It has been exactly two weeks, three days, and some four hours since he returned from the hospital, ankle shattered, life in shambles. He knows this because everything changed the day of the car accident. He had only been going out for a small trip to the nearby town. It was an easy drive for him, one he made often enough that he barely had to pay attention to the road. It was especially scenic on his way into town, the drive down out of the rural area he lived in a beautiful reminder of just why he chose to live in the middle of nowhere, Maine.

He had always loved it here, far from the rest of humanity on his small farm. It was quiet, peaceful, the kind of place one could escape to and not see another soul for days unless he wanted to. Gold was that kind of person. Oh, he wasn't the sort who needed the peace and quiet for something like meditation. He wasn't one of those yoga loving yuppies one met in town. People didn't like him. And he didn't like people. In town, people pulled their children away from him, warned them of his temper, warned them not to cross paths with him for fear it might anger him, warned them that he hated people and was best left alone.

He was near-legendary in the small town. Places like Storybrooke, Maine were well known for their gossip. It was small, less than a thousand people inhabiting the town and the surrounding area, and any goings-on there were passed along like a bad game of telephone. His need for everything to be exact to his specifications had morphed into unreasonable demands. His terse conversations had morphed into outright screaming matches. It would be almost amusing if he cared one bit what the townsfolk thought of him.

But he didn't.

He was a misanthrope and he was quite content with that. He had his small farm, his sheep, and more importantly, his dogs.

Gold had been raised on a farm in Scotland by his aunts, tough old women who had somehow made a go of something that was generally a man's world. His mother had died in birth; his father had abandoned him to her sisters when he was just a toddler. He barely remembered the man and what he remembered was not particularly good. His aunts tried to speak kindly of him but he had heard the whispers, knew the things his father had said about him. And he knew he was unwanted, unloved. His aunts had raised him well, despite his father's disappearance, and he had grown up…well, if not well, at least adequately.

He had learned to spin wool into yarn from his aunts. Hand spinning the way they did had gone out of style hundreds of years ago, but his aunts rejoiced in the strange pastime and so he had learned to love it. He would spin long into the night at times, letting it calm his mind. It wasn't a bad life, not really at least, but he had grown up poor in harsh conditions, a small boy tormented by abusers and bullies. He had much to forget during those early days.

He still did.

And then the accident. The day had suddenly turned cold, the rain turning to freezing rain while he was out at the store. He had picked up a few necessities, stopped at a nearby farm and picked up a few extra bales of hay, and headed home. He never saw the patch of ice he hit, the wheels of his truck losing traction quickly and sending the vehicle spinning off the road into a tree.

David Nolan, his closest neighbor and fellow sheep farmer, had apparently found him. He had been making his own careful way home when he noticed the skid marks, the tracks going off the road. David was a much larger man than Gold, tall and muscular while he was small and slight, and he had pulled him from the wreckage before calling for an ambulance.

Gold had woken up some time later in a haze of pain and confusion. No one was at his bedside and he had only vague memories of what might have landed him in the hospital. He was trying to get up, planning on leaving, when the nurse rushed in and none too gently pushed him back down on the bed.

You can't do that Mr. Gold. I'll just go get the doctor.

Oh, he had raged at her. And she had cringed away from his somewhat bleary and incoherent anger before leaving to find the doctor in question. The man who arrived, Whale if he remembered the name right, had explained in succinct, dry terms what had happened to him. His ankle had been caught under the dashboard, twisted, the bones shattered. They had put it back together as best they could. Surgery had apparently taken hours. It would take months to heal completely, painful physical therapy twice a week, and even then it would never be right.

No one had come to visit him while he was recuperating in the hospital, which was just as he expected, frankly. He had no friends, no family. His aunts had died many years before. And his son…well…he had spoken to him on the phone once the strongest of the medication they had him on had worn off. His ex-wife, who lived several states away and generally tossed the boy on a bus to go see his father when it was time for a visit, had refused to allow him to come. There was no one to take care of him while he was in this state and so he had to make do with the phone call. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He had fought tooth and nail, with everything he had, to keep his boy with him. And all he got was a few weeks in the summer and phone calls in between.

They had called him an unfit parent. He lived in a remote area, spent most of his time with his dogs and sheep, had a temper and nothing, apparently, to offer the boy except his wealth. And wealthy he was. He had turned spinning into an art form, creating yarn that was sought the world round for its beauty and strength. He had woven a handful of rugs himself and they always sold for thousands. His financial advisers, and he had several of those, had wanted him to expand the operation, get a larger farm, more sheep, stop the hand spinning. He had ultimately brought more sheep into the flock, increasing the size of his flock to about thirty hardy sheep. But he had refused the rest. And doing so had made him a very rich man.

