A/N: This chapter was one of the first I ever wrote for this story; actually, I believe it was something like the second, right after that long-ago chapter on fishing. Of course, at the time I wrote it, I think we were still in the first season - no clue how Gold got his gimp leg, no clue who Bae's mother was or what happened to her. I've edited out most of the non-canon stuff from the original chapter (and hell, since it was all GOLD'S backstory, not Rumplestiltskin's, was it technically non-canon? I'm rambling) but some of it still remains because ... I liked it :)

So that my friends is the origin of anything you see in here that makes you turn into Douchey McNitpick.

My loyal readers: "But that didn't happen in the show!"

Me: "Shut up."

Loyal readers: "But that doesn't even make sense at ALL!"

Me: "Oi. Pals."

Loyal readers: "...?"

Me: "I don't know, I'm bad at threats."

Loyal readers: *are let down*

People reading this author's note: *are let down*

... OK, so I suck at author's notes. Just read the story.

Gosh, this pressure ...

In an unexpected twist of fate, therapy that day was held in Archie's office. Archie sat in his usual spot across the table; Gold sat on the couch. Off to the side was a simple fold-out chair that Archie had bought at a garage sale some years back.

"So, Doctor," Gold drawled, "what's in store for us today? Another grand adventure around town? A mock-up of Disneyland so I can properly regress? Hypnosis?"

Archie smiled. "I like that you're so eager, Mr. Gold."

"Oh, just get on with it."

Archie sat back, tapping a pencil against the clipboard he normally didn't get to carry around. It wasn't very practical when one was fishing, or swimming, or setting up a hugging booth.

"I've noticed that you seem to have a problem," Archie started. "Mr. Gold, how do you feel about people touching you?"

Gold's lip curled. "I'm not much for it."

"Yes, I've noticed." Archie leaned forward, gesturing to his right. "We're going to do an exercise. I want you to stand with your right leg stretched in front of you, resting on that chair."

Gold's eyes flickered to the chair. He examined it warily, then looked back at Archie with a questioning expression. Archie nodded.

"Why?" Gold asked.

"You'll see."

With a suppressed sigh, Gold stood and dug his ankle into the seat of the chair, using his cane to balance. Archie walked over to join him, standing right next to the pawnbroker.

"OK," Archie said, "next, I'm going to roll your pants leg up –"

Gold's eyes widened; his lips parted in surprise.

"—and take a look at your scar."

Instantly, Gold yanked his leg off the chair and took several steps away.

"Hell no," he growled.

"Mr. Gold –"

"No."

"You have to learn small steps of intimacy," Archie said earnestly, pleading mentally for Gold to listen. "Learning to share things like this is one of those steps. One of the very first."

"This is one of the last steps!" Gold protested. Archie took in a deep, weary breath and resigned himself to an argument.

"Tell me why," he reasoned. "Why is this one of the last steps?"

Gold just glared at him.

"Tell me why," Archie warned, "or I'll make you go through with it regardless."

Mr. Gold crossed his arms, clearly displeased.

"My wife saw my scar once," he spat. "My son never saw it. It's personal."

Archie raised his eyebrows. "Seems to me like you've got a lot of emotion invested in this scar. I think it would be … cathartic for you to show it."

"My wife saw it once," Gold repeated coolly, "and she left me the next day."

Utter silence.

"It can't be that ugly," Archie protested. Gold scoffed. "Let me see it. You can't be worried about me leaving you."

Gold shook his head, eyes dark and angry.

"Mr. Gold," said Archie lowly, "it's this or jail-time."

"It's personal," Gold hissed. "I won't have you gawking at it. And I certainly won't have you bloody touching it, which I'm sure would be your next step in this 'trust exercise.'"

They locked eyes, Gold trying to stare him down and Archie just gazing calmly back, face blank. Finally, he backed away and sat, showing Gold with body language that the issue was over.

"Fine," said Archie. "You don't have to show me."

An intense expression of relief passed over Gold's face for a moment; then he hid as usual behind his mask, sitting opposite the doctor.

"So you can see reason," he said. Archie nodded.

"You have two new options," he told the pawnbroker. Gold looked up at him warily. "Either accept your jail-time in the prison two towns over … or wear shorts tomorrow."

There was a long silence. Gold's mouth was dry.

"You're not serious," he said.

"I am. I'll even let you pick the shorts; you don't have to wear Bermuda ones, I promise."

"You're joking."

"Nope."

Gold's cheeks colored in anger; his grip tightened on his cane. "That's ridiculous! Go to prison or wear shorts around town? What the hell kind of choice is that?"

"An easy one," Archie said. "I think you have deep insecurities over your scar, Mr. Gold. I think putting it on display will help."

