A/N: The last time I watched Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, I couldn't help but think that what happened to Roxy was pretty sad and unfair. Then this happened.
Worth Something
The coin is warm in the palm of Kim's hand. It's an American dime, small but worth more than its size would suggest. As the crowd disperses, returning to drinks, dance, and conversations interrupted, she stares at the dulled engravings on its surface.
"She shouldn't have said all that to you in public," Kim murmurs and slips the dime into her pocket.
Roxy wanders through the tail end of a dream that night, a slump-shouldered shadow walking into an empty distance. Kim would have missed her completely if she hadn't been looking, waiting.
The defeated don't die forever. They respawn, usually different in some crucial way but not always. Usually somewhere familiar to them or where they were born. But not always.
Kim is less surprised than she expected to be when she sees Roxy standing in the coffee shop's shadow, black-nailed hands in her pockets. Their eyes meet for an instant before the other woman looks away and slips into the ether.
Kim is surprised by the hurt she feels, a brief and sharp twinge, at the loneliness in those eyes.
At first she doesn't consciously look for Roxy. The woman just seems to be there, hovering in glimpses at the edges of Kim's universe. She's always somewhere at every Sex Bob-omb gig. After awhile, sometime in spring or perhaps early summer, Kim begins to look for her. If she doesn't see Roxy for a few days she worries. When she catches a glimpse of gold and black turning a corner, Kim finds herself unaccountably relieved.
She's waiting to see Roxy in the company of someone, anyone, friend or lover, but the one-time fighter is always alone.
They have this in common,
Autumn settles over Toronto. They meet by seeming accident in an open alley between fences. Kim is taking a shortcut and pauses to stand beside Roxy, whose eyes are staring into the past, at the start of a fight she now regrets.
"Hey," says Kim, indifferent in a friendly way.
"Oh!" Roxy jumps ever-so-slightly. "Hi."
Somewhere distant a dog barks.
"Used to be people couldn't sneak up on me," her accent is faint but apparent. "Guess I've just lost my edge."
"Or you don't need it anymore."
It's hard to be sure, but Kim thinks she sees the faintest ghost of a smile tug at the corner of Roxy's full lips.
Kim watches Roxy watch nothing. Her presence seems to have broken the concentration required to relive old regrets. Their shadows stretch, distorting over the ground until they are almost touching.
"You want some coffee or something?" Kim offers.
A shrug, a slight smile. "Sure."
Kim never has much to say. She gets the impression that there was a time when Roxy was passionate, vibrant, and had plenty to talk about.
They sit across from one another at a small table surrounded by the quiet bustle and chatter of other patrons. The silence is warm, a blanket of calm around them both.
Meeting for coffee becomes a semi-regular occurrence between them. By the first real snowfall of winter, they sit together at the same table every week, talking softly and even sharing a quiet laugh now and again.
Somewhere on a chilly evening dusted with multicolored Christmas lights and their breath pluming in the air, Kim leans over and leaves a quick, warm kiss on Roxy's cheek. They keep walking, both smiling. Gloved hands slide out of pockets and meet between them.
It's a small thing, not unlike an American dime, but worth something.
END.