Chapter Text
Their flight hasn't been in the air for more than half an hour and Regina can't keep track of the number of times her concentration has slipped already. She has flipped through the plane's magazine, opened and closed both of the novels she brought with her. A document from work has kept her focus for a solid ten minutes. Except her eyes haven't made it past the first three lines of this page in at least a minute.
Huffing, she sets the stuffed folder onto the tray table with more force than is probably necessary and contemplates getting her laptop out to check email. She knows she's breaking Henry's rule of no work over the holiday - she argues to herself the the plane ride home shouldn't count, but saying so out loud would earn her a stern glare that she has never appreciated being on the receiving end of - so she turns to see if he has noticed her change in reading material.
When they got on the plane, she had hoped they could use the six hour flight to spend some uninterrupted time together. He may have also made her promise not to obsess over her mother, but surely the two of them talking about the trip and processing together couldn't hurt.
He dove straight into his copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream as soon as he reached his seat though, and had left her to her own devices.
Now he's fidgeting restlessly in his chair, turned at an odd angle so that he's almost facing her. He has a look of wonder on his face that he gets sometimes when he's at a point in a book that fascinates him and reading becomes easier. Except his eyes are clearly looking well above the page. Looking beyond her.
She looks over her shoulder and sees a gorgeous blonde sitting across the aisle, reading her own book and thankfully completely oblivious of the conflict happening mere feet away. She only looks for a moment - a flash of golden hair and red fabric - before she's rolling her eyes. This is the part of adolescence she's been dreading the most. No one appreciates being ogled by teenage boys.
"How's the play?" she asks.
"Fine," he says quickly. His mouth snaps shut and he scoots back in his seat, his knees coming up so he can rest his arms on them. Regina has no idea how the position could possibly be comfortable.
"Do you need anything?"
"Nope," he says. He takes one last look at the woman across from them before holding the book up to block his face from his mother's view.
"Stop staring," she whispers.
She glares at him a bit, but it does no good since his book seems to have his attention again. She sighs and goes to grab the folder containing the plans to redevelop the harbor. Before she has set a hand on it, Henry whispers back, "Read your book."
Looking over to see him glaring into his book, Regina snorts. She should have known her disobedience hadn't gone unnoticed.
As she shuffles through her bag, putting the folder back and pulling out the novel that has more of a chance at holding her attention, she steals another glance at the woman across the aisle.
She is very pretty, in that athletic way that Regina has begun to realize she appreciates far more on women than she does men. There's still a softness to her face even with her lean features that Regina finds cute. And it's difficult to tell with the bulky grey peacoat obscuring her view, but Regina can't help thinking she must have well toned arms underneath.
Even first class seats are uncomfortable after too long sitting in one position in a confining skirt, there's no reason to think any discomfort may come from her body's reaction some pretty young blonde. The thought crossing her mind is absurd enough for Regina to roll her eyes at herself. Never mind the fact that it's been over three years since she's had a date beyond some sort of town function. Never mind the fact that most of the lovers that she had managed to find in the last several years had been lacking, if she's being generous.
It had been difficult to date while she was a single working mother. Being a single mother who is also the mayor of a town that is far too small for its own good? Well...
She wiggles in her seat for a moment, telling herself she's trying to align her spine properly, and tries once again to get swept up into her book.
***
"Henry Daniel Mills." She glares when she looks over at him this time. He can say nothing is going on until he's out of breath but that's far from the truth. Especially when she sees him place his phone back in his lap. Slowly, as if that will keep her from noticing that he was about to use it. "I know I taught you not to stare at people. And certainly not beautiful women on planes."
"Sorry."
He lowers his head in the face of being scolded, only now seeing how his (probably innocent) actions must look. He looks up, his face flush and a little sheepish, and she knows he means it.
"Were you -" she begins with a hiss, but quickly cuts herself off. Being angry with him isn't going to help. In fact, she knows that him feeling ashamed means her anger will only hurt matters. She takes a deep breath to begin again. Calm. "Did you really think taking a picture of a woman you don't know, without her knowledge, was a good thing to do?"
He shakes his head. "I wasn't thinking," he says in a low voice. She's not sure if the mumbling is out of shame or embarrassment.
"That much was very clear." She sighs and places her hand under his chin, lifting his face so she can see him better. If his pout goes any deeper, she worries she'll never see his top lip again. Hoping he'll open up a bit more if he sees she's not going to yell at him or anything, she gives him a small, compassionate smile. "Would you like to tell me what all this is about?"
"No."
She lowers her hand and turns in her seat to give them both a moment. Glances at the woman who has Henry in a tizzy.
She doesn't get it.
It's been years since Henry has acted out, and even then, it was rarely without reason. They have both gotten notably better at being honest with each other when something is wrong. How did things go so suddenly from that to him attempting to take sneaky pictures of strange women in public? Has she missed something?
Her mother's words seep into her. She can feel their vileness clog her pores and run through her blood like poison. 'I can't believe you would allow my own grandson to attend public school,' she had said one night after Henry had gone to bed, her voice low and quiet and slicing through Regina without the need of force. 'I did so much, sacrificed so much of myself, to make sure that you and your sister always had the best education possible. How dare you, Regina. Sending him to a pauper's school like some common street urchin. Who knows what kind of children he's sitting next to every day? You might as well spit on everything your father and I did for you.'
There's a small, sneering part of her mind that tells her that her mother is right. That she has ruined everything in her need to prove she trusted the town's public education system.
She stomps it out quickly, resolved, and turns back to her son.
"You are aware that isn't an option right now, yes?"
He nods. This time his muttering is too quiet for her to make out.
"Come again?"
