The crowds still filed in, greeting each new season with optimism, but all too soon the realization dawned that the cheers from the stands were for nothing - everything the team once embodied had been hollowed out from the inside, leaving only a desiccated red and gold husk.
- Storybrooke Mirror, 2008
When Marian [Alvarez] first approached me, I honestly thought it was a mistake. I've never played Quodpot in my life! (laughs) I didn't really follow Quidditch here, you know? Turns out the league is pretty great, though. I'm happy to be in Storybrooke. I think we're gonna do great.
- Yasmin, Goalkeeper, Storybrooke Sirens
"She's late, Marian," Regina says, for what must be the thirtieth time in the past hour. She can feel the fury beginning to rise, threatening to dismantle her carefully put together facade of calm.
"I know, Regina," Marian replies, for what must also be the thirtieth time in the past hour. She's chewing on the edge of her plastic straw in a way that Regina finds particularly irritating, but perhaps not as irritating as that infuriating serenity of hers. Regina's itching with the need to move, to grab that irresponsible blonde harpie by the scruff of her neck and —
"Rip her throat out?" Marian raises an eyebrow.
Regina hadn't meant to say that out loud. And there's Marian, sucking on her empty straw and honest-to-god slurping like she's Henry minus manners, and not her usually competent General Manager.
"You said she was interested," Regina says, pointing an accusing finger at Marian. "You talked me into this meaningless exercise and now she isn't even here —"
She cuts herself short when she realizes she's clutching the half-empty glass of Firewhisky in her hand, poised to throw it at the nearest surface and make an unholy scene. It's an old, almost unconscious gesture that should be beneath her by now. Damn it .
"We'll give it ten more minutes," Marian says, soothing, as though Regina's a skittish colt that needs particular care. "Okay? You can yell at me after. Throw a glass or two if that makes you feel better."
"Okay," Regina says. Her hand is shaking slightly when she puts the glass back on her desk, careful.
It's stupid . Marian's optimism has the potential to be… infectious, and Regina, fool that she is, allowed herself to swayed in favor of that washed-up former star slash pathetic waste of ability.
It's stupid that she allowed this harebrained scheme of Marian's to see the light of the day, stupid that she spoke to Mal and the rest of the financiers about it. Stupid that a part of her had hoped for, for — That a part of her hoped .
Cruella will have a field day with this one.
She clenches her fist and takes a deep breath. "Well," she tells Marian, who's still slouching in her chair. Regina draws herself up very straight. "I think it's safe to say that your attempt to think out of the box is a miserable failure, so I say we go with our initial list of candidates and —"
She doesn't get to finish her sentence, because the door crashes open with a bang loud enough to have both of them reaching for their wands and pointing it at their intruder. Who, in fact, has the gall to raise her arms as though in surrender and smile , oh-so-winsome. "Hi," Emma Swan says. "Sorry I'm late. My car broke down."
"You're a witch," Regina says, a little too dumbfounded to come up with a sharper retort.
"Yeah," Swan agrees, still smiling. She isn't dressed like a witch, Regina notes. And while Regina isn't one to dispute the charms of no-maj clothing — her own wardrobe has an extensive and ever-expanding collection — she would have hoped Emma Swan had the decency to wear appropriate attire for a job interview . Instead, she's in a pair of jeans and a godawful red leather jacket. And she's late . "I just prefer to drive," she says. "And, uh, sorry about barging in like that."
Marian, thankfully, rises to the task, before Regina can say something scathing. "I'm glad you could make it, Emma," she tells her. "Storybrooke's not as old-fashioned as it used to be when it comes to non-magical technology. I'll make sure you get some help with your car."
She turns to Regina with a look , one that very clearly means let me handle it . It's only supreme self-control — and the fact that she's rather proud of Storybrooke's transformation from an isolated magical community of no significance to whatever they are today — that allows Regina maintain her poise and not ruin this session even before it starts. She offers Emma Swan her hand, a practised smile on her face. "Regina Mills," she tells her. "A pleasure to have you here."
Swan fumbles a little before taking her hand in an admittedly firm grip. And then she says, her smile growing impossibly wider, "Emma Swan. I was a huge fan of the Misthaven Wanderers back in the days." She doesn't seem to notice Regina's hand grow limp in her own, or the way the whole room seems to grow colder, as though someone's just placed a freezing spell in it.
She snatches her hand back with an icy, "Take a seat, please," not caring how that might make her sound.
Swan is a either a fool with little control over her mouth, or someone with a far more nefarious agenda. Perhaps she's been paid off, perhaps she has an axe to grind, or, or some sort of a plan to undo everything Regina's worked for so hard over the years. She has to nip this in the bud. She has to figure out who Swan might be working with, if she's actually a spy of some sort sent here to humiliate her —
"Yes! Take a seat, Emma!" Marian says, cutting short her increasingly panicked inner monologue.
