The scent of sizzling meats and fresh coffee filled the cozy diner as the waitress slid their plates onto the table. Alastor tilted his head slightly, studying the burger before him like it was some uncharted artifact. The reddish juices pooled beneath the slice, and he cautiously poked at it with his fork.
Jack leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around his burger, and smirked. "What's with the look, Al? You act like you've never seen a burger before."
Alastor froze, his fork hovering in mid-air. His lips curled into a faint, practiced smile as he looked up. "Ah, just… never had one like this before," he said, his voice smooth but careful, as though testing the weight of each word. "It's different from what I'm used to."
Rachel, sitting across from him, glanced up from her salmon. Her eyes lingered on Alastor a moment too long before flicking to Jack. She tried to focus on her plate, but Alastor's casual lie caught her off guard. A soft giggle escaped her, and she quickly turned her head.
"What's funny?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing," Rachel said, biting her lip to suppress a smile. She muttered under her breath, "Not even close."
Alastor's sharp hearing caught the words, and a flicker of amusement crossed his features. He didn't respond, instead cutting a piece of steak and lifting it to his mouth.
The moment the rich, savory flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened slightly. The texture, the seasoning—it was unexpectedly… incredible. He masked his reaction quickly, chewing with an air of nonchalance, though he couldn't help but glance down at the french fries beside it, scooping up a bite with a cautious hand.
Meanwhile, Jack tore into his burger, oblivious to the subtle exchange. "This place never disappoints," he mumbled through a mouthful of food.
Rachel, however, wasn't eating. Her fork hovered above her plate as her gaze darted to the counter. Two women stood there, their heads close together as they whispered and occasionally glanced toward their table.
Toward Alastor.
Rachel's grip on her fork tightened. One of the women—blonde, with a bright laugh—turned slightly, her eyes lingering on Alastor as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Rachel swallowed hard, her stomach twisting. She didn't understand the unease bubbling inside her, but it was there, hot and irritating. She stabbed at her salmon, forcing herself to look away.
As Jack launched into a story about the diner's old jukebox, Rachel's thoughts wandered back to the warehouse. To the darkened corners, the adrenaline coursing through her after Maltad had been dealt with. The weight of Alastor's presence so close to hers. And that moment—her lips brushing his, the warmth of it, fleeting but unforgettable.
Why had she done that?
Her chest tightened, the memory vivid as if it had just happened. She stole another glance at Alastor, who was now quietly eating, seemingly oblivious to the attention he was drawing.
She wasn't sure what was more frustrating—the way those women kept looking at him or the fact that she cared so much.
The sound of Jack's laughter pulled her back to the present, and she forced herself to smile, though her thoughts remained tangled.
The two women from the counter finally approached their table, their heels clicking against the tiled floor. The blonde leaned slightly forward, her bright smile lighting up her face.
"Hey there," she said, her voice lilting with practiced charm. "We couldn't help but notice you over here." Her friend, a brunette with sharp features, nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning Alastor with open admiration.
Alastor blinked, his confusion flickering across his face. "Oh, uh… hello."
The blonde stepped closer. "We were just wondering if we could get your phone number? You seem... interesting."
Rachel's fork froze mid-air, her grip tightening just enough for her knuckles to turn white.
Rachel plastered on a polite smile, her tone soft but edged with subtle sarcasm. "Wow, you two are confident. I'm sure Alastor admires that."
Before Alastor could even respond, Jack leaned forward, his grin wide. "Wow, ladies, hold on now. You're gonna scare him off if you come on too strong! He's shy, you know—doesn't talk to women much, unless they're from... outer space."
The two women froze for a beat, glancing at each other before looking back at Jack. The blonde's eyes widened, while the brunette looked slightly more skeptical.
Alastor, who had already been inching away from the situation, now felt the full weight of Jack's words. He tilted his head, blinking in disbelief, and opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, the words slipping away as he processed what Jack had just implied.
