53 Ganymede

Episode 33 - Night Shift

The diner's light shines into the lonely darkness like a warm beacon, offering comfort to those unfortunate enough to be up at this peculiar hour. From inside Claire squints, trying to see past her own reflection in the window, but she can make out nothing beyond the blue-black sky and the slightly darker shadows of the surrounding buildings. Settling herself deeper into the vinyl seat of the booth, she yawns and rubs her eyes with the cuff of her worn sweater.

"You okay?" Declan asks from beside her, his own eyes a map of vivid red lines, his hands jittering with caffeine.

Claire smiles and nods, burying a yawn in the crook of her arm.

Across from them Marcus's leg bounces up and down impatiently while he stares into the impenetrable night through the glass. Doubt deepens the creases around his mouth, and Claire wants to ask once more if he's certain. Certain that River's mother is ready to move on. Certain that this is the place where they'll find her. Instead she takes a sip of her coffee, grimacing despite the copious amounts of milk and sugar, and glances around the diner where she's spent the majority of her day waiting for a woman who might show up.

It's nice enough, but not a place most people would choose to go in the light of day — the faux-granite finish of the tables is peeling away, revealing the cheap particle board beneath, and each of their three plain white coffee cups can be differentiated by its unique chips and hairline cracks. The sandwiches and fries they had shared hours earlier had been greasy and plain, but at least the bumbleberry pie Claire had ordered afterwards had been flaky and sweet. It was the kind of place that catered to regulars — the ones who had long ago found something to love (maybe the pie, Claire thinks) and had developed a sort of loyalty to the place — and to people out so late that they didn't have any other option. Claire wonders which type of customer Lana would be.

With a snort, Marcus turns and drops his heads into his hands, running them back through his tousled black and silver hair. "This is stupid. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"You didn't really drag us," Claire points out. "We came willingly."

"Yeah, but you really didn't have to stay this long."

"It's fine, Marcus," Declan says through a yawn, "We're fine."

Marcus levels his gaze at him, raising an eyebrow. "You look terrible, kid."

"You do look a bit rough," Claire admits, "You should take a break. Get some sleep and text me in the morning."

"I don't need..." he begins, but stops to stifle another yawn.

"She's right," Marcus says, "We got this for a while longer."

"You sure?" Despite the question in his voice, Declan is already pushing himself to his feet, pausing to stretch once out of the booth.

The door to the diner jingles behind him and they all crane their necks in anticipation. A trio of women in heavy work boots enter noisily, pushing each other and laughing at some private joke. After a moment, Declan turns to his companions and shrugs. "Let me know if you see her, or hear anything, or... whatever."

The others wish him goodnight and return to vigilant silence once more.

Occasionally one or two people slip inside, but more often people trickle out and most of the booths remain empty. On a Friday night, Claire imagines the place might have a livelier crowd, but on a Tuesday like today it is quiet enough to hear the soft jazz that plays from speakers in the ceiling.

"You should have went with him," Marcus says without looking her way.

"It's kinda nice actually."