"Thank you," August said with a quiet sincerity then gruffed out a chuckle before he got too sentimental. "Too bad Emma couldn't come home. We could have made it a big family thing."

"We had a fight." The statement was out just before August was able to finish his sentence. The weeks of silence had been killing Regina, and the Mayor was not used to waiting. "Do you know how I can get in contact with her through different channels or anything?" Regina asked more than a little desperate.

August exhaled a long breath. "Not for you, no."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Regina asked haughtily.

"Regina," August began slowly, "As far as the army knows, Emma Swan has no family. No friends. She's the perfect candidate for a soldier because the moment you sign up, you become that social security number strapped around your neck."

"What about you? Can you find her?" Regina ran a hand through her hair, ruffling the intricately brushed locks. "I need to – she needs to know I'm sorry. She's probably furious with me or worse."

"Regina," August said calmly, interrupting the tangent the brunette was sure to go on. When he quieted, he exhaled again. "I can see what I can do."

"What if something happened to her?" Regina asked imploringly.

"Don't worry about that."

"Why would I not worry about that?" Regina hissed.

"Because if something happened to her, I know people who would tell me as soon as it happened. The army is very good at letting families know of any casualties before it hits media."

Regina swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, leaning her back against the wall beside the corded phone and trying to get her bearings. After a beat she nodded more determinedly. "Okay. Okay."

"Relax," August insisted.

"You're not going to ask what we fought about?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's not important." Regina squinted at his response. "Whatever it was, you two will be okay."

"How can you possibly know that?"

August let out a dry laugh, different from the usual amused smirk or knowing laughter Regina had always heard from the Sergeant. "I've been there, remember? No matter what pisses you off at home, that's the only place you want to go to."


December 16, 2004 – Undisclosed Location, Iraq

"Do you notice Spencer only shows up whenever something goes wrong?" Neal asked aloud, wrinkling his nose as he inspected a dilapidated car, bullet holes riddled all sides of it and blood staining the interior.

"And when we do something good so he makes sure everyone knows we're under his charge," Fred added from the guard point.

Emma and her group of five including their new Sergeant, Denny Cabrera, a toned Hispanic with a strong jaw and even stronger stomach. Rumour had it that he was the only one to clear away the massacred and desecrated bodies of a village after a metal rainstorm from all sides without losing his breakfast. The troops that hadn't been there had heard horror stories of what had gone down. So many civilian lives lost. But Cabrera had cleared it out to precision without batting an eye.

Now, Emma and her squad were in one of those abandoned villages, left a ghost town from either willing locals trying desperately to escape the war or forced by gunfire and explosions, leaving behind the abandoned clay and stone buildings as their only sign that humanity once resided here.

Emma pulled away metal sheets that had once been the roofs of many of these buildings. It was a sad, sorry thought as the indentations under her fingertips from bullets piercing the metal felt like the giant chasm of the Grand Canyon. It was like a child who believed that hiding under a blanket could protect them from the boogeyman. This sheet of metal that was prime for holding off the occasional rainwater and kept the burning sun away despite the humidity it caused inside the house was just a sheet of metal in the end, and the boogeyman was more powerful than an image in the shadows giving away nightmares.

A burned and torn hand-stitched doll lay hidden under the debris as if it too was seeking shelter from the chaos its owner faced. Bile rose to Emma's throat as she bent down to pick it up. The doll's head swung back only staying with the body because of a few durable stitches. Without permission, her mind summoned an image similar to the toy, child-sized and just as inanimate as the piece of cloth and straw she held between her fingers. Shutting her eyes tight barely warded the though away. Jesus Christ. There were some things you just can't unsee.

"Swan," Cabrera commanded a few yards away from her. The doll fell to the ground, catching the metal sheet with a soft clank. "Wake up Kennedy. Get some rest."

"Yes, sir," she said with a nod, sparing one final glance to the doll before walking across the road to one of the better preserved buildings. Kennedy lay in the shade under an awning, and Emma used her boot to nudge him awake.