Rachel's face froze, her lips parting slightly as she looked at Jack with a mixture of confusion and surprise. Did Jack… just call him an alien?
She glanced at Alastor. His expression was unreadable, the only sign of his discomfort a slight tightening around his eyes. He didn't look mad, more perplexed, as if he was suddenly realizing Jack didn't have the faintest idea what was going on.
Jack, however, was completely unaware of the tension. He gave the two women an exaggerated wink. "Yep, that's right. Alastor here? He's from outer space—I'm just helping him navigate Earth. He's got all sorts of interesting abilities and powers. But don't worry, he's harmless." He leaned back in his chair, completely casual, clearly proud of his own joke.
The blonde and brunette exchanged uncertain glances. "Outer space?" the brunette asked, her tone skeptical, though a small chuckle escaped her lips. "Is that, like, a joke or…?"
Jack chuckled, completely oblivious. "Nah, trust me. You'll get used to him. He's got that mysterious alien thing going on, but, really, it's all just part of his charm."
Rachel was silent for a moment, trying to process Jack's words and Alastor's quiet response. A mix of amusement, disbelief, and a strange protectiveness stirred within her. She didn't understand why Jack had decided to joke around this way—he had no idea what he was even implying, let alone how much of it was true, but there was something about the way he tried to make the situation more comfortable for Alastor that made her smile. Despite the absurdity of it all, Jack was trying to help.
Rachel cleared her throat, her voice a little too sharp as she responded. "You know, Jack, you're really good at making things awkward."
Alastor didn't break his gaze from the table, though the ghost of a smile played on his lips. He nodded faintly in agreement. "Quite the talent, Jack."
Jack, still blissfully unaware, beamed proudly. "I try, I try."
"Right…" Alastor said slowly, scratching the back of his neck. He felt Rachel's gaze on him, though her expression gave nothing away. After a brief pause, he hesitantly pulled out his phone. "Sure, I guess."
The blonde eagerly rattled off her number, followed by her friend. Alastor added them to his contacts with careful, almost mechanical movements.
As the women thanked him and walked away, Rachel returned her focus to her plate, pushing her food around without much interest.
Jack, sensing the shift in mood, broke the silence. "Well," he said, grinning, "that was… something. They were beautiful though, weren't they, Al?"
Alastor glanced at Jack, then towards Rachel, his brow furrowing slightly. "I wouldn't call those women beautiful," he said thoughtfully, his tone calm.
Rachel blinked, caught off guard.
"They were attractive in some ways," he continued, his gaze distant, "but… 'beautiful' feels too strong a word."
Rachel felt a quiet relief wash over her, though she didn't let it show. She stabbed at her salmon again, her lips quirking into a faint smirk.
"Then why'd you give them your number?" Jack asked, his tone teasing.
Alastor hesitated, unsure how to explain the intricacies of his limited experience with Earth's social customs. "I… wasn't sure how to refuse without being rude," he said, a faintly apologetic note in his voice. "It seemed easier to just… agree."
Jack burst into laughter. "You're a real playa, huh?"
Alastor tilted his head. "What does that mean?"
Jack snorted. "What do you mean, 'what does it mean?' It means you're—"
Rachel interrupted, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "It means you probably wouldn't have had a chance with those ladies anyway."
Jack cackled, and even Alastor's lips twitched into a small, amused smile, though the deeper meaning of the interaction still eluded him.
"Beautiful," he thought to himself, glancing at Rachel's retreating figure. For all the words he could use to describe her, that one felt the most fitting of all.
As they stepped outside the diner, the chilly Brooklyn night air brushed against their faces. The laughter and chatter of the busy street faded behind them, leaving the quiet buzz of the evening. Jack, now finished with his meal, stood by the curb, adjusting his jacket with an easy grin.
"Alright, guys," Jack said, throwing a playful wave. "I'm out. Later."
