Based on prompt: SQ - Historical (WWII) - Rivals. "With America's entry into World War II, several major league baseball executives started a new professional league with women players in order to maintain baseball in the public eye while the majority of able men were away (from Wikipedia)" Regina and Emma are players in rival teams and Henry, Emma's traitor son, is the self-proclaimed #1 Evil Queen fan.

Notes: As you can see, I got a little carried away with this prompt. The story will likely end up with five to six chapters. Please be warned – although SQ is obviously endgame, other (past) pairings will be frequently mentioned, particularly Emma/Neal and Regina/Daniel.

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters. The All-American Girls Professional Baseball League is (was) real, but the teams and players in this story are fictionalized, and any resemblance to actual people/events - apart from well-known historical ones - is unintentional. I have done my best to research the sport and the time period, but I am not perfect, and I humbly apologize for any errors or inaccuracies.

Chapter 1: A Real Ballplayer

Batter up! Hear that call!
The time has come for one and all
To play ball.

We are the members of the All-American League
We come from cities near and far
We've got Canadians, Irishmen and Swedes,
We're all for one, we're one for all
We're all Americans!

Each girl stands, her head so proudly high,
Her motto 'Do or Die'
She's not the one to use or need an alibi.

Our chaperones are not too soft,
They're not too tough,
Our managers are on the ball.
We've got a president who really knows his stuff,
We're all for one, we're one for all,
We're All-Americans!

Henry collapses onto the sofa, gasping for breath, immediately after belting out the last note. Emma chuckles as she follows him into their small apartment, stopping to lean heavily against the door, even after she hears it click shut behind her. She'd worked both the night and morning shift at the factory before the weekly pick-up ball game in the Common, which had been slightly more intense than usual with so many recruits for the All-American Girls League in town. Henry had been over the moon at the announcement that Boston would soon be getting its own professional team, the Belles, at the start of the 1944 season.

"It's gonna be a gas, Ma," he'd exclaimed the entire walk home. "Maybe I'll get to see my first game at Fenway! Ma, you have to take me if the Chickadees come to Boston! I'll get to see the Evil Queen in person – maybe she'll even sign my ball!"

They don't have the money for that sort of thing, but she doesn't have the heart to tell him just yet. The Maine Chickadees – or rather, their star pitcher Regina Mills – have been the main thing getting Henry through the war and the loss of his father with his spirit intact. "Kind of a dumb name, though, isn't it?" she wonders aloud.

"What? The Chickadees or the Evil Queen?"

Emma shrugs. "Both, maybe."

"Chickadees are the Maine state bird," he informs her snootily. "We learned it at school. Did you know that Regina was born in Maine? She lived there her whole life – just two hours away from us! Her dad is from Puerto Rico, though! Did you know that? They almost didn't let her play because of that, but in the end they did. He taught her how to play baseball, and he had the same name as me! Well, not really, because he just changed it to Henry when he came to America. But sort of! And he played in the Negro Leagues here but just for one year, and then he retired! How nuts is that? They said he could have been the best player, but his wife made him quit! What a jerk! Why would he even marry someone like that? But his batting average was –"

"Yes, I read the same interview that you did," Emma interrupts before he can truly get going. "And I know all of her father's stats – I used to have his card, actually."

That stops Henry dead in his tracks. "You used to?" he demands.

Emma looks down sheepishly. "I sold all of my baseball cards to help pay the rent and piece together some savings after I got the telegram about your dad," she admits. "It was over a year ago – before you got into baseball – and I didn't realize..."

"It's fine," he says quickly. He's matured a lot in the two years since Neal went away, and for that she's grateful. "It's probably more important to have a home than a bunch of crummy old cards."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

"Anyway, I think they call her the Evil Queen because she has a scary game-face and eats apples for good luck," Henry continues, babbling on as if there had never been an interruption. "I don't think she's really evil, though. She seems nice in all of her interviews."

"They do send all the players to charm school," Emma points out. Henry smirks.

"Well, anyway, who cares if she's nice or not? She's an ace pitcher. Did you know that she pitched nine no-hitters last year? Nick at school says he heard on the radio that she's the best girl pitcher in the entire world! She even throws overhand like the boys – not underhand like in softball. Ava thinks that when the war ends and they restart boys' baseball, they'll ask her to play in the Majors! Wouldn't that be bonkers? What if she played for the Red Sox? She could be our neighbor!"

