Merlin Smith's loan deal from the Chudley Cannons had been turned into a permanent move, and Yasmin Sayid and Guinevere Baron had joined from the Hollyhead Harpies and the Sweetwater All-Stars respectively. Emma Swan, maverick coach extraordinaire, however, was busy claiming another target that was far from straightforward, but would turn into one of the best League Championship signings of the summer.
Mulan Hua was the player's name, and Regina Mills [President, Storybrooke Sirens] as she would later admit – was hesitant in signing her, claiming she knew very little about the petite Seeker who had never played for a first tier team before this. Mills was far from alone in that respect. Plenty of other team bosses have questioned their scouts ever since, lamenting the fact that she managed to escaped their notice.
On occasion of an unremarkable warm-up game with an unremarkable team in the third tier, Emma Swan found her Seeker. And the rest, as they say, is history.
- "The Storybrooke Sirens' Story", August Wayne Booth
Mulan? Yeah. She's pretty great. Can you remove that Quill of yours please? It's kind of annoying.
- Emma Swan, Coach, Storybrooke Sirens
It isn't that Emma is nervous about a pre-season friendly with the Portland Puffins, but it's just that it's a matter of honor right now, thanks to Regina Mills claiming that she's frivolous , of all things.
There's no denying that Emma fucked up. She's had a conversation with Marian, which involved a mini-speech on safety standards, and the lowdown on the Henry Mills Situation she's helped create.
Henry is grounded and forbidden from seeing Emma, perhaps ever again. Regina is probably looking into the darkest of dark arts to ensure Emma's doom, the Sirens be damned.
Emma gets all of that, gets that she's earned this, that no one in their right mind would allow a kid like Henry to spend time with someone like Emma. She isn't a good influence. But the assertion that she's not doing her job , that she isn't, somehow, giving her 100% and more to the Sirens, is something that she can't shake off.
It cuts deep into old wounds: years of wanting to be more than some irresponsible burnout whose only claim to fame — all fifteen minutes of it — is a World Cup she didn't win, and a League Championship she crashed out of, never to be heard of again except for lazy could have been listicles in the Quidditch Weekly .
Besides, there's something about Regina Mills that gets to her. Burrows under her skin and tugs at half-remembered memories in the dark recesses of her mind. Makes her want to blurt idiotic things like I feel like I know you from somewhere and would you like to go out for a drink with me? , while another part of her just wants to fight , give back as good as she gets.
What it boils down to is a rather simple sentiment: she doesn't want Regina Mills to think she's irresponsible and frivolous.
She wants to do better.
The Puffins score first.
It's an unfortunate slip from Yasmin — the Portland Chaser looks a little dazed at having gotten past her. The stadium roars, cheering their team on.
For a team perpetually in the third tier of the Quidditch league, the Puffins have a remarkably loyal fan base.
Meanwhile, the Storybrooke Chasers seem downright rusty, and Merlin's Bludgers directionless like he's forgotten how to aim. They're testing waters, Emma knows this, knows that the team hasn't played a full match together before this — that's why they're playing friendlies, for god's sake.
It's hard not to grab her broomstick and just, charge into the field, take over and — No .
She settles for biting her nails instead, and occasionally cursing the referee. She'll have to get used to taking the backseat. She's the coach now.
There's a player in the Portland team that she can't help but notice, despite her general nervousness over this totally not-serious but very very important match. And the fact that her team is yet to score, and that her boss is somewhere in the stands — they've been avoiding each other studiously since the last blow-up, which is just as well — judging her every move.
Despite that. Emma can't help but notice the Seeker: a lithe young woman who hovers over the rest of the players, seemingly unconcerned with what's going on in the game.
She's almost stationary, a spot of perfect stillness amidst the frantic pace of the game. And then, as though in a blink of an eye, she's in motion, a blur of green shooting past a flummoxed Billy towards the Portland goal. The crowd roars in excitement, and Merlin and Lancelot — who have finally caught on — fire desperate Bludgers in her direction. She dodges them like it's nothing, eyes fixed on the Snitch, and then it's Ali throwing himself against her and spinning her off course with a body blow.
