Picking Up Strays

Picking Up Strays

~~ Wichita, Kansas, 2076 ~~

It was eight o'clock in the evening when Dallas slowly stepped off the bus, she needed food badly and her connecting bus wasn't for a couple of days. She slowly walked down the street, her eyes scanning the signs. She was tired, so tired, sleepless nights and days had led her here - Wichita. She was running, running from her past, and had no idea what the future held. She slowed to a stop, and off the beaten track she saw a sign, Universe's End Restaurant. A wry, wistful, almost sad smile appeared as her father's voice for a moment in her ears reading from Douglas Adams. She slowly turned and made her way towards it, she could at least get a sandwich maybe a hot drink too.

She slowed, the restaurant closed at nine, and her brow furrowed slightly. Maybe she shouldn't stop, she didn't want to bother and make extra work for people. Her stomach roared with hunger as the smell of roast beef filled her nostrils as she entered the apparently vacant cafe and her mouth watered. She glanced at the menu and the prices then closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn't afford to eat here so she slowly turned away. She would find something else to eat. Her dog tags glinted in the lamplight, as she turned to walk back out and towards the bus station.

"Come on in and have a seat," a low voice called. Turning back she saw a man through the window between the restaurant proper and the kitchen. He was looking at her. "It's cold out there," he added with a small smile.

She looked at him, then looked at the menu again, her eyes scanning the prices a second time. Dallas shifted from side to side, uncomfortable, "I... I can't afford to eat here. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

He chuckled softly. "I didn't ask if you could afford to eat here, soldier. I offered you a seat. We'll get to the meal next," he replied, still smiling slightly. He'd seen it a few times in the time he'd owned the cafe. That look that said something was wrong. That someone who had sacrificed so much was on the raggedy edge. He tried each time. Sometimes it worked out better than others, but he always tried. They deserved at least that much.

Dallas shifted from side to side, then slowly moved into the restaurant further, moving to a table that let her put her back to the wall. The limp was pronounced now, but she still had a soldier's grace to her. She eased into the chair hesitantly, her backpack going at her feet. "O... OK."

"Now... let's start with a drink. Coffee? Hot chocolate? I'm assuming something warm is called for unless you're one of those strange people that actually likes the cold?" he chuckled, coming out from behind the kitchen counter.

She chewed her lower lip hesitantly then murmured, "Coffee.... Please."

"I'll warn you... I don't make that Army sludge that everyone always talks about. So if that's what you're expecting, I'll just offer my apologies now and you can deal with real people coffee..," he teased, turning the coffee cup over on the saucer and then reaching back on the counter for a pot of coffee from the multi-pot coffee machine he had.

"As long as there aren't any crayons in it I'm sure it'll be fine," she joked softly, gradually relaxing in the warmth and his easy calm. "I was..." she trailed off looking down at the table, "Marine..." she offered.

"Sorry, fresh out," he said as he poured the coffee. "One of my regulars' relatives came through and ate me clean out of them. Even the red ones," he offered with a smirk. "And those taste like ass."

A soft giggle escaped and she looked surprised, ducking her head. "Oh well... I guess I can settle for regular people's food in that case...," she trailed off, smiling up at him hesitantly.

"That's good. It's all I've got left," he smiled. "Oh, and don't worry about the bill. This one's on me," he murmured. "Order whatever you like."

Her back stiffened slightly, "I can't do that..." she bit her lower lip, then shook her head, "Don't want charity... I can..." she trailed off, her brow furrowed. "Wash dishes?"

"This isn't charity, soldier," he said firmly. "You and your fellows make it possible for me to have this here cafe without worrying about someone trying to shoot it up. Least I can do is give you a meal. If it were up to me, it would be a whole lot more than that. Our soldiers don't get nearly enough thanks. But this is what I do, so this is how I can say thanks," he murmured.

She flinched at his firm tone, curling inward and focusing on the table, "Yes, Sir," came out quickly and unprompted. "Thank you, Sir." She kept her head down and her hand came to cover her stomach, protecting it.

He sighed, then sat down next to her. "Sorry. That probably came across as pretty harsh and I didn't mean to offend if I did. I just don't want you to get the idea that I think you're not capable or something. You're a soldier. Your eyes tell me that you've seen more than most of us will ever have to. That's not worthy of pity. That's worthy of admiration, of thanks, hell, of hero-worship even, but not pity, and certainly not charity."

