Snippet #909169

"Yeah, me too. But I've been there." Fletcher did look tired. He still half-grinned at her, but he was definitely slowing down. "Don't ditch me because you wanna sit and sulk on your own, Doodler. I've had a hellova year, and even after fifty of 'em. people still like telling me what it is I want."

That was it. Fifty years, that was the most Fletcher had ever mentioned about what he had gone through. He took another swig of his drink, and wiped his mouth with his arm again. "You've got about twenty minutes till it's officially closing time. After that, you can split or whatever. I'll probably be re-stacking the dishwasher long into the night."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"But seriously. The plastic dishes go first, no matter the detergent. Clearly, Dom's never scrubbed anything by hand if he thinks he can get away with stacking things his way. I'm not kidding. This is serious business."

Fletcher shook his head. "Kids these days, right?"

The vampire slid off the counter, leaving his second bottle there half gone. He took up a broom and started in the far corner, sweeping absently. He was actually doing a decent job, whistling slightly as he went.

Was it that hard for a man who had been through what the Godeaux had, to simply say he wouldn't mind a little company in his own Gethsemane?

The answer?

Fletcher swept the corner booth, cursed, ducked, squinted, and decided he did not want to know what it was making an odd chattering noise. "Ew."

.. yes.