A/N: Some dialogue tweaked from S3E22: There's No Place Like Home.

Chapter 47

"You're quiet today," Belle greeted her husband of less than a fortnight with a smile.

Rumple sighed. "I suppose I've just been thinking," he admitted. "About the past, and Bae, and…" He locked stricken eyes on hers. "Did I truly make a difference in the past? Did he forgive me for Milah, or did he spend a century loathing me for it?" He shook his head. "I have memories of our reunion, but I can't say if they spring from the original encounter or if it happened differently the second time and that's the one I remember."

Belle came around to his side of the table and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Much as I don't think there's much point in dwelling on the past, if finding the answer is important to you, is there some spell that would…?"

"I wish there were," Rumple said, bringing his free hand to his eyes. "But time travel, successful time travel… It's uncharted territory, Belle. Until now, nobody had ever succeeded in casting such a spell and nobody ever created a method to determine the effect of such travel on the original timeline. One can't change the past," he continued. "It's one of the rules of magic. I just can't recall whether I succeeded in breaking it."

He lowered his hand. "Though, perhaps, there is a way I could find out."

"Rumple?"

He hesitated. "I can speak to someone who was there…"

"He really didn't talk much about his past," Emma admitted. "Probably because he knew I'd never believe it. But he did let me know that he, in his words, 'got screwed up by a screwed up situation'."

Rumple sighed. "Well, that sounds accurate enough, I suppose." He'd changed nothing substantial after all.

"He didn't say it was because of you," Emma told him. "Actually, it was pretty much the opposite."

"Crappy home life?" Seemed to be not only her backstory, but that of everyone else she'd ever known. "I get that."

Neal shook his head. "Nah, it was actually pretty great. I mean, there were a few rough patches, sure, but it was… great."

"So why don't you go back?" she asked. She would have given anything for a family, even one that wasn't so great.

"I can't really go back," Neal said. "My father and I…" He seemed to be trying to find the right words.

"Bad guy?" she asked. And again, he surprised her.

"Not at the end. I… Look, things started out really okay. But then, he changed. He, uh, got onto some pretty powerful stuff. It messed him up big time. And some of the stuff he did, I didn't find out about until later, after he got clean of it. And what I did find out about… He hurt people. Some might have deserved it, but not that bad. I couldn't deal with it, not then, so I went somewhere to cool off. Only things got really crazy and by the time I got my head together again, I'd left it too long and he was… gone."

Emma shook her head. "Gone as in… left? Or…?"

"I don't know. He was sick when I left and we weren't doing that great financially. When I finally made it back there, the place we'd been living was under new management and nobody had ever heard of Papa. I tried asking around. I went to the library and tried old newspapers. Personal ads, in case he ever tried to find me that way. Obituaries. I even checked out the cemeteries. I didn't want to find him there, but if I had, at least I would have known, you know? But I left it too long and I don't know how to even start looking for him now."

Emma laid a hand on his arm. "Hey. As long as I'm looking for my folks, I can try keeping an eye out for yours, too."

Neal gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, good luck with that. I'm pretty that trail's even colder than the one you're already following. But thanks. Seriously."

"I guess he figured a drug problem was the closest thing to the truth he could tell me," Emma finished. "And it was close enough not to set off my superpower. Of course, I didn't know what he really meant…"

"Of course," Rumple nodded, but inside, his heart was soaring. Bae had tried to find him! He must have forgiven him for…! But it wasn't enough. He needed more answers. "Well," he said formally, "I thank you for sharing this with me." He sighed. "It seems that if I'm to delve further, though, there's one more person I'll need to talk to."

"Something tells me you're not looking forward to it," Emma remarked.

Rumple gave her a slight nod. "Let's just say that he and I have a complicated history," he told her with a pained smile. "But then, I suppose that's true for most people I've met."

"Want me to tag along?"

"Tempting," Rumple admitted, "but no. I think I'd rather hear what he has to say without an audience, at least at first. However, I do appreciate the offer."

