33
Chapter Text
Pound the Table
Chapter Thirty-Two
Saturday, December 29, 1990
The winter weather turned my breath to mist as we walked outside, but I barely felt the cold, even when the wind tried to bite at my skin and scales. All of my attention was locked onto the beauty leading me along the sidewalk at a sedate pace, the crowd parting around her almost by magic. She moved with familiarity, demonstrating knowledge of and comfort with the immediate area, including the best spots to jaywalk without worry of oncoming traffic — though I did catch her looking to the right before checking her left. She was probably used to her fellow Brits driving on the left.
To me, it seemed oddly endearing, including the slight downturn at the corner of her lip as she realized that she'd been looking in the wrong direction. I couldn't help a giggle, which drew Betsy's gaze towards me, and brought the warmth back to my cheeks.
"So," I started, hoping I sounded casual as I tried to affect the tone reserved for dry small talk, "what brings you to this part of town? I mean, our first encounter was a fair ways north of the city, and all."
"Well, Charles is a mentor of sorts," Betsy said as she skipped up onto the curb, dodging a bike messenger in the process. "In exchange for his advice regarding the more esoteric nature of my work, I occasionally offer my assistance at his academy. You would be amazed how few psychics know that their telepathy has an 'off' switch, and while Charles is a deft hand at most things, helping others find that toggle without simply pressing it himself is occasionally beyond him."
"Moonlighting as a psychic teacher then?" I asked as a follow-up, grinning cheekily at the dual meaning there.
"You will have to try harder than that to earn a chuckle from me." Betsy shot me a wry grin with a flash of teeth, and I felt a flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach at that. "But alas, I appear to have accidentally dodged the question. So how about this: you share what brought you to my usual haunt, and I'll—"
Whatever Betsy was going to say got drowned out by the sound of a turbine or engine or something-or-other blazing past above us. I looked up to see the distinctive green and brass of the Vulture's flight suit, followed by the instantly recognizable thwip, thwip, thwip of Spider-Man swinging past. That, I expected.
What I most certainly did not expect was for a younger, prettier, less on-fire Human Torch-type to fly in Spider-Man's wake, followed by what looked for all the world like a frozen mannequin surfing along after them on an ice bridge that dissolved into snowflakes behind him.
Great. Just great. I was going to have to—
"It appears I shall need to have words with those two regarding their… ah, extracurricular activities," Betsy murmured too quietly for people with normal hearing to catch it, as she eyed the dissolving ice bridge and drifting strands of webbing with distaste.
"Funnily enough, I was about to say the same regarding the third," I said quietly in her direction, prompting a look of surprise from the other woman. I just smiled and pointed at where my horns would be if they were visible, and understanding dawned.
"Ah," she said, understanding dawning in an instant. "It would seem we're of one mind on this, then. Lecture the children later?"
"Lecture the children later," I agreed. The two of us shared a smile, followed by some giggles as we stepped into the crosswalk. "I swear, if that kid wasn't soAAAH—!"
My boot slid out from under me, leaving me falling backward, and I found myself wishing I'd worn the boots with better traction — yes, they were substantially uglier, and they lacked the inch and a half of heel to push me above five feet, but at least I wouldn't be about to fall on my—!
A firm hand closed around my upper arm, stabilizing me as an arm splayed across the middle of my back and held me upright, long enough that I could get my feet back under me and stand up straight.
"Easy there." Once I was steady on my feet again, Betsy guided me across the rest of the crosswalk before removing her arm from behind me. "Are you quite alright?"
"I-I, um," I swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Sudden potential embarrassment gave way to a different kind of blush, and I struggled for a moment to get my brain back on track. "I'm fine, t-thanks. Sorry I, usually my balance is better than that, what with the tail and all, but right now it's all bundled in my coat cause otherwise my tail gets so cold, and—"
The other woman's laughter cut me off, and I snuck a glance at her absolutely delighted smile before feeling those warm and fuzzies again. I turned away to hide what had to be a blush on my face, if the heat in my cheeks was any indication, which only prompted another giggle from Betsy.
"Well, hopefully the worst of winter will soon be behind us and then the cold will cease to be a problem, no?" she asked, even as she brought the two of us to a stop midway down the sidewalk. "Ah, here we are!"
I only briefly got a glimpse at the sign on the door – "Lazy Susan's", the place was called – before we were inside, and the warm indoor air had my glasses fogging up again. I couldn't help the moue of annoyance as I took them off and fished a cleaning cloth out of my purse, and cleaned off the lenses enough that I'd be able to see through them again.
"Ah, Ms. Braddock!" A new voice, one as British as my current companion's, piped up as I wiped the condensation off of my glasses. "Wasn't expecting to see you back here until Monday. Your usual table, yes? Would you like a pot of your usual?"
"By the window, yes, but I would appreciate the list this time, Maggie." Betsy removed her overcoat, careful and restrained to prevent from sweeping it into my face, then transferred it to one arm and both gestured towards me while also subtly asking for my coat. "As you can see, I've found myself some company today."
