One man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best. - Jane Austen, Persuasion

Ten Years Ago

Belle had trouble focusing on the rest of their meeting. There was talk of witnesses and depositions, of evidence and motives, but it all washed over her without leaving an impression. She knew she should pay attention. Next to her, Regina was furiously scribbling down notes, but Belle's own notepad was blank. Belatedly, she jotted down a couple of things that Mr. O'Keefe had said, but the sinking feeling that she was failing this internship that had plagued her since their first meeting with Midas was back in full force.

She'd spent a week in conversation with her other boss, and hadn't even realized it. Against her better judgment, her eyes kept being drawn to the man. Mr. Gold. It didn't help that every time she looked at him, he seemed to already have his eyes on her, a smug, satisfied smirk on his face.

After they were handed out their various assignments for the week, Belle stood and stormed out, wanting nothing more than to get back to her office, curl up under her desk, and die.

"Miss French," she heard the accented voice call her, and hated the way it set off butterflies in her stomach. Why oh why did he have to have such a lovely voice? Juries probably sided with him on that alone. No wonder he had such a high success rate.

"What?" she asked, spinning around on her heel to face him. Her cheeks felt warm, a week's worth of embarrassment falling squarely on her shoulders, but even more than that she felt angry.

"I just wanted to tell you what a pleasure it was to properly meet you at last."

"Why didn't you tell me who you were?" she demanded, hardly caring that she was hissing at her boss. She'd already ruined any chances she had of a future at this firm, so why stop now?

"And miss out on all your precious banter?" Gold replied with an arched eyebrow. "I would never. And, if you recall Miss French, I offered you my name and you didn't want it."

"That's because I didn't know who you were," she said, surly. "If I had, I'd never have…" she trailed off unsure of where to go with that statement. She'd never have insulted him? Called him handsome? Spoken to him at all? Possibly all of the above.

"Exactly," he conceded. "If you'd known who I was you'd have bowed and scraped and been on your very best behavior. I'd have never had a chance to see the real you behind the sycophantic behavior. I've already seen that manic gleam in Miss Mills' eyes. But I've completely avoided it with you."

"You didn't see the real me," Belle countered. "You saw me pissed off and annoyed."

"People show their true selves when annoyed," he said with a shrug.

"That's funny. I've always thought you can't know what's in a person's heart until you truly know them. And excuse me, Mr. Gold, but you don't know me at all."

Belle finished, chest heaving with anger and embarrassment and no small amount of fear. She could feel her hands shaking, but Gold didn't seem to notice. He was staring at her as though she'd just done something extraordinary.

"Well then, let's change that," he said finally with a devastating half smile. Despite her anger, Belle felt a fluttering in her stomach and she grinded her teeth together to keep from answering his smile with one of her own.

"What's going on here?" Mallory Fitz asked, approaching from behind Gold. Belle didn't think she imagined the way he cringed at the intrusion.

"Just getting to know one of our newest employees," he returned with a false smile.

"Oh I'm sure," the older woman said, crossing her arms and leveling Gold with an appraising look.

"Why don't you come with me, Miss French," she continued, keeping her eyes trained on Gold. "We can have a little chat, just us girls."

Mallory spun on her heel, heading off down the hallway and Belle ran after her, trying to keep up. She could feel a prickling on the back of her neck that told her Gold was still watching her.

"You might want to steer clear of him, dear," Mallory said, laying a comforting hand on Belle's shoulder as they turned the corner toward her office. "Wouldn't want you to get snapped up by the crocodile now would we?"

"Crocodile?" Belle asked, confused.

"The man has a crocodile smile," Mallory arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as they reached the door of her office. "He can lie through his teeth and right when you let your guard down he'll snap you up with a grin on his face. It's what makes him so efficient at his job. Far be it from me to criticize one of the most brilliant legal minds I've ever encountered, but just between us girls, try not to believe a word he says. He's entirely too charming to be trusted."

Belle snorted. "Well he certainly hasn't charmed me."

The corner of Mallory's lip quirked up in a smile as her eyes swept up and down Belle's form. She had the uncomfortable feeling the other woman was sizing her up.

"Congratulations, Miss French," she smirked, ushering Belle into her office. "You're my new protégé."

October 2014

Gary Stone stared down into his drink sourly. A little over a week ago his life had been in complete order. He'd had a great job, a beautiful girlfriend, the entire world at his feet. But now, well, all that had changed.

