The metal edge of the small cot dug into the backs of Rumald's thighs as he perched himself on it, breathing in deeply, blinking his eyes, waiting for the haze of tiredness to pass. Most of the night he had spent tossing and turning, cold and chilled to the bone, hopelessly trying to cover himself with his suit jacket, refusing to use the scratchy thick blanket provided. His uneaten dinner tray sat in front of his cell door, exactly where Emma had put it before going off shift for the night. A sandwich, a bag of chips and an apple – Not the most appetising meal, but Rumald could not eat it. Not with the image of Belle, looking distressed, in his mind.
Later in the afternoon, Emma had dragged him back into the interview room, questioning him further about his relationship with the Mayor, showing him images of Dove from the town hall security footage, picking at every little misdemeanour and suspected offence in his file. No matter how much she had pointed at the pictures, threw infractions in his face, Rumald had not answered her questions. Invoking his fifth amendment right, Rumald had sat opposite her, letting every little accusation run off his back, while he had glared at himself in the two-way mirror. Disgusted with himself and his choices. There was an underlying hatred for Cora as he had glowered at his reflection, but the blame for losing Belle belonged to him.
Rumald braced his hands either side of his legs, steadying himself, as he leant further forward, groaning at the stiffness in his joints and muscles. Sitting up straight, he raised his arms above his head, pulling on his right arm, whilst he stretched his back, arching out his chest with a long moan.
"Mr Gold." Deputy Humbert called his name.
As he dropped his arms down to fall onto his lap, Rumald turned his head to see Graham on the other side of the bars, presenting a streaming mug through the bars. "Cup of coffee."
"Thank you." Rumald said with a weak smile before he scooted up the cot and took the offered cup from the Deputy.
"If you want some breakfast, I can order something from Grannie's, if you'd like." Graham suggested, leaning his forearms on the bars.
Shaking his head, clasping his hands tightly around the warmth of the mug, Rumald told him. "No, thank you. I'll eat when I get out."
The young deputy squinted his eyes at Rumald. "You know, Spencer doesn't work on the weekends. It'll be at least tomorrow morning until you're able to get bail."
"Isn't Sheriff Nolan coming back today?" He inquired as he raised the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip from the hot black coffee.
Turning his wrist to see his watch, Graham informed him. "I think they're due back about midday, but that's hours away."
"Then I'll wait." Rumald insisted.
"Let me order you something to eat then." Graham nodded to the tray on the floor. "You didn't eat last night. A little breakfast wouldn't hurt."
"The coffee is ample enough, Deputy." He told Graham, nodding his head to emphasize his thanks.
"Suit yourself." The Deputy removed his arms from the bars, saying. "Emma's going to be relieving me at eleven, so if you change your mind, just holla and I'll hit Grannie's speed dial."
"Noted." Rumald acknowledged and sipped some more of the awful, but hot, coffee.
As quietly as he had approached, Graham scooted back into the bullpen and sat down at his desk, shifting some papers, while he picked up his own cup, with a big sheriff's badge on the side of it, and slurped from it. Rumald watched him for barely a minute before he lifted his mug and drank some more of his coffee. Thankful, but inwardly cringing at the over stewed coffee. Cradling the warmth of the mug in his hands, his thoughts went to Belle.
The timing of this could not have been worse. Today was going to be a big day for her. Belle had worked so hard, putting in as much effort as she had for the competition, into training for the exhibition. He had been looking forward to seeing her dance. Even if she was dancing with Will, she was still going to be amazing, showing off her natural talent, and Rumald was going to miss it. Stuck in a cell and missing his chance to be there for her, supporting her, giving her some words of wisdom. The self-hatred swelled in his chest as he considered it. Tightening his grip around the porcelain mug, Rumald would have yelled at the top of his lungs, if he had not been locked in a cell with Graham feet away.
