"You have everything?" Regina crouched down by Henry, an oversized and overstuffed duffle strung across his chest as he squirmed in her grasp. "Canteen? Flashlight? Bug spray? Change of underwear?"

"Mo-oom," Henry groaned, looking around to see if any of his friends heard.

She didn't care for his embarrassment, instead clasping his cheeks in her palms with a shaky and tight grip. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. I'm sure we can get your wilderness badge by pitching a tent in our backyard."

"Mom," the eight-year old whined again. "I want to."

She nodded uncertainly as the boys from his Boy Scout troop began to slowly file onto the bus.

"It's just one night."

"If you get frightened or want to come home, just tell Troop Leader Harkness, and he has all my numbers," she reminded him for the fifth time that morning alone.

"I know."

"Here." She reached into her purse and retrieved Rex, holding out the worn and limp dinosaur for him.

He blushed and shook his head. "It's for babies."

Regina's face dropped. "It's Rex."

Henry bit his lip conflicted and leaned in to whisper. "I want Rex to take care of you for tonight ."

She frowned but held the stuffed toy to her chest and nodded again. "Now you didn't answer me. Do you have fresh underwear?"

"Yes, Mom," Henry groaned under his breath.

"Listen to your Troop Leader and don't go around telling ghost stories or staying up late." She smoothed his hair down and out of his face, but Henry leaned back and swooped his fingers through it to get it to look messy again. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom." She hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek, rouging his skin before he took off toward the bus.

She watched him move through the bus and sit down beside Nicholas, looking past his friend briefly to smile out the window and wave. After a few minutes, the bus departed, and the parents bidding their sons goodbye that early May morning either stayed to chat, drifted back to their homes, or stopped by Granny's to beat the breakfast rush.

Regina stayed standing on the corner of Finch and Meadowvale for the longest time, watching the bus shrink in the distance before it turned a corner and disappeared entirely. A knot in her chest tightened. He'll be back tomorrow.

Sighing, she held on to Rex's claw and walked the short distance back to the mansion. For Saturday morning, the streets were a bit more alive than usual. Multiple parents apparently opted to spend the day outdoors in the newly bloomed landscape since they were already up and about. April had been especially rainy this time around, so the sunshine in the new month was a blessing in the New England air.

Regina couldn't fully enjoy it though. She was too acutely that by the time she reached home, no one would be there to greet her. It's just for one night, she reminded herself again. He's with other boys, and Harkness has done this trip a million times, and Nolan is on patrol tonight. That last thought didn't give her much hope, but that was partially due to her distaste for the man.

Reaching Mifflin, it was only a short walk to her front door, and as soon as she stepped in, she never realized how large the mansion was until then. The colour certainly made it more inviting, but standing under her staircase, tossing her keys into the bowl by the side table with a hollow clang, made her feel so very small in her home. She couldn't even remember the last time she was home alone since having Henry.

Calming herself down some, she moved briskly to her kitchen and immediately began scrubbing down her stove. The splotch of grease from when August fried pork chops four nights before was more stubborn to get out, but the steel wool under her fingertips dug into the stain. The stove, along with the oven, the sink, and the counter tops, was spotless in an hour, and Regina looked around for more to do. Curse her natural cleanliness. She barely needed to wipe anything down. She didn't need to go into the office. August was helping Marco with a few orders. Ruby was working until dinner at the diner. Perhaps Kathryn or Tina would come over. She scowled remembering Kathryn was at her father's place for the weekend and Tina, though exuberant with energy for the preschoolers she taught, was hell to be around on weekday mornings.

She fiddled with the circle pendant on her necklace then nodded determinedly. She could face Tina's wrath quite easily.

Just as she reached for the phone, a knock sounded at the door. Her pulse jumped. What if it's about Henry? She left him on the bus an hour ago, could he have really gotten hurt already? No, they would call. She raced to the door regardless and pulled it open swiftly.

Her breathing halted at the first sign of yellow hair.

"Hi."

