"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever." - Jane Austen, "Persuasion"
Ten Years Ago
In the world of a defense attorney, the words "not guilty" were a beautiful thing. Especially when one's client was found not guilty of first-degree murder. An acquittal was the best Gold could hope for. But when the jury returned the verdict, ringing out through the courtroom that the defendant, Sidney Glass, had been found not guilty of the murder of Leopold Blanchard, he felt a sense of foreboding.
He shook a smiling Sidney's hand, exchanged pleasantries with the district attorney, received a shocking hug from Mal, and headed out to face the press.
It was only after he'd made his way to his car, fumbling with his keys in the parking garage, that the foreboding feeling showed its face.
"That was quite impressive," came a cool voice from behind him. Gold froze, ice running down his spine at the words.
"Thank you, Mr. Zorza," he replied, not turning around. "Justice was served, a banner day for the legal system and all that."
The man behind him chuckled, growing closer.
"Always so sarcastic," he said, reaching the car and leaning against it. Gold glanced up at the man finally. Older, overweight, harmless one would think. But Gold knew better than to rely on outward appearances. This man was dangerous.
"You failed to do your job, Willy," he said coolly.
Gold blanched at the old nickname. He hated it. His father had called him that. It reminded him of a man he used to be, a man he'd almost been forced to be again.
"I think you'll find I performed my job admirably," Gold snarked back. "I provided reasonable doubt. It was District Attorney Spencer who failed to prove my client's guilt."
Zorza chuckled again, the sound far from jovial. "Spencer has some things to answer for as well in this debacle."
"And what do I have to answer for?" Gold growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You sent me one of your men to defend in a murder case. I did that. I didn't fail."
Zorza stared at him for a long moment before letting out a sigh. "No, I don't suppose you did at that. In fact you should be celebrating. You have people you love, care about. You should go home to them, Willy. Hold them tight."
"Is that a threat?" he asked, his throat closing around the words as he clutched the car keys in his hand.
"Not yet," Zorza said, backing away from Gold's car. "Everything might work out just fine despite this cock up. But don't make the mistake of thinking you're the only man around with a family."
With that cryptic warning ringing in his ears, Gold got in the car and sped away.
When he arrived home later that evening it was to find Bailey sitting at the kitchen table. His face split into a wide grin at the sight of his father.
"You've been on the news all day," Bailey exclaimed. "Congratulations, Papa!"
Gold tried to smile for his son, but he knew it was strained. "Thank you, Bae," he managed. "Why don't I order pizza to celebrate?"
Bae just shrugged. "That's fine. Are you alright, Papa?"
Gold tried another smile that he felt was slightly more convincing. "I just won a case," he said, arms spread wide in triumph. "Of course I'm alright. Just tired."
Bae still didn't look convinced, but he turned back to his homework spread out on the table before him.
The truth was he was dwelling on Zorza's veiled threat. He still wasn't sure why the man had wanted Sidney Glass to be pinned for Blanchard's murder. He supposed the true murderer was someone higher up and more valuable to Zorza's organization. But Sidney was one of his men as well. He'd never asked Gold to purposely throw a case before, and he was suddenly terrified at what would happen now that he hadn't held up his end of the bargain.
He watched his son from his peripherals as he rummaged through the junk drawer for the local pizza restaurant's menu. He couldn't let anything happen to the boy. He'd have to send him away, somewhere safe. Perhaps they could try boarding school to get him away from Boston. Bae wouldn't like that, but at least he'd be safe.
There were only two people in this world that Gold truly loved, two weaknesses that Zorza could exploit, his son and Belle. Luckily his relationship with Belle was still far from common knowledge. He'd have to keep it that way. It shouldn't be too hard seeing as Belle surely didn't want it known that she was sleeping with a partner and the implications that would follow her from that. The best thing he could do for her would be to end things now so she could never be hurt. She was young. She would move on and find someone infinitely more suitable.
But Gold was a selfish man. He didn't have it in him to cut out Belle. Even now he wanted nothing more than to hold her, to have both Belle and Bailey under his roof and his protection.
