7

She came back the next night, every line set just right to take the breath out of his gut. Her smile was cautious, as it had been in the beginning, but every bit as sincere.

"There you are!" she perched on the barstool like a silver bird, the edge of her pumps on the metal foot bar. "I wanted to…well, everything is so weird, it's not like I can talk to anyone else about it." Her smile went up till it squinted her eyes, making them sparkle like faceted jewels. "Or, rather, having such a unique life event should make us friends, right? I mean, I'd like to be friends, if you're okay with that."

Meliodas returned that smile without even meaning to—one that reached deep into his gut, rather than the practice grin he gave to everyone, especially customers.

"' Course!" he said with trained cheer. "First drink is on the house, if you're feeling it, that is."

She dipped her chin down in a pretty, coy expression that made some giant worm behind his naval squirm. He got the sudden random urge to lick some part of her, preferably where he could nuzzle in.

His chest tightened.

"Um, I'm afraid throwing up put me off drinks for a while. Could I have whatever Ban is cooking up back there, though? It smells delicious."

"Oh, first name basis, eh? Got friendly with the cook while I was gone?"

She cocked her head with a sheepish grin. "Well, the man I came for wasn't in." The grin turned soft. A softness that carried to her entire beautiful, pale face. "And now he is."

Now the wind was completely knocked from him. It was only through virtue of being alive for so long that he was able to keep some semblance of normality and not crumple then and there.

He couldn't do this. He just couldn't.

"Let me go order that for you." He couldn't stop his voice from cracking near the end and nearly threw the bottle of beer he had been restocking under the bar as he turned to go back.

The moment he was hidden from view in the kitchen, he collapsed against the prep counter, trembling.

"I can't—I can't do this," he gasped.

Ban turned from lowering a basket into the fryer. His expression had gone wan. He sighed heavily and pulled off his bandana to pull his hair.

"Look," he half murmured, "I can scare her off if you need. Make it look completely natural."

"You may have to, because…" Because he couldn't even begin to see himself ever being cruel to her. But wouldn't chasing her off do just that? She had just taken a dip into a terrifying world where demons existed and he was the only one who could provide answers or even just a semblance of safety.

But one didn't live three thousand years and keep an ability to lie to oneself. He knew the real reason why he couldn't chase her away, and it was what bent him over now and sickened him.

Ban hummed to himself. And, by being virtue of Meliodas's best friend, caught up on the bartender's secret line of thought.

"What if she is her? I mean…you're not supposed to exist, by the rules. Why can't she? Rebirth and all that. Would it be so crazy? Not to mention…" Ban shifted gingerly. "You have been at this for three thousand years. What if this is the Big Man finally giving you what you want?"

Exactly. It wasn't like he had been given a list of what to look for when his time was up.

"But what if she isn't?"

Ban shrugged. "But what if she is?"

Meliodas took in a deep, shaking breath. His insides had been trembling so hard for so long now, they ached. The hope burned him as much as it made him want to run to the rooftops and scream and shout and dance naked under the moon.

He looked at Ban, letting him see his naked heart on his face. "Okay…so what first? She doesn't seem to remember me."

Ban echoed the nervous, but elated grin that must have been on Meliodas's face. "A date couldn't go amiss."

"It can if I lose it." Meliodas straightened and ran his hands down his face. "Ban, god, I—how the hell am I gonna control myself if I figure it is her and she doesn't remember? I might—I might—"

"Kiss her head to foot and ravish the sweet lov'n out of her?"

Meliodas just moaned.

Ban laughed.

"Alright, alright, give me the little missy's order and get back up there, get started. Time's a-wasting!"

An idea struck Meliodas. "Do we have any apples?"

"Apples?"

"Yeah, fresh, crisp ones. Pink ladies or Honeycrisps."

"Man, I only know apples by their colors: red, green, and blue."

But the idea had struck, and it wouldn't go home. the muscles in his calves and arms jumped with excitement.

"Quick, get to the grocer before they close and get a bushel of pink lady apples."

Ban just blinked. "What are you thinking?"

"Apples," he said, distracted by the pantry next to the walk-in-fridge.

Fifteen minutes later, Meliodas slid a platter of two apples, cut horizontally, artfully sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar with a dollop of peanut butter in the center. Luckily, the customers who had come in while Ban had been gone had only ordered drinks and not any cooking other than the fish and chips Ban had been cooking before the apple run.

"Bon Appetite," he said.

For a full ten seconds that seemed to last an eternity, she stared down at the apple halves, delicate pink mouth lax.

His heart trembled like a hummingbird against his collarbone.

When she continued to say nothing, a sinking, hot rush of embarrassment got ready to engulf him.

"It's an off-menu dessert item," he said quickly. "If you don't like it—"

"Star apples," she said softly.

His heart ceased entirely.

She looked up at him, a disbelieving, wondrous happiness in her eyes.

"How did you know? Star apples are my favorite! That is what you call them, right? Because of how the seeds make a star in the center?" She took a quick nibble, followed by a squeal. "Oh my god, pink ladies? And you even got the peanut butter and the cinnamon and sugar—"

His knees went weak. The back counter caught him. Bottles and glasses rattled and clinked.

Her eyes went wide. "Meliodas!?"

He slid down, a high ringing setting off in his ears. A sharp silence echoed across the bar, followed by an uprush of questioning noise.

Elizabeth stood up.

"Meliodas! What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to answer, to end the horrible scene he was making, but nothing came out. He hadn't the breath to answer.

"You're white! Ban! Ban!"

The sharp-eyed cook was already there, shaking his shoulder. "Captain! What's going on! Can you hear me?"

A great ball of energy, hot and wild, pushed up against his lungs. Knowing there was no way he could hold it back, he pushed on that practiced smile, that easy, fake plastic thing, and pushed himself to his feet. He gave an excuse, one he knew would work, one he didn't even hear, and went through the door to the kitchen, not too fast and not too slow. He sped up in the kitchen, a flash of demon strength, through the door and zipped an entire mile away in the means of only a breath—so quick no mortal or immortal would have seen him.

Then the wailing sob overtook him. It tore at his lungs, more a scream than anything else.

Just as quickly as it came out, he swallowed it, swore, and raced back. What the hell was he doing wasting a single second away from her?

Ban and she were waiting in stunned stupor, just as he had left them. He rushed towards her, restraining himself just enough to only take her hand.

"Elizabeth," Sweet, sweet music—at long last. "Let's go get some dinner. My treat."

She blinked. But then that same soft smile spread across her face and she let out a slightly confused little giggle.

"Alright."