For Gambit/Rogue Fanweek 2022 - Day 4 prompt: Coffee Shop and Day 2 Injury/Amnesia

The rules of my alt-universe: The characters you know and love have their powers, just a "lite" version. So for example, Emma Frost can read people's thoughts, but cannot change their minds. Omega Level does not exist in this universe.


"Rogue?" the barista called out a word that didn't register as a name, interrupting her thoughts.

In this part of town it was difficult to find a coffee shop that just served…well, coffee. A coffee shop that wasn't also a gastropub, an art gallery, a music venue, or a trendy eyewear store. She just wanted coffee. After over a week of being in the city, she'd finally found a shop where the servers did not seem too pretentious, the decor consisted only of the shop's name painted on the exposed brick wall, and the coffee was already brewed so as to expedite her visit. No French-press, no pour-overs, no siphon brew method…whatever that was. Where she came from, coffee was served by an over-familiar diner waitress from a glass carafe that said 'Folgers' on the side and poured into a stained thick-walled mug. She longed for the simplicity of it, sitting at a small-town diner with a weak cup of coffee, especially now that her life had become so damn complicated.

The barista announced again, with a note of impatience: "Rogue?"

There were so many things in the city to which she was unaccustomed. In addition to complicated coffee orders and strange brewing contraptions, she was not used to the crowds, the press of people who seemed to have no sense of personal space. She sighed to herself, arms crossed protectively around her middle, trying her best to ignore the jostle of people also waiting at the end of the counter for their orders.

"Rogue," the barista said again and set the cup down on the counter before turning away to complete the next order.

"I think that's you," said a deep voice, before she felt the light touch of a finger on her shoulder. That finger pointed towards the cup in the server's hand.

Startled, she turned to see the person standing too close to her in the narrow shop. She was met with the expanse of a broad chest in an overstretched white tee-shirt and equally worn-looking long overcoat. Her eyes moved up from the chest to the face of the man who'd spoken. She blinked at him as he looked down at her through his dark sunglasses. Overlong brown hair framed a narrow face sporting a week's worth of stubble. His full-lipped mouth bore a sort of half-smile.

"Regular-original-whole-milk, grande?" the man asked, and she saw his eyebrows raise from behind the frames of his lenses in inquiry.

"How...how did you know?" she stammered, wondering how he could have guessed her order, her heart skipping a beat. "What're you—spyin' on me or something?"

The corner of the man's mouth hitched up a fraction in a mildly confused expression. She realized it was a strange accusation to come out with. He leaned past her towards the counter, his chest just brushing her bicep. She tried not to flinch away. The man straightened, holding the lidded paper cup. He pointed to the letters written on the side of the order. 'ROWG' was scrawled on the cup in black marker.

"Regular-drip, original blend, with whole milk, grande," he said again, his tone tinged with warm humor. "R-O-W-G. Rogue. Must've confused your order for a name."

"Ah–," she began, her face flushing with warmth. Her eyes darted back up to his face then back down at her order. She felt embarrassed at her over-reaction. She was finding it difficult to be calm, not so on edge. "Thanks," she said and took the cup from him. For a moment, her gloved fingers brushed over his. She looked back up at him and continued to blush. He continued to smile. The man was really very handsome behind those shades, under all that hair.

"Prob'ly wouldn't have named you 'rogue' myself," he said, and as he spoke, she realized he had a southern accent, not unlike her own. "I'd say you look more rebellious than roguish."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" she countered, returning his soft smile. She carefully squeaked off the top of the coffee cup to blow on the contents within, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

His smile broadened, and though she couldn't see his eyes for the dark lenses he wore, she could feel his gaze intent on her face. "Maybe that lock of white hair you're sportin'," he returned, gesturing to the stripe of white that ran from the parting in her hair. "Makes me think you might have an unruly streak as well? Not a rogue, then. How about…scamp? Or rascal?"

She breathed out a laugh, and felt herself smiling for the first time in weeks. She took the lock of white hair in her fingers and swept it back behind her ear. "I wonder what your cup'll say about you?" she asked, pretending to think. She teased: "'Scoundrel', maybe?"

