"You're not seriously thinking about going to work today. You look like crap, pops." Bailey was at the kitchen table when Nick made it down the stairs, a frustratingly slow journey considering how much his knee ached. Fortunately his early bird son being awake meant there was hot coffee and muffins still warm from the oven waiting for him.

"I took yesterday off," he said with a shrug. It had been against his wishes, worried that his absence would damage the progress he'd made so far with Belle, as well as the added strain he'd been forced to put on Archie's schedule. There hadn't been any way around it, though. He'd spent most of the day with his leg elevated and ice on his knee, trying not to move his face too much. He'd refused his son's offer to stay home all day, but in the afternoon after the bakery had closed they'd spent a few hours playing gin rummy and alternately watching the Food Network and a documentary on King James.

"The world isn't going to end if you take two days off in a row. Your leg…"

"Is something I've been dealing with since you were a babe in arms. It's fine." It was a complete lie, of course. His knee was inflamed, his calf bruised from Moe's kick, and he'd taken the pain pills he usually ignored just to deal with walking. As for worlds ending, he hoped nothing so dramatic had happened in his absence but didn't dare leave Belle alone any longer. He'd spoken with Archie twice during the day, and Graham once, but needed to judge her state of mind for himself. She'd been through enough without taking on the responsibility of his own absence. He was afraid what progress they'd made might already be lost.

"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?" Bay said with a sigh as he stood up. "Sit. I'll start breakfast."

"The muffins…"

"Are not enough on their own, especially considering the pain pills you're probably taking in order to push yourself harder than you should. Let me at least make sure you have something decent in your stomach, okay?" Bay was frowning as he stood with a carton of eggs in one hand. His son was a good man. Sometimes Nick questioned what he'd ever done to deserve such a kid, but he was grateful.

"I'll eat whatever you cook, and take the muffins to work to share," he agreed, hoping to appease his boy. He'd planned to be earlier than usual, but could sacrifice a little time. Without further argument he took his coffee to the dining room table, doing his best to sit without wincing when his knee was forced to bend.

"Will you eat something real for lunch or do I need to pack you something in a brown paper bag?" Bailey's hands flew as he chopped onion and minced garlic. He was much slower in picking through a wilted bit of broccoli with a wrinkled nose.

"I'll pick something up from the cafeteria," he promised. Someday, he hoped, his son would have kids of his own. He'd be a good parent. The kind of parent children deserved to have.

II

"Aren't you a little too old for barroom brawls, Nick? You look like shit." Mal Carbaosse was the first person Nick ran into, which was better than Regina but less desirable than making it to his office unobserved. He had a half hour before his morning appointment with Belle and needed to catch up on what he'd missed the day before.

"Tactful as always, Mal." He changed his route to head for the closet they generously referred to as a staff room. At least if Mal was going to distract him he could get another cup of coffee. Tea was not going to cut it for the day.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately? You could easily scare small children. And nervous patients. You should do something about that." She gestured at her own face. "I have some concealer in my bag."

"I hardly think that's necessary." It hadn't occurred to him, that he could do anything about his cheek. While he didn't care what most people would think, he had woken up at least twice in the middle of the night worrying about how to explain it to Belle so she wouldn't worry.

"Of course it is. How necessary was your little caveman display?" Mal, as usual, didn't listen to him and dig through her purse, pulling out what looked like a tube of lipstick in shape, though the color was more beige.

"Important enough." He winced when Mal touched his face, the pain shooting up to his temple. As she worked on his skin he focused on his breathing, hand tightening around his cane.

"Well you won't be winning any beauty pageants but at least you pass for somewhat normal now." She held up a small round mirror. Nick could still see hints of purple, but it didn't look much worse than a night without sleep, rather than vivid bruising. "If you're not careful Regina might give you a matching one, though. She was extremely not pleased to have the sheriff show up again yesterday."

