when visiting his father.
"Nurse Mills." Neal nodded eager to get his father back home at last.
"Mr Cassidy. As you know I will be making regular visits to ensure your father stays sober." Her voice was harsh and commanding, with her dark makeup enforcing the fear she imposed on all. Gold shook his head and strode over to his son's side, the only one not afraid of the nurse's presence. He paused momentarily to look back up at Moorhill for what he hoped would be the last time. Nurse Mills picked up on it instantly.
"Feeling nostalgic for the place you belong already, are we Nicholas?" Gold winced at the rare use of his first name but quickly hid it, shielding the weakness he did not know he had.
"Nah, just basking in the fact that I won't have to see your ugly mug every day my dear Regina." Neal glanced back and forth between the two. Their eyes were locked in a predatorial gaze, like two wolves fighting for the role of alpha dominance. Gold flashed a brilliant smile at his nurse, exposing his shining golden tooth, and she frowned.
"I'll be seeing you soon Nicholas." Regina turned and walked back towards the main reception office of Moorhill. Gold felt as if he had just won a small moral victory against his old captors. There was a brief silence before Neal tapped his shoulder gently and the two of them got into his car. It was the one Gold had given Neal years ago on his eighteenth birthday. Surprising as it was to Gold, he still felt a sense of pride that his son had kept it after almost eight years. It was a simple black Mercedes, with basic driving features and an old tape player still lodged in the dashboard. The standard slightly fancy business car of the century. Gold knew Neal could afford much bigger and more expensive cars, but still he valued this above all of the others. Touched. For the first time in a year, Gold was touched.
Once they had left the ten-mile radius of Moorhill, Neal broached a particularly worrying subject he'd been meaning to tell his father about.
"Uh, dad?" Neal swallowed the nerves in his voice.
"Yes Neal?" Gold didn't pick up the tones of slight hesitation in his son's voice.
"There was a problem with your companion choice…" Gold bristled.
"What was wrong?"
"Well… Miss Watson, your first choice, she phoned the agency an hour ago saying she was handing in her resignation to pursue a career as a consulting detective."
"Consulting detective? Is that even a real job?!" Gold was furious, his teeth bared and nose wrinkled in a silent snarl. There went the obvious best choice for the job.
"I know, the agency were not happy about it either. There was another problem with the other companions too…"
"Are you fucking kidding me? This is utter rubbish. What is it? Do I have to stay with you for six weeks until they sort it out?" Neal adjusted his collar, the car suddenly feeling too hot for him. Beads of sweat were trickling down his collar at his father's sudden onset of rage. In the past when he'd gotten angry, he'd just turned to the alcohol. This is how the addiction had started.
"You'd have to if you wanted to get Miss Shaw or Mister Nolan as your companion." The sudden realisation washed over Gold like a cold shower in the middle of summer.
"You mean…?" Gold flopped back in his chair, his anger turning to nerves.
"Yeah, I'm afraid the only companion we could get you on such short notice was Miss French. You can change to another once their terms have finished if you like, in a few weeks." Neal looked relieved at his father's sudden calm attitude towards the situation. It also made him somewhat curious as to why his father was not demanding they complain about Miss Watson and their services to the agency.
"It'll be quite alright Neal. I'm sure she will be fine." Neal frowned at Gold's words. His father never accepted a second choice so easily. Despite their newfound reunion, the rest of the journey back to their home town of Storybrooke was made in silence.
Gold's house was built on the edge of the town, near the docklands. It was slightly separated from the rest of the surrounding houses by a picket fence and a larger than average garden, filled with roses of all different colours. As much as the garden was inviting, the house was not so much.
"Each time I come here I feel like I should start singing the Addams Family theme music." Neal remarked as he pulled up outside the front path. The house loomed over the garden, its purple and black Victorian exterior sticking out like a sore thumb from the traditional Maine houses that encased it. Gold sniffed disapprovingly at his son's sense of humour and pulled his suitcase out from under the seat. Finally, after a full year, he would have more than just a suitcase to prove himself.
"What time will Miss French be arriving at?"
"It, uh, seems she's already here." Neal sounded surprised.
"You what-" Gold swivelled around to look at the porch of his house, which now contained more than just a bench and an outdoor lamp. There, standing gracefully at the top of the wooden porch steps was the woman he'd seen in his file folder. Only this woman, oh this woman, was so much more beautiful than a picture could ever hope to capture.
She was older than the photo, only slightly, and her velvety curls were longer and more bouncy. The pale blue dress she wore ended just above her knees and flowed gently around her. A feeling of light cheerfulness was blowing in the air around her, and the breeze was starting to hit Gold. The corner of his mouth twitched up gently at the sight of her. It was not much, but it was the only feeling he felt was appropriate to show.
