Chapter Text
Franziska saw Phoenix every weekday, at exactly nine in the morning, always cheery and bouncing, always shooting Franziska a childish smile after looking at the name written on the cup (“Feenix”), always ordering a completely normal coffee and then walking over to the table full of sugar and milk and grabbing the creamers and dumping exactly four into the cup, and then grabbing exactly two sugar packets and stuffing them into a pocket hidden in the folds of a robe.
Franziska idly wondered who would ever name their little girl “Phoenix”. Or who would name anyone Phoenix, really.
Phoenix had long, thick black hair and wore the most peculiar clothing. Everything about her was beads and bounce, beads around her neck and in her hair, bounce in her walk and in her hair and in Franziska’s mood, upwards, every time she grinned. And then she’d walk--bounce--away, out the ornate doors of Courthouse Coffee and Franziska would go back to misspelling simple names like David (“Daved”) and Samantha (“Samandthah”). Fridays were regrettable because Franziska knew the next two days would be boring, and Sunday was like a breath of fresh air because Monday was next and Monday would bring Phoenix.
It wasn’t any more than fascination, Franziska told herself. Fascination because what a peculiar name Phoenix was, and fascination because Phoenix herself never seemed to mind when Franziska spelled her name wrong, even after correcting her twice. Fascination because Phoenix’s hair was messy but beautiful, and her smile was crooked but charming, and her robe was short and her legs were nice…
Franziska blinked, and hastily scribbled “Tomass” onto the side of a cup.
---
Maya liked the barista that she always encountered at the coffee shop near Nick’s law offices. She liked the disgruntled look she always wore, she liked the way she seemed to intentionally spell Phoenix's name wrong every time Maya got his daily cup of coffee, she liked the way the blue-haired clerk looked smart enough to actually know how Phoenix should be spelled. She was also very pretty. There was always that.
Maybe it was cliche, falling for a barista in a coffee shop, but it wasn’t as if Maya had any choice in the matter. It wasn’t her fault the barista always turned her nametag the opposite way on her chest so that Maya couldn’t figure out her name, and it wasn’t her fault her eyes were so terribly interesting. Of course, Maya was only just now realizing she cared about any of this because of Nick.
“You know, Maya, you don’t have to buy me coffee every day. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I’m not as poor as you think I am. I can buy a new coffee maker,” said Nick, eying his misspelled name on the cup before taking a sip. Maya didn’t know how he did it. Even with all those creamers, coffee was so… gross. And hot, too. Why hadn’t Nick burned his tongue yet? Maybe next time, Maya would ask that barista to make the coffee extra-hot, just to surprise him.
But Nick’s question had gotten her thinking. Why was she still buying coffee for Nick? Nick could get his own coffee! But as the barista’s sharp gaze flickered in her mind, Maya was absolutely certain that she was completely and utterly in like with the barista at Courthouse Coffee, and she wasn’t even sure if this was a problem.
“I like buying coffee, Nick,” she said, and he raised his ridiculous eyebrows. She said nothing more on the matter, and she plopped down on the bench by the elevator and contemplated steely gray eyes.
---
It’s a Wednesday when Franziska makes a not-so-terrible mistake. As Phoenix is ordering, she asks for her coffee extra-hot. Franziska replies, her voice stiff and clipped, “The coffee is already extra-hot. It isn’t my fault that you insist on drowning the heat and the flavor in creamers, Phoenix. Not to mention your repeated thievery of our sugar.”
There’s a short silence between them, and if Franziska concentrates hard enough it almost seems like they are the only two in the coffee shop. She swallows. Did she say something wrong? What, does Phoenix have some sort of obscure medical condition that requires her to always put exactly four creamers in her coffee? Is it kleptomania that drove Phoenix to steal two sugar packets every time she came? Oh god, is Franziska not supposed to notice these little things about Phoenix? Does Phoenix now know that Franziska watches her every time she leaves the shop? Franziska thinks all of these thoughts rapid-fire, while somehow managing to keep a straight,
emotionless expression.
Phoenix, however, can not.
She bursts out laughing, a cute, bubbly sound, repetitive and snorting, but somehow still endearing. She clutches her stomach and grabs wildly for the counter so that she doesn’t fall, and as her laughter dies down she begins to speak in between helpless wheezes.
“My name isn’t Phoenix,” a wheeze, “I’m getting this coffee for my boss,” wheeze.
Franziska feels heat rise to her face, one part embarrassment and two-parts the fact that the grin on this girl’s face is positively stunning.
“Well then, Not-Phoenix,” she says stubbornly. “What is your name, then?”
Not-Phoenix straightens and then winks, folding her arms behind her back and grinning, looking suddenly very confident and much more beautiful than cute. Then suddenly something shifts and her grin is playful and just like that she’s cute again, and Franziska is completely blown away. “Well,” she drags out the word like a note in a song. “Maybe I’ll tell you if you tell me when your shift ends.”
Franziska almost lets out an undignified squawk, but splutters instead, turning bright red. Before she can even think to respond, a sharp voice sounds behind her.
“Franziska von Karma. What do you think you are doing?”
Franziska whirls around. “P-papa!” she stutters, a child again.
He snaps and her lips form a thin, tight line. “Hurry along with your work. You are holding up customers. I expect better of you.”
She says nothing, because she knows he doesn’t want her to. He walks away.
