Chapter Text
“Hey. Hey, Merida,” the waitress Agnes couldn’t help but mentally refer to as the rude one says to get her attention. “I know you’re busy. Trying not to fall asleep in your third espresso of the day. But…”
“What is it?” she sighs, too tired to sound as annoyed as the woman deserved. The smirking woman. That was finding something extremely hilarious.
“What would you say the odds were for you having a stalker?”
“If this is a joke just get to the punchline,” Agnes tells her, mentally reminding herself to leave this grinning menace only a fraction of the usual tip.
“See Beetlejuice over there?” the woman replies, pointing out the person seated at the next table over. Without ever bothering to lower her volume enough to maybe keep the boy from realizing he was being discussed. “Little weirdo has been watching you since he sat down. Thought you should know.”
A full nightmare and simply a terrible fit for the hospitality industry, the woman was, as ever, something of an asset. Between getting Agnes’s order automatically, without ever needing to be asked and just generally being a refreshingly refusing-to-give-a-damn about the things coming out of her mouth, the waitress was nothing short of one of the few bright spots this gloomy summer had.
She was also guaranteed to make this weirder than it inherently was. But that was something to worry about after she got through.... Well… whatever came next.
“Hi, Pugsley,” she says through a thin, insincere smile. Because what was the alternative anyway. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Not really. I’ve just been wondering who’s the other person following Fester’s Instagram. And now I know.”
“She’s not exactly keeping me in the loop,” Agnes says, not really defensively because… well… it didn’t seem like she was being accused of anything here. Nothing about what he said and how he said it made her feel like she was doing something that was crossing the line.
Which was something she had been wondering about, actually. Whenever she found herself scrolling through the endless stream of surprisingly non-nightmarish travel selfies certain member of the Addam’s family kept posting.
“I figured.”
Again, no judgement at all. Or else her over-caffeinated mind completely lost the ability to judge tone. But… it would be very Pugsley to miss how it all might add up to a continuation of her not-exactly-healthy patterns.
So she opens her mouth to say the rest. To point out how inobtrusive she was being about things and that if she didn’t know which Canadian backwater town they were currently passing through how could she send Enid the care package she would be in a desperate need of right about now? Just a little short of a full week of roughing it in the wilderness at this point and... Her nails must be a mess.
As for her mental state, there was little Agnes could do about that. Nail polish in all colors of the rainbow, though? That was something within her power to have airdropped into the right stretch of the woods.
Was that something Pugsley needed to know? Not really. In fact he owed her some explanations and…
“On the house,” she gets told before she can decide if she wants to be asking questions or answering ones no one actually asked her.
“What?” she frowns, looking from the cup that suddenly appeared before her to the wonderfully rude waitress who was… already placing another object beside the unasked-for coffee.
“So is this,” says the woman. Speaking to Agnes even as she’s busy aiming an openly suspicious glare in Pugsley’s direction.
“Hey Helen? I know this is your version of being nice but… Please take the pepper spray and go.”
When the waitress does leave it’s very reluctant. And comes with a parting shot. Because of course it does… “Keeping my eyes on you, Beetlejuice,” she grumbles before retreating inside the café.
“O… kay? But are you also bringing my order…?” he calls after the woman’s retreating back.
“I don’t think she is,” Agnes says, glancing at the coffee she didn’t order. “Do you want this?”
“I… do want to know why she wrote Nessie on the cup,” is the answer she gets.
Which, to be fair, she probably should have seen coming.
“Because I remind her of something that got dragged out of a lake,” she informs him. Only to find herself watching him really try not to lose a fight with a smile at hearing the explanation for that fun nickname. It was a brave attempt too. Too bad it was just… too genuinely funny to pretend otherwise.
Agnes thought so anyway. It’s what earned Helen a damn impressive tip on the day she uttered that charming comment.
That was, if anything, a fair observation.
Was Agnes having the best summer? Not even close. Between the worry for Enid combined with the frustrating inability to be of any help she was… A bit of a mess? Possibly suffering from anxiety induced insomnia?
It really added up. To a pretty bleak picture, too.
“Do you want me to stop? Leaving likes on Fester’s travel selfies,” she explains on being met with a momentarily confused expression. “Did you track me down so you can tell me this still counts as stalking and I need to…”
“As I said. Just… Wanted to know who the follower number two was. I had a theory, now I know for a fact. So that’s that mystery solved,” Pugsley tells her in a very already moved on tone.
“Right,” Agnes replies, failing to catch him at any lies.
That being said there’s just one little detail that doesn’t seem to add up.
“You’re still here.”
“Still waiting for my order,” Pugsley points out. “I’m… going to be here a while, aren’t I?”
She can only smile at that. So much for him not being all that fast on the uptake…
“How’s your summer going? Sorry,” she adds the second she hears herself ask. “Actually, please don’t tell me. Then I might have to do the same and…”
“And who in their right mind would want to listen to you talk about…” he pauses, taking her in, noting every little sign of sleep-deprivation and just general emotional turmoil that added up to her summer look. “I want to say… werewolf lore?”
“Lucky guess,” she says, with an exhale that almost counts as a laugh.
And it would be for the best for the whole thing to end there. Too bad this was Pugsley Addams she was dealing with, his expression, as ever, hiding nothing. It wasn’t even that he definitely wanted to hear – it was the absolute certainty he’ll be able to appreciate all the obscure facts she managed to dig up during her nightly deep dives for their sheer weirdness.
And wasn’t that unfortunate.
Because now she caught herself moving her possibly a little shaky hand to gesture for him to move to her table.
***
“That took a turn,” Helen comments wryly once she circles back. Something close to full two hours later. “Guess we’re not filling out the forms to get a restraining order then.”
“He’s not a stalker. We go to the same school.”
“It’s the summer,” comments the waitress. Making the short statement sound beyond meaningful even if it wasn’t for the lifted eyebrow punctuating the words.
“We live in the same city. And we’re… dealing with the same drama,” she says, pausing to think that one through. “I think. In theory, anyway.”
“Sure, Nes. And while we’re stating facts he’s also tall and a gothy-looking weirdo and I just knew that was your type,” Helen chuckles.
“This is why you don’t get tips.”
The woman breaks out one of her rare genuine smiles rather than dignify that with an answer.
“I think I’ll go,” Agnes sighs.
“Sure, kid. Time for your usual powernap anyway. Before another long, productive night of adding stuff to your conspiracy wall.”
“Why do you assume I have a…? Right. Right,” she says, catching herself. “You can tell just by looking at me.”
“Oh, not just me. Everyone can,” the waitress points out. Pausing for effect before adding a parting shot… “Beetlejuice looked like he might be into your whole vibe, though.”
“Goodbye Helen.”
“Same time tomorrow, then, Nessie?”
Well, obviously. Not like she had the energy to spare to look for a different café to hang out at during what few hours she wasn’t filling with chasing obscure historical records and questionable urban legends on the subject of alpha’s.
She was only wishing she had…