Keith rubbed his eyes for what seemed the thousandth time and crossed his arms. It was always an ordeal, wasn't it? There was always something, and that something was always stupid. Why report it then refuse to report it to the police? Why talk a big game then whimper back when the offer of someone who can do something about the problem getting involved is put on the table?
Keith hated that sort of nonsense.
Spotting Hunk, Keith tilted his head with a raised brow and spoke. "Don't direct anyone to the sixth floor. Especially middle aged men." He said dryly.
There was a low hum in the bar, the rush had come and gone, and only some of the patrons sat watching the hockey game on the television, while the others whom she wasn’t as used to seeing frequent the Gaslight, chatted up those that had accompanied them. Darcy stood behind the counter with a cloth on her shoulder, brown eyes flitting over the back of the bar, as she tried to figure out what she could get to next. With a sigh, the brunette lifted her gaze and scanned along the drinks that sat atop the top of the bar, most of them were still filled. Then, as if on a whim, she began to make her way down the bar to the person seated at the end of it, and offered them a warm smile as she approached. “How’s your night going?”
The question was innocent enough, but she hoped that there was no bother in it. She was bored, but that wasn’t anything unusual. Keeping her mind occupied, however, allowed her to keep from getting distracted by daydreaming of the ecstasy that was warm blood hitting her tongue.
Ever sat at the end of the bar, a drink in front of her, completely untouched. She wasn’t a drinker, not really. Especially in a town full of supernatural creatures. She wasn’t even sure she was on the job anymore, things had gotten complicated. She didn’t know what she was doing there anymore, but she knew why she was still there. She knew what or rather who was keeping her there. She heaved a sigh and looked up when the vampire running the bar spoke.
It was so strange to her, still, to be sitting here, speaking to a vampire, sitting next to a werewolf, and not trying to kill them. The silver she typically wore, with the exception of a single ring, had been put away. The knifes she typically wore sat in her purse, not in reach. Ever had started to realize, that in this town, the supernaturals were the problem. Rae had helped her see that and now... Now she had no idea what to do.
“Oh, it’s,” she shrugged, not really sure how to proceed with that answer. How was it going? Not great, honestly. She kept hearing about these missing people and something nagged at her like she should say something but she wasn’t sure where her loyalties were anymore. “It’s been better, but, I suppose it’s been worse, too.” She picked up her drink and for the first time since coming to this town, took a sip of something harder than alcohol.
Roger had never thought of himself as a caretaker of anything before that day. The cook could hardly keep a plant alive, let alone something with a functioning circulatory system – the unfortunate incident concerning his fourth grade class pet, a hamster, still haunted him to this very day. No, Rachel had always been the one to take charge of other people, to lead them through their problems with confident, kind words of wisdom and advice. Roger was never great at those things.
Which was why, as he sat at the counter and peeled potatoes, he let a small frown slip onto his face. It had been a joke, yeah, but he couldn’t stop returning to the moment. Roger had never particularly been into the whole camaraderie thing that everyone else was. It wasn’t that he disliked them (speaking only for the vast majority, of course), it was just that it was far easier to stand on the sidelines than it was to join in.
The only sound in the room was the soft, steady scrape of the vegetable peeler.
This was how he preferred it: alone. Alone was easy; privacy was comfortable. Roger knew he’d never be able to be a pilot because that would mean forming some kind of absolute bond with someone, and regardless of how he wanted to feel sometimes, it just couldn’t happen. It wasn’t possible to be complete when half of you was broken, or gone completely. No, Roger dealt with his thoughts only in solitude and silence. Not that made it made them actually easier to process, but there was no one to tell Roger no when he was tired of dealing with them.
They had given him pills for this.
Roger was never mean to anyone – on the contrary, he considered himself a jovial person, against all odds, when the crew was around. The forced laughs and bemused smiles occasionally, sometimes even often, turned into real ones. That didn’t change the fact, though, that he had turned down nearly every offer to go out and do things with other people. Sometimes they looked crestfallen, but rarely did they say anything. Over time, the offers began to slow down. Not that Roger had any right to complain. In his task of feeding the large crew, there was always something to be done, just as he was now sitting at the counter peeling potatoes at three in the morning.
