Chapter Thirty

Neal closed the basement door softly, as soon as they were back on the main floor. "I heard a noise," he murmured. I thought it was the wind, blowing the window shut, but then I heard voices. They didn't know I was upstairs, at least, they didn't bother to whisper." He smiled. "Actually, they were pretty loud."

"You didn't go downstairs to talk to them?" Emma asked.

Neal shook his head. "It's weird, but… from what we saw the other day, they've been living here longer than we have, or at least, it looks that way. Somehow, I felt almost like I'd be the intruder. Plus, I was afraid they'd run and, well, it's pretty late and it's dark, and somehow, I don't think they're going to knife us in our sleep." He gave her a pained smile. "Plus, until just now, when I brought you downstairs, I was hoping maybe I'd just hallucinated the whole thing, but you saw them too. So unless there's something in the water in this town…"

"Actually," Emma said slowly, "I've been starting to wonder. There's been some… pretty weird stuff going on here."

"You were telling me," Neal nodded. "Still, I'm pretty sure our houseguests are real. So. What the hell do we do now? Call the cops?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "As of about three hours ago, I am the cops." She groaned. "I've really got to do something about this tonight, don't I?"

Neal nodded. "If those kids have parents who care about them, those parents have got to be worried sick. And if they don't, we need to make sure they get looked after."

"You mean, get them into the system," Emma said.

"If that's what they need."

"That is not what they need," Emma said tightly.

"You don't know that."

"Yes," Emma shot back. "I do. I grew up in the system."

"I grew up with a gang of homeless kids!" Neal snapped. "That wasn't a picnic either! Look. Until we get some answers out of those two, we're just guessing anyway. So, since I don't think either of us is getting any sleep tonight, here's what I'm suggesting…"

Emma's eyes, however, were wide. "You grew up on the street?" she asked, the anger out of her voice.

Neal hesitated. "Sometimes," he said. "Other times, we found places to bed down where the authorities never bothered us. Hey, when we met, I was sleeping in a car I'd stolen. You never wondered why I didn't have a fixed address?"

"I thought…" She hadn't thought he'd been living on the street for years. She'd just never asked and he'd never volunteered. She hadn't wanted to bring up her past to him back then either. He'd told her that he'd left a crappy home situation and she'd definitely been able to relate. What else had either of them needed to know? At least, until now. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd have told me." She took a deep breath. "Okay, what did you have in mind…?"

Nicholas Zimmer was dreaming of scrambled eggs and French toast. French toast with cinnamon. He could smell it. And the worst part was that he knew it was a dream and he was going to wake up. He didn't want to wake up and go to school. But if he didn't go to school, they'd call the number they had on file to tell his mother. And then they'd find out that the number wasn't in service. Maybe they'd ask him, but maybe they'd send someone to the address they also had on file. Then they'd know the truth. It would be the end of everything. And all because he didn't want to go to school.

Groaning, he opened his eyes. Yep, he was still in the basement of the empty house. He eyed the snack cake and candy bar he'd saved for breakfast with distaste. He was still smelling the cinnamon from his dream.

His eyes went wide. "Ava," he whispered. "Ava!"

His sister stirred, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. "Morning already?" she asked sleepily.

"Ava, do you smell what I smell…?"

Ava sniffed the air. Then she sat bolt upright. "Cinnamon?" she asked. Then a look of horror crossed her face. "Someone's upstairs!" she hissed. "Nicholas, if somebody moved in, we have to go!" She slid out of her sleeping bag and frantically began gathering up their things. "We'll find somewhere else," she said, rolling up the sleeping bag as she spoke. "The library's boarded up; maybe we can get in there."

The footsteps above sounded impossibly loud. How many people were upstairs? One set tramped across the floor and the brother and sister tracked them as they headed toward the trap door that was the cellar's entrance.

"They won't come down here," Nicholas whispered. "I bet they're just going into one of the other rooms."