"Hello!" I greeted, carefully shrugging myself out of my winter coat and gratefully handing it to Betsy, who hung both our coats up on a hook by the door. "Noa Schaefer, a pleasure."
"Charmed," the proprietress of the establishment replied as she handed over a small menu. "Ms. Braddock is a regular here, so just follow her to the table, and wave me down once you know what you'd like, alright luv?"
"Sounds good, thank you."
I took the menu and turned to Betsy, who led the way to a small two-seater table in the corner, adjacent to the window. To my delight, there was a space between the back and seat of the chair, so I was able to gently thread my tail through the gap with utmost ease. The seat was comfortable enough, if a tad small, but the view of the street and passersby was quite nice.
"Would you care for a recommendation, or do you prefer to simply peruse?" Betsy asked, leaning over the table and resting her chin on one hand.
"Did you have something in mind?" I asked, looking up to meet Betsy's deep purple eyes.
"Well, I could point out several good options. Or…" Betsy reached out and gently flipped the menu closed. The tips of her fingers just barely trailed along mine as she did so, and my heart practically skipped a beat at the sensation. "You can trust me to have good taste."
… I… I had no words with which to answer that. I think I tried, but all that came out was a muffled squeak. All I could do was set the menu down, slide it over towards Betsy, and fold my hands in my lap as I tried to remember how to breathe normally. Dear god, did this woman know the effect she was having on me? She had to, didn't she?
Betsy looked towards the counter, and the proprietress bustled over, a ready smile on her face.
"All set I see?" she asked, and I forced a tiny smile as Betsy shifted, drawing my eyes towards her once again.
"A pot of the jasmine would be lovely," Betsy said, handing the menu over. "Thank you again, Maggie."
"Anytime, luv."
"Cheers." With that, it was just Betsy and me again as she favored me with another small smile. "Alas, I believe our earlier attempt at conversation was interrupted when our respective charges flew, swung, and surfed by overhead, yes?"
I blinked, and tried to think. What conversation was she — oh, right!
"Right, what brought each of us to this part of town!" I chimed in, brushing a stray lock of hair back behind my horn. Well, people saw me brush it behind my ear, but the difference between what people saw and what was actually real was beside the point. "And then I tried to ask again and uh… tripped."
"We've all been there," she said with a laugh. "In my case, I was visiting the Consulate to make use of their international lines to catch up with my brother. Trying to make the call on my own phone lines is prohibitively expensive — diplomatic channels get much better rates, and I suppose being able to use those is a perk of the job, no?"
"I'd say," I reply, casting my mind back to a few cases that came to mind. "Several times while I was still working for a firm, I had to touch base with opposing counsel or adverse parties in Europe, Asia, or Australia? Ugh, let me just say my boss was not happy about the expense report. Especially not the two hour long deposition by conference call."
"I can imagine." Betsy wrinkled her nose. "Conference calls are a bloody mess at the best of times. How often did you need to repeat yourself?"
"Any time a word had more than one 's' sound in it," I said.
As it turned out, that was a particular quirk of phone lines and, oddly enough, AM radio: the 's' sound had a habit of just not coming through. After that experience, I never poked fun at the ex-JAG associates that used the military lexicon for spelling words out ever again.
"So, your brother?" I asked, feeling slightly less flustered as I grew more comfortable with my conversation partner. "Older, younger?"
"Twins, actually!"
I blinked. Oh. That was… huh, neat.
"So… who's the younger twin?" I asked, my smile turning conspiratorial. "And by how many minutes?"
"Brian is the younger of us," Betsy revealed, her smile mirroring mine. "By two minutes."
"Oh, you must never let him forget that, do you?"
"He knows quite well that he shall always be the baby brother, even when he chooses to rest an arm on my shoulder. The two of us have another brother, James Jr. Though he is ten years our senior, so Brian and I have always been closer," Betsy shared. "And yourself? Any siblings?"
"I'm afraid not," I answered, shaking my head. "My mother's pregnancy was hard on her, and after how difficult my birth was, I don't think either of my parents wanted to try again."
"Understandable, but also somewhat surprising," Betsy replied. "That comment of yours about which of us twins was older? I rarely hear that from those without siblings."
"Ah… do my godfather's kids count?" I asked, feeling a mite sheepish.
Betsy blinked, her train of thought appearing to have run into a cow. Whatever her next thought was, though, it would have to wait, as I heard movement approaching our table before seeing it out of the corner of my eye.
"Here we are, luvs!"
The proprietress, Maggie, set down two charger plates, and set a pair of fine porcelain teacups atop them. A third, larger charger plate joined the assortment, followed by an absolutely gorgeous teapot, shiny white porcelain with an exquisite floral filigree along its surface. Maggie lifted the lid from the teapot and removed a tea infuser from within, then closed it, and poured each of us a cup of piping hot tea.
"Enjoy!" she said, gave us a smile, and wandered off.