"Regina can throw as many tantrums as she likes, the welfare of my patients will always come first." At the best of times Nick had no patience for playing politics and pushing pencils. He had far less patience for Regina and her schemes.

"Fortunately for Regina she's not bogged down with little things like ethics or the hippocratic oath. Her welfare concerns involve the health of the bank statements. I think it galls her that your reputation makes you too valuable to force out, but it wouldn't hurt you to learn to play her game a little. Make life easier on yourself." Mal glanced down at her cell phone. Nick could see the screen well enough to know he needed to head for his office if he was going to be there before Belle.

"I never have been very good at playing games." And he'd be damned if he would play Regina's. He could, if necessary, make her dance to his own tune, though it wouldn't be pleasant for either of them. "If you'll pardon me I have a morning appointment."

"You know where to find me if you need a touch up. In a couple of days your face is going to be a very flattering shade of green." Mal settled herself at the table after picking a carton of yogurt out of the fridge. Nick nodded before leaving the staff room, headed for his office. He had just enough time to brew a pot of tea to go with the muffins he'd brought from home.

"Doctor Gold, would you like to explain…" Regina, predictable, was hovering near his office door.

"Don't you have any real work to be doing, Regina? I'm busy." He slipped his office key from his pocket, hoping she wouldn't follow him into the room.

"My job is to keep this place running which requires, among other things, keeping a spotless reputation. We've had the sheriff here twice this week disrupting everyone's schedule and now this." She waved a newspaper in his face. He was glad to see there was no photo accompanying the brief article about 'assault and arrest.'

"I will have no problems explaining my actions to the board, should it become necessary. Until then it is a private matter that involves patient confidentiality and you should be glad not to know the details." He had been informed that French, so far, had decided not to press charges. While he had no desire to be on the wrong side of bars again his concern was for Belle if the details of the case had to be released.

"There are many that would love to have the position you are in. It wouldn't be hard to replace you." Regina folded the paper in half, holding it down at her side, her grip tight as if he would try to take it from her.

"Try it, Regina, and we'll see who is left standing. You might not like the answer." He would not go quietly. His patients needed him, and he liked where he was.

"We'll see," she said after a moment's hesitation. When she turned to walk away she was not quite as confident as she's been when she'd cornered him.

"That we will," Gold muttered under his breath as he pushed his office door open. He filled up his electric kettle to heat water, and set out the muffins while he waited for his pot of tea to brew. Chamomile, since he would be sharing with Belle, though he would have prefered something black. He finished with a minute to spare and no time to wonder if Mal's makeup had remained in place. Belle stood in his doorway, silent and timid. He wondered if her expression gave away more than it once had, or if he was merely better at reading it. She was nervous.

"Good morning, Belle." He stayed in his chair, trying to look as relaxed as possible. He didn't dare stand, afraid he might not be able to smother any signs of pain. As much as possible he hoped to sound as if this was any other morning. "Would you care for a muffin?"

"Yes, thank you." Belle stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. She took the muffin, but it remained on the plate while she held her teacup between her hands, staring at the steam rising from the pale liquid as if it would tell her something. He let her have a few minutes, hoping it would help her to relax, but she didn't seem to be in a place where she could begin the conversation.

"Do you want to tell me what you're thinking about Belle?" he prompted gently.

"You weren't here yesterday." She looked at him for just a moment before returning her gaze to her cup. Not enough time to read her expression. "Dr. Hopper said you hurt your knee."

"I did. It's an old wound, and it's more vulnerable because it's been injured before. I've learned that when I hurt it I need some time to take care of it. It was a hard lesson, one I've fought more than a few times, to stop and take care of myself, but it takes longer to heal if I ignore it." He was less concerned with his own healing, though, than he was with hers.

"You hurt it a long time ago. How did you…" Belle shook her head, shifting on the couch uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's not my business. Papa says…"

Gold didn't give a damn what her father said or thought. "There's nothing wrong with asking questions. And it's only fair that you get to ask a few, don't you think, considering how many you answer for me?"