Emma smiled. "Well if you do find out anything you want to share," she laid her hand briefly on his shoulder, "I loved him, too."

Rumple nodded again. "Yes, dearie," he managed. "I know."

Mr. Schuler opened his door in response to Rumple's ring. "Rumpelstiltskin," he greeted him. "And much improved since our last meeting, I see." A thin smile spread his lips. "I suppose I knew you'd be by at some point."

Rumple regarded him stonily for a moment. "One needn't be a seer or a time-traveler to figure that much out, dearie," he snapped. "Schuler. I think that name suits you better than Mousely did."

"Different names are for different times," Schuler replied. "I did think of using Prentice, but it occurred to me that such an appellation might be just a bit too obvious."

Rumple's expression was hard. "You know," he said tightly, "I've been turning things over in my mind and I still don't know why you chose to involve yourself in my affairs. Was I—were Bae and I your pawns? Were you helping or hindering?"

"A bit of both, depending on what the situation required," Schuler's tone was mild.

"Why?" Rumple demanded. "And how?"

The Apprentice gave him a faint smile. "It's not just beans that open portals. I had business in London that necessitated my living there at the same time you were. But when our paths crossed, I didn't think it coincidence then. Now, in hindsight? I'm less certain. Although I did later have cause to wonder whether, when your counterpart transformed me into a mouse several decades ago, that choice was informed by something he saw in the future."

"That didn't come to pass until less than two years before the First Curse brought us here. Your little masquerade was over a century ago."

"Yes, but you acquired your seer abilities shortly after your son arrived in this land. Perhaps, you had a vision at that time. Perhaps turning me into a mouse was just coincidence. It doesn't particularly matter," the Apprentice added with a slight shrug. He inclined his head. "And as to the why, perhaps you ought to step inside. I just put the kettle on the stove. Join me for tea and biscuits." He stepped aside and pulled his front door open wider.

Rumple's eyes narrowed, but he crossed the threshold, his lips pressed in a tight, suspicious line as his host showed closed the door behind him.

"It is interesting," the Apprentice said, as he poured himself a second cup of tea, then held the pot over Rumple's half-drunk cup with a questioning look. When Rumple shook his head slightly, the old man continued. "Despite having the deck stacked against you in more ways than you can know, you achieved far more than expected."

"I achieved nothing," Rumple snapped. "I still became the Dark One. I still lost my boy to Neverland. And he still died bringing me back, or at least, I assume so."

The Apprentice nodded. "Yes, that is so. As a seer yourself, I imagine you've learned that there are some events which may come to pass and others that must. Sometimes pain can only be lessened," he went on gently, "but not averted. But while you failed to save your son, you did manage to save countless others. Including yourself."

Rumple blinked. "I stopped the Ogre War, but I did that in the original timeline, too."

"You did. But that's not what I'm referring to. There was a deal you made with the healer Fendrake, when you voided a previous agreement. Something about charging a lighter fee for his next patient?"

But that had been so long ago. "I-I did ask for that," he said, "but I don't see…"

"His next patient was a lad you knew as Tavro Gavver's. Later—and without that bargain you struck, there would have been no 'later'—he became known to all as Tavronius."

Rumple choked on his tea. No wonder he hadn't recognized the name! In his timeline, the boy had died. Probably within a year of his quitting Pen Marmor. Had he never struck that bargain, never tried to void the contract… "I-I had no idea," he managed, once he'd stopped coughing.

"I'm aware," the Apprentice returned. "Sometimes, it's the smallest grains that yield the most bountiful crops. For example, a word of advice spoken at the right time may appear to go unappreciated and unheeded for years. But like a seed buried deep in the earth, at the right time and under the right conditions, it will spring forth."

"Are you always this cryptic?" Rumple demanded.