"You'll think it's stupid," he says. His entire being sags with his belief that she will. She fights the urge to hug him.
"I never think anything about you is stupid, sweetheart," she says. More than anything, she prays he knows that is true. His helpless little shrug makes her heart sink further. "Whatever this is, I promise not to make fun of you for it. Even if I don't understand."
Which throws him off, as she thought it might. She can tell when her son is about to play the 'you won't understand' card.
"That's Emma Swan, Mom!" he says after a moment to collect his courage. His excitement rushes back so fast that it takes her by surprise.
He rolls his eyes at her lack of recognition. Her mother would say he's being disrespectful - and indeed scolded both of them for the one time he slipped up and did it in front of her last week - but Regina has only grown more fond of it over the years.
"I knew you wouldn't understand."
"Then enlighten me."
His eyes light up at the challenge; always eager to teach his mother something new. His annoyance at her ignorance evaporates.
It's not unusual for children to fixate on certain subjects. Most people go through obsessions with dinosaurs and comic books and ancient Egypt. Henry picked up her own love for horses when he was young. It had taken her a while to get over her sadness when he asked her to store his collection of little carousels and most of his stuffed horses, though she's grateful that a well loved Rocinante remains at the foot of his bed. And while things like a fascination with the state of New Mexico, geology, and a surprisingly painful obsession with fairytales and Disney princesses have come and gone, one thing has remained a constant since he was seven years old.
Soccer. Specifically, US women's soccer. His grandfather and aunt tried for years to get him into Mexican and European professional leagues, but he remained resolute in his loyalties, and Regina doesn't think that will change any time soon. Not while his best friends are the girls he started playing with when he first joined the kiddie league at any rate. Not that Regina would ever attempt to switch his interests to something 'more in line with his gender' when she remembers so clearly how detrimental that can be.
It's only that she never realized until now, as he lists off Emma Swan's personal stats and achievements to date with great enthusiasm, that he had such love for a single player. There are championship games and winning goals and score records and World Cup victories.
“She got to meet President Obama!” comes out a little too loudly, but his eyes are filled with so much awe that she can’t bring herself to quiet him.
There's a break in his chatter as an announcement comes on that flight attendants are about to start the flight's drink service. Regina takes the opportunity to look over at the subject of their conversation. Henry has never been very good with volume when he gets excited about something, but Regina noticed earlier that Emma is wearing earbuds. If the blush that has climbed up the poor woman's neck and ears is anything to go by however, she's aware they're talking about her.
As sorry as she feels for making this woman uncomfortable, Regina can't help a slight smirk as Emma does her best to look at her book and act unaffected.
That is, until Emma's eyes flick up from her book and catch Regina watching her. Regina feels her own face heat up as playful green eyes meet hers. She thinks she catches a hint of smile on thin lips in her rush to look away, but she lays a hand on Henry's knee as he starts up again, urging him to be a little more quiet as he tells her all about Emma injuring her ankle in the Rio Olympics.
***
Regina doesn’t think anything of Henry’s request to get out of his seat to use the restroom. They have been in the air for almost three hours and he’s had an entire can of soda plus a great deal of water. Her son has a notoriously small bladder and lacks her unease around airplane toilets.
The trouble is that it takes her a moment too long to realize when he returns to their row. Then it’s too late for her to intervene on behalf of the poor woman across from her.
“Are you Emma Swan?” Henry is asking before Regina even notices he’s back.
“Henry,” she says firmly, her voice a warning as she turns in her seat. She does her best not to think about the looks they’re probably getting from the other first class passengers.
What is curious is that, while the woman - this Emma Swan, if Henry is correct - looks weary and a bit confused at first, it only takes a couple of seconds for her face to change completely. She smiles up at Henry like he’s an old friend she has been hoping to see.
“That would be me,” she says. Her smile only grows brighter as Henry beams that he’d been correct. There’s a spark of delight in her green eyes that has Regina sucking in a deep breath. “And you are?”
“Henry.”
He sticks out a hand automatically, a reflex after years of being the mayor’s son. Emma’s smile goes lopsided as she takes it, shaking hands firmly.
“That’s a great name. I heard you’re a fan?”
She says it like she and Regina have been talking in the few minutes he was out of his seat. Color blooms across Henry’s neck, realizing only then that he must have spoken loud enough for her to hear.
“I’m sorry, I -”
“Please, don’t apologize,” Emma says, quick to soothe. Her hands dart out to him but stop halfway, wanting to comfort but unsure of touching a fan when it’s not requested. They end up back on the armrest, fidgeting with the edge. “It’s always nice to be reminded of your achievements after a poor season like I just had.”
Shoulders slump for a moment, but he bounces back before Regina can begin to frown.
“What was it like meeting the president?”
A burst of laughter escapes Regina, this being her son’s first question overriding most of the anxiety building up in the past minute. Emma’s lip twitch as she holds back her own laugh.
“He was pretty cool, Kid,” she says. Her eyes meet Regina’s for the first time and they share a smile over Henry’s shoulder. “The First Lady was even cooler though. She took us on a tour of the White House, talked to us for ages about sports and education. She’s one of the smartest women I’ve ever met. I never imagined playing soccer would mean getting to spend time with someone like her.”
“Wow,” is all Henry can say.
“Henry, let Miss Swan get back to her reading,” Regina says. As much as it pains her to cut this short for him, she’s all too aware that they’re encroaching on a professional athlete’s private time in a space where she might find it difficult to say no to a young fan.
She expects Henry’s pout when he turns to her, but Emma’s frown is a surprise. She thought she would see a grateful smile or nod. The combination of frown and pout is not something she is prepared for. It leaves her feeling a little unbalanced where she felt so sure of herself a moment before.