Ava put her finger to her lips, even as her eyes moved toward the wooden side door they used to enter and leave the house.

They heard the cellar door creak open and Nicholas's breath caught. Frantically, he motioned to Ava to duck behind the wooden stairs. Brother and sister huddled in the small space, scarcely daring to breathe, as they saw two legs encased in jeans and running shoes descending.

Halfway down, the legs stopped. The person they belonged to sat down on one of the steps, carefully setting a tray down beside them. Nicholas knew his mouth was watering. He started to reach through the space between the steps for one slice of the cinnamon French toast he could see plainly on the tray. Ava yanked his hand back, shaking her head emphatically.

And then, both gasped, as a man's face suddenly appeared in that gap. He smiled at them in a friendly fashion. "You guys want to join us for breakfast, or would you rather eat down here?"

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were sitting in the kitchen at the breakfast table. "It's fine," Emma said, when Ava shot forth her hand to stop her brother from snagging the last piece of French toast. "I'll make a few more slices."

"Sorry," Nicholas said. "We've come upstairs a few times, but we were afraid to use the stove."

"We… uh… don't have a lot of experience cooking," Ava explained. "And I didn't know whether a fire alarm would go off if anything burned."

"Understandable," Neal said, spooning more eggs onto his plate and reaching for the open salsa jar. He frowned. "How long have you two been living here?"

The siblings looked at one another. Ava shook her head. "It feels like always," she said slowly. "It's been a few years, I guess."

"A few years?" Emma repeated sharply, as she dunked sliced bread into beaten egg and milk. "How old are you guys?"

"Eleven last month," Nicholas said, frowning a bit.

"Where are your parents?"

Ava looked down. "Well, our mother got sick a lot. I remember that. She'd get better and then, she'd get worse again. And then one day she… didn't get better."

Emma winced. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," Nicholas said. "I barely remember now."

"And your father?" Neal asked.

"We never knew him," Nicholas said. "Mom never told us his name, even."

"What's going to happen to us now?" Ava asked nervously.

Emma turned away from the frying pan for a moment to exchange a look with Neal. Then she sighed. "For now? This is a three-bedroom house. Neal and I just need one of them. After school, we'll all clean this place up together, figure out where you guys want to sleep, and if we have to get more furniture…" she frowned. "I don't think there's an Ikea here, but maybe we can order. Or we'll find something we can afford. Even if it might not be new."

"You mean…" Nicholas's eyes widened. "We can stay?"

"For now," Neal said. "At least, until we can see if we can track down any relatives you might have. Emma and I are good at that."

"But if you can't?" Ava asked.

Emma hesitated. "Well, you can't keep living on your own like you've been doing. So," her eyes sought Neal's again, but it wasn't until he gave her a slow nod that she exhaled, "I guess the next step would be for Neal and me seeing if we can get approved to foster you."

After Ava and Nicholas had left for school, Emma set about making herself another cup of coffee. "Make one for me, too?" Neal asked, and Emma put out a hand for his mug.

"What the hell are we doing?" she asked.

Neal came up beside her and set his mug on the counter next to hers, while she poured water into a saucepan. "I should've brought the coffee maker with me from Boston," he murmured apologetically.

"Yeah, like you had room in your suitcase," Emma said, smiling a bit. "We'll get one here this week. Meanwhile, there's instant and boiling water the old-fashioned way." She shook her head. "This is not how I saw things going."

"What's our alternative?" Neal asked. "They've been living on the street. I know what that's like. If we don't help them out, then…"

"They go into the System," Emma finished. "I know what that's like."

"You almost never talk about it," Neal said. He rested a hand on her arm. "Bad?"

Emma nodded. "Bad. Maybe not for everyone. Cute kids under five with curls and dimples had a decent chance at getting adopted. I did," she added. "At least until the family that wanted to take me had their own. No need for second-best then," she added bitterly. Her eyes widened. "Wait. Is that what we're doing? Like, if we can't have Henry, this is the closest thing?" She didn't want to think that she was being that... calculating. Even unconsciously.