The Apprentice chuckled. "Magic may be scarce beyond this town's borders, but there are pockets of it here and there. Sometimes, those of my calling may… nudge things a bit. Or try to. But oftentimes, it's an uphill battle. For example, a gentleman of your acquaintance, very much a product of his era, was—some years after you left—shown how to be a better father to his children than he'd previously been. Such instruction might well have fallen on deaf ears, or rather, ears stuffed with the child-rearing 'wisdom'," the Apprentice sniffed, "of his day and in his circles. Had he not hearkened back to a conversation he had with one of his colleagues some years earlier. You," the Apprentice continued. "By the way, both the two Banks children you knew about and the three born later grew up to become credits to their parents. And the envy of many of his peers."

"B-but he brushed me off," Rumple said, scarcely believing his ears.

"Then. But he didn't forget your advice. And when that same advice was repeated from another source years later, well, let's say that it didn't sound nearly as peculiar the second time." He reached for a biscuit. "And before you ask about the two versions of the Storybook, let's just say that the witch's portal created quite the rip in time. While the universe did its best to mend the ragged edges, the repairs weren't entirely seamless. Such paradoxes as remain may be small, but for one such as you, who lived both timelines, well, you may notice the odd patch here or there."

Rumple smiled faintly. "Anything else I ought to know?"

The Apprentice nodded, this time a trifle sadly. "Well, on a personal note, I think I've you to thank that I became a family man for a time."

Rumple was glad he hadn't taken another sip of tea, or he'd likely have started choking again. "What?"

The old man shrugged. "You must know I've already lived several centuries. I'm almost certain that they were all likely to have been lonely ones. However, even while I was keeping tabs on you and Baelfire in London, there were a few times when it was necessary for me to journey back to Misthaven. On one of those occasions, I met a woman who took my… oddities in stride. If not for your actions, I'm quite certain that she would have perished long before I ever met her. Instead, we shared nearly six happy decades together before age took her from me."

There weren't many people he'd helped, unless his younger self had become more… reasonable after he and Bae had gone through the portal. Barring that possibility… "You married Morraine?" he hazarded.

The Apprentice shook his head. "I married Honora." His smile held a hint of sorrow. "She's long gone now, as are our children, though I've a grandson living in Emelan, teaching at Winding Circle Temple." He winced. "I'm afraid I've lost track of the others. My travels often take me to other realms and, as you've now learned, other times. Honora was good at keeping me grounded, but I've lost that knack, I fear."

"You married—?"

"The woman you managed to save this time out. Yes. Let's just say that although when our paths crossed in London, I had yet to meet her, you're not the only person able to perceive the future. Once I realized that your actions in Pen Marmor were destined to result in a personal benefit to me, I felt obliged to… mix in a bit more than was strictly needful when you crossed over with your son. Oh, I don't think I was overly manipulative. But giving you and your son a bit of direction, so you'd both find employment despite having no character references, ensuring that you'd know where to go to procure decent clothing and other sundries, and, of course, making certain that you'd find your way back here in the end? I think I owed you that much."

"But Bae? You couldn't save him?"

"You knew the seer's prophecy," the Apprentice said, not unkindly. "There was no force in any realm that could have kept it from coming to pass, though I know you had to try. Perhaps, had he been made of weaker stuff, he wouldn't have gone to the fairies for that bean. Or he might have left the Darling children to their fate. Baelfire made his choices, as did you and as do I. For good or ill, choices have consequences. Sometimes," his voice was gentle, "there are aspects to those consequences that are not as we would have them, but they are part of the package." He sighed heavily. "I am sorry for your loss."

Rumple closed his eyes. "It… it wasn't your fault," he managed, knowing that it was the truth.

"Nor was it yours."

"If I'd never taken up the dagger…"

"Then you would almost certainly have lost him to the battlefield as you dreaded. Perhaps," he added, "that would be one reason why at times, you failed to act to prevent the future you knew until it was too late."

