Her time with the Regina and Henry was way too short. A little voice in the back of her mind told her that a month of feigned ignorant bliss was better than nothing, but dammit, Emma had tasted a drop of ambrosia and she was starving to be filled. Her lips frowned for half a second as she took another look around, nodding at the passing room mates whom she caught their eye.

Man, what was wrong with her? Less than a day back and she was already homesick.

Resisting the urge to clutch Rex to her in a tight embrace, Emma stood abruptly shrugging off her jacket until she was left in her plain white tank top. She worked quickly depositing her clothes into the trunk at the base of her bed and folding her duffel to the side of it. Her rucksack was the last to be emptied as she carefully placed her Storybrooke sweater on top while her letters, pictures, and drawings were designated to her bedside table.

It felt surreal being back at base after being away in Storybrooke. She had once called Benning home, or as close to it as she could get. It was familiar, and though it was intense, she was good at her job and praised for it. Even during the years when she and Regina had simply exchanged letters, Benning was a place where she was recognized, where the few friends she had made were, where her brother was.

There was a nostalgic feeling sitting on her bunk, surrounded by her team as they greeted those who had taken leave, but that's all it was: nostalgia. A place she missed, but a place in her past. Emma was a runner with a killer fight or flight response. She ran from foster parents, from teachers, from cops. Hell, she even fought them too. But she didn't want to run this time. Not away, at least. She wanted to go back, and for the first time in her life, she was at a loss to how to get there.

"Swan." Neal walked up to Emma, already in his own plain grey t-shirt and tactical pants as he leaned against the corner wall and tossed her a bottle of water. "Was wondering when you'd get in. How's August?"

Emma caught it, unscrewing the cap and taking a generous gulp. "He's good. Still can't kick my ass."

"He never could," Neal snorted.

"Neither could you," the blonde reminded only half-jokingly. "He's not running again yet, but he's getting used to the feel of his leg."

The pictures above Emma's head caught Neal's eye as he squinted and walked over to the adjacent wall. "What, did you guys have a photoshoot or something?"

She turned swiftly, explanation caught in her mouth as he leaned closer to inspect the pictures.

"Hey," Neal chuckled pointing out Henry in a wheelchair, "who's the cute little kid?"

"His name's Henry."

"Don't tell me August has a kid he never told us about."

Emma snorted. "God, no. Can you imagine August as a father?"

"Probably better than mine," Neal grumbled before sitting down and picking up Rex. "I take it this is Henry's? Unless you've got a secret stuffed animal collection."

Emma nodded, and none too subtly extracted Rex from Neal's fingers and held him to her. "Yeah, kid gave it to me."

"He's your nephew or. . .?" Neal pried.

"No," Emma shook her head, her pulse kicking in her veins but her eyes remaining neutral as she pointed out Regina in a picture. "He's my friend's son."

Neal grinned up at the picture of the trio decked out in foil and cardboard, standing at the base of the steps. "You guys look great."

Her eyes snapped up to the side of his face as he continued to examine the picture, and Emma wondered if he knew what Regina and Henry meant to her, and if he did, would he say anything about it. Neal was pretty liberal, a couple petty crimes under his own belt before he had enlisted that made Emma feel like she could count on him, but it was easier said than done. Emma had learned that the hard way, and though she'd take a bullet for her friend, she wasn't sure what his views on her love life were like.

"You think so?" Emma asked casually, reading his expressions.

"The kid must have loved the costumes," Neal explained. "What'd you dress up for?"

"His birthday," she answered.

"Hey!" His eyes widened in realization. "Is this the kid who keeps sending you those drawings?"

"Yeah," she said with finality.

Neal caught her eye, and she could tell that he was itching to ask more questions about her time away. She had revealed more personal information in that ten minutes alone than she had ever in the three years they had known each other. Whatever he planned on asking, Emma cut him off by clearing her throat and placing Rex back on her pillow. "So how's Tamara?"

