THREE WEEKS AFTER THE SEASON 1 FINALE
Ward stared at the forms on his desk. He's been doing that a lot lately. Staring. Not necessarily at forms though. Not necessarily at anything. Though sometimes he stares at the door of his office, waiting for Joy to come in, but she hasn't. His phone doesn't ring when he stares at it either. He would stare out the window, but then his reflection would come into view and he didn't want that in his life. He could handle getting ready in the mornings, tying his ties, fixing his hair back, straightening his collar, but he didn't actually want to look at himself. And so he stared at things. Like the forms. On his desk.
Around 8 pm he noticed the hall lights click off. Megan must have left for the night. Hm... maybe I should leave for the night too... Ward gathered his papers together into neat stacks in order of importance and clipped them in their piles before sliding them neatly into a desk drawer. He paused for a moment, staring at the pill bottle peaking out at him from under the papers. After a heavy, drawn out sigh, he shut the drawer and made his move to leave. He hadn't touched narcotics since that day, why start now. Though his liver might not thank him for that.
In the elevator, he popped two Tylenol and stared at the floor rather than the shiny doors reflecting his pale face back at him. He sent his text to summon his driver on the way down. It used to be that he would drive himself most days, but that was just in case. Just in case of a lot of things, which usually had to do with him answering summons of his own. But that doesn't happen these days. And after catching himself staring mindlessly at a green light for the Nth time, he decided it would be a public service for him to use a driver, that way he could be as mindless as he needed.
"Evenin' Mr. Meachum," Glen, his driver greeted him while opening the door. He was duly ignored as Ward slid into the back and poured himself a finger of scotch only to resume his staring at the seat in front of him.
Glen drove him home in silence without having to be told to be quiet.
–
Once at home, he made two pieces of toast and poured another drink only to glare at the items, sitting on the counter, as though they had personally offended him. What a pathetic dinner to go with his pathetic life. Had he not done all he could to escape his father and be free? Had he not done everything in his power to keep Joy safe? And now here he was, free, with nothing to do and no one to do it with.
Ward leaves his dinner and tears his suit off with more anger than it really needed, changing to his regular street clothes and ignoring Joy's voice in his head saying that he needs to buy something in a color other than black. On his way through the kitchen, he vindictively dumps the drink in the drain and grabs his cold toast to eat as he walks out the door.
It's his third night sitting alone at a table for two in one of the cleaner bars in the city. It's more of a cabaret really with the dimmed lights and soft jazz backing up the sultry singer on the stage, he chooses the same table every time, because while wanting other humans in his vicinity, he's not ready to sit at a bar and risk small talk.
His strategy failed this night. In the lull of singing, the singer sits down across from him. So he stares at her with what he hopes isn't a glare, however much he might be annoyed. The laws of upper society he's learned at least keep his facial expressions in line these days.
"So you remind me of my sister," the obviously unnatural blonde with too much make up states.
"... Okay."
The blonde stares back with wide, innocent looking eyes that don't fit her gaudy tight clothing. "You've been in this same spot for a couple nights now. And you zone out during what I think are some of my best songs. I'll try not to be hurt. But you got this walking wounded look about you and you remind me of my sister."
Ward leaned back, putting distance between himself and the flood of words pouring from the singers mouth. "I don't know where you're going with this, and to be honest, I'm not interested."
"That's a shame, she's a sweet girl, good with the lost puppies like yourself, even the rich ones. She does the same zoning out thing some days. Always was a fan of escapism, even if she didn't have a book. Or a lost puppy," the blonde winks at him. "Anyway, you're missing out and I gotta get back to the show." With that, the singer slid out of her seat and sashayed back to the door reading "STAGE ENTRANCE – EMPOYEES ONLY" in cheap gold lettering.
Fuck social feux pas. Ward glared at the back of the singer as she left and stood to make his own exit. Lost puppy my ass.
–
Walking down the street late at night, Ward eyed the signs on the shop fronts trying to decide what to do with his time when he spots a 24 hour coffee shop advertising books for sale. God, I don't even remember the last book I had read, let alone as a free read. He stepped in to the shop and was assaulted with the smell of coffee and the mustiness of new and used books hidden just underneath. What stopped him two steps in was the squeak and simultaneous thunk. Turning to his right he watched as a woman untangled her legs from a blanket before getting off the floor and tossing the offending item back on the recliner she had clearly tripped off of.
