You were a barista that worked at a coffee shop in a more secluded area, with only a selective few of customers. You often remained in the back, but ever since you started serving a group regularly. They called themselves witches, and you somewhat believed them. Typically, being away from the world, leading to unwanted loneliness in your work place. You've caught the eye of a certain dead blonde.
!!!: none
W/C: 1.7k
IT has been weeks since your encounter with your customer regulars, and honestly, you didn't think it'd affect you this much. But there were many, many moments where you'd miss their banter echoing throughout the café. Sure, most of it was downright ridiculous and made no sense whatsoever from whatever they spurred to hold their place. It still entertained you nevertheless because they'd include you for your input, rather amused at your confused responses. You'd like to think you grew quite close to them because eventually you were even brought in their playful arguments.
They seemed to eventually like your presence as well, saying time to time that they enjoyed your shitty little café more than others. Which has grown quiet, you've begun to think that the guy that was freaking out in your café from before might've had something to do with it all. You've been thinking about the encounter of the whole thing for the time being, well, more about the ragged blonde. The guy started almost going batshit crazy when he couldn't see your face and didn't really speak well. So yeah, you'd say thinking about him was reasonable and not just you being randomly infatuated with him.
You eventually snapped away from your thoughts as you heard a ding from the entryway, shooting your head up. For a quick, fleeting second, you had hoped it would be the girls, maybe even with Kyle once more. It was just another customer, so you quickly got their order. Strange enough they decided they wanted to chat, more like flirting, but you'd pretend to be coy because honestly. You're just trying to do your job, and people like this make you want to chuck off your very own name tag and quit.
But this job was what was getting you food and your shitty apartment's rent, so you can only dream of making a scene to nobody when you quit. You zoned out for a quick minute and surprise, surprise, the jerk is still trying to woo you. Apparently, holding the bitchiest face that you could ever muster and not even staring at the guy is not a hint of disinterest. You wish the café wasn't so empty because he'd have a good reason to go away, but since he's not holding up nay customers. He can do as he pleases, and you're sure that your boss would give you hell if you yelled at a customer that the place barely receives.
As you were slowly going insane, the bell rang once more and there arrived your favorite group and the distinctive boy. They seemed to notice the guy's intentions and how uncomfortable you were, and quickly shoved past him as they ordered their usual. Then like before they made him order as they sauntered off to their seats, even Zoe went off with them. Giving Kyle a reassuring look, maybe to ease his nerves that were very evident on his features when he stood in front of you. You decided that it'd be easier for him if you just offered what he ordered from before, not acknowledging why you remembered.
“So, Caramel Macchiato, like before? If I am correct.” You held the sweetest smile which was strangely genuine in hopes he wouldn't cave into his nerves. He looked surprised that you'd remember what he got, which he struggled to tell you in the beginning. Kyle then fidgeted as he beamed at you now, his face contorting into deep thought. “No, No, I uh- don't want that. It was pretty gross.”
You lifted your brows, somewhat surprised that he spoke more naturally than he did before. Although he was still sort of sluggish with his words, you were impressed by the quick development. Is that why they were all gone? Helping him get better with his speech? The thought made you smile, “I like the speech improvement, impressive to say the least.”
Joking with him, but he seemed flattered nevertheless and just gave you a shy smile as his hands began to tap on the counter. “No caramel macchiato, then?” “Uh yeah- What would... What would you recommend?” He peered up at you, somewhat eagerly waiting for your response, a shy smile laced on his lips. You felt your face heat up lightly at his cheeky appearance, hoping to god that he wouldn't pick up on it.
“Oh, uh- well I don't really drink caffeinated beverages but just the espresso, it does it for me.” You cringed at your awkwardness, but still held a small smile to ease the conversation. Kyle looked deep in thought as he fidgeted before you, “can I get an...- Espresso, then?” His voice was light, and he spoke in a breathy tone, you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you. “Yeah, of course!”
Maybe you spoke to eager? Nobody is that cheerful to make just anybody an espresso. Before you bored more insecurities at yourself, you quickly headed toward the back. Missing the eyes that pleadingly followed after you when you headed out of view, away from him. You leaned on a wall in the back, cheesing out because a cute guy was happy to see you, or well you hope.
Your coworker studied you, sighing, “you're ridiculous.” They knew of your sudden infatuation with the hesitant boy and thought it was just hilarious. And honestly you did too, you don't even know why you're so interested with him. Perhaps it's because of how he talks like he's never dated anybody in his life before, an awkward teenager. You smiled at the thought of his cheekiness from earlier and pondered as his order was being made.
You quickly grabbed it, heading out to see if he hopefully likes this one rather than the other one from before. Like he was from earlier, he waited patiently for you to come back. He looked lost in thought, before he heard your footsteps approach him, perking up. A grin reappeared on his face as he stood straighter before you, focusing on your face. It was like he was trying to remember every feature of you, scanning you.
His eyes made you feel nervous, so you awkwardly handed him his drink with a smile, avoiding his gaze. He accepted it, his fingers encasing around yours in a quick, fleeting moment. “Thank – you.” “Hope you enjoy!” You turned around, feeling the nervousness bubble within you, yet you felt so happy.
You held your face, sighing, turning back around. Jumping slightly because Kyle still stood in front of you, studying you as he drank his espresso. A smile still being held, but a worried look took place in his eyes. You didn't expect for him to still be there, since usually the customers head back to their seats. The girls were still in the back of the café, chatting away, seeming to forget about Kyle.
“Are, you- okay? I'm sorry if I uh, scared you.” He held a look of shame, looking at his shoes now, lowering the drink in his hand. “What? No, it wasn't that, you didn't scare me, Kyle. I was just surprised!” You quickly tried to reassure him, feeling bad since he looked like a kicked puppy. Your answer didn't seem to make him feel any better, but he did look back into your eyes, embarrassed.
