He couldn't decide what had driven him to pull up to this diner at this hour - there was nothing particularly memorable about it, and he'd only the faintest recollection of it. He hadn't stopped here before, and yet there was a sense of deja vu about it that made him reluctantly get out of his car and step in. Brilliant white tiles and red vinyl seats greeted him, mixed with silver and brass edgings all around the place. Aside from a student working away on a laptop and a pair of truck drivers, it was pretty much empty, not reminding him of anything, at all. It was clean, though, remarkably so.

Waste of time pulling in, and he was sorely considering turning around to leave, but it’d just looked strange to watch him. And he could probably get a decent meal while he was there, something to fill a void in his gut, then head out – be polite to the staff. Who knew when you’d have to use a place like this? Heck, he could probably feed off one of the truckers while he was here, kill that other void in his st-
Wow.
Despite how easily he fakes them, genuine emotion’s a distant memory for the Mekhet – he can see someone return his smile, and feel his mood pick up, but it’s a dull shadow of what it once was. When he talks with Fringe, he feels like he cares about the girl, but it’s not real, it’s not honest. You stop having real feelings when you die. At least, that’s what he always thought.

Which is why the emotions currently bundled up in his chest where leaving him momentarily speechless. To look at, the waitress that had walked over wasn’t a supermodel – straight back hair, neatly tied back that matched the dark circle under her eyes. It wasn’t that that made him lose his train of thought for the moment, nor was it was the slight amount of makeup she wore, making a normally ordinary girl look stunning.
It was the smile. That smile, radiant, as if – despite it being one in the morning, and despite the exhaustion she tried to hide, but couldn’t – he was the most important thing she had to do today. Opening his mouth to offer a greeting, he paused, words catching in his mouth, and he closed it for a moment, before she started to speak herself – only for the situation to repeat once more.

Smiling, faintly, at the humor of the situation, they spent a few moments looking, before she grinned again, finally speaking. "Hey, there. How can I help you out?"
"You sure can. I'm starving." He gave her an easy grin, but he couldn't stop a sudden bout of nerves from making the expression freeze on his face - as if this was heavier, harder than he was used to. "Then again, I'm always starving."
And then, unexpectedly - perhaps at his smile, or just at what she'd said - she let loose a laugh, and he couldn't help but join in.

---

Two hours later, he was still at the diner, his plans to work on his herd of barflies completely forgotten. "You eat a lot," she observed, a warm smile on her face as she refilled his coffee. He'd learned her name: Rachel. She was working in the diner for the better tips; supported her and her son, five years old, and he'd even managed to see some baby pictures. And when the hours started ticking, and no further customers came in, she started spending more time hanging around, bringing him something new, some coffee, or working on keeping the place spick and span. "Where d'you put it all?"
"I can't help it. It's good stuff." He'd gone to the bathroom to throw it all up twice already, and still returned for more - but this wasn't on his mind, right now. All he wanted was her, so he grinned again, and this time she returned it. This would be easy: maybe she'd been drawn in, taken in a really human connection. He could grab her number, offer to drive her home, take the opportunity to feed. If the feed felt anything like he did now...

Abruptly, she was sitting across the booth from him, untying her hair and placing her hat on the table, with a sigh. She curled her hands around a mug for herself, and giving him a guilty smile. "Everything's done, now," she observed, softly, and took a deep sip from her cup, looking at him over the top of it.
She had brilliant brown eyes, he noticed; like warm chunks of chocolate. "Lucky you," he observed, taking the last bite out of his third slice of blueberry pie, and sliding the empty plate over. "Is it normally this quiet?"
"Yup. I can usually spend the last hour of my shift sitting here. What about you? You've spent two hours eating blueberry pie and enjoying my company."
Colorado paused at that, and couldn't resist throwing her an abashed grin. "The company's even better than the food," he replied.
She smiled. He smiled back.

---

Fast-forward another two hours, and they were idling in his car across the road from her house, just off Florin Road - glancing at each other like a couple of abashed teenagers, rather than a few adults. "See? Much cheaper than a taxi."
"And without the problems."
"I still can't believe one would try to do that to you," he replied, shaking his head. "You sure you didn't report it?"
"No point; it'll get swept under. Those things -" She paused, catching herself, and shook her head. "Thank you for the lift, Colin. Can I get you anything before you head home? It's late."
He wanted to say coffee. He wanted to use that as an excuse to get into the house, then to roll into the bed with her, to plunge his fangs in her neck and drink until he was sated, to ride out this high of emotion he'd been on all night. It'd be easy. He could feed. Sate his hunger.

"How about your number?"