That block earns him a lecture from the referee and a penalty for Portland, but Emma can't take her eyes off the girl.
"I want you to follow her every move," she tells Harry, whose modified camcorder has already attracted curious glances.
"Just her?"
"Yep," Emma says, strangely uncaring about the fact that Portland scores yet again, this time from the penalty. "Every move."
She can't help the frisson of excitement that runs down her spine and quickens her heart, a hint of an old madness she's scarcely felt in the past years.
It might be too early to make a proclamation, but hell, Emma's nothing if not confident and cocksure ( too cocksure , her detractors would say). This girl — Hua Mulan, that's her name — is a star in making, and the final piece of the puzzle that Emma's been searching for all this while.
It is probably poor form for a coach to root against her own team, but then, no one's ever called Emma conventional.
The Sirens do pick up pace after that, courtesy Lancelot taking over the reigns of the match. He may not be as quick as he was in his prime, but he's still formidable, galvanizing the entire team with his mere presence.
They race ahead of the Puffins until they're up 120-40, and most of the Portland team looks like they'd like to give up and go home now. Emma wants to shakethem.
The Seeker, though — Hua Mulan — the Seeker still hovers at a distance, refusing to fall for Billy's feints or Merlin's taunting. If Emma didn't know better, she'd say she's stopped caring, but there's something about the way she holds herself: a hawk in repose, watching its prey.
How on earth did the Portland Puffins end up with this girl, and how has no one snapped her up before this? She's watching the game like a bird of prey, circling over— she's—
"She's spotted the Snitch!" Emma screams, no longer caring to contain her excitement. " Dammit , Billy, she's spotted the Snitch!"
By the time Billy has caught on, Emma — and the entire stadium, going by the way everyone falls silent, as though watching with bated breath — already knows what's going to happen.
Mulan swerves past Lancelot and dives straight towards the ground, hurtling downwards and downwards until it looks like she'll crash. Billy has caught on with her, and they're neck to neck, Billy doing his best to unsettle Mulan.
That is, until Mulan pulls back, just in time . Smooth as though she just hasn't been hurtling towards the ground at breakneck speed. It's poor Billy who's fumbling and holding on to his broom for dear life, perhaps not even aware of what Mulan's just done to his career at Storybrooke.
And then she's soaring above, the Snitch gleaming in the sunlight while the announcer says, "PORTLAND WIN 190-120!" The crowd lets out a disbelieving roar of approval.
And somewhere in the stands, Regina Mills is furious no doubt, but Emma can't bring herself to stop smiling as she watches Mulan fly high, the Snitch still safe and secure in her hand.
Regina is furious .
She'd known, she'd known this would happen, this pathetic show with an opponent comprised of rank amateurs. The Portland Puffins , for god's sake.
She paces and paces the length of her office, fingers itching to grab her wand and set something — maybe Emma Swan's hair — on fire.
"Regina," Marian says, in that reasonable tone of hers and that's even more infuriating, because how dare she. How dare she defend this abysmal show, thismediocrity from a team that's hoping to be a title contender. How dare she stick up for a coach who's proven to be nothing but unsuited for a job of this nature.
"I'm going to fire her," Regina says, her tone even.
She can already imagine the headlines: STORYBROOKE SIRENS SNATCH DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY, BEGIN SEASON WITH DEFEAT AGAINST A NO-GOOD NO-NAME THIRD TIER TEAM.
Sidney will have a field day with this.
"Regina, please —"
"Tell me why I shouldn't!" Regina says. "Give me one reason why I should keep her around. She's frivolous and disrespectful , and the exact opposite of what this team needs."
Regina's not going to tolerate this, no. Whoever she'd hoped Emma Swan would be — whatever she'd hoped she would contribute — this isn't it, this pathetic capitulation before a team that is paid less than Lancelot's salary.
She can feel herself descending into rage again, thick and dark and vicious. For all that she plays at being a level-headed professional, the anger is never too far beneath the surface, simmering, simply waiting for an opportunity to rise up and set the world around her on fire.
