Day 14- Coffee Shop!AU/Chuck Crossover Darcy/??? Rated T
Day 14
Coffee Shop AU- Chuck Crossover
Darcy/???
Rated T
Burbank, CA You're Grounded! Cafe- Present Day
The first time he came in, he was with a tall, statuesque blond woman.
Darcy filled their order and didn’t even think twice about the couple. She wasn’t the kind of girl that skived on another woman’s date, after all. (Not beyond the “huh, he’s cute” thought that automatically flashed through her brain when she saw a guy she found attractive, anyway.)
The second time she only remembered him because of his bright blue eyes and his drink order. “Coffee, black.” Just like that. Like she was gonna add cream and sugar to his drink if he didn’t tell her not to. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that wasn’t how it worked when he smiled at her with that genuinely friendly smile, so she just smiled back and asked him what size. (She recalled having to do that the day before, too, now that she thought about it.)
“Oh, uh-“ he squinted up at the menu behind her, “Small.” Very decisive and final sounding, as though he’d just given the answer to double jeopardy or something.
She poured the cup, put the lid and sleeve on and pushed it across the counter. “That’s $1.05 with tax.” He dug out exact change and then nodded his thanks and took his seat over by the window in the same place he’d sat the day before with the blond.
Darcy wondered absently if the blonde was going to join him later, but she didn’t show, and after an hour or so he dropped his cup in the trash and left.
The next day it was the same things, word for word. (“Coffee. Black.” “What size?” “Small.” “That’s $1.05 with Tax.”) This time, though he had a notebook and a pencil with him and he sketched while he looked watched out the window.
This pattern continued for three more days before Darcy started to really pay attention. When he first sat down, he’d take a big sip of his coffee and wince like he was trying to choke down battery acid. Then he’d set it on the table and not touch it again until he picked it up to dump it in the trash on the way out. Which was totally weird. If he didn’t like his coffee black, why did he order it that way? Why didn’t he add sugar or cream if he hated the taste of coffee so much. And if it was just the coffee at her café (You’re Grounded!), then why did he keep coming back every day?
On day seven she decided to mix things up.
“Cofee. Black.”
“That’s a buck five,” she replied, sliding the already ready small cup of black coffee across the counter top.
He opened his mouth and she could see his lips moving to form the word “Small” when he paused and did a double take. He looked at the cup then up at her. She smiled and held out her hand.
“What if I’d wanted a medium this time? Or even a large?” he asked, digging out his dollar and nickle.
“Do you?” She asked, her eyebrow rose in challenge.
He blushed and looked at her hand as he dropped his payment into it. “No. A small is fine.”
“Okay, then,” she said and gave him a sunny smile. “Have a nice day!”
“You-you, too,” he stammered, seeming thrown off.
She watched him as he took his sip and then set down his cup and got out his sketch pad. That day she watched him closely enough to realize that he didn’t once glance down at his pencil while he was drawing. He simply watched whatever it was he stared at out the window while his hand moved automatically.
It was impressive, but also weird.
After that they didn’t even have to say anything. She had his order ready before he even arrived and he had his $1.05 ready and on the counter as soon as he arrived. Each day she noticed something new and different about him. (Like the way his clothes seemed too bit on his slender frame, or the way his eyes would glaze over from time to time and he’d get this really distant look in them.)
After the second week she decided to make a feeble attempt to start a conversation, anything to get his attention and help her figure him out.
“It’s hot out today,” she announced as he placed his $1.05 on the counter and reached for his cup.
“Uh- yeah, it’s pretty warm.” He nodded and then turned and walked to his table, following his ritual. (Sip, swallow, grimace, notebook.)
When he sat she walked around the counter and started wiping off tables, though most of them were already clean. (Things were pretty slow on a sunny summer afternoon.) When she walked past his table she tried to get a look at his notebook. The top page was filling up with strange number sequences and the occasional outline of a bunch of different faces, all simple in style but surprisingly detailed.
When he noticed her looking he folded an arm over the page and hid it form view giving her a startled look.
“Sorry,” she grunted and walked back to her place behind the register. He watched her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment and then shook his head dismissively and went back to his drawing.
So weird, Darcy thought and went to rearrange the brownies in the display case, all the while the curiosity was eating away at her. Of course, in the back of her head she could hear her mother reciting her stupid cliched phrases about doomed felines, but just like she had then, she chose to ignore it.
The last time he came in, (Day 27), Darcy greeted him with a friendly smile, presented his coffee and took his payment. She watched his now familiar features, (blue eyes, full lips, chiseled cheekbones, strong chin), as they squished up in disgust at his inevitable single sip and sighed, wishing she could figure him out.
All subsequent attempts and conversation or inquiry were met with friendly smiles and as little acknowledgement of her as was socially acceptable. She was starting to wonder if she had bad breath or something in her teeth.
Then, as she watched him with his doodling, he suddenly frowned, stopped sketching and stood. “Bucky?!” He asked out loud and then sprinted for the door, his coffee and notebook still on the table.
It was so sudden and out of character that she stood stunned for a second, completely paralyzed with shock.