What you were going to say now is rather a quick thought and bold, but maybe shoot your shot now before it's too late? Get hurt now rather than getting hurt later. Besides, maybe this can cheer him up, “how about I make it up to you, yeah? I can buy you, uh, coffee later when I'm off work. Unless you don't want to-” “I want to.”
He interrupted you, now beaming at you as he wore a huge smile, his embarrassment from before long gone, “yes we can, w-we..- We should!” You were baffled at his response, kind of suspecting that he would only look at you with confusion and brush it off. But you smiled back eagerly, the same as him, in sort of disbelief with your sudden confidence. “Well uh, yeah great. If you want, we can do it tomorrow, or if you even can wait for me?” Your hands felt clammy, and you felt your throat swell up as you tried to sort things out.
Hell, you were ecstatic, but your nerves were killing you. “I... I can wait for y-youuuu after work. Yes. I will be right here.” Kyle looked at you attentively, still smiling ear to ear as he struggled to get the words out. Too happy at the moment to even properly remember his speech practice that he's been working on. For you.
He begged Zoe to teach him more proper English, so he could talk and interact with you, without seeming crazy. He's been huddled up all day, working and working on how'd he'd casually talk to you like those couples in the movies. Although he couldn't see you during those days, he remembered that he could be more open with you later on. For some reason, when he saw you, he felt as if he should protect you and be alongside you. In the short moment that you two spent together, he felt safe and comfortable because you didn't look at him weirdly.
You spoke to him softly and didn't even flinch during his tantrums, he only saw curiosity and understanding within you. You have enraptured him. Not only that, but you both were drawn to one another, not even knowing really why. Maybe it was foolish to ask him on a date first thing, but the way he looks at you as you smile at one another. Makes you think, perhaps it's good that you both were being hopeless for each other.
Before you guys could say any more he was being pulled away once more from you, the girls needing somewhere to be. You couldn't really hear them, all you could see and hear was Kyle as he looked back at you. His cheeky smile still there, this time he didn't try pulling away from them. Because now he knew that you'd still be there, waiting for him, and you two would be together. You've doubted the idea of soulmates at first, but now, maybe you were the one that was wrong.
- I literally only watched AHS Coven for him
- Frankenkyle is personally my preferred Kyle
- I was listening to cheesy 80's music writing this
- Proofread
Hope you enjoyed and if you have any requests or questions please dm!
Hey y’all! Thanks for your continued support. I love reading your comments and every like makes me feel more and more confident in my writing ability.
CONTENT WARNING: talk of past abuse and suicide attempts
See the masterpost for more chapters or read on AO3
The salon was unnaturally busy since Langdon arrived. Everyone seemed to have the same idea — keep an eye on those who have met with the man and wait for them to let something slip. Thing is, those who already had their interview relished in the spotlight, not really revealing anything of worth.
It had been three whole days since Langdon arrived and Em could glean nothing from her fellow Purples or even the few Greys that whispered to one other in the hall. They viewed Langdon as the second coming of Christ. She couldn’t blame them. Anything would be heaven when compared to the hell Venable had made for them in the outpost. When she couldn’t harm the Purples, the Greys became her target.
Gallant wasn’t as much of a boast as Em had expected, though he made up for that with smugness masked as humility. He was almost as bad as Coco… though that shouldn’t be much a surprise.
“So…” Coco started, using the same tone she had with Em the night before, “how do you think it went?”
Gallant was stretched out like a cat on the sofa, leaning back and grabbing a glass of water from the tray of the nearest Grey.
“I think it went rather well,” he said, cradling his drink as a smile pulled across his face, “and I expect another interview very soon.”
Em sighed and glanced over at Andre and Dinah. They had closed ranks, keeping to themselves. Dinah would do anything to protect herself and her son. If it came down to it, Em wondered how far she would go to survive or if she would give in to the call of the void and jump off the roof.
Em had yet to have her interview… an official one, at least. It made her anxious, being one of the few Purples that had yet to sit with Langdon in his office. It was probably his intention, a fact that did little to comfort her. Her heart still raced in her chest at the thought of dying in this tomb. Her fear of life was at war with her fear of death and she was just waiting for one of them to win.
She was used to the anxiety, though it was difficult to manage at times. Standing up to Venable had been good practice for her nerves though her heart still fell to her stomach every time she dared raise her voice. Old habits die hard, she supposed.
Em scoffed at her own train of thought, a small amused smile coming to her lips as she turned her attention away from the group and towards the ever-burning inferno in the fireplace. It reminded her of that one scene in The Avengers when Bruce Banner turned back and said, “That’s my secret — I’m always angry.”
Replace the anger with anxiety and you’d be able to describe her since the day she was born — an anxious ball of nerves.
Around her, they all spoke of interviews, never giving out too much information and repeating the same things over and over and over. Em had seen high-school students after AP exams with more nerve than them. Langdon had to expect talk, literal life and death be damned. Secrets were hard to keep and harder to hide.
“I just wish there was a Buzzfeed quiz that could at least give a hint at what our fate will be,” Coco bemoaned. Like Em, she had yet to have an interview. The brunette had yet to work out how she felt being put into a similar category as the young heiress.
“The Victorians used to have a game,” Em spoke, closing her eyes as a buzzing fill her head. She rejoined the group, hoping conversation would make it go away. “Women would hold a candle and a mirror and walk down the stairs backward. They’d look through the mirror to see behind them and it was said one would either see the love of their life or their death.”