The ticking of the large clock hung above the bullpen, resonated in the large office space. The empty cool mug sat beside the uneaten dinner tray on the floor, while Rumald sat on his cot, knees raised up in front of him, his arms stretched out on top of them with his gaze fixed on the brightly lit blinds covering the stretch of windows. Shadows passed by now and again, when people cut down the side of the station to the parking lot at the rear. Graham had left a short time ago after Emma waltzed in, beaming a smile like a Cheshire cat, victorious in catching its mouse. Rumald had been aware of her arrival, observing her in the peripheral of his view, declining to give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze. She had gone into her father's office, as she had done the day before, isolating herself away from him whilst she worked behind closed doors. The ticking of the clock, Emma's arrival, the shadows passing by the windows, were all indicators that time was quickly passing, and the exhibition would be starting soon.
His ears pricked to the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. This time, when the owner of said footsteps entered the room, Rumald moved his eyes to meet them, cracking a minute grin at them. Sheriff Nolan blatantly stared at him, whilst unlashing his scarf from around his neck, leaving it to drape down from his shoulders.
"Emma!" The Sheriff called out for his daughter, his eyes staying on Rumald inside the cell.
A chair rolled, then the side door of the office opened, permitting Emma to step out of the office. "Dad, you're back."
"Why is Mr Gold sitting in one of my cells?" He steadily asked her as he removed his gloves to tuck into pockets of his coat.
"I've arrested him." She told him proudly. "Suspicion of assault on the Mayor."
The Sheriff unbuttoned the flap of his coat before half unzipping it, a perplexed look on his face. "Do you remember the discussion we had Friday night? The one where I said, `do not arrest Mr Gold until I got back'."
"Dad, I'm more than capable of arresting Mr Gold." Emma rolled her eyes at her father, glancing briefly at Rumald before telling her father. "I've interviewed him, verified the details and logged all the evidence. I'll take the case to Spencer in the morning." She finished with a shrug of her shoulders, as though whatever fuss her father had made Friday night was for nothing and she had done it – She had taken down Mr Gold all on her own.
"Excuse me, Sheriff!" Rumald appealed for the Sheriff's attention as he slowly got off the cot and moved to stand in front of the bars. "But I'd like to point out that I haven't been told my rights or the reason for my arrest."
The Sheriff looked from Rumald to Emma. "What?"
"Course, I did." Emma disputed his claim with a shake of her head.
"Deputy Nolan was very adamant that she wanted me to come to the station, even though I offered to cooperate and answer her questions at my home." The two Nolan's turned their gaze on him as he enlightened them. "But she never gave me a reason for my arrest. She actually told me; she was following a line of inquiry." Rumald rested his arms through the bars and leant into them, putting his head through the gap as he said. "So, for twenty-four hours, Deputy Nolan has been holding me under false pretences. I've been unaware that she arrested me and she hasn't even offered to provide me with an attorney."
Emma threw her arm wildly in the air. "I put handcuffs on you. You know the drill, better than anyone in town with the length of your rap sheet."
"Do I?" Rumald asked, blankly.
"Fuck's sake, Emma." Her father mumbled as he covered his face with his hand.
"Dad!" She exclaimed at him. "You can't believe him!"
His hand dropped heavily down to his side, slapping the thigh of his jeans. "It's not about what I believe, Emma, it's what Spencer and the judge will believe. Any hint that we haven't followed procedure and they'll throw the case out."
"I told you – I arrested him, interviewed him, logged the evidence, followed up the loose ends. It's a shut case!" Emma argued, waving a random hand at Rumald.
Rumald cleared his throat, gaining their audience again. "If you don't believe me, Sheriff, ask Miss French. She was there when the Deputy removed me from my home."
The Sheriff closed his eyes and when he opened them, his gaze was directed at his daughter, who was scowling across the room at Rumald. "Did you read him his rights before or as you were putting the cuffs on him?"
"What?" Emma jumped to face her father. "You believe him?"
"I have to ask, Emma! Did you read him his rights before or as you were putting the cuffs on him?" He asked her again in a more forceful tone.
"Of course, I did!" Her voice rose an octave.
Her father put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight onto one leg, as he put it to her. "If I drag Belle in here, is she going to corroborate your side of it?"
"Course, she…" Emma stopped herself.
"Will she?" The Sheriff asked, but did not wait for her to answer, instead he pointed at Rumald, while leaning into his daughter. "This is why I said 'do not arrest him'. This is why you need to make sure you find every loose end, every little bit of evidence, before arresting him." Glaring at his daughter as he hunched further forward, hands on his hips, he said. "I thought I had made this clear to you on Friday!"
