Hello again! Ellie: Yes, ma'am. I'm a technical writer (science) in RL, and fanfic has helped that tremendously and visa versa. A piece of my soul dies when the 'they' variations pop out, too. I'm delighted that another word nerd finds my writing satisfactory! You should get an account if you don't have one- we can chat.

juju- I see you're posting again! Sakura- She will, but not before he corrects his errors. She's a grown woman and knows that love isn't so simple. She has her own dreams and wants, too. Kelsey- yes, OUCH. Sweetness follows.

Thank you all. Not everyone follows WIPS, even though this one is complete, and I'm grateful for your lovely feedback.

Gold has decided how things are going to be.

.

Adjudication

.

Mr. Gold looked over the insurance papers, consent forms, authorizations and post-release instructions, handed them to Jefferson, and buttoned his jacket. The nurse had been waiting patiently, but finally gave up and said to drop the forms at the station desk, and to follow the release instructions. She was about to close the door on her way out when a hand caught it.

"Good morning, Dr. Whale." Mr. Gold greeted. "I believe your errand was successful."

"I did as you suggested, and you were right. She was by the shop when I walked by. I barely even had to slow down before she asked me what had happened."

Jefferson snorted. "Cora, the concerned citizen."

"Hardly. When I mentioned that I had seen you the first question she asked was if you were brain damaged or might die." Dr. Whale shook his head. "It was a little over the top."

"Not really." Gold commented. "She wanted to find out if I was still competent. If I wasn't, then she'd have nothing to worry about. As it is, there is only one more piece to move and then we have checkmate.":

"Huh." Dr. Whale glanced between the intense faces of his landlord and the lackey. Unaware of the greater game at play, the pawn advanced. "So, Mr. Gold, are we, um… our arrangement? Is it, you know, settled?"

Gold smiled. "I deeply suspect you need no longer fear the State Ethics Committee regarding your past dalliances, and I'm sure that any records pertaining to such allegations will quite soon be unavailable for inquiry." He examined his cuff and flicked at the crease. "However, I suggest in the future that you take more care in your selection of companions and rendezvous points. Broom closets are rather cliché."

"Medicine storage." Jefferson clarified.

"Hmm?"

"It was the storage closet for the entire fourth floor ward." Jefferson recited from a mental list of infractions. "All the medications including the narcotics. The woman was later convicted of stealing painkillers during one of their trysts."

Dr. Whale had the good sense to turn red.

"Well. Be that as it may, you should no longer have a problem." Gold held out his hand. "I thank you for the favor." Whale shook like he was petting a snake and darted from the room after a hurried farewell.

Gold took the release instructions and scanned over them. "So, she was convicted, eh?"

"Yep. Did six months and still on parole."

"I knew I could have asked him for a bigger favor." Gold shrugged. "No matter."

They picked up their things and headed out of the room and down the hall. As they passed the nurse's station, Jefferson made a ridiculous, flourishing bow and set the forms in front of the harassed nurse who'd given up on them earlier.

"So, tell me, Mr. Gold. Which piece do we still have to move?"

Gold smirked as he punched the elevator button. "Why, the Queen, of course."

…

As Jefferson started up his car, he noted that Gold's movements bore the signs of a headache and bruised ribs. "Home, sir? I could get you something to eat. The nurses said you barely ate."

"Later. First, the shop. I have a few things to do."

"You're supposed to rest. Avoid bright lights."

"I didn't ask for your feedback. When I want it I'll tell you." Gold reclined his chair slightly, his only concession to his aching ribs. "When we get there, just park in front. I'll only be a minute."

Wisely, Jefferson was silent for the rest of the drive, which gave Gold a few minutes to think. He would have to be very, very careful from here if everything was going to work. Arguments had to carefully framed, loyalty respected, and the correct strings plucked ever so gently. That wasn't to say there weren't things that might require his older methods, for some people had no sense for subtlety.

Young Gary, for instance. He may have to owe a favor to make that particular interaction fruitful. Gold disliked owing anybody anything, but it was the way of commerce. Everything had a price.

Sometimes it was very, very high.

Jefferson pulled to the curb and got out to help Gold out of his seat. Gold let out a grunt when he stretched the sore muscles in his side, but took his cane and pulled out his keys without further complaint. The door was oddly silent when he opened it.

