A/N: Part two, Makoto/Nephrite. Some references to other characters, and some vague and meta references to manga canon if you squint.
Disclaimer: Same as always. On with the fic!
Six and Ten
The school bus was late that morning, and Nick hunched his back against the cold winter wind with a scowl. It was bad enough that they weren't getting a snow day because of the weather. He didn't have a problem with snow, unless it meant that he would be confined to the schoolroom for classes AND indoor recess.
And then, the bus was late, and there wasn't even anyone to talk to here at the bus stop except for the little girl in first grade, and who wanted to do THAT? Nick supposed that she was all right as far as girls went, since she didn't try to talk to him about Barbies and stuff, but it wasn't as though they could be friends or anything.
She gave a loud sniffle next to him, and his scowl deepened as he glanced at her. She was wearing a green parka with pink trim that looked faded and just a bit too small, but her hands were red and raw from the wind. There was no sign of the bus yet.
With a very put-upon sigh, he trudged a few steps closer. "Why don't you have gloves?"
"We couldn't buy any," she said candidly, and through the hood of the parka he could make out wisps of chestnut hair a few shades lighter than his own. "Mommy needed the money for groceries. She was hoping it was not going to be so cold."
To Nicholas Lennox, whose father was the manager of the local bank and whose mother paid the salon lady forty dollars every week to do her nails, this was practically unheard of. He thought about the cans of pork and beans he took from the pantry to donate to poor people before Thanksgiving, and how his teacher said that all the food would go to a kitchen somewhere. But it had never occurred to him that anyone who rode the same school bus as him could be poor. He wanted to ask her where she lived, but he was technically a stranger to her, so she probably wouldn't answer.
Gruffly, he pulled off his mittens, which were kind of old anyway. Green woolen yarn and far too big for her chapped hands, but they'd be better than nothing. "Here, you can have these, I guess. I'll just tell my mom they were tore up."
She stared up at him with owlish eyes as green as the wool, and then she smiled, cheeks pinkening with pleasure. He stuck his now-cold hands in his pockets and shrugged with the native nonchalance of a boy and didn't think of it again as the school bus finally pulled up.
The day before Christmas vacation she jogged up to him at the bus stop and handed him a king-sized Snickers bar, blurting out thanks. He didn't know that she had saved up her meager allowance for three weeks to buy it for him.
Ten and Fourteen
Makayla Estrellita Brown, named after her mother but called 'Lita for short, aged ten and a half, had no tears left to cry.
It was a week ago that she got on a plane, on her way back home from a trip to Florida that her mom saved for two years to afford. She remembered the plane starting to shake about halfway back home, oxygen masks being lowered, and then the grip of her mother's hand in hers. After that it was nothing, and she awoke in a hospital, clutching a broken music box which she had bought at Disneyworld, which had played a song from Sleeping Beauty.
She knew that her mother was dead as soon as she saw the doctor's weary, saddened face the afternoon that she awoke. When they tried to talk to her, she'd turned her face away, and it was only at night, when the lights were turned down, that the tears finally came in a torrent. The nurse who came to check on her brought her a box of tissues, and those were used up by sunrise.
She cried for two days as those around her searched for next of kin and made arrangements on her behalf, numb to the poking and prodding and checking of the hospital staff. She listened mechanically as social services told her that she would be moving to Maryland to live with an aunt that she had never met.
There was a knock on her door, and that made her look up, because the doctors and nurses never knocked. She tried but couldn't quite muster up a smile as a dark-haired boy in worn jeans shuffled in.
"Hey," Nick greeted her awkwardly, wincing at the IV still attached to her arm and the cast on her foot. "I thought I'd come and see how you were doing. I heard from my mom that you're moving when you get out of here, and stuff."
Her throat was too raw from crying to speak much, so she let him do the talking, and listened as he retold the details of sports camp and how his dog had an unfortunate run-in with a skunk a few nights ago. He didn't think of her as a girl, really, and that was probably why he treated her like a friend, so she didn't mind.
"Oh, and since you're hurt still, my mom said that we should bring you a present. It's a girl present, and I picked it out, so hopefully you don't hate it." He dug into his pocket, and came out with one of those small white velvet boxes that came from jewelry stores, and seeing the mess of tubes and machines around her bed, opened it himself. Nestled against the white satin was a pair of earrings shaped like pink rosebuds, and she had never seen anything so pretty. "I guess you can put them on when you're better."
"Thank you," she whispered, and was shocked to find tears spring to her eyes, shocked that she still had some left.
"Oh, and I got you a Snickers bar, since hospital food is the pits." He took a slightly squashed vending machine product out of the other pocket and placed it next to the earrings on the nightstand, and her tears ran over. "Oh, hey, are you hurting? NURSE! I think she's in pain!" He hollered that out the hallway, and the moment was lost.
She was hurting, but not like he thought.