"Bae," he said suddenly, his son glancing up from his Algebra homework. "Would you mind if I invited someone to join us for dinner tonight?"
Bae looked surprised, but nodded.
"Who?" he asked. It was a rare thing indeed for Gold to invite anyone into their home. Mal or O'Keefe came by for the occasional work related emergency, but he didn't really have friends.
"I've been seeing someone," Gold admitted haltingly.
His son's mouth fell open at that. "What, like a woman?" Bae asked, his face screwing up with incomprehension.
Gold snorted at his son's incredulity.
"Yes," he agreed. "It has been known to happen."
"No it hasn't," Bae said with a shake of his head. "Are you saying you have an actual, real life girlfriend?"
Gold shifted on his feet, starting to be slightly offended by his son's unwillingness to believe any woman would go out with him. He tended to share his son's view of things, but Belle had been slowly putting those insecurities to rest. At least she liked him.
"Yes, Bae, she's my girlfriend," he replied tersely. "Her name is Belle and I think you'll like her. Do you mind if I invite her to come over?"
Bae stared at him for a long moment before shrugging again.
"Sure, invite her over. I can't wait to see what kind of chick attracts your attention."
Gold just rolled his eyes as he grabbed the phone from the wall, punching in Belle's number.
"Don't call women, chicks," he tossed over his shoulder as Belle picked up on the other end.
An hour later there was a large pepperoni laid out on the kitchen table as Bae chortled at Belle's gentle teasing of his father. Gold took a swig of his beer, allowing himself to enjoy the moment with the two people he loved most. He knew he would protect them at any cost, even if it meant cutting ties with Belle and sending Bae away to school. But at least he had this one moment of perfect happiness before the end.
November 2014
Sleep was an elusive thing at the best of times, and today had been far from the best of times.
Gold settled back against the headboard of his bed, shutting his eyes and trying to shut out the demons that plagued him. But recounting the whole sordid history to Belle had brought everything to the forefront. Every time he started to drift off he had visions of the past, of his son's small battered body in the car seat next to him his lungs no longer drawing breath, of the feel of Milah's blood on his hands as she breathed her last, of the look of utter resignation in Killian Jones' eyes as he'd shot him, enough to maim but not to kill.
Belle was right. There'd been too much death. He'd seen too much destruction. He didn't want any more. When he'd looked at Jones, he'd just felt sad. As much as the man deserved to suffer, he didn't want to be judge, jury and executioner.
He rolled over on his side, his thoughts turning to Belle. She was so much stronger than she knew, still capable of seeing the good in him when he was fairly certain any good had been extinguished over the past nine years. And he'd been no saint prior to that.
When he'd first arrived in Boston at the age of eighteen, he'd been nothing, just some punk kid from Glasgow with no future. Zorza had changed that. Young and impressionable, Gold had allowed himself to be swept up in the lure of wealth and adventure that being a part of Zorza's network promised. He'd always been smart, always able to manipulate those around him to bend to his will. Zorza had seen his worth and invested time in him. Money too. Undergrad and law school were all paid for, a job set up for after school.
But somewhere around his 24th year, Gold had wizened up. He met Milah who worked the coffee cart near his office building. He suddenly had a career and a woman who he thought might possibly love him. He'd had visions of family and respectability. He didn't want to be a part of it anymore.
So he'd left. It had been remarkably easy at the time. Just a promise to extend his services as a defense attorney should one of Zorza's men need it, and the next 15 years had passed relatively quietly. He never could have foreseen what would happen with Glass. Zorza had never asked him to purposely lose a case before. It had all been settled up. District Attorney Spencer was in on the plan. Several high-ranking police officers were in Zorza's pocket. All Gold had to do was deliver a convincing but inadequate defense and Glass would go away for a long time.
And he hadn't done it.
He still wasn't sure whether it was his conscience or his ego that got the better of him. Gold didn't like to lose, no matter what the cost.
