He managed to walk calmly back to his car, to get inside of it without slamming the door shut, and drive off without making a scene. But that was only because he didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want Booth, whoever the fuck he might be, to see how he'd affected him, to know that he'd gotten under his skin. Which was exactly why, the moment he was away from the cabin, his discipline broke.

His body was shaking, and his chest was tight. Energy tingled in his fingers and toes far worse than it ever had when he had magic! He needed to hit something! So he did. He hit at his steering wheel as he drove, smacked it over and over, but it still wasn't enough. His anger bubbled over, but there was nowhere for it to go. He wanted to rage; he wanted to break things; he wanted to crash his car on the side of the road! Not to hurt himself, but rather to watch the metal twist and whine into useless junk just because he felt like that was what his soul was becoming!

But he couldn't do anything. He was aware of that. At his home, he could break whatever the fuck he wanted. But here, out in the open…people would talk. The entire town would notice if he did something so flamboyantly stupid and how the hell would he ever explain it all?!

He needed Belle.

With that realization, hers was the face that he brought to mind as he tried to settle himself because she had always had that kind of effect on him. She had been like a balm for his soul when she was around. Things were at peace; life was comfortable even when it wasn't perfect or even happy. She kept him stable, and he knew that this meltdown wouldn't have happened if he had her with him now. If he could have her with him now, she would have kept him calm and helped him think through his next steps. If he'd had her, this little trick that Booth had played would never have gotten off the ground.

But she was gone. And instead, he felt like…like anger and sadness and loneliness all wrapped up in one pathetic little human man! If he did something too extreme, the town would notice, but he felt like if he didn't do something extreme, then he would burst into flame! If he sat down at the wheel, he'd probably spin so fast he'd set it on fire!

What to do, what to do, what to do!

How was he going to channel this anger he felt? How was he going to push it out of his body and into something productive!

Something productive…

He gave a mad little laugh as an idea jumped into his head. The idea grew until he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He sped home, not caring in the least if Emma was patrolling the roads. He raced back to his home, slammed his car door shut, and went into his house as fast as his legs could carry him. It was late, but he wasn't tired like he should have been. No…he was dedicated. He needed something to channel his rage into, and he knew what he needed to do more than anything in the world.

Who was August Wayne Booth?

No one fooled the Dark One, at least not as bad as he had, and got away with it. He wouldn't stand for such a thing, and he had no intention of resting until he knew who the Man With Dark Hair, "August Wayne Booth," really was because even though he was beginning to come to conclusions about him, there was one conclusion in particular that he valued above all others.

He knew his son.

It was the most important thing, the only thing that mattered, the only thing keeping him from going back and plunging his dagger into the liar's heart.

August Booth knew his son. Not only had the Seer told him that years and years ago, but tonight was proof.

He'd known who he was, the Dark One. He'd known about the dagger. Of course, that all could have been a coincidence; lots of people in this town knew he was the Dark One and could find the legends of his Dagger, not that they would know to look at the moment.

But there was more proof. Booth had information about him that only Baelfire would have known.

He'd called him "Papa," which also could have been a coincidence. "Papa" was a popular pet name for a father that many people from their land used. He'd heard Belle call her father "Papa" when he'd first gone to fetch her. Using that name could have simply been a lucky guess. And he had spoken to him about Baelfire's disappearance when he'd fucking begged the swine for forgiveness. Looking back, he might have given away too much information for Booth to work with.

But there was more still!

The ball. In his shop. He'd targeted that ball, pinpointed it because he'd wanted him to believe he was his son. What had he said? Wanted him to want it? He'd wanted it. He'd wanted it so much he'd bought it hook line and sinker. Because there was no one, no one, alive today that would have known that ball belonged to Baelfire. That had to be more than a lucky guess.

And then he'd talked to him about his cane and how he'd kept the dagger in his boot when they were in the forest. Those weren't just lucky guesses. Those were precise facts! And the only one who could have told him that detail was Bae himself.

Booth wasn't his son. But he knew him. He was confident about that! He might even know where his son was right now! But how to get him to tell him?

He had to figure out who he was. Who he really was! He had to get the upper hand and force his cooperation! Getting Emma to break the Curse…that would come when he knew exactly who he was dealing with and why he thought he was the only one who could get her to believe there was a Curse to be broken in the first place!

So…who was he?

There was no doubt he belonged to their world at some point. He knew about him, which could have been explained by talking to Baelfire, but he hadn't denied that he was from home when he asked him.

He was from there.

So who the fuck was he supposed to be?! Well…what did he know about him? Where could he begin? What were the clues? He could narrow it down by a few factors—actually, more than a few when he began to make a list.

There was a clue, one other clue that the Seer had given him long ago. He cursed himself. If he'd thought of the clue, really and truly thought it through, then he would have known he wasn't Baelfire.

The clue was Archie.

The first time he'd had the vision of the Man With Dark Hair…he'd had it because of the cricket. Archie, formerly Jiminy…he knew the Man With Dark Hair. That narrowed it down a bit. Archie had a long life, but he hadn't really associated with many people in that long life.

He knew that he knew Snow White. And the seven dwarves. He'd helped during her…what had he called it after she'd had the potion? Intervention? They'd called on him because he happened to be nearby with Gepetto, Marco here. He'd stuck to Marco nearly all the time in Storybrooke, just as he had in the Enchanted Forest. Marco and…

His blood ran cold.

A son separated from his father under difficult circumstances…

One who had information about him that the Blue Fairy might have...

As he gathered up his town records, his jaw dropped, and he forced himself to breathe. His head was putting together a puzzle, making it work.

