"I suppose you're right, but you have to eat all your veggies tonight at dinner then."

He pouted and seemed to mull over the deal in his mind. "Just the carrots?"

"All."

"Carrots and corn."

"All, but I'll switch the cauliflower for peas."

"'Kay."

He turned back to the counter, already digging a measuring cup into the bag and plopping it into the mixing bowl. Together they worked on making the dough for the sugar cookies, and Regina's heart swelled with pride at how independent her son was. Save for turning on the stove and putting the tray of cookies in the oven, Henry had done most of the work by himself or guided with a light touch. He even started to trim the edges of the cut out cookies when he saw his mother make the Christmas tree and snowman cookie neater.

As soon as the cookies were in the oven, her little prince had even helped with the clean up, bringing a stool to the sink and helping by putting the dirty dishes and utensils into the soapy water.

There was still time on the oven when they finished with the cleanup. Henry had opted to sit against the island and watch the cookies bake when the knock sounded on the door. With a warning to Henry not to touch the stove, Regina removed her apron and headed to the foyer, catching the clock on her way to it.

Tina was away visiting family, and the Nolans weren't set to arrive until tomorrow. For a brief second Regina imagined opening the door, finding her soldier on the footstep with a smug grin and her luggage in tow. Emma would certainly lie to make a surprise better, Regina had learned that first hand. But she tamped down the feeling when she turned the knob because if she got her hopes too high, finding someone else on her doorstep would be a disappointment she didn't have to face.

It wasn't Emma on her doorstep. It wasn't Tina, or the Nolans, or Ruby.

She held the door to her when she saw the man dressed in his army blues, a medal hanging off his right breast pocket and his rank stitched on his forearm. The left side of his face was burned just under his chin and continuing down his neck, and his right arm was in a sling. Regina liked to think she knew everyone in town, at least by their face, but this man was a complete stranger. "Can I help you?"

He opened his mouth then shut it then pulled his cap off his head methodically. "Good afternoon, ma'am. Are you Regina Mills?"

She knit her brows and felt her heart speed up. "What's this about?"

He opened his mouth again but the crunching of snow behind him distracted him, and Regina looked past him to see August, dressed in a similar uniform though even from her distance his face was grave. "August?"

"Regina," he said softly when he reached the stoop. Though his face showed no emotion, the red lacing his eyes was unmistakable.

A brick settled in her stomach and a lump formed in her throat. "What's happening?"

The burned man looked solemnly at the ground then steered his eyes upward to lock with Regina's. She wanted to avert her eyes, and briefly she did to see that his burns extended to his left hand. It clicked. "It's with my deepest apologies—"

"No."

"—that I regret to inform you—"

"Stop."

"Regina."

"—that Corporal Emma Swan—"

She shook her head and tried to slam the door shut, but August beat her to it and caught her around the shoulders, her sobs wracking her body before she even knew she hit the floor.

The man shut his eyes and a tear slid down his cheek, catching on the crevices of his burned flesh before falling on the salted porch. "—is a casualty of war."

Chapter 19

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

AN: Yes, I am aware that I'm evil, but to be fair the warning was there in the summary. Bear with me for a few chapters though. This story isn't done yet.

"One for you." Henry dropped a sugar cookie onto a napkin in front of August then grabbed a handful and put them on his own plate. "And one for me."

August tried, he really did, to pull that smile all the way up to his eyes, but he just couldn't. Not when he knew Regina was in her study, sobbing, probably numb, maybe even a little angry, as Neal explained the situation. He could relate to that mind-numbing feeling. Like he had been thrown into the Artic in the middle of winter and told to swim through the freezing blackness only to have the air pressure suck the life out of him before he even had a chance.

When he found out nearly five days ago, his first thought was dread. His second: he was alone. And his third: how was he gonna tell Regina? He was barely surfacing himself. He'd be pulling her down with him and neither had a life jacket.

But misery loves company.