Rumple wanted to deny it, but he had procrastinated more than he should have. His efforts to prevent his younger self from becoming the Dark One had been haphazard and half-hearted. Thinking back, there had been many opportunities for him to say or do something that would probably have averted many of the events of his past. But though he'd considered them, he hadn't acted until the time for such action was past. "I… I should go," he mumbled, pushing back his chair. "Thank you for the tea."

The Apprentice got up to see him to the door. "Feel free to call on me again," he said, as Rumple nearly ran out of the house. The old man shook his head sadly. "When you found yourself in your past," he said, watching through the window as Rumple got into his car, "you thought you were there to save Baelfire. And though you did him much good, the person you saved most was yourself. Perhaps one day, you'll be ready to hear as much. If you don't recognize it on your own. But today is not that day…"

"Oh, Rumple," Belle murmured, her hand clasping his.

Rumple sighed heavily. "At least," he whispered, "I did have nearly three extra years with him."

"It wasn't nearly enough," Belle replied.

"No." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "But I know he didn't spend a century hating me. Not this go-round. Though I wouldn't have blamed him if he had." He shook his head. "I may have an instinct for self-preservation, but it seems that even when I tried to be altruistic, Fate—"

Belle squeezed his hand firmly. "I've seen you selfish," she interrupted him. "That wasn't it. You put Baelfire first. Fate arranging things so that a boy who owed his life to you became instrumental in saving yours doesn't take away from your saving him."

Rumple nodded. "I know. And yet…"

Belle slid a bit closer to him. "You're not alone," she murmured. "You don't have to face what you're going through alone."

"The novelty of that has yet to wear off," he said, with just a hint of his usual dry humor. Then, more seriously, he added, "And I rather hope it doesn't."

Belle smiled. "Well, whether it does or it doesn't, you're not. If you want to talk, I'm right here. And if you don't…"

"I do," he said. "I will. Not just with you, though. I," he lowered his eyes. "I missed the wake, you know. I think that sometime soon, we will need to have, that is I should like to have a small… well, a gathering. Nothing formal, no ceremonies. Just memories, shared by those who knew him best." He winced. "Assuming anyone else would be willing to attend now that I'm no longer at death's door."

Belle squeezed his hand again. "I think you'll find that more people than you expect will be hap—honored to," she said. "And if I'm wrong about that, I'll still be there."

Rumple nodded. "That is… more comforting than you can possibly know," he managed.

"So… what are we celebrating now?" Regina asked, looking around the table. She still wasn't used to being included in these gatherings, but she was getting there. She looked around the table. The dwarfs were passing around a pitcher of beer. Emma was talking animatedly with the pirate. Henry was frowning at the menu.

David shrugged. "Neal's first time sitting up? Henry's perfect spelling test—Ow! Snow, what was that for?"

"I haven't given the tests back yet!" Snow exclaimed, turning to face Henry's surprised grin with a quick confirming smile and nod.

"Wait." Regina looked at her step-daughter. "You mean to say that this time," she turned to David, "you couldn't keep a secret?"

David winced. "Uh… sorry?"

Regina shook her head. "Maybe now that you two literally share a heart, some of your characteristics are rubbing off on each other." She smiled a bit to take the sting out of her words. Then her smile seemed to freeze on her face as she spied two people bearing toward them. As the others took notice as well, the murmur of conversation died as they waited for the newcomers to reach them.

Rumple couldn't say he was surprised by the silence that greeted his approach. Clearly, things weren't nearly as different as he'd been wondering. They were still wary. More than a few of the eyes that met his looked down nervously, almost at once. Instinctively, he glanced at Belle, who gave him an encouraging smile.

He could do this. These people might not be his friends, but at least a few of them weren't his enemies either. Two more steps.

The prince half-rose. "Is there something we can… help you with?" he asked, more curious than hostile.

Rumple took a breath and straightened his shoulders. "I thought, perhaps, that Belle and I might join you. If there's room, that is," he added quickly, giving them an out if they wanted one.