Curse Emma Swan for bringing that out in her.
Marian raises her hands, as though in surrender. "I'm not saying we played well today, Regina. I know this is a match we should've won. The fact that we didn't is just shameful."
Regina waits, because there's no way Marian's done saying her part. "But firing the new coach even before the season begins is the last thing we need, and I'm fairly certain the board will agree on that."
And that has Regina flare up once again, because that's low , even for Marian. "Don't you dare threaten me with the board!"
"I will if you're being unreasonable." Marian's voice is hard as steel. She's leaning against Regina's desk, arms folded in front of her and her gaze resolute.
They glare at each other until Marian backs down, softening her stance. "Look, I know you're upset about what happened with Henry. You have every right to be," she says.
"I wasn't asking for you approval," Regina says, gritting her teeth and looking away.
It's a transgression: one that only Marian — and perhaps her sister — is allowed.
If Regina were in a somewhat more stable frame of mind, she would appreciate the manipulation. She does in fact ask for Marian's approval — has asked for it at nights racked with guilt and indecision, when the gulf between her son and herself seemed insurmountable. No one knows more about the agony she has been through in the past year or so with Henry than Marian.
"Do not make this about my son," she tells Marian.
Marian lowers her eyes, suitably chastised, but Regina can't say the diversion didn't work. Her anger has stymied, and all she feels is exhausted.
At times she tends to wonder if theirs is an unequal friendship, one where she asks and asks and has nothing to offer in return.
"Drink?" Marian says, and Regina nods.
It has been a day.
They're midway through a bottle of a superior red — not elf-made, thank you, Regina does not consume products of modern day slavery — when there's a knock on the door.
"Coach Swan is here to see you, Ms. Mills," Jacinda says, long-suffering expression on her face. Jacinda has been with Regina and the Sirens long enough to anticipate her moods, especially after a loss as ignominious as this one. "What should I say?"
"Tell her this isn't a good time, Ms. Tremaine," Regina says, unwilling to emerge from her wine-and-Marian-induced cocoon and face Emma Swan, especially since she hasn't decided on not firing her, no matter what Marian might have to say on the matter. This is her team. The Sirens are her life and blood, her father's legacy, and one that she will perhaps pass on to Henry someday.
"I said that already," Jacinda says, rolling her eyes. "She's insisting that it's important."
"It is important." That's Emma Swan, loud as always. She elbows past Jacinda with a broad smile. "Thanks, Jace, I owe you one."
She's wearing her awful leather jacket, like it's the only pair of clothing she owns. She looks exceedingly cheerful for someone who's just led her team to a shameful defeat in the hands of a third tier team consisting of rank amateurs. Regina might throttle her with her bare hands.
"And what could be so important that you had to barge in, Coach Swan?" Regina says, in what she hopes is a suitably menacing fashion. "I see your attitude has not changed despite this ignominious defeat."
"I want you to sign her up," Emma Swan says, hands on her hips and looking for all world like she doesn't owe Regina an explanation for her team's — their , no,Regina 's team's — performance. "The Portland Seeker, I mean. Hua Mulan. I'm sure you can work your magic, right, Marian?"
Marian raises an eyebrow from where she's stretched out on the couch, her head resting on an arm and another one on her stomach. She looks more amused than she should.
"You cannot barge in here and simply demand any player who catches your fancy, Coach Swan, that is not how this works," Regina says slowly, as though explaining the matter to a child.
"You watched us play today," Emma Swan says, stepping closer to where to where Regina is seated. Her palms are pressed flat on the desk and she's leaning forward until they're eye to eye. It's needlessly aggressive, Regina thinks peevishly.
Up close, like this, Emma Swan is breathtaking, eyes burning with a fire she cannot name.
This is, of course, the wine speaking.
"You know she outclassed Billy by a mile. You know we need a Seeker with better reflexes than his, someone who will win us matches. You've known this all along," she says, looking Regina in the eye.
"That is enough, Coach Swan," Regina tells her, stunned at the woman's audacity.