"See you, Jack," Rachel called after him, her tone light but tinged with warmth. Alastor nodded silently, his gaze lingering on Jack for a moment before returning to Rachel.
With Jack heading off in the opposite direction, Rachel turned to Alastor, offering a small smile. "I had a lot of fun tonight," she said softly, her voice carrying a sincerity that only seemed to deepen the more she spoke. "I'm really thankful you came out with us. I know it wasn't your thing, but…" She let the sentence trail off, her eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort.
"I… enjoyed it too," Alastor replied, surprising even himself. The words felt more natural now, not as forced. He felt the strange warmth that had crept into his chest earlier, something he hadn't expected, still lingering.
Rachel tilted her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "I really appreciate you opening up to me. It means a lot. Getting a glimpse of where you're from… how you described the food on your planet, it's just... I don't know, it's fascinating."
Alastor gave a slow nod, his lips curling slightly in a smile. "It's nothing special, really. Just... different from what I've found here," he said, trying to downplay it. The mix of awkwardness and something deeper lingered in his chest, but for once, it didn't feel so uncomfortable. Not with her.
Rachel glanced over at him, noting how easy it felt to talk now. Her thoughts wandered, almost against her will. There was something about him—his eyes, the way he listened so intently, the way he spoke about his past like it was something he didn't want to dwell on yet couldn't completely hide. Something about it made her want to know more, to keep unraveling the layers that hid beneath the surface. And yet, as much as she felt drawn to him, there was a gnawing feeling that it wasn't so simple.
She pushed the thought aside as they reached her car. "I'm glad we did this," she said, her voice quieter now, more personal. She smiled at him. "I'd love to do it again sometime."
Alastor turned his head toward her, his eyes soft but still guarded. "I'd like that. I think I'd like that very much." There was a brief pause, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them, before he added, "Take care of yourself, Rachel."
She gave a nod, and a final smile before watching him walk away. The silence in the car felt different as she drove off, the headlights of the passing cars blurring as she lost herself in thought. What was it about him that kept her thoughts circling back? She couldn't pinpoint it, not exactly. But she couldn't ignore it either.
Alastor arrived at the apartment building shortly after, the glow of the city's neon lights casting a quiet sheen over the street. As he stepped through the door, he spotted Mr. Thompson slouched on the couch, flipping through a magazine.
"Hey, kid," Mr. Thompson called, glancing up with a tired but friendly smile. "How was the night?"
"It was great," Alastor said, easing into the chair across from him. He told him almost everything, his voice steady and casual, though he left out the more personal, complicated parts—particularly the way his thoughts kept drifting back to Rachel. "Had a good time with Jack and Rachel. Food was strange but good. The whole experience was… new."
Mr. Thompson grunted in acknowledgment and set the magazine down, stretching his legs. "Sounds like a solid night. Glad you got out for a bit. You ever been to a diner like that before?"
Alastor shook his head. "No, not really. The food's a bit different from home. But not bad. It's… interesting, how they serve it here."
Mr. Thompson chuckled lightly. "Yeah, food's a big deal for us, after all. But I get it—used to the more basic stuff, huh?"
"Something like that," Alastor replied absently.
Alastor hesitated for a moment before asking, his curiosity getting the better of him. "How's the reconstruction of the Brooklyn Brew café going? I know you've been working on it all day."
Mr. Thompson straightened up slightly, a hint of pride creeping into his tone. "It's going alright. Been spending most of the day helping out with the walls and the foundation. The café's a bit of a mess right now, but it's getting there. I've been fixing up the plumbing and reworking some of the old fixtures. Not as complicated as working on engines, but it's something I can get my hands on. A lot of the team's focused on putting up new beams and supports, so it's coming together little by little."
"Sounds like a lot of work," Alastor observed, his voice thoughtful. "But I'm sure it'll be worth it once it's done."
"Yeah, it will be," Mr. Thompson agreed. "I'm really hoping to get it back up and running soon. A lot of people around here rely on it, so it's a big deal."