"You're the doctor. You're supposed to ask questions." When he nudged the plate closer to her she took the hint, tearing off a small bite of the muffin and eating it. She followed it with a sip of the tea.

"We've spent a lot of time together since you've been here. It's normal for you to be curious, and it's okay to ask questions. I won't always be able to answer them, but you can ask me anything. I was in a car accident when my son was a few months old, and had to have a couple of surgeries. I had to learn how to walk again when he was learning for the first time." He'd come home from lunch to see Bay only to find another man in his bed. He'd run from the house, driving too fast and too recklessly. He and Nora had patched their marriage up about as well as his knee had been repaired. The man she'd left with five years later was the same one he'd caught in his bed.

"You still have to use a cane." She probably didn't even notice that her hand settled on her stomach, covering the scars that were criss crossed on her skin. Scars that might fade with time, but wouldn't go away. He had his own scars on his knee, and those less visible.

"I do. It's one of the ways I take care of myself, just like taking yesterday off was a way to take care of myself. We've been talking about behaviors you can use to take care of yourself, can you tell me if there's any that helped you yesterday?" She'd taken three bites of muffin and almost finished a cup of tea. Now that he had her talking he could hopefully learn a little better how she was coping with the events of the last few days.

II

He stayed in his office for the rest of the morning. He might have stayed for most of the day, rather than put weight on his leg, but he'd made a promise to his boy. He couldn't lie about eating lunch, not when Bay was so perceptive about such things and already worried. He waited until the end of the lunch service, though, in hopes that the cafeteria would be mostly empty.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you had a good reason for missing yesterday." There were only a few stragglers in the cafeteria; Belle was not among them. Ruby, however, was sitting on one of the tables closest to the doors. She looked like she had been waiting for him; the lack of any food next to her seemed to confirm his suspicion. "Granny would say you look like something the cat dragged in, Doc."

"The cafeteria is for people who are eating, Ms. Lucas. Perhaps you have someplace more constructive to be?" Archie had told him what Belle had said about trust, and he was grateful to the woman. He was also hungry and not in the mood to talk, or to explain himself when he wasn't about to tell the truth.

"Something is going on with Belle," Ruby stated bluntly.

"I'm not at liberty…"

"I know what you're not allowed to say. I'm not asking." She crossed her arms, looking for a moment very much like her grandmother. "Her story is hers to tell; she knows I'll listen if she ever wants to share. I'm not asking about her, I'm asking about him."

"Him?" None of the patients had been in the lobby two days ago, they couldn't know what had happened. Belle didn't need the place to be filled with rumors and people whispering about her.

"She's scared of someone, Doc. That's not new, but two days ago something happened to make it worse. We've seen the guards." She leaned forward, just a little. In the back of his mind Gold thought he should ask her later if she was interested in law. She would make a hell of a lawyer in a courtroom.

"It's a precaution." He hadn't seen the guards yet, but was relieved they were there. The fact that their presence annoyed Regina was a silver lining. "Everyone here is safe."

"We're never safe from ourselves." The words she spoke made him forget how to breathe for a moment. It was a truth he'd learned all too well; sometimes the only person he couldn't save someone from was themself. He wouldn't let it be true with Belle. "The world isn't this place, though. We all have to leave sometime."

"She'd not leaving, not until she's ready. And when that time comes she'll still be safe." He would do everything in his power to make sure it's true. She would be free of Moe French.

"Okay." In a flash the almost feral look in her eyes was gone. She was just a patient again, not much older than a kid. Ruby slid from the table and headed for the door, but she stopped next to him for a moment. "Might be time for a little more foundation, Doc. Or some boxing lessons"

He stood where he was until she was gone, shaking his head as he thought over the conversation. There was more to Ruby Lucas than he'd ever seen before. He would have to let Archie know about their exchange, but that could happen later. For the moment he needed food. The ministron didn't look too bad, and his cheek felt well enough that decided on a roast beef sandwich, carrying the tray carefully in one hand to the table in the farthest corner of the room. His solitude lasted five minutes before Graham slid into the chair across from him. He hadn't heard the orderly coming.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here today." The younger man carried a cup of coffee and a brown bag with a well known label. Gold was very familiar with the double chocolate cheesecake brownie he removed from the bag; Bay had gone through dozens of variations before he was happy enough to start selling them. Gold had been more than happy to offer his opinion of every batch.