I shared a glance with Betsy, then picked up my teacup, closed my eyes, and took a whiff, then a sip. It was… it was hard to describe, really.
It smelled and tasted like a rainy day spent inside, curled up with a warm blanket, a good book, and better company.
Most teas have a subtler taste than that, that dreaded bean juice, coffee, and herbal teas even more so. This?
The flavor wasn't powerful, no. But it was unmistakable.
I let out a soft, contented sigh, and took another sip.
"I suppose I picked well, then?" Betsy asked, amusement coloring her tone.
"This is probably the best jasmine tea I've ever had," I agreed, and saw Betsy's smile turn oh-so-smug.
"Wonderful! I'm glad to hear it." She took a sip of her own tea, and then leaned forward over the table, resting her chin on the back of one hand. "So, to return to our topic of conversation. What brought you to this side of town, my dear? As far as I was aware, your premises are over in Alphabet City, correct?"
I was very glad to not have been taking a sip when she said 'my dear', because there was a very real chance of that tea going down my windpipe if I had been drinking. Instead, all that happened was that my tail twitched, and my glamour was saved from breaking by the hole in the seat back.
"W-well." I paused, clearing my throat to collect myself. "I was actually looking at office space in the area. The lease on my current office is up in September, and events over the past year and a half haven't exactly endeared me to the location."
"A shame," Betsy said, but her tone said the opposite of her words. "Your search was fruitful, I hope?"
"The current tenant of the space I liked the most won't be out until March, but I already have a lease prepped, price locked in, and contractors on call to alter the premises to my liking. An upgrade in all the ways you could think of."
And best of all? The view from the seventeenth floor out onto Rockefeller Plaza was much better than looking out from the third floor onto a random street in Alphabet City. Oh sure, even the new scenery had nothing on the Central Park views LL&L had on all 20 of the floors the firm owned, but it was still pretty nice!
"Oh, so you will be relatively close by then?" Betsy asked, her smile growing. "Perhaps I might actually have good company, every now and then, hm?"
"A-ah, of course!" I hurried out, recognizing an invitation when I saw it. Yes, I was picking up some serious signals here, but even if that didn't work out…?
Well, good company and intelligent conversation was always something to be desired.
"Anyway, well, that goes back to what I do for a living. How about yourself?" I asked, taking the initiative in the conversation for only the second time. "I wager whatever you get up to with Charles is more of a moonlighting thing, as it were."
"Hrm." Betsy frowned, though from the furrow of her brow, I could tell that this was confusion, as opposed to distaste or displeasure. "I confess, I'm not particularly familiar with that term, 'moonlighting'. Is that a uniquely American term of art?"
"I… don't know, though now I'm going to have to look it up or it'll bother me all week." Betsy giggled at that, and I took a sip of my tea to try and tamp down on the silly little grin that threatened to split my cheeks at the sound of her laugh. "Moonlighting is 'having a secondary job', essentially. Such as a policeman moonlighting as a bouncer."
"Or an attorney moonlighting as a professor?" Betsy asked, turning the question on me with a knowing smile.
"Well, yes, but generally they're called an 'adjunct professor' at that point," I clarified. "But in your case, if you're moonlighting as a psychic tutor at Xavier's, what's the day job? I'm curious!"
"I occupy a position of many hats, as it were," Betsy said, beginning her answer with a non-answer. "I serve as a diplomatic liaison between British and American intelligence, law enforcement, and…" she waved her hand about, as though to indicate a flight of fancy. "Capers and heroics, I suppose. Although that last one is thankfully quite rare."
"But never as rare as you'd prefer, is it?" I asked with a knowing look.
"Never," she agreed with a nod. "Somehow the heroes and villains always manage to intrude upon the day to day, no matter how little we want them to. Honestly?" Betsy crossed her legs, and picked up both teacup and charger plate. "If all I ever had to deal with was stymieing the occasional minor villain trying to extort Wall Street, I would be much happier."
"I can imagine." I eyed her with a knowing glance. "And I suppose that was I to ask if you used telepathy to find these ne'er do wells…?"
"One, diplomatic immunity," Betsy replied with a grin. "And second, that's classified, luv."
"And third, nobody could prove it in court," I added on with a smile of my own. "Regardless, at least it does sound interesting!"
"Oh, it can be," she affirmed. "Though the most stress I deal with is having to liaise between my government and your Avengers. Particularly Iron Man's, ahem, 'handler'. I swear, never have I met a more infuriating specimen. I pray you never have to subject yourself to his attention."
"Too late for that, I'm afraid," I sighed. "I have to put up with him on a semi-regular basis."
"Oh, dear."
"Oh, dear," I mirrored. "Anyway! Enough downer talk! Any funny stories growing up?" I asked, leaning forward in my seat. "I wager twins have a way of getting up to some serious shenanigans, hm?"
