A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S1E9: True North. Thanks go out to the Touch Wood Rings website for information on the magical/mythical properties of various woods.

Chapter 31

Emma was getting ready to go home when Regina breezed into the sheriff station with a tight smile on her face. "You can relax, Ms. Swan," she informed her congenially. "I found out about your unexpected squatters and I've contacted social services." She shook her head. "Shameful thing, really. I had no idea that those children have been on their own for this long until you started making inquiries this morning. As mayor, I should have been made aware of the situation long before now, so of course, I've taken it upon myself to rectify the matter.

Emma blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"The Zimmer twins, Ms. Swan?" Regina prompted. "They're on their own. They need help and I'm going to ensure that they get it."

Emma shook her head. "They are getting it," she informed the mayor. "Neal and I are looking after them while we see if we can track down their father."

Regina made a scoffing noise. "He doesn't exist," she said, handing Emma a file.

"He has to," Emma said, opening the folder to find two official-looking birth certificates, one for Nicholas Zimmer and one for Ava. On each, the word 'Unknown' was typed neatly where their father's full name should have been.

"Well, of course, biologically, he does," Regina allowed. "But there's no record of him. Which means we have no choice. The children need a home—"

"Which Neal and I are giving them for now," Emma interrupted, not at all liking the direction she thought the conversation was going.

Regina blinked. One supercilious eyebrow shot up. "I had no idea that the two of you were licensed foster parents in this state. Or are you licensed in Massachusetts?"

"We're looking into it," Emma said, trying to sound firm, but she heard herself stammer.

"Well," Regina said, "as soon as you obtain the necessary credentials, of course you can apply to take in those two, but until you have that certification, I can't in good conscience allow them to remain with you. Sorry, sheriff, but for now, they go into the foster system."

Emma tilted her head to one side. "Storybrooke has a foster system?"

"No," Regina admitted, "but I've contacted the state. Maine's group homes, unfortunately, are filled. But they put us in touch with two homes in Boston: a boys' home and a girls'."

"They're separating them?" Emma cried.

"I don't like it either," Regina admitted. "But we've got no choice. You need to have them in Boston by ten PM tomorrow evening."

"Me?" Emma repeated.

"Well, you wanted to be sheriff," Regina pointed out. "This is what sheriffs do. Yes, you're taking them." A pensive expression came to her face then. "Of course…"

"Of course?"

Regina sighed. "If pressed, I'll deny I ever mentioned this to you, but if you and your significant other were to decide to raise the children in Boston, where you're both somewhat more established, I'd think that you'd have an easier time obtaining custody. After all, you've only been living in Storybrooke for a few weeks. Who here could truly vouch for you? Also, I might remind you that the children have no known relatives, so the odds of anyone coming after them are small. Boston is significantly larger than Storybrooke; it's likely that if you were to raise the children there, you might even be able to avoid the long, drawn-out process of home studies, security checks, invasive social workers…" Her voice was almost gentle. "I do know something of the difficulties in obtaining speedy approvals for this sort of thing."

Yeah, Emma realized, she would. Illegal adoption or illegal fostering, either way you jump the line and cut through a lot red tape, but meanwhile... "Meanwhile, you keep Henry."

"That's a given regardless of whether you deliver the Zimmer twins to the facilities that are even now preparing for their arrival," Regina informed her, businesslike once more. "He's my son. Right now, however, there are two more children right under your nose. Or your floorboards," she added dryly. "Unlike Henry, they have no current guardian and no legal home. I must admit," she said, her voice softening, "that the idea of those two bouncing from placement to placement until they age out of the system…" She shook her head. "It's really unfortunate that you and Neal haven't yet been approved to foster; it might be those kids' best chance. And away from small-town gossip and Job's comforters… It would be a fresh start for them, and in surroundings more familiar to you."

The look she gave Emma was almost kind. Then she went on crisply, "If you keep them here, I can't turn a blind eye to your lack of proper certifications. But if you take them elsewhere? Neither you nor they will be my concern any longer. And if you decide against keeping them?" She shrugged. "One way or another, they need to be in Boston tomorrow night."

Nicholas and Ava did not take Emma's news well. "You mean," Ava said, her lip quivering, "we'll be separated?"

Emma sucked in her breath. "I'm not going to let that happen."

"So, we can live with you in Boston," Nicholas said with a hopeful smile.

Emma winced. "Kids… It's not going to work."

"But Mayor Mills said…" Nicholas protested.