"Hi! Just, ah, let me get behind the counter quick. Sorry."
As the woman stepped passed him, he took in the choppy pixie cut barely making it as high as his nose and her over-sized dark blue sweater over leggings ensemble and... mismatched socks. Whereas his last haunt screamed "trying too hard," this coffee shop had nooks and crannies of all shapes and sizes to hide one's self away in formed by awkwardly placed book shelves and over-stuffed love seats. It was a mess that quietly said "Plans are a lost cause, let's be lost here."
Stepping up to the counter, Ward got a look at her face. She had soft eyes with hints of dark circles underneath with the lightest of wrinkles where her brow furrowed as she looked for her pen. Upon finding it under a newspaper sporting the most recent sightings of Daredevil and the most recent public moves by the local mega corporations, she finally looked up at him and broke into an easy smile.
"What can I get ya?"
"I'll take a large coffee, double shot, please. No cream or sugar." He didn't have it in him to force an answering smile so he busied himself getting his cash out of his wallet. "Mind if I borrow this paper too?"
"That'll all be $2.50, and go for it. But there's loads of better reading in this place. Just 'cause the world's burning, doesn't mean we have to drown ourselves with it."
"Well, I'd like to know if I'm on fire all the same. It helps with putting out the flames." The cashier stared back at him as though she were surprised by him responding at all. Which he was himself, but that didn't mean that she had a reason to be.
"Sorry." She flashed her smile again. "I guess I get a bit cynical on the quiet nights. Grab a seat where ever you like. I'll bring you your coffee."
Ward was glad for the simple instructions to follow, putting himself back on autopilot as he chose another over-stuffed piece of furniture in an out of the way corner with a small side table tucked haphazardly in next to the chair. It was isolated and hidden, but still near enough to another human being to hear them move around the shop and settle back in to her own nest and turn her own pages as they both read in silence, the only sound from them and the quiet radio playing oldies in the kitchen.
And that's where he quietly stayed, perusing the paper, until he accepted the need to go home and get some shut eye before work hours hit.
On the fourth night of the same week, he asked the barista if she worked each night. "Some times I will take a night off. But the place obviously isn't the busiest, so sometimes working is the same as having the night off. I basically just do whatever I like with the down time. Read books, watch movies, nap, whatever."
"Mm, and you're manager doesn't mind?"
"Oh, I'm the owner," the pleased grin he's come to expect from her flashes again, "so the manager most definitely does not mind... What about yourself? Do you spend each night with eyes solely for depressing news articles and caffeine? And your manager doesn't mind a sleepy, over-caffeinated worker?"
Ward laughed, more of a stifled bark than anything. Then it hit him. She doesn't know who I am. The thought struck him with surprise. She doesn't follow the news. She's practically a hermit in the middle of a city. He had been so used to being identified, idolized, interrogated, and watched that he didn't even realize what a breath of fresh air it was to meet someone as a stranger on both sides. "Ah, no, manager doesn't care. Not in the least actually."
"Ha! What a world. Anyway, go grab your seat, I'll bring you your coffee."
With that, Ward found himself once more in his safely isolated corner, gently moving the stack of books from his chair to the floor and only mostly ignoring the sticky note with feminine penmanship spelling "Mr. News, how about these?" The nickname made the corners of his mouth twitch at most, but he was mostly amused by tonight's choices. A steamy-looking romance novel, a how-to on auto maintenance, a bird-watching guide, and... another smut novel. The barista had taken to leaving a small stack of random books on his chair each night to convert him from reading the paper. He stared at the chair for a moment, taken by surprise for the second time in as many minutes by his possessiveness of the space. So this ratty thing is mine now? Running his hand through his hair, Ward sat down and opened the paper to the business section, listening to the barista hum short, broken stanzas quietly. It doesn't bother him, but he finds himself wanting her to commit to the song and go the whole way through. She doesn't.
Soon after, the barista appeared around a shelf and sat his coffee on the side table, frowning at the stack of books he set to the side. "One of these nights, I'm going to pick the right type for you."
Ward glanced at her, his eyes relaxing ever so slightly as he feels his lips quirk, "You think steamy romance novels are my type?"