"Like you would not believe," Betsy answered, her smile morphing into a cheeky grin. "I'm afraid I don't quite remember this one, but neither Brian nor I ever heard the end of it growing up…"
Time passed and tea vanished from our cups as we traded stories of days gone by, from childhood through our early careers. Betsy shared a tale of two over-caffeinated toddlers tearing a governess's sanity to shreds. I offered the story of my Bat Mitzvah ceremony, when one of the more enterprising members of the congregation switched out the grape juice meant for the kids with shabbat wine, and services ended with a number of drunken teenagers losing the ability to put one foot in front of the other.
It was obvious that there were things she wasn't sharing — details she walked around, extremely deliberate word choice — but it wasn't as if I didn't have secrets of my own. And even so, all it did was tell me that the woman in front of me was utterly fascinating. She was witty and intelligent, sharp, well-spoken, gorgeous…
"… and Brian and I were supposed to be busy studying for our A-levels while all of this was going on, so you can imagine our parents' surprise when—"
A loud, insistent beeping shocked the two of us as we both jumped slightly, my surprise knocking my (thankfully empty) teacup on its side. Recognizing what that sound was, I reached around my chair for my purse, but frowned when I noticed my pager was silent.
"It's mine, I'm afraid," Betsy said, a frown marring her face. "Blast… he wouldn't be paging me on a weekend if it wasn't important."
"Duty calls?" I asked sadly, eyeing the — huh, two pots of tea. I didn't remember ordering that, but then again, most of the past several hours was a blur of conversation and good company.
"I'm afraid so," Betsy said. We shared matching sighs as I reached into my purse for my wallet, and when I looked up, I saw that she'd retrieved her own wallet, and was in the process of withdrawing a couple bills from it.
We looked at one another, then at each others' wallets, then back to each other.
"Half and half?" Betsy asked.
"Halfsies," I agreed, prompting a chuckle from her, even as we both set our money on the table. I let Betsy lead the way to the door, accepted her aid in getting myself bundled up for the weather, and then took my turn for gallantry by holding the door open for her.
"I am sorry to end this rendezvous so abruptly," Betsy apologized, fiddling with the strap of her purse.
"Nothing to apologize for," I said, trying to assuage her. "Work is work, and sometimes that means it's inconvenient, yeah?"
"Indeed," she said. "I did have a… wonderful time, though. And while I can look forward to having a chance at good company more often come September, you said?"
"Yeah, second week of September," I affirmed.
"Well, that's…" Betsy wet her lips, seemingly searching for the words. "You wouldn't possibly be interested in a get-together next weekend, would you?"
I blinked, taken aback. Was she…?
"I, s-sure!" I replied, stammering a bit as I tried to get the words out. "Uh, same place? Elsewhere? When were you thinking?"
"I will admit, this is a bit off the cuff," Betsy admitted, reaching into her purse for a moment and coming away with a small notepad plus pen. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, actually. A week from today?" As she spoke, she wrote something out on the notepad, tucked it into the front pocket of my purse, and offered me a smile. "I have your number, so I'll call you to iron out the details. But ah, if you don't hear from me by Wednesday, call? I can get caught up in my work."
"Y-yes, of course!" I replied, heart pounding in my throat. "Next Saturday, yes, absolutely!"
Was… was she…?
"Wonderful!" Betsy leaned forward and wrapped me in a hug, to which I reciprocated with glee. "It's a date. Cheers, Noa."
And that's how she left me, with a flash of a smile, a toss of her hair, and five words that left me rooted to the sidewalk as I tried to reboot my brain.
I pulled out the piece of paper Betsy stuck into my purse, and saw that it had her phone number, and a little heart drawn next to it.
A… a date.
I couldn't help one of the biggest smiles I'd ever had, or the happy giggles that came with it.
Oh my God. Oh my God!
A date!
I was humming the whole way home. Several people on the subway probably thought that the tiny bundle of fabric and wind-tossed blonde hair singing "Walking on Sunshine" to herself over and over was something to avoid, given the wide berth I held, but what did that matter? What did I care? I was too excited!
I had a date! A date! Okay, I'd sort of just had a date, but that was an impromptu thing, and very much more of… God, what was it called? A meet-cute? Yeah, it was absolutely more of a meet-cute than an actual date, so I wasn't going to count it – except wait, no, I wanted to count it, that was, it was, oh my God, I was so excited!
I hopped, skipped, and jumped up the stairs, kissed the mezuzah, went inside, locked the door behind me, unbundled…
… and then I flounced down on my couch and screamed into a pillow for a couple minutes.
I had a date! Ooh, I was more excited for this than I'd been since I was a teenager! Plus, when was the last time I'd gone on a date? That had to have been… end of '87? And that eight months with Rachel had only come after… after… actually, let's not think about why I hadn't dated much since '83.
Uuuugh. That self-reflection instantly brought my mood back down a bit. But, it did help me get back on track!
Right, yes, so, date! A week from today, either she'd call me before Wednesday or I'd call her between then and Friday so we could iron out the rest of the details… the details! Oh. Oh, shoot! The details!
Like what to wear!