"I'm just getting started, Madam President," Swan shoots back, undeterred. "Champions don't cut corners."
"And you think this, this child with zero experience is going to make us champions?"
"I'm asking you to take a chance," Emma Swan says. "What do you have to lose?"
And then she turns and walks away without so much as a by your leave.
"She makes a compelling argument," Marian says with a shrug. It's infuriating.
It has been a while since she's stepped anywhere near Harry Jekyll's office, a fact reinforced by the portraits at the entrance who refuse to let her in until she hears them out.
"You've forgotten old Fátima, Regina Mills," says the portrait on the left, glaring at Regina.
"We never see you in here anymore," agrees the one on the right. "Is this how you treat a dead woman?"
"A good afternoon to you too, ladies," Regina says, unable to hold back her smile.
Fátima and Missy might indeed be known in Quidditch history as Fátima Martínez Delgado and Missy Washington, the legendary Beaters who took Henry Mills' team to the pinnacle of the League Championship, but to Regina, growing up, they were her just her father's friends — honorary aunts who always came down from New York together, and made no secret of their hatred for Mother.
"This guy is up to no good," Fátima says, like she has every time she has spoken of Jekyll to her. "You need to get rid of him."
"He brings in new no-maj nonsense in here every other day," Missy concurs. "And I sit here and watch while you say nothing !"
"Things have changed since you were around, Missy," Regina tells her. "We have been working on integrating no-maj techonology with the running of the team for a while now."
"You're a fool if you think they aren't using these abominations that you call technology to spy on us," Fátima hisses, brandishing her broomstick like a weapon.
"I'll keep that in mind," Regina says. "Now, will you let me in?"
"Say please," Missy tells her, crossing her arms. "Where are are your manners, girl?"
" Please let me in, Missy," Regina says. "I'm sorry I haven't stopped by more often."
That seems to placate the portraits, who unlock the doors to Jekyll's lair without further complaint.
Harry Jekyll's fascination with non-magical technology is well-known, a fascination Regina has done her best to encourage. There will be a day when more and more technology will become a part of the sport, working seamlessly with magic, and Regina wants to be prepared for it when the time comes.
She's still in Jekyll's office, poring over his recordings of Hua Mulan's performance from the day before, when Henry drops by. He's no longer grounded, and allowed to move about as he pleases.
He's had the run of the Sirens' premises ever since he was a toddler, spending hours in Regina's office while Regina and Marian hammered out the finer details of running a Quidditch team. It's only now that he avoids her, preferring to spend his time running around with the players or doodling in his notebooks in Marian's office. Or in Jekyll's office, as it turns out, because he looks surprised to run into her here.
"What are you doing here?" he tells her, furrowing his brows.
He's been sullen in the past week, determined to punish her for refusing access to his new best friend and all the adventures she has to offer.
She never should have been swayed by his unabashed interest in Emma Swan. She should've known something like this was going to happen.
"I'm watching Harry's recordings," she tells him, careful to keep a smile on her face.
Like always, he sees right through it, and responds with a shrug.
"This is good, isn't it? Using technology, I mean. You like that, don't you?" Regina says, desperate to keep him talking. "I don't know how we can develop enough resistance to magical interference to make it useful and efficient in the long term, but it can become a good way of keeping track of how we're doing." She might be babbling, she knows. She misses his voice.
"Emma says —"
"I don't want to hear a word about Emma Swan," Regina snaps, and regrets it immediately as she watches him shut down.
No child should able to do that, to mask his emotions as though it's second nature. She made him this way. She made him this way.
"I have to go," he tells her, and runs out of the office, whatever business he had now forgotten in his desperate need to get away from her.
Hua Mulan performs a spectacular dive on the screen of Jekyll's desktop contraption, but Regina can no longer bring herself to watch it.
It isn't as though she doesn't understand his anger, doesn't understand the desperate desire to be a part of the magical world that he doesn't quite have the words to articulate.
There was time when their home was enough to make him feel like he belonged somewhere. A time when she had all the answers to his problems, a time when a simple kiss would suffice to heal his pain.