The sympathetic smile meant to soften the blow to Henry falters on her lips.
“I don’t want us to be a bother,” she says, unsure of herself enough at this point that it almost comes out as a question.
“It’s not a bother at all!” Emma says. Her eyes are wide and a hand comes up, eager to reassure. She looks between mother and son. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips as she gathers her courage for something.
“Actually, I was wondering,” her eyes flick over to Henry before staying on Regina. “If it’s okay with you of course, I’d really enjoy talking to your son more? I don’t get opportunities like this often, but I love talking to fans one on one. Get to know them and find out why they love soccer and stuff, you know?”
“Really?”
Henry’s eyes dart between them now, then there’s two sets of hopeful eyes trained on her. It’s far worse than the sad looks earlier.
“You can say no of course,” Emma says. The way her lips turn down a moment later shows Regina that she realizes that turning down the offer while Henry is standing right there isn’t quite the option she thinks it is. A shrugged apology follows.
Regina is glad that she didn’t want to turn her down, even if the situation still feels odd to her.
“Please, Mom? You could just switch seats for a while?”
“You’re sure this is how you want to spend your flight?” Regina asks Emma.
Emma’s excited nodding has Regina smiling again.
“It will certainly beat trying to read a book I can’t seem to get into,” she promises.
“Alright then,” Regina says. She nods, mostly to reassure herself that this is a good idea. “Let’s switch seats.”
***
“You’re reading Midsummer Night’s Dream?” Emma asks as soon as she sits down. “Is it any good?”
Regina takes a deep breath as she gets comfortable in her new seat and pulls out her laptop.
“It’s alright. Not as good as it was this summer,” Henry sighs. He puts the book in his bag and turns to give Emma his full attention. “Mom knew I’d have to read it this year, so she pulled out her big fancy copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare and every day for a couple of weeks we read it together. We split up the characters in the scene and kind of acted it out. Now it’s a bunch of words that don’t really make sense and I have to try to find themes and things.”
It’s not that Regina is anxious about what is going on next to her really. Henry is old enough now that she is getting better at trusting his judgement. And anyone who can get him to talk about his class readings has her support.
“I wish I’d thought to read Shakespeare like that when I was in school,” Emma says. “I probably would have learned to enjoy it a lot sooner.”
That nagging voice in the back of her head won’t quiet though. The one that tells her that if she were a better mother, she would not even contemplate letting her son spend time on his own with a person she knows nothing about.
“Your mom seems like the kind who’d be great at voicing all the characters.”
So the laptop comes out. Because a brain that is busy with irritating work emails can’t obsess over the son who is sitting only feet away from her. Because she can put on one of her favorite distracting playlists and stop eavesdropping on their conversation. Because…
“She loves doing that,” Henry says. He laughs and peeks over at Regina, sticking his tongue out. It gets her to take a calming breath. “Except when she decides to do British accents. Then all the characters sound like my aunt.”
Feeling all her anxiety slip away, Regina sticks her tongue out right back. Just in time for Emma to look over at her, of course, but her eyes light up as she looks back and forth between mother and son with glee. It brings a smile to Regina’s lips.
“We’ll try to avoid making fun of you,” Emma promises.
Regina waves her off.
“Don’t let me interfere any more with your chat,” she says.
Her earbuds in place, Ella Fitzgerald’s comforting voice flows through her. With one last glance at the pair chatting away, Regina opens a tab away from her email. The Google homescreen looks back at her.
She swears to herself that she won’t go down the Google rabbithole and learn about Emma’s entire life. Doing so seems like a strange invasion of privacy with the woman sitting right there.
But surely a quick image search wouldn’t be invasive. Just to make sure Emma is this person she and Henry claim. Just to calm these nagging thoughts.
The search loads with a row of photographs of Emma standing in uniform, blues and whites and reds. There is no doubt that it is the woman only an arm’s reach away from her. She is right there in front of Regina as well; smiling and posing in some pictures, serious in others. Her face focused on something happening on the field. Her hair whipping behind her in a ponytail as she runs.
Regina gulps at those impressive thighs.
Her eyes flit over to the Emma not on her computer. All of her attention is on Henry, her body turned toward him as he chats away. Neither of them can see what Regina is looking at so intently, but she turns her screen further away from them anyway.
Then she scrolls quickly past the photograph that had her heart beating faster.
Which is a mistake, of course.
Only a couple of rows down, there is a image that has her gulping again, as well as shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
Like any other female soccer fan old enough to remember the 1999 World Cup, Regina has fond memories of Brandi Chastain whipping off her jersey after scoring that final penalty kick. Like most other young queer girls at the time, the moment had been a bit of an awakening.
And seeing this picture of Emma Swan doing her own celebration feels like another awakening.
If Emma is as prolific in her goal scoring as Henry says, Regina is sure she must have all sorts of ways she enjoys celebrating her goals. This particular one happens to have her jersey flipped up over her head, a red sports bra and firm abs on full display, her arms outstretched as she slides on her shins across the grass. The red cleats that appear in every other full body shot Regina has seen so far are visible against dark shorts.
Clicking on the thumbnail to see the picture in its original size is most likely another mistake, but Regina does it away.
A moment later, she gets to see Emma Swan’s sweaty abs in all their high definition glory. She bites her lip as her eyes linger over each tantalizing bit of Emma on display. In the thumbnail, Regina hadn’t noticed how her shorts are being tugged up her thighs as she slides.
As her cursor hovers over the image, she sees she could zoom in even farther if she liked. She sucks in a breath at the thought. Tries to fight the urge to do so.
She glances over at the woman sitting in her seat. She reminds herself that this is a real person who is right there . And as she does, Emma turns her head and smiles brightly at her.