Dallas was quiet for a long moment, then darted her gaze up to his, her eyes took in the area around her slowly as it cleared. She wasn't there, "It's... it's OK..." she smiled sheepishly, "Not... not at all... not all there anymore..." she tapped the side of her head. "Doc said I was broken so they sent me..." she trailed off and dropped her gaze to the table again.

His eyes were instantly all concerned. "Oh, darlin'... You're not broken. At least... not in the bad way. You're just banged up some," he looked around, making sure that the cafe was empty, then he got up. "Tell you what...," he murmured. He walked over to the door, locked it, and then switched off the sign. "Let's get us some food cooked and you can have dinner with me. OK?" he smiled at her. "Nice and quiet-like."

She flinched, her eyes darted around the room, then she slowly nodded, "O... OK... we can do that. Dinner with you..." One side of her mouth curled up slightly in an almost smile as she tried to relax.

"You're safe here. If you really want to go, I won't stop you. I hope you won't, though. I hope you'll trust me," he murmured.

"Safe here..." she stated, then looked up at him, "I'm the dangerous one..." she informed him softly, her eyes haunted as she tried to keep the memories from overwhelming her again. "You're not safe with me around... not anymore... nobody is." She dropped her gaze to the table, clutching her side, digging her fingers in to use the pain to ground herself.

"Oh darlin'...," he murmured, his eyes sad. "I'll be just fine. I ain't worried about it none," he offered. "Now... Let's see if we can't figure out what to make you to eat, huh?"

"Us," she corrected ever so quietly, "You said us...dinner with you..." she darted her gaze up to his again, hesitance in her expression.

"Well, yeah. But I already know what I can make," he offered with a grin. "You have to use the menu to figure that out," he teased.

Her brow furrowed, "Food..." she stated simply, then darted her gaze towards the menu, scanning it again. She chewed her lower lip then murmured, "Maybe... soup and... whatever bread you're going to throw out?"

"OK... that's a good starter. Now tell me honestly, when was the last time you had a good meal? I mean a really filling one?" he asked.

"One year, four months... give or take a few days," she murmured. "Not since before..." she trailed off, pressing her fingers to her side. "I went over."

"Oh, darlin'...," he murmured. "You're not having soup for dinner. Tell you what? Do you like steak?" he asked.

"Yes..." her voice was soft, hesitant, and confused, her brow furrowed. "But..." she trailed off, her voice getting softer, "I could take the bread with me when I go to the shelter."

"You don't understand, darlin'. Of course, you're going to have soup and bread. That's just not all... you're going to have," he murmured, reaching out slowly and gently patting her hand. "Would you like chicken noodle, chili, or clam chowder?" he asked.

Her brow furrowed, she had to choose, "I..." she trailed off then murmured, "Chili?"

"Coming right up," he said, walking back toward the kitchen. "It's my own recipe," he called from inside. "I brought it up when I came up from Dallas." He filled a bowl full of Chili and took a small loaf of bread out of the warmer. Then, putting a little cup of cheese and some green onions on the platter, he walked back out to her, sliding it in front of her and then setting the bread down. There were individual butter packets already on the table. "If you want something other than just butter for the bread, I've got apple butter or homemade cinnamon butter in the back in a crock..."

"Cinnamon butter..." she breathed almost reverently before snapping her mouth closed and ducking her head looking down at the table. "No... no this... this is more than enough, thank you, Sir."

He sighed again. "Cinnamon butter coming right up, darlin'," he murmured, turning away and walking back to the kitchen before she saw the tears come. She'd been hurt. Broken in a way he'd not seen before. And he ached for her. That such a thing could happen to one who had sacrificed so much. He quickly wiped it away on his sleeve and filled a small dish with some cinnamon butter before plastering a smile on his lips and walking back out. "And here we go...," he offered, setting it next to her. "It's my favorite too."

A small smile appeared on her lips and she darted her gaze up to his, holding it for a minute before dropping it, "Thank you," she whispered. She reached out and slowly pulled the food closer to her. Her right hand was fairly normal but he could see scars along the left arm, spiderwebbing up it. It trembled a little but she clenched her hand into a fist, took a deep breath then relaxed it, "It smells wonderful," she murmured.

"I'm glad. I've been working on that recipe a long time now," he offered. "So... how do you like your steak?" he asked.