August had the phone picked up an hour after he got his bearings, but he thought better of it. A phone call? Even he wasn't that cruel. He'd be heading back to Maine anyway, but it wasn't supposed to be for this. Not for this. God, what a way to spend the holidays with a healthy dose of devastation. Neal had asked him to wait a few days. He should be the one to break the news. August snapped at him for that one, demanding how he would feel if someone waited to let him know that something happened to Tamara; how he liked it when he found out about his daughter's birth days after she was born. Neal couldn't say much after that, but August would never admit that he was grateful for those few days where he could soak in the reality that Emma was gone.

Christmas came and went and the phone call from the Mills on Christmas Eve went unanswered, only to be returned by a brief text saying he had been busy but was still on his way over. With presents and dread and coal, he thought numbly to himself. He drowned his disbelief in a bottle of Jack and hoped the nights lasted because there was no way in hell he could deal with seeing Regina's broken face.

He had been right.

No amount of whiskey could let him forget Regina's sobbing as he held her in front of her open door, the wracking of her body as her shoulders shook against his chest, and the way her voice grew so hoarse in mere minutes.

It took almost an hour to calm her down enough to move her from the front foyer and another thirty minutes to convince her to talk to Neal. She had yelled at them, demanded they leave her house, get the hell out of her sight, but when Henry came running out of the kitchen because the cookies were done and "Uncle August is home!" she broke down again.

"You gonna eat that, Uncle August?" Henry, in his milk-moustached glory, pointed to August's untouched sugar cookie, his own plate empty save for a few stray crumbs.

August shook his head and slid his cookie over to the kid. "It's all yours."

Henry eagerly munched happily on his extra treat, oblivious to his mother's devastation just down the hall.


Neal watched as Regina poured herself another whiskey, her third since entering her study. She glanced at the couch where he was sitting and seemed to blanch at the furniture before shutting her eyes and downing her glass in one fluid motion. Neal wouldn't mind having one of those. With the way he was feeling, he'd gladly put away half the bottle. He refrained. Emma was his friend. She would have done this for him, so he would do it for her.

She brought the decanter to the couch with her and already prepped her fourth drink at the side table. A slosh of liquid spilled over the side, and judging by the integrity of the wood, Regina should have cared. Instead, she brought the glass with her and tucked further into the corner of the shared couch. He thought about breaking the tension, commenting that she should take it easy, but who was he to tell her what to do in the face of such devastating news. She was playing with the wet rim of the tumbler as she avoided his eyes. From the tension in her neck, the protruding vein in her forehead, and the stiffness of her back, Neal could tell she was using all her energy not to break down again. In front of him, more or less a stranger, but definitely the bearer of bad news. Her resolve was crumbling, every twitch of her eye wanted to slam shut and rewind time, but she was trying so hard to be strong. He respected that.

"What happened?" Regina's voice was hoarse, her vocal cords tired from crying, and she was looking at him now, one hand clutched firmly around her drink and the other wrapped protectively around her midsection. Her eyes, red-rimmed and now make-up free, were wide, imploring, fearful. Wanting to know everything but desperately hoping to wake up from this horrible dream.

Neal had to look away and shut his own, silencing the voice in his head that constantly asked him that same question. The question that haunted him at night and tore at his insides. Where did it go wrong? When he opened them, he began in a flat voice. "It was supposed to be easy. Relatively. Just dropping off a prisoner and then we'd be home by Christmas."

"Christmas?" Regina's voice cracked and she deposited her drink on the side table to clutch at her stomach with both hands.

Neal nodded. "Probably before that. We were gonna go back home after this one."

Regina shut her eyes and a single tear fell down her pale cheek. Her face contorted in a pain she struggled to reign in, and it took every ounce of her energy to turn the sob that bubbled in her throat into a breathy sigh. Her eyes snapped open at his next words.

"She saved me."


Neal grumbled as the truck bounced rockily over the landscape. He was all for road trips — he and Tamara had once driven all the way down to Mississippi for her family reunion. She didn't even want to go, but he persuaded her, saying it was time he met her whole family and have this famous cornbread Mama Benjamin made. She had warned him he would regret it, and the six foot eight linebacker built cousins who knew how to shoot in more ways than just basketball had made sure he did. He felt awkward, out of place, and stood out like a sore thumb. By the end of the weekend when Mama Benjamin made him a plate of cornbread to go and Tamara's cousins had clapped him on the back saying they'd see him next year, it had been worth it.