A/N: So this concept came out of the spoilers I saw for the second arc of the season where Milah is back, and this spins from the question, what is her unfinished business? The writers have made it very clear that the Underworld is more like purgatory than Hell, and so she is in a waiting space. Also inspired by the book/mini-tv series "The Five People You Meet in Heaven." I do not own any of these characters. As mentioned in the summary, 5b disregarded.

When she first found out she was pregnant, she was excited. She had suspected that she was, but poverty made a woman's courses irregular, so she had said nothing to her husband.. He was proud to go into battle, and she did not want to worry him when he left. In the coming months, as she took over her husband's job as spinner for the village, she passed the time at the wheel delighting herself with baby names. She tried them out on her imaginings of children in her head, seeking on that would fit. She knew that she should wait for her husband to make a final decision on a name, but that could be a long time coming, or never.

She hoped her child would favor her looks. She had only seen herself in a mirror once, in her adult life, on the day of her wedding, but she had seen her reflection enough in water and received enough compliments from villagers to know that she had some beauty. Her hair was her vanity, and she brushed it a hundred strokes everyday with a bone comb to keep it tidy.

She imagined that her child would also have sparkling eyes, and would have a strong spirit. Her husband was a gentle man, but weak-willed. She giggled imagining a stubborn child melting her husband's heart, and refusing to back down from whatever the disagreement they were having. She finally settled on a name: Baelfire.

Storybrooke. This is what they call this place. But she has come to understand that this, like the other places she has waited, is a grotesque parody of the real place. There are many more people here than had been in her village or on the Jolly Roger. Many more stories, and more realms than she knew existed. There are kind people here who help her adjust to the life that she does not completely understand. With those people, she talks, and she finds out who they are, and whom they think they are waiting for. Others, she avoids, mistrusts, and even though she reminds herself she is dead and can no longer be hurt, the self-preservation instinct is still strong.

One of the benefits of this larger place is the possibility of finding a purpose. She takes baby steps, after centuries being unused to having a purpose. She finds inspiration one day while walking through the town and a child materializes in front of her. The little girl was no older than five or six years old, and the wide eyes of terror and confusion. "Where am I?" the little girl asks. She doesn't know the answer for sure, but she suspects that the parent of this child is here, waiting to make amends with the child. She kneels down to her level and asks the girl her name. She takes the girl hand in hand, and they begin the search.

This is how it begins. Its starts with one girl, but shortly thereafter she has a gaggle of children with her. She convinces one of the 'good' people that they should reopen the burned out school. She cannot read or write well, for in her village, there was never a call for a poor young woman to learn to read. She learned to read a little with her beloved on his ship, but mainly he read to her, and taught her how to write her name and do arithmetic, saying that it was more essential to understand numbers. There would be time for reading. Yet there never was. So she cannot teach the children book learning, but she knows others in town that can. She become passionate about her cause, aiding these small children until they finish their unfinished business.

She wailed as the midwife, who she could not afford, encouraged her to push. None of the villagers would help her now. They had heard of her husband's disgrace on the battlefield. They had sneered at her belly, for the child would be just like the father. A coward. She willed for the tales about her husband to be falsehoods, and the predictions of her child to be wrong. Then, one stormy night, her child decided it was time to arrive in this world.

The labor endured past wee hours of the morning, and after into the mid-morning sun. The villagers could hear her cries, yet with exceedingly few exceptions to fetch water or pay for the thread spun, no one came. And she loathed her husband, almost as much as she desired this baby to come. Fortunately, her baby was strong and had a fair set of lungs on him as well. He was a lusty plump baby, and she knew he would live. The midwife told her that her newborn son was a fighter, and she sighed with relief, knowing he would have courage.

Sometimes, the children do not stay long. Their mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents have been waiting for them a long time. Sometimes the childhood hurt is soothed quickly, and both parties move on to the next step with the unnamed man. Other times, she get surprised, when an adult stops her and thanks her for taking care of him or her. Sometimes the child transforms to the adult they were at the time of death after the childhood business is finishes, yet other business remains from their adult life.

Helping these children is therapeutic in a way. During her life, she lost her child through her own choices. She had always thought there would be time to find him again, and sail away with him, so she could continue to mother him and have a partner who was a better father than the one he had been born with. Helping these children find their loved ones, so they could move out of this desolate place assuaged her guilt that had plagued her for the endless time that she had been waiting. The constant wondering of where her child was, what he looked like, what had happened to him with his father, what he thought of her, which had plagued for so long, quieted to whispers as she worked with these other children.

One day, her lost ones brought her a new one. Her heart skipped a beat, for the young boy in front of her, she knew. He was of her blood and flesh. Last time she had said she was going for a walk, even though he knew it was a lie. She had glowered those with resentment that she had responsibilities to a child, willing to be free of drudgery. The raggedy boy looked up at her, disbelieving for a moment. "Momma?"

Her voice was breaking. "Yes, Baelfire. It's me."

She could not take it anymore. Not this dull life where she did the same thing day after day, not being able to laugh and have fun, worrying about money everyday, being with a husband who loved her enough to imprison her, but not enough to start over with her. She had begged them to leave this seaside village. He could take his trade anywhere. Yet he refused. He used their son as his ensnaring point. "Baelfire has a good life here." "Bae can learn to read like we never did." "Bae needs healthy air."

And so she resented her son. She could not take long walks by herself, without him clinging to her skirts. He was timid, and afraid to be out of her sight. And even though she loved him like every mother loves her son, she felt trapped. She longed for adventure, yet her husband and child would not let her go. And this bitterness seethed. And seethed.

"Poppa said you were killed by pirates." She smiled sadly.

"Poppa was mistaken. I was killed by an angry, evil man."

"Not a pirate?"

"No."

Baelfire looked at her with soulful eyes, and she began to feel the tears well up. She fell to her knees and hugged him tightly. "I have missed you so much, Baelfire. I should have never left you behind."

"Did you not love me?" The little child is direct. His eyes are shining, tears threatening. Although the cavity where her heart should be, it aches all the same. "You left for a walk, and never came back. Poppa said you loved me, but I wasn't sure."

The sobs wracked her now. "Bae, it was the biggest mistake to leave you. I have loved you from the moment I knew you were in my tummy. After I left, I missed you everyday, and I wanted to come back for you when you didn't need Poppa anymore. But I knew in my heart, he loved you and could parent you much better than I ever could. But I died before I could come back. I was a coward. And I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

The boy looks unsure, scared by all the tears his mother is letting go for the first time in many years. "You love me?"

"Yes, Bae. Very much. Let me keep loving you."

Suddenly, she finds herself at the receiving end of a strangling hug, and a stage whispered, "I love you, Momma."

Then her child is not a child anymore. He is a grown man, with short hair, and the odd clothes they wear in this town. She takes in how handsome he is, and they both stand up, and regard each other. Her son smiles, takes her hand, and says "I go by Neal now."

He tells her his story. And she soaks it in. She rejoices at his bravery, and saddens at his weaknesses. For he inherited her impulsiveness, her black-and-white views, and lust for adventure. But he also inherited his father's sense of family. And for that, she smiles. He talks, and she predominately listens, until the hateful man appears.

"It's time to go." He says softly to her son. "You need wait for someone else."

She clutches his hand for she does not want this brief respite to end. She has finally found her son again. The hateful man regards her with an aloof look. He tells her she will meet her son again, but after both of them finish their unfinished business.