"So," said Sam, leaning against the counter during the usual pre-lunch lull in customers, "who's the weirdest person you've ever had in here?"
"You wanna rethink that question?" she asked him, as she declogged the coffee machine.
"Ah, right. Who's the weirdest non-Avenger person you've ever had in here?" he amended.
She thought about it. "We had a guy who thought he was the next Tolstoy, and told me all about this big profound story he'd written. For an hour and a half. Oh, and how the publishers had all turned it down because they didn't get it," she added, and kneed the underside of the machine.
It made a sound like an asthmatic Darth Vader and rattled back into life; Mr G refused to pay for another one on the basis that the money was being spent on her wages. Oddly, he refused to give her a raise because he said the money was needed for machine maintenance.
"Although to be fair, that could apply to a good fifty per cent of the guys we get in here," she added, as dregs of milk dripped into the catch-tray.
"Anyone else?" asked Sam, fiddling with the sugar dispensers.
"Uh… I had this tramp guy come in once, who looked pretty confused by everything," she recalled.
He was tall but not remarkably so, and looked powerfully built, unusually for someone of his attire. He had a scruffy beard, and his overlong dark hair was stuffed underneath a dirty cap.
"Afternoon," said Eva, "what can I get you, sir?"
He blinked, as if she was the first person who had spoken to him in a very long time. "I… what's the cheapest thing you do?" he asked.
They didn't normally get homeless in here; most of them knew that everything was overpriced, and that Mr G was unforgiving towards beggars. But the guy didn't look like her knew any of that. "Leave it to me," she said, "and go grab that corner table, I'll bring it over."
She made him a simple coffee and a slice of carrot cake, too, and carried it over to him. "Here," she said, "twelve dollars, please."
The man pulled one hand out of his pocket that had been clutching at a couple of one dollar bills and some quarters; she watched his face fall as he realized he had nowhere near enough, and her heart twisted in sympathy for him.
"Hey," she said, "it's on the house. Now eat it quick, before my boss notices and takes it out on the both of us."
The guy looked up at her with dull eyes. "Thanks," he said hoarsely.
"No problem, dude, so long as you scram in ten minutes." She winked at him, and returning to the counter she kept an eye on him the rest of the time he was in there.
"I mean, that was all kinda odd anyway, but you know the weirdest part?" she said to Sam. "While he was eating, he used his other hand, and it looked like it was made of metal. I didn't realise they were that advanced with prosthetics yet." She shrugged.
Sam stared at her, his eyes wide. "He had a metal arm?" he said, tensely.
"Hand- it could've been his entire arm, I guess, but he had a coat on so I couldn't see. Why?"
"How long ago was this?" he asked.
"Uh… few months ago, I guess? I'm not sure, sorry. Sam, what's up? Who is he?"
Sam leant across the counter and kissed her. "You're amazing," he said, and ran out of the shop.
Eva stood there for a couple of seconds in a state of shock. "Guess I'll never know what that was about," she said to herself.
%
The rest of her shift passed without incident, and she tried to keep her mind off the kiss. She walked back to her apartment, unlocked the door and the post sifted beneath it as she pushed it open; groaning internally, she leafed through the brown envelopes until she came to one with Kresk & Kresk printed in sans serif font across one corner. Uh oh.
She slit the envelope open with her thumbnail, and a printout of a news article fell out of it. EARTH'S MIGHTIEST HEROES GATECRASH GRADUATION CEREMONY BEFORE NIGHT OUT ON THE TOWN, it screamed, along with a blurry picture of all of them plus her staggering down a dusky street. The only other thing in the envelope was a single sheet of A4 with her parents' names on the bottom, lacking even a signature.
She read it, read it again, then crumpled the letter up and dropped it to the floor. She needed to vent, or her anger would turn inwards and tear her apart, but she didn't want to call Vision, lest she sound weak. Instead, she just tweeted vaguely yet angrily about the contents of the letter, and went out.
She returned half an hour later with a packet of bleach, some hair scissors and a bottle of vodka. After a couple of dunks, she slicked the paste onto her hair and played the score to The Nutcracker on full volume while she waited for it to take effect, then stuck her head under the kitchen tap and rinsed it all off. With the noise from the stereo and the plumbing there to cover it up, she allowed herself to cry, biting her lip against the sobs as hot water pounded over her scalp. Her relationship with her parents had never been good, but she could never have imagined it coming to this.
She towel-dried her hair, yanked a brush through it and, without a mirror, pulled a clump to one side and cut off the now-white locks, the long tresses having been the one thing that made her look similar to her mother. Hacking them away, she froze as someone knocked on the door, the sound barely audible over The Dance of the Sugar Plum fairy.
"Who is it?" she called out.
"Me," Vision replied, "I saw your tweet."
"You follow me?"
"I see everything on the internet, remember? Can I come in?"
"I guess," she said, hoping her eyes weren't still bloodshot. The door opened and Rachel Carson meowed sadly, brushing against his legs as he walked over to her.
"What happened?" he asked.
"They disowned me," she said, and her voice broke. "They saw me in the news, and said I would disgrace their name and their freaking company. It's all been legally done, already." She dropped he scissors and pressed her hands to her mouth. "Oh, God. I'm such a wreck."
Wordlessly, Vision picked up the scissors, and she felt his fingers brush the nape of her neck and he trimmed her uneven hair. "I'm sorry," he said, after having given her a couple minutes of silence.
"It was long overdue," she said, "I just… I didn't think they would actually do it. They said they would when I came up here to do my degree instead of joining the company, but bottled it at the last moment. I thought they wouldn't have the nerve."
"The closest thing I have to a parent tried to drive humanity into extinction," said Vision, "if that makes you feel any better."
"It doesn't, but it's nice knowing I'm not the only disappointment to my family."
"I think we both have good reasons to be so," said Vision.
"They didn't even write the letter, V. They typed it, on company paper. The last contact they would ever have with their only daughter, and they did it via a damn computer. No offense."
"None taken." He laid down the scissors, and brushed the hair from her shoulders. "If you want to be cheered up, I believe Sam is planning on taking you on a surprise date tomorrow."
She turned to stare at him. "What?!"
"Ah," said Vision, "I probably shouldn't have told you that. Somewhat reduces the 'surprise' element of it."
She ran her hands through her new hair. "Oh my God. I'm going on a date tomorrow."
"I can tell him you don't want to go," offered Vision.
"Huh? Of course I want to go! Not entirely sure why he wants to take me on a date, not that I'm complaining. But… I'm a hot mess."
"You are indeed," Vision smiled, "and that's a lot better than an ordinary mess. But you don't have to go if you don't want to, Eva. You've just received bad news, you're allowed to take a day for yourself."
"No," she said, "If I do that, I'm just gonna wallow in self-pity and cheap booze. I need distracting. And besides, at least now I'm shot of my crappy family, right?" she added, with false bravado.
"If you're sure." Vision kissed her forehead. "I need to go. Take care of yourself, Eva."
"You too, V. Saving the world's a dangerous business."
"I can imagine dating Sam Wilson is, too."
"Ha, ha."
A/N big chapter- more like two chapters in one, really. Updating a day early because I'm out of town tomorrow, and then it's the summer holidays, so twice-weekly updates might soon become a thing again... even if I will be very busy a) eating, b) sleeping, and c) marathoning Being Human. It's a hard life.