Queen to Rook 5

[Marguerite De Silva]

Damn. The soup was really good. Marge had two bowls in her hand, transporting them from the kitchen to the couch where that sad broken little crazy boy sat with a blanket around his shoulders, watching an episode of the Golden Girls. He seemed to have gotten hooked on it—that or he wasn't really watching, and was only staring at the screen while the crazy percolated in his pretty little head.

"Eat," she said—commanded—as she handed him a steaming bowl. He took it and held it to his chest like a protective shield, sniffing it cautious animal-style. Rolling her eyes, Marge eased the bowl closer to his lips and said again, "Eat up." She threw herself onto the couch beside him and spooned some soup into her own mouth. The eye-rolling this time was out of pure delight. God, that was good. Hearty but not overly rich, with a perfect amount of herbs and chunky tender vegetables and chicken, one mouthful instantly transported Marge to her own youth, and cold days in her grandma's kitchen sneaking bites of soup from the bubbling pot.

And Jack had trouble fucking this man, when he'd had his soup??

Marge still hadn't gotten a good look at him, either. She tried to peek at him from Jack's window but hadn't had any luck. And while Jack was at work, she had to watch their crazy son, so she couldn't exactly pop around to the apartment across the courtyard—not to mention he left early and returned late. Bad luck! Marge was bursting at the seams with curiosity. But! She had his soup. And it was delicious. Almost as good as booze!

Beside her, Alejandro also made an appreciative noise and when she looked over, he was eating it with evident enjoyment. "Good, isn't it?" He turned to look at her with disturbingly haunted eyes and nodded. "...want a drink?"

"With soup?" He sounded mildly incredulous.

Marge waved a dismissive hand. "Just a little cocktail to get us through the evening, honey." She wasn't an alcoholic, she was a professional bartender. Who sampled her own merchandise. Ssshhh. There was a small pause during which she ate some more soup, thinking that Alejandro was going to decline her offer, but he nodded.

"Sure. Why not."

Marge smiled and patted him gently on the head, then went off to mix up a little pick-me-up. Everything was better with some drinks in their bellies. It was late enough, anyway, and soon Jack would be coming back to relieve her of her babysitting duties, allowing her to go back to the club for work. Plus, if she got Alejandro a little tipsy, he was less likely to go and off himself. Win-win!

Soup with a cocktail was an odd combination but for some reason, it worked. Marge was back on the couch again, one eye on Alejandro and one eye on the TV, chatting with him about sleepy little Hazleton and the characters she saw at the club and just in general filling up the time until Jack came back. He wasn't a bad little boy, either—just a touch troubled. Marge reached over to take his bowl when he was done—his ass was broken too, he said with a wry but charming smile—and brought it to the sink for Jack to wash.

What? A Queen couldn't be seen up to her elbows in soapy dishwater!

She was just about to suggest that Alejandro come to the club with her, maybe have some drinks and mingle with some people, when there came a soft little tap-tap-tap on the door. Marge exchanged a bemused look with Alejandro before going over and opening it. She stared at the man who stood at the door, looking like he was apologizing for even existing in that instance in time. There was another container of soup between his hands and a loaf of french bread resting in the crook of his elbow.

"O-oh hi. Hi um. I'm Brayden, I live... uh... I live across the way. I'm Jack's friend." He smiled tentatively. "He said you were over to help with... ah... with a friend, and I thought maybe you'd like some. Oh. Well. This." The soup and bread was extended to Marge, whose smile started out small and grew larger and larger.

"Oh you're Brayden!" She looked him up and down carefully, making no move to take the peace offerings. Such a kind gesture. Mm. And he did have that geeky adorable stuttering, stammering thing down pat, didn't he? Marge's smile was now making him uncomfortable, she could tell. "You're not even that cute," she said coyly, which she could tell only confused him.