AN: Sometimes you get an idea for a story in your head, and it hits you so strongly that you find yourself unable to write anything else until you've gotten out that one particular thing. That's how it works for me, at least, and its the main reason I have such an eclectic body of work. This story was one of those things. So I hope other people enjoy reading this, but if you don't, know that I was forced to write it, having been made a hostage of my own compulsion to put this thing to paper. Metaphorically speaking. Also, there's a distinct lack of stories that feature Tabby and Lincoln sitting opposite one another, so I hope that by writing this, I've filled the void, however slightly.

Special thanks goes to my friend, Strange_idea, who sparked the neural activity that eventually led to me coming up with this thing.

Lincoln waited. He did other things too, as the mood took him. Sometimes he drummed his fingers across the tabletop in front of him, sometimes he toyed with his turkey tail, sometimes he'd take a small chunk of his napkin and tear it into progressively smaller chunks, proceeding until the bits of napkin were so fragmented that his comparatively oversized digits simply could no longer interact with them, at which time he'd gently sweep the debris aside, and begin the process anew. There were innumerable, minute, time-wasting distractions that Lincoln indulged in as he sat there, but all of them were ultimately performed in the service of his primary activity. The waiting.

Resisting the urge to glance at his watch, Lincoln instead chose to look around the restaurant, upon which he had situated himself. Dine 'N' Dance wouldn't have been his first choice for this sort of occasion. The food was good enough, the atmosphere pleasant, and the crowds thin enough that there was a reasonable expectation of privacy. The problem was that it cost money to be here. More than that, since he was trying to make a good impression, it was costing him a substantial amount of money to be here. At least relative to the income of a 14-year-old. The alternative, of course, would have been to do this at his dad's restaurant, where the eats were free (within reason) and of substantially higher quality, but meeting there meant that Lincoln ran the extremely high risk of running into his sisters, who would almost certainly get the wrong idea about what was going on, resulting in an escalating series of wacky hijinx. He didn't blame them, it was the law of the Loud House, after all. But this was a fairly delicate matter he was dealing with, and that meant cutting down on the amount of potential chaos that could ensue. Hence, why he'd sucked it up, and emptied out his wallet for the occasion. It would all be worth it in the end. Probably.

The familiar jingling of the front door drew Lincoln's attention thataway. Since he'd been sitting here, the door had rung three times, and each of those times he'd been disappointed. Actually, since the second time had been Chandler, and the third time had been Chandler messing with him, having noted Lincoln's reaction upon his arrival, he'd been more annoyed then than anything. Regardless, it would appear that the fourth time was, in fact, the charm, at least on this particular instance, as even with his view partially obscured by the booths situated between him and the door, Lincoln could still pick out an all too familiar protrusion of jet-black hair streaked with purple jutting out among the diner's landscape. Trying to ignore the way his heart lept up into his throat, Lincoln sat up in his chair as high as he could and waved to the new arrival.

"Tabby!" He called out, trying to pump his arm at a rate that would draw the girl's attention, but not seem overly eager. "Over here!"

As Lincoln watched Tabby make her way over to him, he tried to will away the rush of anxiety that was threatening to burble over, which only grew stronger as the girl grew nearer. One would think that with his...highly unusual relationship situation, there would come a point where girls no longer provoked that reaction in him. And yet, here he was, legs progressively turning to jelly at the approach of a girl who was no bigger than he was, and quite a bit more slender. Though, in this particular situation, he supposed he could at least partially chalk that up to the fact that he and Tabby had something of a history.

Lincoln had gone out of his way to avoid the girls he'd "dated" back at his fifth grade Sadie Hawkins Dance. Partly because he regretted what he'd put them through that night, but also because while each of his friends hitting it off with one of the girls had ended up being a pretty convenient way for everyone involved in that affair to save face, it also left him in the awkward position of being the guy who had "dated", however briefly, each and every one of his friends' new girlfriends. The two distinct varieties of awkwardness intersect right at his social circle. It left the potential for more drama than he was willing to deal with at the time, and as a result, Lincoln developed a tendency to make himself scarce whenever one or more of the girls were going to join him and his friends. Fortunately, the situation had more or less resolved itself, with all four relationships falling apart on their own for various reasons, and none of them lasting especially long, even by elementary school standards. He was fairly certain that none of those falling outs had anything to do with him. However, even then he'd still never made an attempt to engage any of the girls following the collective separations. Even setting aside the fact that he'd already had more than enough girls in his life to worry about at that point, now those girls were his friends' exes, which brought an entirely new brand of awkwardness into the equation. He still saw Haiku on a regular enough basis, thanks to her friendship with Lucy, but whenever circumstances contrived for them to be in the same room together, the goth would simply stare at him, murmuring under her breath until he found an excuse to vacate the area. To this day, Lincoln still wasn't sure what that was about, but he'd taken it as a sign that the Sadie Hawkins girls were better off without Lincoln Loud in their lives. Until today, of course.

