"You remember bells?" asked Archie, looking up from the little pocket notebook he was flipping through. Gold's expression was stony and blank, not giving anything away. Archie shut the notebook gently and gave Gold his full attention.
"You don't remember anything else?" he asked. "Did you see bells? Or hear them? What was the context of the dream?"
Gold didn't answer. Archie slid his glasses off and wiped them clean, giving the pawnbroker time. He saw Gold's clasped fingers clench a little; when he looked up again, Gold was considering his response.
"They were cracked," he said eventually. Archie's eyebrows rose.
"The bells?"
"Yeah."
"Is that all you remember?"
Gold nodded, his face closed off.
"Well," said Archie, setting the journal off to the side, "that's okay, then. The details aren't usually important with dreams – it's the introspection you get when you look at them. Though Freud might disagree."
Gold just sat there, clearly disinterested. Archie clapped his hands together briskly, introducing sound and getting the little room more energized.
"OK," he said, "does anyone have comments on Mr. Gold's dream?"
He looked around the circle of fold-out chairs. Ruby was filing her nails. Leroy was staring at Gold. Mary Margaret was staring at the floor and blushing.
David Nolan looked around the room and raised his hand. Archie deflated a little.
"David?" he asked. David fixed his eyes on the schoolteacher.
"I had a dream about Mary Margaret last night," he said. Mary Margaret turned scarlet and squirmed. Ruby smirked. Gold gave Archie his most intense glare.
Archie may have left out some details when he assigned Gold the dream journal. He may have left out the support group part.
"We're not talking about you right now, David," said Archie gently. "We're talking about Mr. Gold's dream."
"How come the rest of us have to be all buddy-buddy but Gold?" Leroy demanded suddenly. Archie looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone else has to use their first names," Ruby answered for him. "How come Mr. Gold doesn't have to?"
"Because Mr. Gold wouldn't give me his first name," Archie answered, stuttering a little. "Guys, I don't think this – uh, this air of accusation is really helpful right now –"
"What's your first name?" Leroy asked Gold. Gold just stared at him for a moment, eyes hooded and bored. "Come on, if the rest of us have to share, you do, too," the janitor prompted.
There was a long pause. Archie looked around desperately, saw the whole group intent on the pawnbroker, and opened his mouth to change the subject.
"Billy," Mr. Gold said.
Archie's jaw dropped.
"Billy?" Leroy repeated, wrinkling his nose. Ruby tilted her head a little, contemplating the name. "Do people actually call you that?"
"For their sake," said Mr. Gold, "they'd better not."
"Well, if nobody calls you that," said Leroy, annoyed, "why not go by William?"
"Because I'm not 'William,'" Gold responded, equally annoyed. "I'm Billy."
"Why?"
Archie could sense an outburst coming on. "OK, OK," he called, clapping his hands again. "Let's focus on something else – er, unless you'd like to talk about your name?"
Gold gave him a sardonic look.
"Didn't think so," Archie said. He looked around the room. "Marco, what did you think of Mr. Gold's dream?"
Marco, who wasn't actually a patient but had been planted there to encourage participation, hesitated.
"Um," he said eventually, avoiding Gold's eyes, "it seemed a little … vague."
Gold's eyes narrowed. Emboldened by Marco's criticism, the other members started to speak up.
"Yeah," said Ruby, "I mean, why write it down if all you could remember was cracked bells?"
"It might be symbolism," David said.
"Was there any music in the dream? Were you Quasimodo?"
"Symbolism for your sex life," David said.
"One at a time!" Archie called, waving his hands. The room quieted as quickly as it had gotten loud. Archie picked up his clipboard and hummed. "OK … Mary Margaret. Repeat your question?"
Mary Margaret's blush returned. "Were you Quasimodo?" she said quietly.
"I don't know who that is," said Gold. Archie leaned closer to him, whispering.
"The hunchback," he said quietly. Gold just stared at him, face blank. "You know? From The Hunchback of Notre Dame?"
"The what?"
"Never mind."
Self-consciously, Gold reached one hand up to his shoulders and tried to surreptitiously check for humps. Archie motioned for Mary Margaret to go on.
"Well," she said bashfully, not meeting Gold's eyes, "Archie told us he thought you suffered from –"
Archie waved his arms frantically back and forth.
"—self-esteem issues, so I thought maybe –"
Gold's expression was the picture of rage. He turned it on Archie, who went white and shrank back in his chair.
"He also said you're lonely," Ruby piped up, grinning. "And your father used to beat you."
Archie gave her a disparaging look.
"He said you're a pyromaniac!" Leroy jumped in. Archie squawked.
"I said no such thing!"
"But about the self-esteem thing!" Mary Margaret cried, talking over them. Gold turned to look at her in something similar to disgust. "I mean, don't you guys think that would explain a lot? About – uh –"
She turned white just like Archie had, intimidated into silence by Gold's glare. By then, though, Archie had regained his steam.
"I think what Mary Margaret's trying to say," he said smoothly, "is that your, uh, negative demeanor toward the townsfolk may possibly be a result of negative feelings you have toward yourself."
"That's rubbish," Gold said.
"You think you don't have any negative thoughts toward yourself?" Archie checked, letting the words trail. "You've never done anything you've regretted, never blamed yourself for something that went wrong?"
Gold was silent, staring at the psychiatrist with wide eyes. His face was still blank, but he was listening. He was listening very closely, Archie could tell. The group was watching with bated breath, startled at the turn of events.
"Are you perfect?" Archie asked.
"No," said Gold, affronted. "But that doesn't mean I have self-esteem issues."
"Well," said Archie, spreading his hands invitingly, "why don't you tell us about some of the things that you've done wrong? Just the big stuff's fine. Don't worry about all the little things."
Gold scoffed, folding his arms. His eyes flitted around the group, like he was looking for help. Or an escape route.
"I rather regret therapy," he said casually, caustically. Archie's eyes were soft.
"You feel uncomfortable opening up about your feelings," he translated. "You're scared.
Leroy sniggered. Gold glared him down, lip curled.
"Am I right?" asked Archie.
"No."
"Really?"
Gold just rolled his eyes in response, but his arms were crossed a little tighter in defense. The other patients glanced amongst each other, uncertain.
"Tell us," Archie urged, staring intently at Gold even though the pawnbroker wouldn't look back at him. "Start when you were little. Are there any negative thoughts you have about yourself that come from your childhood? Something your parents said, or other people told you?"
Gold glared at the ground, jaw clenched.
"What about your family?" Archie prompted. "Do you ever feel as though you let them down somehow? Like you didn't do enough, or like you weren't there for them?"
Gold chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath and he moved his gaze farther from Archie, staring in the opposite direction. He was facing Ruby now, though he wasn't looking at her. Ruby caught sight of the red rims around Gold's eyes and the dampness there. She stood abruptly, grabbing her purse.
"I gotta go," she said, already marching toward the door despite Archie's stuttered protests. She signaled the others with her eyes - she wasn't entirely sure what she just saw, but she knew she didn't want to bear the consequences if she witnessed a moment of weakness from Mr. Gold.
The other patients stood and joined her, murmuring excuses as they left. Then the door closed and the fold-out chairs were empty.
It was just Archie and Mr. Gold.