He missed it when Rachel would take him places, though.
Roger grabbed the shredder and began to run the vegetables through it. Hashbrowns were always a hit – perhaps not the healthy, vitamin rich meal he would’ve preferred to feed the crew, but they deserved something a little extra. After all, he had heard the next week was going to be a little crazy. Roger hardly ever asked for details, though, only taking them when proffered during a couple second interaction during serving-time. Sometimes it was simpler to not know as much; it made it easier not to worry.
He found himself worrying a lot more even since he had taken his post here, too. It hardly mattered what Roger himself thought of them individually; but any pilot or soldier lost was a huge loss for the Shatterdome nonetheless. Roger didn’t want to know what they were facing when they headed out in their Jaegers, it being easier in his mind’s eye to defeat some imagined foe rather than the monstrosities described by the scientists. Really, it was just horrible the things they –
“Hello?”
Roger’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar woman’s voice. Turning around to face the doorway, a smile touched his lips as the cook recognized the face. It was the engineer from earlier, the one who had jokingly addressed him as Mom. Something was different, however – her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked very unhappy.
“Hey,” he replied anyways, placing the peeler down on the counter and wiping his hands quickly on the apron tied loosely around his waist. “What’s up?”
“I just came for a snack,” she said, ducking her head. Pausing to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, she glanced quickly back up at Roger. “Don’t mind me.”
Knowing how much the crew around here liked to eat, Roger kept one of the fridges stocked with healthy, ready to go snacks. While the crew sometimes grumbled about his celery and carrot cups, Roger found it was a nice compromise between him not being an on-demand chef and allowing the pilots and workers snacks they didn’t have to pay for themselves. However, it was a Saturday, and he usually restocked it on Sunday evenings after dinner – all that was left now was a measly smattering of vegetable packets that had clearly seen better days, and as Roger watched the engineer dig through the selection, he couldn’t help himself.
“C’mon,” he said, standing up and trying to peer over the fridge door at her. “We both know the stuff in there is junk by now – I’ll make you something fresh.”
She poked her head just enough to watch him. “No, it’s alright, I don’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not being a bother,” Roger quickly went to reassure her, even giving her a helpful smile. He might not know what to say, but he did feel bad for her. “How about a grilled cheese? That, a big glass of milk, and you’ll be back to sleep in no time flat.”
She seemed to hesitated before closing the fridge door, but she did nod at him.
“Alright. Feel free to help yourself to the milk while I just get this going,” he said, nodding quickly as he began to busy himself in preparation. His practiced hands grabbed the pan, buttered the bread, and expertly monitored the sandwich’s status. Grilled cheeses were child’s play so far as cooking went, but there was a reason they remained a staple. The butter and the cheese made for classic comfort food, something he suspected the engineer strongly needed right now. She, like him, didn’t say a word, and when Roger glanced over at her, she was sitting at the counter, looking intently at the surface as she twiddled her thumbs nervously. Recognition of the action stirred sympathy within the cook, but he still had no idea what to say to her.
When the food was done, he grabbed a plate from overhead and brought the sandwich to the woman. Her eyes crinkled slightly as she thanked him, and Roger made sure to return the gesture before he went to turn away. Something stopped him, though – perhaps it was the aftermath of the tears or the way she said nothing but thank you to the cook, her tone sad, but either way, he was compelled to turn back to her.
“Do…”
“Hmm?” She looked up, mouth full of food.
“…do you want to talk?” The invitation, obviously exceeding the politeness of small talk, made them both freeze up slightly – her at being caught, probably, and Roger surprising even himself at the fact he made himself ask about it.
She swallowed the mouthful of food, lifting her eyes up to meet his after a moment. “I suppose that would be nice." A beat of silence and hesitation, and then she continued. "You see, the guys down at engineering…”
Okay, so he was no team mom. But as the engineer spoke to him about her fears and troubles, Roger began to maybe see, in some tiny part, how maybe possibly someone could perhaps in some universe just…get used to it.