She might be his mother, but she's no longer his world, and even as she aches to reach out and fix things for him, there are some things that are beyond her grasp.
Why did you bring me here , he had raged, once, and Regina had had no answer, no answer at all except, I wanted you more than anything, darling, I love you more than life itself.
Regina is more weary than ever when she trudges out of Jekyll's office, wanting nothing more than to grab hold of Henry and go home . But apparently the universe and Emma Swan have other plans, because there she is, leaning against the wall, oh-so-casual. She has a finger tucked into her belt buckle, and she's chatting away with the portraits as though she's known them forever.
"Hey," Emma Swan says when she spots Regina.
The fact that Regina has no desire to comment on her impudent address is testimony to how tired she is.
"What do you want, Miss Swan?" she says, curt.
Swan puts her hands in her pockets like a nervous schoolboy and looks at her feet. Her cheeks, Regina notes with some fascination, have turned an enticing shade of pink. "I, uh, I wanted to apologize," she says eventually, fumbling with her words. "I ran into Henry again and —"
"Stop," Regina says sharply. "Do not bring up my son ever again ."
"I just —"
"Do let the girl apologize, Regina," Fátima chimes in. She has drawn up a chair and is, in fact, watching them with a glass of wine in her hand.
"No one asked for your input," Regina snaps, irritated beyond belief.
Which, of course, is cue for Missy to chide, "Now, girl, where are your manners?"
Regina isn't thinking when she reaches out and grabs Emma Swan by the wrist, dragging her towards the nearest portrait-free spot even as Fátima calls out, "Go on, ignore a dead woman!"
They end up in a balcony that overlooks the grounds. It takes Regina a minute or so to realize that she's holding on to Swan's wrist, and then it's her turn to feel her face grow warm. Which is absurd.
"You had something to say?" she says, letting go of Emma Swan's hand with as much dignity as she can manage. Swan looks a little dazed.
"I really am sorry about what happened… the other day. We shouldn't have done anything like that without your permission," Swan says, eyes wide and penitent. "I would never willingly endanger a child, let alone your son."
There is enough sincerity in her voice to take the fight out of Regina, and what she's left with is even more exhaustion.
Regina takes in a deep breath, taking a moment to stare out at the now-empty grounds. The sun hangs low in the western horizon, lending a rosy hue to the freshly mowed grass and the vacant stands.
Soon, the stands will be packed with people. These grounds will come to life, touched by the ancient magic that lies at the heart of the sport. The Sirens will set out on another journey, buoyed by the hopes and the desires of a thousand loyal hearts.
There is more at stake here than her feud with Swan, no matter how justified.
"You will stay away from Henry," she tells her, firm.
Swan nods vehemently. Her eyes seem to lose a bit of their shine, or perhaps that is just Regina's imagination speaking. She presses on, regardless, "You will notencourage any scheme he may come up with about playing Quidditch, or flying on his own. Is that understood?"
"Of course, I —"
"Is that clear, Miss Swan?"
"Yes, of course." Swan is positively meek. Good .
The setting sun has painted the sky a brilliant shade of red. Regina fixes her gaze upon the giant Storybrooke Sirens sign at a distance, and says, "By the way, you should talk to Marian about Hua Mulan. You don't want someone else's scouts to swoop in before we have a signed contract in hand."
From the corner of her eye, she spots Swan's smile grow wider and wider.
Henry at seven is a precocious wonder, reading everything he can get his hands on and chalking out grand adventure plans that make Regina smile and smile.
At seven, Henry is also obsessed with flying.
His little broomstick never lifts an inch off the floor.
One afternoon, Regina apparates straight to the hospital, heart in her throat and tears streaming down her face, even as a patient mediwitch explains how she'd knitted his broken bones together.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he tells her later, his face pale and so, so young. "I shouldn't have done it."
"You can't be so reckless, Henry," Regina says, close to breaking into sobs again. "What if you had hurt your head instead? What if the Sheriff didn't find you in time?"
"I just wanted to fly," he says, hanging his head.