"I never saw you as a family man," Kennedy commented.

"You never asked," Cabrera answered and dismissed in one breath before putting his hands behind his head to rest for the night.

"I want a huge family," Frederick chimed in. "Me and the missus and the kids running around the house with the huge yard and the dogs chasing after them."

Kennedy snorted. "That sounds gay."

Emma scoffed and cocked an eyebrow. "If his missus was a mister then yeah, but I don't think you know what that word means."

Before Kennedy could retort, Neal roused up beside Emma and smirked pointedly at Ken. "Clearly you're not getting any." He turned to Emma, ignoring Kennedy as the younger soldier flipped him the bird, and with an inquisitive quirk of his eyebrow but a knowing tilt to his lips asked, "Big family? Two point five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence?"

The blonde snorted but smiled nonetheless, falling right into Neal's trap of thinking of the two brunette Millses in Storybrooke, neatly trimmed hedges in front of a mansion, in fact, and Pongo whenever that Dalmatian showed up. "Never had much family growing up, but if I could choose, a boy you can't mess up with as much." As an afterthought, the image of a little girl with dark unruly curls in a pink tutu dress, sneakers, and skinned knees came to her mind, and she shrugged. "But girls are just as adorable and even more smarter."

The men laughed, even Cabrera smirking in his sleeping state, as they all nodded their agreement.

"You better start learning how to braid and do pigtails now," Fred commented, pointing at Neal with the tip of his bottle.

Neal snorted. "You think Tamara is gonna let me anywhere near Alia's hair?" He grinned saying his daughter's name, and the squad shook their head at his over pleased face.

"She's gonna be spoiled." Kennedy's comment earned him murmurs of agreement from Emma and Frederick, and an acknowledged grunt from Cabrera. Neal didn't even have it in him to deny the claim, though Emma knew the months leading up to his daughter's birth had him on edge. All he had were detailed descriptions of every OB appointment and ultrasounds from the past six months. Emma was just grateful Tamara hadn't given a play-by-play of the actual birth, but if she were in Neal's position, she knew she'd want every detail too. Hell, a video even. Scratch that, she'd just rather be there holding her wife's hand and coaching her through all the Lamaze classes they'd probably attended. She looked down and suppressed the grin threatening to spill from her face.

"Why aren't you out there guarding the prisoners?" Spencer's demanding tone boomed in the otherwise quiet night, and for the first time they realized the screaming had stopped as he pushed aside the cloth opening and entered their makeshift sitting area.

Cabrera was the first to stand and address the General who, despite his older age, made everyone around him feel like he could snap their neck in two with his bare hands. He probably could and no one was willing to be his first volunteer. "You told us to stay away while you questioned the prisoners, sir."

"Now I'm telling you to get your asses out there and make sure they stay there." Emma had no idea how Cabrera resisted an eye roll or snarling his lip, but the Sergeant just nodded at his squad, and one by one the four of them moved out of the tent and into the courtyard, all ignoring the way Spencer breathed down their necks like they were the prisoners.

Emma frowned when she pulled back the tarp to see the lanky and bearded men on their knees, unbound yet obedient. Their faces were bruised and their lips had split. The lanky man with the scar on his cheek had a fresh one on his opposite to match. The glare he threw at her made it seem as if she were the one to give it to him.

"Why do we gotta watch them for?" Neal muttered aloud when they all exited the tent.

"Because they are a threat to your country," Spencer boomed from behind them. He glared at Neal who had been ridiculously happy all day, but for the first time since receiving the news of his daughter, he faltered and gulped visibly as Spencer's steely gaze bore into him. "And because I said so."


The prisoners had been on their knees for hours. Whether they were obeying Spencer when he threatened that he'd shoot them if they so much as blinked, or if they were showing defiance by proving they could, Emma wasn't sure. All she knew was that for them to kneel in the dirt ground all night long right up until the break of dawn and suffer through the morning heat then they were either desperate or crazy.

"Which do you think is gonna break first?" Neal asked, emerging from the tent and offering his water bottle around.

Kennedy, who had been brushing his teeth, took the bottle, waterfalled it, and spat out the foam. He did another rinse before handing it back and eyed the two men. "My money's on the small one."

"Yeah?" Neal shielded his eyes from the sun with a hand to his forehead and noted thoughtfully. "Big guy looks like he's gonna faint."

"Wouldn't you if you had to go through what they went through?" Kennedy, for all his ignorant comments, for once looked compassionate as he shook his head, kicking at a rock on the ground. "I would rather be shot. Boom. Quick and easy."

"You think they need water?" Frederick asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Kennedy turned the question around again.

Frederick handed Emma Neal's bottle. "Go give them some."

"Why me?"

"Because you're a girl," Kennedy supplied easily.

"So?" The blonde said aghast.

"They'll probably take it if it's coming from you," Neal chipped in.

"Most of the places here are stuck in time," she reminded them. "I'm probably the last person they'd accept help from."

"Just do it."

She looked uncertain and conflicted. A large part of her, the good part, told her that kneeling in ninety degree weather would be torturous on an abled-body person. She couldn't imagine withstanding it and being beaten up to boot. But Spencer told them they weren't allowed food or water unless they talked, and they sure as hell weren't talking. Emma had learned the hard way that people screwed you over if you gave them the chance to, and something deep down told her that she shouldn't do it, she shouldn't trust them. But the larger part, the good part, she frequently reminded herself, told her to fuck it because this shit just wasn't humane.