"Run the cow by and I'll slice it off?" She joked softly, then ducked her head, "Rare... would be nice."

"My kinda girl," he grinned. "Two rare ribeyes. Now, fries, baked potato, mashed potatoes, rice, or something else?" he asked.

Her mouth opened, then closed and furrowed, "Too many..." she trailed off, curling inward, "Too many options..."

"Oh!" he gasped. "Dear God, darlin'. I'm sorry. Do you like baked potatoes?" he asked. "Maybe some broccoli to go with it?"

"Yes...," she trailed off, then focused on the bowl of chili. She sprinkled cheese onto it, watching as it melted into the bowl then picked up a spoon to stir it. She closed her eyes as she took a small bite and tears trickled down her cheeks. Food, real food and it tasted so good.

"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry," he almost choked, his eyes frantic as his mind worked trying to come up with a way to fix it.

"Happy tears," she murmured quickly, "Happy tears," she repeated. "It's... been a long time since I enjoyed a meal."

"Oh...," he breathed, understanding, or thinking he did. "I'm glad, then," he added softly. "Though I have to say that I think you're the first that my chili has ever made cry..."

"It's wonderful," she breathed, slowly eating another bite. She forced her hand to set the spoon down between each bite so she didn't wolf it down like a savage.

"Relax and eat. Please, take your time and enjoy. There is no rush. I'll go and get the rest of our food started," he said as he stood and walked back into the kitchen. The tears started once again. Not for the first time, he cursed the life that caused such obviously gentle-natured people to hurt. Starting the baked potatoes, he got the steaks out and set the broccoli to cooking. Then, he rested his hands on the counter, hunched over, and sobbed silently, grateful that there was no one there who could see him as he ached for the poor girl sitting alone at the table in his restaurant.

She ate the bowl of chili, then used the bread to scoop the last of it, the bowl was almost completely clean when she finished. She pulled the cinnamon butter closer, then slowly, reverently smeared it on the bread a thin layer before taking a bite. A low groan of pure pleasure escaped and she almost melted into the chair. Warm food that was tasty and a warm room. She rubbed her stomach. Then hesitantly looking to see where he was, she snagged a couple of the ends of the bread and stuffed them into her jacket pocket for later. Then she pushed the bread and butter away, closing her eyes as she let the food settle and savored the quiet, the warmth, and the smell of home.

Several minutes passed as he composed himself once again. Then, he began seasoning the steak. He had begun using a dry rub on his beefs and ribs when he did them, though, the rubs were different. He got out his steak rub and began massaging it into the steaks waiting until the potatoes were closer to being done. Then, he washed his hands and went back out to check on her. "How are we doing? Can I get you anything while the rest is cooking? Some water or something else to drink? Or a refill?" he gestured at her cup of coffee.

Her eyes snapped open, wild and scared for a moment she had dozed off. She took a moment to gain her bearings, then sheepishly smiled, "Water... I could get it if you point it out..."

"Nonsense. You're my guest!" he smiled at her, taking the chili bowl. "I'll be right back with your water," he added, taking it back into the kitchen to wash it and get her some water, before walking back out with a large glass of ice water and setting it in front of her. "Here we go," he offered. "How are we feeling so far?"

"Warm," she answered honestly, "Feels like..." she trailed off and ducked her head to look at the glass of water, "Reminds me of home."

"That's good. Was going for home... to Earthlings and all kind of other hoopy froods." Realizing she probably didn't get it, he murmured, "Sorry. It was... a series of books by an English author a long time ago..."

"My Pa used to read them to me," she offered, "Arthur Dent..." she smiled softly, her eyes going distant for a moment, "He loved to read science fiction books. Douglas Adams was one of his favorites."

"Yeah!" he said, thrilled that she knew the reference. "Anyway, most people don't get the reference and think I'm talking about Wichita or something."

"So long and thanks for all the fish," she breathed as the memory swam up briefly. A soft giggle escaped and she ducked her head. "My Pa would have loved this place."

"I hope his daughter does," he offered. Then, blushing, he ducked his own head. Slowly standing straight again, he murmured. "I'll go check on things in there. Be back in a few, OK?"

"She does," Dallas offered with a small, shy smile. "OK."

He walked back into the kitchen and took a deep breath. He wished there was more he could do to help her. Something in him told him that she needed it. He put the steaks on the low-heat portion of the grill to start cooking through.