Emma shook her head slightly. "I know what she said, but I don't trust her. Look, she definitely wants me out of her life or, more to the point, out of Henry's life. Telling me that I can keep you out of the system if I," she glanced at Neal, "if we leave town is smart. Only once I do, all she has to do is put in a call to the state troopers or the Boston PD and tell them that I was supposed to drop you off with Massachusetts DCF," she took in the Zimmer twins' blank looks and clarified, "Department of Children and Families, or at least, with one of their facilities. All she has to do is report that I never arrived where I was supposed to, and that now she thinks I kidnapped you. Kids, like it or not, and I don't like it, I don't have a legal right to look after you. With one phone call, Neal and I could be arrested and you'll go into the System after all."

Neal spoke heavily. "If she does that," he said, "if we're charged with… Guys, from what I've been reading, well, once we've been convicted of a crime involving minors—abduction in this case—Emma and I would lose any chance of being approved to foster or adopt you o-or any kids."

Emma's blood ran cold at his words. She'd known Regina's suggestion was risky, but she hadn't foreseen that consequence. Neal was right. If she took the 'advice' that the mayor had oh-so-sympathetically volunteered, it wouldn't just cost them the chance to help these kids, or their freedom, or their reputations. It would cost them Henry. And all it would cost Regina would be a single phone call to the Massachusetts State Police. Her eyes met Neal's and she gave him a faint, distressed, nod of understanding. There was too much at stake for them to consider taking the gamble.

"We… we'll have to think of something else," she said. "And we don't have a lot of time to do it."

For a time, the four of them sat miserably around the kitchen table, each trying to find a solution to the problem. Presently, Emma rose to her feet and strode purposefully toward the cardboard boxes she'd repacked a day earlier when she'd left Mary Margaret's.

"Emma?" Neal asked.

Emma didn't answer. Instead, she tore open the closest box she saw. After rummaging unsuccessfully through it, she opened another. At a glance, she could tell that this one wouldn't have what she sought either. Third time's the charm? she wondered to herself. Then, abruptly, she shook her head. She was starting to think like Henry. Even so, when she did open that third box, the object she'd been looking for was right at the top. She pulled it out and brought it back to the table. "Guys," she said, holding up the baby blanket, "this is my…" She hesitated for a moment. This is my baby blanket sounded like a weird way to lead. "I've held onto this all my life," she said. "It's the only thing I have from my parents. I've spent a lot of time with kids in your situation. Neal and me, we've both been there. And all of them… all of us… we held onto stuff." Come to think of it, she wasn't positive that Neal had, but when her eyes flickered momentarily to his, he gave her a tiny nod of confirmation. She exhaled and went on, "I want to find your father, but I need your help. Is there anything of his you've held onto?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then Ava said hesitantly, "I may have something. But if I give to you, you'll make sure we stay together, right?"

Emma swallowed. "Right." She wasn't lying. She was hoping for the best. And... maybe things would work out for these kids the way they never had for her.

Ava pulled a round object on a metal chain out of her pocket and handed it to her. Emma took it curiously. "A compass," she said, recognizing it.

"Our mom kept it," Ava said. "She said it was our dad's."

Emma brushed a finger over it almost reverently. "Thank you."

"Did you find them?" Ava asked, almost pleading.

"Find who?"

"Your parents?"

Hoping for the best was one thing. Lying was something else entirely. "Not yet," she admitted. "But I'm going to find yours." And hope that what I'm saying now? Is that first thing.

Henry stopped by after supper. Regina must have told him about the Zimmer twins, for he greeted them with a casual 'Hi,' not at all surprised to find them there. The two weren't much in the mood for talking and soon made excuses to leave the dining room. Emma shook her head sadly. "I've got less than twenty-four hours to find their father if I'm going to keep them here," she groaned.

Henry tilted his head worriedly. "You can't take them out of Storybrooke," he insisted.

"I don't want to," Emma protested. "But Neal and I can't keep them here, so if I don't find their father, I'll have no choice."

"Bad things happen when people try to leave!" Henry exclaimed.

Emma sighed. "I've left."

"You're not under the curse."

Emma shook her head. "Henry…" She regarded her son with the usual exasperation that rose up whenever his fantasies came up. She paused. "Do you know them? Nicholas and Ava?"

"I know who they are," Henry said patiently. "Brother and sister. Lost… no parents. They're Hansel and Gretel."

Great, Emma thought, fighting the urge to bury her head in her hands. "Anything in there about the dad?" Emma asked, pointing to Henry's storybook and not really expecting a useful response.

"Just that he abandoned them."

"Seems to be something of a theme with a lot of those stories," Neal commented. Including his own.

"Oh, yeah," Emma agreed. "And unfortunately, life often imitates art. Guy could be in Laos by now."

"No," Henry said, shaking his head. "He's here."

Emma blinked. "Just how do you know that?"

"I told you," Henry said patiently. "Nobody leaves Storybrooke. No one comes. No one goes. Except you guys. That's… just the way it is."