He got up from the bed realizing sleep wasn't coming for him tonight, and headed out into the chilly hallway. Jones was probably laid up in a hospital somewhere. Dove was downstairs keeping an eye out. But there was still the threat of the other person Jones had mentioned. He didn't know who Milah had been in contact with prior to her death. He supposed he could track down Jones and see if he was more willing to talk now, but he never wanted to see the man again. Found as he was with Gary's dead body he was sure he'd be going away somewhere he couldn't hurt Belle. That was good enough for him.
"Mr. Gold," Dove said, standing from his seat in the living room at the sight of his employer descending the stairs. He shifted his considerable bulk from foot to foot, clasping his hands behind him and standing to attention. "Is there something wrong?"
Gold just waved a hand at his old friend. "Go get some sleep, Dove," he said making his way through the living room toward the kitchen. "God knows you need it."
Dove didn't protest, just nodded his acquiescence before disappearing up the stairs his steps remarkably silent for such a large man. It did no good for them both to be sleep deprived tomorrow. Gold knew he wouldn't be sleeping so he may as well stand guard.
The kitchen was well stocked, but Gold wasn't hungry, not with the memories currently flitting through his head causing his stomach to churn with sadness and the sick feeling that always accompanied them. He rummaged around in the back of the pantry instead finally finding what he was looking for: a dusty bottle of whisky that had probably been there since the last time he and Belle had stayed here under one roof.
He popped the top off, taking a swig directly from the bottle and letting the liquor burn down the back of his throat. He wasn't trying to get drunk. Things were too precarious for that. But he needed something to steady the shaking of his hands, the persistence of his memory.
"Mind sharing?"
The voice startled him causing him to nearly drop the bottle. He slammed it down against the counter, coughing as he turned to the doorway.
"Belle," he sputtered, wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his bathrobe.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, wrapping her arms around herself and seeming to shrink into the folds of her bathrobe. "I'm exhausted but it just wouldn't come. Every time I close my eyes I see that knife in Gary's throat and I…"
She trailed off, unable to finish her words.
His stomach twisted, the liquor suddenly making him nauseous. He had done this. He had ruined Belle's life more than he ever could have feared. He'd made her mourn him for years, left her a single mother, and now he'd brought death to her very doorstep.
"The first time you experience death is hard," he replied, glancing down at his bare feet against the wooden floorboards.
Belle looked up at him sharply. "I've experienced death," she said, fire licking at her words. "My mother's, my grandparents, yours. What I saw today wasn't just death it was senseless, violent, murder."
"I know," he replied for lack of anything better to say. "It doesn't get any easier to witness."
"And what about killing?" she asked, moving toward him. "Does that get easier?"
The air was suddenly stifling despite the blizzard outside. He was boiling and he couldn't suck in enough breath. To know what Belle thought of him now, how she finally saw the monster he tried to keep buried for so long. He was a killer and she knew.
"Never," he gasped out.
Belle just nodded, reaching out to take the whisky bottle from where it stood before him on the counter. She took a long sip straight from the bottle as he had, wincing slightly before shoving it back toward him.
"And you say I have shit taste in whisky," she quipped.
"It's old," he explained with a shrug. "I think I brought it that Fourth of July weekend we came up here. Bae was at football camp…"
"I remember," she interrupted. "You wanted to get away from the celebrations in the city and said an Australian and a Scot had nothing to do with the holiday anyway."
She paused for a moment, looking at him critically. "You were always trying to get me out of town that summer. Weekends here, Labor Day in Nantucket, why?"
He licked his bottom lip uncomfortably not wanting to have yet another tough conversation. A moment ago they'd been reminiscing, and now this.
"Were you taking me away from the city on purpose?" she demanded. "Did you know then what was coming? Were you trying to protect me somehow?"
There was no use trying to hide the truth. He'd attempted brutal honesty tonight and he wouldn't back down now.
"Yes," he agreed. "That Labor Day weekend in Nantucket…I took you away because I planned to end things."
Belle took a step back, her body driven away by his words.