Throwing up her hands, Emma tried to defend herself. "But I read him his rights! I'm sure of it!"
"Are you!" Her father questioned. "Emma, he's not going to say it, if it isn't true. The man might be able to twist the truth to whatever suits him, but with a witness to corroborate his story? He's going to tell the truth!"
"Dad!" She whined, beseeching her father with her hands.
Strongly shaking his head, the Sheriff flicked a hand to indicate his office. "Get in there! We'll discuss this once I've released Mr Gold."
"DAD!" Emma howled in disbelief.
"Don't 'Dad' me right now! You've completely fucked up this case!" He paused, blowing out a loud breath. "Your mother's going to be furious."
"Dad, we can fix this." She pleaded with him.
"Just get in my office and shut the door!" He told her, while roughly turning her and shoving her through the doorway, and yanked the door close behind her.
Rumald knew when to stay quiet. Retracting his head from the bars, he stood back into his cell and addressed his appearance – buttoned the collar of his shirt, pulled the knot of his tie tight and adjusted its position, tugged the cuffs of his shirt inside the sleeves of his suit jacket – while the Sheriff dragged his feet, disappointment hanging heavy off his shoulders, as he approached Rumald's cell. The two men's gazes met, while the Sheriff dug underneath his coat into his jean's pocket for his keys.
"I'm not going to apologise as I suspect she's probably right." The Sheriff confessed as his keys jangled free from his pocket.
"Procedure's procedure." Rumald stated, watching the Sheriff insert the key for the cell door.
With his hand on the key, Sheriff Nolan said. "If she hadn't been so eager and more experienced, I wouldn't be letting you out of this cell."
"Then you need to teach her that it's not always so black and white. Especially, when a certain step-grandmother is involved." He advised the Sheriff, fastening the top button of his suit jacket.
"Oh…" The Sheriff held Rumald's gaze for a second before saying. "You should've hit him harder." Then unlocked the cell door with a snap of his wrist.
The door swung open with a creak as Rumald came out of the cell, telling the Sheriff. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, I'm not sure what you mean."
The keys clinked in the Sheriff's hand as he said. "Get out of here, before she finds an old parking violation."
"As soon as you give me my belongings." Rumald motioned for Sheriff Nolan to precede him into the bullpen area of the station.
Giving Rumald a long hard look, the Sheriff pivoted round, putting his back to Rumald, and went to the nearest filing cabinet, pulling out the top drawer to take out a basket of items. He discarded it onto the desk behind him, shaking the items in the basket. While Rumald collected his items - putting on his ring and watch, his phone in his left trouser pocket, his keys in his jacket pocket, money clip, wallet of cards and loose change were all stoved into the empty trouser pocket - the Sheriff retrieved a form from a folder in the drawer. The piece of paper went to slide away on the table, when the Sheriff put it down in front of Rumald, but was caught with the tip of a single finger as the Sheriff grabbed a pen from a pot on another desk.
"Sign and date at the bottom." Sheriff Nolan instructed.
"I know." Rumald took the pen and scribbled his signature on the long black line at the bottom of the page. "Done" He stated as he finished the date.
Taking the piece of paper and pen, the Sheriff motioned for Rumald to go with the hand holding the paperwork. A glance at the ticking clock and Rumald marched through the office and into the corridor. There was a temptation to look at Emma, whose silhouette had been on the other side of the glass. The Sheriff had been right. A technicality had got him off. Emma had come so close to catching him, which he could have respected, if she had not been so cruel and shown Belle his rap sheet. He could have told the Sheriff about that too, but that would mean Belle would be dragged back into the station. It was bad enough; she had been caught up in this mess already. There was no need to further inconvenience her.
Rumald pushed open the glass door and breathed out a cloud of mist as the cold nipped heavily at him through his suit. As he turned up the collar of his suit jacket, he started up the sidewalk towards the intersection and buried his hands into pockets of his trousers, seeking the warmth of his legs, as he glanced from side to side and jogged diagonally across the intersection. While he was crossing, his head turned in the direction of the picture house, but from that distance, all he could make out were the cars parked along the kerb.
