"Sometimes I can be invisible and be in two places at once."
"No," Henry insisted.
"Yeah," Emma nodded. "August got to be the cyborg, but I'm like Sue Storm."
"Who is that?" Regina questioned.
"Fantastic Four. Educate yourself," Emma said smartly, imagining the eye roll from Regina. "But I can. Even when you can't see, I'm just using my superpower 'cause I'm always right beside you."
"No you're not," he said though uncertainly this time.
"I am," she insisted. "Whenever your Mom makes you hot chocolate and remembers to put the cinnamon in, I'm there because I'm reminding her at the last minute, and whenever you're learning new songs with Ms. Tina, I'm sitting there in the corner singing along with you, and whenever you and Uncle August are sneaking cookies from the kitchen, I'm there making sure the coast is clear and distracting Mommy from walking in." Henry giggled, and Emma smiled, heart aching as she fantasized her words. "And whenever you've got a nightmare, and Mommy is singing you that lullaby, I'm sitting on your bed too, butchering the song but singing too."
Regina laughed, and from the shuffling on the line it sounded as if she had successfully gotten Henry to lay in his bed.
"I'm there right now," Emma said softly.
"I know," Henry's tiny voice whispered. "Can you sing?"
Clearing her throat and bringing her knees to her chest, the soldier began to sing, off-beat and pitchy, but she sang with all her heart. "Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi amor, arrorró pedazo de mi corazón."
Regina took over the verses since Emma had only committed the chorus to heart, but the two sang softly until the end of the song.
"Sleep now, kid," Emma whispered. "I'll be there when you wake up."
A barely there ''kay' sounded along with sweet murmurings of 'goodnight my little prince' from Regina before a door closed shut and another click sounded on the phone where only Regina's voice came through. "He's sleeping."
"Look at that. I am a good babysitter if I can put a kid to bed from a million miles away," the soldier joked half-heartedly.
"That's a talent of more than just a babysitter, dear."
Emma blushed, hugging her knees closer to her chest.
After a long moment, Regina spoke. "Will you be there when I wake up too?"
Emma laughed once. "I'll be there when you sleep too." She squinted and knocked herself on the head with a closed fist. "That sounded less creepy before I said it out loud."
"Well, you've managed to channel your inner Santa Claus, I'll give you that."
"So does that mean you've been a good girl?"
Regina chuckled darkly, her husky tone unmistakably coy. "And if I've been naughty?"
Emma bit her lip, heat flaring in her chest and spitting outward throughout her entire body. "You're gonna be in a lot of trouble when I get home."
Regina laughed, rich and happy and carefree, like Emma wasn't halfway across the world and was just out of town on business, a laugh that held so much and expected even more and Emma was ready to deliver. "I can't wait."
"All right, you did ten right?" Emma held up both hands showing all ten of her ungloved fingers.
The boy, Ibrahim, Emma had learned after weeks of occasional play, and his friends had been playing soccer every day after their schooling, despite their teacher's and parents' protests. Most times, they would kick the ball over to Emma as she passed who kicked it back to them, and somehow, just by passing it back and forth, they'd begin playing a mini-game with imaginary nets and boundaries carved into the sand.
Today though, Ibrahim had challenged Emma in a game of keep-ups, and not for the first time during their play did Emma scold herself for being too competitive. The kid clearly practiced if his easy ten bounce streak was anything to go by. Why Emma thought he was just some kid playing soccer in the street was beyond her. Hell, she could be playing with the next David Beckham for all she knew.
She rolled the ball between her palms, getting a feel for the plastic as if channeling that energy to her limbs and joints. She could shoot a bullseye fifty feet away with high winds, but god forbid she try to keep a ball bouncing on her knee for longer than a minute.
"You're gonna lose, Swan," Neal heckled at her, sitting amidst the teens who had come to watch the sport. He looked to a teen boy beside him and smirked in Emma's direction. "She's gonna lose."
"Lose," the teen repeated carefully.
Neal laughed and Emma glared. Kennedy watched on silently, sitting in the bed of the truck sipping on the water, providing no commentary or reaction. He shook his head and pulled his cap low over his head and remained that way.
She bounced the ball on her right knee, then left, then twice on her right before twisting her left leg so the inner side of her boot caught the descending ball and bounced it high enough to shift her left knee under it and keep it airborne.
"Sitta." the children chanted. She bounced it on her left knee again.
"Seven," Neal joined in.
It hit her right knee (Thamaaniya) with more impact and Emma ducked to get under it, bouncing it off her helmet (tis'a). Plastic against Kevlar the ball flying, and she raced to get under it, shooting out her leg and catching the ball with the tip of her boot.
"'ashara!"
"Yeah!" Emma fist pumped, but her victory cut short when half a second later she watched the ball fly toward the women of the village, congregated together with their babies and laundry. They screamed when the ball flew between them, seemingly out of nowhere, and scattered away like a grenade had been dropped. Buckets of water spilled, and baskets of laundry were toppled over. Babies were crying in their startle, and if Emma hadn't been the cause of it all, she would have found it funny.
Neal was holding his sides in laughter, and the children were clutching at their mouths trying not to laugh. Some had even started to whisper and ooh. Emma had never felt more like a kid in trouble than now.
She jogged over to the women, arms outstretched in peace as she bent to pick up the ball. "Sorry," clearing her throat she repeated herself in the little Arabic she knew. "Āsif!" She held the ball up and tossed it from hand to hand and explained in English. "Playing."
Ibrahim ran over as her saving grace and quickly explained to a younger woman whom Emma deduced to be his mother what they had been doing. The women of the village scowled at their frivolous play, but said nothing more as they picked up their fallen loads and continued on with their duties. Emma motioned to a bucket, devoid of water, and spoke to Ibrahim's mother. "Help? Can I help you fill it?"
The boy had caught on and quickly translated for Emma. His mother looked uncertain, and to Emma's surprise, nodded warily. She grinned and picked up the bucket, walking the distance to the lone watering pump with mother and son. "Ibrahim," Emma began to his mother, "he's a good soccer player."
She looked confused and pulled him closer to her, but Emma just said his name again and pointed to the ball in his hand and gave them a thumbs up. He grinned proud, and his mother nodded understandingly.
When the pump was in sight, Emma faltered when she saw Spencer standing next to it, hovering by the lever as if guarding the supply. She held her chin up, edged closer to Ibrahim and his mother and walked on forward. "Excuse me, sir."
He didn't move. "Swan." He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at Emma and the locals behind her. "Shouldn't you be with Mr. Davis?"
"I was on my way over there, sir. I'm just helping them get some water."
"They don't have arms?" Spencer questioned, stepping right into Emma's space. "They don't know how to pull a lever?" He ducked his head so his hot breath cascaded down Emma's chin. She held her stance and didn't blink. "Or is she your girlfriend?" He spat menacingly.