He jerked awake suddenly, squinting at the brightness of the sun reflecting off the sand. "That didn't even feel like an hour," he complained, stretching his limbs and shutting his eyes again.

"Get used to it." The blonde plopped down beside him though he still remained sitting. "Thought you'd be home eating that turkey dinner by now?"

Kennedy glared but there was a disappointed gleam in his eye as he situated his gun further into his lap. "My parents would have thrown me this huge welcome back party."

"Sounds like the life," the blonde said flatly.

Ken was quiet for a moment before shaking his head. "This place feels like hell."

"Yeah," Emma agreed trying to get comfortable as she adjusted her gun to her side and nestled in a corner. "But it's home to a lot of people."

"They're crazy."

"You joined the army," she pointed out. "Who's the crazy one?"

Kennedy smirked amused at her comment before finally standing up and taking inventory of their find. Cabrera had radioed in when they had located the abandoned village, and Spencer had ordered them to remain where they were. Nothing more, nothing less. Apparently even their Sergeant wasn't privy to Spencer's inner circle, so he had them excavating the small houses and keeping watch until Spencer's arrival.

Though Emma had become accustomed to turning anything into a makeshift bed for the night – a couch, the dirt ground, the backseat of her bug – she found she couldn't catch a break with trying to rest up no matter how many times she was ordered to. This time was no different as she took a sip of her water and rested her head against the wall. Whenever sleep overcame her, the same images of Hussein's wife and child as they lay face down in the dirt assaulted her mind. Spencer had applauded her for taking out the threat, but at what cost? To him it was worth it, but to Emma, the sounds of that child crying was on repeat in her mind. Worse were the times when she imagined it was Regina and Henry, broken and bloody, the last flecks of hope diminishing in matching brown eyes, and when that happened, there was no way she would be sleeping anytime soon.

Ten minutes of closing her eyes before ripping them open again passed before Emma gave up on the notion of sleeping. Everyone else was scavenging the area, Neal and Kennedy entering a building to the east side, Cabrera clearing out a room opposite, while Fred remained vigilant at point.

She sighed and tucked her hand into her pocket to pull out the pictures she kept on her person. She rarely had a space that was permanently her own, so she had refrained from pinning up anything and had to tuck Rex away into her trunk at base, but these two pictures she kept with her always. The one of her and Regina and the one of the women and Henry at his birthday decked out in costume had been folded in half and well worn from constant use.

Ten days ago, she had been too upset at everything to find comfort in them, but as soon as that feeling settled, she slapped herself over the head for such thoughts. The day she couldn't look at their picture was the day she'd be dead. Her talk with Neal had helped, though now and again it was a little awkward to look the man in the eye since Emma admitted just the tiniest hint of jealousy for his life. He never brought it up again, and for that she was grateful.

She had been so used to no one caring about her that finally having someone who did was like a complete one-eighty. She and Regina needed to talk when she returned, that Emma put a tack on in the back of her mind, but her anger lasted all of one day before she was missing the feel of Regina under her arm as they curled up on the couch or the way Henry hugged her neck tightly while she did push ups. She finally had special people in her life, and she had to get used to the concern they showed. What made it harder was that her squad had been sent on patrols and road block duties so often that Emma didn't have the time or resources to write to Regina. A phone call in the middle of nowhere was out of the question.

She just hoped Regina wasn't still mad at her. Emma had moved from home to home a great deal in her life, but for the first time, she wasn't quite ready to give this one up. If Regina truly had had enough of being responsible for Emma then the soldier would understand. In the back of her mind Emma prepared for it–it was her natural instinct to protect herself. But realizing the turmoil Regina must be going through put their little dispute into perspective and made Emma appreciate the brunette all the more. Sometimes she wondered who had it worse: the soldier risking their life or the loved one back home ignorant to the status of their soldier.