hunnyfresh - Letters from War

Now she was sitting cross legged on the couch, the TV turned on to some evening drama Emma was unfamiliar with as she dug through her rucksack to find the bound letters and pictures from Storybrooke. They were organized by date as Emma shuffled through them to get to some of her favourites. Reading Regina's letters was her favourite bedtime story. Whether the woman was sharing some anecdote about Henry or whether she and Regina were sharing battle wounds stories with Regina admitting she had a scar of her own on her upper lip, Emma found she couldn't go to sleep without reading a few or soaking in Henry's drawings. It amazed her that she had kept up communication with the woman for nearly three years. The only other person she kept in touch with for that long was August, and that was only because she happened to be sent to his division.

Emma had never exchanged pictures with Regina, nothing more than a drawing from Henry or when Emma wanted to attempt her own artistry skills, so every night, she drifted off with images of women with various shades of brunette in some power suit that the First Lady would wear. Sometimes the mystery woman in her mind was relaxed in sweats and a sweater boasting some Storybrooke mascot as Emma imagined Regina to be one of those over-enthusiastic soccer moms. Emma's naturally curious side had wanted to ask Regina to send a picture, but the closest she got was asking the Mayor to describe herself. Regina hadn't asked one of her either, so Emma didn't want to push the boundaries on what she deemed to be already a good thing.

Reading those letters every night got Emma through some of the toughest, most loneliest nights of her life. For the first time in her twenty years of living, Emma felt as if someone cared for her, truly cared for her, and if there was anyway Emma could repay Regina for her kindness, she'd gladly do so. A thought sprung to her mind as she looked up to August who was out of his wheelchair and cautiously walking the length of the apartment, getting a feel for his new leg.

"Are you still okay?" Emma checked in.

He suppressed a wince and steadied himself on the wall before throwing a thumbs up.

"Do you have paper and an envelope?" Emma asked, already standing to retrieve it.

"For what?" August grunted, putting one foot in front of the other.

"I'm gonna write to Regina. Tell her I'm in Boston."

August snapped his head up at that and smirked. "Regina, huh? Did you two plan a date?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "We're just friends. I want her to know I'm safe. She gets worried sometimes."

"Oh really?" His grin grew even wider as he gave up on his walking for the time being and leaned against the kitchen counter. "You realize I was there when Mr. and Mrs. Johnson found out why the door was locked when Stephanie Cobalt was in your room, right?"

"That's beside the point," Emma huffed, leaning against the back of the couch.

"I don't think it is," he insisted. Moving minimally, August opened up his fridge door and tossed Emma a water bottle before opening up one for himself. "You should go visit her. You've been talking for what, two years?"

"Three," she muttered into her bottle. "And I can't just show up to Storybrooke uninvited."

"Why not? Is visiting this town invite only?" He set his bottle on the counter and resumed his walking, his steps more confident and only slightly less painful.

"It's rude," Emma insisted, though she couldn't help the little voice in her head that told her five years ago, Emma Swan would be all about breaking the rules and crashing places.

August shrugged. "Your loss. There's a notebook in the TV stand drawer."

Habit got Emma up at the crack of dawn. It also helped that August was making a lot of racket in his room as he worked to develop his upper body strength, but as soon as the first rays of the sun hit the horizon, Emma's eyes snapped open, and she was ready for the day. She had taken to running every morning, finding the local park and sprinting her way through it before returning to the apartment where August would break out some fibre cereal for the both of them. For the three days since Emma's arrival, she had dropped her friend off at physio before returning to the apartment and found herself at a stalemate. Her days were usually jam-packed with training or missions, but now that she was off duty, she had no idea how to fill her time. She had sent a letter to Regina the morning after her arrival saying she had landed in Boston safely, but without anything other than an address, Emma had no other way to contact Regina.

So Emma stayed at August's and did sit ups, push ups, and every type of work out she could in the cramped apartment. When the cabin fever set it, usually in the afternoon, Emma went out for some air, walked back to the park she had run through that morning and read the books Regina had sent to her until it was time to pick up August. By now she had read the novels three times over and found herself sitting on the bench, people watching. At least that's what she told August. In reality, she debated on finding Storybrooke, maybe finding Regina up in a phone book and actually hearing her voice for the first time. But she couldn't just show up. Could she?

Apparently she could since it wasn't until the fourth morning when Emma had returned from her run that August wheeled himself to the door to meet her. Her duffel was packed and her rucksack placed on top of it in the man's lap before dropping them at her feet. Emma opened her mouth to question him, her eyes widening at the fact that August seemed to be kicking her out. Wordlessly he presented the Storybrooke postcard Emma had taken to looking at every night then dangled her car keys in the air for her.

"Go," he said simply.

She was quick to retrieve the postcard but eyed her keys warily. "You have a doctor's appointment today."

"I've been getting there for months without a driver. Go." He tossed her the keys and assumed his authoritative voice. "That's an order, soldier."

The smirk played on his lips, but they continued to hold the silent staring contest, neither moving from their position and Emma still dripping with sweat. She was pretty sure August was a second away from pulling rank on her. Her heart, which had calmed on her arrival to the apartment, was now pounding in her ears. Badum-badum-badum .

Emma had seen bombs go off. She had had to use force to calm a rioting crowd. She witnessed her best friend fight for his life. Yet all of that seemed trivial with the mere thought of meeting Regina Mills.

The Welcome to Storybrooke sign was the only reason Emma knew she was heading in the right direction. She had been driving for hours, which wasn't necessarily a problem, but the long expanse of lonely road gave her the unnerving feeling that there was an ambush not too far away. She had to remind herself that she was on American soil, that she was home, and that she was safe. The derisive snort came out easily as she thought back to all those times in her youth where she wasn't safe. Soil didn't matter where people were concerned, that's for damn sure.

But people like Regina, she was different. Who could keep up with a jarhead for three years and get nothing out of it? Still, nerves got the better of her as an emerging town finally started to appear. She glanced down at the postcard on the passenger seat, eyeing the address she had come to memorize. 108 Mifflin Street, Storybrooke, Maine. Now where the hell was that?

She nearly slammed on the brakes when she saw the fabled clock tower, stuck in time as it permanently read 8:15. This is real, Emma thought. All the stories Emma heard, they weren't just stories in letters made up to entertain a homesick soldier. They were real events with real people, and Emma was about to meet them.

Training had taught her the best form of gathering intelligence was to investigate, so parking her car in front of the clock tower, Emma set out to explore the town.