Regina followed Henry to the table and crouched down when he leaned over and plucked one from the edge and held it up proudly.

Her lip quivered at the hand puppet in his grasp. The forest green top, stringy yellow hair, and forest green cap was unmistakably Emma, but the added glitter around her neck for her dog tags made Regina grin softly and take the puppet into her palm. "You made this for Emma?"

"Uh huh," he said proudly.

And before Regina could control it, tears were spilling down her cheeks as the emotion she was holding back since three that morning came barreling over the wall she had desperately tried to erect. "She'll love it," she cried breathily, wiping at her eyes.

Henry pouted. "You don't like it?"

"No, sweetheart, I absolutely love it." She pulled him into her chest and hugged tightly, sniffling back tears and struggling to get her bearings.

"Why are you crying?"

It was crazy, really, to hold the Emma puppet and pray with all her might for it to turn into the real thing, but still, Regina tried. She shook her head. "I just love it so much. Why don't you draw Emma a picture of her as a puppet and we'll send it to her tonight, okay?"

Henry nodded and ran to his group's table, bringing the basket of jumbo crayons to him and pulling at a blank piece of paper kept in a stack in the middle. He remained oblivious to his mother whose tears still tracked her cheeks as she stared forlornly at the doll in her hands. The glitter on its chest was still wet, and it would stain Regina's hand and blazer for a few days if she didn't wash it soon, but she didn't care. Because here she was with Henry, missing her, drawing her pictures, and writing her letters, while Emma was over there getting—

"Hey." Tina crouched down in front of her and gently tugged Regina to her feet and further into the corner, away from Henry's attentive ears. "What's happened with her?"

Regina wiped at her cheeks with her free hand, inadvertently glittering her face in the process. "Nothing."

"Don't tell me that. She's my friend too," Tina reminded.

As quick as her tears had come mere minutes earlier, they fell again, only this time accompanied by a half-stifled sob that wracked Regina's body in a way she hadn't felt in years. She fell into her friend, Henry thankfully still preoccupied with his drawing as Tina wrapped soothing arms around her back.

"Is she. . ." Tina cautioned.

Regina shook her head and sniffed back another sob, letting her friend hold her as she stared down at the city rug with streets winding and turning around fibre-encased school houses, a town hall, and police station. A tear slid down her cheek, and she didn't have enough time to catch it before it landed on the carpet, the yellow school bus that caught it darkening another shade from the moisture.

"It's so hard," Regina croaked in a voice she hadn't used since she was eighteen. "It's so hard."

"Regina, what's wrong?" Tina whispered.

But the brunette kept shaking her head, sobbing quietly into the preschool teacher's shoulders muttering the same thing over and over again.


October 12, 2005 — Camp Victory, Iraq

"You think that punching bag has any life in it?" Frederick asked sitting atop the hood of a truck.

"She doesn't." Kennedy watched grimly as Emma, true to habit as she had been a week following Spencer's relocation, knocked the padding out of a punching bag.

For four months, given the opportunity, Emma would hide herself away in a training yard where many punching bags, speed bags, and even an unsuspecting Private needing to spar fell prey to her punches. When they were out in the field, the amount of times she pushed her body to the limits or acted brash left no room to the imagination as to why. She'd never say anything. Just walk into the area in her cargos and tank and begin a work out before it devolved into something a little more personal. Once when Jones obliviously walked up to her and casually asked what happened to scare Spencer off, Emma broke his nose. She had gotten a talking to for that one with threats to taking points away form her, but it hadn't deterred her in the slightest.

Even Neal was only given special privileges enough to leave a roll of gauze on her cot or remind her to eat or the odd times allowed to actually talk to her. But something snapped in Emma, and everyone knew it.

Ken and Fred continued watching her. Upper cut, knee to the ribs, left jab, left jab, right hook.

Ken shook his head and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag. "She shouldn't be here."

"Are you really saying that after everything that's happened?"

"I'm saying she has every right to go home just as any other guy who gets his arm blown off in the field," the younger soldier sneered.

Emma yelled out, punching the bag with no rhyme or reason, and from their spot across the yard, they could see red seep through her bandaged knuckles. A flurry of kicks came next before the woman collapsed against the bag, hugging it as her weak hits landed, just as spent as she.

"She's gonna get herself killed," Ken murmured ominously. Fred didn't say anything though the grimace on his face said he agreed as much.

"Shouldn't you two be doing something else?" Cabrera grunted, tugging Frederick off the hood and pushing them away from training yard.

They staggered away, Ken taking one last look at the blonde woman before flicking his smoke to the ground and stomping on it with a heavy boot.

Cabrera marched toward the yard and called Emma's name before he truly reached her. She had been jumpy lately at the slightest of touches, and even he didn't want to end up the same fate as some of those punching bags. She turned suddenly, still wary, but pushed off the bag, keeping it in between them. Her stance was defensive, her left foot forward ready to strike with that piercing right hook, yet her eyes were shifty as if examining all the means of escape in the open yard.

