H M T P.I. (Patreon)

Raindrops trickled down the window in crisscross streaks that joined together and split apart on a whim like so many bad decisions. She absent-mindedly stirred the coffee in her cup, the sugar having long since dissolved but the motion offering just enough comfort to perpetuate itself. Her eyes searched out into the night, across the quiet street and up the buildings on the other side, the speckled pattern of half-lit windows masquerading as stars in the midnight sky. But just as no starlight could hope to pierce the soot-stained blanket of clouds, no answer awaited her on the other side of the rain-slick window. Just a pretty face, looking right back at her, raindrops streaming down her cheeks.

"Is that gonna be all, babycakes?" the waitress asked as she leaned on the booth seat opposite hers, pulling a beaten and battered notepad out of the apron pocket of her frilly maid uniform.

Lou snapped out of her reverie and dug into the purse at her side, half for show, half to give her another chance to familiarize herself with it. She knew it was practically empty. She knew her fingers would find nothing more than a single bill and a weathered coin. But if the last few days had taught her anything, it was to expect the unexpected.

And be disappointed.

"Mm," Lou finally answered, leaving the folded bill on the table. She had intended to use her last coin to make a phone call, but she realized now that she would need it to cover the tip. She could show gratitude, or she could call home. She couldn't do both.

Lou sighed and reached back into the purse. Maybe it would be better to show up unannounced after all. She didn't want to contemplate what a sorry sight she'd be, rain-soaked on her childhood home's doorstep, pleading to be let back in. Assuring the confused couple that the person in front of them was their flesh and blood, if only in spirit. But that was a problem for her future self; presently, she needed to get that stubborn coin out of whichever damned pocket it had lost itself into.

After too many fruitless seconds she lost her patience and flipped the whole bag over, shaking the purse over the empty half of the booth seat until at last the metal disc shook itself free. She wordlessly placed it on the table atop the folded bill, giving the waiting waitress a polite nod.

She leaned down over her cup. Maybe her coffee had finally gotten cold enough to drink.

"Well I didn't mean to shake you down there hon," the waitress said, putting a hand on her hip. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Lou replied, her eyes not leaving the comfort of the cup between her fingers, her drink having long since settled into a still sea of murky brown. Chestnut, just like her hair used to be. His, now.

Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could still smell it.

"Well far be it from me to pry," the waitress continued, "but you don't exactly look fine to me. Something happen between you and the big guy?"

"You could say that," Lou said as she raised the cup to her lips, taking a tentative sip, expecting the worst. But a burn on the tip of your tongue was only unforgettable as long as it lasted. Other wounds weren't so lucky.

"His loss," the waitress said, leaning a bit closer. "From what I hear, you were the brains of the operation."

Lou's fingers gripped the cup so hard her knuckles became the same shade of white as the ceramic. "You heard wrong..." She glanced at the waitress's nametag. "...Dusty. He's a one-man show."

"Eh, that just means some of your smarts finally rubbed off on him. I heard the way you two talked whenever you dropped by here on a case." Dusty gave Lou a pat on the shoulder as she pocketed both her notepad and the money on the table. "And from the looks of it, his good tipping habits finally rubbed off on you, too."

"Mm."

"Well, keep your chin up, hon. I'm sure you'll bounce back. Kind of ironic when you think about it though, him switching up his brand the moment he goes solo. 'Lone Wolf' was right there."

"He what?!" Lou said, a little louder than she had wanted to. Loud enough for the bartender to stop in their tracks and glance in her direction.

Her heart skipped a beat; the last thing she wanted was more trouble, she already had that in spades. Clubs like this one were diamonds in the rough.

She didn't want to cause a scene, or worse, lose another home away from home. "He what?" Lou repeated, quieter this time. "What did he do?"

"Oh, nothing major, don't worry about it sweetpea! He just cleans up real nice."

Lou nodded, each tilt of her head bringing her chin closer to the table. She needed some time alone. She needed the earth to open up and swallow her whole. She also needed a place to stay the night. But that part could come later; closing time was still a long way off.

"Speaking of cleaning, I ought to get to my rounds before I get fired. Not that they'd dare, short-staffed as we are. You gonna be alright there hon?" Dusty asked as she headed over to the counter.

"I'll manage," Lou lied, writing yet another check for her future self to cash.

The waitress wasn't buying it. Dusty rolled up what little there was of her sleeves, coming back with a broom. "Far be it from me to hassle a paying customer, but I am on bouncing duty tonight and I'd hate to send a pretty little thing like you out all by her lonesome in the middle of a stormy night. You do have a place to stay, right?"

"I'll manage," Lou repeated. For some people lying came easy, but for her it was like starting your life over: always harder the second time.

"Mm hmm." The waitress walked up to Lou's booth again, leaning against the seat opposite hers. She nodded toward the entrance. "What does it say on the door?"

Lou sighed and glanced back. A patron was coming in, whether to feed a late-night addiction or to get shelter from the rain—leaving the door open long enough for the neon letters to sear their way into Lou's eyes.

"The Castle," Lou answered.

"No, below that."

Lou looked again. Under the name of the club slash diner slash whatever passing fancy the city felt like funding that month, there was a small sign taped against the glass of the door.

"Help wanted," Lou said, reading off the words like an umbrella dealt with raindrops: wanting as little to do with them as possible. But double meanings had a way of soaking through even the slickest defenses.

Dusty grinned, uncannily sharp teeth glinting in the flickering lights as thunder roared in the distance. "I'm just saying, babycakes." She put her arm forward, putting the broom's handle within Lou's reach. "Any port in a storm, eh?"

Lou gave the cleaning implement the long, hard look she wasn't quite willing to give herself yet. There were still lots of things to plan for, lots of consequences she hadn't even begun to consider yet. Lots of ways her luck for these past few days could still turn around, if she was only clever enough to really think things through.

But those were problems for her future self. Presently, she needed a warm bed and a paycheck. If the way out of her predicament would need her to be in the right place at the right time, she might as well pick the place, and stay put. Old habits died hard. He'd be back here, sooner or later. All she had to do was wait.

Lou nodded, to herself more than anyone else, and reached for the broom.

She'd get used to this, too.

(had a little intrusive thought that became a full-fledged "what if" bit of AU microfiction... happy halloween!)