Tucking her lip between her teeth, she grabbed the proffered bottle and marched over to the two prisoners. The cut on the lanky one's cheek had dried overnight and the blood crusted over in a small diagonal line starting from the middle of his cheek and ending nearly right by the tip of his lip. The bearded one looked at her warily, a mixture of disgust and curiosity as she crouched down an arm's length away from them and shook the bottle enticingly.

"You guys thirsty?" Emma asked. "You know?" She mimed drinking but got nothing more than a blink. She sighed and lowered her voice, crouching lower to catch their gaze. "Here's the thing, if you guys just talk to him, say you were put up to it or give up some higher up names, he'll let you go."

Only their eyes moved as they silently communicated to one another before returning their hardened gazes to Emma. Their unspoken language was just as difficult to interpret had they been speaking their native tongue, but at least with that she had picked up on certain words. Derogatory terms about the invading white men, yes, but she picked up a little Arabic. Still, they remained silent.

Emma nodded and sighed, shaking the water again. "Sure you don't want any?" When she continued to receive nothing more than a glare she stood up and looked to the three men watching her in the shade and shook her head. "They don't want–"

As soon as she took a step past them, the lanky one gripped his arms around her legs and collided his arms straight into her knees, sending her careening backwards to the ground. Dust clouded around her upon impact, and for half a second, she was stunned paralyzed. The prisoners moved when she fell, the lanky one straddling her waist while the bearded one charged for the three men. Frederick and Neal had taken him on, but the man's size proved more of a struggle than they anticipated.

"You are disgrace!" The lanky man spat in Emma's face, his thick accent laced with vile and disgust as he used her own gun, pressed against her throat lengthwise, to keep her pinned. "A woman pretending to be man!"

He moved to turn the gun onto her, but she used the brief alteration of position to push up against the gun and smash it into his face. He cried out in pain, blood seeping from his nose and his cheek wound flowing freshly, but it was just enough of a distraction to reclaim her gun and bang it again against the side of his temple, forcing him to roll off of her. Both scrambled to get to their feet as quickly as possible, and just as Emma had her rifle trained on him again, Kennedy had sprinted to her and held the lanky man's arm behind his back with one hand and tilted his head back with the other.

"You better be nice or that woman who just kicked your ass is gonna kill you," Ken threatened with a snarl.

Emma almost did it, almost easily pulled back the trigger to put an end to her attacker's life, but she growled and eased the tension in her shoulders, though never once dropping her gun from him.

The trio in the middle of the courtyard jumped when a gun went off behind them, and all turned to see Spencer by the entrance of the tent, Cabrera frowning behind him, as the General had Neal's gun in his hands and was lowering it from eye level, the barrel trained at the bearded man who ceased struggling and fell limp to the ground, blood pouring from his neck where the bullet lodged. Fred and Neal panted, blood splattering their clothes and faces and their eyes wide from the escalation of events.

No one said a word as Spencer tossed Neal his gun and marched straight to Emma, Kennedy, and the last remaining prisoner who stared forlornly at the body of his fallen friend. Gripping Kennedy by the back of his collar, Spencer yanked him away from the prisoner and to the ground before holding the lanky man by the back of his neck like an animal and glaring at Emma.

"What do you think you're doing, soldier?" He questioned accusingly.

"Nothing, sir."

"It doesn't look like nothing. You think you know better than me, huh Corporal?"

"No, sir."

"Clearly you do." With a steely-eyed gaze, Spencer tilted his chin out and ordered. "Remove your weapon."

Emma didn't move right away and glanced at Cabrera who remained stoic before turning back toward Spencer. "Sir?"

"I said," Spencer said taking another step closer, clutching the prisoner to him as he squirmed in his grasp. "Remove your weapon."

She didn't break eye contact with him as she shouldered her gun off and slid it away from her, closer to the four men who were watching with confused curiosity, obediently remaining in place.

"If you want to cause trouble in my troop then you'll get it." Spencer threw the lanky man to the ground and leaned in closer so he was nose to nose with the blonde. "We'll see what you're really made of."

Spencer turned and pulled the prisoner to his feet and held his face roughly toward Emma. "You want her? Go get her."

Emma stared dumbfounded as the lanky man turned after Spencer. "I am not animal," his accented voice growled out.

"Could have fooled me." Turning his back to them, Spencer left Emma and the man in the middle of the courtyard where they stared down one another uncertainly.

Did he really expect her to fight this man like a pitbull in a dog fight? No, her inner conscience spoke loudly. He expected her to kill this man with her bare hands it seemed. She gulped and tried to take a step away, but the lanky man moved along with her, sensing that only one of them was coming out of this alive, and with his baser instincts kicking him, he sure as hell wanted it to be him. Emma tightened the strap of her helmet and glanced at the men watching, most agitated except for one.

"Sir, is this really–" Ken began but was instantly silenced by Spencer's threatening glare.

This was really going to happen.

Tracking the man with her eyes, Emma crouched in a defensive pose as they circled one another. They stalked and gauged the other, Emma refusing to be the one to make the first move. She wasn't an attacker; she was here to fight for peace. She studied her opponent, because seeing him as the man they had captured, enslaved, and damn well tortured was far too much reality to bear when the next move was to come directly from her hand. His dark curls were ashy with sand and dust, his modern yet outdated clothing was patchy and a size too big to properly fit his thin frame. Holes were ripped at his knees where he had suffered hours on the hardened ground not once complaining. And for what? Because they found him with a gun in his hand, shooting unfamiliars.