Emma shot Neal a helpless look and received an amused smile in return. "Well," she said finally, "if he's around here anywhere, I'm going to find him. I'll get on the computer tonight and start asking around town tomorrow. Meanwhile," she gave Henry a fond smile, "it's getting late. Regina's probably going to start trying to find you if you don't go home now."

Henry nodded.

"Uh… Henry?" Neal stopped him. "Would you mind if I took a look at your book tonight? I'll give it back to you in a day or two."

A broad smile creased Henry's face. "That's okay," he said, passing the leather-bound volume over. "I've read it cover to cover about twenty times by now. You can borrow it for longer if you want." All the same, his hands lingered on the leather as Neal took it.

"I won't keep it any longer than I need to," Neal assured him.

Henry beamed.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled when the bell over his shop door jangled. He'd been expecting the new sheriff's call ever since he'd heard that she'd been inquiring—not about the whereabouts of one Dory Zimmer—but as to whether anyone in town had any memory of her. He knew of the woman, of course. Or, at least, his path had crossed with that of the father's years ago in Misthaven, when the man had come seeking his missing children…

"Please, Dark One," the man had pleaded. "I must find my children. I-I'm desperate."

Rumpelstiltskin's cold heart had warmed slightly at the woodcutter's statement. "That's what I like to hear," he'd chortled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Now, have you got something belonging to either of your children?"

The man reached into his pack and brought forth a clean muslin apron and a well-worn, though equally clean scarf. "Will these do?" he asked.

Rumple giggled. "They will indeed! Now, uh… how will you pay me?"

The man flinched. "I… I…"

"Come now," Rumple said in a genial sing-song. "You're coming to me for magical aid and, uh, all magic comes with a price!"

"Dark One, please," the man quailed. "I've nothing. My wife, my Zivia died three winters ago of diphtheria. Those children are all I have. Without them, I-I'm dust. Please!"

The man's words sent a shudder through the Dark One, for all he tried to hide it. "A woodcutter, you said?" he asked, his words almost gentle.

"Y-yes."

"Well," Rumple said, sounding almost nonchalant, "I must admit I do have need for a cord of birch and the same of wild apple. You cut me those trees, mind it's quality logs with neither rot nor infestation and, uh, I'll see what I can do." Birch for the fresh start that the Curse would bring all when it rewrote their memories; wild apple to amplify the magic it would require; a cord of each to assure an ample supply for testing and experimentation. The price was steep in hours of labor, but—unlike the hundred gold a healer had once quoted for snakebite venom remedy—well within the woodcutter's ability to pay.

The woodcutter blinked. "Yes, yes, of course!" he gasped. "Anything!"

Rumple giggled again. He passed his hands over the two objects, his expression serious. It didn't take him long to see the boy and girl, wandering in the woods, the girl holding out a compass before her—an exquisite piece, he noted in passing; the sort he might well have bargained for, had it been she to approach him seeking her father. But there was another force in play here, he realized, his eyes narrowing. A curse—minor and crude, to be sure, but such a knotty problem it would be more trouble than two cords of word were worth—their magical applications not withstanding—to untangle. Still, a man separated from his children… Rumple was loth to send him away empty-handed.

"I can't reunite you," he said heavily.

The woodcutter's lips quivered. "What? No, no, you must! I-I'll cut you more wood!"

"It's not a question of wood!" Rumple retorted, his voice pitching higher with scorn. "It's one of fate! And yours is to find your children without me! And you will," he added softly. "In time. They're looking for you now," he added, his voice silky once more. "But it will be another's task to bring you three together!"

"Whose?"

Rumple shook his head. "Go home, woodcutter. Put your children far from your mind. For your reunion will not come about until you've each forgotten that the other ever existed." A cackle escaped his lips unbidden, making his sympathy seem a mockery.

The woodcutter gaped at him. "A man can't forget his own flesh and blood, Dark One! It's not possible!"

"And yet," Rumple said gently, "such is how it must be. And when it is, you will all three be together as you should be. While I can't give you your children, I can give you that hope. And that's no paltry well-wishing. It's a certainty. Now go."

"But…"

The thoughts of Bae that he tried so hard to suppress lest they overwhelm him even now were hammering at his defenses and, with a wave of his hand, he repeated his order and the woodcutter vanished in a teleportation spell, reappearing several leagues away, but the thought of another parent deprived of his offspring niggled at him, stirring a welter of emotion he couldn't easily control. He'd be useless for the delicate work that curse-crafting entailed now and such delays were difficult to bear. How long had he and Bae been apart now? A century? Two?

Frustrated and furious, the Dark One flung empty glass flasks and earthenware flagons against the stone wall of his castle, shrieking as they shattered. After his tantrum was over, though, he restored them magically and did his best to resume his work. The sooner he perfected the Dark Curse, the sooner both he and the woodcutter would find their children.

