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1st Guest: Thanks. I'm glad you're enjoying it!

2nd Guest : Indeed. I remember someone telling me that fact a while back when I was reading their fic. So I thought I'd poke fun at it with this, since Arrowverse canon is slightly different. Thanks for the review!

Ailin Amy: That is so nice to hear. I really needed a lovely comment like this after the time I've been having in my personal life. Thank you so much!

Amy: Thanks! That means so much, so glad you're enjoying it!

Allison arrived at the interview just in time. She thought it went well, except her stomach kept twisting in knots and she fumbled over her words a few times in the beginning, when she was especially nervous. At least she'd done the research on the company and had been, for the most part, prepared for all the questions they'd asked her. Allison went home soon after they'd finished, the interviewer claiming they'd call her if she'd gotten the job.

They called a few days later. She'd gotten the job, and she would start the very next Monday. Allison was so ecstatic she set her alarm for three hours early just to make sure she got there on time. The first day went smoothly enough. It had just been orientation: learning the proper way to brew a coffee and wipe down the tables once a costumer had left. Pretty easy.

Allison worked there for three weeks from five in the morning to three in the afternoon, always doing her best to keep up with the other baristas who were much younger than her and had much better stamina. The job didn't pay much, but it had quickly been her solace. It was a place she could run to when her home life had become too much; and Allison quickly found herself taking all the over time she could get her hands on, constantly longing for the chaos of the coffee shop to distract her.

And for three whole weeks it was nothing but pure bliss. Then, the guilt settled in, and things began to change. Her work pace became slower, she began coming into work later and later; and when her manager – Greg – called her into his office to ask about it, she didn't really have an answer for him.

All Allison could say was the truth. "I've been using work as a means of escape, but I'm exhausted from being with my family and working here. They're a bit of a chore themselves, you see. And I…" She hesitated for a moment, not meeting her manager's eyes. "I feel burdened by my husband and son. Does that makes me a bad person?"

Greg blanched, clearly not expecting that sort of response. He scratched the top of his head, scrunching up his face in a way that was just as ugly as this situation. "Listen, Allison. If you're having problems at home, then maybe you should see a professional or something. This is a coffee shop, not a counselors' office."

Allison frowned and shook her head. "Oh, no. We don't have money for that sort of thing. Besides, no one would help my husband, he was in Nam."

"Ah." Greg stiffened at the mention of Nam. It had been a sore subject for many people, even after so many years. The soldiers hadn't been welcomed back kindly. They'd even been spat on, kicked, and bruised up. That was the main reason no one would treat Dick. Allison watched worriedly, as Greg shifted uncomfortably, until he finally collected his thoughts. "Well, then, perhaps find a bartender. They are much more affordable. But, Allison, if you can't keep up with the work I'm going to have to let you go."

That sentence was like a knife to the heart, but she didn't fight it. How could she? Allison just nodded slowly. "I understand…" She gently picked herself up from the chair and left the coffee shop.

Allison didn't go home, though. She wasn't about to tell Mick and Dick that she had lost the job after only a mere three weeks. No, instead she'd go in search of a bar – or more specifically the tender of the bar – as Greg had suggested. It didn't take long to find one. The city was full of them.

Allison entered the nearest bar, walking right up to the tender who was in the midst of making a drink for another costumer. She sat in one of the stools, until the bar tender turned her attention to her. Allison smiled awkwardly, as she flashed her a big grin. The woman's name tag read: Nadia. She didn't look like any woman Allison had ever seen before, and for a brief moment, she wondered if coming here had been a mistake.

Her hair was short, dyed pink, buzzed on the sides, bangs flopping in her face. There were tattoos littering her skin, and the woman had muscles that could have rivaled with even Dick. She wore a white tank and leather jacket, fingerless gloves over her hands. Nadia seemed much more masculine than anything. She reminded Allison of the kind of woman who might like to sleep with other women, and that thought made her shudder. What could someone like that possibly know to help her? It just wasn't right.

But then Allison caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were the only womanly thing about her body. Soft green with a hint of deep, ocean blue. Kind. Caring. Motherly even. Just how a woman should have been. Allison decided to give her a chance, despite how…unnatural the rest of the woman was. She'd just focus on the eyes, on the proper part of her.

Nadia leaned against the counter, tossing a rag over her shoulder as she did so. Allison instinctively leaned away. (She didn't want whatever was wrong with her to rub off on her.) Nadia didn't seem to notice. (Or maybe it was just that she didn't care.) "What can I get you, Miss?" Even her voice was wrong. Raspy, manly.

Allison shook her head, doing her best to ignore it. She didn't have the brain capacity to worry about all that right now. Once she had solved her own issues then she could worry about fixing everyone else. "Balkan."

Nadia snorted. She glanced Allison up and down, and she covered herself up without even realizing she'd done it. "A little twig like you is gonna drink some hard core shit like that? Really?"

Allison huffed. Maybe she was just exhausted from having such a bad day, but the other woman's words had annoyed her. "You don't think I can handle my booze?"

Nadia made a face, giving her a one armed shrug. "All I'm saying is that girl's like you usually prefer something a little more, uh, fruity."

"Girls like me?" Allison raised an eyebrow. Her arms were still folded over her chest, and she was growing more and more irritated by the second. Who did this woman think she was?

Apparently the bar tender recognized her rudeness, and she back tracked. "Listen, no offense, lady. But this is the kind of stuff people get alcohol poisoning and die from, alright? Now, as the tender of this bar it's my job to make sure you don't drink more than you can take. 'Cause see, costumers dying in my bar ain't too good for business."

"I can take it," Allison insisted indignantly. She really just needed a heavy drink…

Nadia shrugged again. "Fine," she said. "But don't go dying in my bar, you hear my, lady? Like I said –"

Allison waved her concern away. "Bad for business. Yeah, yeah, I know. Just line 'em up already, will you?"

And that's how Allison continued to spend her days. The bar had quickly become her new solace, her new safe haven, her home away from home. She left the farm at five in the morning, as she had done at the coffee shop, hung around the city until the bar opened up; and then she'd spend the rest of the night partying and drinking her stress away. Allison told Dick and Mick that she'd picked up a bunch of over time, working late at the coffee shop. (They didn't really need to know the truth, did they?)

Still, the more she went out, the heavier the guilt weighed on her. So she'd drink a little more…and a little more…and a little more, until she could not longer feel anything. Not even her the ground beneath her feet. Then, she'd sleep for hours upon hours, until it was time to get up and start all over again.