"You were going to break up with me?" she asked, a note of disbelief in her words. "All this time I mourned for you and you didn't even want me anymore."
"No," Gold was quick to correct her, reaching out for her in spite of his better judgment. He gripped her upper arms, stroking them gently. "I could never not want you, Belle. I was going to end things for your benefit, because I thought you'd be safe if I was out of your life. But I wasn't strong enough. We went out on the boat that Saturday, remember? You were so beautiful with the sea air whipping through your hair and I couldn't do it. I loved you so much and I was so selfish that I couldn't do it. If I had been stronger perhaps we would have avoided all of this. I could have slipped away and never hurt you."
Belle shook her head like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. He hadn't been strong enough to leave her then and he wasn't strong enough now. He'd come back and here they were, in danger once again. If he'd broken her heart and skipped town back then they'd have none of their present troubles.
"We conceived Lizzie that weekend," she said sadly. "On that stupid boat."
His heart stuttered to a stop. If he'd managed to do the right thing, to break up with Belle that fateful weekend, Lizzie wouldn't exist.
"I'd forgotten my birth control pills," she explained. "I thought I could double up when I got home and everything would be fine. I didn't even think about it again and then you…the accident happened and I lost track of everything. I was embarrassingly far along by the time I realized.
"If you'd followed through with your stupid plan to dump me for my own good, I wouldn't have Lizzie," she said with a shake of her head. "And no matter how much pain you've brought me I can never regret her."
"Nor should you," he replied, taking another swig from the bottle. It wasn't doing much to settle his stomach but he had to do something with his hands, something to keep him from reaching out for Belle, to keep him from making an infinitely stupid move that would only alienate her further.
Belle grabbed the bottle from him before he could set it down, taking her own drink.
"So what do we do now?" she asked after a moment, pulling herself up on the kitchen counter and swinging her feet against the wooden cabinet doors. She was eye level with him now, her tiny, socked feet thumping rhythmically in time with his heartbeat.
"We stay here," he said. "I'll do my best to discern who else knew about us, who Milah might have been in contact with…"
"No," Belle interrupted him, taking another drink from the bottle. "We said we'd come up with a plan tomorrow, together, something that doesn't involve more bloodshed. I don't want to talk about that now."
"Then what are you asking?" he asked, confused.
"What do we do about us?" she said, her voice so low he would have missed it if the room hadn't been so quiet.
"Is there an us?" he answered her question with one of his own, trying to keep the slightly hopeful tone out of his voice. He knew there was no future for them. He knew that despite the rapid beating of his heart.
"I loved you and you left me," she said flatly, Gold trying not to flinch at her words. "I know you had your reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that you left me, alone, for nine years. I can't trust you now. I don't know if I ever will be able to again."
Gold nodded, keeping his eyes riveted on the surface of the counter in front of him and not daring to look at Belle.
"I know that, Belle," he agreed. "As soon as you're safe you never have to see me again."
Belle scoffed and he looked up, meeting her eyes.
"You keep saying that like it's some sort of resolution but it's not," she said, passing the whisky bottle back and forth between her hands with a sloshing sound. "You make up for leaving me by leaving again? That's not what I want."
"Then what do you want?" he begged both wanting and dreading her answer.
"I don't know," she said with a shake of her head, staring at the bottle in her hands as though it contained all the answers. "I want the Liam I knew back. I want Lizzie to have grown up knowing her father. I want you, but it's too late now and that breaks my heart more than anything. I dreamed for years that I would wake up from this nightmare and you would be there. And when it finally happens, everything is just worse."
"I'm sorry, Belle," he began before she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Stop it. Stop saying you're sorry. You've apologized so often in the past 48 hours that the words have lost their meaning. Make up for it."
He wasn't sure how to even begin making things up to her. He would do anything, grovel, crawl on his knees over glass, but what good would it do? She still wouldn't trust him. He didn't blame her. Trust was a fragile and beautiful thing and he smashed hers beyond repair. It would take more than a moment of coming clean to make up for years of deception.