Neal shook his head. "Somehow," he said, "I get the feeling that, even if Regina did a complete about face, dropped Henry on our doorstep with his bags packed and told us that she was stepping aside, we'd still be helping those kids. It's not about our not having Henry with us. It's about those kids being alone in the world and needing someone in their corner. We've both been through that. We can give them a better chance than we ever had."

"But this isn't like Oliver Twist or even Pete's Dragon. We can't just… take in a couple of orphans off the street. There's paperwork… legalities. Neal, I don't know if my giving up Henry at birth would disqualify me for fostering right out of the gate, and you—" She stopped. "Sorry."

"You were going to remind me that I've got a felony conviction and a prison record," Neal said. "Yeah. I do. But maybe that won't matter. Hey, maybe it'll help. I'm willing to bet that those two have had to do a couple of things outside the law to get by already. We know they were trespassing. I don't think it's breaking and entering unless they robbed the place, but robbery could be taking some canned goods out of the cupboard or… or… a scarf or a pen, even. And since ten-year-olds usually don't find legal employment and those two didn't look like they were starving, well, they've either been begging or stealing."

"I haven't seen anyone panhandling in town since I got here," Emma said. "Not adults and definitely not kids. We shouldn't make assumptions, but you're probably right."

"So, maybe our having done some of that stuff when we were younger will actually work for us. Because we can relate to what those kids must be going through. It's worth looking into."

Emma thought about it. "You could be right," she said slowly. "I've got to get to work, but maybe you could start researching?"

Neal nodded. "I guess with the election over, well, if you're sticking around, I could… try it out here for a while. I'd need a job, though. Bumming around and playing on my screen all day is going to get real boring real fast. I was planning on knocking on doors today to see if anyone was hiring, but I should be able to find time in there to, at least, try to find out what's involved in fostering."

"And if—when—we do get Henry's adoption overturned and he comes to live with us?"

"Then, if things go right, he'll have a brother and sister his own age to play with."

"I had no idea," Mary Margaret exclaimed, a shocked expression on her face. "They've been on their own for how long?"

Emma shook her head. "A few years, from the sound of it. Nobody at school suspected…?"

Mary Margaret frowned, thinking. "They're in Hiromi Tanaka's fifth grade class, not mine. She's never mentioned anything about them that I've heard. We do vent every now and then in the teachers' room, of course, but their names never came up."

"But when Dory Zimmer passed away," Emma pressed, "didn't anyone think about those kids?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "It sounds awful, but… I don't remember anyone by that name at all. I know," she added with a guilty smile and a glance ceilingwards. "In in a small town, everyone should know everyone, o-or at least know of them, but I can't recall ever meeting her." Her eyebrows shot up. "Isn't that odd?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah," Emma said. "Yeah, it is. Well, thanks, I guess. Meanwhile, it looks like Ava and Nicholas will be staying with me and Neal, until we can sort things out. So, if there's any kind of paperwork the school needs…"

"Of course," Mary Margaret nodded. "I'll look into that and let you know."

"I'll keep asking around," Emma replied. "Maybe someone else will remember their mother. Or know something about their father," she added.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Good thinking. And good luck."

She was probably going to need it, Emma thought, since Dory Zimmer's demise seemed like it might be one more thing that everyone in this place was hazy about. Keeping her trepidation to herself, though, she just smiled and thanked her friend.

Neal stopped by the Sheriff station at lunch. "Well," he said, "I've got good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?"

Emma hesitated. "Better get the bad news out of the way," she said. "What's up?"

"Actually," Neal said, I've got two pieces of good news and one piece of bad, so maybe I'll make it a sandwich."

Emma walked over to the coffee machine and poured herself a mug. "Want?" she asked.

"Nah, you know I only drink that in the morning." He eyed the stack of papers on her desk. "No luck?"

Emma carried the mug back, cupping one hand around it so it wouldn't spill.

