It Brings People Together

It's the first day of winter, her hair is an absolute mess, she's late for work, she hasn't had any breakfast –

A cup of coffee sounds kind of nice, now that she thinks about it.

Nine forty two in the morning, she's standing in line at the new coffee shop they recently opened on Gardner and Fox. From what her friends say, it's a nice place to relax, hang, get some work done.

She likes that.

With it being a Sunday, there aren't too many people looking for a shot of caffeine. Rather they're at home relaxing, having an extravagant breakfast in bed with their kids. Or, of course, there's the possibility that they've gone to church, thinking that a religious lecture will freshen them up a bit, put a little spring in their step.

All the same, it’s good to know that she won’t have to wait half an hour for a simple cup of coffee.

So while she’s waiting, she decides to take a minute and look to the windows – for a seat, of course. Each table seems to be occupied, most often by indifferent people sipping at their coffee while speedily typing away on a laptop or iPad. She doesn’t think she’d want to randomly barge into their business and make friends, just for a window seat.

But that, ironically enough, is when she sees him.

Seated at the last window table, he’s bent over a little, staring into an iPod, if she’s right. His eyelids are drooped, shading his grass green eyes. She doesn’t think he’s tired, though. Lost, maybe, but not tired.

There’s no coffee or tea or bread of any type at his table, either. Just him.
 
“What can I get you, ma’am?” She’s jolted out of her train of thought, then. Hurriedly, her eyes scan the menu board, looking for something hot and fresh to drink. Just in case, she takes a look at the bakery selection, too.

“A cup of Kona coffee, please.” She says, stuttering a little. She smiles, just for extra measure.

“Cream and sugar?”

“That would be great.”

“Anything else?” Rocking back and forth on her leather flats for just a second, she glances back at the ginger, quiet and secluded. She’s attracted to him, for some reason, though not in the sense any normal person would think of.

Sighing, she looks back to the cashier, says, “Ah, how about another cup of Kona coffee? With cream and sugar.”

The cashier raises his eyebrows, looks over to where the ginger’s sitting, grins. “Of cou-

“And maybe some of that New York coffee cake?” she adds, flashing a friendly (maybe even a bit flirtatious) smile.  

“Yes, ma’am.” He starts to ring her up, slides her credit card, has her enter her pin and whatnot. And as she does so, he can’t help but think that, in just a few years, this’ll be him and the one.

Yes, yes it will.

She steps aside, puts her credit card back into her wallet, starts to rock on her heels again. Every now and then, she turns her head, stares at the ginger for a while, thinking that he might see her.

He never looks up.

“Your order’s ready, ma’am.” She turns back, takes the coffees in one hand, the petite cake in the other, walks over to his table, sits down in the other chair. Setting the cake and one of the coffees in front of him, she reaches for her laptop bag, takes it out, and turns the power on.

He lifts his head then, notices that there’s a woman sitting in front of him, going about her business as if he isn’t even there. But then his gaze strays upon the coffee and cake, and he knows, that for some unknown reason, she’s decided to take a seat in that very chair, right in front of him.

Hand drifting towards the coffee, he says, “Um… Thanks?”

“You look like you could use it,” she replies, entering her password, shooting him a tight smile.  

He stares at her then, irked by how absolutely nonchalant she is about the whole situation. After all, here they are, complete strangers to each other, sitting at a window table in the coffee shop on Gardner and Fox, starting up a conversation.

It’s not a normal, day-to-day thing.

She looks up from her laptop then, sees that he’s staring. Grinning, she asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies, quietly, sipping his (her, technically speaking) coffee. He shuts off his iPod, doesn’t dare look at it again.

She averts her gaze back to her laptop, opens up the file for a new column she’s been given. Taking a quick breath, she starts to type, fingers moving at the speed of lightning, just like they should.

Glancing over at him every once in a while, she asks, “Are you a local?”

“Nah, my uncle lives here. I’m in Palo Alto right now.”

He doesn’t quite know why he said that.

“Stanford?”

It’s a wild guess, but hey, they turn up now and then.

“The one and the only.”

A smirk starts to creep its way up the corners of his lips.

“You must be some kind of genius, then.”

Her fingers stop moving. Her hands move to her lap.

Folding his arms behind his head, he looks casually off to the side, replies, “Well, I do have to admit, my understanding of science – is a gift.”

“Right.” She drawls that last part a bit, rolls her eyes, ends it with a chuckle.

He likes that. It reminds him of Artemis.  

They’re quiet after that, with her going back to typing away at her laptop, him opening and absolutely devouring the cake, both of them wordlessly sipping at their coffee.

And in that silence, friendly yet so very awkward, he helplessly begins to observe.

She’s oriental, he can tell -- the mildly dark, olive tan immediately gives it away. And her eyes, no, they’re not tiny, but (as he’s noticed) they do tend to have that squint whenever she smiles. And, of course, like Artemis, the woman’s eyes are a mystical grey, full of stories to tell.

Her hair is thin and black, cut short just past her shoulders, maybe an inch above her chest. He’s feeling practically nostalgic by now.

“I’m guessing you liked the cake?” She’s turned towards him now, head resting on her right hand, the other idly stirring her coffee. Her laptop isn’t there anymore, so he decides that she’s put it away.

“Uh, yeah.” He looks around, out the window, tries to find anything other than her to stare at, foolishly (in his opinion) adds, “I like cake.”

She laughs, and he swears that it sounds like a lark, singing to the sky.

“I like it, too,” she says, looking awkwardly down into her lap, and then back at him.

He flashes a smile (he can’t help it) and goes back to looking (trying to look, really) out the window.

Every time, his gaze falls upon her.

“I’m Linda, by the way.” He blinks a little, making his way back to reality, extending his hand to meet hers. Olive tan slides into place with burnt peach, and for just the split second, she swears she can feel an unusual rush of warmth pulse through her hand.

He silently curses himself for ever starting at it again, and with just the extra bit of self control, manages to stop the practically irrepressible vibrating. “Wally,” he murmurs.

~~~

The black haired beauty is just about to leave the hall in absolute frustration when she finds him walking in through the doors, pulling on his golden ring. Inexplicably, he looks as if nothing of great interest has happened in the past hour, as if he hasn’t even noticed that she’s called him almost fourteen times. Glaring at him as reprovingly as possible, she asks, “You do know that they left more than an hour ago, right?”

He looks up, a lazy smile playing with the corners of his peach colored lips as he presses his thumb into the mustard yellow ring. Within the span of a few seconds, he’s donned his infamous costume and replied, ever so casually, “Yeah, I know.”

The magician, a long time friend, rolls her eyes; she’s used to his humorous manner and antics by now, or at least that’s what she thinks. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“So descriptive.” She folds her arms across her blooming chest and bends her left leg, jutting her hip outward. If she were in normal costume, and not a tank and capris, he probably would have burst out laughing.

Bending down to pull up his boots - they’re a little loose - he mumbles, “I met someone.”

Her eyes widen, and he notices how the shade of her electric blue eyes is almost identical to that of Dick’s. The only thing that’s different, he figures, is the light of enthusiasm and optimism in her eye.

Her gaze softens, and she smiles adoringly at the redhead before her. “What’s she like?” she whispers.

Standing up, he pulls on his mask, trading grass green pupils for plain white slits. With the slightest bit of a spring in his step, he makes his way to the zeta tubes. The magician, though she already knows his answer, lingers for a while, waiting.

“Artemis,” he breathes.