"Sir, is this really–" Ken began but was instantly silenced by Spencer's threatening glare.
This was really going to happen.
Tracking the man with her eyes, Emma crouched in a defensive pose as they circled one another. They stalked and gauged the other, Emma refusing to be the one to make the first move. She wasn't an attacker; she was here to fight for peace. She studied her opponent, because seeing him as the man they had captured, enslaved, and damn well tortured was far too much reality to bear when the next move was to come directly from her hand. His dark curls were ashy with sand and dust, his modern yet outdated clothing was patchy and a size too big to properly fit his thin frame. Holes were ripped at his knees where he had suffered hours on the hardened ground not once complaining. And for what? Because they found him with a gun in his hand, shooting unfamiliars.
They weren't so different after all.
With a yell the man suddenly lunged forward, but his momentum was hindered by the days of his captivity for he lost his footing and power making it easy for Emma to duck under his charge, weave her arms under his and bring him to the ground. She straddled him immediately, raising one of his arms above his head and used her other arm to come down on his larynx. His legs kicked and struggled as he choked against her weight. She didn't account for his free arm as it swung wildly, his closed fist clocking her about the temple. She yelled out at the pain and released his neck to pin both arms down, but he managed to wiggle his lower half free and kick her off with a swift foot to her gut.
They rolled away from each other, and Emma was faintly aware of the voices trying to reason with Spencer, but as far as she was concerned, she was alone in this match. She crouched again, gauging the man's movements. His dark eyes were almost obsidian as they followed every twitch of her body. His hands were down and out, vibrating from the adrenaline pushing him forward.
This time it was Emma's turn to initiate as she lunged forward, catching him around the middle and twisting her body to latch onto him from behind. For once she was grateful for that half-nelson a foster brother had forced her into because it made her learn how to do it properly, and as the man struggled under her, she felt him start to go limp beneath her as she sunk to a knee to bring him to the ground. A sudden pain ripped through her knee as the man used the last of his energy to bring a leg back and kick out her only standing leg. Emma released him falling face first to the ground as he coughed and crawled away.
Through the pain, Emma heard Cabrera's voice, having had enough of the spectacle their superior put on for them. "General, I have to insist that you cease this, and we will deal with the prisoner and Swan's insubordination accordingly."
"Sergeant, it is my duty to make sure our country is represented by the best active soldiers we can produce," Spencer said with an unmatched intensity. "Consider this training for Corporal Swan."
Emma reared up on all fours and coughed out the dirt she had swallowed when another kick came to her ribcage as the lanky man stood above her, kicking as if she were a soccer ball. She cried out and clutched her side, the tears coming unbidden to her eyes as she struggled to roll away.
"General!" Cabrera shouted this time.
"Stand down, Sergeant! That is an order."
Emma bit her lip and growled as the lanky man became confident that she was down and out. He laughed and jumped around her, spitting in the places she was trying to crawl to, cursing her and her squad in Arabic, but the taunting and Spencer's ever-present smirk gave her the strength she needed to suddenly roll onto her back and kick out the man's knees. There was a scramble as he landed on top of her as they both rolled around trying to get the upper hand.
Perhaps it was training or the sheer determination to just end this and get home alive, but Emma straddled him once more, gripping the sides of his face and bashing his head into the hardened ground once, twice. She eased up on him enough to flip him onto his front and used zip ties from her belt to keep him captive, moving quickly to do the same to his feet.
She panted. Her bun was nearly completely pulled out, her cheek was bruised, and her knuckles were red and cut. With every ounce of respect she could muster, Emma stared straight at Spencer and marched up to him until they were chest to chest. "Prisoner is apprehended, sir. For the good of our country, it would be wise to send him to more equipped facilities since the interrogation here has led us nowhere." She returned the steely eyes glared and stood at attention. "Sir."
Spencer's lip twitched in a snarl before he turned back to Cabrera and the three wide-eyed men. "What are you waiting for, Sergeant? Move him out."
February 23, 2005 – Boston, Massachusetts
"We there yet?"
"Not yet."
"How lo-oong?"
"Just a few more minutes, Henry."
"I'm ti-red."
"You can always nap."
"Mo-oommy," the boy continued to whine, stretching out in his car seat enough to kick the back of Regina's chair.
She caught his gaze in the rear view as she pulled off the interstate and into the city. The silent reprimanded had the three-year old pouting and straightening up in his seat, muttering his annoyances to Rexy Jr.
The four-hour drive was taking its toll on both Henry and Regina. The winds were fierce and the roads slushed over, and with driving conditions subpar, the amount of vehicles on the road limited Henry's game of What Colour is that Car? to the only few automobiles brave enough to brace the streets. For any other occasion, Regina wouldn't bother making such a trip, taking the rest of the week off, and pulling Henry out of daycare.
But August was in the hospital, and Regina had to be there for him.
She was sure the soldier would fight her tooth and nail upon seeing her, but Regina had a way of heeding people's wishes while getting her own way, and frankly, August was in the hospital. How much fuss could he really put up? Her need to scold the man for not listening to her sooner evaporated when August had called two days prior saying that those pains in his leg ended up being a lot more than nothing, going so far as to admitting they had been happening for a couple months now. By the time of his phone call, he was already prepped for surgery and was about to have his limb opened and looked. He had mentioned medical jargon Regina was sure even he didn't know, but despite his insistence that he was fine and to stay put, apologizing again for missing their weekly Sunday phone call, Regina had postponed her meetings and told Henry they were going on a road trip to see Uncle August.
Fifteen minutes later, Regina was holding Henry by the hand as they entered the hospital, the boy oohing at the grandiose design of the high ceilings and even the presence of a pizzeria. It was certainly a different world from Storybrooke's own general hospital, and Henry was soaking it in completely. Though the size of Storybrooke could be quite stifling at times, Regina was at least grateful that should she enter into their hospital any nurse could direct her to whomever she wished to see. Here, the Mayor was simply another visitor who needed to be directed by signs and maps to get into the proper section of the hospital where August said he'd be. After a few trials and errors, twice even stumbling into the maternity ward and passing by a gorgeous garden patio encased by tall glass windows where interns sat and ate lunch and slept, or at least they would if it weren't for the snowfall covering the benches and tables. Regina and Henry found the limb reconstruction floor and was thankful that the nurse sitting at the reception desk was able to help her locate Sergeant August Booth's room as Henry jumped from tile to tile without touching the cracks.