Seventeen and Twenty-One
He'd never been to the diner before. Nick Lennox was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and would have happily killed someone for a cup of fresh coffee, and after two consecutive weeks of fast food, he found himself making his way into the first sit-down restaurant open at this particular hour. The building was small, white-washed walls glowing softly in the streetlights.
The door opened with a musical jingle of silver bells, and the warm scents of chocolate and coffee and fresh-baked bread wafted towards him like a note of welcome. The forest-green booths were filled, but there were a few open stools at the counter.
"Good evening," a warm female voice greeted him, friendly but not too chipper. The waitress was tall and curvy, lush auburn curls pulled into a ponytail, a white apron over jeans and a green t-shirt that showed off toned arms and an excellent figure. There was something familiar about her that he couldn't quite place, but she set down a cup of fresh coffee in front of him before he'd even asked, and for that alone, he made a mental note to leave her a tip large enough to embarrass her.
"What's good here?" he asked, his mind still somewhat stuck on criminal justice terminology for the exam he'd been studying for all evening.
"Oh, that all depends on what you want, honey," she told him. "You look exhausted. Why don't I bring you a brownie-- I just made a batch today, on the house-- and you can nibble on that as you look over the menu."
He was amenable to this plan, and when he tasted the distinctive mixture of caramel and nougat and peanuts in the chocolatey confection, he stared. "Lita Brown?!"
The waitress's nametag read "Makayla", but her head swiveled around at the exclamation, and as soon as she finished refilling another patron's water glass, she hurried over. He caught the glint of pink rosebuds at her earlobes, and suddenly grinned ear to ear. "I'll be damned. Snicker brownies, huh?"
"Oh my God!" She all but bowled him over in her enthusiasm as she hugged him, and he had a moment's uncomfortable realization that she was as grown-up as he was as his body was pressed up against feminine curves. "Nick Lennox! What in the world are you doing here?"
"College student," he answered, reaching out and tugging on a lock of her hair. "Criminal justice, at American University." The conversation should have been far more awkward for those who've been out of touch for years.
She ended up staying two hours after her shift was over and sitting with him as he scarfed down a plate of excellent spaghetti and meatballs, talking about everything and anything, and when he finally left, he felt more energized than he had in days. It was the food, he told himself. He'd have to eat there at least once a week.
Twenty-One and Twenty-Five
It was all over the news. Even now, in this quiet hospital room with the lights dimmed and the television on mute, she could see the footage of what had happened two days ago when a gunman had emerged from a crowd and opened fire towards the President's family. It had been a failed assassination attempt, to be sure, as countersnipers from the Secret Service picked the would-be killer off before he could get more than two shots in.
Darien Shields, twenty-year-old son to the President, would have taken two bullets to the chest had his Secret Service detail not pushed him out of the way.
As it stood, his bodyguard took them instead, and the man whose identity was kept anonymous for security reasons was considered a hero.
Lita didn't care about heroism just about then as she sat numbly in the uncomfortable chair in the hospital room, bleak green eyes focused on the motionless young man on the bed. Nick Lennox may have been a hero, but Lita felt no pride over it. The surgeon had been hopeful-- the bullets had miraculously missed his heart, he had youth and a good constitution on his side, and his prognosis was good for a full recovery. But there was something wrenching in her chest that just would not settle, a sudden knowledge that she might be about to lose another person she loved, and she wasn't sure she could stand it.
The sound of a throat clearing broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to see a tall, handsome young man with locks of raven hair falling into lake-blue eyes. He was casually dressed in faded jeans and a Princeton University sweatshirt, and offered a hand with a surprisingly boyish grin. "Lita, right? I'm Darien Shields."
Her eyes widened, and she stuttered something, likely a how-do-you-do, as her hand was shaken firmly and warmly. Darien sat down in the chair next to hers, and glanced, too, at the man on the bed.
"My father's only been in office for a year, you know," he murmured. "I'm still getting used to being tailed when I'm out on a date with my girlfriend. Once I tried to sneak out, but Nick caught up with me before I could get very far at all. I thought he'd be mad and give Serena and I a hard time, but he just pulled me aside and said that if I loved her enough, I'd want to stay alive for her." The lake-blue eyes, a few shades darker than Nick's own, sobered behind a fringe of inky lashes. "Still, I never expected that anyone would take a bullet for me like that."
Something incongruously occurred to her just then, as she had registered at the reception desk as Makayla Brown. "How did you know who I was?"
"Oh, Nick had mentioned you before," Darien grinned for a moment. "He was a friend, you know. Not just a bodyguard. He'd told me that his girl had killer legs and baked the best brownies in existence."
She swallowed, and felt what was left of her composure deserting her as he gestured to a covered baking pan on the table next to the bag of Nick's personal effects. Standing, she tried for a smile. "That's nice. I... I have to go. I have to go to work."