Shoot, damn, shit, no, I needed to figure that out asap! No, wait, I needed another set of eyes on this, different step one!
I picked up the phone, dialed the number, and tapped my feet on the carpet as I waited for the call to go through.
"Hello?"
"Cate, how quick can you get over here?" I asked, as I added 'toying with the phone cord' to my list of fidgets.
"... oh, fuck, please tell me you didn't have another break-in?" Cate asked. The exasperation and concern in her voice added the warm fuzzies atop the bundle of butterflies currently colonizing my stomach. But she was concerned, so it was best to just head that off at the pass.
So I told her.
"I have a date."
For a few seconds, there was dead silence.
"Oh my god."
"Oh my God."
"Ooooh my god, Noa, you have a date, oh, ooh we need to pick out what you're going to wear – okay, uh, I'll be there in half an hour?"
"Run by the Chinese place on your way in, I'll call in an order, then get over here please hurry I need another set of eyes on this!"
"Right, okay, be there soon!"
I heard Cate try to put the phone down, miss the cradle entirely, curse loudly, and then the call finally cut out. In the meantime… I went back to my bedroom, moved all my work clothes aside, and got to it. As I removed options from my closet, garment bags swiftly covered the entirety of my bed. And the top of my dresser. And hung off the handles of my dresser. And atop my vanity. And anywhere else I could put them.
… and then I started opening them up to figure out which ones did and didn't have tail holes in them, because there was no way I was going to choose one of the ones I hadn't gotten tailored yet.
I was unsure if Cate knocked when she arrived, but I heard her distinctive gait hurriedly marching towards my bedroom mere seconds before one hand closed around the base of my tail, the other clamped down on my shoulder, and she dragged me out of the closet.
"C'mon, food's hot," she said, setting me down and plucking the dress I'd been holding out of my hands before nudging me towards the kitchen.
"But, but—!"
"Ah, ah!" Cate admonished. "No buts! You asked me to get the food, and I need all the juicy details!"
I whined. I pleaded. I attempted to nudge past Cate and back to the bedroom, because now I had an idea and I needed to see if the outfit would work, but my pleading was all for naught. Try as I might, Cate had a head and a half of height on me. There was no getting past her.
So I schlepped over to the kitchen, grabbed out the trayf plates and silverware (the cheapest stuff I owned and tucked away in a corner of the kitchen away from everything else, because I was technically de-kosherizing my home just by having these, but…), and brought that out to the table.
Then I served myself a bunch of five spice chicken, and giggled at the way Cate's eyes started to water from the scent alone.
"I don't know how you can eat that," she murmured, shuddering slightly before taking a bite of her chicken lo mein.
I just gave her a smirk as I ate more of my wonderful, delightfully spicy chicken. Could be spicier, in my opinion, but it was more than good enough.
"So." Cate pointed her chopsticks at me. "You. Date. How? Spill. Now."
So I did. I had the pleasure of telling my best friend about the most stunningly beautiful woman I'd probably ever met, the feel of her hands around my arm as she helped me get my balance back from slipping on ice, the way her hands bore calluses that spoke of hard work yet remained so incredibly soft, the sound of her laugh, the way she spoke in that amazing British accent of hers—
"Wait, a Brit?" Cate interrupted. I cut myself off with a squeak and nodded, realizing from the heat in my cheeks that I was blushing like a schoolgirl. "Alright… how were her teeth?"
I raised one eyebrow, and gave Cate a look. I then held the look for a good fifteen seconds, after which Cate finally quailed and went back to eating.
Once we were done slaking our hunger, and the dishes were handled (... and stowed away in the secret compartment of trayf tableware that my father may never know exists…), Cate turned to me.
"Okay," she began. "We need to pick an outfit for you. How can I help?"
"I am so glad you asked."
Cate followed me to my bedroom, and after a moment of boggling at the sheer quantity of garment bags and hangers just strewn about with no rhyme or reason to them, we got to work.
Fall colors? No, absolutely not, we were in the dead of winter and there were no autumn leaves left. Gone, banished to the back of the closet… except for the ones I wanted tailored to add tail holes.
Spring colors?... maybe? We'd had a few unseasonably warm days of late, so maybe it would be worthwhile to keep an option out and available? Cate and I both considered that, and with a glance between us, we resolved to craft two outfits. Just in case.
Some of the initial decision-making was easy. Slacks? No. Definitely not. Yes they could look good, but that was not the image I was trying to put forward. I was iffy on whether or not to wear a dress, but the choice to exclude them was made for me when Cate and I discovered that all but four of them were missing tail holes.
That left me with a skirt and blouse combo, of which I had… many. Oh yes, very, very many.
What little jewelry I had beyond my Star of David pendant also came out, and although we loved them, Cate and I both agreed that her freshly-given Christmas/Chanukah gift just would not fit here. I didn't have an inventory of earrings to pick from just yet, and more importantly, I had zero practice glamouring over that particular detail.
