Terri's Peep Hut ~~ Fiction Archive

Title: Holiday Specials

E-mail: xgrrl26@yahoo.com

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Archive: WRFA, Mutual Admiration, Dolphin Haven, Peep Hut - all others, please ask :)

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Summary: Logan finds himself eating at a cheap diner during the holiday season. Luckily for him, the place has a pretty cool waitress...........

Comments: Thanks to Astyala for her super-speedy, extra-long-toothed attack bunny. I just can't stop with the holiday fic ;)

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"Hi. My name is Marie and I'll be your waitress today. Can I take your order?" I didn't think we'd get anyone today. I mean, who eats at a middle-of-nowhere diner on Thanksgiving? Even if you're all alone, don't you just, you know, get a frozen dinner and eat at home or whatever? I have to be here, it's a never-close diner and this is my regular shift, Thanksgiving or no, but doesn't Mr. Gruff and Scary-Looking have someplace else to go?

"Coming up." And since you've apparently sunken so low in life that you have to eat at the Grub Box on Thanksgiving all by yourself, I'll even brew you a fresh pot. "Anything else?"

"What's your special?"

"Thanksgiving meal - turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, green bean casserole. $4.99." Oh-oh. That's not a good expression. Does he not like turkey? Because I can't imagine what else he'd think the special today would be.

"How much is the coffee?" Oh, great. Don't tell me. You're going to dine and dash on me aren't you, mister? Betty's going to fire me if one more person tries that on my shift, I swear.

"Ninety-nine cents. Unlimited refills." You know, now that I think about it - he just walked in here. I mean, as opposed to driving a vehicle into the parking lot and then walking in from there. He just walked in, sans vehicle. Maybe he's in some kind of trouble. Maybe he needs help.

"I'll take the special then, I guess. You don't got anythin' cheaper, do ya?" Something is definitely up.

"You could look in the menu." You know, the one I laid right in front of you. Allow me to point to its location to help you out. "But the special's probably the most food for that amount of money." OK, something is very much up here. His stomach growled at that. If he's been hitching or just walking around out here -

"OK. I'll take that. And the coffee."

"Great." I'm not going to think about it, I'm not. Hungry hitchhikers are not my problem. Plus, since I'm the only one here, I'm going to have to cook the food *and* serve it. Right. Plenty of things to keep my mind off wondering if some random scary guy is OK. Coffee - coffee - where's the coffee? Oh, right, Betty moved it. There we go. I'm guessing he didn't want decaf. He looks like a fully-caffeinated kind of person to me. Hmmm.

Turkey - check. Mashed potatoes - check. Stuffing - check. Gravy, gravy, where's the grav- oh, there it is. Behind the cranberries. Which I guess is included in the special. He could probably use some fruit if he hasn't had a steady diet and maybe I could - no, no. Stop it, Marie. You are not getting involved. You are not helping out. You are minding your own beeswax and fixing this man his food, and only the food that he ordered. You are stifling your compassionate urges, because those only get you in trouble. You should have learned by now that no good deed goes unpunished, so you are not helping out this guy. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy are all he's getting from you. And cranberries. And that green-bean thing. Hey - where is that green bean thing?

Oh, crap - Betty forgot to cook the green bean thing. The green bean cans are just sitting there. Dammit. Contrary to what I always tell Betty, I'm not exactly sure I could boil water without setting the kitchen on fire. I can't cook green beans. Crap, crap, crap. OK, OK, Marie, it's just a little snafu, just a little fly in the ointment. You can go out there and tell Scary Guy that there are no green beans. He doesn't look like a picky eater, right? I'll just - I'll bring his coffee to him too. That'll soften the whole green bean blow.

"Here you go. Sugar's on the table - need any cream?" Why no, Waitress Marie, I don't and now that you mention it, you can skip that green bean thing as well.

"No." Darn. Face it, Marie, he's not bringing up the bean issue. You have to tell him.

