Chapter 65
Caine: "If I tell you, you are not within a prison, the prison is within you, can you believe that?"
Fran's gone on to work; she has meals to prepare for the Apple R & D folk; but Josiah stays behind for the promised game of dominoes. "You don't have to, you know," Gold says apologetically. "I'm sure you have more important things to do."
"What's more important than hangin' with a friend?" Josiah shakes the dominoes out of their box. Wolf has allowed them to remain in the interrogation room, where they have more space and a table to lay out the dominoes on.
After that, neither of them says anything too open and honest; they just play their game. Gold finds it a relief to not have to talk about his feelings or his problems. Wolf seems to understand that too—maybe it's a guy thing—because he leaves them alone to play through the afternoon until Blue arrives, bringing some small canisters of teas that she and Gold raised themselves. She's spent the morning at the used clothing store in Storybrooke, where plenty of shoppers dropped in, but unfortunately, not to buy; they came to gossip and gripe.
"Most people are bewildered," she reports. "They don't understand what's going on. Even the people who think you're a creep are scratching their heads over the charges. 'He's mean, ill-tempered, unyielding, cold-blooded and cruel,' they're saying, 'but he's honest. He pays to the penny.' And your friends are grumbling; it won't be long til they start gathering and grumbling together, and eventually they're going to make one big noise. They think the charges aren't a mistake—they think the charges are falsified. And so do I." She takes the liberty of entering Wolf's office to use his microwave to heat cups of tea. "No, let me rephrase that: I know the charges are phony." When she returns to the interrogation room with the tea, she says firmly, "I know it's rough right now, but just remember, soon they 'will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.'"
Gold nods, recognizing the well-known Scripture; it's exactly what he expects her to say. But then she causes him to choke on his tea when she adds, "Also remember, as Dryden wrote, 'Beware the fury of a patient man.' Or as General Stillwell said, 'Don't let the bastards grind you down.'"
Blue leaves with instructions about the hospital magic shows to pass along to Bernadette; as she goes out, Bae comes in. His eyes are ringed with dark circles and he moves more slowly than normal; clearly, he hasn't slept, and Gold bends his own head in shame as Josiah gathers up the dominoes to rebox them and Bae draws out a chair to be seated.
"You haven't been resting," Gold begins.
"Neither have you. Guess we've both got a plateful of worries right now," Bae answers, rubbing his face. "The agents went through every cupboard and every drawer at my house and at Treadle. I had to let them in, unlock everything for them, then stand aside while they pawed through our stuff. My tool cabinet, the junk drawer where we toss all the broken and used-up stuff that we think we might make something out of someday, Henry's closet—" Bae sniffs. "They found a Playboy there. Emma didn't know about it. Man, was she pissed, but she couldn't say anything in front of the agents."
Gold chuckles. "But you knew about it."
Bae nods. "He'd gotten careless once and left it in the bathroom. I hid it under his pillow, where he'd find it but Emma wouldn't."
Overdramatically, Gold lays a hand on his chest. "They grow up so fast, don't they?"
"Too bad we didn't have anything like that in the old country. I might've been a whole lot better prepared for my first time with a woman."
"Good thing we didn't have such publications. I'd have never gotten you out of the outhouse." This is safer, making deprecating jokes; humor is the device by which Gold apologizes for the recent trouble and Bae accepts the apology. If they were to talk about their worries, their feelings, they'd have to admit that their defenselessness scares them.
"You have had The Talk with him?"
"Of course, Pop. That talk has to come a lot earlier in this world. Regina beat us to it: she gave him the Birds and the Bees spiel when he was eight." They look at each other and shudder with a unified "Eeeww!"
"Hey, guess what Henry found this morning when he was looking in the mirror."
Gold smiles broadly. "His first chin whisker?"
"Got it in one. I'm going to take him shopping for his first razor."
"And I'll buy him his first bottle of aftershave," Gold plans, "as soon as I get out of here."
Bae echoes his father. "They grow up so fast."
