A/N: Thanks to 'Simi Simps for Daredevil' in the Facebook Writers Tribe chat for advice on juvenile law. Full disclosure: I am not a lawyer. Any errors made in this chapter are entirely my own.

Chapter Two

"Mr. Gold!" Sidney Glass exclaimed, more than a little apprehensive to find the shopkeeper standing on his doorstep. "I'm sorry; I didn't think the rent was due for another week."

Mr. Gold shook his head. "I'm not here about the rent today, Mr. Glass," he said easily. "Actually, I require your assistance in another matter."

Sidney blinked. "Oh. Well..." Still somewhat nervous, he took a step back and motioned to his landlord to follow. "Why don't you come inside then?"

Gold thanked him and allowed the reporter to usher him into the living room and offer him the sofa.

"I could put some coffee on," Sidney offered.

"No, that won't be necessary," Gold demurred. He sank onto the left-most cushion of the sofa and leaned his cane carefully against the armrest. "I called on you to enlist your aid on a project that Mayor Mills has assigned me. I think you possess certain talents that will prove useful if I'm to succeed."

Sidney leaned forward. "How can I help?"

Gold hid a smile at the dreamy look that stole over the other man's face when he mentioned the mayor. It was none of his concern as to whom the reporter was not-so-secretly enamored with. In fact, Gold knew, the torch that Glass carried for Regina Mills would likely serve to make the reporter more disposed toward helping him on this assignment. Still, Gold rather thought that Glass would be better off setting his affections on some other object—one who didn't already have another man in her bed. Again, he reminded himself more forcefully, not his concern. He leaned forward and now, he did allow a small smile to show. "The mayor wishes to adopt a child and has tasked me with procuring one for her."

"Um… okay," Sidney replied slowly. "And you need my help because…?"

"Because the mayor has specifically asked me to expedite the process on her behalf. It seems that it generally takes upwards of two years for a suitable child to be found, at least if one goes through regular channels."

Sidney frowned. "I-I see."

Yes. Gold could tell that he was beginning to. "Doubtless, you're aware of the arrangement I've made for Ashley Boyd's child, when the time comes."

"It's a small town," Sidney nodded. "Word gets around." He raised an eyebrow. "Ashley doesn't look like she has more than a month to go. Maybe…?"

Gold shook his head. "I've already contracted with another couple for that infant. And while I did offer to approach them to see whether they'd consider a delay, Mayor Mills was adamant that she wanted to raise a child whose biological mother would not be close at hand." His expression turned serious.

"I've come to you because if there's to be any chance of bypassing the average adoption wait time, I believe that one would need to locate an expectant mother in similar circumstances to the Boyd girl, one who resides outside of Storybrooke. As you are an investigative journalist, one would believe that you have resources and connections which I do not."

Sidney frowned again. "Well, I do mostly cover local happenings," he said slowly, "but you're right. I can put out some discreet feelers, see what—or rather, who—I can turn up."

Gold smiled. "Once you've provided me with a name and contact information, I'll handle the rest. And I'll be certain to let Mayor Mills know she'll have you partly to thank when she's cradling her child in her arms."

Sidney smiled back.

There it was: three paragraphs tucked away on page seven of the Arizona Republic's front section. "Arrest made in jewelry store heist," Emma read aloud under her breath. She skimmed the article nervously. Her name wasn't mentioned the article only stated a 'minor had also been taken into custody in connection with the theft'. Her eyes dipped lower and the room started to spin. "Three to twelve years in state prison for a first offense?" she whispered. "I thought eleven months was bad!"

She hadn't seen Neal since the night they'd both been arrested. The last six weeks had been a nightmare. As Michaela had told her, she'd been quickly remanded back to Arizona to face charges. It had taken a week for the paperwork to go through. After that, everything had taken on a surreal quality. She'd never been on a plane before. If it had been for any other reason, she might have enjoyed the trip. Instead, she'd spent the entire flight gripping the armrests of her seat tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. Her guard hadn't said anything.