"Great. I, uh, probably should tell you that we don't have the green bean casserole. Sorry. Would you - would you like to substitute something?" There we go. That wasn't so bad. He seems to be taking it well.

"Whaddya got?" Hmm. Now that's a good question. "Can you just give me more meat or somethin'?"

"Sure." No, as a matter of fact, that is against Betty's rules. No meat substituted for a veggie. It was one of the first Rules of Waitressing that Betty ever taught me. "I'd be happy to."

"Thanks." Aw, look, he almost smiled. Which, clearly, I will look back on and think - yeah, that made losing my job worth it - Scary Guy didn't quite smile at me, that makes it all worthwhile. Fabulous.

"Would you like something else too? I mean, on the house?" I just cannot stop myself. This uncontrollable niceness just never leads to good things. Bye-bye, nice waitressing job at the Grub Box. "Since we didn't have what you ordered and all. We've got soup - turkey soup, or - or salad" Pretty soon, it will be hitchhiker-Marie instead of waitress-Marie again. All thanks to the sad hazel eyes and stomach growl of one random scary looking guy. They'll ask me - how did you wind up dead in a ditch, Marie? And from the afterworld, I will tell them - it was the Scary Guy and his stomach growl.

"Uh, soup. Soup, then. Thanks."

"I'll bring it right out." Another stomach growl. You know, if I'm going to get busted on the whole additional turkey substitution, then why not go whole-hog? I'm going to get him soup *and* salad. He could use the vegetables, I'm sure. Maybe some crackers too. They go with soup, right? But only one package. Maybe two for him. He could take some crackers with him. OK, maybe three. Do we have bread?

"So you don't think she'll really fire ya, then?"

"Oh, no, no. I get one meal a shift, and I'll just pretend I ate your food for my meal. She'll cope." Who knew? He's actually not Scary Guy, he's more like Lonely But Pretty Decent Guy. One you start talking to him, he's really not scary at all. And hey - there's no one here but us, might as well give my feet a rest and chit-chat a while.

"But then what are you gonna really eat?"

"Oh, I'll just eat some cheez whiz and pretzels that I have upstairs. I live over the restaurant."

"That ain't actually food, is it?" The way that one eyebrow goes up, all by itself - it's kind of cute. It's like that one is saying - no, other eyebrow, you stay put. I alone shall express the emotions of Scary Guy.

"It's edible, so I say, count it."

"Well, I appreciate, uh, all this. Thanks." Aw, now he's Embarrassed Guy. And even the eyebrow cannot shoulder the emotional load - he's forced to look down at the table top.

"You're welcome. I - I was on the road for a while myself. I remember what it feels like to be starving and not have any money." If I had a nickel for every time I went to a bar and asked for water, hoping I could steal some nuts or pretzels..

"I got money. I got seven bucks. Here." It's all coins - Canadian coins. I don't really have the heart to tell him we don't take Canadian money. Oh yeah, I'm getting fired now for sure.

"Thanks. But, um, it's OK if you wanted to keep the money, I understand." Besides, if all you have to your name is seven Canadian dollars, you're going to need to keep what little you have.

"No. I ate the food, I'll pay for it. Six bucks, right? And one for a tip." The guy is giving me his last dollar for a tip. God, I really want to go get him more soup or something. That's just too nice for words.

"OK. OK. But - but it's Canadian money. We're in Idaho." He doesn't look like that quite registered. "You know - Idaho. Idaho, ah, America. Land of American money." Aha - he's getting it now. "So I'll have to, um, exchange that for you. Seven dollars Canadian should be.." About five bucks American. "About fourteen dollars American. Allowing for the exchange charge, you know. So - so I'll owe you back seven bucks. Six for the meal, one for the tip, and seven for you." I can kick in the money from my savings - I think I've got ten bucks in there. Betty won't ever be the wiser.

"I thought it was the other way around - American's worth more than Canadian." Hmph. Suspicious, but not quite sure.