It would be highly unlikely for any Red Sox players to move into their solidly working class housing project, but Henry's still a bit too young to understand that. "That would be very bonkers," she agrees. "I don't know how I'd feel about living next door to an Evil Queen, though. I'd be nervous if she came over to borrow a cup of sugar – who knows what kind of pies she'd be making?"

"Good thing we're not Snow White," laughs Henry. "But I think I'm going to turn into Grumpy if we don't eat supper soon."

"We wouldn't want that." Shaking her head vigorously – Henry without regular meals is truly a demon – Emma opens the cupboard in search of something easy. "Sandwiches?" she suggests. "I think President Roosevelt is doing a fireside chat tonight. We wouldn't want to miss it."

"Okay," he says agreeably. "Peanut butter or Spam?"

"Peanut butter is faster." With expert dexterity, Emma whips up two sandwiches in almost record time. She spreads the peanut butter a little thinner on her own: Henry's growing quickly and needs all the protein he can get, but whatever bureaucrat is in charge of allocating rations doesn't seem to realize that. She checks the clock on the wall and grins. They have five minutes to eat before the radio program starts.

Henry has finished wolfing down his sandwich and Emma is about halfway through hers when they hear a knock at the door. "Are we expecting someone?" Henry asks, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Not that I know of," Emma replies with a shrug. For the first year that Neal was away, she lived in constant fear of knocks at the door, especially at odd hours. But once the telegram had come, she'd lost any reason to fear – as long as she can see with her own eyes that Henry's safe, that is. Setting her sandwich on the table, she quickly straightens her hair and turns to answer the door, but Henry is already peeking through the keyhole.

"It's Rupert Gold, Ma!" he stage-whispers, perhaps not as quietly as he'd intended.

Emma wrinkles her nose. "The Magic Popcorn guy?"

"Ma! He's the owner of the Chickadees! He's the one who's starting the Boston team, too! I can't believe you didn't know that!"

"What is the owner of the Maine Chickadees doing at our apartment?" she muses. "Did you enter a raffle to meet the Evil Queen or something?"

"Ma, answer the door!" Henry hisses, eyes wide and urgent. "He was at your game today! Maybe he –"

"Shh!" she commands, shooing him out of the way before she opens the door. "Good evening, Mr. Gold," she says nervously, beckoning him to enter.

"Miss Swan," the elderly man says, nodding his approval as he takes in her physique. "I see that you already know who I am."

"Well, my son just informed me," she says with an uneasy chuckle. Noting his limp and cane, she asks, "Would you like to sit down?"

He looks almost offended by the offer. "No, thank you. I'm hoping this will be a fairly quick conversation. My scout and I attended your baseball game today. You're quite a slugger."

What is she supposed to say to that? "Thank you, sir."

"As you've undoubtedly heard, the All-American Girls League is hoping to start a new team here in Boston. We're holding try-outs three days from now. I'd be most interested to see you there."

She's not sure whether the clunking sound she hears in her head is Henry's jaw hitting the floor or her own. Play professional baseball? That's –

"Ma, you have to do it!" Henry exclaims.

"I – I – Sir, you see, I work in the munitions factory. It's a full-time –"

"The starting salary for players is around seventy dollars a week," he says breezily.

Seventy dollars? That's more than twice what she makes at the factory, even with overtime. They could move out of this rat-infested building, buy Henry new shoes and –

Henry.

"Sir, I – I have a son. I couldn't just go traveling all over the country playing baseball when I need to be looking after him. He's only ten years old!"

"I can take care of myself," Henry cuts in, arms crossed. "Or you could take me to the games."

Gold smirks. "You're hardly the first woman to find herself in this predicament," he informs her. "Arrangements have been made in the past, and they could be made again. If you end up making the team, that is."

"I don't know," she says, still hesitant. It would be a huge change. Their situation right now isn't great, but it's predictable. If she loses her job – if she and Henry can't eat, or they have to live out on the streets... Winter always comes sooner than they expect, with heating bills and –

"Maaaaa," Henry whines, "you have to at least go to the try-out."

"Your boy has a point, Miss Swan," Gold wheedles. "You've got nothing to lose. Try-outs are on Sunday at the South End Grounds. If you can't take the day off work -"

"No, I don't work on Sundays." In a split second, she makes her decision. Just the thought of the look on Henry's face if she makes the team is enough to dispel all of her fears. "I'll be at the try-out."

"Excellent. I hope you and your boy have a lovely evening." With that, Gold takes his leave.