He was a recluse, enigmatic, unknown to even the people who lived in the nearby town. The town being a nice place for children to grow up hadn't been good enough and so his son, Baeddan, had gone to live with his ex-wife and her new beau in the suburbs of some city in Ohio.

After his recuperation in the hospital, David Nolan had shown up to bring him home. He wasn't exactly a friend, but he was certainly the closest Gold had. Nolan was a fellow sheep farmer, focusing on meat instead of wool as Gold did. He had a fairly large farm, a hundred head of sheep or so. It kept the man and his wife, a rather unassuming school teacher named Mary Margaret, busy. But it didn't stop Nolan from stopping by the Gold farm on occasion.

So it was no surprise that he had been the one to find him after the accident and not exactly a surprise that he showed up to help him home. When they had arrived at his farm, he found his dogs excited to see him but well-fed. The sheep had been taken care of. Nolan had wanted to take no money from him, but he knew that they were expecting their first child and money was always an issue when it came to children.

Gold didn't do it for the Nolans. They tended to be a nuisance. He did it for the child. David Nolan had been unable to refuse in the end.

Gold had been making do ever since Nolan departed, refusing all help from the younger man in handling his farm. The dogs could take care of bringing the sheep in to him as they always did. They might have to take on more of the work, with his still being on crutches and finding it difficult to get out to the field. It had thawed a bit after the last ice storm and the path out to the field was a mess of soggy grass and mud. The crutches consistently sunk into the ground and after one attempt he had given up. Sending the dogs out made the most sense. They were used to working closely with him, especially Taz.

Taz was his prize. Taz was his best friend. When he curled up on the couch in the evenings, glass of Scotch in hand and a good book on his lap, Taz was next to him. Bigger than most Border Collies, he was a classically marked red, white stripe down the center of his face, white at the tip of his tail, and hair…a lot of hair. He stood out amongst the other dogs and Nolan had often commented on the big, bold dog. Unfortunately for Nolan, Taz would have nothing to do with him. The dog kept his own counsel, preferring to stick close to Gold. He was the only dog allowed in the house in the evening. The rest stayed in a small heated building off the barn, bedding down together.

All together he had six dogs. Taz was the most experienced of the lot and the oldest. The youngest was just nine months old and not yet started on the sheep. But she hung out with the older dogs and she came from good solid stock. He had no doubt, based on the pup's eye and focus that she'd make a fine sheepdog. Her training was put off for now, postponed until Gold could get back out there.

Everything was postponed. Everything was a mess.

That day he had headed out to the barn as he usually did. He had found a method that, while not easy, allowed him to feed the sheep with minimal trouble. Of course, he had refused all help during his recuperation time. David Nolan had offered. Time and time again, really. But his refusal had been quick and sharp.

It didn't stop the man from stopping by on occasion, of course. David Nolan was nothing if not a complete nuisance. He stopped by with some excuse at least twice a week. And then he'd insist on helping, even when Gold consistently told him to get lost, walked away, ignored him.

Today Gold grabbed the feed bucket that he had altered for his purposes. It had a strap that he had fashioned that allowed him to sling it over one shoulder while still making his way, slowly, to the feed troughs. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, requiring balance that he didn't entirely have in his injured state. He still had some bruising around his ribs that made it especially painful. But he gritted his teeth, filled it, and slung it across one shoulder.

He hadn't taken more than two steps before his right crutch hit a rock and bounced away from him. He had felt at least somewhat steady under the heavy weight of the bucket and the crutches, hadn't been expecting it. As soon as it was out of his grip, he put all his weight on his right foot, the injured ankle twisting further and pitching him forward.

He had no hope of regaining his balance in that moment. Landing hard on the ground, he rolled away from bucket as it came down on his already bruised side. He hissed in pain, the damaged bones held together by metal sending pain shooting up his leg as it crumpled underneath him.

He had no idea how long he laid there dazed on the ground, the sheep coming closer and eating the feed that had scattered as the bucket rolled away from him. Taz was nearby and slunk closer as the dust settled to curl up at his side. It could have been minutes. He suspected it was longer. He tried to get up, but the crutches had been thrown away as he fell, and his battered body protested when he tried to roll over to crawl to them.