"Oh, no. Not with the way the exchange rates have fluctuated in the last quarter." Blah, blah, blah - economics. Glad I watch Wall Street Week every now and then. "You should see what we get for yen around here."

"OK.." Whew. Close one.

"So there you go. Seven dollars, even." But he's just leaving the money sit on the table. He's not taking it back. It's almost like he doesn't want to leave. Maybe --maybe he wants more coffee. "I'll be right back with more coffee, OK?"

"Yeah." He looked almost like he was going to say something else. You know, he's a pretty interesting Scary Guy. I kind of like him. Maybe I should brew him a whole new pot. Yeah, those slugs at the bottom aren't - hey! Hey! That was the door. He left!

Darn it. I kind of liked talking to him. And I bet I won't get any other customers all shift long. Now I'm going to be bored. Now I'm - oh. Oh my God - he left some of the money on the table, some of his last seven bucks. Oh God, he left me two more bucks, for a tip. He left me more for a tip.

If there's anything I hate with the fiery passion of a thousand suns, it's Christmas. And it's not because I'm a Grinch or because I think it's over-commercialized or because we've lost track of the fact that it's really a celebration of the baby Jesus or anything like that. Oh no, I hate Christmas because I'm always alone on Christmas - either like now, when I'm literally alone, or like before, when my family managed to somehow suffocate me with togetherness while still making me feel completely isolated. And that was even before my whole skin thing. Yep, Christmas - it's just not a Marie-friendly holiday.

Anyone in my shoes would feel the same way, I bet. No family, no friends, no presents. Working all day at the Grub Box so that your co-workers who have all of the above can enjoy them and so that you can make up some brownie points with your boss so that she won't fire your ass the next time four ounces of turkey go missing. Tell me that doesn't suck. Go ahead, I dare you. In fact, I challenge you. I challenge you, the entire cosmos, to give me just one non-ass-sucking element to this whole wretched holiday.

"Uh, hey." Whoo-hoo! It's Scary Guy. I have a customer, and it's Scary Guy. Thank you, cosmos, thank you. For once you're working for me. Now if I could just get some help with those lottery numbers..

"Hey. Good to see you again." He looks better - he's wearing warmer clothes, anyway. I didn't see if he had a car or not, though. "Want your usual table?"

"Sure, kid." Ah yes, he is Scary Guy and I am the Kid. Together we fight the forces of evil, and, you know, ass-sucking holidays.

"Right this way. Can I get you some coffee?" I'll take that manly nod as a yes. Suddenly, it's beginning to feel a lot Christmasier in here. Yes, much more festive. "Black, right?" Another manly nod. "Here's a menu. I'll be back in a second to take your order." Right after I turn on the radio for some holiday tunage. Christmas with Scary Guy - I like the sound of that. "What can I get you?"

"You got a special?" I see we still haven't mastered that tricky menu thing. That's quite all right, I can help you out here.

"Yeah. It's ham with scalloped potatoes and green beans. $4.99."

"I'll take it. Uh, do you really have green beans this time?" Don't think I didn't catch that eyebrow, Mister. Jest with me, shall you?

"Yes, I'm sure." You're just going to get teased back then. "Anything else for you?"

"Yeah. Gimme soup and salad - and maybe some dessert too. I got money to cover all that this time." He looks so happy about that. I guess - I guess the holiday season has been treating Scary Guy OK. I'm glad one of us is getting ahead.

"Coming right up. Split pea soup OK?" Master of the manly nod. "I'll be right back with that."

"I came by earlier. You weren't here." I've gotten so charmed by Scary Guy that now I think even his stalking is a little cute. I think we've been talking for - yep, we've been talking for five hours. My shift's almost over.

"I didn't start until three today. I'm off at eleven." You know, just in case you'd like to hang around until then. There haven't been any other customers.

"Um, do you like workin' here?" Ah, dodging that one, I see.