With a grin, Neal held up his left hand, showing off a gold band around his ring finger.


Regina was a worrier, though her subordinates called it anal-retentive when they thought she couldn't hear them as they took their breaks by the water cooler. She liked to call it being thorough, for there was never any harm in double checking facts or tuning in to the news every night to make sure there were no unplanned invasions on her watch. Not that she could do much about the latter, but she hadn't heard anything from Emma in over a week, and Channel Six proved to be her only source on anything international.

Though she called it thorough, Tina Bell had casually commented on her paranoia once and never again when she found Regina sitting in the diner one evening with every newspaper their town offered. The deadly glare Regina threw her way was as powerful as any nuclear bomb.

Regina missed Emma, that was simply just fact and anyone in Storybrooke could attest to that. She had gotten used to adult conversation where she and the blonde talked about any and everything. She swore she could hear her front door opening and closing gently right at the break of dawn when Emma would leave the mansion for her run around town. Sometimes a flash of yellow would catch the corner of her eye, and she would turn hoping to catch a familiar Volkswagen, though every time it was Alice Hatter in her obnoxiously yellow GT. Regina even missed the simple pleasures, when the way that with Emma around, they could swing Henry between them on their walks to the park. Henry had attempted to do it one-handed with just Regina on his side, but instead of his feet lifting off the ground, the boy received a raised arm and jumped over the cracks of his own volition.

Twice already, Regina had to defuse tantrums from her three-year old who didn't understand why they couldn't visit Emma at her house. When Regina explained that she wasn't home, a sudden pang in her chest stung at the realization that Emma didn't really have a place to call home. Group home to group home to boot camp, remember? Emma had once said.

Though she had always had a respect for the woman, the amazement Regina had for her was almost too much to handle.

Emma had been alone her entire life, and though Regina could sympathize, she, at least, had the benefit of being raised by a loving father and mothering an adoring son. Regina was infamous for closing herself off to the general public, but with Emma it was just so easy to talk to her, to listen to her, to be with her. The orphaned girl who had nothing and no one to her name had wedged herself in the Mills' lives, and they gladly accepted her whole-heartedly as she stole a piece of their hearts.

That was why Regina was being thorough in making sure Emma was safe.

She knew her mailman stopped by her house on his route between one and one-thirty – two if Ms. Lucas' Siberian Husky, Red, got out and decided to aid in the man's fitness by chasing him around the block. It took all of her willpower not to stop by her mansion during her lunch to check the mail because even she knew the consequences that occur when one gets one's hopes up. Plus, Tina's comment rubbed her the wrong way, and she was not paranoid.

This is what killed Regina the most – waiting in between letters for word from Emma. When the blonde had been sent overseas, Regina's thumb cuticle suffered greatly in anticipation for every letter, for some sign that the younger woman was okay. The relief that flooded through her when she saw Emma's moderately better chicken scratch handwriting soothed her nerves down until she would mail her own response and the cycle started all over again.

That had been when they were simply friends.

Now that they were – dating? lovers? girlfriends? – something meaningful, she knew for sure, the anticipation was enough to send Regina into cardiac arrest.

Regina had lost her father, and despite their strenuous and precarious relationship, she had lost her mother too. The nights she spent wallowing in bitter tears, furious and devastated by their quick departure left her inconsolable. She knew they were never coming back no matter how many stars she wished on. But Emma was going to return, she reminded herself. She was just working, just like another day at the office. Except that her work required her to hold government secrets and to be familiarized with guns and rifles and the like. On top of that, sometimes accidents occurred during training sessions, and it wasn't uncommon for a soldier to get caught in a crossfire as they waded under barbed wire with bullets hailing down.

Dear god, maybe she was paranoid.

Regina shook her head of the thought, forcing the image away, as she pulled into her driveway and helped remove Henry from the car seat. She took a deep breath and settled her nerves with a hug from her son, nudging her chin against his hair.

"Mommy," he squirmed, tugging her head up and looked seriously scornful. "That tickles."