Em chuckled to herself and looked at Emily, “though given the number of death-by-stairs of that era the irony is—”
The idea, despite her sarcasm, quickly caught on. Any idea to past the time was a good idea, these days — more so given the circumstance. Emily had roped Em into joining the Bloody Mary-esk game.
First to go had been Coco, naturally. Next was Gallant, then Dinah. Andre had refused to join. A game of love and death wasn’t fun when you lost one to the other. Thus, Em found herself standing at the top of the stairs, staring pleadingly at Timothy and Emily to spare her.
The candles of the salon had been put out, leaving only the candles of the upper balcony to light their way. The darkness was still enough to make her uncomfortable. Em felt like she was alone again, screams coming from her phone as the walls shook around her. She liked her nightmares to stay in her sleep.
“Really?” Em groaned as Timothy held out a mirror and candle, “Why can’t I just go to the library and—”
He was grinning clearly enjoying himself, “consider it karma.”
“If I die I will haunt your ass.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”
Em opened her mouth to retort only to be cut off from someone down below.
“Don’t be a pussy!” Coco called from the bottom of the stairs, followed by chuckled from her fellow Purples waiting below. Em sent a scathing look towards her friends.
“Alright!” she relented, taking the objects from Timothy, “Fine!”
With a smile, Emily came forward and gently eased her friend to the first step.
“Have fun,” she whispered, far too amused.
“Oh, fuck off,” Em muttered, smiling despite herself.
Em used one foot to feel for the edge of the step. Suddenly, memories of being a little girl in gymnastics flew through her mind, feeling for the bar underneath her feet, falling to the hard mat below that smelled like feet. She had quickly learned she wasn’t one for the sport.
She was pulled from autopilot by a flash of gold in the mirror, startling her just enough to miss the step ever slightly, her ankle bending awkwardly and causing her to fall down the last few steps. She could hear the mirror shatter as hands came to steady her fall. Instincts made her favor saving the candle over the wounded ego that awaited her below. If this place were to burn a few bruises would be the least of her concerns. The thought of it alone scared her half to death, the menace of fireplaces and large skirts with far too many layers.
It took a moment for Em to realize she was on solid ground, quickly jumping back from the hands that were resting on her arms. Langdon stood there, unfazed and patient as a saint. His hands returned behind his back as he let her gather her bearings.
The room was silent, everyone watching with wide eyes. Emily stood at the top of the steps, mouth still wide with a gasp behind her hands. Langdon seemed to be waiting for her to speak, waiting for anyone else to break to silence. He wanted to see who would break.
“Well that’s one hell of an entrance,” Gallant said with a laugh, leaning on the banister next to Coco and the rest of the Purples.
Em and Langdon simply stared at one another. She saw his lip quirk ever slightly when the hairdresser spoke — annoyance.
Langdon finally spoke, ignoring the man behind him, “It’s time for your interview.”
He strode past her and she followed. She may have a rocky relationship with life, but she was no fool.
--------------------------------------
Sitting in that chair made her feel like she was about to be swallowed whole. If not for the corset holding her spine as straight as a ruler, she’d be tempted to slouch into it and allow herself to be consumed.
Langdon liked to let things sit, she realized. Sometimes the best first move was no move at all. The anxiety in her made her want to fill the silence, spare herself from doing nothing as he pulled out his files. Her toe tapped in her shoe, but that was all the fidgeting she’d allow herself to do. Everything was a test. For once, her anxiety was serving her well.
Tossing a file on the desk he took a seat across from her. His hands rested on the arms of his chair and he leaned back, cocking his head as he watched her.
“What is your sexual orientation?” he finally asked.
“Flexible.”
He almost seemed to smirk, but the lights liked to play tricks on her, “I require a more specific answer… you understand.”
“I’m on the asexual spectrum,” she answers, “but I am romantically interested in both men and women.”
“So you have no desires of the flesh?”
“An idea is better than reality. It’s a spectrum and...it’s complicated.”
He leaned forward on his chair, “so you do experience attraction.”
“Emotionally, yes, but I’ve found relationships to be… stressful.”
This seemed to intrigue him, his head turning. It kind of reminded her of a dog, narrowing in on a sound or a curiosity.
“Stressful?”
Of all the questions — of all the tics to have...damn her anxious rambling.
“Like I said,” Em repeated, “ideas are better than reality. I’ve tried the whole…”
She gestured to nothing in particular, “… dating thing. Every time I try and get into a relationship it just feels… wrong.”
Langdon looked down at the file he had out, “and when was your last relationship?”
Em sighed, “Is that really important?”
“Let me be very clear,” Langdon spoke, voice betraying his aggravation as he placed both hands on the desk, “Your success in these interviews depends on your honesty. If you hedge, I will know. If you lie, I will know. If you try to trick me, I will know, and this interview will be over.”
“And I’ll die,” she finished for him, “suspected as much.”
“Good,” Michael said with a nod, retreating back in his seat, “now, as to my question.”
Em waved a dismissive hand, “My last date was just a while before the bombs. Didn’t work out.”
Langdon’s face was once again an iron and unreadable mask as he wrote something down. The corner of his lip twitched as if he hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted.
“What?” She found herself asking him, “I thought such an answer would please you — narrow down the pool of survivors to those... better at those sorts of things..”
His eyes trained on the file, giving Em the sense that he was more focused on it that her words, “Just because you have no desire to copulate with a man doesn’t mean you can’t repopulate.”
Em could only shake her head, “god, you make childbirth sound worse than I imagine it to be.”
“There are no gods here,” he was quick to correct, “this is the apocalypse. Those who survived the fire have been abandoned.”
This time Em cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing ever slightly as she tried to figure him out, “for a man who seems so opposed to the thought of god you certainly know your bible facts.”