Did she come up in their conversation again? Is it possible that she has turned into such a mess that Emma heard her heavy breathing? Or can Emma tell that she’s using her computer to look up things that are giving Regina incredibly inappropriate thoughts about her?
Whatever her reasons, Emma’s smile turns into a look of concern and Regina is certain that her face is giving everything away.
Never one to be easily embarrassed, Regina does her best to fight down her body’s desire to blush. She exits out of the offending image search tabs fast enough that it leaves her feeling like a teenager caught looking at porn, and opens up a random email.
Out of the corner of her eye, it looks like Emma might be about to ask her if she’s alright, but she’s pulled away again by something Henry says before the question leaves her lips.
Bless her son’s wonderful timing.
Regina lets out a slow, calming breath.
So much for not invading her privacy , she thinks irritably, rolling her eyes at herself.
***
She has gotten through a good chunk of her inbox when she removes an earbud just in time to hear Henry say, “We didn’t even make it into next year’s World Cup because men’s soccer in the US is terrible. Besides, even in the rest of the world, it’s all bad dives and theatrics half the time. Who wants to look for role models there when women’s soccer has become such a beautiful game?”
Then Emma lets out a laugh, head tipped back and shoulders shaking, and says, “That’s the truth kid, and you should say it.”
“You did that meme wrong,” Henry says through a bout of giggles.
“Oh please, I’m a millennial, playing fast and loose with memes is what we do.” She huffs. “Of course, most of the team would agree with you, but that's because they're not hip with meme culture. Mulan says I spent too much time on twitter while I was out with my ankle injury.”
“Mulan is so cool,” Henry says in an awed tone. Regina can perfectly imagine his starry eyed look. “It was awesome getting to see you two play together again in the league.”
“It’s been nice not having to play against her. It’s especially challenging to go up against someone you’ve played with for over ten years. She knows all my tricks,” Emma says, a bit wistfully. “Of course, it would have been nicer if we hadn’t completely bombed last season.”
“You were also the oldest team in the league last season, and with all those injuries in the midfield, it was like,” he pauses and Regina imagines his adorable scrunched up face as he tries to figure out his words. “You had to piece together a whole new team a couple of months in, but by the end of the season, everything was starting to come together. I was sad you didn’t make it to the playoffs, your last few games were great to watch.”
“You went to our games?” Emma asks as if the idea is completely unbelievable.
“No,” he sighs, making Regina suddenly sad that she never had the time to take him to one.
At the time, scheduling in a six or seven hour round trip for a ninety minute game seemed like far too much of a hassle. Regina frowns and silently vows that she’ll find the time next season. They could even make a weekend of it. She could schedule one of her out of town meetings around their home games and just take Henry with her as well.
A thirteen year old boy like Henry would be fine with a day on his own in a hotel. And then at least someone would finally enjoy the luxury pool at the hotel she always uses while she’s in Boston. She hasn’t taken Henry to Boston since he was very small and she isn’t quite sure why that is.
“Well, she’s not my coach,” Henry is saying by the time she’s done mentally mapping out their future mini vacation and she’s sure she missed something. “She’s my friends’ coach, the friends I told you about earlier. She’s basically the coolest person I know, besides Tiana.”
“That’s one of your friends?”
“Yeah. She’s a goalie and amazing at directing her defense. Our goalie isn’t anywhere near as good at strategy as she is. She shut out like, six games in a row this fall!”
“She sounds like a bamf.”
“She is! I think she’ll probably end up on the national team some day. Anyway,” he says, changing topics without even pausing to take a breath. “I’m really hoping to get to a game next season. Maybe I can convince Mom this year.”
Regina smiles at his excitement, but when Emma says, “Yeah, I hope so too, kid,” there’s a sadness in her voice that Regina doesn’t understand.
***
“You think that’s what you’re gonna want to do?” Emma is asking the next time Regina switches her attention to them.
The in flight movie is far too boring. It’s doing nothing to keep her mind from wandering where it isn’t supposed to go. The only thing that seems to be countering the urge to obsess over every second of conversation with her mother is an unrelenting desire to further google the woman Henry continues to fawn over. Which is just another thing she shouldn’t allow herself to do, if her last search was anything to go by.
Clearly eavesdropping is the best and safest option here.
“I don’t know. I’m good at writing and I have a lot of fun figuring out how the game works, so maybe coaching? Or something else connected to it? I love it and I love to play and I’m pretty good I guess. Mom’s really supportive, even when she can’t get to all the away games, but this week my grandma said that it’s a silly dream and that I should make real goals about getting a real job.”
And that’s all it takes for every promise Regina made with herself to not think about her mother to fly out the window because she has never wanted to throttle the woman more in her life. Which is really saying something. She may have been able to control Regina’s life and all of her ambitions through childhood, but she had another thing coming if she thought for a second that Regina would let her do the same with her grandson.
“There are some choice words I have for people like your grandmother, but I don’t think your mom would appreciate me saying them around you,” is all Emma says for a while. The words are a little strangled, coming through clenched teeth, leaving Regina with no doubt that she’s holding back. “There will always be people who think you should be more realistic, though it always sucks more when it’s family saying it. But with stuff like this, you really have to say ‘screw those people,’ and keep pushing. You’re allowed to have dreams, and no matter how things turn out in the end, if you put the work in, those dreams can never be worthless. Got it, kid?”
“Got it.”
“And what your grandmother doesn’t realize, is that she’s given you the gift of spite. Sometimes spite is the only thing that will keep pushing you to succeed when everything seems impossible. I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s a hard job. Even though I love it. Even with all the great things it’s given me. It’s a lot of hard work. You train all the time, especially after you’ve had an injury like mine, because once you’ve injured yourself it becomes that much easier to do it again. But it’s worth it.”
