A/N: Greyhound's schedule is accurate as of 2022. There might have been more buses running between Phoenix and Globe in 2001, but I haven't been able to confirm it, so I'm working with the information I have.

Episode reference: S3E1—Heart of the Truest Believer

Chapter Six

The halfway house gave Emma the same vibe as a number of the group homes she'd lived in while in the system. Those had been holding tanks until she either moved on to a new placement or aged out. And this was a holding tank until her parole was completed and she moved on. She was fine with that, honestly. She knew how those worked: keep your nose clean, follow the rules, don't make waves, and you got by.

She was in this place for another seven months. The baby was due in five. For the next little while, all she had to do was eat right, go to her check-ups, try to finish high school—a condition of her parole, and while she resented being ordered to do it, she understood the reasoning—and basically relax.

She knew that. She understood it. And yet, five days after arriving at Second Chance Youth Refuge, she told her house manager that she was going to the library to research a paper. It wasn't a lie; she did have a paper to submit. And she even went to the library—she knew that someone might be keeping tabs on her and she wasn't taking chances. Once there, however, she found a pay phone in the corridor between the bathrooms, flipped the phone book up, and turned to the blue pages. They had an 800 number, she thought. Perfect. She took a breath, hoped for luck, and dialed it.

"Arizona Department of Corrections; Good morning!" a pleasant voice greeted her.

Emma swallowed. Play it cool, she told herself. It's not like they're going to trace this call. "Hi," she said, trying to sound casual. "I'm wondering how I could get in touch with an inmate…?"

The future was like a puzzle with missing pieces. Difficult to read and never, ever what you thought. Rumple had learned that the hard way over the years. And so, perhaps he was reading too much into the paperwork he had before him. After all, there had to be more than one 'Emma' in this Land Without Magic.

More than one Emma born some seventeen years ago.

Besides, the Emma he was seeking would have crossed to this world at roughly the site where Storybrooke was now. This young woman—or girl, perhaps—had been in Oregon, clear on the other side of the country in which he now found himself.

This wasn't the Enchanted Forest, where one might grow to adulthood, wed, raise a family, and die, all within three leagues of the house where they were born. People moved about far more freely here.

It was preposterous. For the Savior to surrender a child, for that child to be raised by the Evil Queen… the entire idea was laughable!

And who was to say that Fate didn't possess a sense of humor? Or that this wouldn't serve as the very vehicle that would draw the Savior here when the time was right?

Rumple sighed. He could go back and forth over this for the next eleven years or so, but it would change nothing. He had to trust that when the time came, the Savior would arrive. It might be this Emma Swan. It might be some other Emma.

If her charming parents had simply dumped her in a wardrobe with no nametag or accompanying letter, the young woman might not be 'Emma' at all! And then, how would he be able to assist her in fulfilling her destiny? If he put himself back under the curse now, and she never spoke her true name to awaken him, how would he be able to guide her to break the curse properly?

He heaved a sigh. He no more had the answer to that than he did an explanation for how his boy could still be alive, more than two hundred years after their parting. He only had the word of a seer who had been dead right about everything else she'd predicted for him. Either he believed in the seer's words and in Fate, or he did not. And if he didn't, then everything he'd done to bring those words to fruition had been an exercise in futility.

He didn't truly believe that it had been. In less than eleven years, he told himself, the Savior would arrive and the curse would break. It only remained to be seen whether it would be through his efforts, or despite them.

"Thanks," Emma said, hanging up the phone with a sigh. The person she'd spoken with had told her to contact his attorney. Unfortunately, she had no idea who that was. The helpful receptionist had also given her the main telephone number for the state prison in Phoenix, but when she'd called it (and used up too many quarters waiting on hold), she'd been told he wasn't there.

"You might want to try the minimum security facility in Globe," that receptionist had told her. "If he was convicted of a non-violent crime he could be serving his sentence there."

"Globe," Emma repeated. "Where's that?"

