It was raining in Gotham that morning. The sky was filled with a heavy grey cloud that promised days of wet - it couldn't be helped. The rain poured down with a vengeance, and it soaked everyone foolhardy enough to be outside straight through, through their coats, through their shirts, through their skin. It was the kind of rain that soaked to the bone.
The water slid off his leather jacket, but Jason's hair was still wet when he finally unlocked the door and made his way inside. He locked the door behind him, not yet ready to open, and made his way to the backroom, where the little kitchenette sat. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it down on the bench that ran the length of the wall to the right, dropping it down next to the coffeemaker. He shook out his hair, grabbing the tea towel that hung on the hook and wiping the moisture away, using it to wipe his face and neck too. He'd gotten positively soaked in the walk from his car to the store, the rain was that heavy, but his shirt had stayed relatively dry, except where it was wet around the neckline, sticking to his skin. Jason walked into the shop proper and turned on the little space heater that sat under the counter, warming his hands over it and rubbing them together, rubbing his forearms to try and get the goosebumps to vanish. Gotham was cold in this kind of weather. The store was cold too.
With the space heater chugging away beneath the counter, he made his way out back to the kitchenette, flicking on the coffeemaker and checking the fridge, the cupboard that served as a pantry, and the dish rack, in that order. He produced a chipped mug that everyone knew - well, everyone, but it was just one person really - was his, and filled it with coffee, adding a dash of creamer and giving it a stir with his pinky finger. He sucked the coffee clean off it, the skin smarting from the hot coffee, and brought the mug to his lips.
He surveyed his literary kingdom and felt something like content.
Jason set about doing inventory for the morning, keeping an eye on the clock so he could unlock the door at nine o'clock sharp. He scribbled prices inside the covers of books with a lead pencil, chewing the end as he moved on to the next book in the pile. He tucked the pencil behind his ear and started shelving the books, dropping a few Austens in the classics, a couple of college textbooks in non-fiction, and sorting the general fiction by the author's surname. He checked the time on his phone, and seeing it was two minutes to nine, he made his way to the front of the store and slid back the bolt, unlocking the door, and flipped over the sign from 'closed' to 'open'.
He returned to his abandoned coffee and took a sip, pulling a face when he realised it was cold. He shrugged and swallowed, setting it down beside the cash register and settling in on his stool, pulling out a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice and flicking it open.
The bell above the door jingled, but Jason paid it no mind; his regulars knew their way around the mazelike store, the many shelves piled upon each other, and the rooms tucked away in hidden corners, and if the customer wasn't a regular - well. That was their problem.
"Excuse me," came a voice, and Jason looked up, trying to mask his irritation.
At that moment, his breath caught in his throat.
"Hi," said a beautiful blonde with a dazzling smile. "Could you tell me where the psychology and social work textbooks are, please?"
"Sure thing," Jason swallowed, setting Pride and Prejudice aside. "Take a left at the end of the hall, go into the second room up the back. They're on the bottom shelf closest to the door."
"Thanks!" The blonde grinned at him, her smile a mile wide. She took off into the labyrinth, squinting at a list written on the back of her hand in pen. Jason resisted the urge to follow.
He returned to Pride and Prejudice, sneaking glances up every so often as the blonde crept through the store. She had a stack of textbooks piled high in her arms, and she was browsing the general fiction with a keen eye. Jason watched as her eyes lit up upon spotting the rickety shelf stuffed with classics.
"Can I leave these here?" She asked, depositing the pile of textbooks on the counter.
"Sure," Jason said, but she wasn't really listening to the answer, focusing instead on the classic literature that filled the shelf towards the front of the store.
She skimmed the spines, running a finger along them. She pulled a tome free from the shelf, flicking through the pages thoughtfully. With a grin, she added it to the pile.
It was a well-worn copy of Dracula, the spine cracked, the pages creased. Jason blinked.
"I think I've got a copy in better condition," he offered, gesturing down the hall where the storeroom lived. "I can go grab it."
"No, this one's fine," the blonde grinned down at it. "I like when they look like they've been read. It means someone enjoyed them."
"If you're sure," Jason said. He started flipping the books open to add up the prices written inside each cover. "What's with all the social work books? You at NYU or something?"
"Gotham U, actually. I'm a social work major," the young woman grinned, and then added, teasingly: "What's with all the books? You run a bookstore or something?"
