Ficlets

Simon continued, “Look, I don’t know what to do. I’m tired, and my leg hurts, and I know we don’t have forever but we have four years and three-hundred and sixty-four more days to figure out what Lucifer is up to and whether it can be stopped or we’re just screwed. So I’m going home, and I’m taking a bath, and then I’m falling asleep in front of the TV. Is that a problem?”

Blake looked at the kid. He was soft, but had some promise.“Yeah,” he said, “it doesn’t fit with the plan.”

“I’m too tired for plans, Blake.”

“You’ll like this one. Pancakes are involved. And bacon. And the best-looking waitresses in Chicago. And really good coffee, and hash browns that are perfectly crispy on the outside but sort of mushy on the inside, they’re perfect, trust me.”

“Trust you? Breakfast with you is better than a Doctor Who marathon? Not to be rude, but how?”

“I can tell you a secret you’d never learn in a million years of study, kid.”

“And what would that be?” Simon didn’t try to disguise his skepticism.