It's different when Emma comes, and not just because Josiah and Bae have gone and she can speak to Gold privately: her bluntness is healthy for both of them, she who would otherwise hide behind an emotional wall and he would otherwise hide behind half-truths. But if she's going to be successful in her investigation, they both have to confront the whole truth head-on, so she asks, and he answers completely, relating plainly and precisely what Spencer had said last night. "That's our man," she agrees, "not that we had any doubts. So that leaves two questions: how did he do it and who helped him. Because the Feds definitely have something, or it wouldn't have gone this far."
"We'll find out on Thursday what they have. The prosecution will have to share evidence with Kamen."
"Spencer had to have tampered with your records."
Gold shakes his head. "I go through them thoroughly, twice a month. Nothing was amiss when I checked them last, a week ago."
"Yeah, that's the surprising part. Everyone in both towns knows about your Recordkeeping Day. They knew better than to try to approach you for anything then." She sighs, mulling it over. "Well, on Thursday when we see what they have, we'll figure out the how part. I figure Sid's in on it too, but there must be a third guy; Sid's not that skilled in anything more complicated than gossip blogging. Who might the third guy be?"
Gold ponders but shakes his head. "I have a lot of enemies, but no one whose hatred of me would be strong enough to overcome his fear of me."
Emma snorts. "Yeah, I believe it. Well, a contact of mine is accessing Sid's and Spencer's phone records, and a couple of our friends in Storybrooke are helping me keep an eye on them. Spencer's smart enough not to let himself be seen with Sid, but Sid's bound to slip up at some point. Did you know that one of the most common ways we catch big-time criminals is a traffic cop pulls them over for a broken tail light? So what we've got to do is watch for Sid's broken tail light."
At dusk, Belle returns, the Doves and the promised short ribs in tow; they dine on china in the interrogation room, with Gold's iPod playing some Bach as background to their conversation. Their pointless talk—which, after all, really does have an emotional purpose—and their meal are interrupted when the front door bursts open and eight people walk in, bearing everything from folding chairs to laptops and yellow pads. At the forefront is Arminta Bell, who declares, "You couldn't come to the meeting, so we brought the meeting to you." With a gesture to her companions, the jail room is transformed into a makeshift conference room. "Sorry to interrupt, folks," she says to Belle and the Doves, "but we got to borrow Rumple for a couple of hours. See, we're finishin' off the Five Year Plan, so it's real important to the economic future of Bell's Corners. So of course we got to have Gold's input. You're welcome to stay, but it might be kind of boring: lots of talk about contracts."
"We'll take Belle home." Fran and Jo gather up the dishes. "Make sure she rests."
"Will you be going back to work tomorrow?" Gold whispers to his wife. At her nod, he frowns, "Why? Under all this stress—"
She doesn't let him finish. "I need to. If I stayed home, I'd go crazy."
He can't argue with that; he's driven by the same need to feel productive.
As he shakes hands with each committee member, he searches faces for signs of distrust or disgust, but the handshakes are firm, the eye contact steady, the greetings as respectful and warm as ever. The Development Committee is ignoring his change in circumstances and transforming the environment around them so that for one night, he can, too.
He looks out over the circle of chairs that now fill the jail, the paperwork and laptops that have taken over the deputy's desk, and the people—the hotel owner, the pharmacist, the principal of the high school, a farmer, a preacher, a mechanic, Persie—who are filling the room with their clustered conversations as they seat themselves. Full, the room is full, and his life is full, even now; even now, he can be productive, and looks upon these people with gratitude, wondering if they know their presence is keeping him from, as Belle had said, going crazy.
Gold and Belle kiss good night, Fran encircles Belle with a comforting arm, and Dove assures Gold, "We'll make sure she sleeps tonight. Infomercials—they put her right to sleep. We'll tuck her in with that Pocket Fisherman commercial."
Gold ignores the stab of jealousy over this reminder that Dove was married to Belle a lot longer than Gold has been. "Thank you, Mr. Dove. And thanks for the Field and Streams."