With all of this in mind, the afternoon blurred into a flurry of fabric as we fell upon our task with gusto, some disagreement, and (eventually) the loosening of our stringent standards by way of splitting a half-bottle of chardonnay. We'd narrowed down the options to four skirts and five blouses, each of which I could pair with one of the seven sweaters, cardigans, or other layers we'd kept on hand – and all of this was before we even started on the shoes, by the way, which we both realized could necessitate spending tomorrow out shopping.
"What about this one?" Cate asked as she held one of the remaining blouses out for me. It was a long-sleeved blouse in a very light shade of blue, somewhere between sky and pastel. I felt the material between my fingers, and ran the sleeve along the scales on my arm. They didn't catch, which was good, but I also couldn't remember when or where I'd bought this blouse.
"I could make this one work," I murmured, checking my skirts. I pulled out the two frontrunners that I'd been considering and both of them up to the blouse, then stood in front of my mirror with both of them held up to my body. "I mean, both of them are nice, but—"
The sound of the front door unlocking snapped my attention away from my ongoing sartorial crisis, only to snap back onto the crisis as I realized I now had another opinion available.
"I'm home!" Lorna called out as I started making my way towards the front. "Hey, is that Chinese food? Did you get—"
"Yes, your beef lo mein is there, but this first!" I presented myself to my goddaughter with the blouse held against my chest with one hand, and both skirts clumsily held up in the other. "Which one works best with the blouse, do you think? One, or two?" I waggled the respective skirts for emphasis, eager to hear Lorna's take.
"U-uh…" Lorna looked a little poleaxed for a second, and gave a plaintive look at where I heard Cate following me out of the bedroom, an exacerbated sigh escaping my best friend's lips. "Two?"
I lowered the first skirt, ready to toss it on the couch—
"Wait, no, one!" Lorna interjected, drawing my attention back to her. Then she seemed to second guess herself again, and walked a couple of steps closer. "Uh, actually… wait, maybe…?"
That was good enough for me to get my answer: Lorna wasn't feeling either of the selections. Which suggested that maybe the blouse was to blame.
I let loose a long-suffering sigh, jetted off back to the bedroom, and hung all three garments off of the back of the door before grabbing a few more options and heading back to the living room.
"Okay, what about these?" I asked, holding up a sleeveless white blouse with a ruffled collar, alongside a different pair of skirts: one had an asymmetrical hem line, while the other flared out at the bottom.
"I, uh…" Lorna looked to Cate for guidance. "One, maybe? I guess?"
I joined Lorna in looking at Cate, and she shrugged, but nodded.
"Alright, good enough, we'll start with that!" I took the reject skirt back to my bedroom, and grabbed my weapon of choice for the next stage.
"Uh, i-is Noa okay? She's a little… uh?" I heard Lorna asking as I returned to the living room, only to attack the skirt with my newly acquired implement: the lint roller. There couldn't be even a single speck out of place, not if I was going to be putting my best foot forward here! And the last time I'd worn this skirt had been during a shed, so I needed to be especially sure there were no leftover bits of shed scale stuck somewhere!
"Yeah, she'll be alright, trust me," I heard Cate say. I tore off the current layer of the lint roller, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in Cate's general direction. I knew without having to look that she caught it out of the air. "Your godmom just winds herself up when picking out clothes for a date."
I doubt either of us picked out anything wrong with that phrasing initially. But the high-pitched squeak slowly building from between Lorna's lips was about all the warning we had that saying this was, perhaps, a bad idea.
"Oh. My. God!" Lorna's voice trailed off into a painfully high pitch, and she began to practically bounce up and down in midair. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god! Okay, okay okay okay, uh, what's his name?"
I couldn't help my full-body wince at the question (which led me to drop the lint roller on the floor), and caught Cate's awkward hiss.
"Uh…" I hedged, hoping that my awkward glance at Cate didn't appear as panicked as I thought it did.
"Wait, no!" Lorna interrupted. "Where'd you meet him? What kind of guy? How's he look? Ooh, is he tall?"
"Um… I…"
"You didn't…?" Cate trailed off, glancing between Lorna and me. I shook my head, even as I realized that there was no avoiding it.
"Okay," I sighed, draping the skirt in my hand across the back of my sofa. "I… uh. Lorna?"
"Huh? W-what?" Lorna asked, concern growing on her face. And I couldn't blame her, what with how shifty both Cate and I had just been acting. "I… should I not have asked that?"
"No, no," I waved off her concerns as I sat on the arm of my armchair, nervously tapping the seat with my tail. "It's just… o-okay, how, uh, w-what kind of, well… sex ed have you gotten at Xavier's?"
"Uh… I mean, w-we had to do this thing with a banana, a-and a, uh, a c-condom?" Lorna fidgeted, twining a lock of her green hair around her fingers. "Is that important?"
