Master Apprentice
Archive
Rex's Diner
|
|
|||
Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Late night vibe at the local diner
Note: Quinn's dream is detailed in a Qui/Obi story called Two Straws: http://www.masterapprentice.org/archive/s/straws.html
Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 46 A chronological list of the stories with URLs can be found under the header 'Academic Arcadia' at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/master-apprentice/files/
My MA story page: http://www.masterapprentice.org/cgi-bin/qs.cgi?keyword=Merry+Amelie
Feedback: Is treasured at MerryAmelie@aol.com
Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
To Alex and Ula, betas extraordinaire
Thanks to MrsHamill for establishing Obi-Wan's love of root beer.
Two a.m., diner standard time.
Ian and Quinn drank in the quarter-full room with their coffee, lazy late-night chatter drifting around them in slower cadence than the daytime rush. A pair of middle-aged waitresses idled on the same caffuel, ferrying eggs and pancakes with bleary friendliness five hours before coffee would brew in home kitchens. Since the men were regulars who knew how to tip, their mugs were topped off frequently. Quinn was sure that if he sniffed the sleeve inches away from his own, he'd inhale the same rich scent he did from his cup.
The professors sprawled in a booth for four, vinyl squeaking under their jeans each time they changed position, feet scuffing on the linoleum. A vent overhead blew cool over drowsy eyes as they worked on their final exams. Papers covered the formica table, the bottom of placemats used as scrap paper, corners stirring in the breeze.
Used to working in crowded libraries, commons, and even trains, muted conversation bothered them not at all. Undaunted by the hour, the two slogged through their questions, determined to have first drafts in hand by the time they went home.
Ian's restless fingers, by far the most active part of him, worried a tear in the vinyl seat, as his thumb pressed into the yielding foam beneath. His debate over the merits of including Hardy versus Huxley had escalated to the upholstery.
Quinn's hands on his cup hid his scrutiny of Ian's tired face. He knew the source of every frown line, engraved by accomplishment. The Lit exam was shaping up to be Ian's best yet.
His own questions for Advanced Expo would be done soon, if he could overcome the distraction of the dessert case winking at him across the aisle. A chocolate mousse mountain awaited conquest, despite the fact that he'd already had a burger, an indulgence he allowed himself on exam prep days. Their fond waitress presented him with a foothill meant for two.
One plate. Two forks.
Rockwell at the diner, a sure sign Quinn had been working too long. Fascinating, especially in light of an old dream, detailed lovingly to Ian, about sharing a root beer float with his lad on their first date, two straws turning shyness into flirtation.
Not in their universe.
You'd have to be as far out as Alaska to try that in an American diner. Of course, it was a different story on the mosaic table at home...
Ian chose that moment to pick up a fork. His grin left no doubt that he too was thinking of the dream. Clearly, the waitress expected them to share, made more of a temptation by the proximity of Ian and whipped cream.
Despite that smile, he knew Ian wouldn't embarrass them. A shame to hide his talents, but there was always takeout. Nonchalance in every forkful, they ate as if the pie were the important thing, not the closeness of their hands. It turned out to be just what they needed to wrap up their work, the sugar rush more effective than the caffeine high.
Done with dessert, Ian stretched with a yawn. Quinn caught a glimpse of taut stomach and quickly looked down at his work, unwilling to reveal his reaction even to Ian in this public place.
Gathering his papers together, Ian stowed them in his briefcase with satisfaction. The waitress brought two checks, and they settled the bill, Quinn leaving a tip that befit their alpine delight. Quinn drank the coffee puddled in his cup, and put his own questions away.
2:30 a.m. Coffee warming them, first drafts completed, they headed for home. The diner, their unofficial university annex, stayed open throughout the night.