Title: "Makeshift" (2/?)
Author: Marie-Claude Danis
e-mail: mc@verticalcrawl.com
Site: http://verticalcrawl.com/
Feedback: makes me write faster?
Distribution: List archive; anyone else, just let me know.
Rating: PG for now
Category: Romance, story.
Pairing: L/*
Summary: a chance meeting.
Note: To Chrissy, still. Still unbeta'd.


I reluctantly peer over my glasses and up at the man sitting in front of me all but bouncing up and down in the booth. I'm fairly used to seeing Mulder excited over something, but this is just plain creepy. He looks about eight and keeps grinning at me, the white expanse of perfect teeth almost menacingly giddy. Suddenly I wish the others hadn't left so early.

The silent treatment doesn't work with him and I cut him off as he opens his mouth.


"It's her, right?"

"Mulder, go home."

"Is she why you always make us come here?" I let out the most elaborate of all possible sighs. He is not impressed. In fact, he's becoming downright relentless.  He pokes at his own chest. "You know, I can tell. I figured it out. It's my job. They pay me to figure things out like this."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. "Yeah. You're a real pro."

His shoulders slump a bit and he almost visibly becomes the guy I actually like. "You know her?" He takes a hearty gulp of his lukewarm tea and leans back into the booth, suddenly looking very weary and awkwardly tall.

I run a nervous hand through my hair and stare at perfectly V-shaped leftover crust from my grilled-cheese. I think hard, and it makes me frown. "I think so."

"You *think* so?"

"She does seem familiar. But... I can't say. I...really can't."

This is upsetting me. This girl I've been watching discreetly for weeks, the waitress. I know her from somewhere. I know her very well. But the feeling is unsettling because I have absolutely no recollection of ever meeting her. The familiarity she inspires is completely at odds with the fact that at this point I'm fairly sure I've never laid eyes on her before I started coming here.

I wish Scully was here. Scully could help, I'm sure.  Mulder, not much help, buddy.

"Why don't you talk to her?"

I shake my head with a chuckle, not sure if I want to laugh or cry at this. He's absurd. Me? I haven't willingly talked to a girl since grade school. Well I have, but to disastrous ends. I stare down at my shirt of The Supers I threw on this morning. Why do I dress like this? "Her shift was over hours ago, Mulder."

Mulder stands, rolling down his sleeves and putting his jacket back on. He suddenly seems in a hurry to leave.  "I'll stop by tomorrow for those files. You sure you can--"

"Yes. I said already. No problem. Like taking candy from a government-funded child."

Mulder winks a smirk at me and soon the door jingles close behind him. I flip a couple of bills on our cluttered table and stand, zipping up my jacket. A rather unbecoming woman in an apron smiles at me when I leave.

To be continued...