The bruises on her face from that night had cleared away months ago, but the scars never faded. Cabrera was a hardened soldier. He didn't say much to his men other than to get them to obey his order, and though he had lost men in attacks or simple navigational drives, never before had he felt like he let one of his best soldiers down until now.

"Mail," he explained, reaching into his jacket pocket and removing several letters.

She relaxed minutely, her gaze landing on the letters like it was her golden ticket to a chocolate factory. Her guard was still up as she inched forward and held out her hand for the envelopes. She never willingly touched someone anymore, and she clearly wasn't going to start now. "Thanks," she murmured when Cabrera eased the letters into her palm.

"And Swan?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're up for a return home next month."

For the first time in months, Emma's eyes brightened at something other than the mail. Her lips didn't curl into a smile, and she wasn't bouncing with excitement, but green eyes that had become a murky myrtle over the past few months shone nearly jade at the sheer hope of his words.

"Thank you, sir," she muttered.


Emma took a step back and clutched the letters to her chest when Cabrera nodded her dismissal. After one final glance behind her as Cabrera watched her walk off, she quickly headed in the direction of her tent and sat on her cot.

Her fingers trembled, both from overuse from her strenuous work outs and from excitement as Regina's handwriting smiled up at her, grounding her back down to earth. If there was any good in this world, it was all in these letters, reminding her that she was missed and loved and safe there. She ran a finger under the flap of the first letter and smiled softly as the first thing that dropped from it were two pictures: one of Henry, his hair neatly trimmed though still much too long by Regina's standards with his army backpack by his feet and a Rexy Jr. sticking adorably out from it. His Levi's and button up shirt made him look like such a little man as he grinned into the camera throwing a thumbs up in front of him; the second was of him and Regina, mother crouched down by her son as they posed in front of the large door of Storybrooke Elementary. Regina with her beaming smile matching Henry's in such an uncanny way that genetics be damned.

His first day of school.

A tear fell onto the outside of the envelope, and Emma finally realized that her watering eyes had spilled over. She missed so much, yet they never once excluded her.

She kept the pictures in her lap and pulled out the letter.

September 6, 2005

Hello my love,

I never realized how much of the voice of reason you are until today when I walked Henry into his kindergarten class and had to be kicked out when I tried to stay for the full day. I could hear you telling me it's okay, and that we'll pick him up later. Later is much too far away. I've taken more pictures than I can fit in this envelope, so you'll get to see every minute of his first day of school process when you come home.

But I'm completely beside myself. You're over there and Henry's at school, and apparently I missed a presentation on the zoning restrictions of the town, but I don't care. I miss both of you so embarrassingly much.

It's not even that much different than when he went to daycare. Not at all. Not really. But it's school. We can't just take him out of it for a day because I've convinced you to go riding even though you insist that kindergarten is optional. It has its benefits. You'll be glad he went.

I know you don't want to make a big deal about what happened, and I know you already know my stand on what we should do, but just don't forget that you're safe here, and you have a home here, and if you feel like it'll be easier to just let it go, then I'll support you.

We're waiting for you to come home.

I love you.

Regina

She smiled down at the letter despite the ache in her chest that had her so homesick she actually felt sick to her stomach. She knew she couldn't keep something like what Spencer did a secret, and even though the squad kept her busy enough to keep her away from a phone (because writing that down was just too much for Emma to bear and would all but immortalize the event on paper), when Emma called her that night, she had someone to cry with, to hold her up and tell her it wasn't her fault.

Regina made it very clear on their next phone call that she wanted her General in a prison cell in Guantanamo Bay, but Emma dismissed her, and again Regina was being patient. Regina was still sending her letters and pictures and drawings that didn't make her feel like the world was watching her, and she couldn't fucking wait to get home. A thought struck her suddenly.

She'd be home for Christmas.

If Regina could tried to maintain a sense or normalcy, then so could Emma, and already her spirits were up and a plan forming in her head. Taking a moment to stare down at the picture of her family, she pressed a kiss to their faces before putting the pictures and letter back in the envelope and hiding the letter in her rucksack. She retrieved a bit of stationary and a pen from her bag and grabbed a book, using it as a desk as she hovered over the paper.

October 12, 2005

How come you get to call me 'my love', but when I slip in a 'baby' it's like all hell has broken loose? A new nickname for you is in order, pumpkin. Sweet cheeks would be fitting too.

God, what's up with Henry and his incessant need to grow up? He promised me he wouldn't. He looks so big in those pictures. He's coming up to your waist now. And to be fair, kindergarten is optional. We'd all have more fun together anyway.

I know you would. I appreciate that, and I love that about you, but I just want to forget it. I've already been told it's not the healthiest options, but I'm looking to see if I can be stationed stateside for the duration of my duty, so it'll be okay.

Speaking of stateside though, I'll be coming home soon. Sometime in the New Year, but maybe mid-February. Keep your Valentine's Day free. And your night too.

Give Henry a big hug and kiss for me, and make sure he does all his homework and sticks up for the little kids. I've got a big hug and kiss for you too.