What the cat dragged in.

7 Creed's Folly

The lack of motion woke Kelly out of a tenuous sleep. "Are we there?" She asked absently, rubbing at her eyes.

"If by 'there' you mean 'breakfast', yes." He smirked a little.

Kelly glanced out the window at the neat, white building they were parked in front of. She could see several people through the wide windows framed with blue and white checked curtains. She started pulling her fingers through her hair, trying to put it in some kind of order. She glanced in the mirror on her sun visor and decided she looked about as presentable as she could be after traveling all night. It struck her that she hadn't even seen anyone else since he found her in the woods.

"You gonna fuss all goddamn morning?"

"No, sorry." Kelly blushed.

She had to trot to keep up with him across the parking lot. 

"Just the two of you this morning?" The hostess, an older woman with frizzy blond hair, smiled. A Maine accent softened some of her words and expanded others.

"Yeah." Victor answered, his eyes scanning the room.

"Table or-"

"That booth." He pointed to a corner booth that had a view of the whole room as well as the door.

The hostess looked like she was about to protest, but he raised an eyebrow. She picked up two menus. "Follow me." 

They both followed the woman through the half-full room. Some of the other patrons stared openly; some took great care not to look. When he glanced back at her, Kelly could see his jaw clench just a little tighter.

"Susan'll be your waitress. She'll be right with you."

"Where are your restrooms?" Kelly asked.

"Right over there, dear." She pointed to the far corner of the room.

Kelly caught the look of motherly concern, but ignored it. "Thank you." She looked at Victor. "I'll be right back." 

She waited for him to acknowledge what she said with a nod before she walked away. Kelly could feel his eyes on her until she was out of sight behind the closed bathroom door.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Alice's Kitchen wasn't his first choice. He'd been to the house in Maine three times, and each time he'd stopped at Gordon's Truck Stop. It was a grungy place with a transient clientele and an equally transient staff that didn't give a shit if you were a serial killer or the fucking president himself. They'd serve you the same greasy food and forget your face as soon as the bill was paid. 

He'd actually pulled in there, but then he'd looked over at the frail. She was curled up on the seat; her delicate ankles were bare and crossed. The top one still bore a pink scratch over her anklebone from earlier. She wouldn't have complained. Not about the shitty food, the leering looks she was sure to draw, or the stink of unwashed flesh that always surrounded those places. She'd been kept wallowing in shit too fucking long in his opinion. He'd driven out again without waking her, telling himself that it was a preventative measure. He was preventing some asshole who looked at her too long from going home with his balls in a to go box. That was him, Victor Creed, protector of fucking humanity.

Alice's was one of those places where he was never sure of the reception he was going to get. This wasn't the worst he'd seen, but the stares and whispers started as soon as they walked in the door. He knew the frail noticed the looks, he could tell that much when he glanced back at her. He could also tell that she wasn't just ignoring it or oblivious to it, she just didn't give a shit. That was almost enough to make him smile.