There’s silence. Regina wishes she could see the resolute look on her son’s face that she knows is there. She wishes she could give Emma a hug for the things she’s just told him. She knows she’ll be giving Henry the longest, tightest hug he’ll allow her once they’re home, and then a good long talk about how she’s fought against his grandmother’s critical words over the years.
“So what does your average day look like?” he asks after taking a moment to soak in everything Emma told him. Emma laughs, clearly delighted to see him jump right back up.
Deciding to leave them to what is sure to become a very detailed description of daily training and practice, Regina finally goes back to her formulaic, far too white and heterosexual romcom. When she finds herself unable to stop smiling, she knows it has nothing to do with the movie. Never in her life has she felt more grateful for a complete stranger.
***
The in flight movie is nearing its climax when Regina senses someone standing next to her. Emma Swan is smiling down at her when she pulls her attention away from the screen. Not that the movie was holding her attention any better now than the last time she was distracted by Emma’s mere presence.
She’s standing in the aisle now, one arm holding her weight as she leans into the overhead bins, the other tucking blonde hair behind her ear. At some point while she while she was sitting with Henry, she had finally taken off her peacoat without Regina noticing.
Regina is definitely noticing now.
Tight jeans and the long-sleeved athletic shirt her coat had hidden cling to her body and Regina barely holds back from letting her eyes roam over every inch of it.
She does give into the temptation to linger over that arm flexed above her however. Simply to confirm her earlier suspicions. Her insides flutter as her gaze trails up those biceps that seem to be just as buff as she had imagined, even under a shirt.
By the time she’s looking at Emma’s face again, the woman’s smile has turned into an outright grin. Regina blushes at the smugness of it, knowing she’s been caught. Thankfully, Emma lets it slide.
“You have a pretty neat son,” she says instead. Any lingering embarrassment vanishes at the praise. Regina smiles back. “Very opinionated.”
It instantly goes onto the top of Regina’s favorite compliments regarding her son. Which is interesting given how the same phrase had felt like an insult coming from her mother only days before. But it would be difficult to find a woman more unlike her mother than Emma Swan. Perhaps that’s what makes the comment feel so precious now.
“I’m glad you think so, Miss Swan.”
Emma laughs and rolls her eyes, though Regina can’t imagine what she said might result in such a reaction.
“Please, I don’t think anyone has ever called me that unless they were offering an endorsement deal. It’s just Emma,” she says. Green eyes twinkle with mirth as she smirks. “Or just Swan, but you don’t strike me as the type.”
“Are you implying that I don’t have the jock vibe, Emma?”
The low chuckle in combination with the once over Emma gives her brings that fluttering feeling right back.
Her hands in her back pockets mean that her shrug comes off a little awkward. It makes a cockiness that Regina would normally find offputting almost charming. And Regina is surprised that she’s a little delighted by it. Certainly enough that she finds herself wanting to see what other gems this clumsy charm might lead to.
“I guess I’ll have to find out… Mrs…?”
It’s Regina’s turn to chuckle at that. She holds out her hand. “Regina is fine,” she says as Emma takes it in a firm shake. Regina thinks she would be content to not let go for some time. And the brain power that goes into that is the excuse she’ll use later when she asks herself why on earth she says, “It’s not Mrs. anything.”
Emma’s grin and the extra squeeze she gives Regina’s hand before letting go is worth the embarrassment.
“Um so…” Her hand goes back to scratch her neck, at a loss for how to get to her point. She rocks back on her heels, bottom lip disappearing between her teeth, and it’s possibly the most adorable thing Regina has seen since Henry stopped wearing footie pajamas when he was eight. Finally, she points her thumb casually over shoulder, to where Henry is making a big display of yawning. “The kid said that you might enjoy some company for a bit?”
***
“I hear you’re getting tired,” Regina says as she sits back down next to her son. He looks up at her with sleepy eyes that still shine with the brightness of a young boy who just talked with his hero for a good long while.
“That was the greatest thing ever. She’s so awesome, Mom.”
His grin makes the entire horrible week worth it. She would spend every week with her mother if she knew each of them would end with Henry looking at her like this. Though something tells her that constant Cora would begin to fatigue them eventually, no matter the outcome. And the day Henry doesn’t look ecstatic to spend time with Emma Swan would be a very sad day.
She leans in to brush away his bangs so she can kiss him on the forehead. He doesn’t even grumble and it makes her lips turn into a smile against his skin.
“I’m so glad, sweetheart,” she whispers. His yawn makes them both laugh. “I think you need a nap. You don’t mind if I go keep Miss Swan company while you sleep, do you?”
Eyes flit over Regina’s face, inquisitive and searching in a way that Regina isn’t sure how to interpret. She wonders for a moment if he feels weird about her leaving him by himself but then he rolls his eyes and her and grins broadly again.
“I think I can deal with napping while you sit a couple yards away from me. Go have fun. Stop thinking about Grandma.” His certainty regarding her anxieties surprises her, as does his firm command.
She scoffs it off.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to mention her today,” she says with a smirk. She kisses his head, but pauses as she turns in Emma’s direction and looks back at him with concern. “Do you think you’ll get cold?”
He shrugs. Regina sighs, because Henry has always complained about being cold when he falls asleep in the living room without a blanket. So grabbing one from the overhead bin, she drapes it over him.
“I love you, Henry,” she says, leaving one last kiss on his forehead. Which is apparently one too many. His face scrunches up and he wipes the feeling of the kiss off as she pulls away.
