He nodded then stopped down to pick up something from the ground, two crumpled pieces of paper that nearly flew away with the light breeze, and handed them to Emma. "There's tape in the medical bag," he said softly before turning and shaking his head pathetically at the still whimpering Kennedy who clutched his crotch and rolled on the ground. "Get up, Chambers."
Emma was tired. It had been a long day full of mixing makeshift cement out of sand, water, and clay, using it as paste between irregular stones, hacking and measuring beams of wood for stability. After five days of daily work where their squad rotated between building this church and hovering around the developers to keep the locals at bay, Emma was tired.
But, when it was all said and done, she much preferred building than bodyguarding.
The mosque was coming together though, and for that, Emma was glad to bear the brunt of her labour. It was refreshing not to be seen as an immediate threat. Sure, her helmet and uniform were still on as she worked, but her gun was holstered away, and more often than not she'd find herself being shown how the locals built by the village men themselves. The bigger slabs of rock acted as the base, obviously, but within each layer were the smaller, more compressed ones, and with the weight pressured down on them combined with the cement mixture would only make the structure that much more sturdy. It was simple and logical and something she never would have reasoned.
They had finished the west and north walls and were putting up the eastern one. Neal, who had a surprising knack for architecture, had been making a door, nothing more than a simple rectangle at first but after finding some glass bottles littered around the road, his stained glass window project made him into a working machine.
Through some miracle, though it was most likely due to Cabrera's insight, Emma had never been on rotation with Kennedy. She was still pissed at the nosy little shit and wanted to punch him in the face every time she saw him. The medical tape in their health bag could only put the letter back together, but it was gauze-like than scotch tape. The rips, stains, and missing words would still be ever present.
But after a long day in the hot sun putting up a wall, Emma had a few hours to kill before she was set to hang around the developers. She stole away to a quiet portion of their area where they were taking up residence by what the locals called the school, passing by Frederick as he and a group of the older men and women of the village talked about some of the scriptures. He spoke animatedly to one of the few English-speaking men who translated back and forth between the group, and the locals nodded along as they discussed. She finally reached their encampment by the school. To Emma it just looked like a bible study class since the kids never did anything other than read the Quran. A handful of children, some no older than Henry while others teenagers holding the younger ones hands rushed out of the school. A soccer ball tapped against Emma's boot, and she looked up to see three boys, eleven years old by the look of it, and calling in Arabic for her to kick it over.
She grinned, depositing her bag, belt, and gun in the bed of their truck before dribbling the ball over to the group of boys.
"You want to see a trick?" She asked, moving the ball from foot to foot.
They tilted their head intrigued, and she took that as a sign to continue. Getting a feel for the ball, Emma tried to summon everything she had learned playing that one year of intramural soccer in junior high. She got the ball up on her boot and kicked it up, bounced it on her knee high enough that it was eye level, and spun quickly, hoping to catch the ball in the crook of her thigh and calf, but it had been too long since she had done that and her uniform too bulky, that it just resulted in her tripping over her feet and the ball flying haywire.
The boys laughed, and Emma shook her head to see she had drawn a crowd from the rest of the kids as they watched her make a fool of herself. The little boy who was the owner of the ball held it out to her and spoke again.
"You kids just want to laugh at me again, don't you?" Emma took the ball and played knee-ups with herself. One bounce, two, three. She kicked it over to the boy who copied her. Bouncing the ball on his knee once, twice, then a third high over his head. He turned and caught the ball behind him the crook of his thigh and calf, and Emma stared dumbstruck. "Oh, you cheated somehow."
The boy grinned, the children all laughing around him, but before he could toss the ball back to Emma to get her to show him some more moves, the teacher from the school stepped out talking to the group of kids so quickly Emma couldn't catch any of the words. She assumed he told them to go home, to go play elsewhere, for they all turned and scattered in the directions of their homes.
Emma frowned as she stared at the older man with a greying beard and a checkered keffiyeh on his head. What struck her was that he didn't look upset at her or even at the kids, and quite honestly, it was rare to see that expression. He limped forward on a cane and motioned his head toward where the kids once were and muttered one word. "Derasa."
Emma laughed out loud and shook her head. Homework. She nodded and reaffirmed. "I'll make sure they study."
He nodded and retreated back into the school house, leaving Emma to pull herself into the bed of the truck and dig through the bags to pull out the satellite phone she had originally wanted when she made her way over there.
Using her calling card, she dialled Regina's number easily and waited. The three long rings in her ear made her frown when she thought the phone would be sent to voicemail, but just when she thought she heard a double ring, the line picked up to a snippy Regina. "Mills residence," she said in a tone that said make it quick or else.
Emma smirked. "Hello to you too."
"Emma." The tension in Regina's voice immediately lightened. "I'm sorry. City council has been calling me non-stop all day, and I'm just about to put Henry to bed."
"Oh shoot." Emma looked at her watched and mentally calculated their time difference as the static buzzed in her ear. "It's his bedtime there."
"Past his bedtime," Regina said pointedly, and in the background was the telltale sign of Henry giggling mischievously. "But how are you?"
"I'm okay."
"Just okay?"
"I'm pretty sure I just got my ass handed to me in soccer by some kid."
"You make it sound like that's hard to do."
Emma nodded then furrowed her brow finally getting it. "Hey."
Regina laughed, throaty and deep and familiar that Emma leaned against the wall of the truck and revelled in the sound.
"My turn, Mommy." Henry's small voice sounded through the speaker, and Emma grinned.
Before Regina could answer, the soldier interrupted. "Can I talk to him really quickly?"
There was a shuffle on the line and a click and soon, her ears filled with Henry's high pitched voice. "Hi!"
"Inside voice, dear," Regina admonished over the speakerphone.
"Hi buddy!" Emma beamed. "What are you doing awake?"
"I miss you," he supplied as an answer.
"I miss you too, kid. Are you being a good boy for Mommy?"
"Uh huh."
"Really?" Emma asked wryly. "Even going to bed on time?"
"Uh huh."
The blonde laughed, and through the line she could hear Regina's dark velvet chuckle.
"Are you sure?" Regina questioned again.
Then Henry harrumphed, and Emma could see the pout Henry was no doubt sporting.
"I miss Emma," he provided again, though this time the quiver in his voice didn't go unnoticed.
"Hey," the blonde soothed softly. "I know, bud, but I have a secret."
"What?"