"Yeah. It's not bad. We get a few truckers going through, and they're usually pretty good tippers. Betty, my boss, she's cranky and paranoid - always thinks we're stealing from her or something. But I like her. At least she doesn't make a grab for my boobs every time I walk by." Hey - was that a little growl or something? Must've been his stomach. I bet he's hungry again. "Want something else?"

"Yeah. Yeah. You got any pie? Get a coupla pieces, OK?" He must be hungry again. He's a big guy, I bet he eats a lot. You know, when he has money.

"One of each." He's taking out more money from the huge wad of bills - at first, I thought he must've robbed a bank or something. He's got all small bills. But then I saw that there was some Canadian money in there too - he must've asked for small bills when he got it exchanged at the border.

"Here you go." And I'll just refill his coffee, fa-la-la-la-la, and then I'll -

"Um, one's for you. Get - get yourself a fork, huh?" Awwww. I'm going to have to change his name to Sweet Guy if he keeps this up.

"Thanks." What with the niceness and the relieved smile and the warm eyes, you could just fall in love with this guy. You really, really could. "Which one's mine?"

"Let's share." That sounds like fun. That sounds a little romantic, you know? Romantic and somehow Christmasy. With my skin, that's as close as I'll probably get to anything resembling real romance - pie-sharing with some guy whose name I don't know. You know, though - tonight, that doesn't sound quite so bad. "Mmmm. Betty makes a mean pie."

"Yeah." Hey - what's up with the tension all of a sudden? He looks like every muscle in his body just went on red alert. And the sniffing - what the heck is he - "Run! Hide!" Huh? Run? But I -

"Grrrrrr!" Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!! Big scary thing! Big scary thing! Big scary thing coming right through the glass door!! "You - come with me." Me? Me? Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have trusted the cosmos. Sure, we'll give you a few moments of niceness, Marie, then, Bam - huge hairy freak attack. Damn cosmos.

"She ain't goin' nowhere, bub." Now I know I mentally named you Scary Guy, but don't get carried away - this guy's got about six inches and a hundred pounds of muscle on you. Not to mention - uh, claws?

"That so, runt?" Definitely claws. Mutant - he's a mutant. Whoa. I don't think I've ever seen one before.

"That's so." Whoa! I take that back - go, Scary Guy! If I'd have known he had metal knives in his hands, I would've named him Super Scary Guy or Super Clawed Scary Guy or -

"My boss got other plans." Boss? OK, now we're just beyond weird. His boss is wearing a purplish cape and helmet and floating over to the door. Is this some kind of ham-induced hallucination?

"Yeah, well fuck you and fu - oooof!" Hey! How did he do that? He threw Scary Guy back against the wall. I am so going to brain him with a skillet, helmet or no. I am so going to - hey! Give my skillet back!

"Now, now, my dear. We only wish to talk to you." Uh-huh. And I bet you've got a bridge to sell me. Yep. "We know what you are. We need your help."

"And this is your version of asking nicely?" Something's wrong - Scary Guy can't move. And the skillet, the skillet - dammit, brain, what are you trying to tell me?

"Well, I admit that we may be a bit, shall we say, forceful? But I assure it is all for the greater good, my dear."

"Who the hell are you?" Just keep him talking, just keep him talking, give the brain time to unfreeze. Don't look at the big scary mutant standing behind his boss.

"You may call me Magneto." Magneto? The hell? I swear, can't people name their kids anything normal anymore? I honestly - oh, hey - Magneto. Like a magnet. Thanks, brain. "This is my associate, Sabretooth. If you come with us willingly, I will keep him at bay. If you insist on fighting us, well."

Oh yeah, that's a great deal. Fight and we'll punish you, but just sit there doing nothing and - well, we'll wreck your restaurant and kidnap you anyway. Assholes. Time to take off the gloves. Literally.

"I'll warn you, my dear, my associate and I are quite well-covered, and your powers, while formidable, will not - aaaaahhhh!" My powers *are* formidable and your face is *uncovered*, dumbass. Didn't think I'd lunge right across the counter for your eyes, did you?