"We'll make room," Regina declared. She motioned to the dwarfs. "Move one of the empty tables over and grab a couple of chairs."

Rumple looked at the others again. Some were still apprehensive, but there were welcoming smiles on other faces. Leroy and Doc shrugged and picked up their forks again. "I hope it's no imposition," he ventured.

"Of course not," Snow said. "We should have asked you sooner, but we thought you two might want some alone time. Since you're just recently married," she added.

Rumple blinked. So they had assumed things of him, but not 'the worst'. He smiled. "It was a reasonable guess," he acknowledged, his head turning automatically at the sound of a chair scraping the floor. Bashful lowered his eyes apologetically, a faint flush reddening his face.

"Please," Emma smiled, motioning toward the new empty seats.

Regina waited for Rumple to pull out Belle's chair for her and be seated himself before she passed the bread rolls. "I must say it's good to see you up and about," she said, as his hands closed around the basket.

The faint smile that had already begun to form on his lips widened and reached his eyes.

"It's okay," Belle said gently, as he parked the car. "You can do this."

Rumple nodded once, jerkily, before he got out of the car. "It feels so…" He pressed his lips together. "Well. It is final, isn't it?" But coming here to the cemetery, to Bae's grave, would drive the point home all the more. His son was truly lost to him. His hand tightened about his cane. He felt Belle's warm hand in his other one.

In the distance, he heard the sound of a car approaching and he glanced over his shoulder to see a familiar yellow Volkswagen bug drawing near, a red pickup truck close behind. A black Mercedes followed. With raised eyebrows, he waited for the drivers to park the vehicles and emerge. "Really, he murmured as they came closer, I'm not nearly as fragile as all that."

"I'll meet up with the rest of you afterwards," Regina said, shifting the bouquet of flowers to her other arm and looking around at the others. "I haven't really spoken much with my father since we returned here."

Rumple sniffed. "And you lot?"

Emma smiled guiltily. "I don't think anyone's visited Graham since his funeral. But if you don't mind a little company when I'm done there, I could join you here after."

"And Johanna doesn't get many visitors either," Snow murmured, adjusting the baby sling when Neal woke up and started fussing. "Though the baby should meet his namesake."

Rumple blinked. "Well, it's hardly my place to say who may and may not visit," he said. "Though I trust nobody expects anyone to make any manner of speech."

"Of course not," Regina assured him.

Henry met Rumple's eyes a bit nervously. "Is it okay if I walk with you now, Grandpa?" he asked. "I didn't know my dad all that well, but when I had to say goodbye, I didn't know him at all. It just feels like maybe, now that I remember him, I should…"

Rumple gently eased his hand out of Belle's and extended it to his grandson, no longer caring if the others were just trying to pretend they weren't here for him. Their concern wasn't precisely unwelcome, but it was still somewhat unnerving. At the back of his mind, he still wondered whether they were trying to soften him up for some large favor, or if there was some other ulterior motive he couldn't fathom. That suspicion was fading more with each passing day, but it was still present for now. However, this was his grandson asking to join him. "Of course, Henry, of course," he said, as Henry came forward, barely noticing that his voice was cracking a bit. He wrapped his arm around the boy for a moment, before looking up at the others. "How long do we have before you come to join us?"

Emma shrugged. "How long do you need?"

Rumple hesitated. "I'd not thought to put it to a schedule slot. Come when you choose." Perhaps, he thought wonderingly, he was going to have that 'small gathering' he'd mentioned to Belle, after all.

"And," Henry said, "I can text if Grandpa's ready to leave before you get there."

"Well," Regina said, "if it's not an imposition…"

An imposition? "Certainly not," he assured her.

"Okay," Snow said. "Because if you were hoping to have some private time at the grave, you don't have to feel—"

"Not expecting company is hardly the same as not appreciating it," Rumple informed her tartly.

"Of course not," Snow recovered smoothly. "Well, then. We'll leave Henry with you and, I guess, we'll join you in a little while."