The bell above his shop door greeted him with a pleasant jangle as he entered, hastily closing the door behind him, fending off the nip of the cold. It wasn't much warmer in his shop. Though he knew what time it was, Rumald pulled back his sleeve to see it was nearly two o'clock. The exhibition had been going for an hour.
"Shit." He cursed as he walked through into the back of the shop.
Sliding to a stop in front of the large cabinet, he stooped to open the broken door and grabbed a shirt, brand new and still in its wrapper. He put it on the nearest workbench and shrugged himself out of his wrinkled suit jacket, tossing the used item onto the bench too. Pausing, Rumald emptied his pockets out onto the table. Then undid his tie, which slid easily from the collar of his shirt and joined his crinkled jacket as he started on the buttons of his waistcoat.
Why are you bothering? She doesn't want to see you. The damage is done.
He ignored the voice and stripped his waistcoat from his arms, flinging it to the bench. The smaller buttons of his shirt were fiddly and cost him time as he hurried to push through each one. When it was loose enough, Rumald pulled the tails out of his trousers and yanked his shirt over the top of his head to remove it, but groaned when he found his hands caught by the cuffs.
You won't win her back. Accept it.
Blindly, Rumald unfastened his cufflinks and freed himself, and quickly shed himself of the shirt. Crumpled and creased, the shirt sat in a ball on top of his other clothes as he put the cufflinks in a small drawer of the cabinet. The chill of the backroom hugged him in a tight embrace as he pulled at his belt, loosening it, and undid his trousers, while he toed off his shoes. His belt clanked as he dropped his trousers, stepping out of them to leave pooled on the floor. From there, he dashed into the small bathroom, tugging on the small string as he entered, illuminating himself in the mirror over the small sink.
It's over.
"Doesn't mean I can't be there." Rumald argued as he plugged the sink and opened both taps, gushing water into the basin.
Belle might not want to see him, but he had to be there for her. Show support for Regina and her exhibition. Otherwise, what had been the point of going through all this heartache to fail at the last hurdle. If this had just been about him, Rumald would not have bothered. Cora could not do anything to hurt him. The sacrifice for them had to mean something. The pain would be worth it, when the exhibition came to a close and Cora had failed.
Turning off the taps, Rumald did not care if the water was too hot or too cold, it was better than the chill lingering in the air. In his haste to wash quickly, water splashed about the small bathroom, wetting his chest, the front of his legs, making small puddles on the floor. A squirt of shaving cream into the palm of his hand, he lathered his face with it and decisively shaved the day-old stubble with long drawn lines down his face. Five swipes of the razor up his throat to his chin, removing the last of the cream, Rumald washed off the remnants and eyed his reflection. There was still a spot of cream on the lobe of his ear as he squirted deodorant under his arms and across his chest, and splashed himself with his aftershave. It was a last second thought to rub the cream from his ear as he pulled the plug from the sink and left the bathroom, yanking the cord for the light on the way out.
As he opened the wardrobe, where the fur coats were stored, the bell above the shop door tentatively rang out before a voice called out to him. "Dad?"
Rumald pushed the rail of coats aside to unhook his spare suit, hidden at the very end of the rail, as he shouted to his son. "Backroom."
The bell let out a short ring not long before the door closed. Rumald hooked his suit to the open door of the wardrobe and crossed to grab his new shirt from the workbench, hearing Neal's trainers squeak on the polished floors. The squeaks reached the doorway as Rumald ripped open the plastic packaging of the shirt, discarding it to the floor, while he sought out all the clips pinning the shirt to the cardboard insert.
"Regina sent me to get you." Neal started to say as he came into the room. "I was ready to go at it with Emma, but her dad said he'd let you go."
"Technicality." Rumald gave an explanation.
Neal sidled up to the workbench with Rumald's crinkled clothes on it, saying. "I did warn her that you'd find a loophole."
"Hmm…" He hummed as he shook out his shirt with one hand, flicking off the remaining clips he had not found, sending the piece of cardboard and plastic clips flying, scattering them on the floor. "Don't even think about bringing her round the house."
"I doubt her mother is going to be keen to see me for a while." Neal remarked, toeing one of the plastic clips by his sneaker.
"I'm sorry, son." Rumald was genuinely sorry for his son, while he slid his arms into the shirt and shrugged himself into it.