"Grrraahhhh!" Owwww!!! He clawed me! He clawed me! You big jerk! "Grrrrr- mph." Whew. Scary Guy the original to the rescue. I guess whatever Magneto was doing to him stopped when I knocked him unconscious. And boy howdy, does he look pissed. He cut right into that other guy's gut with his knives and - and yet the other guy is still standing. What the hell? His wounds are closing up almost - almost like he's healing himself somehow. "GRRRRRR!!" Oh yeah, he's all better now. Crap. Crap. I wonder if I should touch him. I think I can get his face while they're fighting. I wonder if I could just -

"Mmmm." Head hurts. Head very ouchy.

"Marie?" That's my name, don't wear it out. "Marie, are you OK?"

Good question. I'll just open my eyes a little and - uh, hello. I'm in a truck. I'm in a moving truck. I'm seat-belted into the passenger side of a moving truck. OK. Just who would be driving?

"Marie? You OK?" Scary Guy. I'm driving with Scary Guy. "Say somethin', OK?"

"I don't get it." I mean, the last thing I remember is - um, the last thing I remember is - wait a second, I know I can get this one. Yes. The last think I remember is being attacked by weirdos, them wrecking the restaurant, and big knives coming out of Scary Guy's hands.

"Don't get what? Marie, are you OK?"

"Your hands - you had knives in them. Is that - is that right? I wasn't dreaming that, right?" In fact, I'd love to write that whole memory off as a hallucination brought on by prolonged exposure to mistletoe or something, but -

"Yeah. I got metal claws. You weren't dreamin'." He looks so incredibly depressed about that. "Look, I hadta - I couldn't leave ya there. I grabbed some of your stuff. I remembered you sayin' you lived above the place. I'll - I'll just let ya out at the next town, all right?"

"No." There are many things not all right with that. The first of which is that I have no idea where we are and no idea what the next town would be.

"No, that's not all right." The second thing not all right is that I get the impression Scary Guy thinks I'm afraid of him because of the claws. I don't really remember if he got a good look at the effects of my horrible life-sucking skin, but if he did, I can't imagine why he'd think I'd be afraid of a little thing like metal claws. Hell, that's minor. That's like a hangnail or something.

"Maybe you should just rest a while, OK? Then we'll talk. We'll talk later."

"No. No resting. Let's talk now." I'm sure Scary Guy thinks I've lost my marbles, but I haven't. I'm playing with a full deck, I have all the fries required of a happy meal, and any other cliché you'd like to pick. "I actually have a few things I wanted to say to you. First of all, they came after me and you - you stuck up for me. Thanks. You probably totally saved my life, and I'm sorry you got hurt."

"Second - I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was a mutant. My skin - it hurts people. Whoever comes into contact with it gets hurt. I can't control it, not at all. So, um, my reason for bringing that up is twofold. No - no, threefold. No, um four-fold. Wait. Is four-fold a word?" Heh. Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition! "Anyhow, I wanted to mention the skin thing because I'm sorry if I, ah, accidentally hurt you while I was unconscious and because I want you to know what you're dealing with so I don't accidentally hurt you now, and because I think you should realize that with my mutation beings so, um, icky, I'm not scared about the claws or about you being a mutant. Three. I guess it was three-fold. No! Wait! It *was* four-fold. The fourth is because I'd totally hug you and everything to say thanks, but I'd, you know, kill you if I actually did. I guess my point there is - thanks."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." And I can see how my previous non-sensical rambling would provide just wonderful evidence of that. "I really am."

"OK." I don't think he knows what to say now. "I'm Logan." Names. Names are good.

"I know that from your nametag. And 'cause you always say, 'I'm Marie and I'll be your waitress.'"

"Right. Um, where are we?"

"Could you narrow that down a little for me?" If I recall correctly, there's quite a bit of Canada. I'd like to know which bit I'm in, exactly.