“Wait!” She called as the door finally closed with a jingle of the bell, “Your drawings!” She shouted and ran around the counter to grab his pad off the table and chase after him.
When she reached the street, she saw him facing off with a tall dark haired man on the opposite sidewalk. Feeling nosy and curious, and not actually paying attention she began to cross the street. When she was about halfway across she noticed that her Black Coffee guy had his hands up in a defensive posture and that the other guy was holding a gun and pointing it right at him.
She jerked to a halt in the middle of the road, not sure what to do when she heard the squeal of tires and a blaring horn. She flinched, awaiting impact that never came. The car had managed to stop in time, but when she opened her eyes she noticed that the commotion had drawn the attention of her customer and the brunette with the gun. He turned to point the gun at her and she put her hands in the air in reflex.
That’s when the 5’4” 95 lbs guy who couldn’t even get through a cup of black coffee spun on his heel in a wicked move right out of a kung fu film and kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand.
“Holy shit!” Darcy yelled as the gun skidded across the asphalt to land at her feet. “What the hell!?” She took a step back from the shiny metal weapon and then glanced back up to see the two guys fighting hand to hand like a couple of action movie stars.
The bigger guy was definitely stronger and had about 100 lbs of height and muscle on the guy, but Black Coffee was holding his own by virtue of speed and some seriously twisty, bendy martial art skills.
Darcy is just starting to imagine that she’s dozed off at work and that this is all some elaborate lucid dream that was caused by the cold pizza she ate for breakfast (three kinds of peppers and feta cheese are probably responsible for the way the adorably cute, but skinny guy are kicking so much ass), and then she hears the yelling from behind her.
The statuesque blond and another guy with forearms the size of her calves come running up with hand guns drawn and yelling at the two of them to stop and desist, (“Freeze!” and “Hands up, Barnes!” to be precise), and in the ensuing chaos, dark and built manages to land a punch to Black Coffee’s sternum that sends him slamming against the brick wall of the Russian Dry Cleaners that sits across the street from her shop.
He whirls then, since her little blond guy is crumpled to the ground and wheezing sharply and dives for the gun at her feet. When he comes up he’s wrapped a hand around her wrist and jerked her back against his chest to put the gun to her head.
He’d moved so fast, she hadn’t had time to react at all. It was majorly impressive and, if not for the fact that she’s now his hostage, she would tell him so.
She is his hostage, however, with his arm around her neck and the cold tip of the pistol against her temple and the notepad still in her hand as he begins yanking her backwards towards the sidewalk so that he can put her between him and Black Coffee, still collapsed on the ground fighting for air, and the two gun wielding late-comers who are glancing between her and the guy on the ground.
“Let her go, Barnes, it’s not helping your case to have an innocent bystander at gun point, buddy,” the guy says with a fake-friendly smile and a voice to match.
“We can work to resolve this peacefully,” the blond adds as she takes a side step over to reach Black Coffee and help him up, all the while her gun is still trained on Darcy and the gunman. “No one has to get hurt here. We can help you.”
With the blond’s help, the little guy is back on his feet and almost has his wheezing under control.
“Just tell me why, Bucky?” he asks with a look of utter betrayal and confusion on his face. “Why did you send me that e-mail?”
The man at her back grunts as though he’s been struck and she can feel his grip on her relaxing slightly. “I didn’t know who to trust,” he admits after several moments of tense silence. “I didn’t know who to trust, but I knew you would keep it safe.”
“And who was supposed to keep Steve safe? Huh, James?” the woman asked.
“Well, I’m guessing that’d be you and Agent Barton there,” the man with the gun to her head, (James, apparently), said with a bitter twist to his lips that Darcy can totally hear, even if she can’t see it. “What the hell are you doing putting him on surveillance ops across the street from a Hydra base?” He sounds pissed as hell. “You’re supposed to keep him out of trouble, not put him in the middle of it.”
The other guy, the one with the gun takes a step forward, his gun never wavering. “Yeah, well, he has the intersect in his brain now, which means he is a resource we couldn’t afford to waste. Besides, he wanted to help, figured it was the best way to find you, probably.”
“Bucky, please,” Black Coffee, or maybe it’s Steve, says with what looks like pleading hope on his earnest face, “Please, just- just come with us! I know you aren’t really a traitor. I know you! I know if you did all the things they’re saying you did then you had a good reason, just- come in. You can explain and we can help you fix this. You can trust Agent Carter and Agent Barton. They’re the good guys.”
“I can’t, Steve,” the voice in her ear said and he sounded genuinely sorry about it. “I wish I could, punk.”
“Bucky,” Steve pleaded, one last time, “Please! Don’t do this!”
“Time to move, Doll. I’m truly sorry about this, but you’re gonna have to come with me for now.”
She tried to shake her head, to tell him no, but his arm had tightened around her neck again. He started pulling her backwards and she had no choice but to go.
Cutie or not, the Mystery of Black Coffee boy was definitely not worth the trouble of being kidnapped at gunpoint, and it definitely wasn’t worth a measly $28.35 with tax.
As she was pulled backwards and shoved into an idling car around the corner, she’d never felt more like a curious cat waiting for the axe. Damn her mother and her prophetic cliches.