Neal smiled as the fragrance of the brew reached his nostrils. "French vanilla?" he asked. "I thought you cop types liked your coffee black."

"What I'd love would be a cinnamon dolce latte, but somehow, Starbucks hasn't opened up a franchise here in town. On the other hand," she gestured to the small red-lidded tin on the counter, "General Foods International seems to be a different story." She sighed. "And to answer your question, nobody seems to remember Dory Zimmer. Oh, they've all seen Nicholas and Ava around, even if no one had any idea where they lived or where they were supposed to be living. But when I asked about their parents, it was all," she paused for a beat and began speaking in a slightly higher tone, "…That's odd. You know, I'm not sure… Dory Zimmer… Yes that name sounds familiar, but I just can't put a face to it…" She shook her head. "Assuming those kids were being honest with us—and my superpower didn't go off at all this morning—they've been on their own for years. And yet, they've been finding food, going to school, staying clean, keeping their school uniforms neat… Nobody noticed anything wrong? Neal, those kids are eleven. I ran away from a placement when I was seven and got picked up in a matter of days. When I got a little older, I could sometimes manage for a few weeks. I think three or four months was my record, and I sure as hell didn't look as well cared-for as those two when the cops found me. In a town this size, especially when the sheriff's department usually doesn't have to worry about much beyond traffic violations a-and vandalism—"

"Damage to public property?" Neal interjected with a sly grin and Emma made an annoyed gesture.

"I'm getting more and more sorry I ever told you about hitting that sign," she grumbled. "My point is that someone should have found out about those too long ago. I can't believe that Graham was so… oblivious." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Neal. I'm just so frustrated." She forced herself to smile. "Anyway, let's have your… news sandwich."

Neal nodded. "Okay, well, first bit of good news: our criminal pasts don't disqualify us. They would if either of us had been convicted of crimes involving children. I'm not saying our records won't be relevant. I wouldn't be surprised if they vetted us more thoroughly, since fostering is supposed give kids a certain amount of stability and we won't be providing that if we're still running cons and robbing gas stations, but seeing as we've both been clean for years, I think we could pass."

Emma's smile grew a bit less forced. "That's something," she said. "What else?"

Neal sighed. "The bad news is that we'd need reference letters—three of them. I don't know yet if that's three for each of us, or if someone who knows us both could write one letter that covers the two of us, but they have to be from people who've known us for five years."

Emma swallowed. "I can reach out to Ray," she said slowly. "I met him nine years ago and I sent him a card last Christmas, even if we haven't spoken much since you and me left Arizona. Maybe that's one."

"Yeah," Neal said. "One. I don't know anybody in Boston I could ask to vouch for us, and since we'd be looking to foster in Maine," he frowned, "maybe they won't want out-of-state."

"Maybe that won't matter," Emma suggested, trying to sound hopeful. "Did it say anything else on the website?"

"No, I'll have to reach out for more info." He hesitated. "Or, we could just… keep them anyway."

"Neal…"

"Nobody noticed that they were on their own for years! Why would they notice that we're looking after them?"

"Neal, I-I'm the sheriff. Law enforcement. I've got… We've got to follow the rules and do this the right way. Besides," she added, "with all the people I've been talking to this morning, I think people are going to pay more attention now."

Neal sighed. "Point taken. I'll make some inquiries."

Emma nodded, relieved. "What's your other good news?"

Neal's frown yielded to a grin. "I think I just landed a job…"

He'd been walking down the street, keeping one eye on the way ahead and the other on his phone as he tried to navigate his way through the state of Maine's 'Fostering and Adopting' web pages, while not running afoul of auto-correct. He hadn't been paying much attention to the street, though the rhythmic sound of a hammer from above made him look up as he passed.

"Hey, mister!" a voice called down, "Could you hold this ladder for me? The sidewalk, she's, ah, not quite even."

Neal slid his phone into his pocket and gripped the sides of the ladder firmly. "No problem."