Chapter 24

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

AN: This is not an OQ fic. Those who say otherwise have been greatly misinformed.

Fun fact: I was supposed to end this story with the last chapter.

Emma suppressed a cry when she felt a searing pain overwhelm her body. She was numb, and the adrenaline that had coursed through her hours? minutes? days?—how long had she blacked out for?—was nearly spent.

She couldn't see. Burlap clung to her sweat-slicked face and judging from the hard, prickled ground beneath her, she was indoors. Hands bound behind her back, Emma was lying on her side as she struggled to ease her breathing and gather her bearings. Don't panic. Do not panic. She took a breath.

They were attacked. Guns. So many guns. The prisoner—Mohammad. No, no, he got out. Neal, Neal was hurt and—

A clang of metal creaked opened and Emma stilled. Deep even breaths. In and out. In and out. Her breath echoed in her ears as low, resounding thuds approached her.

A hard boot to the ribs. She groaned. She didn't have to see to know there was bruising there. The dull hum over her lungs was all the sign she needed.

The booted being crouched down by her, and Emma could feel eyes tracking the slow rise and fall of her chest. In and out. In and out. Suddenly she was jerked upright, and a pain in the back of her calf ripped through her. She couldn't steady her breathing anymore as a guttural groan ground against her throat from the rough handling.

"Still." A thick accented voice commanded when she resisted.

Hands, big and calloused, gripped her waist. Bile rose to her throat. Her face was pressed against the ground again as his hands wandered around her back. Not again. She kicked instinctively, but a pain so strong shot through her left leg that it left her momentarily immobile. She tried to push up onto her knees, but the man shoved her back down, her cheek colliding with the cold concrete.

"No," Emma growled, kicking with her right. She must have caught him with her boot since he yelped and fell backward.

"Sharmoota!"

She squirmed away, trying to put as little weight on her left leg as possible when another sound boomed. Heavy boots echoed, bouncing off the wall with a tinny hallow. Must be little furnishings. Enclosed walls. Another presence. Yelling in Arabic. Still, Emma tried to get to her feet. Get out. Get out. Get out!

She screamed when another kick came to her stomach, curling into herself instinctively and mentally preparing herself for a second. She could have sworn she heard the whoosh of a foot being whipped back, but it never connected. More yelling. Above her. Someone was crouching over her again.  One held her shoulders down. The other fiddled at her back again. And then liquid, so burning hot she screamed so loud the fibres of the burlap stuck to her lip and forehead. Her hand was on fire, and every instinct in her told her not to cry, but the sting behind her eyes appeared anyway. The fire simmered to a low hiss, and then a cloth, dry, taking away the pain just a little bit, was wrapped around her hand. Her cries quieted to a whimper and the weight on her shoulder slackened.

The looming figures retreated into the furthest corner of the room, metal creaking shut once again as the only sound that filled the room was Emma's panted breathing.

Emma stared down at her hand, a prosthetic thing that reminded her of Edward Scissorhands with fewer blades but just as mechanical. Her own hand had been mangled and mutilated and every other word that came to mind that could only describe how much she couldn't use it. The nerves in it were too badly damaged. Not from the gunshot, no. From the infection that resulted after god knows what was poured over it to get it 'clean'. Assholes couldn't even spare a drop of alcohol to use instead. She could still see the faint outlines on her forearm, just by the crook of her elbow, where a belt was excruciatingly tightened to slow the spread of infection from the rest of her body. In a few years they would develop more advanced flesh-like limbs, so Emma could upgrade. The thought made her think of August, and she nearly snorted. Henry would have a field day when he saw her. August would love it. And Regina — sometimes it frightened Emma to think of her. Most times she just missed her like crazy.

But she was alive. Small victories. They'd make movies about her, they said. She shut her eyes and slowly curled her fingers in to close her fist. She hoped to god they didn't.

"Captain."

Emma looked up and sat up straighter when Dr. Gambit, a balding man in a pastel purple dress shirt and wire glasses stepped in with her file folder in his hand.