"I am all in a sea of wonders," Jason quipped back. Her eyes lit up again.
"I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul," she replied. "You've read it?"
"If it's on these shelves, there's a good chance I've read it," Jason grinned. He returned the last book to the stack. "Your total is forty dollars."
"What?" She blinked, brushing the blonde strands plastered to her forehead back. "No, it's not. I counted it. It's sixty-eight."
"Forty," Jason said firmly. "I'm not going to stand in the way of you getting a college education."
"Look, I can't let you shortchange yourself," she said. "I have the money."
Jason raised a hand. "Forty dollars. I got these textbooks for next to nothing. I price them high for dumbass rich kids who don't know any better. You clearly need them, or you'd be buying them at the campus bookstore instead."
She wavered, and then her shoulders sagged for just a moment. She counted out two twenty dollar bills from her wallet and held them out to him. He accepted them, pressed a few buttons on the cash register, and deposited the money inside.
"You need a bag? It's pretty wet out there."
"I think I'll be right," she shot him a sunny grin and gathered the books in her arms. "Thanks. I think I'll be coming back here."
Jason grinned, pleased he'd found himself a repeat customer. As she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder, still smiling, and said, "My name's Steph, by the way."
"Jason," he said, gesturing to himself.
"Thanks, Jason," Steph gave him a little wave and made her way outside. As the door opened, Jason caught a glimpse of the rain still beating down, hitting the pavement with a vengeance. It closed, and he looked down at the counter, smiling to himself.
"Steph," he said quietly, though no one was around to hear.
The bell above the door jingled, and a mess of ripped jeans and red hair sauntered in, sopping wet and looking miserable. She stopped at the counter and raised an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down.
"Who was that?" Sasha asked.
"Just a customer," Jason replied, scooping up the paper clips on the counter and depositing them back into the pencil jar. "Why are you late?"
She ignored his question. "If it was just a customer, why have you got that dopey look on your face?"
Jason glowered at the teenager. "I haven't got a dopey look on my face. Go dry off before you catch a cold. Then get started on sorting the storeroom."
"Yes, boss," Sasha rolled her eyes, grabbing the stack of books he'd left on the counter and making her way back to the kitchenette. Jason watched her go, the hint of a fond smile crossing his face. She gave him hell. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Jason settled on his stool and picked up Pride and Prejudice once more. A few customers streamed in, but they toddled off to their respective corners of the store and didn't disturb him until, one by one, they came with their books for him to ring up. Jason could hear Sasha hauling crates around the storeroom, mumbling to herself in Russian - "Suka!" - and generally making herself useful. He handed a bag of books over to the last customer in the store before standing and stretching.
"Sasha," he called out, and the red-haired menace appeared moments later, a crate of science fiction in her arms. She dumped it on the counter and stood back, crossing her arms.
"What do you need?" She asked. He grinned and pinched her cheek, and she ducked her head, throwing a halfhearted punch at his waistline.
"Do you want to watch the counter while I grab us lunch? I'll get kebabs."
Sasha considered this for a moment. "Kebabs are good. I would like a kebab, yes."
"Great," Jason said. He ruffled her hair as he stepped out from behind the counter, and she squirmed out of his reach, huffing. "Hey, did you get the bloodstains out of your uniform?"
"Yes, boss," Sasha said. "It is clean and ready to go for crimefighting tonight."
"Good," Jason replied. "We're heading down to the docks at ten o'clock sharp, okay? Don't be late to that because I will leave without you."
"You are so annoying," Sasha groaned. "I'm going to take all your guns."
"You do that anyway," Jason rolled his eyes. "Did you sharpen your knife?"
"Enough with the questions, boss. I want a kebab."
"I'm going, I'm going," Jason laughed. He grabbed his phone from behind the register and felt his pockets, looking for his wallet. He realised it must have still been in the kitchen, where he'd taken his jacket off to dry off earlier that morning. He headed back to grab it, pulling it on and checking there were bottles of water in the bar fridge that sat under the counter in case Sasha got thirsty while he was gone.
When he made his way back out to the shop floor, Sasha was sitting cross-legged on the stool behind the counter, doodling daggers and flowers on a small notepad that lived by the register. She barely acknowledged him as he called out, "Stay safe, be good, don't let the shop burn down while I'm gone!"
"You got it, boss," she mumbled, engrossed in her drawing.