Swan, finally, seems to sense the tension in the room — or perhaps she's that good an actor, says a little voice inside Regina's head — and appears a little bewildered by it, but she does as she's told.
It is impossible that she could be that… innocent . No matter what she may have convinced Marian, no one without an agenda would just bring up Regina's past indiscretions in casual conversation.
"Shall we talk?" Marian's now beginning to sound a little desperate. "Regina?"
And thus begins one of the longest hours of Regina's life.
The problem with Emma Swan is that she's good.
It is… difficult to push aside the unpleasant thoughts that arise every time she glances at Swan, sprawled — yes, sprawled — on a chair Regina knows is uncomfortable. She made sure of it.
Most people are careful around Regina. Out of fear, of course. She's cultivated that air of invulnerability that comes with power alone. And when they whisper behind her back, Regina's learned to let it slide, to not go after them with all her might and destroy them without a smidgen of remorse. Most people who aren't Emma Swan, that is. It's suspicious .
Her hand itches to reach for the vial of Veritaserum she keeps at hand, though Marian would disapprove.
There is no denying, however, that Swan is good. If they're being set up by Regina's enemies, it's an excellent plan.
Swan has her coaching certificates in order, which is unexpected. Regina had imagined a no good washed-up former star attempting to coast on reputation alone. Swan has come prepared , armed with facts and mostly satisfactory answers to every question that Marian throws at her. It shows a certain degree of professionalism.
This is not to say Regina isn't suspicious of Swan's motives.
"Do you think you'll be a good fit with us, Emma?" Marian asks. "The Sirens, as you know, are yet to perform to the fullest of our potential in the League Championship, and we feel that it is time we —"
"Let's cut to the chase," Regina finds herself saying, suddenly impatient. She leans forward in her seat, looking Emma Swan in the eye. Her eyes, Regina thinks abstractly, are very bright and very green. "We barely escaped relegation last year, and the year before that. And this is after making it back to the League Championship after nearly two decades. This cannot go on. We need to perform, and we need someone who understands that. Do you understand that, Miss Swan?"
If she sounds menacing — albeit a shade short of Evil Queen — then it is absolutely intentional, though Marian would, no doubt, disapprove of this as well. Marian can be rather disagreeable about these things.
And Emma Swan, damn her, actually smiles. It's a broad, genuine smile. And then she says, slow and deliberate, "Give me a Seeker and a Goalkeeper, and I'll give you the league." She holds Regina's gaze, still smiling.
"That's an audacious claim to make, Miss Swan," Regina says. Outrageous, in fact. And just the brand of brazen confidence that made Emma Swan one of the best Seekers of her generation — that is, before she threw away her career and faded into oblivion.
And pertinent, because they've been on the lookout for the right Seeker for the past two years. Damn it.
"I like a challenge," Swan says with a shrug. "Don't you?"
Marian is smug afterwards, looking at Regina like she knows something. Her eyes have that familiar gleam — the one that means she's delighted to have proved Regina wrong. She takes far too much pleasure in that sort of a thing.
"Admit it," she tells Regina. "You liked her." She also plants herself on Regina's desk, in a manner she knows annoys Regina.
"Get off my desk," she says mildly, and chooses to overlook the way Marian simply makes herself more comfortable. There's a more important matter at hand, namely, hiring a competent coach for the Sirens, before the player transfers begin in earnest.
Planning isn't Regina's best suite. Marian does the pondering and the planning, and Regina takes charge. Regina acts , at times on instinct, plunging headfirst into things without second thought. It had become clear that Robin Hood wasn't going to lead the Sirens to League Championship glory anytime soon, and so she fired him, six months into his contract. It's the sort of thing that's earned her the reputation of being a ruthless administrator. Well, that, and her history at Misthaven.
Regina's good at slash and burn. It's what comes after that is particularly hard. She wasn't made for building things.
"It could have been worse," Regina admits eventually, because there's no point in lying to Marian about this. She knows her all too well.
"But?" Marian prompts. "There's a but in there, right?"
Regina runs an anxious hand through her hair. She doesn't know how to say it — doesn't know how to articulate the way her pulse quickens and her skin crawls at the memory of the casual way in which Emma Swan spoke of her time in that place , among those people .
A huge fan , she'd said, as though Regina doesn't have nightmares about fans picketing outside her house and following her every move. Passionate fans, jeering and abusing her every time she dared to step outside, calling for the head of the Evil Queen.
Those vile creatures deserved what they got, and Regina doesn't regret a minute of it.
"Regina," Marian says, placating. "She's Emma Swan . We should consider ourselves lucky that she's interested."
And that rubs her the wrong way. It doesn't matter how famous Emma Swan may have been — the Sirens are important. The Sirens matter .
"Are you suggesting that this job isn't good enough for your precious Emma Swan?" Regina says, suddenly furious.