It was seventy-five miles away. Emma felt her heart plummet, but she called the number they gave her and spent a few more quarters confirming that Neal was, in fact, there. He couldn't receive phone calls, though. There was some process where she had to fill out a form and get her name on a list and if Neal had phone privileges, he could call her collect once a month or once a week or however frequently he was allowed. She asked them to mail her the form, but after she got off the phone, she started thinking about why that might not be the best idea.

If, as Dani had warned her, what she and Neal had done was considered statutory rape, then her calling to tell him might make things so much worse. They monitored phone calls in prison, didn't they? They sure did in juvie. Maybe… She couldn't leave Phoenix for another seven months. The baby would be born in five. She'd have to decide by then, but how could she without discussing it with Neal? Maybe she could visit him and be back in Phoenix with nobody the wiser. Yes, visits were probably monitored too, but if he saw her, if he realized that she was showing, she might be able to talk about it in a way that didn't come right out and say, "I'm pregnant with your child."

It was good that Greyhound had a 1-800 number, because she was all out of quarters. There was a bus to Globe leaving Phoenix at 7:30AM daily. Unfortunately, if she missed it, there'd be no other bus until the next day. She might have tried anyway. Leaving the halfway house that early in the morning might be tricky; the excuse about going to the library wouldn't work at that hour, but some of the clinics could be open then. Or she could say that she had a nine o'clock appointment, but that it was clear on the other side of town and she wanted an early start. Maybe they'd buy it. "Okay, and how about getting back from Globe to Phoenix?"

Her heart sank. There was only one daily bus in that direction, too. And it left at 11:41AM. "Uh, how long is the ride?" It was two hours and twenty-five minutes. Assuming the bus left on time, she'd arrive in Globe just before ten. She'd then have less than two hours to find her way from the bus depot—actually, it was just a bus stop—to the prison, get through whatever security she had to, tell Neal everything she had to say, get out of the prison—probably getting through more security on the way out—and back to the bus stop and back to Phoenix. On the plus side, she'd arrive at 2:15: plenty of time to get back to SCYR before curfew. But if she missed that bus, she'd be screwed. And back in Durango by nightfall.

And what if, when they checked her ID, it came up in their computer system that she wasn't allowed to leave Phoenix? Voluntarily walking into a prison when she'd just barely been allowed to leave it might not be the smartest move.

"Ma'am?"

Emma started. She'd forgotten for a moment that she was still on with Greyhound.

"Ma'am, are you still there?"

Emma swallowed. "Thanks," she managed. Then she hung up with a sigh.

She would write to him. She had an address, now, Emma told herself. She could write to him and tell him—and whoever it was who opened prisoners' mail… Emma went cold. As far as she knew, they could still charge you with more crimes if they came to light after you'd been sentenced for something else. Minimum security didn't sound so bad, at least, not compared to some of the alternatives.

Damn. She wanted him to know, she wanted him to be involved, but telling him might make things so much worse. And what she told him and he didn't want to raise a child? They'd talked about it, sure, but they'd talked about so many dreams. Emma knew very well that it was one thing to like an idea as a nice fantasy, and not necessarily want the real costs involved in turning that idea was into reality. Neal loved kids; Emma had seen him smile at babies and play peek-a-boo or "You drop the toy and I'll give it back" endlessly. He'd never had to change a diaper though. Or had to wake up in the middle of the night with a kid who wouldn't stop screaming. And if a baby was colicky or didn't feel like playing, he could just move along. Having a family meant responsibility and sacrifice and always being around and not jumping up and leaving whenever you got bored with a place or thought the police were catching wise to your scamming. It meant no scamming, not when getting caught could mean you in jail and your kid in the system and… and… And Emma didn't know if she could handle that, with or without Neal.

But part of her wanted to try. And so, the next time she went to the library, she checked the catalogue, sat down with a copy of Heidi Murkoff's What to Expect the First Year, and began to read. She wasn't sure why, when she was going to be giving her baby up for adoption, but if—like so many other hopes and promises in her life—this opportunity fell through, she wanted to be prepared to raise her baby. If there was one thing of which she was positive, it was that her child would grow up in a loving home—and not in the system.