The little she'd seen of Phoenix out the window of the car that had picked them up hadn't impressed her. She'd spent the next few days in detention; not having parents—nor even a fixed address—had meant she couldn't be released until the hearing.

And then, once the hearing was over, they'd brought her here to start serving her eleven months. Eleven months less the two weeks she'd already served in custody anyway.

In all that time, nobody had told her anything about Neal. She'd asked for a phone number where she could call him or the address of the place where he was being held, only to be told that the information could not be released to her.

"You won't be able to contact him until you've served your sentence," a guard had told her. "And it might be better if you didn't try to contact him afterwards either."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Emma demanded.

The guard shrugged. "Think about it, Swan. If you'd been picked up on petty theft charges like you were every other time, you wouldn't be here in the first place, and I don't think they lock people up in Oregon for stealing pop tarts either. Instead, you hook up with a guy facing felony theft and he ropes you into this, too."

"He didn't!" Emma shot back. "He told me not to get involved. I didn't listen."

"So he's brighter than I thought," the guard said. "And you're… not. Look. I take it back. You're a smart kid. Not smart enough, but too smart to keep going the way you have been. Use this time. Finish high school. Think about what you want to do with your life when you get out of here. Keep away from people who're going to drag you back down. You're better off without them."

Now, she read the article again, trying to extract some hidden clue, some bit of meaning from the printed words. There wasn't any.

"I'll find you," she whispered, gripping the thin newsprint tight enough to crumple it. "Once I get out of here, I'll start looking and I won't stop until I do."

Nine and a half months. She had to wait that long before she could even hope to get an address. And meanwhile—

The bell rang to announce the dinner hour. Emma got to her feet, resigned. And then, her stomach seemed to roll and she staggered forward, doubled over, and just managed to turn aside in time to avoid splashing another inmate's shoes as her breakfast came back up.

"Gross!" the girl exclaimed, punctuating her assessment with an expletive. Then, more concerned, "Hey, you okay?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Uh… do I clean that up?"

"Better go to the infirmary, Swan," a guard spoke up behind her. "I'll write you a pass. Don't worry about the mess."

Emma nodded again. "Sorry."

"Probably just nerves," the guard said. "Off you go."

She'd been having 'nerves' every day for the last six weeks, Emma thought to herself. And they'd never made her puke before! Maybe she was allergic to this place, she thought darkly. Her eyebrows lifted. Hey. Maybe she was. And if she was, then maybe there was some law on the books that said they had to let her out!

Regina struggled to heft the unwieldy box through her front door, but balked at getting it up the stairs. Graham was coming over later tonight; she'd get him to do it. And maybe assemble the thing too.

Perhaps it was premature, buying a crib at this stage. She had no idea how long it would take Gold to find a suitable child for her. She rather suspected, though, that it would take less time than the two years minimum she'd been quoted by every legitimate adoption agency she'd reached out to.

Regardless, she'd filled out the paperwork for three of them; if this turned out to be something Rumple couldn't arrange after all, she'd still get a child faster than she would if she waited for Ashley to give birth; the girl had been in her third trimester for sixteen years and still no closer to going into labor!

And whose fault is that? a small voice in her head piped up. She squelched it viciously. What was done was done and she couldn't start time moving again for just one person, no matter how useful it might be to her. With magic, she might be able to wake someone up—restore their memories so that they'd know who they truly were—but that still wouldn't bring a pregnancy any closer to term. And anyway, she didn't have the magic to do it. No, this curse might be less of a burden for her than for the people she'd ensorcelled with it, but she was still feeling the weight of it. If there was to be a child—and with Gold's help there would be—it would come from outside Storybrooke.

And with or without his memories, Rumpelstiltskin always had a knack for getting things done. She just had to be patient. And prepare.

She pulled out her phone. "Sheriff. Just calling to let you know I'm looking forward to seeing you this evening. And I have a bit of an assembly project I could use your assistance with. I'd suggest wearing something a bit more casual than usual." She smiled. "Lovely. I'll see you at seven."