As Tabby approached his table, Lincoln couldn't help but note that time had been kind to the young rocker. Quite kind, in fact. Tabby, like many people in Lincoln's life, had seemingly settled on one prevailing outfit at an early age, and stuck with it, the passage of time be damned. Granted, he himself had fallen victim to this tendency, what with his closet still being predominantly filled with a seemingly endless number of orange polo shirts and jeans, but he could chalk that up to his own personal brand of weirdness. The fact that the phenomenon extended to nearly every person he knew, his parents included, was what made him feel like the situation warranted more attention than anyone was willing to give it.

Regardless, at fourteen years old, Tabby was very much how he remembered her. But, not as, he remembered her. She was still rocking her punk rocker's chic, with a leather jacket very reminiscent of the variety that Sam was so fond of, a striped t-shirt, and a skirt and boots combo not too dissimilar from what Luna liked to wear. What was noteworthy, however, was that she didn't wear the ensemble quite the same way she had when they were younger. The skirt that was cute on a fifth-grader now hiked considerably higher on her older frame, flaring outward as it traced the length of her shapely hips, and putting her well-toned legs firmly on display (clearly marking her as another beneficiary of Lunacising). Her shirt was similarly at odds with her more mature figure, now offering a tantalizing view of her midriff and bulging outward as it grappled with her ample bust. In short, Tabby had gone from merely cute, to extremely pretty in the years since they'd last talked, and Lincoln found himself pitying the heads she would undoubtedly be turning come high school. The girl looked like she'd been designed from the ground up to be a heartbreaker.

"Lincoln," She said, nodding in greeting as she arrived at his table. Her melodic voice very much stirring something within Lincoln, to the point where he found himself sliding a little bit further down in his seat, hoping she wouldn't notice. There was undeniably something about a cute girl with a British accent that really did something for him. He knew for a fact that Luna was a part of that, but whether or not she was the source, or just a symptom of that particular predilection was a chicken/egg sort of situation.

"H-hey, Tabby," he said, surreptitiously clearing his throat. "Glad you could make it. Please, have a seat."

As Lincoln gestured to the seat opposite his, he looked towards the waitress over at the counter and attempted to flag her down. Fortunately, he managed to catch her eye, and she acknowledged him with a nod. That was one thing taken care of, now he just had to worry about—

"So..."

—that.

"Sorry," Lincoln apologized, shifting in his seat to face Tabby more fully. "Just try to flag down a waitress."

"S'alright," She replied, waving dismissively. "I just wanted to warn you up front that I can't stay too long. I've actually got a bit of a prior commitment to worry about."

"Oh," Said Lincoln, wincing internally. "Sorry, I had no idea."

"You might have, if you'd asked me yourself." She said, pointedly. "Bit tricky of you to go through Sam, innit?"

"It wasn't supposed to be," Lincoln said, only half-fibbing. "She had your contact info. Seemed like it'd be easier to ask her to pass the message along."

"Easier than just getting my number from her and asking me yourself?"

The logical answer to that question would be "of course", but something in the rocker's tone suggested that wouldn't be a particularly fruitful avenue to take.

"Would you believe I respect your privacy too much to get your information from a third party without your consent?" He tried.

Her expression said she would not.

"Alright," He scratched the back of his neck, nervously, "Would you believe...I was worried you'd say no?"

"...Yeah, actually," She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Though, that's probably because I nearly did."

"...Oh," He said, again. "Alright, I get that. But...if you don't mind me asking, why didn't you then?"

Tabby shifted in her seat. "Well, it's kinda weird, right? One of my old bandmates calls me out of the blue and says you want to meet up with me. I guess I was just curious what you had to say, seeing as it's been...well, a while, right?"

"I appreciate that," Said Lincoln. "Really. I totally would have understood if you'd said no. Especially since you've got a thing."

"Y-yeah, well..." Tabby averted her eyes and fiddled with the collar of her jacket. "Maybe we could just cut to the chase then, yeah? What's this about?"

Lincoln took a calming breath. This was it. He'd been practicing this speech for days now, all in preparation for this moment.

"So I have this friend..."

It was funny, Lincoln had run through this scenario numerous times in his head, trying to account for every possible variable. And yet in all that plotting, none of his contingencies accounted for managing to tick off Tabby with only five words.

"Lincoln Albert Loud!" She shouted, slamming her fist on the table. "Are you kidding me?"

