THE DARK SWAN AND THE EVIL QUEEN

A/N: Firstly, welcome to yet another SQ fic, this time with ballet (because dark swan, black swan, etc). I am on vacation and I wrote this ALL on my phone, so please excuse any typos and the limited formatting. Secondly, drinking and driving is dangerous, not just for you but for everyone around you, so please, please, do not do it. This story begins with a reckless situation in which a character makes some bad decisions. These decisions are not in any way endorsed by the author as appropriate for real life.

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Fuck. This. Shit. Emma, or The Dark Swan as the magazines called her, stalked out of the bar. Dancers were so full of shit. Healthy? Yeah right. More like drunken junkies maintaining ridiculous standards with energy drinks and bulemia. Emma swigged the dregs of her whiskey from the bottle she held inside a brown paper bag, threw the whole lot away, and swung herself into her motorcycle. It was black, like her soul. She chucked, turned the keys in the ignition, crammed her wild blonde hair into her helmet, and surged into the night. She wove in and out of traffic, her mind a blur of frustration and desperation.

She needed to dance.

The studio was dark; she left the lights off, enjoying the emptiness. She twirled her iPod in her fingers, choosing the song. She grinned, then plugged it into the sound system. If she ever taught dance classes, she'd tell the kids this song was about dancers, because for every success. there were pretty much infinite failures.

Bam, bam, bam, another one bites the dust. Emma shed her clothes, her boots and socks, her red leather jacket, her too-tight jeans, her black tank top. She stood in her black sports bra and boy shorts, flexed her abs, and began to stretch to the beat. She resisted the temptation to push herself too hard. Even stars needed to warm up. Stars. Emma made a noise of derision at the thought, and waited for the next song, the sign that her warm up was over. She grinned widely when it started.

"She keeps her Moet et Chandon

In her pretty cabinet

'Let them eat cake' she says

Just like Marie Antoinette

A built-in remedy

For Kruschev and Kennedy

At anytime an invitation

You can't decline

Caviar and cigarettes

Well versed in etiquette

Extraordinarily nice

She's a Killer Queen

Gunpowder, guillotine

Dynamite with a laser beam

Guaranteed to blow your mind

Anytime

Ooh, recommended at the price

Insatiable an appetite

Wanna try?"

And Emma danced. No one ever saw her dance like this. She was a perfect professional in public. Well, okay, no. But she was when she was dancing. That was the only way she got away with everything else. Alone, though, she really could be anything. She flew through the air, singing out loud, her hair whipping around with every sloppy pirouette. Emma had spent her whole life developing flawless technique, but she only felt truly happy when she danced with her heart rather than her head.

She danced for hours, until she was gasping for breath, until she'd exhausted every Queen song in her music library's repertoire.

Then, as dawn crept into the studio, she pulled her clothes back on, switched the sound system for headphones, and walked out into the street. She kept the world out, hardly interacting even when she bought a cup of coffee from her usual vendor, not even glancing at the front page of ELLE (she was on it) or the entertainment feature of the NY Times (her again) or the posters declaring the opening of Swan Lake in a month, that showed her in her full swan regalia. She'd had her wild phase, which the tabloids loved to discuss, but now, really, Emma Swan (yes, her real name) just wanted to be left alone.

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Regina flicked through yet another magazine with the lithe blonde stereotype as its main feature. She rolled her eyes, just as her mother would have. Then she strolled into her studio, flicked on the lights, examined herself in the mirror, smiling at her designer leotard that covered her petite, toned form. She stretched, she performed the same routine before every practice. Then she began the Swan Lake playlist. It was absurd, this idea of the most famous dancing company in the world, to have two female leads in Swan Lake instead of using a man. It was also amazing, and though Regina would never admit it, she was ecstatic that they had shipped her from LA to partner with the infamous Dark Swan. Emma Swan had starred in Swan Lake for three seasons already, but this year, she was to take the "male" role, and Regina would be the heroine.

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Emma finished her coffee, then ran all the way to her apartment. She had to shower, change, eat, have coffee number two, braid her hair... She raced through her morning routine, a brief yawn the only indicator that she had hardly slept in three days, then grinned as she pulled up the picture of Regina Mills, LA's Evil Queen of ballet, and her new dancing partner. She looked like a stuck up bitch. This was going to be fun. Emma cackled. She really was dark.

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Regina took one last look at Emma's cover, sipped her grapefruit juice, and buttoned herself into her Burberry jacket. Her buzzer rang; she left her penthouse suite into her private elevator, left the hotel with barely a nod to the concierge who held the door for her, and slid into the leather of her limousine. She rolled her back and shoulders, frowning momentarily at the slight ache caused by lack of sleep. It was just jet lag, she assured herself. She ignored the annoying reminder in the back of her mind that she had been having trouble sleeping back in LA, too.

As the car moved effortlessly through the streets, Regina thought she saw a blonde blur through the tinted window. Could it really be..? She made a face. If Swan was late there would be hell to pay. No one kept Regina Mills waiting.

Regina finished in her private dressing room, her black leotard and tights setting off her olive skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. The studio was already occupied. The director was there - Gold. An impish little man, he had basically rewritten the entire story to, in Regina's opinion, fulfil some weird lesbian fantasy. But she also thought the script was just what the industry needed. It was fresh and progressive, and ballet /really/ needed that. Regina had a feeling her mother would not be so positive about the massacre of a classic, but Regina liked a lot of things about it. There was both dark and light in both characters, and both strength and weakness. The only reason she called Swan's the "male" part was because Swan was taller, and would be lifting, while Regina would be lifted. Regina hid her fear about this - showing distrust in Swan's strength would only make it more likely for her to fail. She also had to hide some frustration, but that was easier, because it was directed only at her height, and arguably being small made her a better dancer anyway.

Regina did her warm up, preparing her tirade for when Emma was late. Two minutes left. One minute. Thirty seconds, Regina's brow furrowed, twenty, ten, nine-

Emma Swan, also all in black, walked into the room for all the world as if she hadn't just sprinted ten blocks. She wasn't even out of breath. She tucked a loose strand of hair into her bun. Regina glared at her.

"Black is /my/ colour," she muttered under her breath.

"Looks great on you, I gotta say," Emma whispered in her ear. Regina blushed furiously. She hadn't thought Emma would hear.

"Shall we get started, then?"

Gold seemed turned on already. Emma seemed determined to play up to his fantasy. Regina could see why someone like Emma Swan would find that amusing.

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God, she was even cuter in person. And she was angry already. It made her so adorable. Emma was tempted to tell her. It would make her even angrier. Maybe this would be her last show. She had enough money, she'd had enough of fame... She could retire into teaching and spend the rest of her days yelling at spoilt kids who didn't know their left foot from their right. She tried not to puke at the thought.

Gold went through the first piece he wanted to prepare. They listened to the music, then began to block the steps. Emma didn't remember blocking being anything like this much fun. But maybe it was the close proximity to Regina, who, having recovered from her blush, was doing a brilliant job of showing no emotion whatsoever.

Trying not to laugh at Gold's excitement whenever they touched, Emma allowed her fingers to linger as they brushed against her partner. Maybe she imagined it, but at one point, she could have sworn she heard Regina sigh.

Helplessly curious, as they continued, Emma kept them closer and closer, then, when Gold called to take five, she grabbed Regina's wrist and took her pulse. Regina gasped, affronted, and totally caught.

"Either you're shockingly unfit, or totally into this," Emma said, almost saying "me" but deciding at the last moment that it would be foolish to push too hard.

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"It's something different, that's all."

Emma laughed."Imagine me with a cock, so it's more like what you're used to."

Regina smirked. Two could play at this game. "What makes you so sure cock is what I'm used to?"

It was Emma's turn to gasp. Regina smiled smugly, and Emma didn't manage to speak before Gold announced the break was over and they went back to blocking. Gold really was a creep, Regina decided, but so many directors were... At least he kept his hands to himself. And he was incredibly talented. She couldn't condone his voyeurism, but it was so common in her line of work. After all, she was paid to be looked at. Regina saw performance culture as society's way of condoning prostitution. She and Emma might not be fucking anyone, but they allowed themselves to be anyone's fantasy, and in a way they had far less control than street walkers.

Regina thought back to her childhood, when all she'd wanted to do was dance. She wondered if her life would ever be simple again. She doubted it. She also wondered, fleetingly, how Emma felt about the whole thing. Could the other woman really just find it amusing?

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Emma forced her mind to swerve roads laughter yet again. She'd been in this business too long. It was getting harder and harder to find everything funny. People like Gold were becoming uncomfortably real.

Regina was helping, though. She was such a distraction. Teasing her, and now being teased by her, took Emma's mind off pretty much everything else.

They finished blocking, ran through the piece, then Gold sent them off to practise. Emma watched Regina click the door closed behind them. They were alone. But the electric atmosphere was just the music, the dancing... Right? They didn't speak, they remembered the steps. Everything went off without a hitch until the first lift.

Regina could feel Emma's strength, their shared strength, and had to hold back a smile. She hadn't felt so powerful when dancing since... Since she could remember. The recording of the famous piece made her feel like she was flying. She and Emma danced as characters meeting for the first time. As characters full of hope. As characters falling in love.

They spun together. Emma had been working on lifts for months, she was incredibly prepared. It should have been no trouble. But then Regina looked at her. LOOKED. And there was a nervous anticipation in the brunette's eyes that had nothing to do with dancing, and suddenly Emma's heart was racing and the tightness of her core muscles faltered for a moment and as she swept Regina into the air, she stumbled backwards, causing Regina to fall. Emma caught her, of course, but the impact led to another stumble, and Emma landed on her ass on the hard wooden floor, with Regina in an ungainly heap on her lap.

"IDIOT!" Regina yelled, all the more angry because she knew she had surprised Emma. They were dancing around something, but they had to keep their distance. Regina had gotten too close.

"I'm so sorry," Emma said, setting Regina on her feet, then scrambling up ungracefully. She pulled herself together, reminding her muscles that she was a dancer. Her posture became respectable again. They were both blushing.

"At least it wasn't in front of Gold," Emma said with a wry chuckle.

"If there had been an audience, I would have killed you," Regina said, no trace of humour in the statement.

Emma put a hand to her heart in mock-horror. "You terrify me, Regina."

Regina liked the way Emma's mouth caressed her name. They had made no introductions, they both knew very well who their partner was.

"I hope your fear inspires you to be more careful the next time you are holding me six feet in the air, Miss Swan."

"Shall we test it?"

Regina forced herself not to worry. Emma had recovered from the slip without causing any damage. Regina was fine. She had felt quite safe, caught in the blonde's arms.

"You're not at all hurt from the fall?" she checked.

Emma leaned around as if to examine her backside.

"Looks okay to me. What do you think?"

Regina rolled her eyes.

"Don't you dare drop me," she said as they rewound the music and prepared for the lift.

They danced into each other. Emma felt perfectly confident. She resisted the temptation to wink at Regina right before she lifted her. It had taken less than that to throw Emma off; she didn't want a repeat mistake, and Emma secretly thought Regina's part, in this instance, was harder than hers. Also, a mistake by Regina could cause Emma a lot more damage than them simply falling to the floor.

They executed the lift perfectly. Regina waited until her feet were safely on the floor, then caught Emma's eye again.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" she said snarkily.

Emma didn't reply. They finished the piece.

"Again?" Emma asked. Regina nodded, all snark disappearing as she moved fully into work mode.

They rehearsed, they blocked, they rehearsed again. By the end of the week all their solos would be finished, by the end of the next, every scene would be memorised, the next week would be group rehearsals, and the week after, dress rehearsals, ending with the opening night. Gold was frantic as always, but Emma thought they had a leisurely amount of time to prepare.

At the end of the first day, most of the dancers went to a local bar to celebrate. Emma and Regina resolutely ignored the fact that they were the only ones not going. They also resolutely ignored each other, though Regina couldn't help but notice a blonde bombshell straddle a motorcycle and roar out of the parking lot as she got into her limousine.

Emma stopped by her favourite Chinese place, then rode home with the takeout bag on her lap, inhaling the delicious scent of grease and additives and questionable meat. She parked and locked up the bike, bounded upstairs, then dove into the bag, still on the way to the couch, where she flopped down and munched her meal, then turned on some dramatic TV show. Someone was about to get murdered. Emma let the psycho killer do her stuff, collecting a tub of rocky road ice cream to wash down the fried-ness.

Regina had a routine that she kept to even when away from home. She showered, moisturised, dressed in silk pyjamas, then sat down to drink a pint of water and eat a salad. She had given explicit instructions to the hotel kitchen on how the salad should be prepared. Then she did some light stretches, and settled on the couch to read a book.

The book was boring, though. It had been her mother's. With a sigh, she turned on the TV. She felt guilty even before there was a picture on the screen, but the screams of someone being murdered grabbed her attention and she found herself forced to find out what was happening.

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Just like the day before, Emma was very nearly late, though she showed no concern. They were working on the most famous solo, in which Regina was the feature, and Emma was more... A worshipful subject. Emma had been preparing for the new role, but even with the much revised script, it was strange to see another woman in what she had come to know as her place. It was a sad, desperate piece of music, and Regina danced the emotion perfectly. Emma decided that was the problem. She didn't say anything in front of Gold, but when they left to practise without him, she expressed her concerns.

"You have to feel it. I know I'm a pain in the ass, but in this dance, this character, she really thinks I'm the shit, you know?"

Regina almost laughed. It seemed that Emma's wording was always colourful.

"Thank you for the advice," she said politely. "I will work on incorporating a belief that you are 'the shit' into my dancing."

"I love it when you curse," Emma said, pretending to shudder.

"Please control yourself. Shall we work, now?"

The week continued in this manner. Emma tried to sleep rather than drink. Regina tried to figure out how to put emotion into her dancing.

They both reached a breaking point on Saturday night, the night before their one day off.

Emma broke her lonely, sober streak, and went to the bar. Regina watched her leave with the other dancers with something like jealousy, though she told herself this was ridiculous. Regina had been feeling more and more insecure about her emotional expression. She had always argued that it was acting, and that the skill was to show emotion that you did not feel. But watching Emma, there was something else. Emma FELT. There was pain in her eyes, not just in the way she moved, and her dancing drew the audience in in a way Regina was not sure she could match. Watching Emma's solo, she had been brought almost to tears. To TEARS. By an annoying, silly, immature idiot.

Regina was a queen. That was what her mother had always said. She was a queen, she was better than that, she was better than foolishness, she was always poised, always perfect.

Sitting alone in her hotel room on Saturday night after yet another salad, Regina wanted to be anything but perfect. On a bizarre impulse, she stripped down to her underwear, found her headphones and iPod, and scanned through her music library for the most rebellious song she could find.

She didn't have much. It was all songs for performances, songs to memorise, or improving classical pieces. Frustrated, Regina searched online. Somehow, her irritated search led her to "Queen". And then "Killer Queen".

She pressed play. She had heard of Queen, of course, but she made a point (and her mother had made a point) of not polluting her ears with "classless" music, so she did not recognise the song.

It wasn't as fast as she'd been expecting, but the beat and the baseline crept into her feet and before long she was prancing around the room, turning up the volume and throwing in jumps and kicks just for the hell of it. She found herself in her bedroom; she jumped on the bed, posing for the mirror, swaying her hips, admiring the muscles she worked so hard for. She WAS a killer queen.

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Emma, meanwhile, was on her fifth whiskey, though she had paid for nothing. She wondered if her sponsor knew who she was. Probably. They usually did. Emma didn't bother learning any names. And lately, no matter how many drinks were pressed on her, she had been leaving alone.

Not going home though. No. She had left her bike at the studio. She staggered onto the street, hurrying away from her affronted companion. They gave it up, though. Emma was glad that the majority of people had learned that no really did mean no.

Maybe she would go to the studio too. It had music. She had a song. She decided it was about Regina. Regina who should just have ASKED and Emma would have spent the night with her. Emma had hinted, she'd come very close to offering, but Regina had something snippy about not wasting her social time on the likes of Emma... And then SHE'D had the gall to look hurt, like Emma was leaving HER, when Emma went to the bar.

"I can't decide, whether you should live or die," Emma muttered as she let herself into the studio. Boy, she was drunk. She took out her phone, then, probably in error, sent a link to the song in a text to Regina.

"Whoosh," she giggled, then turned on the sound system and sang the song passionately into the floor to ceiling mirror.

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Regina's phone buzzed. To her surprise, it was Emma. Why would Emma text her? Regina knew she'd been mean earlier, she felt bad, she... Why would EMMA mend fences?

Regina opened the message and put on the song. It blared out into the room. She froze, her mood incredibly confused. Because the song was angry, but some lines really caught in Regina's mind, and she immensely enjoyed the images they created.

"Fuck and kiss you both at the same time," for example. Fucking and kissing Emma-

Regina stopped her mind in its tracks. No. No way. She couldn't go there, she knew what happened to dancers who screwed around with their co stars. They ruined performances, they lost their jobs, and they often seemed to get pregnant. Okay, at least she didn't have to worry about that with Emma.

Regina turned off the music and went to bed. She would pretend she never received the text. She tossed and turned, but the night passed and she spent her day off working out, in contrast to Emma, in fact. Emma spent the day in a miserable, hungover cocoon of blankets.

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The group blocking had pros and cons. On the plus side, it was less work, so there was more time for Emma and Regina to ogle each other while pretending to concentrate. However, it was also stressful and boring, and despite a company of brilliant dancers, Gold was constantly finding flaws and mistakes.

Emma and Regina left to work on their solos, their doubles filling in for them. Emma prayed Regina wouldn't mention the text, but was somehow disappointed when her prayers were answered.

"Good weekend?" she asked when they broke for lunch.

"It was fine. How was yours, Miss Swan?"

"Fine too, I guess. You can call me Emma, you know."

"I prefer to keep things formal."

"Wait, d'you mean you want me to call you Miss Mills?"

"I do not mind what you call me."

Emma grinned.

"Okay, your majesty," she said, jumping up to refill her water bottle before Regina could protest. She whirled round, though, and held out her hand to take Regina's empty bottle too.

Regina passed it over in surprise. Emma bounced off. Regina watched her. She was like a puppy. So eager to please. Apart from with that message. Regina sighed. When Emma returned, she thanked her, then took a deep breath.

"Miss Swan... I apologise for what I said on Friday. I did not mean it, that is to say, I was being flippant. I would not be at all embarrassed to be seen with you."

Emma let out a laugh. Regina looked mortified. Emma quickly tried to explain.

"Oh, no, I'm not laughing at you. I mean, I'm laughing because I'm relieved. I thought maybe you hated me because I texted you that song."

"Ah, that," Regina said awkwardly. "Actually, I rather liked it."

"You did? You're always surprising me, you know."

"Maybe I'm not as boring as you think I am."

"Maybe... For what it's worth, Regina, I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen with you either."

Emma felt a little bad that Regina was so right. Emma did think she was boring. But she was getting less and less boring with each flutter of her eyelashes, and Emma had a horrible feeling that by the end of another week working together, she wouldn't find Regina boring at all.