From: Dana of Starbuck Date: Tue, 26 Sep 2000 16:59:59 GMT Subject: NEW: Black Ink Title: Black Ink Author: Dana of Starbuck Archive: Anywhere, just let me know and give me a link! Summary: A teenager's bad day turns to one of revelation. Rating: PG-13 for language Classification: VA, third person POV Keywords: UST^kinda. Spoilers: Fire Disclaimer: Chelsea, Ryan, and the cook belong to me, no one else. No money is exchanging hands in the making of this fic. Feedback: Gimme, please? PipnTook@aol.com Author's Notes: at end XxXxXxXxX BLACK INK Fifty cents. Fifty lousy, goddamn cents. I pocket the change as I tower the sticky cups and plates on top of each other. A bill charging twenty bucks, and all they could dig out of their pockets for me were three dimes, two nickels, ten pennies, and a stale stick of spearmint gum. The journey back to the kitchen has become an unconscious act by now. Three months of lugging peoples' cold coffee, kids half chewed hot dog buns, syrup coated utensils, and abandoned soup bowls back and forth can do that to you. Fifty cents^like THAT'S going to get me through college next year. I allow the dirty dishes hit the sink-side counter with an ugly crash before heading back to the diner to wipe all the spilled juice and coffee from the table. Slobs. I feel the cook glare at my back as I push out of the kitchen. Lay off, cream puff. Whoever said that high school is the best time of your life is full of crap. They must have been in a coma toward the beginning of their senior year or something. His parents were probably reincarnations of Leave it to Beaver or some other idealized, romanticized family. I brush one strand of bleached hair behind my ear and delicately untangle a green one from the maze of piercings outlining the rim of cartilage. I've got one in my nose. Belly button too^ My mom doesn't know about that one. My dad in Ohio wouldn't give a shit even if they did know. I can hear a family calling for me. One of the kids is crying that she wants more chocolate in her milk. I pretend not to hear them and dunk the sponge into the grimy water in order to rinse off the fifty-cent morons' table. They can wait. Their little darling can manage without sugar a little longer. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll give me a 5% tip this time. Five minutes later, table cleaned, I wipe my sudsy hands on the red apron. Sure enough, precious wants more chocolate. What's more, little Tommy's nuggets are too soggy and mom's coffee needs milk instead of cream. Whatever. Another half-conscious trip back to the kitchen. "Hey, Chelsea!" I turn, glass of milk in hand, as Ryan enters the kitchen behind me. The blue practically shines from his eyes. Damn he's hot. "Yeah," I say, monotone. "Can you cover for me? I need a smoke." I wave him on. "Whatever." He winks, and I can see the tongue ring as he grins with that gorgeous mouth. I don't have my tongue pierced. I guess I'm worried it'll get tangled on his one day. I smirk as the fantasies flow like the chocolate I'm pouring into the glass. In reality, however, the only time Ryan even looks at me is when he's asking for cover or an extra cigarette. Small price to pay for an eyeful. Spiked hair, bleach blonde - like mine - and a body to die for. Believe me I know. The spoon rotates the milk in a tiny whirlpool, the tint darkening as Hershey blends with 2%. Oh. I forgot to mention he's got a girlfriend. That complicates the situation somewhat. All the good ones are taken. They get to go home^or a cheap hotel^and just lie in each other's arms for hours at a time. Along with other things, but nothing my parents will ever hear about. I carry the various revised food items to the table. They hardly even glance my direction, much less thank me, and I stomp back to the kitchen. I hear Tommy in the background asking why my hair is growing in four different colors. Daddy clears his throat and asks Mommy to pass the ketchup. In the end, they leave me a two-dollar tip which I shove into my pocket while removing the untouched nuggets and half-empty chocolate milk. The bell clangs as the front door opens. I sigh. My break doesn't start for another two hours, and we haven't even hit the lunch rush yet. I can't wait for college, even if the only one I have a chance at getting into is the local community college four miles away. But every mile away from here is^ a mile away from here. The man who walks in opts for the counter instead of a booth. I have to thank him for this - it's a much shorter distance to carry his order. For a guy only a little younger than my parents, he's not that bad of an item. But I've got a perfect specimen already, slacking off in the back alley. I pull the dog-eared order pad from its pouch on my apron. "What do you want?" The words come out blunt as always. I snap my gum. Spearmint. He pulls off his trench coat, folding it over the stool beside him. "Coffee and two eggs. Sunny-side up, please." "Regular or decaf?" "Regular." I mark a few chicken scratches that only the Pillsbury Doughboy cook has learned to decipher. I love my handwriting. I could be confessing to stealing a Porsche and driving it to the next state, and no one could read it in order to arrest me. My attention returns to the guy at the counter as his phone trills, piercing my eardrums. The one place I haven't gotten to. His eyes almost look hopeful as he turns on the cell. Whatever he was going to say falls flat as his face deadpans. "Yes Sir. Yeah - I know." Business call. Any respect I had for this guy flies out the window. I'm about to tell him to stick that damn phone where the sun don't shine when my attention is temporarily distracted. "Hey." A voice rumbles low in my ear. I whip around as Ryan takes my wrist and looks at me imploringly. "Smoke or ditch?" I ask. "Ditch," he says with a devilish grin. "Dan and I are running down the street; you wanna come?" God, you have no idea. "No one else is here," I mumble with a raised eyebrow. "And who's gonna cover for you if I leave?" He toys his tongue ring with his teeth. "Your loss." I shiver. It's not from the air conditioning. A few curses come