One Cup Of Alternate Dimension

Chapter 1: Learning To Let Logic Go

"She doesn't remember anything?"

"Well, she... You said that she was drunk."

"I did... But that was just a theory for her crying. Oh Robin, anything could be wrong with our daughter. She could have gotten drunk, hit her head too hard on that basement shelf or maybe she's just playing a prank."

"I still want to take her to the emergency room for a head X-ray."

"That would be the third in two years. We can't afford it, not with the shop in this state..."

"Well, I won't sit around and watch my children suffer with a problem I can't help. You know I can't do that, Cherche."

"And I feel similarly. But right now, we-"

Their exchange crashed to a halt as Morgan made her presence known again, coming down the stairs properly. When she first bumped into them coming out of another bedroom down the cramped hall, she almost didn't believe her eyes. But they were still so familiar to her, and she was so moved that she practically body-slammed the two in a big embrace. Tears may or may not have drenched their shoulders.

The next floor had that... That same type of flooring. The walls were green though, with furniture in various shades of brown. She was quickly learning this was a house, and it wasn't that big. There were things she'd never seen before; a dark, reflective screen on the wall and a bunch of rope dangling around it and a similarly-colored big square resting on the shelf underneath. There were pictures on the wall of times that she didn't know. Robin and Cherche posing with people who kind of looked like Shepherds, but dressed different enough it threw her off. There were pictures of her and Gerome as children; one smiling, the other looking like they'd rather die.

The center of the room was a small sitting area where Robin and Cherche were. They both gave her sympathetic expressions as she drew closer. Cherche went as far as to gesture for her to come close, and Morgan didn't hesitate. They might have been wearing weird clothes with matching red aprons without at least some pieces of armor for paranoid purposes, but they were still her parents. She didn't care if she wasn't a child anymore; they gave her security when she was feeling unsure. And yes, she did know that feeling. Maybe she was try-hard, too. Don't tell Gerome he's not the only one...

"Morgan, I wonder if you've been struck with amnesia." Cherche said, brushing the top of her head again now that they were close. "I know you just heard us; we don't have the money at the time being for constant visits to the emergency room, not with business being slow. But don't be scared, okay? Your father and I, and even Gerome care and will answer any question."

"I've had amnesia before." Robin said soothingly. "There's a part of my life I can't fully remember even today, but I've made new memories with friends and family supporting me. So just stay strong and-"

"Father, you don't have to be dramatic about it." Morgan cut in, fair-weather tone and everything. "Somehow I have this feeling amnesia isn't the worst thing in the world. I know I have you two, and Gerome if he'll pretend to open up."

Nothing managed to break Morgan's painful beam. Robin and Cherche looked convinced, returning it with tender smiles of their own. Gods, she was going to hell. That purple room? Get a hundred of those, stretch them out really far and place multiple copies of Gerome complaining about pretty butterflies daring to cross his sight.

Morgan forcefully squeezed herself between her parents, reaching her arms to capture her parents in another embrace. Hopefully with less bone damage this time. She was only able to tell them that her amnesia might cause her to forget obvious things, quite the sly way to discover the proper names of all these weird new sights if she said so herself. She'd pat herself on the back later. Robin barely had a second to agree before being cut off by music and singing with lyrics describing being the journey, destination, home, tale, way to taste the night and high. Morgan kept looking between them, but neither treated this like anything worth being alarmed. The noise came to an abrupt stop anyhow when Robin reached into his pocket and withdrew a flat, shiny obsidian object.

"Hello?" Robin talked into the instrument, eyebrows furrowing as the seconds went on. "You won't be able to make the interview today? Oh, that's... No- It's- It's fine... Family troubles? We've all been there." He didn't seem to notice he sounded pissed AF.

When Robin turned back to them, he just looked irritated. He sank into the couch a little more, throwing an arm over his eyes. Morgan looked to Cherche for a clue, and she just shook her head.