Michael smirked and clicked his pen, bringing the file to his lap, “only the parts that interest me.”
He quickly went back to questioning her, voice sounding more robotic as he read the question word for word.
“How, exactly, do you feel about childbirth?”
He looked up at her as she paused, a brow raising at her silence. Em bit her lip as she considered what to say, hands reflexively going to her hair as he continued to stare.
“It terrifies me,” She admitted, “but luckily the brain masks the memory of it due to trauma.”
“What about it terrifies you?”
She thought such an answer would be obvious, “The pain.”
Once again he seemed interested in her words, expression full of judgment, “you fear pain?”
“I’d be foolish not to.”
“Some would argue that it is a sign of weakness,” he noted.
“Courage is not the ability to be fearless, but to continue on despite the fear,” she told him, voice steady with the words she had told herself a million times before, “we fear pain because that fear keeps us alive.”
“What else do you fear?” He asked, once again leaning forward.
“Quite a few things,” Em said, leaning back in her chair as she became more comfortable. Rambling was equally a tic and a coping mechanism. Langdon intended to that to his advantage. “Some rational… some irrational.”
“Such as?”
“Rational or irrational?”
“Either.”
“Spiders, roaches,” she lists, looking up at the ceiling as she thought, “typical, I know. Then again, roaches may have survived this nuclear winter so perhaps not so irrational as one would think.”
The amusement seemed to return to Langdon’s eyes. He dipped his head down to hide his expression from her, but she had already seen enough.
“…Dolls,” she admitted after a pause, “creepy little things.”
He didn’t move to speak so she filled the silence for him, “Psychologists say it’s because they are not quite human. Our minds can’t decide between viewing them as objects or beings… subconscious and all that. The uncanny valley, I think they call it.”
Her voice trailed off. She knew how she sounded rambling off facts. Langdon looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“Deeps waters so dark you can’t see your feet,” She continued to list, voice growing more distant the deeper she dove into her own mind, “yelling men, death.”
“What about death scares you?”
Silence, then finally an answer, “Becoming nothing.”
“You don’t believe in god.”
Not a question. Em sighed. This was always a difficult conversation to have. “I believe that I cannot claim there is a god.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am mortal... human”
Langdon hummed, jotting something down before he looked back to her. They both sat in silence until Langdon broke from her gaze, flipping through the files. No doubt hunting for more questions.
“Does it really feel like falling asleep?” She asked before she could think, “the poison in those vials?”
“Why would I lie to you?” he countered, offense glinting in his eye as he looked up at her.
“It’s not that you lie,” She corrected, shaking her head, “but that you don’t know the truth yourself. Lethal injections were supposed to be painless, but they merely gave the appearance of a calm death.”
“The pain… and nothingness,” he notes, referencing her previous words, “...things you fear... You seem quite convinced of a void-like afterlife.”
“I tried to kill myself when I was young.” She admitted, not sure why. The words just left her.
Langdon halted in his actions. His voice was quiet, almost sympathetic. “How young?”
“Which time?”
He was quick to change the conversation, raising to his feet and crossing the room. Em didn’t take her eyes off him, partly out of intrigue and partly out of paranoia. There was a table with a water pitcher and some glasses. He filled up two and turned around, stopping by her chair and holding out one of the glasses.
Hesitant, she reached out and took it from his hands. Langdon noted she made special care not to touch his hand.
“You’ve spoken of fear... But what about your anger?” he prompted, choosing to lean against the desk instead of returning to his chair. Em waited for him to take a sip of his drink before she did.
“The two are often related,” she noted.
“That they are.” He agreed before insisting, the fire in the room more prominent in his eyes, “tell me... what enrages you?”
“Generally?” She countered, “or specifically?”
He smiled and shook his head, “either.”
“Anger and any emotion come at random. It cannot be controlled.”
“Have you ever lost control?”
“Yes, but it was long ago.”
“How long?”
“I was a child,” she said, frowning as she was forced to remember bits of her past she had buried long ago… burned from her mind, “yet to learn that anger is fine as long as you know how to manage it.”
“What did you do?”
“Tried to bash someone’s head into a concrete floor,” she told him with a frown. It certainly wasn’t one of her finer moments. One that she regretted deeply.
“What was their crime?” Langdon pressed, far too amused than was healthy. He really was insistent about everything, wasn’t he?
She looked to her glass as she pulled the memory out, a rueful grin pulling at her lips, “stealing a dress-up shoe.”
When she looked up at the man she couldn’t help but laugh, a short laugh but a laugh none the less. It threw the man off, staring at her like she had grown an extra head.
“That amuses you?”
“You’re expression,” she said, “you were obviously expecting something more. I was a child, in my defense.”
“And when you weren’t a child?”
He watched as something flashed in her eyes, a familiar fire. Langdon’s face suddenly wasn’t all that amusing.
“I learned that violence isn’t the only way to hurt someone.”
“But certainly is the most satisfying,” he sighed, taking another sip of water, “wouldn’t you agree?”
“A martyr would see their death as a triumph,” Em reasoned, “to deny them that death would be far more painful.”
“And your father,” he noted, closing the file. Em’s jaw clenches at the mere mention of the man. Langdon knew he hit an Achilles heel. “What punishment is worthy of him?”
Em stared at the file before him. She wasn’t stupid. He probably had any and all documentation of her life from therapy sessions to many angry written tweets.
If she was being honest, she hadn’t thought of the man since the apocalypse. There were more threatening dangers than a narcissistic, vile —
Her answer comes quicker than Langdon expected. Her eyes meeting his full of hate and fury.
“To spend the rest of his days slowly rotting from radiation. To be helpless and forced to face that even the smartest men are at the whims of the world around them.”