Rumple nodded and turned to his grandson. "Henry," he said gently, "come." He took his hand off of Henry's forearm and held it out, palm wide. Belle clasped it and the three started walking toward the grave in a huddle.

The others watched them go. "You know," Emma said slowly, "a year or so ago, I don't know if I'd have been as… comfortable, letting Henry go off with him."

"A year or so ago, I wouldn't have been as comfortable letting him go off with you," Regina observed. "But things change. And I've come to believe that most of us deserve a second chance."

"Most?" Snow asked.

Regina turned to her with a pained look. "I'm not sure I'd risk one on my mother, if I could."

"And Zelena?" David spoke up for the first time.

Regina sighed. "I don't know. Right up until she went through the time portal, I was just… focused on defeating her. If we had, if she'd come back with Rumple, well… Maybe with the right kind of help…" She saw the way the others were looking at her and smiled a bit ruefully. "I grant you it would have been a long shot, but when I see how far Rumple seems to have come, when I think about my own journey… Who's to say it wouldn't have been possible?" She shook her head. "But now, I suppose we'll never know."

"So there's no way to find out what happened to her?" Emma asked.

"Well, had it been anything notable, I'm sure it would have been in the history books," Regina sighed. "I've half a mind to ask Belle about it; she'd know if anyone would. Perhaps I will, at that," she added. "I must admit I'm somewhat curious…"

The Enchanted Forest, some decades earlier

"Goodwife!" The teenaged girl pounded on the wooden door of the small cottage. "Please, Goodwife, my aunt sent me for you; it's her time!"

The door opened to reveal a hunched-over old woman with one piercing blue eye. She looked her visitor up and down silently, before reaching for a cloak. Donning it, she stooped to pick up a bulging canvas bag, the sort that soldiers had carried to war nearly seventy years ago. Then, taking a knobby wooden cane, she hobbled out, gesturing to the girl to lead the way.

As first births went, it was an easy one. The miller's wife was a strong young woman, not yet turned twenty-two. Evidently, she had a fair tolerance for pain, not summoning the midwife until her contractions were coming less than five minutes apart. Barely an hour after she'd arrived, a strong wail pierced the air. The old midwife smiled. "Congratulations, mistress," she declared. "You've a healthy girl."

The miller's wife lay back against the cushions with a relieved sigh. "Thank you, Zelena," she murmured. "Daria has your fee waiting," she glanced at the teen, now seated in a corner by the fire, well away from the excitement. On cue the girl got up.

"One silver?" she asked, reaching into her pocket.

Zelena nodded. At this time of year, when the seasons were changing, her joints ached all the more. Despite her infirmity—owed both to her age, and to some old battle wounds that had plagued her for years despite the best efforts of the army healers—she wasn't sorry she'd been roused to come here. Not when it was for one of the wealthier villagers who didn't try to haggle her fee.

"What name will you give her Mya?" Daria asked, as the coin changed hands.

"Don't harry her," Zelena said sharply. "There's time enough for that. Your aunt needs her rest now."

"No, it's all right," Mya said, clutching her newborn to her breast with a smile. "Her name is Cora. After my mother." Then, sharply, "Why, Zelena, are you well?"

The one-eyed midwife nodded. "Fine," she said a bit too quickly. "Fine. It just so happens that Cora was my mother's name, too. That's all. It's a fine name."

Mya smiled. "That it is." She looked down at the infant. "Oh, Cora," she whispered, "I may be so very new at this. There is so much I'll need to learn. But there's one lesson I know already and if I can impart it to you, then I'll know I've done right: Being a parent means always doing what's best for your children." She looked up nervously at the midwife.

Zelena gave her a quick smile. Then she hurried out as fast as her aching limbs and crooked cane would take her.

As she hurried down the path, she thought she heard the echo of a mocking voice in the wind.

You shall meet your mother in the end, for all the good it will do you…