Noticing
A/N: Since people objected to the whole OneShot idea, I'm making a second chapter. There will be one more after this.
Chapter Two
He's never really noticed.
He's been so caught up in his despair that he hasn't seen his salvation, hovering in front of him. It's stupid to believe the worst, he knows, but after everything so far, he's not sure he can believe anything else.
The small bells hanging on the door jingle a little as she comes in. He glances up, and frowns, because she's a little nervous. Strange, yet oddly satisfying. He's always nervous, whenever he sees her, so it's nice to know she can feel the same thing. Lately, he's been questioning her humanity.
But she speaks to him, and all proof of humanity disappears. The way her voice sounds? Definitely not mortal. He smiles slightly, tracing her features with his eyes. She grins lopsidedly at him, and he realized she's asked for coffee. He nods, reaching behind him for the coffee pot. Carefully, he pours a full mug of the steaming liquid for her, and she gives him a worried look.
"What, no lecture today?" she asks, and he can only shake his head, mesmerized by the slight trace of eyeliner that makes her eyes seem brighter. She smiles gratefully. "Thanks," she continues, "because I'm really not in the mood for one." She pauses for a second, watching him, and he's not sure if he should feel nervous or blessed.
She bends down to the bag she's set down on another stool and takes out four pieces of paper stapled together. The packet is folded up – he can't read her writing – but by the look on her face, he thinks it must be something important. She holds it out to him, and as he reaches out to take it, she jerks it away, a warning look on her face.
"This is classified stuff, mister," she cautions. "You have to promise not to read this until I'm gone."
"Why?" he asks, confused.
She grins. "Spy code – duh."
"Of course," he answers, like it's obvious. He waits, expecting the paper to be thrust into his hands soon, but she arches an eyebrow at him.
"I promise," he says dutifully. She grins and gives him the packet. He can feel the weight of its importance weighing on him. He's anxious to see what he's written, but she's sipping her cup of coffee like she hasn't told him to follow a spy code. She catches him giving her 'the look' and grins.
"What?" she asks innocently. He waves the papers in her direction and she sighs lightly. "Fine, fine," she says, and hops off her stool. With a slight wave, she exits the diner, the slight jingle of the bells sounding once again. He opens the packet and sees the first question. Lorelai Gilmore wants to know what his middle name is. He laughs to himself, tell Caesar to take over, and goes upstairs.
The questions she's asking are like her train of thought, written on paper. The questions skip from one topic to the next. He can't see any similarities, but he knows that in her mind, there was a wholly logical explanation.
None of her questions are completely unexpected. Save one. The last, number eighty-seven. She wants to know why he loves her.
Taking a pen out of his pocket – the pen he takes orders with, as she would gleefully point out – he sits down with a pad of paper and beings to pour out his life to one Lorelai Gilmore.
