Hey guys. So I've been dying for a Rumbelle/ American Gods AU, so I decided to write it. No worries, even if you don't watch American Gods, you'll still be able to read it. Basically seasons 1 and 2 of Ouat, American God style.
-RL
The gate buzzed as it opened and again as it closed. The light above the fence that surrounded the entryway to the prison flashed red like a siren. Emma assumed it was a warning. Incoming prisoner, outgoing parolee. That's what she was, a felon, a convict that had just served a 10-year stint in prison. She often thought while locked behind the thick bars of her cell that everything was going to be different, the outside world around her would keep changing as it always has, while she was cursed to remain the same, locked in a never changing box.
Seattle's weather was unyieldingly cold for this time of year. It was the end of August and the only wet stuff that should be on the ground, in the middle of summer, was rain, not snow. She had a half of mind to ask, but the guard who was walking her out of the gate didn't seem too perturbed by the packed snow crunching under his boots.
A man leaned languidly against his black Dodge Charger; he looked familiar. However, Emma didn't know this man. It struck her as odd. How could she know a stranger? It was like her senses were conveying two different people. Her feelings knew this man, but her eyes judgment perceived him as a stranger. It felt like déjà vu, and she didn't know which of her senses were true, which should she believe. The man wore a jean jacket above a jean shirt, and his pants were, you guessed it, jeans. Emma thought it was bizarre he wore sunglasses in the wintery overcast. But he did wear a scarf, though it looked like a handmade burlaps sack.
"Emma Swan." He said, not asking, but descriptively, as if he was reminding her who she was.
"The one and only."
He took off his sunglasses in one smooth sweep. "Are you sure?"
"I think so."
"My job just got a whole lot easier then. I'm Detective Weaver. Your probation officer." He said, extending out his left hand. The ring finger had a white opal stone clasped in a silver band.
Emma shook the man's hand skeptically. He seemed friendly enough but who's to say how long that friendliness would last, after all, he was a cop, and Emma was determined to stay out of prison this time.
Detective Weaver walked around and opened the passenger side door. Emma thanked the officer before entering and watched him through the car's rearview mirrors. He had a noticeable limp. After securing himself into the driver seat, he started the car.
"So, where are we going Detective?" Emma asked, watching the prison grow smaller as they pulled off.
"I'd thought we get something to eat first. Something other than prison food."
They drove down a long stretch of open road, it twisted and narrowed, soon becoming only a one lane road. Snow fell onto the window before being scraped away by the windshield wipers. After about 30 minutes of driving in silence, the detective pulled into a diner on the outskirts of the city.
They got out of the undercover car, and Emma placed her hands behind her back, thinking that the detective would prefer her bound at the wrists in case she thought running was a good idea. He eyed her amusingly with a smirk before walking into the diner and holding the door open for her.
Utterly confused, but refusing to ask why, Emma walked in. A hostess welcomed them and told them to pick any available table and have a seat. Together they did as they're told and found a quiet booth in the back of the diner.
The bubbly woman, who mentioned that she would be their waitress, was the same shade of blonde as Emma. She was young, maybe only a couple of years younger than Emma, and pretty. She wondered if she had of stayed out of the pen, would she have the same bubbly attitude as the blonde waitress. There was a time when she did. When she was still with her boyfriend, Emma could light up a room with her extroverted, upbeat personality thanks to him. It was a bittersweet memory. She was hoping to forget about him while in prison, but being locked up didn't provide her with new memories to replace the old ones.
The waitress took their drink orders. The Detective ordered a coffee, black. Emma chose hot chocolate with cream and cinnamon. It was her favorite, and the kind she got in prison was too watered-down and didn't taste like chocolate at all. She brought the drinks back quickly and stated she would give them a little more time to decide what they wanted to eat. Emma watched the detective pull a silver flask from his coat pocket and pour its contents into his coffee mug and stir it with a spoon.
Emma cleared her throat to get the officer's attention. "You know detective, that's illegal."
"Says who?" he said, tucking the flask back into his pocket.
"Well, it's against the law."
He made a tsk sound. "Laws are just stories. They tell us what we can do and what we can't. What to believe and what not to. They are no better than fairy tales."
"Fairytales? Aren't you an officer of the law, how can you even compare laws to fairytales? Laws are written knowledge. Everyone has to obey them."
"Tell me Miss Swan, were you obeying the law when you stole 100,000 dollars' worth of watches?"
"No, but I knew it was illegal."
"And yet that didn't stop you."
"We needed that money." She said, leaning in close.
"Ah, you and… Neal Cassidy, was it? Your boyfriend and accomplice in the crime."
Emma nodded and looked away.
"Has Mr. Cassidy been to see you while you were incarcerated?"
"So that's what this is about? You're trying to get me to tell you where Neal is." Emma sighed and scooted to the edge of her seat. "Like I told my lawyer and the countless of others, I have no idea where he is. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
"So I take it you're in love with Neal?" he asked.
