From,
Pr. Emma Swan
It was dated a few days after she had sent her own letter, and the gnawing unsettled feeling in her stomach only grew more as realization set in. She wasn't particularly fond of this pen pal assignment when Sidney had brought it up, but knowing that this soldier, this Emma Swan had received her first piece of mail from Regina, and Regina had gone two months without answering made the brunette feel uncharacteristically guilty. What must Private Swan think of her? Probably what the rest of the town thought of her. Uptight. Indifferent. Cold. If it weren't for Henry, the citizens of Storybrooke would have been convinced Regina Mills could care for no one.
But apparently this soldier was an exception to that rule.
A thought sprung to mind as she watched Henry play with a wooden toy car, alternating between driving it and placing it in his mouth. "Henry?" She called as she folded the letter carefully, mindful of the wet spot on it before tucking it under her arm. "Would you like to help Mommy write a letter?"
His single-toothed grin was her only confirmation, so picking her son up under his arms, she carried him into her office and pulled out her best stationary.
"Private," August greeted as Emma entered the bunk area after returning from rifle practise.
"Sergeant." Emma saluted him and stood at attention.
He said nothing for a long while and just allowed Emma to stand stock still. With a knowing smirk, he pulled a letter out from his pocket and tucked it into the crook of Emma's elbow. "At ease, soldier."
She glanced down when he left abruptly, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw a letter from Regina Mills. She didn't want to get excited at seeing the perfectly crafted penmanship inked onto the envelope, but she couldn't stop the pleased smirk from seeing another letter addressed to her. Holding it tightly between her hands, she cleared past the rest of the bunks where the rest of her squad were relaxing.
In the corner, August had started up a game of cards with a couple of other men. A few others were heading out of the room to make quick phone calls back home, while others still had already turned in for the night. Emma, however, eagerly reached her cot and sat cross-legged, barely waiting to situate herself before she tore into the envelope as if it were a Christmas present.
The past two months may have left her lonely, but all that was swept away by this new letter her eyes devoured.
December 15 2001
Private Swan,
I am so sorry for an incredibly long delay in replying to you. Your letter fell behind my table, but it seemed my son took it for food and found it. Perhaps his mischievous side has its benefits, after all.
I admit, I am shocked to hear that mine is the first letter you've received. To make up for such a delay and perhaps to further brighten up your day, how about allowing my son the honour of sending you your second? He's quite talented, don't you think?
Emma furrowed her brow at the short letter, a little disappointed at its length, but what was she expecting, really? A novel? She barely knew the woman. She turned the page in her investigation to find a plethora of colourful crayon scribbles with no rhyme or reason to them, and a grin instantly filled Emma's face. The scribbles took up nearly the entirety of the page except for a small space in the corner where Regina's handwriting boasted From Henry and Regina.
She soaked up every coloured line, tilting her head in different direction as if studying an abstract painting. To be honest, it was one of the best works of art she had ever seen, though that may have been because it was meant specifically for her. Gone was the image of some grey-haired mayor with some out of control teen. The writer behind the letter became more and more tangible in Emma's mind. No, she didn't have any visual to work off from, but she felt the concern in the mysterious woman's letter from being MIA, and the familial bond between her and her son. Emma had once thought that just having the first letter from Regina was all she could ask for, but even at this second one, she could feel herself already getting addicted to the feeling of waiting for a letter from Maine.
It kick start her pulse and made Emma feel lighter. Where she once went through her every day routine with no qualms, now she couldn't want wait to write back to Regina.
Giving the letter another thorough read, Emma leaped off her bed, letter in hand, and borrowed paper and a pen from a neighbouring bunk mate before she set off for a quiet place to reply.
December 19 2001
Hi Regina,
You've got a little Picasso on your hands there. I should save his letter for when he becomes a famous artist one day. I'll be one of the lucky few to have a Henry-original. How old is he anyway?
And it's okay about the letter getting misplaced. I get it. There's no rush or obligation or anything. It was really nice to hear from you again though. It's also a good thing you've also got a detective there too. Or a food critic as it appears.
In case Henry manages to eat all the paper in your house before Christmas, have a happy holidays.
Emma Swan
Regina removed her reading glasses off the bridge of her nose, a small smile gracing her lips as she examined the letter in thought. If she was Emma's only form of correspondence, Regina was willing to bet the soldier hadn't had many Christmases to look forward to in the past. The indifferent voice in the back of Regina's mind told her that this Emma Swan was on the bottom of her list of priorities, especially with Christmas being three days away, but the louder, more compassionate side of her that rarely made itself known to anyone except for Henry reminded her of what the past ten Christmases had been like since her parents' deaths.
Regina knew loneliness. She knew want, and yearning, and need. This Christmas would be the first of hopefully many that she was excited for solely because of the sleeping baby nestled in reindeer-printed pj's in his crib. She could only imagine what Emma was going through, training for a war that was not her own, isolated from anyone she could even remotely call a friend.
Perhaps it was Henry who softened Regina's heart since her adoption of him, or maybe, just once, the feared Mayor of Storybrooke was beginning to feel empathy for someone other than herself, but whatever the reason, Regina tucked the letter into her pocket for safe keeping, meaning to stash it away with Emma's previous letters, and fired up her computer to do a little searching.
A loud thud sounded as a soldier on mail duty dropped a small box in front of Emma, shaking the tinsel that still littered the table from the makeshift Christmas party that had happened three days prior for the soldiers who weren't lucky enough to be sent home for the holidays. She leaned away from the table, just barely moving her tray away in time before the box could drop on it and stared up questioningly at the soldier. "What the hell, man?"
He shrugged. "I just deliver the mail." He walked away pulling along the mail cart, tossing soldiers their mail with little grace.
Emma rolled her eyes but pulled the box toward her, replacing it with her tray. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise to find the package to be from Regina.
August whistled from across Emma. "She get you that?"
Emma could only nod as she fought to school her features despite the raging urge to blush. She plucked the envelope taped carefully to the top of the box, feeling the embossed snowflakes on the lip of the paper before easing her finger under the flap. A bright red card peaked out from inside, and when Emma pulled it out carefully, a cartoon snowman with his arm around a reindeer was displayed on the cover. Her smile was prominent then and only continued to grow when Emma opened the card to find Merry Christmas! written in Regina's script rather than the generic font typed cards usually boasted. The crayon lettering of Henry's name that Regina no doubt helped him write was printed just as large as the message itself, and the scribbles on the left side of the card told Emma that Henry had left her another little present. "Apparently Henry did," Emma answered August, standing from her spot at the table, balancing her tray on the box as she carried it with her.