She rose from the chair, not wanting to take a chance on falling asleep, and walked to the window, she rested her chin on her folded arm to watch him cook. He wasn't classically handsome, or a muscle-bound oaf like she was used to, instead, he was warm, and when he smiled she felt funny. She wasn't sure she liked those feelings, but she couldn't control them. Her eyes watched him intently, he was so nice to her. She reached to grip her dog tags, her thumb rubbing over the imprint. "Thank you," she murmured.

He turned to look at her. "You're welcome. Thank you," he replied sincerely.

"I don't deserve this," she murmured after a moment, her eyes glassy. "You're too nice to me."

"I disagree. And since it's my cafe, and my time to do with as I please, I get to choose. I choose to be nice to you because I think you deserve this and more. I'm just not quite sure about the 'what'... more yet. I haven't figured that out," he murmured. Then, after a pause, he added, "I've always been kind of slow that way."

Her brow furrowed, then she relaxed, "Directions to the shelter would be nice," she offered after a moment.

"I can do that, but... let's talk about that first OK?" he asked.

Her head tilted, her brow furrowed then she slowly nodded, "OK..." she trailed off. "That's probably a bad idea anyway."

"Well... first off...," he said as he flipped the steaks, "I saw your backpack. And you walked in. There were no headlights," he observed. "Where did you come from, and what are your plans so far?"

"Bus stop," she offered after a moment, her gaze dropping to the sill of the window. "Cars are... expensive. Just... traveling... trying to..." she trailed off. "No plans. Waiting on Uncle Sam to let me be a civilian again with a bank account... could be another month or two."

He turned to look at her for a long moment, then nodded. "OK. So you got here by bus, but then couldn't afford dinner. That says you're tapped. You could go to the shelter, but as late as it is, I'm guessing they're full," he murmured. "I can call and check that for you if you want," he offered as an idea came to his head. It was crazy, but it was worth a shot. "Or... it just so happens that there's a house behind this cafe that's got an extra room with a warm bed that isn't being used. Maybe you'd be interested in using it tonight?" he asked. "You know... just to try it out?"

Her brow furrowed as she contemplated, her fingers tightened slightly on the dog tags, "I..." she trailed off, "Only if you let me wash dishes," she finally offered with a nod.

"Boy you drive a hard bargain...," he said, somewhat astonished. "All right. I'll show you how to use the washer. You can wash dishes, and then you can sleep. Just to try it on for size if you will..."

"Just to try it on for size..." she agreed softly, eyeing him with confusion and some suspicion, but then he smiled and she ducked her head as the fluttery feeling returned.

"You know... you're pretty cute when you get all shy like that. I like your smile better, though. It suits you."

"Your fault," she whispered after a moment. "I haven't... smiled in a bit," she glanced up at him, a small smile appearing. "Are you drugging my food with happiness?"

"I mean... if I am, do you really mind?" he asked with a shrug. "But no, I'm not drugging your food with happiness. I will, however, take credit for you smiling. I think that's a good thing, personally."

"No, I don't think I would mind," she smiled in return. "You're cute."

"Not cute. Manly and ferocious," he protested standing up straighter, though it pushed his slight pouch out stretching the shirt some. He flexed his arms and gritted his teeth. It looked ridiculous.

"Very ferocious," she smiled a soft giggle escaping, "Like a bear."

"Hey, bears are ferocious. I absolutely would not tangle with a pissed-off bear...," he stated defensively. That looked cute too.

"Truth," she agreed, "At least not without a very big knife," she smirked. "Still cute though." She blushed and ducked her head as the flutters returned. She pressed a hand to her stomach, she ached in ways she hadn't in a long time and it confused her.

"Well... so are you," he offered, shifting both of the steaks to the hot portion of the grill to sear the outside. The smell wafted over to her as it cooked.

Her stomach roared with hunger again and she blushed, ducking her head again. "That smells... sooo good."

"Yeah?" he asked with a grin. "That's a good thing. Ruining prime rib rates ugly tears," he explained. He seared both sides, then plated those, letting them rest for a few moments as he took the potatoes out of the oven and prepared them, then put the broccoli on the plates. "Cheese for your potatoes or broccoli?"

"Yes, please," she murmured, her eyes going wide at the amount of food. She swallowed multiple times trying to keep from drooling.