Neal shook his head at his father. "You don't need to apologise. Regina told me what happened. I would've done the same thing."
"What else has Regina told you?" He enquired, starting at the bottom of his shirt, working his way up the buttons to his collar.
"That bitch was going to try and ruin all of us." His son said, his tone was callous as he spat out 'bitch'.
Lifting his chin as he fastened the button at his collar, Rumald shared with his son. "I don't think she's done trying."
Neal handed the tie from the bench to his father. "No, which is why Regina sent me to break you out. Some of the dancers are missing."
"Missing?" Rumald questioned, taking the tie from his son.
"Yeah, she's managed so far, with replacements and getting some of the couples to do their competition routines, but the big number at the end is going to be tricky. Most of them are the ones missing." Neal explained, whilst putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, under his jacket.
Pulling his tie through the loops he had made in his tie, he slid the knot up to his neck and turned down his collar, telling Neal. "And I bet most of them were Cora's dancers she stole." Shaking his head, he crossed to the wardrobe. "I told her Cora would know. She's got spies everywhere."
"I don't think she needs you rubbing that in her face right now. She's stressing out enough as it is." His son commented as Rumald removed the jacket and the waistcoat for his suit from the hanger.
Holding the jacket and waistcoat in one hand and the hanger with his trousers in the other, he turned to Neal, asking him. "And what does she expect me to do? Magic some dancers out of thin air?"
"I'm not entirely sure what she expects. She just told me to go and get you." Neal pulled his hands out of the pockets of his jacket, holding them up in surrender to his father.
"I'm not dancing." Rumald said, stubbornly.
"Might come to that." Neal verbalized the truth of the situation, with his bottom lip pouting out.
"Better not." He told his son, walking back to the workbench, handing the jacket and waistcoat to his son.
A small frown appeared on Neal's brow. "I think Belle's partner was one of them."
"What?" Rumald looked at his son as he separated his trousers from the hanger.
"Will?" Neal sounded unsure.
The hanger clanked onto the bench as Rumald swore. "I fucking told her to replace him!" He growled before asking. "Who's she replaced him with?"
"No one, I think." Neal's frown deepened in thought. "Think Belle's bowed out of it."
The room was filled with the sound of Rumald shaking out of his trousers, then descended into silence as Rumald stared at his son. 'Bowed out of it' echoed in his head. The anger he had managed to harbour down in his dark depths surged to the surface. Belle had worked for weeks. Sacrificed her own time, that they could have spent together, to practise for the exhibition. The excitement of performing had been growing in Belle, steering nearly every conversation to dance and the upcoming exhibition. Ruin by one woman's vindictive ploy to dance with him again.
"I'm not having that." Rumald vowed, while lifting his right leg to shove forcefully into his trousers.
"There isn't a lot you can do about it, dad, unless you're going to round up all the missing dancers." Neal speculated, shoving his idle hand into a pocket of his jacket.
He gave his son a brief pointed look, then put his other leg into his trousers and pulled them up to fasten, tucking in his shirt as he told his son. "Don't be stupid!" Rumald shook his head at his son. "The exhibition finishes around three."
"You said, you're not going to dance, so what else are you going to do?" Neal pointed out to his father.
Bending over, Rumald grabbed the buckle end of his belt and pulled it through the loops of his other trousers, whilst he stood to face his son. "I might not have a choice."
"That we can agree on." His son commented, dryly.
"Look, put those down and get my spare overcoat out of that wardrobe." He ordered his son, whilst feeding his belt into the loops around his waist.
"Okay." Neal acknowledged his instruction as he put the waistcoat and jacket down on the bench.
As he fastened the buckle of his belt, Rumald's thoughts were with Belle, hating the thought of her being disappointed. It was his fault. If he had not let his pig-headedness get the better of him, he would have signed up to dance with her. Belle had been right; he was not the same man. That man would not have cared that she had lost her dance partner. He would have relished the carnage Cora was causing, even helped her to disrupt the exhibition. But then, he would have been more ruthless than Cora. He would have taken out Regina's dance studio a long time ago, just to please Cora. Now, he was going to do everything in his power, to make sure Cora did not get her way and Belle got to live her dream.