This was the answer he was looking for.
He was looking right into her mind and reading her thoughts... or at least that’s how it felt. Langdon was diving deep into the parts of herself she buried down, raising them up like some sort of psychological necromancer.
“Fascinating,” He leaned forward with a sadistic grin. “Tell me more about him.”
The tenseness in Em’s body was no longer from anxiety, but restraint. The mere mention of that man was enough to make her see red. There was a reason she hated Venable. The over-seer was far too similar to the man she’d prefer to forget.
“I’d rather not,” she told Langdon, hoping he’d let it rest. She wasn’t even surprised at his pushing.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because remembering gives him more power over my life than I want him to have!” She snarled, a pale, tightly clenched fist coming to slam into the arm of her chair. It sat there for a moment before shaking fingers curled away from the palm of her hand.
His hand reached out to hers, curled around the arm of her chair like a claw. The blond waited for her tension to cease, the white around her knuckles to disappear.
“What did he do to you?”
Her rage quickly returned and she snatched her hand from the man, hissing “What does that have to do with survival?”
“A great deal,” he explained, unfazed as always, “our past traumas can be indicative of future actions.”
He let her seethe in silence. She knew she would not be able to leave the room until she gave him the answer he wanted.
“The first memory I have of him,” she proceeded, speaking slowly as the words threatened to rip her apart, “he grabbed my arms so tight I thought they’d break and screamed at me after I dropped a glass of milk.”
“How old were you?”
She shook her head and offered a half-hearted shrug, “the counters were taller than I was.”
When she finally leaned back in her seat all Langdon could see was a scared shell of a child trying to hide from the bogey-man. What would emerge from the tightly wrapped cocoon of trauma? Or had the creature already spread its wings?
“What else?”
Langdon’s voice was gentle, but she was not buying the act.
“Isn’t that enough!” she snapped, “Every word that left my mouth and every step I took was like walking on eggshells.”
She shook her head, a buzz beginning to fill her body, “and I wish I broke more of them instead of being afraid. I wish I-”
Langdon rounded her chair and squeezed her shoulder, the other pulling out a handkerchief and holding it out to her. She only pulled away from his touch.
“You don’t like physical affection,” he noted.
“Not from strangers.”
Langdon took a step back, curling the handkerchief around his fingers as he returned them behind his back.
“A physical examination is also required,” he said, voice back to the no-nonsense tone he addressed everyone with. “I can call Venable if you prefer but we both know she would not be fair in her examination.”
“My mom was a nurse,” Em said, turning to the man who stood just to her right, “A physical exam doesn’t mean what you are implying. So unless you’re going to test my blood and record my weight for your file —”
“Your file says you have a history with illness,” Langdon noted, grabbing it off his desk.
“Father smoked when I was a kid. Didn’t care about his own lungs and certainly didn’t care about mine.”
“What about your migraines?” he asked, reading down the list.
“Not terrible, but not entirely pleasant, either.”
“And your depression?”
Em scoffed, “it’s the end of the world. We’re all depressed.
Closing the file, he tossed it back onto his desk, “you’re the only one here that does not have a companion.”
Emotionally and physically tired, Em was ready for the interview to end. Survival or not, the line of questioning was lengthy and intense.
“We’re all companions,” She said, forcing a smile she usually saved for customer service or Coco, “are we not?”
“Not in a deep manner,” he noted, “Venable has Mead, Coco has Gallant, so on and so forth. Perhaps not the companions they wished for, but companions none the less.”
“I have Emily.”
Langdon shrugged, sitting in his chair like a kind on his throne. “When she’s not with Timothy.”
“You seem to watch us quite closely.”
“I’m tasked with choosing the people who keep the human race alive.” He said, enthusiastically gesturing to the world around them with a small turn, “I must comb through the choices with a fine-toothed comb.”
The blond had expected tears from her. He had worked his way up to the most important questions, the most emotional scarring memories… but she sat there, dry-eyed and looking like she’d rather toss him into the nearest fireplace than deal with any more of his questions.
“I am content with my own company,” She insisted.
He came back to her seat and caged her in her seat, hands on either armrest, “I thought we agreed not to lie, Emily.”
Nostrils flaring and eyes full of fire, she leaned forward until she was almost nose to nose with the man, gaze unwavering, “I’m not lying.”
He eyed her up and down in a way that made her feel like he was looking into her head or skinning her alive with his mind. Finally, he retreated. “Loneliness emanates from you in waves.”
“I said I was content in my own company, not that I liked being alone.”
Langdon’s brows knitted together, “are they not the same thing?”
“They are intertwined,” she told him, “but can exist separately. Thoreau wrote about it… Solitude I think he called it.”
“Are you lonely?”
“I think we all are… some of us just deal with it better than others.”
“And how are you dealing with it?”
He seemed to cling onto her words when she spoke. Timothy, Emily, and herself loved to speculate on philosophy and the nature of their own humanity, but the other two were more of scientific minds than poetic. Talking to Michael… well, she didn’t know how to feel.
“One must learn to be content with their own company before they can be content in the company of others,” Em said, “I try to think of it as some sort of test of character.”
“But are you content?”
Em smiled at the question, whatever doubt or anxiety in her bones completely gone and replaced with something Langdon couldn’t quite place.
“Never.”
-------------------------------------------
“Thank you for your time,” Landon said, holding the door open for her to leave.
The interview had felt like an eternity and an instant all at once. Em kept her distance from him as she passed through the door.
“Is that a genuine sentiment or a warning of my possible demise?”
Langdon smirked, “it’s whatever you want it to be.”
She scoffed. It was a stretch to expect any answers from the man. He went to speak once more, but something down the hall caught his attention down the hall.
