Moments


Previously on Agent Carter: Moments…

Jack snorted, "You're on. But loser buys breakfast."

"It's a da– Deal."


Breakfast


A few hours later…

The couple sitting in the back corner booth was not anything like the usual male-female pairings that frequent her family's hole-in-the-wall joint.

They did not sit all cuddly cozy next to each other or stare at each other adoringly like young lovebirds; nor did they steal sly glances at each other like those in an illicit affair do just after dancing a round of the forbidden mattress jig (although if they were any of those types, her money would be on the latter, judging by their disheveled appearance).

The man's blond hair was tousled, his face covered in day-old stubble, his tie loose and crooked, and his clothing wrinkled. The woman's brunette curls could definitely use a touch up as could her make-up. Her clothes were not only rumpled-looking, but her shirt had several ... burn holes?...and its sleeve was ripped in the shoulder too (and not along the seam). Both were bleary-eyed, if not cross-eyed from weariness, and his knuckles were bruised and swollen.

She might have chalked them up to being an embittered married couple, sitting in stony sullen silence of the post-knock-out-drag-out-fight variety, but their silence was one of comfortable companionability. Both sat on opposite sides of their booth leaning (slumping more like) against the wall and facing the restaurant, quietly savoring their coffees and then their 2 egg-2 bacon-2 toast breakfasts.

In fact the only time she witnessed the two verbally interact was when they placed their orders. When the woman had seconded her male counterpart's order, he had grunted an incredulous "Not tea?"

The woman (British of some sort) had merely arched an eyebrow.

He must have been on the receiving end of such a look often enough to have built up some sort of immunity, for he chuckled softly at her challenging look. She herself would have cowered, even if most of The Look's ire was diluted with obvious exhaustion, as it was right now (it was still that fierce).

And none of that interaction resembled any kind of business relationship she had ever seen either. Briefcase and suits be-damned. No secretary of her pretty-and-young quality was that familiar and privileged with her boss or colleague to look and act like she did, even the ones who also fit in the illicit affair category.

They were the quietest of her patrons, but obviously also the most fascinating. She did not know which had captivated her more – her compulsion to see which of the fatigued duo would face plant into their food first (the odds were pretty even on them as far as she could tell) or to witness their wordless dance. They passed salt and pepper for their eggs to each other or the milk for their coffee almost before the other knew they even needed it. There would be a startled look and then a wan grateful smile before they would slip partway back into their own little worlds – partway because there was always an awareness of the other.

When she brought over their to-go order and the bill, she was not surprised that the woman contributed to the tab by paying for her meal and half of the to-go order and that the gentleman did not protest, as they had been unconventional so far. She was surprised, however, by the man's mutter of "blasted Sousa" and even more so by the woman's low sympathetic laugh of "I taught the man too bloody well".

Blondie mock-glowered at her, even as he concernedly watched her stiff movements as she exited from the booth. Despite his gentlemanly angst, he did not offer her any assistance, at least none beyond picking up the carton of food and the briefcase before following her to the exit. She did not think the British woman would have accepted assistance from him had he offered.

She was so intrigued by them that she watched them through the front window even after they exited. She observed that though the woman had a self-sufficient aura about her, they still stood at the curb closer together than was typical for two 'just work colleagues' as they waited for a taxi, each angling their bodies towards the other as if wanting to lean on the other for support.

The shout for the order of table #5 being ready nearly cost her the chance to witness Blondie giving the Brit the briefcase as she got into the cab and then of him handing off the carton to her favorite high-tipping regular, who limped past the window with far more weariness than was typical of him as he headed to what she assumed was his nearby apartment.

As she went to go serve table five their order, she made a mental note to ask Daniel to dish about the mysterious pair tomorrow.

She just knew it would be a grand tale.


A/N: in trying to picture how their little bet would end and who would end up paying for their breakfast date, my Muse spewed out this little Avengers' shawarma-like moment. I hope you enjoyed : )