Emma stared at the nurse for a full moment before she managed to say, "You've got to be kidding." Her nausea hadn't gone away in the last two weeks. She'd thought that maybe one of the other girls had slipped something into her food as some kind of sick practical joke. She'd thought she wasn't used to the Arizona sun. She'd thought it might be nerves or stress or worrying about what was happening to Neal (and really, that was three different ways of saying the same thing, wasn't it?). But it had never crossed her mind that she could be…

"Pregnant?"

The nurse nodded. "Congratulations, I guess. I'll add this information to your file and we'll see about setting you up with periodic checkups with an ob-gyn."

Emma blinked. "When?"

"Well," the nurse said, not unkindly, "that's hard to say. We don't have one on staff here, and it can take time to get the approval to send you off-site for this sort of care. Usually, we can't get the ball rolling on that until we've made the appointment, and if the approval doesn't come through before the appointment date…"

"Then I don't get to go at all," Emma finished.

"You're from Oregon, right?"

Emma shook her head. "I was arrested there, but I don't know where I'm from. I was in the system in Boston. Foster care, I mean," she added. "But I've been—"

"I don't need your life story," the nurse interrupted her. "What I meant," she continued, "is that if you were an Arizona resident or had family here, there might be some possibility of petitioning the judge to let you serve the remainder of your sentence in the community, where you'd have better access to prenatal care. Unfortunately, since you don't…"

"I'm stuck here," Emma finished. She was feeling nauseous again and this time, it had nothing to do with morning sickness. "Can I get in touch with my boyfriend?" she asked. "He was arrested the same time I was, but he's over eighteen and I don't know where he is. Nobody will tell me if he's had a trial or if he was found guilty or—"

"I'm sorry," the nurse said. "If he was acquitted, and if he wants to make the proper inquiries, he can find out your whereabouts with a bit of digging. If he's in custody, though, that presents more of a difficulty. I think you need to recognize that for as long as you're with us…"

"I'm on my own," Emma filled in miserably. She was seventeen. Only. She'd never had a stable family or a real parent. She'd never finished school. Never held down a job for longer than a few weeks. Never…

She was going to be a mother in seven months.

How could she be a mother when she'd never had one?

"Emma?" The nurse was speaking again. "Emma, you need to think carefully about your options. You can choose to have an abortion; you're still early enough for that. You can choose to keep the baby. Or you can choose to surrender it for adoption. It's your call."

"I don't think I can make it without talking to Neal," Emma protested. "He's the father; doesn't he have any say in this?"

"In the eyes of the law?" The nurse shook her head. "That's all on you. If he were standing here right now, and he gave you his opinion of what you should do, and you thought otherwise? Your decision would be the one that would stand." She sighed. "Look. You don't have to make a decision right this second. If you're considering abortion, you do need to make that choice before you're twenty weeks along. For the other two options, you don't have to decide until the baby's born. Why don't you weigh your options?" She turned to a display of pamphlets on the counter behind her, perused the titles for a moment, and then handed two of them to Emma. "Read these," she said. "I'll put in a request through channels to follow up with you in a couple of weeks. And I'll get the ball rolling on finding you an ob-gyn. Any questions?"

Numbly, Emma shook her head. "No."

The nurse nodded. Then she walked to the infirmary door, opened it, and told the waiting guard, "She's done."

The guard entered at once and motioned to Emma. "Come on, then."

Still looking shell-shocked, Emma obeyed. She made it through the rest of the day in a fog, sitting in her classes without hearing a word the teacher was saying, before trudging back to the 'pod' where her cell was located. She ignored the cartoon playing in the common room (Seriously, she hadn't seen a single thing here that wasn't rated G or PG; she wasn't twelve!) and made her way back to her cell. Only there, in relative privacy, did she finally break down in sobs.

She couldn't be a mother. She just couldn't.