Chapter Text
Tips were a rare thing to get as a waitress nowadays; even rarer as a Fennel Fields waitress. Grumbling as you pick up the wrinkled dollar bill and nickels tossed onto the table, you contemplated why you even clocked in that day. But renting an apartment on your own wasn’t cheap and George Washington wasn’t going to turn into Ben Franklin no matter how hard you stared at the 1 dollar bill. You hastily stuff the change into your apron’s pocket and swung your body around to attend to your other tables but you were met with a smile instead.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Adrian!” Your hand goes up to your chest, taken aback by the proximity of your coworker to you. How did he sneak up on you like that?
“I didn’t know you were religious?” Adrian’s dorky smile never left his face as his head tilted in confusion.
“What? No, no, no, it was more like a figure of speech. It’s just that- You scared me, I didn't expect you to be there.” The back of your legs bumped into the table as you took a step away from your friendly coworker. He was an appropriate distance from you but you started to smell his sweet cologne that always lingered behind him, almost making you forget the smell of cheap burgers and discounted fries. Just his scent almost made you a stuttering mess.
“Sorry! I came out of the kitchen,” his arm pointed to the right of you to a swinging door a few feet away. Of course you knew where he came from, the small restaurant didn’t allow much space, but your gaze followed along his arm. You looked at the dingy door for not even a second before your eyes darted to his pointed finger and trailed up his larger hand. They looked rough and calloused, like they did more work than just washing dishes. You continued up his arm and noticed the muscles that slipped out of his baggy Fennel Fields button up, your eyes lingered there and you wondered what a nerdy guy like him could possibly be doing outside of work.
“-And man, your table was a MESS. Who even eats this many bbq wings in one sitting? I bet I could, or pea- CHRIS. I bet Chris could.” You didn't even notice he was still talking. He took another step closer towards your right side and reached around you to start stacking the dishes. A blush crossed your face as you quickly slipped to the side, remembering he was just there to do his job. “I bet they didn't even tip good either.”
You rolled your eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, “You’re right! All I got was $1.15. They had me running around half my shift getting their nine plates of wings! I get it's just a side but nine is absurd! I can feel my stomach grumble just thinking about it.” As you spoke, Adrian’s eyes never left your face. A small smile still turned his lips up while he attentively stacked plates and cups into his bin.
“I have tums if you need some!” You shook your head and laughed at his comment, unable to tell if he was being serious or not. “That sucks though, you don't have to tip out to me tonight. You earned the money and should keep it!”
“Adrian, that's really sweet. But one, I have to by the managers, and two, you deserve some money too! Plus, you always do such a good job cleaning my tables.” He looked away after the compliment and mumbled something you couldn't hear. You were worried you said something wrong until you spotted the blush covering his face as he rushed past you toward the kitchen. You lingered at the now clean table, thinking about the way his curly hair slightly stuck out under his Fennel fields hat, the way he pushed up his wired framed glasses, the sincere look on his face as he watched you speak, the family of 5 waiting for you to bring their drinks-
“Shit- My tables!”
. . .
Nights in Evergreen were calm and breezy. It was so easy for you to slip on your sweater and stare at the stars your whole walk home, not once looking behind you. Normally you’re much more vigilant, but a cloudless sky never fails to leave you in a trance. You’ve walked back to your apartment from Fennel Fields hundreds of times, you became used to the dark streets, and you were used to the tranquility of the night.
So why would you hurry past the dark alley way? The steady thumps of your heels hitting the cool concrete were abruptly interrupted by your flailing against a larger body. Your unknown attacker held you against them with an arm around your waist and large hand preventing any sound from leaving your mouth. Your nails immediately dug into the hand over your mouth causing them to move it up, now covering both your nose and mouth. The foul odor of cigarettes still very prominent on their rough hand was the last thing you smelled before realizing you couldn’t breathe. In a panic your flailing became more erratic, going from your attackers arms to jabs in their stomach.
“Stop-” Their gravelly voice grunted into your ear, “Stop fucking moving before I snap your neck.” The arm holding you against him harshly was released from around your waist and reached for your purse. Taking this moment to move forward slightly, you threw your head into his nose.
“FUCK! UGH- you bitch!” Air rushed back into your lungs as the hand once covering your nose and mouth went to clutch his own. You began to run out the alley but you hissed in pain as you were roughly yanked back by your shoulder, your attacker catching the end of your purse and dragging you down to the cold pavement. The large man threw you back into the alley, his body blocking both the exit and any light from the street. His shadow casted over your figure which scrambled backwards to get any sort of distance between the two of you.
As you hoarsely began to scream, a ringing bang covered the sound of your voice. You stared up in silent horror as blood splattered on your face and uniform, not daring to make another peep. The dark looming figure dropped inches away from your beat up sneakers causing you to quickly pull your legs towards your chest. A bloody hole was blown into the back of your attacker's head. Tears blurred your vision as your wide eyes trailed down the dead man’s body, to his feet that lay unmoving on the ground, and to a second pair of shoes standing at attention. The dark boots led to armored legs, a dark armored chest, an arm aimed straight ahead, and a smokey pistol which was once pressed against the dead man's head.
“Are you ok?”