Stepping back, his features went blank. “Until next time.”
Em glanced down the hall to see Emily just standing there, lips twisting as she waited for her friend to get closer. When the brunette glanced behind her, she found the door to Langdon’s office closed. Lips pressing into a thin line, she made her way over to Emily.
As soon as Em was within reach, Emily was pulling at her arm and glancing over her shoulder like Langdon was hot on their heels.
“How was your interview?” she asked.
“How was yours,” Em countered with a smile which quickly fell as she saw her friends face. “… what’s going on?”
Already tripping over her own feet as Emily tugged her along, she nearly toppled over as the girl pulled her into a nearby room. Em had barely a moment to right herself as her friend shut and locked the door behind them.
“We have… varying opinions,” Emily finally answered, glancing at Timothy. Em nearly jumped at the sudden presence of the boy leaning against a table with his arms crossed. It looked like a sort of break room… or at least where Venable was staring excess tables and chairs. There was a surprising lack of order to the objects strewn about… definitely storage.
Em righted herself, brushing out her skirt as she looked between the pair. “Which are?”
“Emily thinks we should make a run for it.”
“Timothy!”
Em sighed and looked to the heavens for guidance as Emily stared daggers at her boyfriend. She had planned to gradually work up to her proposal, but Timothy wanted to get this over with before anyone noticed their disappearance.
“That sounds like a terrible idea.” Em sighed. Timothy made a small gesture to her before giving Emily a look that screamed ‘I told you so.’
“Langdon survived!” Emily tried to reason, looking between the pair, “so can we!”
“Langdon has access to more resources than we do,” Em said.
“We’re smart. We can—”
“Figure it out? Emily, we can’t even figure out how our own outpost is run and, trust me, I’ve tried.”
Emily was exasperated, looking at the other two as if they had lost their fucking minds.
“We can’t just sit here and wait to die!”
Em pinched her brow, feeling the buzzing feeling return once more, “I’m not putting my life on the line to play hero like were in some YA novel.”
“That’s what I said,” Timothy sighed.”
Emily was livid, gaping for a moment before throwing her arms up in anger. Her hands came to rest upon her head as she paced back and forth.
“What’s with you two?” She demanded, gesturing violently at Em, “you practically jump at the opportunity to oppose Venable!”
“This is bigger than airing someone’s bullshit,” Em said, trying to keep her voice even and calm, “It’s suicide. Have you forgotten the state of the world?”
“Have you forgotten the world?” Emily countered, “it wasn’t great but there were rules, opportunity… order.”
Timothy could only look between the two women as they engaged in debate. Things were stressful enough. Last thing they needed was to tear the other apart.
“I’m not saying our situation is great. But if we try to leave, we die. Plain and simple.”
“Not if we have a plan,” Timothy finally spoke, both girls finally turning to face him.
“Langdon…” He spoke, taking a moment to find the words, “there’s something wrong about him. I don’t trust him.”
Em scoffed, blood still boiling, “tell us something we don’t know.”
“Those snakes were dead!” He exclaimed. Em’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t wrong, but none of them could even begin to find out what it meant… if it meant anything at all.
“So Langdon is a necromancer,” Emily sighed, shaking her head at the absurdity of this new argument, “how does that change anything?”
“We don’t have to die here,” Timothy said, looking between the two, “we wait and then follow him to the sanctuary.”
“And how do we get in?” Em said, nose scrunching as she thought of a million ways the plan could go wrong, “security protocols here sound an alarm if you simply come within a football field distance of the outpost.”
“How do you—?”
The brunette waved a dismissive hand, “it helps to be nice to the prison guards.”
“We need to act,” Emily emphasized for what felt like the hundredth time.
“We need to get all the facts!” Timothy countered.
“We need to wait!” Em snapped. She was tired and emotionally spent and done with this conversation. “I don’t want to die without a fight, but we need to keep our heads low. It’s barely even been a week. We’ve all only had one interview.”
“Time is running out,” Emily hissed, leaning on the table and looking like she was going to strangle the girl on the other side.
“Time will run out faster if anyone hears a single word of this conversation! I won’t die because of a misstep!”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Mine!” Em practically shouted, “just like everyone else in this fucking place!”
Emily scoffed, stepping back and crossing her arms, “so we’re just scraps.”
“That’s not what she’s saying,” Timothy reasoned, reaching out for his girlfriend who only pulled away from his touch.
“Whatever,” she huffed, rounding the table and glaring daggers at Em as she stormed out of the room, “if you won’t do something, I will.”
The buzzing in Em’s head intensified as Emily slammed the door shut behind her. She rose a hand to ease the headache that threatened to appear, a flash of light exploding behind her eyes. For a moment she swore she saw something — Emily and Timothy… eyes staring blankly at the ceiling with foaming mouths.
Em moved towards the door, hoping to try and reason with the other girl, but was stopped by a hand on her arm. Timothy smiled at her, expression pity-filled and tired.
“I’ll talk to her.” He reassured, “Don’t worry.”
Em could only sigh, “I don’t want her to die a martyr, but if we act too hastily that’s what she’ll become.”
“Just let her cool down. Her interview… all our interviews have us on edge.”
------------------------------
Em stared up at the ceiling as she laid in her bed. She used to do that back when the world was alive, listen to the passing cars and people outside her window… the birds chirping and the breeze dancing through the trees. Now there was just silence… so much she could hear her blood pounding in her ears. Desperately, she tried to recall the sounds — like the faces of the dead, they had faded from her mind.
The fight with Emily had her worried. Friends fought… that was just reality and you couldn’t spend a year and some change in quarantine with someone and not get annoyed with them at some point. But this fight… it wasn’t over something simple — a tendency to be late or forgetting a birthday.