When Franziska turns back, something in Not-Phoenix’s expression has changed and yet again she is not a child but an adult, and she has caught Franziska in one of her own rare child-like states.
There’s a flash of fleeting envy, at first, which puzzles Franziska, which is quickly cycles to sadness, to pity (don’t pity me don’t you dare pity me), and then Not-Phoenix is once again a child. Franziska adds something else to her long list of things that fascinate her about Not-Phoenix. And confuse her. And make her want to know more.
Not-Phoenix’s eyes are no longer sharp and flashing, but rather wide and pleading. She pouts. Franziska swallows.
“Your coffee will be made hotter than usual, if that is what you’d like,” she says, her voice completely professional, completely perfect.
Not-Phoenix nods slowly. “Yes, please,” she says, her tone cheerful again.
Franziska sends the order back and scribbles “Not-Phoenix” onto a cup. Then, after a pause, she pens her phone number on the bottom of the cup.. She gives the cup to one of the other workers, who looks at her quizzically, and she takes another order before she’s handed Not-Phoenix’s cup.
“Not-Phoenix!” she says loudly, earning some odd looks. Not that she didn't already get them before for shouting out "Phoenix". Not-Phoenix bounces like she always does up to the counter. Franziska hands her a napkin with her cup. “Hold it with this,” she advises. “The protector only does so much. What exactly did your supervisor do to deserve this treatment?”
Not-Phoenix smiles, and Franziska’s mood bounces up like it always does. “I just think it’ll be funny to see his reaction.”
Then she walks off, out the doors and across the street, but not before walking over to the little table near the counter and dumping four creamers into the cup, grabbing two sugar packets as she turns to go. Franziska watches her bounce away.
---
Nick eyes the name on the cup. “Not-Phoenix?” he says quizzically.
“The barista thought that I was Phoenix,” explains Maya, ripping open a packet of Dominos sugar and dumping the whole thing into her mouth. Nick looks at her disdainfully. Let him, she thinks. Maya is a strong, independant spirit medium and she does what she wants. “When I told her I wasn’t, she started calling me Not-Phoenix. I guess she wrote it on the cup, too, even though it’s for you.”
Before walking in, Maya had discarded the napkin in a trash can along the street. By that time, Maya could still feel the heat through the cup, but it wasn’t scalding. Maya smiles as Nick raises the drink to his lips. Please don’t let Nick be some kind of super-mutant, please don’t let Nick be some kind of super-mutant…
“Ah!” Phoenix exclaims, very nearly fumbling the cup. He pulls it away from his mouth. “H-hot!” He sputters indignantly.
Maya laughs, clutching her stomach. It’s a triumphant laugh, and Nick glares at her. “Look at the bottom, Nick, doesn’t it warn you about the heat?”
He turns the cup to look at the bottom, preparing a retort, but suddenly he looks at a loss for words. He sits down, and he smiles at her, eyebrows raised. He looks like a dad who’s just discovered his daughter has a crush on someone. He raises the cup back to his lips and he downs the entire thing. He cringes a little when he removes it from his lips, but then he twists his mouth back into a smile. He's trying to show Maya up.
Oh god, he is a super-mutant.
Nick hands her the empty cup. “What, do I throw away your trash now too?” Maya asks with a frown.
“No,” says Nick. “I think you’ll want this.” The look he gives her is awfully significant.
“What?” Maya asks. She remembers Nick’s reaction when he looked at the bottom of the cup. She turns it.
A phone number, written in small numbers with no dashes where dashes should be. One half of the number is written on the top half of the little circle bottom of the cup and the other below it. It’s a bit squashed but the handwriting is immaculate and sharp, like the barista. Maya beams. She sits down and whips her phone out of a pocket in her robe.
She enters the number and sends a text, ignoring Nick's amused stares.
---
831-999-5454: (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ hello!
Franziska von Karma: Who are you and what do you want.
831-999-5454: i can’t believe you would forget me after i come to see you specially every day (っ◞‸◟c)
Franziska von Karma: ...Not-Phoenix?
831-999-5454: the one and only ☆=(ゝω･)
Franziska von Karma: Well, Not-Phoenix, you are going to have to tell me your name so that I can add you to my contacts.
831-999-5454: is that allllll you want my name for? (￣ω￣)
Franziska von Karma: Excuse me
831-999-5454: and besides, isnt it more polite to tell someone YOUR name BEFORE you ask for theirs?
Franziska von Karma: Hmph! It is Franziska von Karma.
831-999-5454: wow, what a cool name! it suits you well. (*＾-‘) 乃
Franziska von Karma: Thank you. And yours…?
831-999-5454: you still have to tell me when you finish work~!
Franziska von Karma: Well, you are certainly demanding.
831-999-5454: but of course! i gotta play hard to get, you know?
Franziska von Karma: ...I will be free at twelve-thirty sharp. If you do intend to meet up with me, be punctual.
831-999-5454: ms. von karma, ill have you know i am the perfect gentlewoman. σ(ﾟｰ^*)
Franziska von Karma: Good.
831-999-5454: see you then, frannie! ೕ(`･୰･´)
Franziska von Karma: Frannie?
Franziska isn’t quite certain why she wrote her number on that cup. Or why she agreed to meet Not-Phoenix at twelve-thirty. Or why her face is hot as she slides her phone into the pocket of her apron and waits for someone to walk up to her register. There is, however, one thing that she knows for sure.
Not-Phoenix has suddenly made her feel very foolish.