The girl had a powerful set of lungs on her. Which, he supposed was to be expected of anyone who'd been a part of Luna's social circle. It was like a thunderstorm going on, localized entirely within their booth, which suddenly felt a lot smaller than it had only moments earlier. Every one of Lincoln's instincts was screaming for him to apologize, even though he wasn't quite certain what he'd done to provoke that reaction...

"How do you know my middle name?" He asked, puzzled.

...so it was a shame that his mouth apparently had other ideas.

"You have it on your SwiftyPic profile!"

"You follow me on SwiftyPic?"

"I...THAT'S NOT THE POINT!" Tabby slouched down in her seat with an audible huff, blowing a few errant strands of hair out of her eyes as she did so. "Did you seriously get me to come down here just so you could pull that 'I have this friend', bollocks?"

"But it's true!" Lincoln protested. "Honest!"

"...yeah?" It was amazing how much contempt she managed to pack into that one word, but the expression on her face wasn't especially hard to read. "You're really sticking with that then? Fine. Tell me about this 'friend', of yours."

It never ceased to amaze Lincoln that angry women could somehow pronounce air quotes.

"W-well..."Lincoln cleared his throat, trying to regain his momentum. "He's a mutual acquaintance of ours."

"Of course he is." Tabby rolled her eyes contemptuously.

"A-and he's...someone who hasn't talked to you in a really long time. And that's something he...deeply regrets."

"...Yeah?" The inflection was the same, but there was considerably less venom on the word this time, with Tabby's expression softening ever so slightly. "And why's that?"

"Well, he...that is to say, my friend—"

"I've got that part," Tabby interjected, dryly, twirling her finger around in a circle. "Maybe you want to speed it up a bit?"

"Speeding up then," Lincoln said, taking a moment to breathe, just like Lola had shown him. Feeling marginally more stable, he looked Tabby straight on, locking eyes with the rocker.

"Well, the two of you didn't know each other for very long, but even as short as things lasted, he's always treasured that time you spent together."

Lincoln paused, trying to gauge Tabby's reaction, but to his surprise she broke eye contact, her gaze landing squarely on the table in front of her.

"And?" She prompted. "What of it? If that's really how he feels, then how come I haven't heard from him?"

Lincoln winced at the naked hurt in her voice.

"Because things between you two didn't end so well." He said, clasping his hands together in an attempt to steady himself. "And he blames himself for that. But, he also felt like trying to explain that to you would have just made things worse. Would have...prolonged the hurt feelings, or something. He didn't want to put you through that. He didn't want to hurt you even more than he already had."

"So why now?" Tabby asked, uncharacteristically softly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "Why do this now? Why not years ago?"

"Because he was hoping that staying away from you would make you happy, given how...badly, things went. But selfish as it might sound, he's never been able to stop thinking about you. Your voice, your energy. Your smile." Lincoln grinned, bashfully, very much feeling the heat building up in his cheeks. "You're a really hard girl to forget, Tabby. And believe me, he's tried."

Tabby turned away momentarily, pulling her coat up to cover her face. Uncertain how to react, Lincoln simply sat there, hands folded, waiting politely for Tabby to finish doing...whatever it was she was doing in her little corner there. Finally, she sat up in her seat, and turned to him. Her face was a blank slate, completely unreadable. It was actually pretty impressive.

"So, what's he want then?" She asked, her voice neutral. "Your...friend, that is. Why ask me here?"

"Call it an olive branch, I guess?"Lincoln offered, with a nervous laugh. "It's been too long to just pretend that nothing happened, but he was kind of hoping that it's also been long enough that maybe you guys could start over. Maybe just get to...talking again, you know? And see where things go from there?"

"And if things don't...go, from there?"

"Then at least he'll have tried," Lincoln said with a shrug. "I mean, you only land the shots that you actually take, right? It might not work out this time either, but I don't think it could go any worse than it did before. Right?"

He took a moment to lick his suddenly very dry lips.

"If it were me," He said, slowly, "I think I'd always regret it if I didn't at least...try. You know?"

Tabby's lips tightened. Trembling, as if she was on the verge of saying something, but as much as Lincoln forced himself to sit still, waiting for her reply, nothing seemed forthcoming. And then...

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

A shrill beeping broke the spell. Tabby turned away, fumbling with her jacket. Finally, from within, she drew out her phone, glanced at the screen, and scowled. Lincoln, for his part, was glad it wasn't directed at him this time. As it turned out, an angry Tabby, was actually quite cute, when you weren't the subject of her ire. Just another thing he'd never gotten a chance to learn, he supposed.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Tabby furiously typed something into her phone, then closed her eyes. Lincoln couldn't say how long, exactly, she stayed that way, but finally, she took a deep breath and gave the phone one last decisive jab. It was several moments more, at least, that she sat there, seemingly staring at whatever it was she'd written, but finally she turned her attention back to him. She seemed...lighter, somehow, her lips curling into the barest hint of a smile.