With a sigh, Em sat up and stared at the floor instead of the ceiling. This was why she did things on her own. It certainly made executive decisions easier. The greater good was all Emily cared about, but Em…
She was so tired of sacrificing herself for others… for the grander design. It was what she did all her life. Em kept quiet about her father because he was the only hope she had of getting through college. She let people use her again and again in the name of friendship, draining her dry until there was nothing left but sunken remains.
Michael was right. Everyone else had someone to rely upon. Em had to look after herself.
Em focused on the feel of her hands on her hair, fretting at the ends. She frowned at the roughness of the ends — overdue for a trim. Reaching back towards her desk, Em paused. Venable had confiscated her sewing kit, scissors and all, on the pretense of “hoarding supplies.”
Sitting for a moment, she reluctantly rose to her feet and wandered down the hall. Each step she questioned her judgment, but still, her hand rose to knock at Gallant’s door.
“Ugh,” a voice groaned on the other side, “what?”
Twisting the doorknob, Em poked her head into the room. Gallant had been laying in his bed, now propped up on one side as he looked at her.
“Can I borrow your scissors?” she asked.
He looked her up and down, “why?”
“I want to do arts and crafts,” she found herself saying, deadpan.
The hairdresser’s face contorted into disgust, “those are quality—”
Em rolled her eyes, “calm down, I just want to trim my split ends and the supplied conditioner really isn’t helping.”
Gallant finally rose to his feet.
“Do you even know how to use them?”
“They’re scissors.”
This time he rolled his eyes, wandering over to his vanity and motioning for her to sit down. She eyed him, coming into the room but not moving to the chair.
Gallant sighed, “this is a one time offer.”
“You’re petty, Gallant.”
He shrugged his shoulders, not moving to deny the fact as he arranged his tools, “and?”
“How do I know you won’t make me look like a soccer mom asking for the manager at McDonald’s.”
The man smirked and waved a comb in her direction, “because hair is the one thing I hold sacred in this cesspool of an apocalypse.”
Em eyed him for a moment before wandering over to the chair and sitting down. Gallant looked at her, obviously not expecting her decision. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”
“I know where you sleep.”
She could see Gallant smirking in the mirror, “touche.”
He continued to get his supplies ready before analyzing her hair.
“How was your interview?” He asked, breaking the silence.
“Tense. Yours?”
He shrugged, searching through his drawer for something, “alright. I guess. It’s not like we have a basis for comparison.”
“It feels like he’s reading your thoughts,” She found herself saying without thinking.
“Yeah,” Gallant chuckled, “it’s like he has fucking x-ray vision.”
“Remember when they used to have those spy-devices marketed to kids?” Em recalled, earning another amused smile from the hairdresser.
“You think Langdon’s following us around with a nice iPhone attached to a toy car?” Gallant asked, leaning on the back of the chair with his other hand on his hip.
“What if this whole place is bugged?”
“Normally I’d say you sounded like you were on LSD, but I wouldn’t doubt it.” He admitted, “might as well put on a show, right?”
“What if it’s like the fucking Hunger Games and we’re the entertainment.”
Gallant laughed, “this whole thing makes me feel like I’m in an indie-film fest.”
Finally, he began to work on her hair. Hands ran through the locks, figuring out the texture and thickness.
“How is your hair so soft?” He asked, running through it with a comb for good measure.
“Virgin hair.”
“You’re telling me you never styled your hair.”
“I never had to,” Em shrugged, “internet was full of natural solutions.”
She looked up at him without craning her neck, “rag-curls were a godsend.”
Gallant paused and made a face, “but is the stiff neck really worth it?”
“It is if you do it right.”
The man laughed, “I like you.”
They lapsed into silence once again, Gallant getting lost in the task at hand while Em wandered in her own thoughts.
“I used to have a friend who did hair,” She found herself telling him, “just graduated from cosmetology school. We’ve been friends… were friends for almost 11 years.”
Gallant was only partly paying attention to the conversation, “Was she any good?”
“Chopped off my hair right before the bombs dropped,” Em said, a sad smile pulling at her lips, “shit used to be down to my waist.”
“Ballsy,” Gallant approved, “I like it. Feels like I kept getting clients all asking for the same thing over and over.”
“What about Coco?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I love her, but at the end of the day she’s another straight white girl. They never take risks.”
“To their defense, the first time I got a short cut my stylist made me look like I was wearing a fucking bowl.” Em chuckled, “Took me three fucking years to grow back.”
He fluffed her hair a bit, running a brush through it a couple more times before looking at her through the mirror, “Well, I might not have a mister, but I think I did a damn good job.”
Em smiled, “thanks, gallant.”
“Like I said, hair is my passion,” He took the towel from around her neck and shook it out, ”and working without modern appliances is now a personal challenge.”
She ran her hand through her hair, turning in her chair to look at the man as he put his supplies away, “They did some weird shit for hair in the Victorian era.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“About the hair?”
“About the fact that you know about the hair.”
“Like I said: I’m an insomniac and things get weird on YouTube. You want to hear or not?”
Gallant shrugged, “not like I have anywhere else to be.”
Em smiled and went into her explanation, Gallant sitting on his bed facing her.
“So they used to collect wads of hair from haircuts or just natural shedding and they’d use them either as plats or to give more volume… kind of like those ‘insta-bun’ infomercial stuff—”
Gallant was surprisingly attentive to her words, for once actually listening. Sometimes he’d even ask questions. At some point, he gasped and jumped to his feet.
“You gave me an idea!” he exclaimed, rushing over and turning her to face back towards the mirror, “Stay still!”
“What are you—”
“I need a guinea pig.”
“You’re not going to cut all my hair off, are you?”
