Emma gets a reprieve from the dreams that night. Her sleep is not dreamless, though the small fishing town and the faceless brunette (who now has a face) are nowhere in sight. There's no purple smoke, no magic potions or sorcerers, and it's a welcome change.
She and Henry go about their usual morning routine – she cooks breakfast and he waters the plants while they listen to music. As soon as his plate is cleared, then, he's grabbing his lunchbox and throwing on his coat, barely hugging her goodbye before he's gone. And she readies herself for another day at the station, which hopefully will not include patrolling the streets.
"Good news, kid," Sullivan greets her as she reaches the desk.
She raises her brows hopefully. "No street patrol?"
"Not today, though that's not the good news."
"Oh!" The relief she feels is short-lived as she then asks, "Well then what?"
"We caught the mugger," he smiles, and folds his arms.
Her eyebrows bounce back up. "Really."
"Yeah, sounds like Martinez got him just before he reached the North End. Was gonna call your 'dream girl,' but I couldn't find the card."
"Oh." Emma's heart stutters, and she reaches into her pocket, fishing out the business card she had been given the day before. "Here. I forgot I had it."
"Uh-huh." Sullivan smirks.
Emma glares at him. "And for the record, she's not my 'dream girl.' I had a dream that I knew someone that looked kinda like her, but it wasn't her." She can feel her face turning red – her cheeks are suddenly ten degrees warmer – and her glare sharpens. "So shut up."
Sullivan just chuckles and shakes his head, throwing the card on his desk and reaching for the phone. "Whatever, kid. Either way, she's gotta come in and identify him."
And Emma feels something unmistakably like excitement or dread, she can't tell which.
When she arrives, Regina blows into the station with the stride of a queen – confident and tall, her hands the pockets of her trench coat.
A tilt of the head is her greeting with a miniscule lift of the brow, along with a smooth, "Officer Swan."
Her strong voice carries, garnering the attention of the other officers in the bullpen, though her eyes are narrowed on Emma. Emma once again flashes back to one of her dreams. She feels like she's seen this focused energy and intensity before – like she's been the center of that focus. But again, she forces herself to push that idea away, deeming it silly.
It's just a dream, she keeps telling herself. Even though she knows it's more like a lot of dreams – all of them somehow starring this woman that's now invading her space as if it's a common occurrence between them.
"You've found him?" she asks.
Emma plasters on the fakest smile she can muster. "Good to see you again, Ms. Mills. How are you today?"
"Busy. Could we make this quick, please?"
Emma sighs, turning to her partner. "Sully?"
"Follow me."
While Sullivan leads Regina to the viewing room, Emma hangs back to retrieve her belongings. It's handed to her in a large evidence bag by one of their techs, and she tucks it under her arm as she heads into the viewing room.
The lineup is just getting started, with the first few shuffling in.
"Hey Swan," Sullivan passes her a folder, "Here are the notes from Martinez."
With a nod, she begins to look them over, and only half-listens as her partner instructs each of the men in the lineup to step forward and turn to face each direction. Regina is instructed to wait until they've finished before identifying her attacker, and Emma is just finishing up glancing through the case notes as she hears her say, "It's him. Number six."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Number six, please step forward again," Sully leans into the mic.
Emma slowly looks up, and as her eyes settle on the final man in the lineup, they nearly bug out of her head.
"Neal?"
Both Regina and Sullivan look over their shoulders at her.
From her partner, she gets confusion. "Swan?"
And from Regina, she gets incredulity. "You know this man?"
That's when Neal, on the other side of the two-way mirror, rises slightly on tiptoe as if he's able to look into the viewing room. He's still holding a large number 6 in front of him as he calls toward the glass, "Hey, sorry, is Emma Swan back there? I gotta talk to her, it's important!"
Now, the incredulity on the brunette transforms into something like outrage. "I cannot believe this." She turns to Sullivan and advances on him, pointing behind her toward the glass. "If this is some sort of targeted attack or 'inside job,' you can rest assured I will take any and all legal measures possible to ensure suffering."
Sullivan holds up his hands, clearly intimidated despite being a good several inches taller and a couple dozen inches wider. "I assure you, Ms. Mills, we're gonna get to the bottom of this." He turns to Emma, raising his brows pointedly. "Swan? Hallway."
But that's seemingly not good enough to sate the brunette's fury. Her fists press into her waist as she demands, "I want to speak to your Captain, immediately!"
Sullivan tries a placating smile, but it just comes off as nervous as he quickly gets out, "Yes ma'am, of course, just a moment please," while shoving on Emma's shoulders. "Now, Swan."
Emma knows she's going to have to answer for this, but she's too stunned to even process what's going on. The last time she had seen Neal was before she got carted off to jail for his stolen watches, unknowingly pregnant and eighteen years old. Now somehow he's in Boston, after all these years, and he just happened to swipe the purse of some woman that's been popping up in her dreams?
None of it makes any sense. She feels a little dizzy, like after one shot too many, and she braces her hand on the cool cement wall just outside the viewing room. Sully's eyes are wide as he stares at her, mirroring her position as he regards her and talks to her in clipped, hushed tones.
"Alright. What the hell's goin' on here, kid?"
Emma shakes her head, sincerely at a loss for words. "I honestly have no fucking clue, Sully."
"How the hell do you know the perp?"
She sighs and closes her eyes, dropping her face briefly into her hands before looking up again. "It's hard to explain, but he's kinda… Henry's dad."
A string of curses escape her partner in a whisper as he looks away and shakes his head, elbow now braced on the wall. "White's gonna tear us both a new one for this."
