He wasn't sure how much time had passed since Regina (or rather, the Queen) left him alone. He had been staring at the teacup, turning it over in his hands. Somewhere in his periphery he knew Emma Swan was watching him over her paperwork. He realized on some level his behavior appeared odd: staring at a chipped teacup when he owned things of much greater monetary value. That is what they thought of him then, a creature that put money before all things…friends, family. In this world he was quite alone. Friends? Everyone feared him. Family? Hardly.
So it did appear he valued gold, or dollars, and little else. At times he believed it as well, until something like…like this crashed into his life.
"Did Regina give that to you?" Emma asked from behind her desk. She nodded down at the cup.
Gold scoffed, "keen detective skills Miss Swan. Yes, she did. Or rather, gave it back."
Regina's voice echoed in his head: such a…sentimental little keepsake.
Emma got up from her desk and walked over to the cell, standing a few feet from the spot Regina had occupied however long ago.
"Why would Regina have something of yours?"
Mr. Gold continued to stare at the cup as he thought of a quick lie.
"Well, she went to visit Moe French, who told her to give it back to me."
Emma remained quiet a second longer than Mr. Gold would have liked. But he didn't want to break the silence.
"If you don't mind me saying…a teacup?" Emma asked.
Mr. Gold looked up. Emma had a small smile on her face, amused by the irony of such a powerful man being captivated by a cup.
He feigned confusion.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"Well, like I said," Emma pulled up a chair and took a backwards seat, "you say you beat Moe French for stealing …and come to find the thing you cared about most was piece of china? One that by the looks of it," she peered over his hands, "is chipped."
Mr. Gold's fingers tightened their grip on the tiny object, and he stopped his absentminded fidgeting.
"Your point?" He asked tersely, keeping his eyes locked on the cup.
Emma shifted in her seat, suddenly aware she had hit a nerve. Go on Sheriff Swan, keep prying, you'll give me an excuse to snap at someone. Instead, she remained quiet for several minutes and Mr. Gold was the one to break the silence.
"There are some things far more precious than the simple market value of an object," he said.
"As I told you before," Emma said, her tone softer, "your reaction seemed a bit out of place. I know you think I can't help, but there's clearly something going on that you're not telling me about."
Mr. Gold huffed and glanced sideways at Emma.
"And?" He couldn't grasp her motivation for being so damn curious. Just let him lick his wounds in peace.
"And…" Emma began, her voice less sympathetic, "you kept yelling about a woman being hurt, that it was his fault, and—"
"Like I said before, there's nothing to be done…. it's all over." He looked down at the cup. "She uh…she killed herself." He stopped talking, his voice caught in his throat, and he returned to turning over the cup in his hands.
"I'm sorry that she died," Emma said.
"No matter," he mumbled.
Gratefully, the phone rang and Emma left Gold to answer it. After a few minutes of conversation, Emma called out, "You're free to go, Mr. Gold." She grabbed the keys from her desk and walked over to his cell.
"Moe French decided not to press charges, as long as you agree not to either." She waited for his response before unlocking the door.
His face twitched. That man never would pay for anything…in this world or the other. Mr. Gold faked a smile for Emma.
"Wonderful. Well, I got what was taken," he said, holding up the cup. "Let bygones be bygones, as they say." Hardly.
Emma's face hardened. On some level he knew she didn't believe him, but the charade was so much less complicated than the truth. She raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless turned the key and slid back the steel bar doors.
"You're a free man," she said, gesturing to the door.
He nodded at her, standing carefully as he balanced on the cane for support while he held the cup in his left hand. He made his way for the exit, the sound of his cane echoing loudly on the tile.
Once he returned home, he immediately cleaned out his most secure safe to house the chipped cup. He had been careless, keeping the precious thing in a china cabinet. How could he be so foolish? He knew Regina would still remember the old life…or at least enough of it to manipulate him. While he treasured the cup, its recent disappearance made it clear to him that those wounds were in no way healed. He dealt with the guilt, he found ways to not think about it, but there was no forgiving himself or anyone else involved in Belle's undoing,
The Queen was certainly included in that group of people. A right selfish bitch to the end, he could at least say he had never tried to break the Queen's heart. His moves in their war were more strategic and subtle, but never personal. He wanted power; he was satisfied with power. But she wanted more than that…she wanted him destroyed. If it wasn't clear before it was clear now, and he would be damned if he would let her live to see that.
He handled the cup delicately as he placed it into the large black steel safe and closed the door, securing the lock with the small bit of magic he still possessed in this world. He placed his hand on the safe and took a deep breath. Safe. Safe and sound.