August…he was here. He knew about the Enchanted Forest, but he was a stranger to it, someone from the outside world, Like Sarah Fischer across the street from the shop…he hadn't been carried over in the Curse. He'd come here some other way, which meant that he'd aged.

How old was Booth? Best guess? Late thirties, maybe early forties at worst. That meant, twenty-eight years ago, August Booth would have been a child. Potentially an older child, but…

How old had that puppet looked when the Blue Brat made him human? He hadn't seen him often. Maybe in one or two glimpses. Seven? Eight? Certainly no more than nine? If he'd come over before the Curse at that age, then that would put him…middle to late thirties.

"You've been making plans to see your son again since before I was made..."

Made, he'd said, not "born" as most would have. Wooden puppets weren't born...they were made.

He felt suddenly electrified as he shuffled through some of his papers, looking for a list he'd made when he'd first awakened from the Curse. He'd used town records then to identify as many citizens as he could, thinking it would be helpful for whatever was to come. In addition to that list, he'd made one other. It was a list of those that were "missing" or unaccounted for. He hadn't expected to know everyone, but for those, he did know he'd wanted to know where as many of them were as possible. That list hadn't been long but-

He held his breath as he found the list and skimmed through it.

Geppetto's puppet…Pinocchio…he was on the list of the missing.

He hadn't thought anything of it at the time. The Curse was designed to take away happy endings; Geppetto had always wanted to have a family and be a father. At one point, he could remember thinking the man was surely going to call on him to make a deal for a child of his own! Removing the child that the Blue Fairy had given him from his care would have been natural for the Curse.

When he'd made this list, he'd assumed the boy would be cared for with another family like Grace, Jefferson's daughter was. He hadn't thought it was important to check the schools for the child because he hadn't really considered him or even Geppetto as people of importance for the Curse. Archie? Yes, because he knew the Dark Haired Man! But the boy who'd once had red hair? He'd never considered he might be the same person. But hair could be dyed. Or even change as children grew. The child...

Child. His biggest clue. Last he'd checked, Pinocchio had been a child. But there were months that he'd spent in his prison where he hadn't a clue what had happened or where people had gone. It was possible something had happened while he'd been in there. Something that made the child valuable? Something to get the child here where he could age. How? He wasn't sure. He hadn't been able to look in on anyone during that time. The result was that he didn't even know how Emma had managed to escape the Curse. The Seer had always kept that from him until…

Until the day the Curse struck. He'd had a vision. He dropped his head into his hands as he struggled to remember it. There had been so much going on! That vision was nothing but a hazy image in the middle of a world being torn to shreds! What had he seen?!

There had been a bloody David placing his daughter inside a wardrobe of some kind. He'd closed the door, and when he opened it again, she'd been gone. There was nothing there but the hallowed tree. No! Not a hallowed tree. A wardrobe with doors. It had been carved. The wardrobe he'd placed her in had been carved out of a tree. Carved…as if by a master craftsman. Geppetto. And Pinocchio…

Suddenly he remembered something he hadn't thought of in years. It wasn't a memory that would come easily to him because he'd been Cursed when it had occurred. But there was something familiar about all this, something coming together in his brain, making a connection.

He was exhausted from the night, but the next morning at first acceptable light, he got ready for work and went to the shop like he always did. In the back room, he dug out an old file he hadn't seen in ten years. It was the file on Emma that the caseworker had sent him when he asked for it. The caseworker had been reluctant to hand it over, but when he'd heard that the mother of the boy that Regina wanted to adopt had been found not far from Storybrooke, he'd plead for any more information on the girl, and he'd gotten it.

Inside the file was a newspaper article. He'd read it once when he was Cursed and then forgotten about it, but something about all this brought a single detail he vaguely recalled back to his mind. The newspaper article had been written about Emma when she'd been found in the woods not far from Storybrooke. It was a piece about a baby, meant to elicit sympathy, to bring the parents forward or find her a home. Babies were good for that sort of thing, but there was one fact in it that wasn't appealing as an abandoned baby, and so the article hadn't given it much attention. But there it was, in black and white.

Emma Swan had been found in the woods by a young boy. Toward the end of the article, he noted a single line that stated the boy wasn't identified either, but it did mention…the boy was seven.

Thirty-five...that boy would be thirty-five years old today.

He sighed as he set the file aside and fell into his chair in the back, relief and wonder and understanding coursing through him all at once.

He knew who he was. Not for certain, he'd have to put his theory to the test somehow, but he could the certainty in his bones as the weight of truth settled over him.

August Booth wasn't his son, but he was someone's son.

I freakin loved writing this chapter! These sorts of chapters will always remain my favorite, even if they are boring for some. I love getting to walk us through someone's thought process and watch as they put the clues together to come to the right conclusion. In Moments Series, when Belle did this, we always referred to her as Research!Belle and I think these chapters are certainly Research!Rumple moments. It didn't take him long to get there this time, but I like to think that's because he knew that something was wrong long before speaking with August. He knew that things didn't add up, and now he's able to take those odd pieces and actually put them together to form his own theory. All that's left is to test it.

Thank you, Alarda and Grace5231973, for your reviews! I can't wait to hear what you have to say about this one! I have to admit that this chapter makes me proud of many earlier reviews for the 1x19 chapters. There were many "he needs Belle" in those reviews for the chapters where he was most scattered. I wanted so badly to tell you that you were right, and he would only realize it later when it was too late, but here we are finally! You were right! He did need Belle, and he knows it. Shame she's dead. If you can believe it, we only have 10 chapters left in this fiction. And I think these last ten chapters are my favorites. I can't wait for us to dive into them, and I can't wait for you to discover why! Let's go, shall we? Peace and Happy Reading!