"Sully, I promise you… I have no idea what he's doing here, or-or… why he attacked that woman. I haven't even seen him in twelve years!"
"Well he was obviously lookin' for ya! Why? And if he was lookin' for ya, Swan, why the hell would he mug someone just to get your goddamn attention?"
"I don't know!" she hissed, desperation heavy in her tone.
"Well you better figure it out, and fast! As soon as the Captain hears about this, you've gotta have answers to all of those questions. And then some, once IAB gets involved."
"Jesus." The entire hallway tilts and sways around her, and she slumps back against the wall, rubbing her forehead between her thumb and fingers.
There's too much going on and her brain is powerless to keep up. The dreams – the faceless brunette named Regina who somehow magically appeared in her waking life. Then Neal, showing up out of the blue, seemingly on purpose…
Slowly, she takes a breath. Her hand drops back to her side and she straightens up, looking at her partner and begging him quietly, "Let me talk to him."
"What?" he hisses. "Are you nuts? You're tryin' to make detective here, Swan. If you talk to him, you might not even get to carry a badge anymore."
"Sully, please." Briefly, she glimpses around for prying eyes and ears from the officers and techs that pass by, her mouth in a thin line. Then, she turns back to her partner, lowering her voice a few more decibels. "Just keep the Mills woman occupied, for five minutes. I have to know what the hell he's doing here. Especially if I'm gonna lose my job over it."
Her partner blows out a long, slow puff of air, like she's sucking it out of him just for asking. He stares at her with big eyes and raised brows; then, he blinks and seems to relent, nodding slowly. "Alright, fine." He holds up one hand, fingers spread – five. "Five minutes with 'bachelor number six,' got it? After that five minutes is up, I can't guarantee what happens."
"Thanks." She pats his shoulder. "I owe ya one."
"Yeah." She feels his eyes on her as she heads for the interrogation room, his voice following after. "Add 'million' onto the end of that, kid, and you'd be right!"
It must take Sullivan longer than usual to placate Regina and dismiss the guys in the lineup, because Emma is left to pace in the interrogation room for a good five minutes. By the time the door finally opens, she feels cagey and is more than certain she's sporting a case of the crazy eyes.
Neal stops just in front of the table as the door closes behind him, grinning at her like they're old friends. "Em."
The sound sparks a fury twelve years old in her, and she clenches her jaw. "Sit down," she barks.
Neal's smile fades as if reality's caught up with him, "Right," and he does as he's told.
Once he's seated, he begins to look around the interrogation room. Emma folds her arms across her chest and then unfolds them just as quickly, readjusting her position to lean on the table. That position is dropped immediately and she straightens up again. She's so cagey she can't even decide how to stand, and finally she just blurts out the first thing on her mind: "What the hell, Neal?!"
"I know."
His expression is unreadable, and she wonders if it's because she hasn't seen him in twelve years, or if she's just so out of her mind right now she wouldn't be able to read the alphabet if it was put in front of her.
"'You know?'" she repeats, voice raising. She thinks of how she waited for him and wanted to build a life with him, only to be surprised by getting hauled off to jail instead. She thinks of the morning sickness she had to endure, crouched over a cold metal toilet in the middle of a cell with three other women watching her.
She thinks of the stark delivery room in Phoenix where she gave birth to their son and finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel the first time she held him in her arms. "You show up here after 12 years, mug some chick as a means of 'dropping in' on me, and then tell me 'you know'? What in the f—"
"Look." He holds up his hands to stop the avalanche of expletives on their way out. "I know it's a huge shock, and that there's a lot of crazy shit going through your head right now—"
"Oh you have no idea," she growls, her glare sharp.
"—but just give me a minute to explain."
She savagely rips the empty chair out from under the table, its legs scraping on the floor. She plops herself down ungracefully, telling him, "You have exactly three minutes to clear all this up before I get dragged in to my CO's office to get my badge taken away." She gestures to him with a sweep of her wrist, folding her arms a moment later as she tells him, "So go."
"Fine. I had to do this."
Emma shakes her head, lip curling in disgust. "Haven't changed a bit, huh? You just couldn't help yourself."
"No, Emma, you don't understand. I knew you were here, in Boston. Regina too."
She thinks back on the Mills woman's accusation and says, "So this was a targeted thing."
"Kinda, yeah, but not in the way you think it is. I was sent here to do this."
"You were sent here? By who?"
Neal winces. "That's… kinda complicated, and you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you."
She huffs, giving him a look. "It have anything to do with how you abandoned me in Phoenix twelve years ago and let me get thrown in jail?"
Neal averts his eyes, looking like he's been caught. Or confused. Both expressions look pretty much the same on him. "Uh… it… kinda ties in with it, but it's more complicated than that." He leans forward, his arms on the table. "I had to come here to find you." He holds her gaze. "You, and Regina, and Henry."
Her son's name on his lips sends ice flowing through her veins. Her stomach drops and she knows whatever skeptical expression she had been wearing was just wiped clean off. Lowly, barely above a whisper, she asks him, "How the hell do you know about Henry?"
Neal gestures to her. "You told me about him, months ago."
Her palms are flat on the table, gripping the flat surface as if there's something to grab on to. She can feel the stainless steel heating up beneath her palms, and she knows there might be sweat marks left behind. "I have never once spoken to you about my son."
"You have, but you don't remember. And it's okay," he tells her.
His voice scrapes her nerve endings in the most unpleasant way, like nails on a chalk board. She feels like he's patronizing her, and she won't put up with it for a moment longer. "Neal, just tell me why the hell you were sent here!"
He looks equally frustrated, "Fine!" and finally he just throws his hands up and says it:
"I had to make sure you and Regina found each other."
TBC