Henry waits until the popcorn tycoon is out the door before letting out the loudest whoop Emma has ever heard. "You're going to scare the neighbors!" she protests.

He dives into her arms, beaming, and exclaims, "Ma, you're going to be a real ballplayer!"

Henry is still talking about baseball three hours later when Emma tucks him into bed. "I can come watch you in the try-out, right?" he asks for about the fiftieth time.

"Of course," Emma promises. "But it's just practice. Why do you want to watch?"

He blushes and casts a furtive glance at the picture on his wall, an action-shot of Regina Mills pitching that he'd cut from an old copy of the Boston Globe, and Emma instantly understands. "The Evil Queen will be there, won't she?"

"All of the players from last season have to try out again," he grumbles. "I don't know why. It's not like anyone is going to be better than her."

Emma shrugs. "Maybe they're going to change up the teams?" she suggests. "I wouldn't worry too much about your beloved Queen, though. I don't think she's going anywhere."

"I know," says Henry, sighing deeply as he nestles his face more deeply into his pillow. "Do you think the try-out will be really busy, or will she have time to sign my ball?"

"I don't know, kid."

He's silent for a moment before murmuring, so softly she almost doesn't hear it. "I wish you hadn't sold the Henry Mills card. I would have asked her to sign that. I think she would have liked it."

"Yeah, she probably would have," Emma agrees. "But we have to eat, you know?"

"I know. It just would have been a nice thing. Do you think she misses her dad?"

Emma shrugs. "Probably." She'd heard of Henry Mills's death a few years ago, but hadn't thought much of it at the time, with America entering the war and everything else going on. "Probably just like you miss yours."

Nodding solemnly, Henry looks back up at the picture. "Maybe that's why she plays baseball – to remember him."

"Maybe."

"I really wish you hadn't sold that card," he says again.

"Yeah, me too." She really should have saved that one in particular for him, but she hadn't had the time or energy to consider it in her quest to make sure he stayed fed. "But I can tell you a great story to make up for it."

That gets his attention. "What story?"

"Did you know your father and I actually named you after Henry Mills?"

"No!" he exclaims, sitting straight up in bed. "How come you never told me?"

Emma gives him a small smile. "It's actually a little embarrassing," she admits, "but we had the hardest time thinking of a name for you. Then, the morning you were born, your father had been listening to the radio in the waiting room – I don't even remember what game it was, but the Brooklyn Eagles were playing – and he said the second he heard your first cry, Henry Mills scored the winning run. And we both thought Henry was a pretty sharp name. Wouldn't you agree?"

Henry grins and says, "I like that story. I can't believe you didn't tell it to me before."

"Well, you never asked about your name, and your fascination with baseball is kind of a recent thing. Now," she says, checking the clock on his wall, "does that qualify as your bedtime story, or do you need another one?"

"That one was pretty good," he allows. "Anyway, you have to leave for work in three hours, so you should probably get some sleep."

"Yeah, I probably should," Emma reluctantly agrees. "I have to rest up for my big try-out, right?"

Henry makes a noise that could best be described as a squeal and hugs his pillow to his chest. "You're going to be a ballplayer!" he says again, bouncing up and down in his bed. "I can't wait to tell Nick and Ava!"

"I haven't even made the team yet!" Emma protests, but she's smiling, too. It's been a while since either of them have had something to get excited about. And seventy dollars a week...

She has a hard time falling asleep that night, but when her alarm clock sounds three hours later, she's still full of energy even with so little rest.

She's going to be a real ballplayer.

Even without the salary increase, it's a far more enticing prospect than making rivets for the rest of her life.

Sunday dawns bright and early for Emma, who can't seem to stop her hands from fidgeting as she enters the ballpark, Henry at her heels. It's a much more impressive venue than any she's played at – or even seen – before, filled with more female ballplayers than she knew existed. At first glance, it seems like utter chaos: players warming up and tossing balls back and forth with little organization, but she quickly gets used to it.

"Why don't you go sit on those bleachers over there?" she suggests, but her slack-jawed son clearly has other matters on his mind. She follows his gaze over to the far end of the field, where a solitary woman is stretching, her face a picture of intensity.

"Ma, it's her," he whispers, eyes wide and awestruck. "Can I –"

"After," Emma whispers back. "I don't think she'd like to be disturbed right now." She thinks she finally understands how the "Evil Queen" moniker came about – that woman is terrifying. The thought those eyes staring her down from the pitcher's mound...

No, she can't think like that. This is just a game, an opportunity to give her son his best chance. It's not a matter of life and death.