Belle seemed to take pity on him, recognizing that he hadn't the first idea of what to do.
"You can start with Lizzie," she said finally. "She liked you, before she knew who you were. Now she's afraid of you. You could have an honest conversation with her."
He wanted nothing more than a relationship with his daughter. He only hoped it wasn't too late, that he hadn't abused her trust to the point where she would never forgive him.
"You'll allow that?" he asked, fairly surprised. He was certain from their previous interactions that Belle wanted him nowhere near their daughter.
"She's your daughter," Belle said, taking another drink from the whisky bottle. He was starting to worry for her sobriety. Belle had never been able to hold her drink. "She deserves the chance to get to know you."
He managed a small smile at that, but there was still something holding him back, something that had him worried about more than Lizzie's rejection or Belle's unwillingness to allow him in his daughter's life.
"I'm afraid," he admitted. "It's my fault that Bailey died. I failed one child and I'm afraid I'll do it again."
"The one way you will surely have failed our daughter is to cut and run again. She's gone eight years without a father, to deprive her of one for the rest of her life just because you're afraid would be despicable."
He had nothing to say to that, other than that Belle was right. Leaving wouldn't do them any good. It was the coward's way out and one that would only make them all miserable. Even if there was no hope of ever salvaging a relationship with Belle, he had to stick around for their daughter. It made his stomach flip with both excitement and sheer terror. He longed to be Lizzie's father, but he knew she deserved so much better.
Belle stifled a yawn behind her hand, finally setting the whisky bottle down.
"Maybe now I'll be able to sleep," she said with a pointed look at the bottle, her words slurring together slightly.
It was a dangerous method, self-medicating to keep the nightmares at bay. Gold knew only too well the slippery slope that led down. He wouldn't see the same happen to Belle.
"You remember what used to work to put me to sleep?" she continued, a small smirk quirking her lips as her hand reached out to pull him toward her.
Gold stumbled a bit landing against the counter with hands braced on either side of Belle's hips. She parted her legs, pulling him to stand between them and the kitchen seemed to shrink around them until it was suffocating, just he and Belle standing far too close.
He could well remember. The feel of her body against his, the heat between them, the rapid rise and fall of her chest after he'd sated her. She'd fall right asleep, her head on his chest as he lay there wondering how he'd ever managed to get quite so lucky.
Her hand snaked up his arm to catch the hair at the nape of his neck, her nails scratching against his scalp in that way he used to love. His eyes slipped closed and suddenly it's as though the past nine years had never happened. They're just back at the cabin one rainy fall weekend, escaping work and the city and just enjoying being together.
His hands slid up her thighs, under the thick robe she has wrapped around herself. Her skin is still so soft and warm beneath the plush fabric and he feels her shudder slightly beneath his touch.
Her hand moved from his hair down to cup his cheek, stroking along his jaw and Gold risked opening his eyes again to see her looking at him with wide blue eyes, lips parted. In a moment of sheer madness he leaned in to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and catching those lips with his own.
Belle moaned against his mouth, her lips parting for him instantly, wrapping around his bottom lip and sucking until his legs felt like jelly and his bad ankle might give out at any second. His hands had a mind of their own, stroking up and down her back before settling on her hips and pulling her as close to him as he was able.
It had been too long, years, a lifetime since he'd held her and despite the voices screaming in the back of his head that she would regret this in the morning, that she would hate him even more, he couldn't stop kissing her.
He trailed kisses down her throat, latching on to the place behind her ear that always left her trembling.
"Liam," she moaned, her hands twining into his hair once more. He was hard in his pajama pants. It would take so little to send him over the edge. It had been so long. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding herself against his hardness and he suddenly came back to himself.
Belle had been drinking. She was upset. She'd had the most trying day a person could have. She didn't actually want him, that he knew for certain. She would wake tomorrow morning filled with regret and burning with hatred for his taking advantage of her.
He pulled away to find her looking at him calculatingly, her eyes clearer than he would have thought.
"Belle," he panted out sadly. "We can't do this."