And he owed it all to Belle French.

He scoffed, taking another long swig of liquor, letting it burn down the back of his throat and settle warmly in his belly. A week ago he'd been prepared to marry the little bitch. He'd have even adopted her illegitimate brat, let her carry the Stone name and all that entailed. Instead he was sitting in a shit bar with no job, no fiancée, and, if he didn't find employment soon, a townhouse he could no longer make payments on.

He'd been good to her, damn it. And after all that she'd turned down his proposal, kicked him in the balls, and had him forced to resign from Midas, Gold & Nolan.

Belle shouldered most of the blame for his current situation, but he found a healthy store of anger for Abigail Nolan. She was only a partner because of who her father was and she was entirely too sensitive about harassment. The bitch was probably on the rag.

Gary's black thoughts turned to his former boss' incompetence due to her gender and he found a certain amount of joy in imagining catching her in a dark alley somewhere when he was rudely interrupted.

"Gary Stone?" came a voice from beside him.

"Who's asking?" Gary grunted back, not bothering to look at the source of the voice.

"That's not important at the moment," the voice returned. "But you are of great interest to my employers."

Gary finally turned to look at the man beside him, his eyes taking a moment to focus.

"I understand you've been intimately involved with a woman by the name of Belle French."

"What about her?"

"Well, my employer is quite interested in the little bird and even more interested in her little chick."

Gary sat up at that, giving the man his full attention. He was youngish, probably near Gary's age or not much older with a scruffy beard, an earring and a leather jacket. He looked like he belonged in a band or maybe a gang in one of those god-awful musicals Belle used to make him watch. The ones where they all snap and dance in formation.

"What does you employer want with a little girl?"

The man shrugged, leaning against the bar on his elbows. "It's not really my place to ask. I'm just acquiring information."

"Information like what?" Gary asked, his eyes narrowed.

"The girl's father. Did Miss French ever happen to mention him?"

Gary sighed, turning back to his drink. The last thing he wanted to think about was Belle and whatever bastard knocked her up and split.

"I don't make it a habit of dwelling on my girl's past mistakes."

"Oh but information on this particular mistake could be quite lucrative for you," the man crooned, locking his blue eyes on Gary. Was the poof actually wearing eyeliner?

Whatever his thoughts on his companion's fashion choices, Gary couldn't argue with something that might get him paid. He had no job and no references. The last thing he wanted to do was crawl back home to his father begging for money. He'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm listening," Gary acquiesced, downing the rest of his drink.

"Wrack your memory for anything Miss French may have mentioned over the course of your relationship. If possible, speak to her on the subject."

"We broke up," Gary grunted. "I don't think she wants to talk to me."

"Oh I'm sure you can be very persuasive, Mr. Stone," the man said amiably. "And if you can't, I certainly can."

He shifted his jacket, revealing a nasty looking hooked knife, almost like a small scimitar.

"It's a kerambit," the man grinned, patting his jacket back in to place. "Picked it up in Sumatra. I call it Hook and it's never let me down. You're not going to let me down, are you Mr. Stone?"

Gary sized up the man. He was slight, a few inches shorter than Gary himself. He could probably take him. But the man had mentioned an employer and he was in no rush to get on the wrong side of certain people in this town.

"Who is your employer?" Gary demanded, the alcohol burning in his veins giving him courage.

"I can guarantee that if you do your job right, you need never know."

The man gave him one final smile before turning and heading toward the door.

"I'll be in touch," he called over his shoulder. And then he disappeared into the gloom outside the bar.

Lizzie was curled up on her bed, idly stroking the blue moonstone ring she held in her hand. She'd looked up the kind of gem it was on the Internet.

It felt weird, having something of her dad's after all this time. Like somehow now he was more real to her. For her entire life, her father had been more of an idea than a living, breathing person. But now she had something of his, something that proved he had lived. It made Lizzie feel sad about her father for the first time. Her mother had loved him and now he was gone. It was a fact she'd long known that only now seemed to hit her.

It made Lizzie sad for her mom most of all.

She wondered how Liam had come to own the ring. He hadn't had time to explain at the park, just giving it to her and telling her it belonged to her father. She didn't get to ask half her questions before her mom started yelling for her and Liam had shooed her away.

She wasn't sure why Liam was secretive around her mom either but it didn't seem right. Mom might not like to talk about her dad, but surely meeting someone else who knew him would be good for her. She'd been sad by herself for so many years. Maybe it was time to share the sadness and make it a little easier to hold.