"Insecurities!" Gold cried. "Of course I have bloody insecurities about it –" His voice cracked, becoming shaky. "It's a scar from –" He cut himself off, pulling in a shuddering breath. His eyes were red; Archie just watched him, unwilling to interrupt.

"From –" Gold tried again. His throat convulsed and he looked away, swallowing. When he looked back, it was with a wavering glare. "I'm not going to do that, Doctor."

"You have to," said Archie mildly. "It's that or jail-time. You've been bending the rules of cooperation since our first session, and this is the end of it. Either do what I said or you can leave. Go to prison – in the city – or wear shorts and show your scar to everybody. It's your choice."

His eyes had roamed while he was talking; after a moment of silence, he turned them back to Mr. Gold and found the other man staring at him. Gold's mask was gone, and now distress was lining every inch of his face. His eyes were wet and horrified; his breath was coming short.

Archie suddenly felt ill.

"I can't," Gold whispered, his voice weak and broken. "D– Doctor, I – don't –"

His words strangled in his throat and he glared down at the floor, pretending nothing was happening, trying to make himself small as tears hot and wet coursed down his cheeks. His shoulders shook and he tried desperately to hide it, his hands moving up to cover his face. Archie felt cold horror at himself unfurl in his stomach. Before he knew it, he was across the room, one hand outstretched but not quite touching Gold's arm.

"It's okay," he said lowly, soothingly. His eyes were wide. "It's fine. You don't have to do it."

Gold curled in on himself, trying to stop the tears. Archie gulped, his throat dry.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling close to tears himself. "Mr. Gold, I – I didn't know it would – would make you cry, please stop –"

The room was quiet but for the sounds of Gold's shallow breaths and the ticking of the clock.

"Please stop…"

Gold's eyes were rimmed with red and he hadn't managed to completely wipe away the tear tracks, but both men were steadily pretending nothing had happened. Gold stood with his back to Archie, while Archie knelt behind him. Gold's right trouser leg was rolled up to his knee, his foot resting on the little fold-up chair he'd seen earlier.

"Coward," Archie read, tracing his fingers over the raised flesh that formed the word. Gold shuddered and clenched the cane tighter. "Is this … a brand?"

"It's a knife wound," Gold said quietly. "They carved it in."

Archie made a soft noise of sympathy and drew back a little, tugging the leg of the trousers down over the scar. He got to his feet with a grunt and moved back to his couch. Gold sat down too, the look on his face clearly saying he had no clue what to do next.

"How'd you get it?" Archie asked. Gold released a slow breath, eyes sliding closed for just a moment.

"Did you know I fought in Vietnam?" he asked. Archie blinked.

"Wha – really? Aren't you … kind of young for that?"

Gold shrugged, his eyes flat. "I was eager," he said. "A willing participant – wanted to prove myself. You'll find it hard to believe, I'm sure, but when I was young all I ever did was prepare for war. For the army. And besides, my age was no matter. I was ... I was abandoned when I was little. I didn't have a birth certificate – and I was married despite my age, had a wife, so they took me at my word."

Gold's face was bitter as he stared down at the floor.

"And …?" said Archie.

"I never fought," said Gold. He was silent then, for what seemed like ages; he kept his gaze steady, stern and stony, on the wall. Archie stared at him. "I went through training and one night ... the night before my platoon hit the jungle ... I learned my son was born, and that we were going to be deposited straight into VC territory." He made a slicing gesture with his hands, one over the other. "They were putting us in to make room for the men behind us. We were a sacrifice. So that night, before we left ..." He shrugged, affecting indifference. "I shot myself in the foot."

Archie gaped at him.

"They sent me home," said Gold with another shrug. "Back to my wife. My son. Dishonorable discharge, but really, there's not much restriction on me. I can't rent library books, but since Storybrooke doesn't have a library..."

"God," said Archie. He leaned back, settling in the chair, one hand rubbing his neck. He stared at Gold's (now covered) leg. "And they ... just ... carved that in there?"

"Aye."

"Who?"

He made a gesture – dismissive, all-encompassing.

"Gold," said Archie a little more sternly. "Who did it? Was it your officers? Because – I mean, hell, you gotta be able to file a complaint for that, something –"

"No," said Gold simply. He breathed deeply and sighed a little, not seeming sad, just resigned. "It was the people in my town – the town before Storybrooke. It's no matter."

He paused for a long time, waiting for Archie to make any additional comments. There were none forthcoming; Archie could only sit there, rubbing his neck, staring. Finally, Gold shifted a little, sat up a little more.

"Session's over," he commented, tilting his head toward the clock. Archie's eyes flickered to it and widened in surprise.

"Oh," he said mildly. "Wow. I guess so – gosh, that sure went fast."

Gold inclined his head. "Yes," he said, voice dripping in irony. Archie met his eyes, dark and bitterly amused, bottomless. "Time flies when you're having fun."

They concluded the session for the day.