The brunette nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "It feels like a lifetime ago I was saying goodbye to you in an airport."

"It was."

"But—"

"I know," Emma finished imploringly.

Silence permeated the room once again. The afternoon light streaming in through the partially open curtain was the only audience to their silent foray. Dust particles danced in the sunlight, the only thing moving as the two women remained rooted on opposite sides of the room. The tension in the air thickened between them.

It had always been so easy with Regina. She had always been someone Emma could write to about anything and talk to for hours. In a world where Emma was literally tossed around, Regina had been the one constant in her life. If she lost that—Panic bubbled deep in her stomach causing her lungs to constrict painfully. No. No, she couldn't lose her. They were supposed to be a family. They were supposed to be normal. Her gasp broke through the silence. Regina whipped her head up.

Emma had never been the calm one. She reacted. Her decisions were rash. Foresight was thrown out the window. Regina was always the one with soothing words on her lips and warmth in her arms whenever Emma felt inadequate. But right now, neither of them were ready to fill that role.

Emma took a steadying breath, willing her shaking hands to calm. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Regina slumped down beside Emma, her hands shaking just as fiercely as the blonde's.

"It's not the same." Emma ducked her head, her voice as small as she felt.

With a resigned sigh, Regina nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault I went missing," Emma said with a dry laugh as she shifted uncomfortably. The lump in her throat made her want to choke.

"No." Regina's hand was on her thigh, and Emma chanced a side glance to the brunette to see wide, desperate eyes. "No. This isn't your fault either."

"We can't pretend?" Though Emma phrased it as a question, they both knew it to be fact. No longer could they simply imagine the other away on business, believing their phone calls that ran late into the night to be check-ups as Emma settled into a hotel room after a big business meeting. Too much had happened. Way too much. And though Emma mentally prepared herself for this worst case scenario, now that it was here, it felt like her world has come crashing down.

Her fingers found Regina's as they laced together on top of her thigh, hoping for one last moment of make-believe. Okay, she told herself as her eyes watered for a loss she couldn't quite put a name to. Okay okay okay.

"I don't want to pretend anymore," Regina admitted quietly. "I want us to be real for once."

"Can we?" The last shred of hope in Emma had her begging, pleading they could attempt to salvage whatever relationship they could, but the voice inside her head kept saying it was too little too late, and all she wanted to do was beat the crap out of that voice.

Slowly Regina lifted Emma's hand with her own and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, all the while locking gazes with the younger woman next to her. "Yes."


The coffee machine hissed as a fresh brew filtered into the pot. The heady aroma of the Colombian mix wafted through the kitchen as both women remained concentrated on their delegated tasks. Once they had dressed and made their way downstairs, their rumbling stomachs interrupted any conversation they were set to have, so Regina, ever the hostess, began making paninis for lunch while Emma had put the coffee on. The blonde was stilted in her movements, feeling the familiarity of moving throughout the kitchen with ease with this woman bubble just beneath the surface of her skin but refrained from diving headfirst into it because they made a promise. Gone was the past, and now they had to move forward. Despite her mind telling her that this wasn't her kitchen anymore, muscle memory took over when she poured coffee into Regina's favourite mug, still positioned on the second level shelf, and spooned in two sugars and cream. Regina usually took it black whenever she was working or stressed, but Emma had once seen Regina prepare it this way, and instinct kicked in.

Emma set the coffees on the island before briefly departing the kitchen to rummage through the bag she had brought in. By the time she returned with her hand-like prosthetic in place of the former, Regina had already plated the sandwiches and sat adjacent to the free place setting. Emma caught the slight falter of Regina's movements when the brunette had glanced up quickly to see Emma enter and stare again before moving her gaze to the aesthetically accurate limb of her right arm. The blonde shrugged then moved to Regina's left and sat, quietly thanking the older woman for the food.

Emma knew they had to talk. It was why they had left the bedroom. It was too easy to fall into ignorance whenever they got too close to one another and a bed was right there, but now that they were seated next to each other, the afternoon sun brightening up the ridiculously yellow kitchen, Emma was at a loss for words. Where should she begin? How should she begin?

She chanced a covert glimpse at Regina and found her gaze locked on Emma's hand, so lifelike even Emma sometimes forgot she had the barest of feeling in it. Washing down her bite with a gulp of her coffee, she cleared her throat and gently moved the fingers of her prosthetic. "It looks really nice, but it's not as easy to manipulate as the other one is."

Regina's eyes snapped up at Emma's words, and her cheeks tinted pink at being caught. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was your actual hand."

Regina's eyes darted back to the prosthetic without her conscious approval, and Emma figured that was a good place as any to start.

"You heard the story of what happened that day. With Neal? I got a bullet in the hand. It hurt like a bitch. I obviously didn't have the best medical care, so it started to get infected." She scooted closer and held up her hand and outlined the back of her prosthetic with her index. "All down here it was purple and green, the whole hand eventually swelled, and there was puss and blood and something else."

"Emma." Regina looked nauseous as she stared horrified.

"I made a sling for it out of a sleeve, but eventually the pain got to be too much. The report says when they found me, my belt was tightened so tight around my arm, the metal was piercing into my skin, and my hand was practically dead at that point." The prosthetic lay limp between them until Regina caressed a finger over the smooth, skin-like feel of Emma's wrist, following the junctures of the mechanics just beneath its surface until her hand rested firmly on top of the blonde's, their fingers clasping in unison. "It slowed down the infection from spreading any further than it could have."