"It looks like there's some other kids sitting over there," she tells him, pointing again at a spot on the bleachers overlooking first base. "I'll catch up with you after this is finished?"

Henry nods his assent and trots over to the group of spectators with Emma watching worriedly. Much like his mother, he's never been the most social – he's got a couple of friends at school, but he's been keeping to himself more and more since his father died. Still, these kids seem pretty friendly (they're obviously all interested in baseball), and she's relieved to see that he's actually talking to them. Then he sees him pointing to her and another boy pointing out someone who's probably his mother or much-older sister, given the resemblance, and she heaves a sigh of relief and turns back to the field.

"Hey, you need a warm-up buddy?" someone calls from behind her. Emma turns to face a tall brunette wearing red lipstick and impossibly short shorts. "Ruby Lucas," she says with a smile, holding her hand out to shake. "Want to toss around with me?"

During their warm-up together, Emma learns that Ruby is twenty-one and from a small town in Maine, where she'd been working at a diner with her grandmother until she'd run away to "see the world and make something of her life."

"If I don't make the league, I don't know what I'm going to do," Ruby confesses. "I can't go back home – Granny will kill me."

As far as Emma can tell, Ruby's one of the better players who'd shown up – and there are over a hundred of them. She's apparently from the same town as Regina Mills, though Ruby claims they don't know each other very well.

"She's a few years older," Ruby reports. "She'd left town by the time I started high school and didn't come back until her father died. She got engaged to someone she met in the city, I think, but they never married because her mother didn't approve. And then he got called up for the war, so...anyway, we shouldn't gossip."

"We shouldn't," Emma concurs. "My son is over the moon for that woman, though. I think he's her biggest fan."

"First crush?" Ruby teases, and Emma shudders.

"I hope not!" she exclaims, "He's only ten."

Ruby smirks and tosses a hard, fast one at Emma, which she barely catches thanks to that horrific distraction. "Sometimes boys start young," the younger woman cautions with a wolfish grin. Emma shakes her head and lobs the ball back as hard as she can, hoping to catch Ruby off-guard. She doesn't.

The try-out goes well, at least as far as Emma can tell. She's been playing baseball and softball since she'd learned it at her second orphanage, at age six, and she'd like to think she's a decent player. This try-out has only confirmed that. Save for one or two minor errors, she's playing some of the best ball she's ever played - with some of the most skilled female players in the country, and she's holding her own against them. She hears Henry and the other kids cheering from the sidelines when she hits a homer against one of the pitchers from Connecticut, and she starts to feel like she might be able to do this.

Her newfound confidence almost instantly dissipates, however, when she finds herself batting against none other than Regina Mills. If she'd thought the Evil Queen was intense during the warm-up, it's nothing compared to the ferocity in her gaze from the pitcher's mound. Her dark eyes seem to bore into Emma's very soul, sizing up her weaknesses before she almost carelessly fires off the fastest pitch Emma has ever seen. It whizzes past her chest before she even has time to react, let alone aim.

As does the next one.

And the next one.

"It's okay, Ma," Henry consoles her during a water break. "She struck everyone out."

The other kids, all wide-eyed, surround him, nodding vigorously. "At least you didn't cry," one girl solemnly tells her. "My Papa said that one time, a girl from one of the Chicago teams cried when she had to bat against the Evil Queen."

"That's just silly!" Henry scoffs. "They should have felt lucky they got to see her at all. I know I would."

His new gaggle of friends all voice their agreement, and Emma chuckles. "I'll keep that in mind," she says. "Now, wish me luck. I have to play shortstop."

The rest of the try-out seems to go fairly well, and Emma is pleasantly surprised but not shocked when she sees her name on the Boston Belles's roster at the end of the afternoon. Regina Mills, unsurprisingly, is back on the Chickadees for another season. Ruby's name is just above Emma's, along with a bunch of other women she hasn't met yet. She hopes they'll be decent people – she's always been a bit of a loner, but she'll have to learn to get along with her teammates if they'll be traveling across the country together.

She's always wanted to travel. In her youth, she'd dreamed of living a vagabond's life, moving from city to city with only a few dollars and the clothes on her back. Maybe with Neal, maybe without him – she wasn't picky. Then, of course, she and Neal had done what they did best and made bad decisions, and then Henry had come along and traveling became out of the question. Not that she regrets a moment with her son, of course, but being a wife and mother had never been in the cards for her.