"Sheriff, I'll bring breakfast by at seven," Fran calls out as she leads Belle away.
"Lookin' forward to it, Mrs. D." Wolf pats the mayor's arm. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then, Auntie. I'm going home for the night; Hank'll do the overnight guard duty."
The mayor stays him a moment. "Guess you should know, I had a call from the Storybrooke DA's office. Complaint about laxity in jail standards here. The word 'mollycoddling' came up once or twice. 'Preferential treatment for the rich.' That sort of thing."
Wolf is unperturbed. "What'd you tell 'em?"
"'Proof's in the pudding,' I said. 'Gold'll be here 'til the bail's paid.' Good night, Ian. Tell Sarah I'll see her and the kids in church on Sunday." The mayor moves to the center of the circle and claps her hands. "Okay, folks, let's get started." She casts a quick glance at Gold. "Hope you still got room for dessert. I didn't know Fran was going to feed you, so I ordered pizza. This lot's going need something to munch on while we review these contract offers."
It's after 11 p.m. when the committee finishes for the night. They finally have a first draft of the plan; next week at the same time (but not, the mayor says pointedly, in the same place) they will meet again to revise the draft, and the week after that, it will be finalized. In the meantime, everyone is to review the draft for omissions and clarifications. "Rumple, we're especially depending on you to find the holes. You got a knack for that." If they only knew, he chuckles to himself; they have the Loophole King working for them. "If you need any law books, the city charter, anything like that, just tell Ian. See you next week."
"Good night." He doesn't thank them for treating him the same as always; that would break the pretense they've cast over this night. His acceptance of two slices of pepperoni pizza, despite having just finished a four-course meal from Fran, was his way of thanking them. "See you next week."
When all are gone except Deputy Hank Hanks, he returns on his own accord to the cell, closing the door behind him. "You need anything before lights out?" Hank asks.
"An antacid?"
Hank chuckles as he saunters off to the office to fulfill the request. "Yeah, Persie's tomato sauce gives me the burps." After providing the Tums, Hank asks, "Anything else? You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah." Gold removes his tie and kicks off his shoes. "I think so. I think I'm okay." And he's referring to more than the antacid.
At seven o'clock both the Doves and Emma are waiting as Wolf unlocks the building and relieves Hank. "I brought bagels," Emma says proudly. Fran approves: "They'll go great with the smoked salmon."
Gold, freshly showered and shaved, greets them. He's moved by Emma's offering to the breakfast; like the mayor last night, she's making a statement with her bagels: business as usual. Gold may be behind bars, but we don't have to see those bars.
"My contact at the phone company will have Spencer's and Sidney's records for me sometime today. And I talked to Kamen yesterday: he's coming over to the house tomorrow night for dinner so we can get to work. Belle, too. We're going to put Kamen up in our guest room so we can work into the wee hours of the morning."
"Sneaky, dearie, sneaky."
"Belle told me how much he charges. We're gonna get our money's worth out of him." As the Doves busy themselves dishing up food, Emma leans forward to ask, "How are you doing, by the way? I'm sure Ian's treating you right, but—if it was me, being locked up like a lost dog in a kennel. . . ." she shivers.
"I've been kept occupied, so it hasn't been too bad. I'm more worried about Belle. This is Wednesday; the library opens late. I thought she'd come by."
"I can guess what you're thinking, but it's not that."
"What's going on, Emma?"
She puffs out her cheeks. "Look, she asked us not to say anything. She doesn't want you worrying. But I know you're thinking she's ashamed of you, because that's how you think; I have a bad habit of thinking that way too. You keep expecting people to run out on you. Well, I'd remind you weren't the only one who stood there in front of Blue and took a vow of forever, and when it comes to deals, Belle's got just as much honor as you do. She's not going anywhere."
A half-smile tugs at Gold's mouth and he looks down at his plate. "Thank you, my dear. I stand corrected. But if you don't mind, I'll continue to worry about her well being."
Emma shrugs. "Of course. It's in the marriage contract: 'love, honor and worry about.'"
