WARNING: There is mention of self-harm and suicide in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but it is there.

Disclaimer: I do not own OUAT or it's characters.

Two years, eight months, thirteen days, twelve hours and fifty-three minutes. He hadn't seen his son in two years, eight months, thirteen days, twelve hours and now fifty-four minutes. Not that he was counting or anything.

Hauling himself out of his small bed Rumford Gold limped over to the toilet in the corner of his tiny underground room to relieve himself. After taking care of business he went through the rest of his morning ritual. Washing his face gave him a chance to take in his reflection in the small piece of shiny metal that was his "mirror", he was no longer trusted with a real one. His reflection stared back at him and even slightly warped he could still tell that he looked terrible. His hair was a greasy mess, falling lankly around his face. There were dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. Several cuts and bruises were scattered across his features and he knew that the rest of his body boasted them as well.

The worst though was the week old scruff covering his face. That meant they'd be sending in that handsy red-head to shave him and clean him up. One moment of weakness with a glass shard had led to them keeping anything and everything that he could use to hurt himself with away from him. Now he had no mirrors, no razors, his food was pre-cut for him and he was forced to use his fingers or a child's spoon, they took his cane forcing him to limp around, they didn't even allow him blankets and sheets for his bed. Even his research equipment was kept under lock and key. A moment of weakness had stripped him of what little freedom he had.

He could remember the day so vividly. It hadn't been quite a year since he had been forced to work here but the reason the day stuck out so much was that it was Bae's eleventh birthday. In all the years past Bae's birthdays had always been filled with joy and good times. Even when he was a babe and couldn't remember them, when Milah had abandoned them, and in years when he was struggling to put food on the table Rum always made sure Bae had a good birthday. An now he wasn't even allowed to see his boy. Let alone make his birthday special. He had at least been promised a phone call to his boy if his invention was successful. He had spent all week trying to perfect his newest weapon but when it finally came time to try it out for Cora, it jammed and wouldn't worked. They had refused to let him call Bae, not even giving him a chance to say a quick "Happy birthday Son." It was his only child's birthday and he had no way to share it with him.

That night when they had locked him in his room he had taken his cane to everything in the room. Splinters of wood, shards of glass, and pieces of metal littered to floor when his rage had finally changed into gut churning sadness. He found himself sitting in a corner, bleeding from several superficial cuts on his face and arms, when he saw it. A small jagged mirror shard no bigger than a crayon. He doesn't really remember picking up the piece of glass, all he could think of was how the chances of him ever seeing his boy again were slim to none. He can dimly recall bringing the shard to his wrist, a sharp pain, and then darkness.

When he woke up he had been restrained in his bed. Apparently his jailers had found him a few moments after his attempt to end his life and saved him. Cora herself even came to ridicule him, asking if he really thought they'd let him go so easily. Before she had left she had given one promise. If he ever tried killing himself again then they would kill Bae slowly and painfully.

Heaving a sigh Rumford forced his mind from the past and tried to focus on what he need to accomplish today. Stepping away from the "mirror" Rum limped over to the heavy metal door and pounded on it. After a moment the door opened up with a loud groan and screeching of the hinges revealing Killian Jones leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. "Ah the Crocodile awakens. Are you actually going to be of use today?"

Gold tried to ignore and walk past him but Jones was quicker. He found himself shoved against the stone wall with the silver hook that Jones was famous for at his throat. The prosthetic was required after the formal naval captain lost his hand due to an accident with an unfinished weapon. The loss didn't seem to weigh him down though. In fact Jones, or Hook as he was affectionately known as now in the organization, appeared to revel in the power that his new weapon gave him.

When Gold still didn't respond to Hook the younger man pressed the tip of his hook a bit harder to his throat and Gold felt a bead of blood trail down his neck. Hook leaned in close with a smirk. "You're being rude crocodile. When someone asks you a question you answer it, unless you'd rather I pay a visit to your boy."

"It was hard to talk with the hook at his throat but Gold managed a reply, if only to save his boy. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes sir, I'll be useful."

Killian withdrew his hook with a greasy smile. "You better be."

A shove sent Gold stumbling against the stairs. It was time to start another day. All he could hope for was it to be over soon.

And that's chapter 2! Chapter 3 will be posted in a few days. Please leave a review and tell me what you think.