Now, she can have everything at once: motherhood and adventure and financial stability. She's not quite sure what to make of it.

"You excited?" Ruby asks on the way out. She's practically vibrating with glee, though there's a certain wistfulness in her gaze as she stares a little too long at a payphone on the sidewalk, and Emma wonders if she's thinking about her Granny.

"I don't know if it's fully sunk in yet," Emma murmurs. Practices start in a week. She'll give her notice at the factory on Monday, and then Henry –

Where is Henry? He was just right behind her.

As though reading her thoughts, Ruby points out, "I think your kid is talking to the Evil Queen over there."

And there he is. He'd gotten shy at first and said he wasn't going to approach her, but he'd evidently changed his mind. There's no trace of self-consciousness now: he's grinning hugely and is plainly babbling on and on, but for her part, Mills appears to be interested in whatever he's saying. She's crouched down to his level and is staring attentively at him like his words are the only thing that's important to her.

She's even intense when she's being friendly, Emma thinks.

"I'll go see if I can't hurry them along," she mutters, jogging on tired legs to the first base line. Henry's eyes light up when he sees her approach.

"That's my Ma!" he exclaims. "She's going to be on the Boston team. You struck her out today."

"Great introduction," Emma says sarcastically, playfully ruffling his hair before holding out her hand to the Evil Queen. "Hi, I'm Emma Swan," she says, caught off-guard when the full force of Regina's piercing brown eyes is directed at her. How had Henry kept his cool?

"Regina. Your son was just telling me the story of his name."

Emma groans internally, but she forces a smile for Henry's sake. While she assumes that Regina will appreciate the sentiment, that story doesn't exactly paint her in the best light.

Not that she cares. She doesn't care what Regina Mills thinks of her – does she? She doesn't even know the woman.

"Your father was some ballplayer," she says, hoping that's the appropriate thing to say.

Regina seems to appreciate it, giving her a small smile as she replies, "He was. I'm glad to see he still has some fans."

There's an uncomfortable silence as the three of them stare at each other, and Emma wonders if she was supposed to make some sort of comment in return, but then Regina finally says, "Well, I have to catch a train back to Maine, and I'm sure you two have somewhere to be, so should I start signing that ball, or..."

"Right!" Henry exclaims, quickly pulling it out of his knapsack. "I'm going to put it on the bookshelf in my room, next to the picture of Ted Williams."

Regina raises her eyebrows and remarks, "I'll be in good company."

"Ted Williams is ace, but I've never met him," Henry says absentmindedly, bouncing up and down as he watches her sign his prized baseball. "You're the first real athlete I've ever met!"

"I don't know about that," Regina replies, barely concealing a sly smile. "Your mother is a real athlete now, too."

"I know, but –"

"Careful," Emma cautions. "I was going to buy you a celebratory dinner tonight, but if you say the wrong thing, I might reconsider."

"Steaks?" he asks hopefully.

"Maybe, if you finish all of your chores by six."

Henry's eyes widen. "By six?" he hollers. "I gotta go! Bye, Regina!"

"Henry, wait!" When the Evil Queen calls after him, Henry stops dead in his tracks, smiling radiantly, and Emma is surprised to see that she is the one who suddenly looks shy. "There's, um... there's something I'd like to send you – if... if it's okay with your mother, that is. I would, um... need your address, if that's..."

"Sure!" he says brightly, putting her out of her misery. "It's okay – right, Ma?"

"Uh...yeah, of course. Definitely," Emma replies, and Henry immediately pulls a small scrap from one of his notebooks and scrawls their house number on it. Paper is expensive these days, but apparently the Evil Queen is worth sacrificing a few lines of his latest story.

"We could be pen pals!"

Regina smiles and says, "Yes, we could," before taking her leave. Henry spends their walk home sprinting in circles around Emma, downright giddy about the day's events.

"Ma, she signed my ball!" he squeals.

"Yes, she did."

"And she told me to call her Regina! And she's going to write to me! I can't even believe it! And I'm going to get to see her in person all the time now. Since Maine is so close, you'll probably have to play the Chickadees a lot, and then she'll be there and... oh."

"Oh? What's oh?"

He shuffles to a stop, staring at his feet. "Just...your team will probably lose a lot, since she'll be striking you out."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Emma reassures him. "Maybe the relief pitcher will be terrible." Henry cackles, and Emma suddenly shouts, "I'll race you home." In spite of her exhaustion, she's feeling surprisingly light on her feet.

Maybe she's a little bit giddy, too.