"The parenting contract too. And those responsibilities never fade, no matter how old the child."
"If you're asking how Bae'd doing, he's out of the shock phase and into the pissed off phase. He wants to see Spencer painted like a piñata and strung up for people to take swings at. Him and me are in agreement on that one."
"This. . . incident. . .has got to be damaging for Treadle."
Emma sits back as the Doves start passing platters around. "Yeah. Let's not talk about that, huh? Soup's on and I'm starved."
Gold's hand shoots out to seize her wrist as she's reaching for a bagel. "You're hiding something from me."
She pulls her arm away gently. "Don't ask me, Pop. You're going to find out eventually, but not now. Don't make me break my promise to Belle."
"Crap."
"I hope that's not a comment on the food," Fran jokes, scooping cottage fries onto his plate. "Eat up, Rumple."
When his breakfast visitors have gone, he tries to focus on the Five Year Plan. He tells himself he has to trust Belle's judgment: whatever information she's withholding, she has a good reason for it and will reveal when the time is right. When he catches himself rereading the first sentence of the Plan over and over, he gives up and tries to meditate. He's moderately successful, managing to clear his mind sufficiently to concentrate on the Plan for the rest of the morning. Pleased, he allows himself to be interrupted at noon for a lunch with Bae, who's just as tight-lipped as his wife. They spend their lunch hour debating which brand of razor Henry should have.
"Hey there, Mr. G.!"
Gold's head shoots up from the Plan and he reddens at the familiar voice. His eyes make contact with Angelo Senior's and he shakes his head in warning, but the Romano family rolls in anyway, Angelo Junior still in a wheelchair. "Doctor Whale said I could leave the hospital for the day so here we are!"
"His first trip outside the hospital in months. We asked him where he'd like to go and he wanted to see you," Cindy Romano says. "We'll only stay a minute."
"I never seen a jail before." Junior reaches out to touch the cool steel bars and Gold hangs his head. Junior points to the cot. "Is that where you sleep?"
Gold nods. He'd crawl under it if he could.
"Where do you go to the bathroom?"
Cindy and Angelo Senior burst into laughter. "You've got to excuse him. We're still working on learning manners."
Encouraged by his parents' laughter, the boy plunges into the question Gold's been dreading: "When I'm bad, I have to sit in the corner. What did you do, Mr. G.?"
Gold can't face the boy. "It was a mistake. They think I did something bad, but I didn't."
The boy thinks this over, his little face confused. "Did you tell them you didn't do it?" At Gold's nod, Angelo presses, "Why can't you come out then?"
"They don't believe me yet. But I'll make them believe me, Angelo, and when I do, they'll let me out and I can come back to the hospital and do magic again. Okay?"
"Mr. Gold is going to be okay," Cindy assures her son. "We'll see him again soon."
"Will you do a magic trick for me now?" Angelo brightens.
"I. . ." He grasps at an excuse.
"Maybe Mr. Gold doesn't feel like doing magic today, son," Senior explains.
"I. . . didn't bring my magic with me."
"But it's Wednesday," Angelo argues.
"I guess I forgot. But Ms. Bernie, she'll be at the hospital today with her magic. Will you do me a favor, Angelo, and go to see her? Clap real loud for her? Because she gets nervous, you know, and she needs encouragement."
Now that he has a task to perform, Angelo looks up at his father with a solemn expression. "Can we go back, Dad? I need to help Ms. Bernie." Before his father can answer, Angelo looks back at Gold. "Will you be okay if we go back?"
"I'll be okay, Angelo. And I'll see you soon, I promise."
"We can go back for Ms. Bernie," Senior replies.
Angelo deliberates, then decides, "Okay." His father starts to wheel him around, but the boy suddenly exclaims, "Wait!" He reaches into a pocket on the side of the wheelchair and extracts an Avengers coloring book. He pushes it through the bars. "Here, Mr. G., so you can color and you won't get bored."
Gold accepts the gift with a breaking heart.