Ignoring Darien's expression of concern, she stumbled blindly out the door past a half-dozen Secret Service agents and gave into her tears after the hospital elevator doors closed behind her.
Twenty-Four and Twenty-Eight
"So. You were with the Secret Service, finished out President Shields' first term, and then retired to a slightly less political and dangerous lifestyle," The blonde ballerina in the backseat of the silver sedan was systematically working out a cramp in her calf, as was her habit after performances. Simultaneously, she chattered on to him about anything that might have come into her mind, which also seemed to be a habit. "Well, I doubt that driving me around is going to be quite so exciting, and I don't think I know of anyone who'd possibly want to shoot at me."
"I would hope not," Nick replied as he braked the car at a red light. Mina Angell was a few years younger than him, and one of the most famous ballerinas in the world. She was reputed to be fiercely disciplined and single-minded about her art, which was just fine for him when he took on the contract of being her bodyguard while she toured the country. He had not expected to befriend her.
"So what do you like to do in your spare time? I collect postcards," she told him as they pulled up to the hotel where she would be staying that evening. Her voice took on a wistful note for a moment. "Someone I know sends me postcards whenever he sees a new city, and he sees plenty, as he's in the Navy."
Perhaps not so single-minded after all, Nick mused as he handed the keys of the car to the valet and went to open Mina's door. She was limping slightly, as was custom after performances, and he supported her as he led her towards the elevators. "I read sometimes. Studying up on Greek mythology at the moment. Go the the gym. Watch football games and the usual guy stuff, I guess."
Mina gave him a shrewd, sidelong look as he escorted her to her room. "And think about that special girl, whom you've probably not seen in ages, whom you always think about visiting but there never seems to be the perfect time... am I right?" She laughed lightly at his expression, and patted his arm. "Like recognizes like, honey."
He busied himself, methodically checking her room for cameras, bugs and signs of security hazards, before trusting his voice to reply. "I've known her since we were kids. We keep in touch occasionally-- I travel a lot, and I don't think she'd ever go on an airplane again after... well, let's just say she's got a fear of flying. She's just opened her own restaurant in Maryland. She's a hell of a cook."
"Ugh... don't talk about food to me, not when my choreographer's a despot and I don't think I've had a proper honest-to-goodness cheeseburger in three years," Mina wrinkled her pert nose. "But... hmmmm. Where in Maryland?"
"Baltimore area," Nick answered laconically. "Well, enough about that, I guess. You should probably get some sleep. We'll be flying to Boston tomorrow. I'll see myself out."
"Sure thing," Mina smiled sweetly at him and threw herself full-length on the bed. "Just as soon as I make a few phone calls."
Twenty-Five and Twenty-Nine
Lita's was a quaint little cafe of a restaurant which exuded an atmosphere of peace and life. The window ledges bore sturdy terra-cotta pots of blooming African violets and marigolds, and baskets of hanging plants with leaves in every shade of green hung from the ceiling. The small, round tables each bore vasefuls of brightly coloured cut-flowers. Pink carnations, golden daffodils, crimson poppies, pale blue delphiniums. The wait staff was quick and efficient, hand-picked carefully by the owner, and the desserts (perfectly paired with excellent cappuccinos) were superb.
Lita Brown, wearing forest green baking mitts a few sizes too big and worn from extensive use, carried a steaming pan of Snickers brownies from the oven to a counter for cooling, and barely glanced up as one of her waitresses dashed into the kitchen.
"Hey, boss, here's the mail." Avery Parker held a small stack of envelopes in one hand, a tray in the other, balanced with the efficiency of long practice. "I need two bowls of chicken tortilla soup, one of minestrone, a Greek salad extra olives, and a Reuben, hold the dressing."
Working in tandem with Avery, Lita filled orders and checked on the batch of apple turnovers she had baking in the oven. Satisfied that everything was as it was supposed to be, she took a glance at the pile of mail as Avery set steaming bowls of soup onto plates and added packets of oyster crackers. Two bills, the newspaper, a circular from a food supply company, and an unmarked, unsealed white envelope. Curiously, she opened it and found a pair of tickets to the Sleeping Beauty ballet inside, along with a note.
"Come on out, and bring a brownie with you."
Avery was grinning from ear to ear. "There's someone out there, he told me not to say anything. Really, really cute, Lita. Tall and built, and all this chocolatey brown hair." But Lita, by then, was already striding out of the kitchen.
At a table in the corner, a lone man sat, sipping a cup of coffee. He stood up when Lita came out of the kitchen, and caught her as she threw herself into his arms. She was vaguely aware of catcalls and applause as his mouth found hers, but couldn't care less just at the moment. Her fingers tangled into his hair-- longer than she remembered, and she heard him chuckle against her lips before he pulled back to look into her eyes.
"A friend gave me tickets... said that it was high time I took you out on a real date," he said, reaching out and tucking a strand of her hair behind an ear adorned with a rosebud earring. "Where's my brownie?"
