Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

AN: So I lied. This is looking to extend past three chapters, though how many for sure, I haven't decided yet. Thank you all so much for your reviews, favourites, and alerts! My email acted up, so I may have missed replying to a handful of you, but I appreciate all your support! I got this chapter written because I was avoiding my responsibilities as a graduating university student. I hope you guys enjoy their first meeting!

"Attention, passengers. It is currently 11:54 AM, and we will be arriving in Boston Logan International Airport in approximately fifteen minutes. Please return to your seats and prepare for landing."

The ding of the intercom woke Emma from her sleep, and within seconds she was alert, already taking inventory of her fellow passengers who were either making their way back to their seats or telling their children to put away their GameBoys. The baby three rows behind her had quieted down sometime an hour ago, and the middle aged woman seated beside her had finished off her third round of the rosary. The woman had claimed to always be a nervous flyer, but she was anxious now more than ever yet found solace in sitting beside Emma who had yet to change out of her uniform.

It was too late now, anyway. They'd be landing in a couple minutes. Emma inhaled a deep breath and stared out the window where the runway was coming into focus. A small smile tugged at her lips when she realized she hadn't been back to the city in years. She had racked up months of leave being on reserve, but it wasn't until she was deployed did she feel the need to use them. The break from constant vigilance was much needed, and her commanders were relieved when she opted on going home for a month.

The plane rocked as it landed making the agitated woman beside her clutch at Emma's wrist instinctively, but the soldier allowed the move, calming the woman down with a reassuring look. Within moments the speaker announced they had arrived and to exit the plane in an orderly fashion, thanking them for their business and hoping they had enjoyed their flight.

Emma stood and grabbed her carry on sack that held a few clothes, essentials like toiletries and documents, and her letters and gifts from Regina and Henry. If her luggage were to get lost there was no way in hell she'd have those placed out of her reach.

It was a lengthy process just getting to the terminal where August had agreed to meet her. Airports had locked down on their security, randomly inspecting certain passengers Emma noticed, but it helped that her uniform made the process just a tad bit quicker. Shouldering her sack and finding her duffel with relative ease, Emma marched toward the arrivals ramp, eyes peeled for the familiar scruffy haired brunette she had learned to call brother. Her eyes landed on a cardboard with SWAN written in August's messy scrawl. She picked up the pace when she saw August, holding up the sign in his lap as he sat in a wheelchair, his signature grin sporting his face.

"August," she called out and dropped her duffel beside his chair, leaning down to hug the man.

"You're off duty, soldier," the man quipped when she released him. He placed the cardboard on his lap and leaned over his chair to lift Emma's duffel on top of it too. "You can relax, you know?"

She shook her head and adjusted the rucksack on her back before taking the handle of his wheelchair. "How's everything? I thought you were getting a prosthetic."

He lifted the pant of his left leg to show the metal and plastic that was his new calf. "Still in rehab. It takes some getting used to. I wanted a wooden one, like a peg, you know? But I was told I'd look like a pirate."

Emma chuckled as they left the airport. "But you're okay?"

"Never better, kid."


The cab ride from the airport to Emma's storage locker where they had picked up her Volkswagen beetle to August's apartment had taken the better part of the afternoon. As soon as he rolled in, August was already asking if Emma wanted to order in as the blonde was dumping her duffel and rucksack at the base of the couch she'd be calling her bed for the next month.

Emma took in his apartment, simple in its furnishings with its brick walls and single bedroom and bathroom. The only alarming thing was the amount of beer bottles in the recycling bin by the garbage. "Did you have a party?" Emma asked directly, her arms crossed as she eyed August who was searching through take-out menus.

He turned his head to the recycling bin and didn't bash an eye turning back toward Emma. "I have my vices, right?"

"August-"

"Emma," he interrupted. "I'm getting help. Not just for my leg."

Her face remained impassive as they continued to read one another. Finally, the blonde raised a questioning eyebrow deeming his statement true. "Okay," she conceded quietly. "Is there anything I can do?"

He tossed the menus on the table between them. "You can pick dinner tonight."


Emma was out of her uniform and back into a tank top and jeans. Empty Chinese cartons littered the coffee table in front of her where they had decided to eat. August had laughed, saying he nearly did the same thing when he was discharged from the hospital. It took him months of rehab and cardio to lose the extra pounds he had gained from his overindulgence. She smirked and showed off her stomach, claiming that her toned abs had nothing to worry about.

Now she was sitting cross legged on the couch, the TV turned on to some evening drama Emma was unfamiliar with as she dug through her rucksack to find the bound letters and pictures from Storybrooke. They were organized by date as Emma shuffled through them to get to some of her favourites. Reading Regina's letters was her favourite bedtime story. Whether the woman was sharing some anecdote about Henry or whether she and Regina were sharing battle wounds stories with Regina admitting she had a scar of her own on her upper lip, Emma found she couldn't go to sleep without reading a few or soaking in Henry's drawings. It amazed her that she had kept up communication with the woman for nearly three years. The only other person she kept in touch with for that long was August, and that was only because she happened to be sent to his division.

