She tapped Henry on the shoulder and took his hand to lead him to a grand window that overlooked the runway. The last time they had seen Emma off, Henry had his face pressed against the glass watching her plane disappear in the stars. But when she turned, a woman stared gaping at her, apparently the lone witness to their outright display of affection and one still brave enough to gawk. Rolling her eyes from annoyance, Regina clutched Henry tighter to her and glared down at the thin nosed woman as she walked passed. "Shut your mouth, dear. You'll catch flies."
February 26, 2005 — Baghdad, Iraq
Emma hopped off the bed of the truck and filed in with an assortment of crew and military men who were arriving from the States. Most shared stories of what they had done with their time home: building that patio deck, attending their boy's hockey game, never leaving the bedroom. Unanimous laughter roared from the truck as they all agreed on that one. There were talks on board that there were ways to make a homebound visit last longer than five days and getting away with it scotch free. Emma was gonna have to learn that trick next time she was scheduled back home.
She grinned. She had one of those now. She had a family in it. A family who loved her. Yeah, she was definitely gonna go MIA for the next trip.
Filing into a line, she waited in the hot sun for check in. The bridge of her hat was pulled down low to provide enough shade from the light, but it did nothing to ease the heat around her. Winter in Boston felt like summer compared to this, and she remembered times where she cursed the city storms. Who knew she'd be wishing for them now?
Before she could give it much thought, a weight pushed against her shoulder and suddenly a man from the Big Boys troop, nicknamed so since they had the most chauvinistic ensemble of men Emma ever did see, slung his arm around her with a smirk. "Swan."
"Jones," she greeted happily, clasping the man's back. They had trained together at Benning, even sparring with one another and Emma pinning him as often as she turned down his advances: which was every time. Jones liked to think he could manipulate those around him by his strength, charm, and looks. His uncharacteristically English accent, a trait he picked up from his mum who fell in love with his Washington born father when she came to America for schooling, had a way with most of the female officers. Despite his small build, Jones tended to be resourceful. Last she heard of him, he had infiltrated a hostage house with nothing more than a grappling hook to help him climb up the clay walls and sneak in through a cracked and poorly boarded up window, freeing the hostages and forcing a peace between the warring parties since their leverage was gone.
"How are things going under Spencer?" He asked in a sotto voice. Everyone knew Spencer was like a bulclass="underline" when his sights were set on a target he rampaged and stampeded no matter what was in his path. Emma had witnessed that firsthand.
She shrugged. "I'm still alive. You visited family?"
"Mum had a heart attack," he confessed. "But she's a fighter. She'll be up and kicking in no time. Yourself?"
"August. He had surgery."
"That's it?" He hinted intently.
They moved up in line and Emma raised a questioning eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Really?" He ducked his head and winked.
She pushed him back. "What?"
He shrugged and put his hands over his head as he navigated the main entrance where dozens of soldiers were waiting to be redirected to their squad. "I've heard things," he mentioned.
"What things?" She asked suspiciously.
"Calm down, love. I'm perfectly all right with it," he said much too quickly and too casually for Emma's liking. "I mean, the fairer sex, well, have you looked at them? What am I talking about? Of course you have."
She glanced around, and either no one in front or behind them could hear or they were clever enough to pretend.
"Though this is probably why you kept resisting me," he concluded, smirking at the blonde.
Emma rolled her eyes and replied sarcastically. "How could I possibly not fall for your striking good looks and charming smile?"
He grinned wider. "I asked myself that nearly every day, and then when I heard it all clicked, you see."
"Who's talking exactly?" Emma asked warily.
Jones shrugged and moved them up in line. "Sometimes there's not much to do except talk and stare at dirt. So it's true then?"
She faltered and for a second thought about denying it. Thought about continuing to pretend that Henry was her godson and that Regina was just a really good friend. But she couldn't. She'd be denying a part of her that actually mattered to her, and she wasn't some scared little girl anymore seeking a foster parent's approval.
"Yeah," she said confidently. "What of it?"
"I knew it," Jones whispered to himself. "I saw the picture of the blonde one back in training, but I was hoping that one of you would be single, or at least interested."
"Wait—what?" Emma held up a hand for him to stop talking. "What blonde one?"
"With the curls and the smile." He fluttered his hands around his head to indicate hair.
It took Emma a moment to realize. "Wait, Tina?"
"Aye, is that her name, is it?"
"First off, what the hell are you doing hovering over my bed long enough to stare at my pictures. Second of all, no."
"No," he repeated aghast, ignoring her first question completely.
"No. She is good, and nice, and you're—" she fluttered her hand in front of him trying to find the words. "You."
"You, my love," he said stroking a finger down her cheek long enough before she swatted it away. "Have no idea what you're missing." He lowered his voice and stepped into her space, his breath wreaking of alcohol despite it being nine in the morning. "Perhaps I could give you a sample of what the other side tastes like."
She snorted out a dry laugh and pushed past him, jostling him out of the line he cut. "Did you ever stop and think that maybe I like both, and I just don't like you."
"Impossible," he determined. "I think you just haven't had a good cock in a while—"
She elbowed him in the gut, making him double over in pain, before she entered the tent and signed in for service.
March 17, 2005 — Storybrooke, Maine
Ruby Lucas liked to think she was the matchmaker in getting Storybrooke's elusive Mayor together with Corporal Emma Swan. If it wasn't for her, Emma would never know where Mifflin Street was, but then again she had crashed into Regina regardless, but that was beside the point. Ruby basically directed them together. Literally. Who knew what attractive people Emma would have met on the way if it wasn't for her, so Ruby took pride that she had singlehandedly made Mayor Mills a happier woman. Then others started cropping up — Sidney proclaiming that he was the one who suggested to Regina to write to her in the first place, though when Leroy reminded him that now Regina had better things to preoccupy herself with than his investigations with The Mirror the smug look on his face dropped; Tina deemed she had been dropping hints to Regina from the start ever since the Mayor had brought Emma along to pick Henry up from daycare, and her joy shot up when the task was relegated to the soldier for the better part of her month-long visit. Yes, every bit of Storybrooke wanted a slice to their Mayor's suddenly giddy mood, but as Ruby sat behind the counter at the diner on her extra-long break talking on the phone with August Booth, none of the other citizens realized that August truly was the puppet master in the Mayor and the Soldier's love life. Invested as he was in his little sister and future sister-in-law's life, his own was simmering as he and Ruby spoke on the phone.