Lizzie resolved to talk to Liam about it the next time she saw him. But it had been almost a week since he gave her the ring and there'd been no sign of him since. If she didn't have the ring as proof, she'd have started to think he was imaginary after all.

"Lizzie!" came her mom's voice from the hall. "Ruby is here!"

She scrambled to stuff the ring back in the little jewelry box her grandpa had given her for her fifth birthday and slid it under her bed. She'd only just popped back up on the bed, leaning against the pillows and trying to look cool, when her mom walked in.

"What are you doing?" her mom asked with narrowed eyes.

"Nothing!" she exclaimed, motioning around at the empty bed. "Just sitting."

"Mhmm," her mom agreed, still looking skeptical. "Come on downstairs. The movie starts in an hour and Ruby wants to get dinner first."

Lizzie dragged herself off the bed and trudged down the stairs after her mom. It was Friday night and she was going to the movies with Ruby and Granny, then spending the night with them at their brownstone.

"Why can't I just stay here?" she whined. She loved Ruby, but she'd rather just stay in her room tonight.

"Because Ruby wanted you to visit and Granny hasn't seen you in a while. It'll be fun!" her mom said brightly.

Lizzie did her best not to glower at her mother, but it was a hard fought battle.

Ruby smiled at her, giving her a big hug and promising hamburgers and milkshakes, but Lizzie still wasn't feeling it. By the time she was ushered out into Ruby's car, she was in a more rotten mood than ever. She wished she could see Liam, but he appeared to have abandoned her.

Belle watched as her daughter shouldered her bag and headed out the door after Ruby. In truth, she didn't want her to go. She'd have loved to spend the evening curled up on the couch watching My Little Pony with her daughter. But Ruby had insisted she needed a night off.

She had to admit she'd been running herself ragged the past two weeks. Work had been stressful, she'd just been through a break up, and Lizzie was acting strangely.

She'd tried talking to her daughter about what was going on, but the kid was like a steel trap. Ever since the incident at the park the previous weekend, it was like Lizzie was a different kid, sulking up in her room, hiding things from Belle. She hadn't the foggiest idea of what was going on and only hoped her daughter might be more open with Ruby, though the thought sent a splinter right through her heart. Her baby was only eight. It was too soon for them to be drifting apart.

She headed to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine while she mulled over her thoughts. Lizzie had obviously been up to something when she'd walked into her room earlier. It would be so easy to run upstairs and check through Lizzie's room. But Belle had lived eighteen years under the roof of a controlling father. She always swore she'd never be that kind of parent to her own kids. She wanted to trust Lizzie, but she was just a child. Who knew what kind of trouble she could be getting in to?

She took a long gulp of wine, steeling herself for the moment, that one where she became her parents.

"Yep," she said to herself, slamming the wineglass down on the counter. It was time to see just what had gotten in to her daughter.

She felt like she was walking up the stairs in slow motion. The memory of her father reading through her journal when she was fifteen reared its head from the depths of her mind. She'd been so furious with him at the time, but looking back she could understand why he'd done it. Her mother had just passed and she'd retreated in to herself. Neither she nor her father were good with expressing grief and the communication between them had reached an all time low. Her dad had only wanted to know what was going on inside her head. But it was still a violation of her privacy that she'd never forgotten.

She stopped outside Lizzie's room, taking a deep breath before pushing open the door. The room was just as her daughter had left it, the bedspread slightly mussed from where she'd been sitting. Belle walked forward, glancing around the room for any signs of something out of the ordinary.

Glancing down, she noticed that the rug next the bed was flipped up at one corner, as though someone had tripped over it. Dropping to her knees, Belle peered under the bed finding misplaced socks, crumpled up coloring pages and dust bunnies. Lizzie really needed to clean up under there.

But close to the foot of the bed was something odd; a pink and white jewelry box covered in hand painted roses that her father had given Elizabeth a few years ago. What was that doing stuffed under here with so much junk?

She reached for the box, pulling it towards her curiously. Just as she was about to open it, the doorbell rang downstairs.

Belle pulled her hands away as if she'd been burned. What was she doing? Her daughter was eight years old. What could she possibly be hiding? It wasn't as though her third grader had some secret double life. She was a child.

She shook her head at her own paranoia, pushing the jewelry box back under the bed. She was glad of the distraction really. She was obviously moments away from losing her mind.