to mind as Ryan strides out the door. The bell rings to announce his departure. "Uh, Miss?" I turn back to the dark-haired buy. "What?" He motions to his order in my hand. I glare in annoyance before hanging it on the peg for the cook. I guess I'm not moving fast enough for Mr. Armani. Bringing the coffee pot to the table, I hear the stove hiss as egg meets pan. "Boyfriend?" he asks as I pour his coffee. I almost spill. "Excuse me?" I spit. "Is that guy your boyfriend," he repeats. I slide over the creamer and sugar. "What do you care?" He shrugs. "Just asking." I stare at him. His eyes are unwavering. "Well," I lean my forearms against the countertop, placing the pot of coffee beside me. "It's none of your fucking business. But no. He's not my guy." The man sips his coffee and grimaces. I half expect him to demand a new batch, but instead he reaches for sugar and proceeds to dump a crapload into the tepid brew. "You're going to rot your teeth," 'I say, somewhat sarcastically, retreating to grab his eggs, which lie steaming on the ledge. When I return, he's smiling to himself, as if he'd heard some unheard joke. "What?" I spit. He shakes his head. "You just reminded me of someone right then, that's all." I snort. Right. I'm sure he meets lots of girls with multi-color hair and twenty piercings with a tattoo on one ankle. He's starting to annoy me, thinking the only thing I would want to do is hear about his boring job and his boring wife and his boring life^doing whatever the hell he does. I open my mouth for a rebuttal when the bell rings. Ryan's back. I smile. "Lost my wallet," he breathes quickly. "Got thirty bucks?" I reach into my pocket and count the change. "I've only got seven." "That works," he says. Ryan reaches out his hand and grabs the cash from my palm. "I'll pay you back!" he shouts while dashing out the door. "Whatever," I mumble. He already owes me close to fifty. "You can do better," the man says. One egg is gone, runny orange spreading over the white enamel. "Why do you like him? He's treating you like shit." I've never heard an adult swear casually before. "What the hell would you know about it?" I glare at him. He's seen Ryan for twenty seconds, and he feels he has the right to tell me who to fall for. "This is none of your business." He smiles. "You like him. I see it when you look at him. And you're willing to do anything for him, even though he walks away with everything you've got." I don't believe I'm hearing this. Taking another sip, he catches my eye over the lip of the cup. "I used to be in the same situation." "You dump him?" I mock, emphasizing "him." I'm a major homophobe. "Nope. She threw me out. I crashed and burned." I move to another table and start arranging the ketchups and sugar packets. "Hey," he calls back. "You don't have to listen to me. Some things you learn from experience. If that's what you want, no one can stop you." "But you're going to try." It's a statement. Not a question. The sound of metal against ceramic reaches my ears, and I can only figure he's scraping the remainder of the yolk with his spoon. "I can get you some toast if you want." I turn. He smiles in response. The toaster is in the dining area rather than the kitchen. I shuffle back anyway in order to retrieve two slices of bread. Pillsbury Doughboy is listening to his Walkman while reading, half-eaten Twinkie in hand. Pitiful. Returning to the diner, I toss the bread in the toaster and press down the button. He catches my eye again. "So what happened?" I find myself asking. "Afterward, I mean. You get a new girl?" He shifts in his seat. "Not for a few years, no. But people come along. They change you. If you don't find yourself improved in a relationship, it's not worth it." "Sure, Dad." A flicker of something crosses over his features. I don't try to analyze it. I shouldn't even care. So I don't ask. The toast pops up. I hand it to him. "Can I have the bill?" "Yeah." I rip it off and hand it over. "Two seventy-three." His phone trills again. He hits me with an apologetic glance while reaching into his pocket and flipping the cell to "on." "Hey!" he says. A familiar look crosses his features as he continues. It's the look I give Ryan. Yep. All the good ones are taken. Suddenly, a loud crash echoes - along with several obscenities - from the kitchen. I dash in to find the cook lying sheepishly among his pots and pans. "Cubs scored," he shrugs. "That's a first," I mutter, kneeling down to help pick up a saucepan. By the time the kitchen has returned to a survivable state, the man is long gone. I never did get his name. His bill sits beside the abandoned plate, wiped clean from the toast. I count the bills in shock. He left fifteen dollars. Written on the napkin are two words, scrawled almost as illegibly as my own writing. Trust me. I do my job, bringing his dishes to the sink, placing them on the counter. I ring up the bill and pocket the remaining twelve bucks. The drawer closes with a snap. "Chelsea!" Ryan runs in once more. "I need a few more bucks. We're at the arcade, and I'm out of change." For a moment, I debate reaching into my pocket and pulling out my tip. "Sorry. I'm out." He grunts and leaves, glaring at me on the way out. He exits the diner by slamming the door, and the familiar smell of pot hovers in the air. I know what my fifty bucks have gone toward. I wipe the counter slowly and pick up the napkin. The black ink contrasts against the white paper. Maybe I will. XxXxXxXxX end Author's notes: I can't say when this idea popped into my head. It just did. I was kinda upset at my parents, so a punk's character kinda flowed out. Now, before anyone starts writing me a nasty email, let me tell everyone that I know not all teens with dyed hair and a ton of earrings are rude and nasty. So anyway, there are only 41 days left until the premiere, and I needed to do something. Does anyone else have a post-it-note countdown calendar on their wall? As always, this story goes to my fellow philes. Luv ya!! This also goes to anyone else who has been dubbed with the nickname X-Freak by anyone you despise. Rise above the discrimination!!!!!!!!