Title: Fifty Shades of Slade
Chapter Title: Interlude II: Diner
Rating: K for this interlude
Disclaimer:I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.
Author Notes:It's an interlude from all the lemons, and it's an opportunity to show their relationship that's not just from one POV or from sex. I dunno. I felt like a change up.
:D
Warnings:Um...fluff? An OC?Mentions of Pretty, Pretty Pegasus?
Please enjoy!
They had to be her favorite customers. The two that always sat by the corner window. The intimidating (but handsome) older man and the exotic looking young woman. They frequented the diner, often enough to be considered regulars, but not too often that they became a constant, like the old, squeaky racecar-red barstools, or the checkered black and white floors, or her.
They came in sporadically. Sometimes, they'd come every day; other times, they wouldn't come at all. Once a week was generally their usual pattern on random days and during odd hours. They'd been here five minutes after the diner opened, now and then—other times, they'd come in at 2 AM when most sane people would be preparing to go to bed.
The only constant, of course, was the bags on both of their faces—and of course, their orders. (How could she ever forget their orders? Margaret Jensen had been their server since Day 1 and they got the same thing every time.)
The woman, Rachel, always got waffles, the 3 AM waffles that the college kids ordered when midterms and final exams came around and they needed the sugar for that midnight cram session. The kind of waffles that were drowned in whipped cream, chocolate, syrup, and strawberries. ("The kind of waffles that would ensure that you died of heart failure by the time you were thirty three," the man, Stephen, said dryly. Margaret pretended to not see the woman kick him underneath the table, but it was hard to unsee the fond grin playing on her lips.)
He got coffee—black. ("Black like your heart," the woman joked, and the man scowled. Still, Margaret noticed that when the woman wasn't looking, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a small, yet noticeable smile brightening his face.)
Margaret knew. She'd picked up a few things from people watching. Useful thing, really, especially as a waitress.
It wasn't that hard to tell.
She noticed it the first time that they came in here. The man had practically frogmarched the woman into the diner. Her first instinct was to discretely ask the woman if she needed help and/or call the police. The man had a freaking eye-patch for Pete's sake! And it didn't help that he looked like one of those Bond villains from the movies, albeit a much sexier and much more dangerous one.
She would have followed through too, if she hadn't noticed how the woman pinched his cheek affectionately and allowed him to place a hand on her shoulder and guide her toward the corner booth. At another look, Margaret had a sneaking suspicion that if the woman wanted to, she take the man on in a fight—no problem. (Though, Margaret would personally bet against her, if only because of the heavy bags underneath her eyes.)
Margaret could hear snippets of their conversation, something about "lack of sleep," someone "not eating well enough" and how "One can't live off frozen food forever, Rachel!"
The woman grinned teasingly at that last statement, nudging him with her hip playfully. "Well…"
The man glared at her with his piercing blue eye. "Don't even think about it."
She laughed. "Try me."
"Just eat your waffles." The man rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "You like waffles, don't you?"
"More than life itself," the woman deadpanned.
"Good." They ate without further incident, until half-way through the meal, the man stole her strawberries and entire chunks of her waffle. The woman opened her mouth for a second before closing it. Then she laughed and swiped his coffee, holding it hostage until he promised her a scone from the nearby bakery.
Margaret left them to it, not wanting to intrude. (And wanting to avoid any potential crossfire in case they started throwing food.) But tor all of their eccentricities, they were quiet customers actually—and it helped that they always left a large tip.
They kept coming into the diner, with each conversation more interesting than the last. It ranged from metahuman activity to the goings on at the hospital to politics to that kid show Pretty, Pretty Pegasus. To say they had...eclectic tastes was an understatement.
"I still can't believe he wanted to take over the world with mutant puppies," the woman scoffed one day. "What did he think they'd do? Drool us to death?"
"Evidently." The man took a sip of his coffee. "Not quite the best plan."
"Mmm, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" She winked, and he was outwardly unamused. "Still, I can't complain. It made it an easier day." The woman gave him a little smile. "Thanks for the heads up."
The man shrugged, looking away. "It wasn't much. It would have been a pain to reschedule our plans for today because of some asinine dolt."
"Still, without you, we couldn't have caught the guy so quickly." She shyly reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze. "Thanks."
Margaret's eyebrows rose. Caught the guy? Mutant puppies? That didn't sound like police business. They must be writers or something, Margaret decided. Why else would someone be talking about taking over the world with mutant puppies? It was like some script from an awful B-movie—absolutely ludicrous. Who would actually do such a thing?
(She ate her words that evening when she saw the news. Apparently there were people that would do that.)
Then sometimes, they would turn almost…domestic with talk of kids and sports and high school musicals. For a few moments, they'd be…normal. …Or at least as normal as a guy with an eyepatch and his exotic companion could get anyway. The effect was quite disconcerting to say the least.
"The kids loved you last night," the woman laughed one evening. Margaret nearly spit out her coffee. Kids? The woman had kids? Well, butter her back and call her a biscuit. Margaret certainly hadn't seen that one coming.
"It's not hard to see why," the man said with a smirk.
The woman rolled her eyes fondly. "Teether still thinks you're a pirate. It must be the eyepatch."
He leaned forward. "Well, technically…"
"Don't encourage him." Her tone brooked no arguments. "I have enough on my plate trying to do damage control. And no, you can't use them for apprentices."
"Pity. They all seem to have potential."
"Stephen!" She smacked him on the shoulder.
He grinned.
Yes, they had to be her favorite customers.
They certainly were the most interesting, and Margaret once had a haggard looking Batman storm in and demand coffee. Their meetings and subsequent going-ons were chaotically structured and planned from start to finish, but at the same time, there was a tried and true method to their madness.
They might not have been normal, but underneath it all, they were still human.
She knew. Everyone (at the diner at least) did.
When the man wasn't looking, the woman would smile fondly at him, her eyes trailing over his face longer than necessary.
And when the woman wasn't looking, the man would sigh and roll his eye at something she said, a secretive smile playing on his lips.
As the came into the diner, the two of them kept standing closer and closer together, bodies just brushing, hands bumping against each other, infectious grins on their faces.
Oh they had their ups and downs. Once the woman came in with a furious expression on her beautiful face, the man following her like a loyal puppy. She caught snippets of their conversation that included phrases such as "completely irresponsible" and "absolutely obtuse for risking everything like that" and "insufferable jackass."
Margaret grinned. It sounded more like an old married couple's spat. The man kept trying to appease the woman and wasn't succeeding at all.
There were no overt signs of affection, but Margaret knew. They weren't a typical couple, but they were a couple nonetheless. It was in the way the woman used his bicep as a clutch when they exited the diner, the way that the man, for all of the flirting from some of the diner's female customers, would only have his eye on her.
She smiled fondly. Those two.
Speak of the Devil—there they were now. As they settled into their usual booth, the woman gave her a friendly wave, nudging the man, who reluctantly did the same. Yes, Margaret thought with a wry smile, definitely a couple.
Or, at least they would be—eventually. Emphasis on eventually. ("We're just friends," the woman had assured her when Margaret worked up the courage to ask. "Good friends, but friends.")
Arming herself with her trusty pad and paper, Margaret wondered what hijinks those two would get into today. There was a pool going on in the diner to when the man would pop the question.
Margaret personally was expecting a wedding invitation any day now.
I like Margaret. She reminds me of Wintergreen. All the throwaway lines are headcannons such as Melvin grows up to be an actress, a supervillain tries to take over the world with mutant puppies because, etc... Fun times. Pretty Pretty Pegasus is only in there for shits and giggles. Maybe. I don't know.
Anyway, thanks for reading! :D
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