She ran down the stairs, figuring Lizzie had forgotten something, when the bell sounded again. Rushing to the front door she threw it open, stopping short at the sight that awaited her on the doorstep.

"Gary!" she exclaimed.

"Belle," he returned with a shy grin, a dozen red roses clutched in one meaty hand.

Oh, this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

The night was dark, especially on this end of town. The man couldn't have picked a seedier area to live, but what did one expect from a gambling addict with a noticeable tell? Bluffing and expensive taste could only get you so far in this world.

One pathetic street lamp gave off a flickering light, hardly enough to banish the shadows that seemed to churn and thrive like a living creature. Gold turned up his coat collar against the cold night air, limping down the street with one hand concealed in his pocket. The cool handle of his gun gave him a certain amount of reassurance. In his life before, he'd never been a violent man. But over the past nine years he'd learned to take care of himself. He'd learned to take back what was his. This night was no different from countless others.

He finally found himself in front of a dank apartment building, thanking his lucky stars that the man only lived on the second floor of this hellhole. He didn't think his ankle could take much of the stairs.

As he climbed the stairs, hand still fisting the solid weight of the gun in his pocket, his thoughts perversely turned to his daughter. What kind of man was he? What kind of father could he possibly be? If that sweet girl could see him now, she'd be fucking terrified. She'd run away so fast she'd look like a blur and with his ankle, he'd never keep up.

Gold pushed those thoughts down. The things he'd done, everything he planned on doing, it was all for family. If there was one thing he appreciated in this life, it was the bond of blood. That was something he would never willingly forsake.

Reaching the correct door at long last, he lifted the handle of his cane to rap sharply.

A scuffle sounded inside the apartment, something like the scrape of furniture and the sudden flurry of activity. Grimacing, Gold raised his cane to knock again.

A moment later the door opened just a crack, the security chain still in place. One blue eye peered out at him from the dimness of the apartment, bleary at first then widening with recognition and then even more so with shock.

"You…" the owner of the eye sputtered. "What the…fuck!"

"Yes, yes, I'm alive, it's a miracle," Gold deadpanned. "Now aren't you going to invite me in?"

The eye narrowed at that, sweeping up and down Gold's form before seeming to come to a decision.

"Whatever the hell happened to you, I want no part of it."

"See, I was afraid you'd say that," Gold growled, before jabbing his cane through the crack in the door right into the flesh beneath the other man's throat. He reeled back, sputtering, and Gold used the opportunity to throw his slight weight against the door, once, twice, before the shitty little latch gave way and the door sprang open.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" Gold asked, entering the apartment as he pulled out his pocket square and wiped off the handle of his cane to free it from the disgrace of having touched the man's door.

"Friend?" the man rasped, rubbing at his throat with one hand. "Is that what we are?"

"Close enough," Gold shrugged as the man continued to stare daggers at him.

"It's a shame your last novel did so badly," he continued, glancing around at the apartment's peeling wallpaper and ratty furniture. "The once promising August Booth brought so low. It seems you can only live the fast life for so long before it catches up to you."

"You'd know all about that, it seems," August glowered. "What do you want?"

"I've been out of Boston for a while," he said with a flourish. "I've kept an eye on the place, of course, but I need insider information on some of our mutual friends."

"And what makes you think I'd tell you anything? There are people who would pay me very well just for the knowledge that you're alive."

"I'm sure. But they don't know you the way I do, dearie."

"What's that supposed to mean?" August asked.

"Just because you're down on your luck doesn't mean you'll stay that way. And when your star begins to rise again, you might regret being on my bad side."

August was still looking at him blankly, so Gold continued.

"You used to engage in a certain amount of tourism when you had the money for it. A certain trip to Cambodia comes to mind."

"What of it?" Booth bluffed, but the man never had much of a poker face. It was the reason he found himself in such dire straits now.

"You should know I always keep tabs on my friends," Gold replied coolly. "You never know when you might need…leverage."

Booth paled, his face white as a sheet beneath his scruffy beard.

"So, do we have a deal?"

The younger man nodded, his mouth slightly agape.

"Wonderful," Gold exclaimed, clasping his hands over the top of his cane. "So first things first. You're gonna tell me where he is, and you're gonna tell me who I have to kill to get to him."

Booth nodded again, falling back to sit on the ratty sofa with a dull thud. Gold kicked the apartment door shut behind him. It was time for answers.