"Emma!" Ross Anderson greeted her. "Lovely to see you. Uh…" He lowered his eyes in what looked like embarrassment. "You're going to need some more clothes. Why don't you pop into Motherhood Maternity sometime this week and pick up a few things? I think you'll find the limit on your credit card is more than sufficient."

Emma took a deep breath. "That's right," she said. "I should. But maybe I ought to give that back to you."

Ross blinked. "Whatever for?"

"Uh… look," Emma said. "This isn't easy for me, but I've been thinking. A-and, I know this isn't what we agreed on, but I think I want to keep the baby after all. There's a parenting class for teen mothers at the Y, and I've been reading up on child development, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I don't really know anything about the people you have lined up. Maybe they're great, but maybe I can be great, too. Or at least, good enough."

"I see," Ross said with a frown.

"You told me I could change my mind at any time," Emma went on. "And I wasn't planning on doing it, but I think I have. I want cancel the agreement."

Ross nodded. "Of course," he said. "I mean, the adopting family will be disappointed, but I'm sure they'll understand. So…" He turned to the computer on the desk before him and typed a quick staccato on the keyboard. A moment later, the printer hummed and three sheets of paper spilled into the output tray. Ross reached for them, took a pen, and circled something on the last page. "Here."

Emma took the pages. "Is this something I need to sign?"

"No, Emma," Ross said. "It's the itemized total of the funds that have been paid out on your behalf: your attorney fees, medical care, vitamins…"

Eyes wide with dawning horror, Emma pulled the bottom page out and looked at the figure Ross had circled. It was seven digits (two of them in the decimal columns), and the first digit wasn't a one or even a two.

"Those funds were advanced to us by the adopting family. If you're backing out," Ross's tone was gentle, even apologetic, "I'll need to collect this back from you to return to them."

"I-I can't afford this!" Emma exclaimed. "I'm working fifteen hours a week at a diner, plus finishing high school! Where am I supposed to get…?"

"I know," Ross said, still sounding sympathetic. "But Emma, when you signed the contract, you agreed that if you chose to terminate the agreement, you'd reimburse all monies laid out for your prenatal needs. It's only fair," he added. "Those funds were paid with the expectation that the family would be receiving a healthy child in a few months. If they have to start the process again with another young woman, they'll need those monies returned so that they can spend them on her." He paused for a beat. "As soon as you get that amount back to me, I'll tear up the contract and tell the adopting family the bad news. But until then…"

Emma swallowed hard. "What can you tell me about them?" she asked.

"Nothing," Ross replied. "The family wants a closed adoption as badly as you said you did. I can't breach their confidentiality." And while there was nothing wrong with a child being adopted by a single parent, Ross rather suspected that to a girl with Emma's background, a two-parent household meant stability and security. He wasn't about to say anything that might disabuse her of the idea. If Emma learned that her child was destined for a single-parent home, just when she seemed to be on the point of giving in, she might well decide to fight all the harder to keep her child. And if it occurred to her to seek out some legal aid clinic for advice, she'd quickly discover just how non-binding and how illegal her contract was. Better by far that she believe that her child was headed for some young couple in the suburbs, a working dad, a stay-at-home mom, some nice split-level home with a white picket fence and a dog named Spot… There was no harm, and a great deal of benefit in letting her keep that sort of picture in her mind.

"You're sure they're good people," Emma whispered, and Ross noted that she wasn't asking him, so much as telling him what she wanted to hear.

"I am," he said. "And they want the best for you and your child."

Emma gave a faint nod.

"Look," Ross said, "think it over some more. And if you're still sure, then just get the money back to me and I'll refund the family. And if you decide to go through with it after all, we can forget this conversation took place and you can go and get those clothes. And maybe get yourself a little something extra, too," he added. "A spa day or maybe just a good book or a movie. Something that isn't about the baby."

"Yeah," Emma sighed, getting to her feet and preparing to go. "Sure."