"British Columbia. Headin' north."

"Is that where you live?"

"I live here, in the camper." Oh - he did get a vehicle. With a camper, to boot. He must've done really well for himself in the month that - oh-oh.

"Um, Logan? What do you do for a living?" Please don't say 'drug dealer'. Please don't say 'drug dealer'.

"I don't really have a job. I fight in cage matches to make money. Can make a lotta money that way." Whew. Cage match fighter is much better than drug dealer. "I'm gonna fight tonight. If - if you're feelin' better. If you can stay here in the truck by yourself. Or I can drop ya off at the next town. You, uh, you tell me."

"I can stay by myself in the truck. I don't want to be dropped off at the next town." Logan looks mightily confused by that. "Look, I just - I don't have anywhere else to go. I'm pretty sure that Betty has both fired me and put some kind of a curse on me by now. Can I hang out with you for a while?" Oh, my. I think Logan liked that suggestion very much. His eyes locked right onto mine.

"Yeah. That's fine."

"Hello, my name is Marie, and I'll be your waitress tonight." Heh. Knew he'd get a kick out of that. "Our New Year's Eve special is pizza, with a side order of Doritos, and served with the finest Canadian beer."

"Damn straight." I have heard the virtues of Molson enumerated many, many times. Logan is a man of many moods, but only one beer.

"You'll be having the special then, sir?"

"Yeah. Does the cute waitress come with it?" Flirt. He's been really very sweet this past week, very gentlemanly. He's told me straight out (probably because I asked straight out - hey, I believe in communication) that it isn't because of my skin that he hasn't made a move. He said there are things in his past that he's dealing with and that we both should, you know, take it slow. But the flirting has increased the past couple of days, and I think that the traditional New Year's Eve smooch (OK, with a scarf thrown in to prevent homicide - or is that mutantcide?) may be in my future.

"For you, she sure does, sugar. Besides, I believe you are the owner of the café de camper."

"We'll get somethin' better soon."

"It's nice. It's cozy." It's incredibly sweet that he wants to get a better place for us. "I like it. Only one table to wait on, and my favorite customer always sits there."

"Yes, it is." For once the cosmos is working with me. It's about damn time. "Do you have the clock so we'll know when it's midnight?" Molson, champagne, whatever. It'll be my first holiday with someone, with someone I like. The beverage doesn't have to be traditional. In fact, maybe it shouldn't be - the tradition of my holidays has been that they suck. I'm willing to break with that tradition.

"Yep. Got a few minutes yet. Wanna eat?" He has this way of sharing food. If our pie-fest hadn't been so rudely interrupted, I would've noticed it sooner. He won't eat before I do, and he likes it best when we eat using the same plates or utensils. It's almost an animal kind of thing. Very primal. I like it.

"Sure. But Logan - don't forget the time, OK? I really would like to kiss you at midnight, you know." Heh. Thought I'd just run that one up the flag pole, see if he salutes it.

"With a scarf. You know, a little kiss of the non-fatal variety." Well, parts of Logan are saluting..

"Now? I thought you said we had a few minutes until - "

"It's time." Oh my. He's right on the kissing thing, picking up my scarf and -

"Mmmm." Ah, swoony kissing. Yummy kissing.

"Mm-hmmm." Feel very floaty. Head light. Feet not touching camper. "I'm very OK."

"It's midnight now. Another one?"

"I thought it was midnight a minute ago."

"Time warp. Northern lights."

"Ah.." See that? Cosmos working for me. The universe is finally on board with my plan. "Time to kiss again, then." Even better than the first one.

"You're beautiful, ya know. Special."

"Good thing you always get the special then, sugar." I knew that would get a chuckle out of him. "Hey, I think it's midnight now." I have a funny feeling that we're going to be stuck in this little time warp for a while. Not that I mind. When all the stars align, and the holiday mojo starts rolling your way, you don't fight it. You hang on as long as you can. Yeah, holidays - they're my favorite time of the year.