Emma had never exchanged pictures with Regina, nothing more than a drawing from Henry or when Emma wanted to attempt her own artistry skills, so every night, she drifted off with images of women with various shades of brunette in some power suit that the First Lady would wear. Sometimes the mystery woman in her mind was relaxed in sweats and a sweater boasting some Storybrooke mascot as Emma imagined Regina to be one of those over-enthusiastic soccer moms. Emma's naturally curious side had wanted to ask Regina to send a picture, but the closest she got was asking the Mayor to describe herself. Regina hadn't asked one of her either, so Emma didn't want to push the boundaries on what she deemed to be already a good thing.

Reading those letters every night got Emma through some of the toughest, most loneliest nights of her life. For the first time in her twenty years of living, Emma felt as if someone cared for her, truly cared for her, and if there was anyway Emma could repay Regina for her kindness, she'd gladly do so. A thought sprung to her mind as she looked up to August who was out of his wheelchair and cautiously walking the length of the apartment, getting a feel for his new leg.

"Are you still okay?" Emma checked in.

He suppressed a wince and steadied himself on the wall before throwing a thumbs up.

"Do you have paper and an envelope?" Emma asked, already standing to retrieve it.

"For what?" August grunted, putting one foot in front of the other.

"I'm gonna write to Regina. Tell her I'm in Boston."

August snapped his head up at that and smirked. "Regina, huh? Did you two plan a date?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "We're just friends. I want her to know I'm safe. She gets worried sometimes."

"Oh really?" His grin grew even wider as he gave up on his walking for the time being and leaned against the kitchen counter. "You realize I was there when Mr. and Mrs. Johnson found out why the door was locked when Stephanie Cobalt was in your room, right?"

"That's beside the point," Emma huffed, leaning against the back of the couch.

"I don't think it is," he insisted. Moving minimally, August opened up his fridge door and tossed Emma a water bottle before opening up one for himself. "You should go visit her. You've been talking for what, two years?"

"Three," she muttered into her bottle. "And I can't just show up to Storybrooke uninvited."

"Why not? Is visiting this town invite only?" He set his bottle on the counter and resumed his walking, his steps more confident and only slightly less painful.

"It's rude," Emma insisted, though she couldn't help the little voice in her head that told her five years ago, Emma Swan would be all about breaking the rules and crashing places.

August shrugged. "Your loss. There's a notebook in the TV stand drawer."


Habit got Emma up at the crack of dawn. It also helped that August was making a lot of racket in his room as he worked to develop his upper body strength, but as soon as the first rays of the sun hit the horizon, Emma's eyes snapped open, and she was ready for the day. She had taken to running every morning, finding the local park and sprinting her way through it before returning to the apartment where August would break out some fibre cereal for the both of them. For the three days since Emma's arrival, she had dropped her friend off at physio before returning to the apartment and found herself at a stalemate. Her days were usually jam-packed with training or missions, but now that she was off duty, she had no idea how to fill her time. She had sent a letter to Regina the morning after her arrival saying she had landed in Boston safely, but without anything other than an address, Emma had no other way to contact Regina.

So Emma stayed at August's and did sit ups, push ups, and every type of work out she could in the cramped apartment. When the cabin fever set it, usually in the afternoon, Emma went out for some air, walked back to the park she had run through that morning and read the books Regina had sent to her until it was time to pick up August. By now she had read the novels three times over and found herself sitting on the bench, people watching. At least that's what she told August. In reality, she debated on finding Storybrooke, maybe finding Regina up in a phone book and actually hearing her voice for the first time. But she couldn't just show up. Could she?

Apparently she could since it wasn't until the fourth morning when Emma had returned from her run that August wheeled himself to the door to meet her. Her duffel was packed and her rucksack placed on top of it in the man's lap before dropping them at her feet. Emma opened her mouth to question him, her eyes widening at the fact that August seemed to be kicking her out. Wordlessly he presented the Storybrooke postcard Emma had taken to looking at every night then dangled her car keys in the air for her.

"Go," he said simply.

She was quick to retrieve the postcard but eyed her keys warily. "You have a doctor's appointment today."

"I've been getting there for months without a driver. Go." He tossed her the keys and assumed his authoritative voice. "That's an order, soldier."

The smirk played on his lips, but they continued to hold the silent staring contest, neither moving from their position and Emma still dripping with sweat. She was pretty sure August was a second away from pulling rank on her. Her heart, which had calmed on her arrival to the apartment, was now pounding in her ears. Badum-badum-badum.

Emma had seen bombs go off. She had had to use force to calm a rioting crowd. She witnessed her best friend fight for his life. Yet all of that seemed trivial with the mere thought of meeting Regina Mills.


The Welcome to Storybrooke sign was the only reason Emma knew she was heading in the right direction. She had been driving for hours, which wasn't necessarily a problem, but the long expanse of lonely road gave her the unnerving feeling that there was an ambush not too far away. She had to remind herself that she was on American soil, that she was home, and that she was safe. The derisive snort came out easily as she thought back to all those times in her youth where she wasn't safe. Soil didn't matter where people were concerned, that's for damn sure.