"Sheisse," I murmured under my breath. "Of all the farkakte… alright, alright!" I pushed my glasses up to rub at the bridge of my nose. "Fine, fine. Right. So. Lorna." I looked my goddaughter in the eye, and wet my lips. "Was anything said about the fact that sometimes, boys like other boys, and girls like other girls?" I asked. "As in, like-like them?"
"I mean it got mentioned, but…"
I saw the instant the realization hit. Lorna's face flashed through a very complicated set of emotions, before finally settling on something that looked to me like 'smelled stale urine on her face towel'.
"Oh my god…" Her face was pale, as her gaze flitted back and forth between Cate and myself. "Oh my god, oh my god, ooooooh my god…"
"Lorna…" I took a step towards Lorna, only for her to back away from me.
"Is that why, is, is, ooooh god, oooh my god—"
"Lorna, please—"
I didn't get to finish what I said. Lorna lifted off from the floor and flew to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
A moment later, I heard the sound of something shifting against the carpet to lean against the door to her room, barricading it.
I looked to Cate, all of the elation from this morning and afternoon evaporating in an instant.
"I…" I gasped, feeling lost. "I don't…"
I didn't know what to do here. I didn't know how to feel.
The sad, hurt tears fell down my eyes, and Cate's hug wasn't enough to keep my crying quiet.
Monday, December 31, 1990
The past two days had been… well, stressful, to say the least. All attempts to pick out an outfit for my upcoming date fell apart after the utter debacle that was trying to tell Lorna that gay people exist in more than just an intellectual context, and that she was sharing living space with one.
Her reaction hurt. It hurt in ways that I didn't have the words to accurately describe, especially when put up against the fact that she'd grown up surrounded by mutants, people who all suffered similar systemic discrimination for something beyond their control. I kept having to remind myself that she was twelve, that she didn't have the experience or understanding needed to really get any of this, that her reaction was ultimately a product of her age naïveté.
But that didn't do anything to ease the pain of the metaphorical knife in my heart when she refused to talk to me. It didn't help when she hovered along the ceilings to avoid making noise and stayed out of my line of sight as she got food from the kitchen, or turned the stereo volume up when I tried to say more than a few words to her.
It all boiled down to the fact that I didn't know what to do. I hadn't had any experience as a parent before adopting Lorna, and jumping straight into the fire without letting myself pre-heat in the frying pan, to kill a metaphor here, was badly hurting my ability to determine a course of action in this situation. I'd called my parents, but they didn't have any good advice in this situation; it was, after all, a complete inverse of theirs with me. I'd come out to them as their daughter, and they were a demographic particularly primed to just shrug their shoulders and roll with it.
It was a different beast entirely when I was trying to explain what I was and how I felt to… yeah.
What's more, my other easy source of advice, Sophie, was nowhere to be found. This was my own fault, as I'd given her two months' paid leave when her eldest son, Michael, woke from the coma he'd been in since July (along with making damn sure that she didn't try to return to work before Michael could be left unaccompanied).
That was actually why I was at the office today, even though I'd already given a notice to all of the firm's clients that we would be closed during the week between Christmas and New Year's: having one fewer secretary made things harder on Karen and forced Joshua to play double duty as paralegal and secretary, which itself made organizing the workload more difficult on both Matt and Foggy, which all culminated in my workload being even worse. While my non-probate cases had all either wrapped up or been given their own continuance in the wake of the Bullseye bullshit, the probate workload still had to be handled, and that was its own can of worms.
Suffice to say, preparing for this imminent workload was why I'd spread out a massive calendar across my entire desk, and had five different colors of pen (and three different highlighter colors) all gripped in my right hand. The next two weeks didn't look to be too terrible, as things had a tendency towards until after the first full workweek post-MLK Day, but after that? Oh, dear, just looking at the docket, I would need to lean hard on Foggy's people skills to help supplement my failing patience.
It didn't help that several Stark Industries shareholders were blowing up my office's voicemail inbox requesting that I look into something "of great import" for them. Apparently, a notable sum of Stark Industries stock certificates that should have gone through probate a few weeks ago were missing. This was on top of a few others that had been put up as collateral for loans that had since been defaulted on, and those stock certificates were missing too.
Now, this was its own farkakte mess that I couldn't get into due to conflicts of interest, but if I didn't at least try to look into things, then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
I bolted upright at the first noise, accidentally tossing the pens in my hand to the other side of my office in fright. I paused, glancing around, trying to figure out where that sound had come from. Was somebody on one of the other floors doing some DIY improvements? But wait, that had sounded about as loud as a sledgehammer, that couldn't be—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
It happened again. And this time, I knew for damn sure where it had come from.
That was the front door to my office.
I licked my lips to ease the nerves, and walked around behind my desk to get to my purse. Stephen had been too busy to replace my focus yet, so I was stuck using a much more mundane item for self-defense: a can of pepper spray. It wasn't optimal, but it was better than nothing.
Something in the back of my mind told me that I should just… not check the door. That I should go to the back of the office, call Cate, and wait for her to arrive with reinforcements.