"Thanks," the man at the top called down. "I just need to get one… more… nail… in," he added, stretching to deliver the last hammer blows. A moment later, his work done, he descended the ladder and extended his hand to Neal. "Thanks." His eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "I don't know you… do I?"

"Probably not," Neal said easily and introduced himself. "I just arrived a couple of days ago," he added, shaking the proffered hand.

"Ah, so you're Henry's father," the man said, his features relaxing in a smile. "I'm Marco. I'm the handyman and carpenter in these parts."

"Nice to meet you," Neal said. "I… used to do a bit of carpentry, some years back."

"Did you?"

It had been on his mind since he'd seen Papa again. The hovel in which he'd spent much of his boyhood hadn't been much, but most of their furnishings had been items that he and Papa had built together. None of it had been fancy, but every piece had been solid, serviceable, and made to last. In Neverland, he hadn't had much opportunity to put those skills to use, but he'd learned to weave vines and craft decent enough wickerwork. "Yeah," Neal said now. "I mean, it was probably pretty amateur, but…"

"Amateur," Marco repeated. "You know that word means 'one who loves'. And if you love to craft such things, sometimes that's all you need."

Neal shook his head, but he was smiling. "Unfortunately, right now, Emma and I just rented a house and I'm kind of looking for work. Don't suppose you know if anyone's hiring?"

Marco tilted his head to one side, considering. "I have a few more places to visit, and if you're willing to hold the ladder for me again, I'll pay you for your time. But back in my workshop, I've a settle bench in need of refurbish I haven't had time to get to. If you know how to strip off old finish, and you can seal, stain, and paint, perhaps your search, he's over, yes?"

Neal smiled. "My father told me once not to agree to a job without being sure I knew what was involved. I'd have to see the piece first. But, yeah," he nodded. "That sounds like something I could do, sure. And I can come with you now to hold the ladder," he added, his smile widening.

"Bene," Marco returned, giving Neal a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Here. You fold that thing up then," he said, pointing to the ladder. "Help me load it into the truck and we'll be off."

As Neal hurried to comply, it occurred to him that for the first time in a long time, he'd remembered Papa without a trace of the old anger.

Later that afternoon, after Mr. Gold closed the shop and was walking home, he chanced to glance through the workshop window of one Marco Stefano as he passed by. His eyebrows climbed when he spied Neal Cassidy through the glass, hard at work stripping varnish from a high-backed wooden bench—a Welsh settle, if he wasn't mistaken. But what was Mr. Cassidy doing working on it?

He frowned. He was one of the few people in town who was currently awake and aware, and because of that, he knew full well who Marco had been back in their land. And if memory served, the man had been granted a son under somewhat unconventional circumstances—a son Rumpelstiltskin realized, who had not been seen in this town during all the years of the Curse. Perhaps, in this land without magic, the boy had returned to his original state and now appeared in one of the carpenter's Miners' Day Marionette Matinees with his father none the wiser. But Rumple had seen in a vision that, if Snow White and Prince Charming were successful in spiriting their child to this land ahead of the Evil Queen's curse, then old Geppetto's son would be tasked with guiding her toward her destiny.

His frown twisted into a bemused smile. Marco might not remember that he had a son, but that son certainly remembered he had a father. And in so remembering, might he not strive to kindle a relationship with said father, against the day when the Curse would break and memories be restored anew? And with his memories of his old life intact, of course Mr. Cassidy's nervousness in his presence made all too much sense. Even if Pinocchio's path had never crossed directly with the Dark One's Rumple had little doubt that his reputation would have preceded him in that land, as well as this.

He sighed wistfully. Pinocchio might have come to seek out his father, but when the Curse finally broke for good, Rumple knew that finding Baelfire would devolve squarely on his own shoulders. And though Geppetto would surely be overjoyed when he knew that it was his son who stood before him, somehow he suspected that his reunion with Bae would be far less joyful.