Zivia, he remembered now. That had been the wife's name back in their land. Like Dorcas, it meant 'gazelle'. Interesting how the Curse kept some semblance of their original names, some meaning or—in his case—attribute to hint at their true natures. Even in the names of those who'd died long before the curse was ever cast…

He tore his mind from his musings to greet his newest visitor. "Emma," he smiled. "How lovely to see you. I'm, uh, flattered you'd take time off your busy schedule for me." He leaned closer. "What could I do for you, Sheriff?"

For answer, Emma held up a device he'd once glimpsed years ago in the grimy hand of a young girl in his scry glass. It was far more exquisite up close. "I'm looking for information on this old compass," she informed him. "Any idea where it could have come from?"

Neal looked up as Emma stormed into the kitchen several hours later, clutching a small paper bag. "Where are the kids?" she asked, with a thunderous expression.

He blinked. "Out in the back, playing with Henry. I've been checking up on them from time to time. Why? Emma, did something happen?"

She blew air out from between her teeth. "I just wanted to make sure they weren't in earshot," she said a bit more calmly. "I went to see Gold about the compass, hoping to get a lead to their father."

Judging by her expression… "I take it that didn't go well?"

Emma rummaged in the cabinet for the hot chocolate mix and set it down on the counter with the cinnamon and salt. Neal's eyebrows shot up when she pulled a 12.7-ounce bottle of Drambuie out of the paper bag and placed it beside them. "Tell me there's milk," she growled.

"Uh… yeah, in the fridge," Neal said. "Since when…?"

"I'm making a cocoa buie two," she said, not turning to look at him. "Found the recipe on Google. It's got cocoa, it's got cinnamon, it's got milk… and it's got an extra kick. Which is what I'd like to give to Gold and Michael Tillman."

The second name meant nothing to him. "Who? Emma, what the hell's going on?"

Emma didn't say anything until she'd taken the milk out of the fridge, poured some into a saucepan, and set it on the stovetop to heat. Then she finally faced him. "Gold recognized the compass. He bought it off Tillman. Guy runs the garage; I drove down there to talk to him. He might be the only person in this town who actually remembers Dory Zimmer."

"Well, I mean, I'll miss the kids, and I guess I was looking forward to going furniture shopping with them, but we'll still seem them around town, right?"

"He doesn't want them, Neal," Emma said bitterly. "He didn't want to meet them; didn't want to see them; says he doesn't know the first thing about being a father…"

Neal winced. "Well, maybe it's for the best, then. I mean, if he doesn't want them, they might be better off without him."

Emma's eyes flashed. "Those kids will not be better off in two different group homes!" she retorted. "If he just had... five minutes with them, I know he'd…"

"Change his mind?" Neal asked gently.

"I hope so," Emma said. "I can't know that, of course, but if he gave them a chance, I'm sure he'd…"

"Maybe…" Neal allowed. "So, why do you want to kick Gold, too?"

Emma's anger returned in full force. "He gave me this when I went to see him this morning," she said, her hands smoothing the brown sheriff's jacket that she was wearing—the jacket, Neal realized, that she had not been wearing when she'd left the house earlier.

"You're upset he guessed your size wrong?" Neal asked, knowing that his joke had fallen flat the instant the words left his mouth. "Sorry. Actually, it looks good on you."

"It was Graham's," Emma snapped. "Turns out that when I walked out of the debate, it was all part of Gold's plan."

"What? How?" Come to think of it, that did sound a lot like Papa, Neal thought.

Emma noted that the milk was steaming and quickly opened the Drambuie and measured out a double shot, which she poured into the pan. Then she stuck a tablespoon into the cocoa canister, scooping as she continued. "He was banking on my telling everyone the fire was set," she said, almost spitting out the words. "He wanted me to call him out so that everyone else in town would see that I was willing to stand up to him. That won me the votes."

Yup. It sounded like Papa. Still, "Or… he's just trying to take credit for your win, so you'll feel you owe him."

"Oh, I owe him," Emma grumbled. "He reminded me of that, too."

"Okay," Neal said. "The fact remains, you called him out. The town witnessed it. They made up their own minds. Maybe that was part of his plan; maybe he's just saying that. Doesn't matter. You outed him on your own. He didn't coach you. And now, you're the sheriff, right?"

Emma sucked in another breath, but when she let it out, she was smiling, just a little. "Right," she admitted ruefully. "I am." Shaking her head, she reached for the cinnamon. "And because I'm sheriff…" her face fell as she looked at the digital clock on the counter, "I've got less than four hours to get Michael Tillman to meet his kids and convince him to take them in before I need to get on the road back to Boston."