"Listen, Linc," She said, locking eyes with him. "I told you I had a thing to get to, yeah?"

"Oh, right. So, was that your...?"

"Huh huh." She waggled her phone for emphasis. "I've got a gig at the Burnt Bean tonight. It's not for a few more hours, but I still need to get there early. You know, set up my stuff, go over my set—"

"Of course, of course," Lincoln interjected, waving his hands dismissively. "I totally understand. I've got plenty of experience with this kind of thing thanks to Luna. I said what I needed to say. If you need to go, then by all means."

"Y-yeah, about that," She said, coughing nervously. "See, the show's probably gonna run a little late. But, the owner, you see, after I've done a show she lets me hang out for a bit while she closes up. Gives me a chance to relax a little, you know? Usually offers to brew something up for me before she shuts the place down."

"That sounds pretty cool," Lincoln said, uncertain how he was supposed to respond to that, but trying to sound positive regardless.

"Yeah, it is," Tabby said, frowning in concentration. "A-anyway, if you're free tonight, I was thinking maybe you could...stop by?"

"I—" Lincoln began, but that was all he had a chance to get out before Tabby barreled onward.

"You don't have to come for the whole show, obviously," She said, hurriedly, "Just try to be there by closing, if you can. A-and then, maybe..."

She let out a small cough into her fist.

"Maybe we can...keep...talking...about this?" She said, softly, her eyes gazing directly into his. "What do you think?"

"I...think that sounds cool, Tabby." He said, returning her gaze. "Yeah, I'd love to see your show."

The smile she gave him made Lincoln wish that he'd packed some sunscreen for the occasion. It was beyond radiant. And apparently infectious, as a sudden aching in his cheeks clued him in on the fact that he was smiling right back. Funny thing, that.

"R-right then," Tabby said, sliding her phone back into her jacket. "I guess I'll see you later then."

Tabby slid out of the booth and stood up, stretching, arms out wide, presumably to work out the kinks she developed sitting down. Once again, Lincoln slid a little lower into his seat, and politely turned away, trying not to stare. He was prepared to stay that way for as long as it took, but then he felt a light touch upon his hand. He turned, slowly and found Tabby's hand gently wrapped around his own. She herself staring at him with an undeniable fondness. A far cry from how they'd begun this encounter.

"Cheers, Linc," She said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "See you tonight."

With that, she withdrew her hand, and began walking towards the door. Just as she was about to leave, she stopped, turning back around and looking straight at him.

"And get my number from Sam!" She bellowed, her voice echoing in the apparently too small diner, "You hear me!?".

Not trusting his voice, Lincoln instead offered an only slightly shakey thumbs up. Fortunately, this apparently sufficed, as Tabby gave a nod of satisfaction, and left, the jingling of the door bell announcing her departure.

Lincoln remained still for a few minutes long, making sure Tabby had plenty of time to leave. Then, once certain she was well and truly gone, he allowed himself a long sigh of relief, flopping back into his seat, as if his bones had turned to jelly. That, had been an ordeal.

After a moment's reprieve, he sat back up in his seat, fished a notepad and pen from his pockets, and flipped to a page labeled "Debts/Obligations".

"And now, we're square, Liam", he grumbled to himself, crossing the redhead's name off his list. Liam was normally one of the nicest people he knew, but man could he hold a grudge. You ditch one sleepover to covertly attend one party, and he never let you hear the end of it. Until now. At least, he hoped that would be the end of things. After all, he'd said exactly what Liam had instructed him to say, even the really embarrassing bits.

Still, it wasn't all bad. He'd made a fool of himself, to be sure, but Tabby had been...surprisingly cool with the whole thing. And it really had been nice to talk to her again. And they were going to hang out again, tonight! That was definitely a win in his book. Which, he supposed, made everything leading up to it worthwhile.

Nodding to himself, Lincoln perused the list, trying to figure out which outstanding obligation he should address next. In order of debts incurred, it looked like the next one would be accidentally smashing that vase Clyde's dads were so fond of. Which he'd agreed to balance out, by...talking to Haiku for Clyde.

Lincoln stared at the page for a bit. Then, he took his pen, scribbled out the line pertaining to Clyde, and rewrote it a little further down on the list. He vaguely remembered Lucy mentioning something about how the Morticians Club was boning up on their voodoo dolls this week. Which meant he could probably afford to wait on that one, just a little longer.

"Better just move onto the next one then," He muttered, fishing out his phone.

"Hey, Lynn," He began texting, "Any chance I could get Polly's number from you?"