"Your father's coffee shop has been struggling; people think our surface is too slow, we can't keep it as clean as we need and... It sounds like the new employee we could have had isn't working out." Cherche just sounded slightly peeved, but her eyebrows furrowed too and she began to tap her fingers against her folded arms. Morgan unconsciously scooted closer to Robin, fearing the world burning from her wrath. "Just what kind of trouble came up this time? Last week her car broke down in 'New UM Orleans'. Instead of New York this time. That distance she traveled was impressive, but irrelevant."

"The week before, she was running errands for an elderly neighbor but got lost on the way to their house." Robin added.

"Robin, we're going to have to resort to the online ads again."

"Yeah, and if she sees them... Sorry, not sorry. I'm done; I need someone with empathy if I'm going to save my shop."

"What's a coffee shop?"

Robin and Cherche turned to Morgan, who was just pondering out loud. They looked concerned as if she should have already known that, but an unexpected hero appeared behind the couch and sighed with irritation.

"It's a stupid legacy, but it's all broke-ass Grandfather Validar could give to his only son."

"Gerome!"

Everyone had turned their heads to Gerome, and he didn't crack under the pressure. He just adjusted the red apron he'd thrown over his outfit, wrinkled in that perfect "go screw yourself" form.

"It's time for work, isn't it?" Gerome reminded them. "Morgan's head is a wreck, what else is new?"

"But if she's confused-" Robin's pathetic words were cut off by Morgan leaping to her feet and clapping her hands once for extra pep.

"I'd love to work with you guys! That's the ultimate family bonding experience!" Morgan couldn't help if she squealed, mind flashing with images that would pull the heartstrings where they worked together in harmony.

"Well if you're going with us..." Cherche said, leaving the couch as well. "You're going to have to change out of your cosplay outfit; that's not up for discussion."

Morgan was taken aback. She felt like a child; all she could do was whine and once more try to explain this was just her preferred outfit. Cherche wasn't having any of that, merely pointing to the second floor. There was so much authority in that fingertip, that Morgan did just as she said with slumped shoulders.

In the end, Morgan went back to that eyesore of a wardrobe and managed to find some clothing that she felt she would have seen in her original world. She even found one of those red aprons, too. She was beginning to piece some things together: she had a counterpart. A counterpart who was colorblind and preferred skirts. Although these skirts were shockingly lacking for everyday wear; people would be able to see her kneecaps. Well, she'd seen shorter skirts like that before, but they also had either armored boots or thick tights underneath for combat purposes.

Any doubt was cleared up when Morgan did try on one of those skirts, one that exposed said kneecaps and went all swish-swish when she turned. With the freakishly long socks underneath and lace up boots, she- She thought she looked damn good. A little self esteem never hurt anyone. With the red apron on top of a long sleeved shirt... Someone should have painted that scene, preserve it in history and call it something inspiring like: Work To Live. That couldn't be misinterpreted.

The next thing Morgan knew, she was whisking away the people who were supposed to be her guides. The coffee shop was within walking distance of their house, they claimed. But while Robin got his chest all puffed up explaining his VERY HUMBLE intent to make his coffee shop DESTROY the competition that was actually across the street and how he WOULD SUCCEED DESPITE HIS FATHER'S- Morgan already tuned out. She was too busy walking forwards, backwards and turning like a wheel because this scenery was nothing you'd see in the villages the Shepherds rested at.

Any plant life was contained within flower boxes or pots, and everything was some kind of stone or brick. The only exception was the roads; they were painted oddly and overflowing with obsidian by the look of it. There were also these massive beasts of transportation absolutely abandoning a walking mortal in the dust. Morgan felt like a fish out of water, but if she started choking she still didn't want to leave. She had questions all lined up, ready to fire. But Cherche was too busy looking at a flat instrument of her own while somehow not tripping over herself, Robin was rambling on and Gerome stuffed his hands in his pockets like it was an apocalyptic winter.