"I'm so sorry," Regina breathed out, squeezing her fingers tightly with Emma's.

"It's okay," the blonde smiled and squeezed back. She leaned back on her barstool though kept their fingers interlocked.

"I'm sorry," Regina repeated with a shake of her head because no matter what the past three years had been for her, she couldn't even begin to process what it was like for Emma. "I'm so sorry."

"You said that," Emma said with a gentle laugh that only made Regina sigh and lean closer toward the younger woman. Their food sat forgotten on the island as Emma turned in her chair to fully face the older woman. "I was in Brookhaven for a lot of reasons. I have nightmares. Probably worse than what you ever saw. They pop up pretty regularly still, but I've learned to cope with it."

"You were fine just earlier," Regina observed.

"Yeah," Emma realized. "But I might not be tonight. It gets pretty scary in there."

"I'm sorry," Regina repeated again, and at Emma's incredulous look, she clarified. "For yelling at you. And for snapping at you when you woke up."

Emma smirked. "If you didn't snap at me, then you wouldn't be the Regina I know and love."

The tease made the brunette grin bashfully, and with the afternoon light silhouetting Regina's face, Emma was struck by how much she missed seeing that smile. She wanted nothing more in the world than to press her lips against them. Regina beat her to it, and Emma was almost surprised feeling the familiar yet foreign sensation as their lips moulded together.

"I love you." Regina sighed out a breathy laugh against Emma's lips, and the vibration made the blonde's heart flutter as her own face sported a matching grin. "I've only said that to you on paper."

"You said it this morning," Emma said with a pleased blush to her cheeks.

"I know. And I mean it," Regina said sincerely cupping Emma's cheeks in between her palms.

"What do you mean on paper?"

It was Regina's turn to blush as she fully sat back on her seat. "Dr. Hopper has been helping me, I guess, grieve. I must have written hundreds of letters to you by this point."

"You really thought I was dead," Emma said in wonder.

"What else did I have to go on to say otherwise?" Regina asked gently.

"I don't know." Emma glanced down, fiddling with her hands in her lap. "I was just so absorbed with my own problems, that I didn't give a lot of thought as to what was happening over here and what you were going through."

"They're not problems," Regina began, taking Emma's hand in her own when the blonde scoffed. "I mean, they are, but it's not like you stubbed your toe and ran away. I get it. Or at least I'm starting to. But don't downplay your success, my love."

Emma chuckled this time as she placed her free hand over their joined ones. "I haven't heard you say that in so long."

"My love," Regina purred as she leaned in and placed a soft kiss against Emma's jaw.

Emma's hand fell to her waist as they met in the middle, both leaning up off their stools as their lips searched for each other once again. Before they could touch, a thought crossed Emma's mind, halting both their movements. "How long have you been seeing Archie for?"

"Two years," Regina answered pulling back slightly. "I may have reverted to my eighteen-year old self when I found out the news."

"I'm—"

Regina pressed a finger to Emma's lips. "I think we've both exhausted our apologies for the day. Where were you before Boston?"

"Germany. Military hospital. My body basically went into shock during the amputation surgery. It shut itself down and I was in a coma state for seven months."

"A coma?" Regina gasped, gripping Emma's arms tightly.

They sat back down, fingers linked again, and though both women knew they wanted nothing more than to rekindle their flame, to touch and be touched, and revel in the presence of their found love, the journey ahead of them had barely been paved. With every recollection told, a new stone was turned. Emma had been preparing for this moment, working so hard to fight against the demons in her mind to remind herself how far she had come, and now that it was here, sharing it with a person who wasn't paid to sit there and listen, sharing it with Regina, Emma felt a weight shift from her shoulders as Regina listened patiently.

Emma found it easiest to explain the story behind every scar — her confinement with Nabil and being pitted against him like a caged animal, the bullet graze on the back of her calf that acted up on odd nights, even going as far as retrieving the postcard she had held onto for years. Emma once thought she had more than enough baggage as a foster child turned military soldier, but carefully reading Regina's expression as it ranged from horror to anger to sympathy had Emma questioning when enough would be enough. But then Regina led Emma by the hand into her study and retrieved a box hidden in her left hand side drawer. Emma didn't notice that her headshot was proudly displayed by Regina's laptop encased in a golden frame. She was too fixated on the bundles of letters wrapped neatly in the box, letters she had never seen before. Nearly every letter written by Regina to Emma had the brunette saying she missed her, loved her, and wished her home. Tear tracks still stained some of the older writings, and Emma felt her heart clench as she read Regina's words pleading her return.

Emma barely had enough time to truly register the emotions the older woman must have gone through before Regina was tugging her away again, upstairs this time, bypassing the master suite and turning the knob for Henry's room. Emma gasped out loud at the change in it. Although neat, the room that had once been laden with dragons and knights, was a tidy mess of comics piled precariously on a bedside table and a new computer desk. Stray sneakers peeked out from under the bed, and inside the partially open closet were clothes hanging from hangers and a laundry basket with t-shirts slipping over the lip. Emma almost wanted to cry because the four-year old she had hugged in the airport was a big kid now, and though she had seen the picture of Henry standing beside the sapling of his tree, the tears welled just the same.