Emma sighed. "I was, a long time ago. Not anymore. Not after he let me go to jail."
"Do you still need time to decide?" The waitress interrupted and refilled their drinks.
"I'll have the omelet." He said before looking over to Emma.
Emma picked her menu and glance at it. She was too busy talking to the detective that she completely forgot to read the menu. Everything on the laminated page looked good enough to eat, but it just felt so weird ordering a meal instead of being served slop three times a day.
"I'll just have oatmeal and toast."
"Don't be silly Miss Swan. You are a free woman." He said before showing the waitress an item on the menu. Emma watched the woman nod and scribble something on her pad.
"So I have one omelet and one Breakfast of the Champions. Got it." She smiled and took their menus. "I'll have that right out."
Emma remembered seeing that on the menu. It consisted of two huge pancakes, sausages, bacon, oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and one French toast loaded with fruit and tons of powdered sugar.
"I can't eat all of that."
"Why not? It's the Champion's Breakfast, and you need sustenance. You've got a lot of work ahead of you." The detective laid a vanilla colored folder on the table and opened it. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"
Emma nodded. "Fine."
"I've been reading over your case, and where it should contain an address, it reads: not applicable. So let's begin with where you're from?"
Emma shrugged. "Hell if I know."
"Allow me to rephrase the question, where did you live when you were younger?"
"New York, Phoenix, Boston, Seattle. Take your pick detective."
"Hmmm." He hummed tentatively.
"I lived in the system." She said, bluntly.
"And what about when you were with Neal?"
"No place for too long." She admitted. "We were drifters."
"Were?" he asked, baiting her.
"We were supposed to build a life together in Tallahassee. We – well I -thought he wanted to start a family."
Weaver snorted, snapping Emma out of her daydream of things that could have been. "And you two chose God forsaken Florida out of all places to settle down."
"What? No. It chose us." Emma explained. "That's why we took those watches."
"So, you broke the law because you believed it would give you a better life?"
Emma nodded. The waitress came back with their food. It was piping hot, Emma could still see the plumes of smoke billowing from the plates as the waitress placed it in front of her. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled. It was her first real meal in ten years, and when she took her first bite, it felt like she hadn't eaten anything in the last two decades. The several bites after were just as good as the first, and Emma failed to notice that the detective was watching her.
"So, what about fairytales?" He asked.
Emma had just finished off the scrambled eggs and bacon. "What?
"You know, fairytales. Fables, bedtime stories, the noble princess, and her charming prince-"
"Alright already," Emma said. His ramblings were so distracting. "I knew what you meant, but what about them?"
"Do you believe in them?"
"In fairytales? Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears?" She asked, and he nodded yes. "No, of course not."
The detective furrowed his brow. "Why not?"
"Because they're not real." Emma shrugged, cutting into the last bit of French toast. "They're just stories that people made up to tell their children."
"Did you believe in them when you were a child?"
"Probably once. I did have a foster brother who use to read me fairytales when I was younger. He left too, and so did my belief in fairytales." Emma told him. He ended up running away from their foster home when he was thirteen, Emma was only eight. After he left, their foster parents decided that they didn't want to be troubled with kids anymore, and Emma was sent back into the system.
The detective smiled. "How would you like to go home Miss Swan?"
Emma stopped eating, frustrated that she couldn't enjoy her meal without his patronizing questioning. "Didn't you just hear me. I have nowhere to go. Neal was my home, and he's gone too."
"Don't be so sure about that." He said. "Allow me to explain the terms of your probation."
"I'm listening." Emma said, dismissively.
"You'll be accompanying me to the town of Storybrooke. There, we will find you a place to stay and a part-time job. During this time, you will report to me every morning. No exceptions. I will give you information on where you will go to do your part-time community service. After you completed the task, you will report back to me. If you do everything right, you're free to leave, or stay, whichever you choose."
Emma's chewing slowed. She swallowed the lump of food all while looking and listening to the detective suspiciously. She'd never heard of a probation officer taking an ex-prisoner out of their jurisdiction. She always thought they were supposed to give her a cup every month to make sure she wasn't involved with drugs, at least that was what some of the women convicts used to tell her. But who was she to correct an officer of the law.
"Storybrooke?"
"Maine." The detective said.
"Maine!" Emma exclaimed, grabbing some of the diner's patrons attention with her outburst. This time, she tries whispering. "I can't go to Maine."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have somewhere else to be?" He asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"No, but it's… Maine."
"Indeed." He said with a wide roguish grin. "It's your choice, Miss Swan. Either come with me to Maine, or go back to prison."
Emma gave it a thought, but it was an easy decision. "Maine, it is then."
"Excellent." He said, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the table. "Let's get you home then. Everyone's been waiting to meet you."
Home? Emma wasn't sure what the detective was talking about, and something inside of her reminded her not to trust him, regardless of him being an officer or not. Maybe she should have asked to see his badge before agreeing to go with him to this, Storybrooke Maine.