"I would have been here yesterday if it had been possible." The soup, it turned out, was barely warm. He pushed it away and took a bite of the sandwich. "At least I knew my patients were looked after."

"She was." Graham wasn't known for mincing his words. It had been months of working together before Gold had a conversation with him that was more than a dozen words long. They both knew that there was one patient in particular of whom he spoke.

"Archie mentioned the sheriff was here again yesterday." He planned to stop by her office on the way home. Even from a hospital room French could make trouble.

"She's in Belle's corner. The restraining order is what Belle wants and Emma will make sure it's what she gets. She doesn't back down in a fight, not when it's important. She knows this is important." Graham spoke with a familiarity that Gold hadn't expected.

"You know her?" The sheriff having Graham's approval put him mind slightly more at rest.

"When she was seventeen she tried to steal my truck. We've been friends ever since." Graham smiled for a moment before his eyes narrowed. "She visited French last night. She wouldn't tell me what he said but she was very explicit about what she'd do if he ever came back here."

"I'm sorry she had to speak with him." He hoped her help wouldn't be needed once the restraining order was in place, but it was good to know where she stood. It made him angry that anyone else had to be tainted by the filth that was Moe French.

"Some people let pain twist them. Some people learn to be stronger. Emma's strong enough to deal with it. Belle's learning to be strong too. Whatever he did, he's alone now. She's not." Graham tore off a piece of his brownie, sliding it across the table next to his now empty plate.

"No, she's not." He accepted the brownie; unsure if it was the sugar or the fact that his boy made it that made it taste especially sweet.

II

The afternoon was spent in session with his usual patients and two that he'd missed the day before. It took three cups of coffee and pain pills taken religiously to make it through the sessions with the amount of focus they deserved. It was a relief that Jefferson wasn't one of the patients he had scheduled; he didn't have the attention for that level of wordplay.

He might have stayed late to make up for lost time, but he had to admit to himself that he'd already pushed himself harder than was wise. The last thing he needed was to push his leg so far that he couldn't walk on it and needed to take days off.

"Belle." He couldn't leave without checking on Belle one more time. He found her in the art room, a pile of yarn ball in front of her. Her attention, however, was on the window. The sun would be going down soon.

"Mary Margaret is going to teach me how to knit. Tomorrow we're going to start on squares. First I have to decide what colors I like." She fingered the ball of yarn closest to her hand, a strange shade of greenish gold.

"May I?" he pointed to the chair across the table from her, and when she nodded he sat down. "Perhaps it's more about the one you like to touch the most? It's a rather tactile art."

"This one is the softest." The skin she pulled out of the pile was a bright blue; it reminded him of the color of her eyes. "If I make enough squares Mary Margaret says they can be turned into a blanket. It would be alright for my bed, wouldn't it?"

"I think it would be just right." The yarn was soft, the antithesis of sharp bits of metal. It would be gentle against her skin, covering a bed that she nervously wanted to claim as her own. "I would imagine it will take some time to complete."

"Winter might even be over before I'm done." She held the yarn tight in her hand.

He sat with her for ten minutes, speaking of nothing important. She spoke easily of colors and of how she'd asked Mary Margaret about the sweater she was knitting. About the offer that had been extended, and accepted. When the urge came to ask if her mother had knitted he'd bitten his tongue; she needed time to just talk. Ruby showed up a minute after the dinner gong sounded, a handful of people just behind her, and he urged Belle to join them.

"I'll see you in the morning, Belle."

"In the morning." She took the blue yarn with her.