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The familiar tension coiling Emma's bones flitted through her as memories came unbidden to her mind. With a deep exhale and a release of her fist, the tightness relinquished its hold and she shrugged half-heartedly. "That's a really long story."

"Three and a half years." Emma stopped at the strain in the normally put together woman's voice and watched as chocolate eyes glistened with unshed tears. Regina visibly shook, though the hold she had around herself dimmed it to a minuscule vibration. "That's how long you've been gone for. Three and a half years. I don't care how long your story is. What happened to you?"

Emma took the tiniest step forward, her right arm outstretched as instinct told her she needed her fingers laced with Regina's, and it had been far too long since then. But she paused just before contact and stuffed her hands into her jacket pocket hastily.

"I was captured," she provided simply in a quiet voice. "I don't know their names, and I doubt I ever will. My saving grace was that they thought they could trade me for one of their guys or provide information." She chuckled dryly, unconsciously touching the scar on her cheek suffered under a shaky yet desperate knife. "I'm pretty good at resisting."

A tear escaped as Regina's eyes bore holes into Emma's body. The blonde could hear the questions: What did they do? Are you okay? You're here? You're really here? Emma held her breath, chest swelling, threatening to burst, as Regina took a small step of her own, closing the gap between them by yet another inch. "You were held hostage for all this time? They told me you were captured, but—"

"No."

Regina stopped and her watery eyes narrowed in confusion. "No?"

Their time apart made Emma romanticize this moment nearly every day, helping her rationalize her decision to stay away. She remembered a time where she was sitting in an armoured car, excited to see the look of ecstatic shock on Regina's face when she surprised her at Christmas. That time was stolen from her, and in its place, a three-year gap where the soldier kept a phantom figure of this woman she called lover engraved deeply in her mind. Regina with her dark chocolate eyes that twinkled with mirth whenever she was pleased. The melodic velvet of her laughter as cheeks dimpled in happiness. The firm touch of her grasp as their hands found each other in synchrony. So consumed in the memories that kept her hanging on each day, Emma nearly forgot that those same chocolate eyes that brightened with joy could also darken in undisguised contempt.

"What do you mean no?" Regina asked dangerously.

Emma fidgeted before green eyes locked with brown. "I've been getting treatment for over a year now. Just in Boston."

"What?" Regina took a step forward, closing the gap between them effectively. "You've been in Boston this whole time?"

"Brookhaven. I've been seeing a therapist for my PTSD."

A thousand emotions crossed Regina's features in a millisecond. Concern, hope, guilt, remorse. Emma shouldn't have been surprised when she settled on one as Regina scoffed disbelieving, using a pinky to wipe away the offending tear. "You were in Boston," she repeated.

"I wasn't well," Emma argued, her jaw tightening.

"Neither was I!" Regina snapped in a fiery blaze as if those thousand emotions shook together like soda in a pop can and blew off its lid. "I thought you were dead! I mourned you. And you were—"

A knock sounded at the door. Both women turned to glare at it, willing the intruder to go away, but it was Regina who broke apart with a departing stare and walked the short distance down the foyer steps and to the door.

The breath Emma had been holding came out in a whoosh as she paced over to the foot of the main stairs and dropped down on the last step, her hand threading in her hair in frustration. What was she thinking? Disappear for three years and return like no time had passed? A part of her hoped that would suffice, that they could just pick up where they left off in a flurry of hugs and kisses and be on their way. It could have been worse, she thought with another deep exhale. Regina could have been married or—her ears prickled at the sound of a high pitched voice. A child.

"Wanna come to Granny's, Regina?" In the mirror opposite her, Emma could see the reflected images of Regina's back and the open door. On the stoop was a man, tall, chinstrap, nice face, and a little boy with dimples so deep it made the Grand Canyon look like a crack. The man looked hopeful and the boy excited, but Emma couldn't gauge Regina's reaction unless she crane her neck and reveal herself, so she kept close to the banister, watching the interaction through the mirror.

"Granny's?" Regina repeated as she bent down to the child, her voice softer than the strained aggravation it was mere moments ago. "That's very kind of you to offer, Roland."

"He insisted," the man spoke, and Emma refrained from rolling her eyes because of course his voice was laced with everything made of a gentleman. "I know it's your first day alone in the house without Henry, so we thought you might like the company."

Emma's breath hitched. She chanced a glance at the mirror again to see the man smiling at Regina like she was the world. Emma knew that smile. It was one she wore quite often when she was the lone visitor in the Mills mansion. Her stomach dropped. She nearly stood from her spot as her mouth parted in horror. Oh god. What the hell was she thinking? Regina did move on, and as much as Emma wanted to be upset, pissed that the one person she had depended on didn't wait for her, she couldn't blame Regina. She should have called. So long ago. She shut her eyes. The painted house, the longer hair, the man at the door. She waited too long. She needed to get out of here. Far away. Before she did any more damage.

"Now isn't the greatest time," Regina answered, "but I appreciate your invitation. Perhaps another day?"

"Of course." The man took the boy's hand and nodded. "We'll be off."

Regina closed the door behind them and leaned against the woodwork, a similar position to one she had taken up minutes ago, but this time, instead of the disbelief clouding her features, Emma could see something else. Conflict? Regret? Anger? She stood from her hiding spot and hovered at the top of the foyer steps, left hand shoved deep into her back pocket as her prosthetic fingers flexed out a nervous rhythm.

"Look, I'm sorry—"

"You're sorry?" Regina interrupted, pushing off from the door and taking two steps toward the base of the foyer. "Three years and all you have to say is you're sorry?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want an explanation," the brunette demanded, softness gone replaced with an angry inquisition. "I want to know why you let me believe you were dead for so long and deem me worthy enough for a visit now, when I'm settled now, when I spent too many hours crying over you and wishing you would come back only to have to spend even more time admitting to myself that you were gone."

"Do you think I wanted to spend six months of my life trapped in a cell getting beat every day?" Emma snapped, her voice rising an octave. "I almost died! I should have! I was found on the side of a dirt road nearly beaten to death." She scoffed dryly. "Just like when I was a baby. Only this time I hung on. I hung on by a thread, and you know what was the last thing I saw in my mind when I thought it was over? When I was so sure this would be it? You. I saw you and Henry, so forgive me for living."

Regina faltered with a blink of an eye and a hitch of her breath. She placed a heeled foot at the last step then paused. Their eyes bore into one another daring the other to make the next move. There was a time where the idea of being together was like rain on a sunny day. There was no sun this time. Not yet. Just this thunderstorm flooding their systems until they were bare emotions, suffocating, drowning, fighting for release.