Her cheeks flush for an instant at his question before she grins again, "Steamy romance is everyone's type, it's just no one talks about it." She flees his corner, still blushing.
Ward tries to ignore his sense of accomplishment.
Friday rolls around and Ward is trying his best not to tap his fingers or his leg as one of his councilman drones on. The council members in the room had been at it since lunch with only a short break to eat a light dinner and he was ready to go home, change, and go hide. It was already latest they've stayed this week. Half of the room was adamant that they should repopulate the management of a newly acquired business they bought out while the other half was certain Rand should leave the current leaders in place. Ward was all for leaving them. The only reason the company had failed and needed a buyout was due to them not having the correct expectations and resources to begin properly. Actually, Ward was impressed by the business plan the former owners had developed, though he would never say it. All it needed was some fine tuning to account for common mistakes new businesses often make and he thought it could hit the ground running this time around.
As soon as the speaker paused for a breath, Ward jumped in, with his voice calm, if slightly bored. "I motion that we call it a night and revisit the issue on Monday morning."
The council members all turned to stare at him. "You have somewhere to be, Mr. Meachum?" the speaker questioned, looking at Ward as though he were a Jack-in-the-box that just popped.
Ward smiled with what he hoped wasn't a grimace, "It just seems that we are all at a stalemate and maybe the weekend will let us think it over more clearly. These are, after all, peoples' livelihoods we are talking about and I know none of us want to make that kind of decision lightly." The councilors nodded, some more readily than others, and agreed to return to the topic first thing Monday. Ward sighed as he stood and walked to his office door. He smiled at Megan in greeting, earning him and uncertain smile in return. "You don't have to stay so late on a Friday night. I can handle everything from here if you'd like to go." The papers she was shuffling slid from her fingers to the desk as she looked up in surprise.
"You just... never send me home early. Have I done something? Did I fail to do something?" Megan's eyes were wider than usual as she looked up in questioning terror.
"What? No. You're fine. I just figured you'd have stuff you'd want to do. I mean, even I want to get out of here." Ward silently scolded himself, wondering how much of his father's penchant for business he had inherited and if it was destroying his employees like it had destroyed him. He didn't want Megan to turn into a Kyle. "Really though, we work you too hard. You are actually allowed to get out on time." At her shocked look he continued. "It's fine. The sky won't fall and you're job will still be here for you the next day. Go home, or do whatever you do on Friday nights."
Megan's mouth finally shuts, "Yes, sir. Thank you, and yeah, I'll get going. I'll just put these files away first."
Ward nodded, "Have a good weekend." He stepped into his office without waiting for a reply. Sitting at his desk, he felt like a child that didn't know what he was doing. The problem of the meeting was a simple one, and he should have been able to close the deal within the afternoon, if that. Slouching lower, he couldn't help but think of Joy and how she was such a natural at winning the council over to her way of thinking. Maybe he was just too damaged to make them connect the dots. Or maybe he was just too damaged to connect himself. Or maybe he was just too damaged period.
He ran both of his hands back through his hair and leaned back, glancing over at his father's portrait, still facing the wall so he wouldn't have to really look at it. His hand went to the desk drawer to his right. He moved a folder and picked up the little orange pill bottle. Staring at it in his hands, he gave the bottle a light shake to hear it's contents. The muscle relaxants bounced together, calling to him. Instead, he just gazed at the bottle, held in his hands, on his desk, on the same floor his father worked, in the building he's sold his life to. Ward set the bottle back in the drawer and walked out the door. Caffeine would do for now.
–
Deciding he should have worn a coat, Ward throws the door of the coffee shop open, eager for warmth only to freeze all over again at the girl behind the counter. It wasn't his barista. There's that possessiveness again. Maybe I should start going somewhere else. But it's too late, the girl looks up and grins. "Thank god! You must be Mr. News. Hey are you any good with economics? I have an exam on Monday and this assignment is due that morning and it's kicking my ass."
Ward blinks. She's a tiny thing with a dark bob cut to match her smooth dark skin and shining eyes. While the normal woman's eyes always seem physically tired like his own, this girl is alive and thriving. "Is... the usual woman not working tonight?" He kicks himself for not having gotten her name.
The girl smiles and raises an eyebrow. "Why? Do you think the menu's lacking tonight?"