He had finally managed that much, rolling over onto his hands and knees, breathing hard from the additional aches to his already bruised body, worried that he had done even more damage to his ankle.

"Mr. Gold?"

He snarled something incoherent. Nolan. Of course Nolan would come and find him in this state. He had told the man something like twenty times that he was just fine. That he needed no help. That he could do this on his own.

"Gold!" The younger man came rushing to his side and he cringed slightly, looking up at him with a smirk to hide the pain.

"Why hello there, Mr. Nolan." He tried for his usual sarcasm, but the words were edged with a pain he hoped the other man did not sense. "It seems you've arrived at a fortuitous time. I've found a new way to feed the sheep." He waved a hand at the animals around him, still scrambling to get whatever they could out of the bucket and the feed strewn across the floor. It was chaos in the barn with him at the center of it all.

"Really?" David Nolan didn't sound exactly impressed. Nor did he sound like he believed a word of it.

"Indeed. So if you just head on out…"

"No"

"No?"

Nolan shook his head and stepped closer. Taz got up and moved away, leaving Gold alone on the cold hard floor. The younger man held out a hand to him and Gold just gave it a sneering look. "Just take it," the other man said. "There's no dignity in trying to get up on your own. You were in an accident. I'd be in the same place if it happened to me."

Gold snorted. But acquiesced nonetheless. He wasn't getting off the floor without some sort of help, after all. The younger man handed him one of the crutches and between that and the hand pulling him up he managed to get himself righted. It hurt like the devil and he tried not to show any of that pain on his face. Nolan was perceptive, however. The man was not the smartest one he'd ever met, but when it came to reading people, he seemed to have a knack many in the business world would be jealous of.

Gold hated that that knack meant he could read him, especially when it came to any sort of weakness. But here they were. "Come on," Nolan said. "Let's get you back to the house. You need to put that ankle up."

It was slow-going, making their way back, but together they got him into the house and into the recliner that he favored on nights he liked to relax. Nolan left briefly to finish feeding the sheep and locking up the barn, but returned all too soon.

"You need help around here."

"No."

"You…"

"My scotch." Gold waved his hand at the sideboard off to his right.

"What?" He would have laughed at the furrow between the man's brows if he wasn't in so much damned pain.

"I need a glass of scotch if we're going to have this conversation."

The other man nodded and fetched a tumbler and the expensive Single-malt Scotch he kept hidden in the sideboard. He rarely drank, though he found he craved it more after the accident than before. It numbed the pain and moreover, it numbed the memories.

Taking a sip of the fiery liquid, he sighed. "I do not want any help around here."

"What if I hadn't come over?" Nolan challenged him with. "You could get someone in who would be able to do the heavy lifting, feed the sheep, muck out the barn."

Gold was loath to admit that he was probably right. It had been a struggle since he'd come home. And it would be at least another couple weeks before he could put any real weight on the ankle, probably a few months before he could walk without the cast or a brace. "And who, exactly, is going to come and help me?" The words were said on a slight sneer, some of the bite gone. The pain and scotch were getting to his head.

He smirked as he realized Nolan had no answer to that. Well, none but the obvious. No one would be willing to come to the farm and help out with the chores, not even if he paid extremely well. There wasn't one person in town who would be willing to risk his wrath to come up to the place. He suspected he could offer the person some fifty dollars an hour and he still wouldn't get any takers.

"I'm sure someone…" Nolan's voice trailed off and the words were met with another smirk from Gold.

"Tell you what. You go to town. You offer people one hundred dollars an hour to come up here and take care of some basic chores every day. The person would need to muck out the stalls, put down fresh bedding, feed and water the sheep. Perhaps two hours of work a day, seven days a week. When it's worming and shearing time, I'd need their help a bit more. See if anyone takes you up on that."

No one would. Not even the thought of making 1400 dollars a week would tempt one of the townsfolk up to his place. He knew this. David Nolan knew this. He saw the man start to speak but held up his hand.

"Ah yes, there will no doubt be multiple people clamoring to come up here for such a thing. Working for the monster on the hill? I can imagine the townsfolk will be most anxious to do that. I'm not sure how I'll ever interview so many people." He waved a hand around him as he spoke.

Nolan stood up. "I'll find someone, Gold. You can count on me." He took a step toward the door.

"You'll understand if I don't see you out." Gold's voice was dry as he spoke.

"Of course."

And then Gold was left blessedly, and painfully, alone. It would be another rough night spent in his recliner.