All the bells were scattered across the floor, their tiny brass clappers flopping every which way, their strings frayed, broken and useless.

A few steps into the shop and his shoes crunched over the broken glass. The cases were off the stands, the wares that had been carefully assembled on the stands and draped over velvet were jumbled on the floor, some repairable, others not. He shuffled his feet to avoid stepping on anything.

The back room was the same as when he left it, solvent-marked floor and all. He might even pretend the hideous massacre in the shop wasn't there if he just faced the work table.

And there, sitting on the stand upon the table, was his cup. He snatched it up and cradled it carefully in his left hand while he found a padded box. He set the enameled rose alongside as well, then shut off the curing oven and straightened up the enamel supplies for the egg. When he returned, that and the apothecary chest would be his first priorities.

Jefferson was waiting to hold the door for him. "I didn't even look yesterday. How bad is it?"

"He broke my little bells." It was a ludicrous thing to say, but it was the first herald of his work day, and the usher at the end. It announced visits, declared the sales, and was the voice of his shop. He wasn't even sure how he'd acquired them anymore, they just were. And now they weren't.

Jefferson started the car. "Got what you need?"

"Yes." Gold felt the expectant pause when Jefferson made no move to put the car into motion. He popped the box open. "I wanted my cup, alright?"

Jefferson obliged and put the car into drive and rolled up to the side lot of the stone building. "And I thought I was mad."

They walked into the building and were greeted not by Graham, but by Jefferson's daughter Grace playing with a menagerie of stuffed animals on the hospitality desk Graham usually occupied. A voice came from under the table. "Oops, Grace. I think you dropped one."

A head of blonde hair popped into view. "Hello, Mr. Gold. Fancy seeing you here."

"Officer Swan, if I recall." Gold looked around. "Where is Graham?"

"Went for coffee. I said I'd watch the desk and little miss here." Grace curtseyed and Jefferson knelt for a hug. Emma Swan grinned. "We're holding royal court."

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow. "With a stuffed rabbit, a Garfield, and a frog?"

"He's not a frog!" Grace corrected. "He's a crocodile. Watch out for his jaws."

"Indeed."

Jefferson escorted Gold up to his apartment and left him at the door, eager to salvage what was left of his weekend with his daughter. After painfully removing his jacket and setting his precious box on the coffee table, Gold stood by the window to watch. When Graham arrived, bearing two paper cups, he called the front desk.

"This is Graham. How can I help you, Mr. Gold?"

"You can't. Please send up Miss Swan."

"Emma?"

"Yes, I'd like to have a word. If she's available."

…

Officer Emma Swan let out a low whistle. "That's… complicated."

"Not really. Not compared to some of my other arrangements. This one had to come together rather more quickly than most."

"And you just need me to show up? In uniform?"

"That should be enough. Impressions are rather powerful." Mr. Gold fingered his elegant blue silk tie. "It's important to make the right one."

Swan shook her head. "And what do I get out of this? I'm not Graham, I don't owe you anything."

"Ah. In exchange for this favor, Miss Swan, I will owe you one in return."

She tilted her head. "What kind of favor?"

Gold waved a hand. "Whatever you like. It could be almost anything, provided the cost is commensurate." He leveled his gaze at her. "I always pay my debts."

Emma Swan nodded slowly. "Alright. It's a deal. Give me as much warning as you can before you do it. I'll get extra gear just to make it look good."

"Excellent. You'll hear from me by the end of tomorrow."

…

One more message to Jefferson was sent and Gold was free for a few hours. He wanted to lay his sore body down and rest in his own bed, so he went to the bedroom.

It wasn't his bed. The new mattress had been delivered and it lay, bare and mocking, in the middle of the room. He'd bought it during a fantasy that he hoped would last.

Graham had been good enough to strip his old mattress and leave the sheets and pillowcases in a neatly folded pile, but with his side so tender and his head threatening revolt again, Gold could not imagine trying to make up the new one. He dumped a pillow onto the couch, left his shoes under the coffee table, and managed to unbutton his shirt before giving up. With his phone close by, he stretched out and finally relaxed, letting his ribs move as he breathed for the first time in hours.

He dozed off with his eyes fixed upon the box holding his cup.

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