A/N: Yes, we know that there's someone else currently awake in Storybrooke whom Rumple could seek out. Unfortunately, there's no reason to believe that he knows that.

Chapter 5

This wasn't right. Rumple realized it nearly at once. He was supposed to recall his true self only when the Savior first arrived in town and she almost certainly wasn't here yet; it was far too soon for that. At least, he thought with a frown, he believed it was. Now that he was considering the matter, just how many years had it been since the curse had carried them all here?

He had no idea and that frightened him. He was used to having all the answers. Knowledge was power, after all, and the more you knew about a thing, the greater your power over it. Giving up as much knowledge, as much control, as he'd known the Curse would take from him had been so terrifying a notion that he'd had to take steps to ensure he wouldn't be able to hang back at the last moment, as he had the first time.

He'd been over a century crafting the Curse that would take him to Bae. Doing so had involved far more than simple incantations, potions, and powders. He'd had to find the perfect curse-caster and twist and shape her toward that end. He'd had to find and bottle a true love pure and powerful—one that had been strengthened through trial and adversity. And hadn't he made certain that it would be? Fate had played its part, of course, but Rumple had known he could leave nothing to chance—especially not last minute panic or second thoughts.

He'd allowed himself to be captured so that he wouldn't have the power to evade the Curse at the last, and even then, he'd given himself a way out, once assured that his curse-caster would fulfill her task. He hadn't used the squid ink to escape his cell. And by the time panic might have set in, there probably wouldn't have been a place he could get to where the Dark Curse's billowing smoke wouldn't reach. Still, just having the bottle with him had been reassuring. Had Snow White or her charming prince decided to execute him as they'd once considered doing to Regina, or perhaps sold him to one of his enemies to replenish their treasury, he would have been able to escape that at least. And while the latter possibility was doubtful, he would have been a fool to think that villains had cornered the market on rationalizations. If the heroes meant to harm him, they'd find a way to make themselves believe he deserved it. And if they contented themselves with keeping him incarcerated where they could seek him out for advice on how to defeat the Curse, then so much the better. He'd been where he wanted to be: in a place where the Curse could carry him where he wanted to go. One day, he'd known, the Savior would arrive, that Curse would break, and he'd be able to leave and find Bae.

But not now!

How much longer would he need to wait, stumbling about and pretending to be asleep and blind as everyone else? He knew he could ask Regina to please leave him to his own devices, but sooner or later, she'd suspect the truth. And without his magic, he wouldn't be able to defend himself if she decided that having him awake and aware was too dangerous.

His mind flashed briefly on the man and boy who had passed through town a while back. (Of course, under the Curse, every day save today felt like 'a while back'.) He knew that the boy had… Well, he imagined 'escaped' was the accurate term. He also knew that Sheriff Graham had apprehended the man—he'd seen them on their return to town; the man sitting stonily in the back of the squad car, the sheriff at the wheel, and the mayor driving her Mercedes behind. And then? Well, he couldn't say, but he doubted that Regina had gone through all the trouble of having him arrested just to let him go an hour later. And yet, he'd never seen the man again. So, either Regina had him caged up somewhere… Or she'd found a more permanent disposition.

Rumple resolved on the spot to avoid either fate. His safety, his freedom, and his life might well hinge on Regina's continued belief that he was still asleep. Perhaps, it would be wiser to return to that state. But first, he wanted to have some idea of how long he'd need to wait. Perhaps, it had already been over twenty-seven years!

Perhaps it had been less than twenty-seven days.

And he couldn't very well go about asking anyone here which it was, when the only person who knew for certain was the person he dared not approach. Not unless he wanted to end up like…

A slow smile spread his lips. Perhaps, there was a way to narrow the timeline down a bit.

He closed his email and almost hesitantly opened his web browser. He really was not comfortable with this thing, but he didn't want to involve Sidney Glass unless there was truly no other option. He typed a single line into Google's search-box.

Missing persons in Maine last 30 years.

The search returned over one hundred thousand hits.

Rumpelstiltskin devoutly hoped he wouldn't need to review all of them.

Emma went back to her cell unable to shake the feeling that she'd just made a huge mistake. She knew that logically speaking, practically speaking, she hadn't. Her child was going to have a better life than she ever had, and a better life than she could ever hope to give him. She knew that was true. She did. She was seventeen, with no education and a criminal record—yes, okay, it would be sealed when she turned eighteen, but even it would be, what kind of future could she have with her past? More to the point, what kind of future could she hope to give her child? And even if she and Neal had been together, his prospects were as bleak as hers. Bleaker; his record wouldn't be sealed when he got out of wherever he was now.

No, she'd made the right choice. She had.

Then why did it feel like she hadn't?

Because Ross Anderson had been too slick, too glib, too eager to establish a rapport. She got that. She'd been getting it all her life from well-meaning social workers, teachers, and the occasional foster parent. There had to be some handbook out there with instructions like, Review the child's history. Try to find some common ground. If there isn't any, create some.

She guessed that was why he'd told her he'd grown up in the system. He'd wanted her to think he was her friend. He could have spared himself the effort. She didn't need a friend; she needed a chance. So did her baby. And her superpower had been quiet when he'd outlined the agreement she was entering into. Nothing about that had been a lie. Because of that, and because she really didn't have a whole lot of options, she'd signed the papers. Maybe, though, she shouldn't have. Maybe she should have asked to deal with a different lawyer.

