Fic: Made To Order (1/1)
Title: Made To Order
Rating: PG
Characters: Monica Dawson, Adam Monroe
Word Count: 670
Summary: It doesn’t take anyone that long to eat a Bayou Burger and Fries. For missy_useless, who requested “Monica, Adam” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. General spoilers through S3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For missy_useless: I don't think I realized how much I liked Adam until I wrote this. Just a little bit of inconsequential fluff.
Made To Order
She barely spares him a glance until he asks, and it’s the politeness of it that catches her off guard - that he sees her, somehow, knows that she’s there: “What do you suggest?”
She tells him that the Bonanza Plate’s their best seller, which it is, and that it’s really good, which it isn’t. He raises an eyebrow at her like he’s waiting for something, and she adds off-handedly that the chili fries are her favorites. Which is true.
“Got anything with fish, love?” he presses, and she catches more of an accent that’s a little bit far from home, falls into the unfamiliar dips and gives of the sounds. “I’ve a bit of a taste for... carp, as it happens.”
She punches in the Bayou Burger, which isn’t fish so much as imitation seafood product, and it sure as hell doesn’t have any carp in it, but it’s the best she can do. He seems to understand.
“And the chili fries, if they do indeed come so highly recommended.” And his smile makes her smile, makes her not want to take her eyes off him as he fumbles for his wallet, so she doesn’t - because powers or no, she knows how to make the damn sandwich by now with her eyes closed.
“Comes with a coke,” she adds as she wraps the sandwich, passes by the register to grab a tray of fries and pump three squirts of chili and three squirts of cheese on top of them, drizzling them just like the picture shows; “That all right?”
“Sounds perfect,” he says, hands her a debit card with the name Adam Monroe embossed on the front; she checks for the signature on the flip-side, just like she should, and the penmanship is predictably unrefined, masculine, but sharp, definite, defined in its own way; handwriting says a lot about a person, after all. Hers is all over the place.
She swipes it, hands him his receipt and his food, brings him his drink right to his table and gets the first real, honest-to-goodness ‘thank you’ she’s received all day - he even looks at her name tag and uses her name, and it sounds real nice the way he says it, just so - which makes the last forty-five minutes of her shift go blissfully faster as she cleans out the deep-fryer, resets the soft-serve machine.
She smells of grease, as always, and her hair’s a mess as she pulls off her neck scarf, shoves it in her purse and makes to leave just as Camille arrives to take her place. It’s only then that she notices the man - Mr. Monroe - just finishing the last bite of his burger.
It doesn’t take anyone that long to eat a Bayou Burger and Fries.
“Monica,” he says, rising from his seat and flipping the contents of his tray into the nearest trash can before coming her way, and her name sounds even better sliding off his tongue the second time around, soft and light, like it could fly if it wanted, and he grins at her like he gets her, like he knows who she is just from looking, from watching her work, studying her hands.
“I must admit I’m not from around these parts,” he says ironically, and she chuckles, a little taken. “And I don’t know anyone, aside from this lovely young lady who made me lunch today.” Okay, a lot taken.
“Would you mind showing me where I might find somewhere to rent a car, perhaps? Stay the night, at least?”
And, well, she was raised better than to leave a person in need high and dry; and really - what harm could it do?
So she smiles, and this time it’s her smile that makes him smile back.
Rating: PG
Characters: Monica Dawson, Adam Monroe
Word Count: 670
Summary: It doesn’t take anyone that long to eat a Bayou Burger and Fries. For missy_useless, who requested “Monica, Adam” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. General spoilers through S3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For missy_useless: I don't think I realized how much I liked Adam until I wrote this. Just a little bit of inconsequential fluff.
Made To Order
She barely spares him a glance until he asks, and it’s the politeness of it that catches her off guard - that he sees her, somehow, knows that she’s there: “What do you suggest?”
She tells him that the Bonanza Plate’s their best seller, which it is, and that it’s really good, which it isn’t. He raises an eyebrow at her like he’s waiting for something, and she adds off-handedly that the chili fries are her favorites. Which is true.
“Got anything with fish, love?” he presses, and she catches more of an accent that’s a little bit far from home, falls into the unfamiliar dips and gives of the sounds. “I’ve a bit of a taste for... carp, as it happens.”
She punches in the Bayou Burger, which isn’t fish so much as imitation seafood product, and it sure as hell doesn’t have any carp in it, but it’s the best she can do. He seems to understand.
“And the chili fries, if they do indeed come so highly recommended.” And his smile makes her smile, makes her not want to take her eyes off him as he fumbles for his wallet, so she doesn’t - because powers or no, she knows how to make the damn sandwich by now with her eyes closed.
“Comes with a coke,” she adds as she wraps the sandwich, passes by the register to grab a tray of fries and pump three squirts of chili and three squirts of cheese on top of them, drizzling them just like the picture shows; “That all right?”
“Sounds perfect,” he says, hands her a debit card with the name Adam Monroe embossed on the front; she checks for the signature on the flip-side, just like she should, and the penmanship is predictably unrefined, masculine, but sharp, definite, defined in its own way; handwriting says a lot about a person, after all. Hers is all over the place.
She swipes it, hands him his receipt and his food, brings him his drink right to his table and gets the first real, honest-to-goodness ‘thank you’ she’s received all day - he even looks at her name tag and uses her name, and it sounds real nice the way he says it, just so - which makes the last forty-five minutes of her shift go blissfully faster as she cleans out the deep-fryer, resets the soft-serve machine.
She smells of grease, as always, and her hair’s a mess as she pulls off her neck scarf, shoves it in her purse and makes to leave just as Camille arrives to take her place. It’s only then that she notices the man - Mr. Monroe - just finishing the last bite of his burger.
It doesn’t take anyone that long to eat a Bayou Burger and Fries.
“Monica,” he says, rising from his seat and flipping the contents of his tray into the nearest trash can before coming her way, and her name sounds even better sliding off his tongue the second time around, soft and light, like it could fly if it wanted, and he grins at her like he gets her, like he knows who she is just from looking, from watching her work, studying her hands.
“I must admit I’m not from around these parts,” he says ironically, and she chuckles, a little taken. “And I don’t know anyone, aside from this lovely young lady who made me lunch today.” Okay, a lot taken.
“Would you mind showing me where I might find somewhere to rent a car, perhaps? Stay the night, at least?”
And, well, she was raised better than to leave a person in need high and dry; and really - what harm could it do?
So she smiles, and this time it’s her smile that makes him smile back.