His mouth opened in mock offense. "Awn, sha, you wound this boy's heart. I am, at worst, a rapscallion. No scoundrel, me!"

If she hadn't visited New Orleans so many times in her younger days, she might not have quite understood what he'd said. Clearly this 'boy' was just a jump, skip and a hop over from the Mississippi town she'd originally called home. "What else d'you call some boy who comes up on a girl so early in the morning tryin' to feed her lines?" she told him. She gestured with her coffee cup. "You could at least do me the service of lettin' me have my coffee first."

"I'd say you're holdin' your own pretty well," he said teased back. "If this is how y'are before your first sip—I'm not like to keep up after you've been fully caffeinated."

"I do have the tendency t'get up and go," she warned him, adding a sassy shake of her shoulders. "Somethin' tells me you'd like the chase."

"That an invitation for me to chase after you then, Rogue?" he said the word like a name, his voice dark and alluring. He leaned toward her slightly, and given his height, she suddenly felt as if he were looming over her.

She caught herself then with a slight gasp and drew back. Shaking her head she took a step backwards and bumped into the person standing behind her. "S-sorry," she said to the annoyed look she received before turning back to the tall man before her.

"Didn't mean t'startle you, sha," the man said, withdrawing. His smile was apologetic. "Only teasin'." He touched his fingertips to the earstem of his lenses.

"I–I gotta go," she stammered, then turned towards the door. She paused, realizing how many bodies she had to navigate to exit the long, narrow shop.

Another order was called. She looked back at the man she had so casually and easily flirted with. He was looking after her, his brows now pulled together with a perplexed frown. Then he turned to the barista who handed him his order with a smile. The man returned her smile with a grateful nod. When he raised his cup to the barista in thanks, it became plain that the barista's phone number was written on the side of the cup. Rolling her eyes, she hastened to leave the shop. The man was just a harmless, shameless flirt. Knowing that, she could easily dismiss him. There was nothing to be afraid of, she assured herself.

She stepped out onto the busy street. She was momentarily dazzled by the morning sunlight reflecting off the windows of the building opposite. She turned in the direction of her apartment building, swimming upstream in the crowd moving past her on the sidewalk. She was shaking and full of nervous energy, despite not having taken a single sip of her coffee. She hustled up the sidewalk, dodging business people on cellphones, dog walkers, morning joggers. She paused at the corner to her block and looked back. The tall man in the coat had stepped out onto the sidewalk. His face turned to the rays of sun falling on the coffee shop storefront. For a moment, he just stood there, face raised to the light, yellow rays falling on the angular planes of his face. Then it seemed through some kind of premonition, he turned and looked directly at her. Her heart leapt and suddenly she was walking even faster down a side street toward her apartment building. Her pace was just short of a run. She trotted up the short set of steps to the building. She approached the narrow, arched front door sheltered below a marquee that led to the building's lobby. Again she turned to look over her shoulder. As she feared, the man was rounding the corner as well, walking slowly in her direction.

She pushed her way through the door and into the marble-floored lobby, then rushed past the guard's desk to the bay of three elevators just opposite the front door. She jabbed the elevator's call button then turned to look at the street. While she could hear the trundle of the elevator car descending, she focused her attention on the front door with the view of the street outside. People were walking back and forth across her line of vision. The elevator car behind her let out a soft chime and the heavy doors began to roll open. She stood for a moment, her hand blindly reaching out and behind her to hold the door. The man came into view. He paused before the entrance, looking up at the building before turning his attention to the front doors. She stood frozen, wondering if he could see her through the dusty glass. Wondering if he spotted her while wearing those dark shades of his. The man turned and continued on his way and out of sight. She let out a breath, then entered the elevator car. The doors slid shut. She stared at her reflection in the shiny brass of the car doors. She felt stupid, irrational, paranoid. She'd got caught up in a playful moment, and forgotten herself entirely. Forgotten she'd changed her name, that she'd fled here to hide anonymously in the crowd. Forgotten, just for a moment, that she was on the run. Of course he wasn't following her, chasing her as he'd suggested. It was just a chance meeting at a coffee shop with a total stranger. This was New York City, a city of eight million people. She'd probably never see that man again.

Probably.


Next time: lol, yeah right, Rogue.