Alastor nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "I'll bet. It must feel good to contribute, even if it's not the same kind of work you're used to."
Mr. Thompson grinned, his expression lightening a little. "It's something. Anyway, how about you? You still thinking about what I said? About doing something meaningful?"
Alastor's gaze faltered, and he let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. "Yeah, I remember," he said quietly, his voice distant. "But I don't know what that even looks like for me anymore."
Mr. Thompson gave him a long, appraising look before shrugging, leaning back into the couch. "You'll figure it out. You always do."
Alastor didn't respond immediately, his mind racing. What did something meaningful look like for him? He'd spent so many years saving lives, righting wrongs across galaxies. But was that enough? Was that truly something that defined him, or was it just something he did because it was all he knew?
Later, when Alastor made his way to his room, he sat on the edge of his bed, his mind full of thoughts. He'd been on Earth for some time now, yet he still hadn't figured out what to do with himself. Thousands of years of fighting, saving the universe, and yet, now that he was on Earth, everything felt different. He felt… small.
He thought about Rachel, the way she'd opened up to him, the way she seemed to understand him in ways no one else did. She was probably the only woman who didn't just see him as some alien, but someone with a story worth sharing. But the thought of getting closer to her—that was a complication he wasn't sure he could afford. After all, what was he supposed to offer her? He was running out of time, living a life that couldn't last forever. He wasn't like everyone else here. The difference in their years wasn't just a number—it was something that kept pulling him back.
And then there was Mr. Thompson's words, echoing in his mind: Do something meaningful for yourself. What did that even mean for him anymore? He'd spent so many years living as a hero in the shadows, always running away from anything that could tie him down. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was time to figure out what he really wanted before time ran out.
Alastor lay back, staring at the ceiling, wondering where the future would take him. What could he do that was truly meaningful? What could a Levanzonian who had seen centuries of life and death actually do here?
As his thoughts drifted, the weight of his secret—his true nature, his true age—pressed heavier than ever. Would it ever be possible for him to truly fit in here? And what about Rachel?
The questions spun in his mind, leaving him restless as the world outside continued on, oblivious to the chaos of his own thoughts.
Meanwhile, Rachel closed her door softly and collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The night's events played over in her mind—Alastor, the kiss, and the way his presence lingered long after. She couldn't shake the pull toward him, despite the mix of emotions swirling in her chest.
Her mind drifted to the other women—the waitress, the two who had asked for his number. A sharp jealousy tugged at her. But what bothered her most was the thought of him being... otherworldly.
He'd lived for thousands of years. He would never grow old the way she would. She would age, become frail, while he... stayed the same. Could she ever truly be with someone like that?
But then, there were the moments when he opened up to her, when his walls came down. She understood him better than anyone. And yet, the distance between them remained, an invisible line neither could cross.
Her thoughts shifted to her brother, Tommy. She hadn't heard from him since the warehouse, and the fear that she might never see him again grew with each passing day. What if he was in danger? Or worse, what if he was beyond saving?
The uncertainty pressed down on her chest. She wasn't sure what to think—about Tommy, about Alastor, about everything. She felt torn between two worlds.
But then, the memory of flying surged in her mind—the rush of wind, the dizzying heights, the city below. It had been a whole new world. The moment Alastor had taken her into the sky, everything had changed. She had felt free—untethered, like the weight of her doubts had been lifted.
Still, the questions returned. Could she embrace that freedom? Could she ever have what she wanted with someone like Alastor, whose life was so far removed from hers? Whose race, his planet, everything he had known had been lost to time and death, leaving him in solitude?
The thought of him carrying that weight alone, and yet still showing her pieces of himself, made her heart ache. Could she fill even a fraction of that emptiness?
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sighed. She didn't know what this was, what she wanted. But Alastor was always in her thoughts, and Tommy was never far behind. For now, that was enough.