The coffee shop came into view, nothing too fancy on the outside. It was a brick building, you know, nice and cozy. Morgan hadn't thought to compare it to the "competitor" across the street; she just followed her family inside to the real deal.

The interior was different from their house with much more gentle colors: beige walls, black counters and strange tools, white and bright blue striped furniture. There were of course decorations like paintings on the wall of nature scenery. Some looked like what she would see after chugging a strong drink, incomprehensible shapes. Pulling everything together were adorable, triangular flags hung up to meet at every corner of the room.

While Morgan was standing around, she was surprised to see her family spring into action. Gerome carelessly flipped the sign to open, making sure it was crooked before he picked up a broom and attacked any stray dust. Robin and Cherche went behind the counter and seemed to be prepping the goods they sold. Morgan decided to come closer, lured in by a strong scent from a bag they just opened. She mindlessly claimed a seat at the counter, entranced by watching these things that looked like some kind of nut in her eyes be poured into yet another... Thing she just didn't know what it was.

"Do you want to try some of the coffee?" Robin spoke up, approaching the counter. "I thought a familiar taste might help your memories because it's been your favorite drink ever since you were thirteen."

Morgan tried to digest all this information while Robin rambled again, possibly filling the time while this coffee of theirs was being made. She at least gathered that it was a drink made from the nuts that were actually "coffee beans". She got it. Like how wine doesn't just rain from the sky; you need to create it yourself. Well, it helped to know at least something about the family business. She just felt kind of bad that she couldn't contribute to work – they seemed content to believe amnesia, and she didn't want to lie but... She didn't have a choice? No, she did. But it was technically the truth because she actually did have no memories about growing up post the end of the world.

Before anyone could even think to sit around with a cup of coffee and relax, the doors flew open. Robin snapped his head up and just barely gave a bright "welcome", before realization washed across his face and took his good mood along with it.

The whole shop seemed to dip in mood. Gerome's sweeping came to a halt, Cherche defensively joined Robin at the counter and Robin moved a large platter with a clear covering showing the most tempting pastry collection Morgan had ever seen in front of him for...? All while this was going on the thingamajig doing its coffee bean preparations was the only sound.

Morgan thought all of this was vastly unnecessary, before turning in her seat. Her jaw threatened to drop, but she kept it together. Hoo boy, that would have been awkward. Chrom walked in, just as strangely-dressed as her family... But that didn't matter.

Morgan was more interested in this version of Inigo joining him, dressed strangely but... But it worked for him. She'd noticed he was a lovely and delicate sight before, two words she'd been told not to say as to crush a man insecure with his own masculinity. Never acted on that, but could be persuaded now if he kept those top buttons on his shirt undone like that. Parading one's body could be seen as a cheap move, but if you have a collarbone to be proud of-

Wait, what was going on?

"Good morning, everyone." Chrom greeted as civilly as possible, taking a seat at the counter with Inigo.

"Hope you're doing well." Cherche greeted over her shoulder just as civilly, but with hellfire in her eyes.

Gerome muttered some coarse language all the way across the room, take our word for it.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Chrom." Robin said, smiling tenderly while his fingers around the lid of the platter sank in like risen claws.

Morgan didn't like the, um... The whole damn room seemed to be consumed by negative energy. She swore that if she concentrated, she could see the tension radiating off her family and even Chrom himself. She just leaned back as far as possible on her seat, and hadn't noticed Inigo was staying out of it and rapidly seat-hopping until he was stopped at the one next to her.

"I told father he needed to stop coming here for coffee in the morning." Inigo whispered in Morgan's direction, fear on his face.

Morgan thought she would have been more affected by Inigo's proximity if this room didn't feel so heavy with antagonistic feelings no one was going to be responsible for.

"Your aprons are green, and have different names" Morgan hadn't meant to say out loud. When she realized, she cringed and looked fearful for another reason. That wasn't the problem.

Strangely enough, Inigo didn't look confused about her lack of knowledge. He did open his mouth and close it, seemingly tongue-tied for a moment. But understanding washed over his face.