Ward blinks again. "Large coffee. Double shot. No cream or sugar."
"Alright," she drawls. "$3.50. It's an extra dollar, 'cause you didn't laugh at my joke," she sang. "Really though, do you know what any of these scenario questions are asking because the internet is full of trolls and I am going to fail."
He feels his brow furrow, but he forces a small smile. "Fine, let me see the assignment. Does your boss care that you do homework on the job?"
"Oh hell no. Eva actually added it to my job description." She replied.
Eva is it?
"It's in writing and everything," the girl continues. "It's because I complained too much about my little sisters being too distracting back home. I should have just kept my mouth shut. And then she told me that I will have an extra hour long break from the shop, specifically to work on homework. It's disgusting."
Ward smirked. "Well I'm not going to just give you the answer. Coffee. And we'll sit down and go over it."
The hour passed by as Ward and his new barista, Kay, went over her economics assignment. And then went over it again so that Kay could explain it back to him. She was a bright girl who he decided simply put too much thought into the questions, making them more complicated than they needed to be. It didn't help that she would get off topic at every turn, talking about the latest gossip in her classes (I don't even know these people, why is she telling me all of this?), the things she's learning as a new freshman, and what teachers she "absolutely cannot stand." For the most part, Ward avoided rolling his eyes. Just for the most part though. He was able to redirect her back to the her papers, but then she started talking about work and her boss. Eva. He tried less hard then.
"So I thought Eva worked every night. She hasn't gotten sick, has she?" He posed the question with seeming disinterest as he crossed out incorrect notes in Kay's notebook. "You're a terrible note-taker by the way."
She smiled a knowing smile "Don't even, I can tell you got the hots for my lady boss, I mean, you're in every night this week. And you don't know that. Maybe it's new info. You weren't there."
Ward kept his face neutral and looked up at her from across the table, using what his sister would call "a withering look."
She giggled.
Oh what the fuck. Is she unflappable or have I lost my edge for intimidating young people? "I'm just saying, she seems to enjoy working nights here, so it must be something important that would cause her absence." He manages to keep a majority of the disdain out of his voice. It's not that he dislikes her. I'm just stuck. That's all. It's just so hard to sound like anything other than miserable.
Kay huffs. "Nah, she's not sick. She went out to hear some of her sister's new songs a couple blocks over. The lady does jazz, I guess. I don't think Eva even likes jazz, but there you go. I think that ever since-" Ward watches as the gears in Kay's head grind to a complete halt and switch directions. "She and her sister have just been trying to get together more often lately. You know how it is, big cities, people drift apart."
Ward hmms, he does indeed know how it is and he politely ignores the redirect. Reassuring Kay, that if she tries reviewing the material one or two more times that she should at least pass on Monday, Ward calls it a night. Kay thanks him excessively for the help and gives him an extra cup of coffee for the road, telling him to show up again next Friday for more riveting schoolwork- and gossip. She also indiscreetly let's him know that Eva will be back the next night at 6 pm sharp. He feels like an old hen leaving the coffee shop this night, but once again, he is happier than he was when he got here. And with not hearing from Joy nor Danny at all for the last few weeks, he figures that's the most he can ask for.
Saturdays. A lot of time with nothing to do. Ward had tried sleeping in, 8 was as late as he could go. He tried watching television. Nothing caught his interest. So he went to a gym to get out of the house. He tried ignoring the clocks and his watch and the time on his cell phone that still showed zero new messages and no missed calls. Ward thought about going to the shooting range, but since his father, well, he just didn't want to fire a gun for a while. Nothing wrong with that. Anybody would want to wait. It's normal. He settled for picking up some new clothes. Shirts with actual color, even if they were still muted tones. Joy would be so proud. The sarcasm in his head was nothing new, but the bitterness was.
Ward sat down in the changing room, slightly surprised by the anger he felt towards his only living family. But why wouldn't I be angry? All that I went through, and she never even cared to listen to my side of the story, she just up and leaves after- … After I killed dad. Twice. The shame returned but the anger remained, even as he mechanically reminded himself that that thing wasn't their father.
He doesn't look in the mirrors. He buys the clothes and leaves them in their bags. He doesn't touch them for the next two weeks or so. And he doesn't return to the coffee shop either. He does buy a couple large bottles of bourbon though.