Get real, Emma, she thought to herself. It's not like you can afford one. Beggars can't be choosers. If he walks out on you, then you've got nothing. She remembered what Dani had told her about the extra challenges of being pregnant in juvie. Lousy prenatal care, not enough food for the two of them, getting taken to an off-site ob-gyn in shackles and leg irons… If Ross Anderson was going to spare her any of that, if he'd been honest about everything else, she could let slide the one lie he'd told that he hadn't had to.

She thought she could anyway.

She swung her legs up onto her cot and sat, hugging her knees to her chest, hoping she'd made the right choice.

It was a small article from the Portland Press Herald. A terse two paragraphs reproduced from page fourteen of the front section. Rumple almost called up the next 'hit' before he realized what he was looking at. Once Regina had signed the forms and he'd duly returned them to Anderson, he'd spent the next five evenings at his computer from after dinner until the wee hours of the morning, scrolling through old news items, some reprinted and others mere scanned pages of tiny type. And here, at long last, it was: "Hopes fade for missing New Jersey camper. Three weeks ago, Kurt Flynn and his ten-year-old son were camping in the Mid-Coast region, when they became separated…"

Rumple fought down his rising excitement. He remembered the two visitors a bit better now. They'd come into the shop looking for souvenirs, in fact. At the time, he'd considered that an odd ask, but he'd shown them a number of articles for sale, none of which had interested them. He'd thought the man's name had been Flynn, but after—he looked at the date of the Herald article and then at the date on the bottom of his screen—after seventeen years, he could have been misremembering.

He brought up an edition from three weeks earlier. This time, the story was on page three, and it was far more detailed. The boy stated that he and his father had been camping in the woods when they'd been struck by some sort of storm. When it passed, they'd found that a town had appeared out of nowhere…

Rumple nodded, satisfied. He'd found the visitors and now, he had his answer. The Curse had been in effect for seventeen years and it would be another eleven before it would break. Well. He wasn't about to remain awake for that long. He'd go mad, surely. And while it wouldn't be the first time that had happened, he had no desire to revisit the experience. In some ways this Curse was an actual blessing. Besides, keeping his newfound awareness from Regina for over a decade and a half was likely a fool's mission. There was only so much he could do to protect himself here, with no ally, no real friend, and the only happy ending in this place Regina's. It was too soon. And yet…

He pushed his chair away from the computer and reached for the printout he'd received from Ross Anderson. Perhaps, he reflected, it would do him no harm to learn a bit more about this 'Emma Swan'. If she was who he believed she might be, then in eleven year's time when she arrived, he'd be that much better positioned to turn the situation to his advantage when he remembered anew…

Emma could barely believe it was happening this quickly, though maybe it was because she'd always thought that it could take months, or even years, for a case to come to trial. Her own experience following her arrest had been different, so maybe she shouldn't have been surprised that barely a week after signing her agreement, Ross had come by again. This time, it had been to tell her that she had another hearing scheduled in fifteen days.

"A friend of mine will be handling your case," he'd told her, "and I'm fairly confident in your chances."

Emma gawped at him. "Sorry, what?"

Ross smiled. "You'll recall earlier that I mentioned we could probably get you out of here and into a halfway house. Well, the woman who's going to adopt your child has agreed to pay for a juvenile law attorney to represent your interests at a new hearing and after reviewing your case, I have to say that she's optimistic about it going in your favor."

"So, I'd be free?" Emma asked.

"Well, within limits. You'd be on probation—probably something involving some kind of community service for the duration of what time remains of your sentence. During that time, you'll be expected to be on your best behavior." His expression was serious. "No jaywalking. No littering. It doesn't matter if 'everyone' does it. You don't." He paused for a breath. "I don't know whether anyone filled you in when you were sent here, but in case you weren't aware, Phoenix has a curfew law: if you're sixteen or seventeen, you can't be out between midnight and five AM."

Emma gave a quick nod. "Got it. Anything else?"

"I don't know about an ankle monitor. Because pregnancy can sometimes cause swollen ankles, you might be able to avoid one, but with or without it, you'll need permission from the Community Supervision Bureau to leave Phoenix. Once your time's up, you'll be free to go, of course. And once you turn eighteen, your records will be sealed—but that's true in any case. Sound good?"

Emma nodded. "It sounds great," she said, even as she tried not to raise her hopes too high. Ross Anderson might be a nice guy, but he wasn't the person deciding whether she'd be getting out. That was up to the judge.

And now, here she was, standing in another juvenile courtroom, in clothes Durango had loaned her for the occasion, beside a short woman in a power business suit with a brisk, no-nonsense attitude, who was presenting her case. It felt so… routine, so ordinary. The lawyer rattled off a few paragraphs and subsections, the judge listened and nodded. He asked Emma a few questions, the gist of which seemed to be, "If I let you out of Durango, will you behave yourself and not find yourself back here again?" Maybe they weren't rhetorical, strictly-speaking, but as far as Emma was concerned, they might as well have been. She gave her yeses and noes in the right places.

There was a tense pause. Then the judge cleared his throat. "Under the circumstances and given the defendant's commitment to reform and the concrete steps outlined here, petition for parole is granted." He looked at Emma and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Congratulations, Miss Swan. And good luck."