She bit her lip, considering his words for a moment.
"What if I were to tell you that it doesn't change anything, that it means nothing, would you…"
"I'd say I don't want it to mean nothing," he interrupted, staring down at his hands still gripping her hips.
Belle's hand dropped from his hair, pushing him away by his shoulders as she slid off the counter.
"For the best," she agreed with a stiff nod. "Goodnight again, Liam."
She tightened the belt of her bathrobe, giving him one last look that he couldn't discern before leaving him standing in the kitchen with an erection and a heart he'd long thought dead thumping painfully in his chest.
No one would answer his calls.
Graham had rushed out on his date with Emma the night Gold decided to unceremoniously rise from the dead and he was fairly certain she hadn't forgiven him. He didn't expect Belle to answer his calls. She'd all but told him to drop dead when he'd said she'd be better off if Gold had died all those years ago. Perhaps he'd been harsh, but Belle needed to hear it. She'd let that man screw with her enough for one lifetime and even now he still had a hold on her.
Once upon a time he'd thought they made a good match. Back in the days before he knew what Gold was capable of, when he was just some rich, egocentric bastard, he thought Belle brought out the best in him. He would have almost called Gold a friend as much as the man had friends.
But then he became an employee. And now his friendship with Belle had suffered for it.
It had been three days since he'd spoken to Belle, the longest they'd gone without contact since she and Lizzie had caught a bad bout of the flu three years ago and refused him admittance to their home until they'd recovered.
He had no one to blame but himself. He should have come clean with Belle years ago. He shouldn't have kept Gold's secret. He should have told her he was alive. But he'd thought she was better off not knowing, of having her memories of the man unblemished. He never expected to have to face the consequences of lying to her for all these years.
And he'd needed Gold's money, as loath as he was to admit it.
He walked through the front doors of the Sisters of Saint Melissa's Psychiatry wing, signing it at the front desk before making his way to the long-term patient sitting area.
He spotted Jeff at once, seated apart from the other patients and fiddling with a hat, another one of his outlandish creations.
"Hey, buddy," he said, taking a seat at the table with his brother. "How've you been?"
Jefferson looked up at him with clear eyes, a miracle compared to how he'd been when he was first admitted. He'd gone from borderline catatonia to being able to make eye contact, acknowledging people when they'd speak to him. He still didn't respond much and he spent more time making hats than engaging with the world around him, but it was progress.
Slow progress, but progress nonetheless, and impossible without Gold's financial help.
"Watch anything interesting on the telly?" Graham asked, motioning at the large TV set in the corner around which many of the residents were gathered.
Jefferson shook his head, turning his attention back to hat he was stitching.
"That one looks nice," Graham said. "Is that a derby or a bowler? I never know if there's a difference."
"There's not," Jefferson said, his eyes still riveted on the hat in his hands.
"That'll explain it then," Graham sighed, sitting back in the creaky plastic chair.
He seemed to have exhausted all potential avenues of conversation, so he turned to the TV which had a local news report.
"Shoot Out in Abandoned House" the headline splashed across the bottom of the screen proclaimed. The volume was muted, but a moment later a photograph of Gary Stone took the place of the news anchor's coiffed hair and bright white smile.
Graham leapt up from his seat, striding across the room so he could read the closed captioning.
The victim was identified as 35-year-old Gary Stone, Graham read. He was declared dead at the scene. 38-year-old Killian Jones was also found at the scene and was listed as in critical but stable condition. Authorities are still unsure what caused the firefight, but we'll keep you updated as we learn more on this story.
Graham wheeled around, rushing back to his brother.
"Listen, Jeff, something big has come up and I've got to go. But I'll see you next week, yeah?"
Jefferson looked up at him, his eyes sharp.
"Be careful," he said ominously before turning back to the bowler in his hands.
Graham simply nodded before heading back out to the parking lot and punching in a number in his phone that he'd hoped never to need again.
"Where are Belle and Lizzie," he growled into the receiver. "And what the hell have you done?"