Two days later, Ross called Pinnacle Bank and confirmed that there was a $350 authorization from a clothing store on the credit card he'd taken out for Emma Swan. He wouldn't have the full details of the shop until the transaction posted, but he was fairly sure that it would prove to be from a maternity store. He felt a wave of relief wash over him and he settled back to compose an email update to send to Regina Mills' attorney.

Emma couldn't sleep. She stared out the window at the Arizona night sky, so big and wide and filled with twinkling stars and wished she could fly off somewhere where there were no bills and no contracts and…

…No babies?

She shook her head. She wanted this baby. But how could she—?

She looked at the clock by her bed. It was past three in the morning. She should be asleep. But she was still playing over the events of the day and feeling trapped. She'd been, well, she hadn't really been tricked into anything. If she was being paid to give up her baby for adoption and she decided not to, it made perfect sense that she'd have to give the money back. At the time, she'd agreed to the arrangement, she'd never considered that she might change her mind and she'd never bothered to find out what the consequences might be if she had, but she'd looked at her contract when she'd come back to the halfway house, and it was all there—in clear English and black and white.

She couldn't come up with that kind of money.

Again, thoughts of Neal tumbled through her mind. This was his child, too. She wanted to hear his thoughts. More to the point, she realized, Neal had always been good at reading over terms and conditions. Contests, lottery tickets, that fine print that flashed on the screen during TV commercials… even that one time that they'd been given free tickets to North Clackamas Aquatic Park as part of some timeshare promotion, he'd told her exactly what they were getting into and how to avoid getting suckered. If she could show him the contract…

She waited until the clock read 5:05. No point violating curfew on her way to a probation violation. Then she quietly got dressed, stole outside, and made her way to the Greyhound terminal.

They were waiting for her when she got off the bus. She hadn't gone more than a hundred yards or so, when a police cruiser pulled up alongside her. "Emma Swan?"

"Huh?" Maybe if she denied it, they'd apologize and move on.

"Could we see some ID, please?"

Emma winced. "Yeah," she said, resigned. "Here, it's in my pocket, okay?" She pulled out her wallet and passed it over. "What's this about?"

"Had a call from Second Chance about a possible runaway. You fit the description. Parole terms say you can't leave Phoenix city limits, right?" When Emma didn't answer, the officer shrugged and took out a pair of handcuffs. "Palms on the hood, please."

"Seriously?" It came out more plaintively than Emma intended and she wanted to cry as the officer continued.

"You have the right to remain silent. You have the right—"

Running feet. And a familiar voice. "Emma!" And then, quickly, "Ross Anderson. I'm her lawyer."

The officer gave a short laugh. "Well, you're timing's good, Mr. Anderson. Let me finish Miranda-izing your client and we can pick this up at the station."

"Ross?" Emma asked, turning her head to look at him. "What's going to happen?"

Ross's expression was somber. "I'll do everything I can for you, Emma. It's going to be okay."

But it wasn't. Despite Ross's arguments and pleas for further clemency, Emma found herself back in Durango, cursing herself for an idiot. She should have waited. She should have… come up with some way to contact Neal that wouldn't have involved a parole violation! She'd been stupid and impulsive and immature and stupid and scared and stupid, stupid, STUPID.

And she'd seriously thought she could raise a child? That she'd be ready to handle a baby in less than five months? She'd probably screw the kid up even worse than she was. Ross had been right. This was her baby's best chance, and it was hers, too.

And so, four months and two weeks later, when she was lying in the delivery room, a cuff on her ankle securing her to the bed, gasping for breath as her newborn son's strong cries pierced the air and her heart, and the doctor held him out her, she turned away. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the nurse whisper something in the doctor's ear and when the doctor spoke again, his voice was a good deal sadder.

"Oh." And then, "Emma, just so you know, you can change your mind."

But Emma knew better. "No," she sobbed. "I can't be a mother."

She was still sobbing when the doctor left, carrying her baby. Presently, an orderly came to wheel her to a room. "Emma?" the corrections officer who had been present for the ordeal was suddenly at the head of her bed. "Emma, they're keeping you overnight for observation. If all's well, we'll go back in the morning."

Emma closed her eyes and didn't answer.