But another part of me was just so absurdly, morbidly curious. After all, it was New Year's Eve. If somebody was banging on a lawyer's front door on New Year's Eve… then they probably had something juicy.
And God damn it, but I just couldn't help myself.
I walked up to the front door, unlocked it, and started talking as it opened.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not seeing walk-ins at this… hour…" My voice trailed off as I took in the absolute behemoth on the other side of the door.
It was about as bad as when Joshua introduced me to his adjunct, Lachland. Except actually, no, it was worse. Lachland, for all that he was absurdly tall and built like a goddamn lumberjack, had relatively normal proportions.
The man outside my door… did not.
He was taller than the door frame by at least a whole head, because as the door opened, he took three steps away just so I could see all of him. The average door frame was about six and a half feet tall, which meant that this man was over seven feet tall. And on top of that, he was probably wider than I was tall. He was huge, absolutely enormous, with hands that were likely large enough to fit around my entire torso.
This was before I got to the fact that the man was… fat. Really, really, really fat. I could see rolls of fat at his neck and arms, he had the largest beer belly I'd ever seen, and each of his fingers resembled an overstuffed sausage.
And yet, he was moving. He was very much past the threshold of 'morbidly obese'... but he was moving under his own power, without any apparent difficulty, and had level, easy breathing.
"You the mutant lawyer?"
I blinked, and stared up at the… the behemoth in front of me.
"I-I'm sorry?" I asked, more to try and give myself a moment more to process what I was seeing than anything else.
"The mutant lawyer," he repeated. "The one that helps other mutants. That you?"
"Yes, t-that's me," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "Noa Schaefer, Esquire."
"Mm, good," he said, taking off the stetson I'd only just noticed he'd been wearing, and that he now held gently between two massive fingers. "Need a lawyer."
"Ah, I'm very sorry sir, but uh…" I tried to figure out how to phrase this delicately. "I'm not exactly taking walk-ins at this moment. I'd be happy to set you up with an appointment for this coming week, if that would help?"
"Ol' Gunther Bain said you was good people," he said, both ignoring what I'd said entirely, and saying a name I would have been happy to never hear again.
Mr. Bain was a pro bono client of mine and Sam Lieberman's from back in '84, an amateur wrestler and fighter who'd been accused of beating the tar out of upcoming opponents, hurting them just badly enough that they'd perform horribly, or need to forfeit after one or two rounds. See, the reason I'd known how to get St. John to come clean to me about having used his mutant powers so easily? Yeah. That was because I'd had practice.
Getting Gunther Bain to tell me about his mutant power had been like pulling teeth. But once I knew how it worked, I also knew how to poke a dozen holes into the ADA's case against my client.
Sam had given me relatively free reign over this case, and while he was the main attorney of record, and would've sat first seat at the trial… there was none. Because I'd taken initiative to contact the ADA and schedule a brief meeting. Sam was late to it, and by the time he did finally show up, well… the ADA had already thrown in the towel and agreed to drop the case.
I didn't hear of Gunther Bain again until two years later, when I got a call from my friend in the clerk's office, Jeremy, informing me and Sam that one of our prior pro bono clients was getting arraigned again, and asking us if we wanted to take the case.
Sam declined. I didn't protest the decision.
And now, the name was being tossed at me by this… blob.
"And that's all well and good, but—"
Whatever I was about to say faded away into a choked gasp when the man extended his free hand across the doorway, opened it up, and dropped the contents onto the floor of my office.
Tightly wrapped bundles of banknotes fell to the floor. Crisp, clean, fresh hundred-dollar bills, bundled into stacks of ten thousand dollars each, landed with a soft whump on the floor of my office. Ten bundles bounced once or twice apiece, leaving a grand total of one-hundred thousand dollars in cold, hard cash laying on the carpeted floor of my office.
"I need a lawyer," the man said, as I looked back up at him in sheer disbelief. I reached down to gather up the money, and moved both it and myself to the side, letting him into the office.
"If you don't mind my asking what for?" I followed up, my tone clearly asking for a reply even as the man closed the door behind him. After all, it wasn't every day you walked up and dropped a hundred grand in cash as your opener!
"Had the last straw," he said, putting his hat down on Sophie's desk. "Every man's got 'is limit, and I'm at mine. So I wanna turn state's evidence. Heard I'd need help to do it."
… oh dear. Okay, that? That changed things. It told me that the man in my office was a hardened criminal, and whatever he'd witnessed was enough for him to say that enough was enough.
"Okay," I said, against my better judgment, even as I walked over to Sophie's desk to pull out a clipboard and a copy of the intake paperwork. "State's evidence. Against who?"
I wasn't expecting to receive an answer, not until I'd gone through everything involved with retaining me as an attorney and gotten a signature on paper—
But then, the man spoke up again. He said two words. Two simple words, words that made the whole world stop making sense.
"The Kingpin."
Notes:
Happy Valentine's Day!
You people in relationships go... do... whatever is it that y'all do in the bedroom.
I dunno, not a fan of that stuff. /ace
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone