So Emma stayed at August's and did sit ups, push ups, and every type of work out she could in the cramped apartment. When the cabin fever set it, usually in the afternoon, Emma went out for some air, walked back to the park she had run through that morning and read the books Regina had sent to her until it was time to pick up August. By now she had read the novels three times over and found herself sitting on the bench, people watching. At least that's what she told August. In reality, she debated on finding Storybrooke, maybe finding Regina up in a phone book and actually hearing her voice for the first time. But she couldn't just show up. Could she?
Apparently she could since it wasn't until the fourth morning when Emma had returned from her run that August wheeled himself to the door to meet her. Her duffel was packed and her rucksack placed on top of it in the man's lap before dropping them at her feet. Emma opened her mouth to question him, her eyes widening at the fact that August seemed to be kicking her out. Wordlessly he presented the Storybrooke postcard Emma had taken to looking at every night then dangled her car keys in the air for her.
"Go," he said simply.
She was quick to retrieve the postcard but eyed her keys warily. "You have a doctor's appointment today."
"I've been getting there for months without a driver. Go." He tossed her the keys and assumed his authoritative voice. "That's an order, soldier."
The smirk played on his lips, but they continued to hold the silent staring contest, neither moving from their position and Emma still dripping with sweat. She was pretty sure August was a second away from pulling rank on her. Her heart, which had calmed on her arrival to the apartment, was now pounding in her ears. Badum-badum-badum.
Emma had seen bombs go off. She had had to use force to calm a rioting crowd. She witnessed her best friend fight for his life. Yet all of that seemed trivial with the mere thought of meeting Regina Mills.
The Welcome to Storybrooke sign was the only reason Emma knew she was heading in the right direction. She had been driving for hours, which wasn't necessarily a problem, but the long expanse of lonely road gave her the unnerving feeling that there was an ambush not too far away. She had to remind herself that she was on American soil, that she was home, and that she was safe. The derisive snort came out easily as she thought back to all those times in her youth where she wasn't safe. Soil didn't matter where people were concerned, that's for damn sure.
But people like Regina, she was different. Who could keep up with a jarhead for three years and get nothing out of it? Still, nerves got the better of her as an emerging town finally started to appear. She glanced down at the postcard on the passenger seat, eyeing the address she had come to memorize. 108 Mifflin Street, Storybrooke, Maine. Now where the hell was that?
She nearly slammed on the brakes when she saw the fabled clock tower, stuck in time as it permanently read 8:15. This is real, Emma thought. All the stories Emma heard, they weren't just stories in letters made up to entertain a homesick soldier. They were real events with real people, and Emma was about to meet them.
Training had taught her the best form of gathering intelligence was to investigate, so parking her car in front of the clock tower, Emma set out to explore the town.
The pawn shop just ahead had to be the one Regina was telling her about with the seedy man who tried to run against her for mayor. She peeked into the shop to see him behind the counter, conversing with a young brunette as he leaned on his cane. Judging by the smell of fried food wafting down the street, Emma was willing to bet that it was coming from the diner that Regina said had the best apple pancakes, though Regina would never tell the chef for fear of inflating her ego. She looked around briefly, wondering where the stables were before her rumbling stomach had another plan. Now was a good time as any to stop for a late lunch.
The bell jingled, signalling her entrance as Emma stepped into the diner. Almost as one, the patrons stopped what they were doing to gawk at the newcomer. Emma had to physically look down to make sure she was still dressed in her civvies. She knew the uniform drew attention, but out of it, she tended to blend in with the crowd. Now, however, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Must be that small town mentality.
"Hi!" A perky brunette with a streak of red in her hair came up to greet her, and just like that, the spell was over and Emma became just another face in the crowd. "One?"
"Yes," Emma nodded following the waitress to the counter.
She slid onto a stool and leaned on her forearms, using her peripherals to take in her location. The diner was something out of the 80's with its checkered linoleum tiling and its jukebox in the corner that was currently on its rotation of Karma Chameleon. It was clearly a place where everyone knew everyone - where teenagers came for their dates, friends met up at after school, and elderly sat to read the morning paper. It was nice. Homely.
"So," the brunette began standing opposite Emma. "What can I get you...?"
"Swan." Emma extended her hand. "Emma Swan."
"Ruby."
Emma shrugged out her hands. "I hear the apple pancakes are good, but I'm guessing you're not serving breakfast right now."
"Apple pancakes?" Ruby raised an intrigued eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know Mayor Mills, would you?"
"Yeah," Emma brightened and straightened in her chair. "Regina. I'm actually looking for Mifflin Street, do you know where I could find it?"
"You want to look for Mifflin," Ruby repeated as she pressed her pen to her lip and looked at Emma as if she were a martian. At Emma's nod, she shrugged and pointed out the door. "Yeah, just head north on Main, take a right on Brighton, and another right on Mifflin. You can't miss the house."
"Thanks," Emma smiled her appreciation before picking up a menu. "So what's good here?"
"My granny says I'm obligated to say everything," Ruby joked. "We make a mean cheeseburger, though."
Emma moaned at the thought. "I haven't had one of those in a while."
Ruby furrowed her brow. "Where are you from?"
"Boston," Emma shrugged.
Ruby laughed and shook her head, accepting the blonde's answer. "Then a cheeseburger coming up."
Emma licked at the dabble of ketchup that oozed from the burger and coated her finger. The last bite held between her index and thumb was more bacon, cheese, and beef than it was bun, and Emma was enjoying every second of it. So engrossed in her food that she didn't even mind when Ruby shook her head and laughed at how much Emma overly enjoyed her meal. The waitress had made it a point to talk to Emma when she wasn't filling an order, and Emma appreciated the company.
The last of the burger gone, Emma licked at her fingers, smacking her lips before wiping her hands and pushing the plate away. Her fries were devoured as was the milkshake she had ordered with it. It was still early on in her leave. She'd have time to work it off.
"Thanks, Ruby," Emma nodded and placed a few bills on the table to cover her meal and tip. She slid off the stool and took steps backwards as she made her way to the door. "So down Main, right on Brighton, and right-"
Emma felt a presence behind her just as the bell jingled signalling a new arrival. She whirled quickly, startling the newcomer, and had just enough time to grasp her firmly around the biceps and spin her further into the diner. Before Emma could even think to utter an apology, the woman in question swatted out of Emma's grasp.