"Miss French?" Neal called out as he lugged Gold's suitcase up the pathway. Gold followed behind, trying to make his limp show as little as possible.
"Oh hi, you must be Neal!" A grin broke out across her face and she clumsily teetered her way down the steps in overly high blue heels to shake his hand. Sense of gracefulness, shattered. Her Australian accent was quite thick for someone who had lived in the United States for over ten years now. Ten seconds in, and already Gold was unimpressed with anything but her looks.
"Yeah, uh, this is my dad, Mister Gold. He's the one you're gonna be looking after." Neal nodded in his father's direction.
"Hello there, it's nice to meet you." Miss French took his hand firmly and shook it, smiling warmly. Gold shook her hand back and twitched his lip up in response.
"Miss French-" Gold began.
"Oh dear, no, please, call me Belle!" Miss French said, nodding.
"Belle…" Gold whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. She was about to start talking again when Neal beckoned them both into the house to get settled.
"Miss French, this will be your room." Neal had brought Belle's suitcases (yes, more than one, Gold noted) upstairs from the hall to the guest room, which was directly adjacent to Gold's own bedroom.
"This is lovely, thank you." Belle smiled, and sat down on the bed with a soft thump.
"There are a few other bedrooms in the house, but ah, the guidelines said it would be best for you to have a room as close as possible to your client's."
"That's right." Belle said, standing again.
"This room might be too close." Gold said. "There's a door here that links directly to my room." Belle giggled in a far too schoolgirl-y matter for Gold to be comfortable with.
"That'll be even better for emergencies. I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable we can just lock it and forget about it." She shrugged.
"I'd much prefer that, if you don't mind." Gold took the master key from Neal and locked the dividing door with a click. It wasn't the unfamiliarity of the situation that made him want to do this. It was the fact that there was an incredibly beautiful woman sleeping in the next room, and he was the creepy middle aged man who hadn't had sex in four years. He didn't trust himself in the slightest not to occasionally check in on Belle while she was sleeping, even just for a moment. He disgusted himself even entertaining the thought of being a voyeuristic pervert. Neal cleared his throat awkwardly to remind Gold he'd been standing with his hand clinging to the key for quite some time longer than he'd needed to have been.
"If that's everything, I think I'd better get back home." Neal nodded to his father and turned to walk down the stairs and into the hall. Both Gold and Belle followed, her heals making too loud clicking noises on the wooden floors around the house. Those shoes will have to go, Gold thought to himself.
"Good luck dad. Nurse Mills will be here in a week to do your check up, and Belle said she'd make you dinner in about an hour. Bye now." Neal gave him a warm hug, which Gold gratefully returned. He murmured a goodbye to his son and watched him walk down the path to his black Mercedes, and then drive away. There was an awkward silence hanging in the air for a moment that filled Gold with worry for the future, but Belle quickly broke it.
"So, do you prefer meatballs or lasagne?" Belle was no longer in the hall behind him, but calling out to him from the kitchen. Gold thanked himself for reminding Neal to stock up the pantry last weekend before he came home.
"Excuse me?" Gold asked, as he crept into the kitchen. In this bubbly girl's presence he felt meek in comparison, even if he was the one who normally made all the others meek.
"Meatballs and spaghetti or beef lasagne for dinner, which one would you like better?" Belle was rifling through the cupboards for pots and dishes along with a few basic ingredients.
"Uhh, I quite like both, to be honest. Whatever is easiest for you to make." He waved a hand at her dismissingly. Belle put her hands on her hips in mock frustration.
"Oh come on, this is one of the few nights I'm actually gonna cook dinner, as per the guidelines. Let me make you something you like! Neal gave me a list of the foods you like, and these were the only ones I knew how to make properly." Belle looked a little disappointed with herself, which immediately stirred something in Gold.
"Thank you, very much Belle. Personally, I think meatballs sound lovely for dinner." Gold sighed as Belle broke out in a huge grin and began digging in the cupboards again for more ingredients.
"I'm glad you chose the meatballs!" Belle shouted in from her muffled spot in the pantry.
"Why is that now?" Gold said tediously, sitting down at his kitchen counter to read the paper Neal had left for him.
"Because meatballs are my favourite too!" Belle stumbled out of the pantry, arms laden with tins and assorted vegetables and spices. Two of such jars of spice had already tumbled to the floor by the time she reached the counter. Gold sighed. Belle was most certainly pretty to look at, but would she be pretty to live with?