It’s surprising that the move no longer sends a pang of sadness through her. It feels more like him becoming a teen who can only take so much motherly affection and less the result of a son who is pulling away because he thinks his mother is evil and couldn’t possibly love him. And as much as she has always dreaded the age where she can no longer drown her precious baby boy in love, she can’t help being glad that they’ve gotten here. This only proves how much they have progressed these last three years.
He places his hand on top of hers where it sits on his arm rest and squeezes it while they smile at each other.
It fills her heart with warmth and she feels the sudden need to cry a little.
“I love you too, Mom.”
She will not cry. She won’t allow it. Not when she’s about to go sit with an international soccer star and talk about who knows what.
“Can I just…” She’s not sure why she needs to show so much affection. Except maybe it’s that she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the things her mother told him. She needs an immediate way to prove to him that she doesn’t agree with any of her mother’s opinions and this seems like the best way. Her pause has him raising a skeptical eyebrow at her. It’s such a perfect mirror of her own that she wishes she had a picture of them side by side to show anyone who might believe he doesn’t take after her because they aren’t blood. “Can I give you one more kiss?”
“Fine,” he says with every bit of teenaged displeasure he can fit into a single syllable. She’s about to laugh and tell him it’s alright if he doesn’t want it, but before she can, he lowers his head to give her the only option he finds acceptable.
She laughs and kisses the top of his head. Lets her lips rest on his hair for several seconds. Breathes in his still pleasant boy smell. She’s grateful she convinced him to shower this morning before they left, but sad that it means he smells in part like Cora’s ridiculously fragrant shampoo.
“Oh my god, Mom. You’re gonna be literally seven feet away from me. You can stop acting like you’re sending me off to war or something.”
***
“I feel awful for not recognizing you,” Regina says not long after sitting down next to Emma. It has eaten away at her since it became clear that this woman meant a great deal to Henry. It feels good to get it off her chest.
“You shouldn’t, honestly,” Emma says. That slight smile that Regina is quickly becoming fond of is back. “It’s not like men’s soccer, and even then, this is the US. We’re not exactly the pro athletes who get our faces plastered everywhere.”
Which is nice of her to say, but completely beside the point.
“You’re my son’s hero, Miss Swan.”
When she is met with a quirked up eyebrow, she rolls her eyes.
“Em-ma,” she corrects. Except all that achieves in a wide eyed look from her companion. Regina huffs and gestures towards her. “I’m sure all the other soccer moms would have recognized you instantly. I don’t know what Henry told you about our life, but we’ve had our ups and downs, and the truth is, I’m still far too busy when I should be focusing more on him.” She notices that her hands have begun trembling and brings them down to her lap quickly, taking a deep, calming breath in an attempt to gain control of her emotions. “He’s always going over to other houses to watch games when he should be able to have friends come over. I should be able to share this with him.”
“I’m sure he understands the work thing,” Emma says, her face softened with far too much compassion.
“Did he tell you what I do?”
“No, he was very good about the not sharing personal information rule.”
Regina chuckles. She glances over at her son and smiles at the sight of him already fast asleep, his head against the window.
“He seemed determined to go against it somehow, but I’m not sure I’ll ever find out what that was all about.”
“He did bring up being adopted,” Emma says after a moment of indecision over whether or not to mention it. The statement has Regina confused. Even now that his adoption is something that Henry understands, even something they celebrate, it’s rarely something he talks about openly. “Probably because I’ve talked publicly about growing up in the foster system.”
“You were adopted too?”
It’s something Henry failed to mention in his Introduction to Emma Swan lesson. Suddenly his love for her makes even more sense.
“I never got that lucky,” she says. Regina isn’t sure how to respond to that beyond laying her hand over Emma’s. If Emma’s subdued smile is anything to go by, it was the right thing to do. “I did have a couple of families who were very good to me who I still keep in touch with. I doubt I would have made it here without their support, but it’s nothing like Henry has with you. Just the little I’ve seen you two interact… that’s special.”
“I feel lucky to have him in my life,” Regina says, wistful, and it strikes her how rarely she gets to talk about him like this, when most of the town has known him since he was a toddler. When most of the town cares more about her positions on The Issues than how this boy changed her life. “Becoming Henry’s mother is the best decision I have ever made.
“We’ve gotten through so much together, and he told me he was fine with me taking this job. He said he was fine with me working these ridiculous hours, that he was old enough to be a little more independent and this was too important for me to give up. He’s so proud of me, which is the most amazing feeling in the world, but I don’t know,” she sighs and looks down where she’s pinching the base of her thumb, trying to hold back against the overwhelming feelings bubbling up. “This past week is the most uninterrupted time we’ve spent together in almost three years and it required visiting my mother to make it happen. I don’t like not being able to focus on him.”
“What do you do?”
Regina looks up. She had almost forgotten that someone else was there. That the person she is pouring her heart out to is barely more than a complete stranger. The shame of it heats her face.
“I’m a mayor.”
“You’re the mayor of Boston?”
And all of those bubbling feelings flow out of her at once in bright, genuine laughter.
She doesn’t mean to laugh at Emma’s expense, but the look on her face is priceless. Eyes wide and a deep frown on her lips, she’s clearly trying to figure out how the woman sitting next to her has been the mayor of her city for the last couple of years without her realizing it.
The laugh releases all of that pent up frustration and shame and anxiety in one delightful rush. It’s a wonderful feeling, but she does feel a little guilty when Emma’s confused frown turns into a wounded pout. Regina brings her hand back up to pat the one that hasn’t left its position on the arm rest.
“Not Boston,” Regina says. Laughter is still in her voice. “It’s a small town. Tiny really. Though my constituents are demanding enough that you’d think there was a large city’s worth of them.”