"I've heard amnesia runs in your family." Inigo said with the most tender smile. It was... Kind of stunning, really. Morgan knew that he had some ability to impress at least one or two girls at a time.

"Oh!" Morgan rambled, laughing nervously while rubbing the back of her head. "That's right; I woke up this morning, and I couldn't remember anything! You and that man over there look familiar, though, um, can you help me catch up with your life story?" Perfect. He wouldn't suspect she jumped worlds.

Inigo just nodded politely at her words. Waiting. Establishing what his next move in the conversation would be while his father behind him kept extending a certain tension beyond rivalry with her parents.

Clearly, this version of Morgan had amnesia at some point in her life. Inigo was talking to her as if she should know him, and she hated to pretend she didn't not just because that wasn't true. There was also a faint sadness in Inigo's eyes that either meant personal problems at home, or disagreement with her not remembering him.

Inigo claimed that his family had a coffee shop too – Theirs was just across the street. Even though he'd wisely left his apron behind before walking into the competition's realm, he was supposed to be just as passive aggressive toward them. But he couldn't. His expression softened toward the end, weirdly. It seemed like he was going to make a heartfelt comment about the two of them being childhood friends or something unoriginal like-

Interrupting this pleasant moment was Robin passive aggressively placing a cup of coffee on the counter. It echoed. The liquid inside sloshed without a sound. Cherche moved up to the front, setting down a plate with one of those mouth-watering pastries while also smiling suspiciously sweetly even for her.

Chrom acknowledged all of this with a determined nod. He bravely tackled both with just a second delay; first a sip of coffee to quench his thirst, next a nibble of the pastry so it could be soaked and prepared for easy consuming. Legendary. This man had been here before, Morgan decided. Chrom visited this coffee shop regularly, perfecting his moves. He was almost able to get away with acting like he wasn't aware of Robin and Cherche staring at him warily, but a smirk escaped the corner of his mouth.

"You're going to turn this business around very soon." And that was all Chrom had for compliments before drinking and eating like a normal person while Inigo deemed it safe to place an order for Whatever Coffee You Just Made To Get Out Of Here Faster. Overly-long name, but Cherche took it as a genuine thing and went to prepare it this time.

Robin kind of hovered over Chrom like a little boy about to pull his crush's hair, or something. Really, it was going full circle: even though these families seemed to be a lot less friendly with each other in this world, it was so like Robin and Chrom to be connected. It was starting to make Morgan wonder if a way of getting out would be to bring them together, let them kiss and make up as long as their wives understood that being bi curious was perfectly normal.

Maybe it was a stretch, but as caught up as Morgan was in the worlds' differences... She couldn't forget she didn't belong here. Could Robin and Chrom's tight bond be the source of getting back home? She read a lot, and she realized if this were a story then that would be the obvious fix. Then again, life is unpredictable and usually unbalanced.

Morgan did want something different. If all of this was really happening outside of her head, maybe it was best to take advantage of variety. She couldn't help being tempted to go with that after Cherche not only gave Inigo a cup of coffee and pastry, but also some for her. Morgan stared at this beverage, almost getting her eye burned with the steam. It was a very dark brown color with a very strong and nostalgic scent which glided through her nose. She never smelled anything like it, but it gave off a vibe of just being home and surrounded by people who shared mutual toleration. The pastry was still fluffy and topped with a shiny glaze, begging for a taste test. Who was Morgan to turn down the wishes of edible material?

Sometimes Morgan thought she saw Inigo stealing brief looks at her, and when she was about to question him he forced his gaze ahead. He seemed content at their proximity. Morgan never sat this close to the version of Inigo she knew, and she was fine with it so far. It made her wonder if this could be her chance to befriend people who otherwise didn't know her enough in the other world.

But there's a time and place for rational thought.

When Morgan alternated between her drink and dessert, thoughts of the other world drifted away.

She could enjoy a world without Grima, right? At least for a moment of peace, minus all that passive aggression.

TBC