Marian furrows her brow. "No," she says, firm, "I'm not saying that, Regina, don't be ridiculous. I'm saying that she can be very good for us, and we should take that into serious consideration."
"She has little experience —"
"So did Serafina Sylborn when she took the All-Stars job," Marian fires back. She isn't one to back down so easily.
"What are you, an expert in Divination now?"
"No, but I'm trying to do what's best for our team, and I want you to do the same instead of fixating on a throwaway comment that meant nothing!"
Regina wants to retort. She wants lash out and say something suitably scathing, but Marian isn't wrong .
She wasn't made for building things, but with Marian, she's always tried to do what is best for the team. The Sirens come first.
"Or we could bring in the board," Marian says with a shrug. "Let's see what Zelena has to say, shall we?"
It's a low blow, and Marian knows it. She grins at Regina, unrepentant.
The five member board does not, technically, need to vote on the selection of a new coach, but Marian is well within her rights to call for a board meeting on occasion of a deadlock. And no one — least of all Zelena, currently on a continental tour — wants that.
"I'm getting Sidney to run a background check on her. Who knows what she's been upto in all these years," Regina says with as much disdain as she can manage. Marian smiles at her like they've won the Quidditch World Cup.
Henry is sullen and largely silent during dinner, and Regina, like a lot of their time together now, is forced to fill in the tense, awkward silence with a steady prattle that Henry sees right through. He knows it's a charade, knows that his mother doesn't know how to talk to him or make things better between them, and he responds in kind in a way that only young children can.
She should have invited Marian over — Henry tends to thaw a bit with his favourite adult around — but she had wanted, for once , to be able to have dinner and a conversation with her son without needing Marian as a crutch.
Instead, Henry pushes his vegetables around his plate and makes a half-hearted attempt at eating the basil chicken she knows he loves. Regina clutches her wine glass a bit too tightly, wishing, more than ever, she could go back in time and fix things somehow.
She wasn't made for building things, but for Henry, she has to try .
"Well," she says, clearing her throat. "Marian and I interviewed someone for the coaching position today. It went… better than I expected. Although she was late." There is, of course, no need for him to hear about the rest of the unpleasantness.
Henry's response is a grunt that she should reprimand him for, but instead she says, "Her name is Emma Swan. She was quite famous in her time, but that was —"
"Emma Swan, really?" Henry says. He's looking at her for the first time in the entire evening. Regina nearly drops her fork in surprise.
"Yes, have you heard of her?" she says, careful to keep her tone neutral.
" Seeking Seekers says that she's the greatest Seeker of her generation though she never got the recognition she deserved," he tells her, in the precious, precocious way of his. He's trying to sound nonchalant, Regina can tell, but there's genuine interest in his voice.
"Greatest might be an overstatement," Regina says lightly, "but she was very good."
"She caught the Snitch in the World Cup semi-final!" Henry says. "If it weren't for the poor refereeing, the United States team would have made it to the final, for the first time in a century!" There's no mistaking the quiver of excitement in his voice now, or his righteous indignation about a match played and lost before he was born.
"Your abuelo and I were there when it happened," Regina tells him with a smile.
" Really ?" The word comes out as an adorable squeak.
"Yes, really. I'll tell you about it if you finish everything on your plate," she says, indulgent. The words slip out without second thought, natural in a way they haven't been for over a year. She tenses, waiting for him to lash out, but for once, Henry does as he's told.
He doesn't shy away when she sits next to him on his bed and he doesn't flinch when she carefully puts a hand on his, gently rubbing his skin with the pad of her thumb.
By the time she finishes the story with a dramatic flourish, putting on more of a show than usual, Henry is tucked comfortably against her. Regina feels like she can breathe after a long time.
"So are you gonna hire her?" Henry says, half-asleep. "It'd be kinda cool if she came to Storybrooke."
"It's not a done deal yet," Regina says truthfully, running a soft hand through his hair.
"Do you think I can get her autograph?"
"We can definitely do that, yes," she tells him with a smile. She can give him this, if not the reassurance he truly seeks.
She watches him fall asleep, drawing him closer still and unwilling to let the evening end. "Sleep well, my little prince," she murmurs, and kisses him softly on the forehead.
Somewhere in Regina's vault, among a million other pointless knick knacks, lies a wooden box. It bears nothing valuable — at least, nothing that would be considered valuable by most people, except perhaps die-hard collectors of obscure Quidditch memorabilia. It bears a slim chocolate frog card, Quidditch World Cup (1994) Special Edition emblazoned on one side and Emma Swan's face on the other.
The figure on the card is much younger than the woman Regina met today, younger and carefree. She still has some of that cockiness, Regina thinks. Some of the infectious charm that made Emma Swan so popular in her time.
The figure winks when Regina picks the card up, reading the words she had written more than a decade ago,
To the beautiful woman who hates losing,
Your fan,
Emma Swan.
Regina has had no use for it in a long time.