“Sounds like hell,” Emma says without thinking.
She covers her mouth a moment later, surprised she said it out loud, but it has Regina laughing again. Because her closest friends would all agree.
“Oh, it is,” Regina says. “I’ve lived there for most of my life and hell is a very good word for it. I love it though. Getting to help it improve is something I’ve always dreamed of doing. Young, idealistic me didn’t fully understand the constant uphill battle that is fighting against idiots in the city council with far too much power and horrible critical thinking skills, but I really do love it.”
“You’d just love it more if it gave you the time you wanted with Henry.”
Regina can only nod.
Conversation flows surprisingly well after that. Years in politics has made Regina skilled at talking to people. Feeling comfortable in a conversation that isn’t with her son or a couple of close friends is something else altogether.
They talk about Regina’s work and the charity Emma is working on with some of her teammates for underprivileged girls who want to play soccer. They talk about embarrassing travel stories and Regina finds her laughter isn’t forced. It turns out they have a similar self deprecating sense of humor that Regina didn’t expect and she’s delighted.
The one topic Regina has been dreading is explicit soccer talk. Emma knows that Regina is unfamiliar with her, but being someone who grew up with a great deal of love for the sport but hasn’t followed it beyond vague awareness in fifteen or so years is a difficult space to inhabit.
But somehow, Emma finds a way into that conversation that doesn’t make Regina feel out of her depth.
“Do you remember the 99 World Cup?” she asks.
“I was at the final game.”
“No way!” Emma says, eyes wide. “Really?”
“I have cousins in Pasadena who we used to visit every summer, so as soon as my father found out the final would be there, he bought tickets for the two of us. I doubt I’ll ever get a better birthday present,” Regina says with a laugh.
It will always be one of her most cherished memories. It was one of the first times her father had so openly defied his wife, beyond letting her sneak off to play with the neighborhood children or the two of them watching univision games in secret on an old television in the basement. The memory is far from uncomplicated though. Being there, surrounded by other teenage girls who loved that team as much as she did, had been alienating.
She hasn’t thought about the multitude of feelings about that game in years. She hasn’t thought about how much she had envied the girl sitting next to her, there with her mother and wearing her team’s jersey, her face and hair covered in red, white and blue. Mother would have called the girl barbaric. Regina had wanted to be just like her.
For a few hours, she got to pretend she was.
The memory is bittersweet for sure, but she smiles back on it now.
“It was incredible, being there for that game. It as a great game, but I think I remember the atmosphere more. The only thing I’ve ever been to since that felt as charged and hopeful was going to an Obama rally in Boston ten years ago. Both times I could tell that something monumental was happening.”
“Though Obama didn’t have Brandi Chastain removing her shirt,” Emma says, nudging Regina’s arm with her elbow, eyebrows waggling. It’s ridiculous, and Regina can’t help a warm, full laugh.
“He certainly could have done with more black sports bras,” Regina says. She wipes at the tears that begin to leak from her eyes. “I will never forget that. My mother would have been scandalized if she’d been there.”
“It must have been amazing.” Regina looks over to see a wistful look on Emma’s face that she’s sure she shares. “I watched it on tv with a bunch of other kids at a group home. Getting kids a ball to kick around at a park was always a good, cheap way to keep us from getting into too much trouble. That was the first time most of us got to watch professional soccer and really learn the rules. I doubt I’d be where I am now without that World Cup and how popular it made girl’s soccer.”
“It was the same when I was young; all kids in parks and having something to do at recess. I was never on any teams or anything,” she says, remembering that old sting of envy. It has dulled a great deal over time, more than she ever thought it would, but it is still there. “I guess I was a bit too old to be in that bubble where it was suitable for girls to play.”
“Oh?”
Regina isn’t sure how much of her troubled childhood she feels comfortable sharing, but that look of genuine interest and concern is back in Emma’s eyes.
“I loved it, and my father loved it. We bonded a lot over staticky games in Spanish. Mother didn’t approve though. As soon as I grew boobs, it was out of the park and into ballroom dancing and etiquette and basically anything to keep me inside and out of the sun,” Regina says, followed by a dark chuckle. She’d thought she was well over this particular bitterness towards her mother, but knowing the cruel old woman had spent the week filling Henry with doubt brings it all rushing back. “I’m pretty sure that she’s still bitter she was never allowed to get my sister and me involved in some kind of Daughters of the Revolution nonsense.”
“Is your mother actually Emily Gilmore?”
The laugh that brings out of Regina feels healing.
“I’ve often thought so,” she says.
***
By the time Regina is back in her own seat, she’s feeling alive in a way she never would have thought possible at the end of a flight across the entirety of the continental United States. Let alone after five days with her mother. Who knew that Emma Swan, international soccer star, is what she needed to turn her Thanksgiving weekend around?
With all the anxiety that had hung around her like a fog for the last several hours finally lifted, Regina opens her book with the hope to at last get some reading done. Henry sleeps on next to her, drooling peacefully on the airplane pillow. There’s more than enough time to read at least one more chapter before the plane lands.
Her brain seems to have other plans.
While her friends convince her to go on dates a few times a year, it has been a long time since Regina has had feelings for someone that could be said to resemble something like a crush. It has been years since she felt romantic interest in another person.
She knows that the possibility is low that she will ever say more than a few passing words to Emma in the future; if she and Henry are able to get to one of her games and she recognizes them, maybe.
But her brain is stuck on Emma like an overeager puppy with a new toy.
Circling and circling, one fantasy after another, no matter how hard she tries to stop them. Which, to be fair, isn’t very hard at all.
Emma Swan repairing her fence in the heat of the summer sun. Sweat soaking her tank top and slick across the well worked muscles of her shoulders. Regina coming over to offer her iced tea and a hand towel and a kiss on the cheek, before getting pulled into another, deeper kiss.
The two of them snuggled up on her couch with mugs of coffee and different sections of the morning paper. A couple of dogs and a cat lazing at their feet while Emma’s fingers play through her hair.
Reality slips back in, reminding her that even if everything else magically falls into place, she is still the mayor of a small and relatively conservative town in rural Maine. Reminds her that nothing in the world would get them to elect an openly bisexual, Latina single mother for a second term. Reminds her, like Mother loves to as often as she can, that being Cora’s daughter is the only reason she was elected in the first place. And well, it’s not wrong.
It has nothing on the memory of Henry’s laughter that fills her head and her heart. His animated face as he got to talk about his passion with his idol. The way Emma spoke to him in turn; the way she so easily drew him out of his shell like Regina has rarely seen him do with strangers since he was small.
What is being a mayor to that?
An announcement comes over the speakers that they’re about to start their descent into Logan International Airport. It jolts Regina out of the light slumber she hadn’t noticed drifting into.
***
“Mom, you should totally ask her out,” Henry says the moment they get passed the gate and it’s clear they’re far enough away from Emma that she won’t be able to hear them. Her son has learned some tact at least. Though not nearly enough, apparently.
Her first thought is to ‘Henry Daniel Mills’ him again, but she’s beginning to worry that she has said it enough on this trip alone to make it completely ineffective. She gapes at him instead, doing her best to simply keep walking through the busy airport so they don’t get run over.
“She’s a professional athlete,” she says eventually, as if he might have forgotten. But of course now that he’s had Emma’s undivided attention for over an hour, that barrier between celebrity and fan is probably starting to weaken for him. She frowns. “And I’m just a small town mayor in the middle of nowhere Maine. The possibility of us even seeing each other again is slim, Henry. That she’d ever contemplate a relationship with me is-is…”
Thankfully Henry jumps in before she has to find a way to finish that sentence. He quite literally jumps with delight.
“So you have contemplated a relationship with her then?” he asks, spinning around to face her and walking backwards.
“Henry.” She gives him a look and turns him back around by his shoulders.
Before he lets himself be turned, he gives her a look of his own. It’s knowing in a way that she is not sure what to think of, but she’s certain she doesn’t appreciate it. He has acquired far too much of his aunt’s influence for someone who only sees her once a year or so. They’ve probably been chatting behind her back about her lack of a love life and plotting. She is constantly grateful that her mother lives on the other side of the country, but she suddenly finds herself just as glad that her sister does as well.
“Come on, Mom.” He draws out the vowels enough to let her know that his petulant ten year old self is alive and well. “She’s wonderful. And I saw the way you two were together. You were smiling more than I’ve seen in a really long time. And flirting horribly. And she was practically swooning over you.”
“I was not flirt-” she cuts herself off. “How do you know what a woman looks like when she swoons?”
“I’m thirteen, Mom, not a baby.” He rolls his eyes.
Which is fair. He has caught her off guard by dumping all of this on her so immediately and she is woefully unprepared. Even the few times she has seriously dated since he was old enough to be aware that his mother might have a life outside of him - and they have been very few - he has never pushed her this hard about a potential love interest. Is it only because Emma is his idol? Or does he maybe see the same potential there that she is trying not to think about?
“I thought you were sleeping?”
He glares at her and it is all Zelena. Imperious and having no time for her deflecting. She’s definitely going to have a talk with her sister.
“I thought you’d enjoy talking to her,” he says after a moment. His glare turns into a smirk that isn’t much better. “She’s fun and thoughtful, and I know you don’t get to talk to people much these days unless it’s about politics and town stuff. You enjoyed it, right?”
“So you were trying to set me up.” She’s a little impressed.
“You’re totally avoiding my question, which means you definitely enjoyed her company.”
He walks ahead of her, a smug stance in his shoulders and gait. She is sure he’s grinning from ear to ear, basking in his victory. She sighs.
“Henry.” She speeds up a few steps until she’s even with him and takes his hand. He looks at her but doesn’t shrug her off and it makes her feel lighter. A little like she had when she was talking to Emma. Like how she felt when she watched Emma and Henry talk so easily together. But it doesn’t last. “It’s not that easy. We’re from two very different worlds. She’s probably never been to Maine in her life. And-” she takes a breath and squeezes his hand - “and she’s probably not even interested in women.”
Henry laughs at that. Stops in the middle of the moving walkway and tilts his head back and laughs at her.
“Now I know I’ve taught you not to laugh at me when I’m talking to you about serious things.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, though he’s still trying to catch his breath and get his smile in check. “It’s just… I really expected you to google her the moment you left me alone with her.”
“I barely googled her.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means ,” Regina draws out the word. She rolls her eyes. She absolutely will not admit to her son that she spent any amount of time lusting over a page of Google image results. “That I looked at a couple of pictures of her to make sure she was who you both said she was and then I closed out the page.”
Henry narrows his eyes while looking over her face for a moment, because clearly she’s awful at being nonchalant with her son when it comes to how attractive she finds his role models. He scoffs.
“I can’t believe you didn’t at least look at her wiki article. Marian is the best person in Storybrooke and you did a full background check on her.”
“Marian is a city employee, it was required and not at all personal. Though letting you spend time at her house with your friends is much different than you talking to someone for an hour while I sit across the aisle.” Regina takes a deep breath and flexes her wrist. This is getting out of hand. “What is your point exactly?”
“Mom, the entire world knows Emma Swan is gay,” his says through more laughter. “I’m surprised ‘Emma Swan lesbian’ didn’t come up as a suggestion when you typed her name.”