“Like you said: you know where I sleep, but,” He mused, “your historical knowledge has given me a way to do this one hairstyle without blow-drying and I want to see if it works.”
Em sighed and looked back towards the mirror, “just don’t make me parade around like a model.”
“Your sacrifice is noted.” Gallant said, “besides, it’s not like there’s anywhere else for you to be.”
--------------------------------
Em scratched at her scalp, still sore from Gallants tugging. The library was quiet, anatomy books scattered around her without a single sight of Timothy or Emily. She imagined the latter was still calming down. God, it hadn’t even been a full day yet.
She looked between the books before her and her sketches. The apocalypse had given her ample time to do studies of all the things she’d always put off. Her sketchbook nearly full, she wondered what she’d do once the final page was completed. At this point, she imagined she didn’t have to worry too much about that.
“You like to read,” A voice mused. This time she didn’t jump, head turning to Langdon as he appeared before her.
“I feel like we’ve already had this conversation.”
He chuckled, “I have to admit, I thought it was performance theater.”
“It’s not like I have a job or anything to pass the time,” she noted, “and there’s no internet.”
Cocking his head, he peered at her drawings from over her shoulder. Em gritted her teeth and tried to not show how much the action bothered her.
“Here to collect me for another interview?” she asked.
He hummed, taking a moment to process her question before responding, “merely observing.”
She closed her sketchbook, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
“Why don’t I believe that?”
Another smile was her only response.
“You never mentioned your mother.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t another interview.”
“I said I wasn’t collecting you for another interview,” he noted, coming to sit in the chair beside her, “I’m simply curious.”
“Your curiosity could lead to my own damnation,” Em turned to face him, her shoulder nearly brushing his, “a way to put me under a fine-toothed comb.”
“Curiosity killed the cat?” he offered.
“I’d use the word ‘murdered,’” she scoffed, “don’t know how the rest of the rhyme would apply, however.”
Langdon wasn’t amused… or at least didn’t let it show, “You’re avoiding the question.”
“Yes,” she said, “last thing I want to do is start in a new world with the shadow of my parents looming over my head.”
“They only loom if you give them the power to do so.”
Em sighed, yielding to her executioner.
“My mother was a co-dependent,” she said, the words rushing out as if they couldn’t get out fast enough, “too afraid to be alone that she’d put up with the worst of men instead of leading a fulfilling life on her own.”
“You blame her,” Michael noted, propping his head on his hand.
“I could have excused the desperation,” Em made abundantly clear, “if she hadn’t emotionally abused me as well — gaslighting and the like.”
“You’d rather be a punching bag?”
“Visible scars are easier to prove in court than those confined to your mind.”
He leaned back in his chair, watching as she rearranged the books. She was doing anything to not meet his gaze.
“What about you?” she finally asked.
His eyes narrowed ever slightly.
“What about me?” he echoed.
“Who is Mr. Langdon?” she asked before gesturing in front of her, “forgive me, I don’t have a file to reference.”
Langdon smirked. He liked this confidence she was showing. It was as if the end of the world had come about so she could thrive, unafraid and confident.
“Are you trying to interview me?” he asked.
“I may be a dead woman in the next few days,” Em reminded, “humor me.”
Langdon leaned forward once more, “What do you wish to know?”
“What do you fear?”
She noted the look wished flashed before his eyes, a memory… unsavory… traumatic. All Langdon could think of was the voice of Ben Harmon and the wrinkled face of an old woman, the scent of cigarettes and liquor coming from her dead mouth.
“I never could have helped you,” Ben spoke, looking down upon him with disgust.
“Loneliness,” He tells the woman before him, straightening a bit in his chair as he fought to keep the passive facade he wore.
“Fascinating,” she mocked, pulling a smile to his lips, “One would think you are a god, but you are just as human as the rest of us.”
“You think I’m a god?”
“You hold yourself like one,” Em observed, noting his smugness. His smile faded as she went on. “and I don’t mean it as a compliment.”
She watched Langdon’s lips pressed into a thin line, “Then what do you mean?”
“You’re condescending.”
He scoffed, “Gallant is condescending.”
“But he doesn’t hold our lives in his hands— thank god.”
This time she leaned closer to him, mirroring his previous movements and propping her head on her hand, “knowledge is power and you have done a fine job at keeping that knowledge from us.”
His eyes scanned over her face, “it’s for the best of the human race.”
“And what do you believe is best?” she asked, “what world do you envision?”
A smirk crawled back onto his face, “that’s classified.”
This time she studied him.
“You must hold a high position in this sanctuary.” She observed, “higher than Venable… perhaps even those above her as well.”
“And how do you come to that conclusion.”
“Personal opinions aren’t classified,” She leaned back, putting some distance between them, “but opinions of the larger whole are another nature entirely.”
“Or I could be condescending.”
Langdon watched as she smiled ever slightly. It unnerved him… like she had seen something he hadn’t meant her to.
“… Or you could be condescending,” Em echoed. There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. “For someone so afraid of loneliness you seem to have backed yourself into quite the corner.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. She watched him, completely at ease despite her interrogation. It was as if he always had a knife behind his back ready to impale someone upon it.
“You have some plan, then?”
“If you’re prepared for the worst then you’re ready for the best.”
“A good mentality to live by,” Em nodded, “but speaking of preparation brings up more questions.”
“Such as?”
“This place is made for us to survive the nuclear winter,” she notes, “but it is so unequipped for the task.”
Langdon raised a brow, “you think you could do better?”
“Yes,” she answered quite quickly and resolutely, “natural light, for one.”
“On what electricity?” he prompted.
“Hydro-electricity, wind,” she says, “batteries, even.”
He scoffed, “you make it sound easy.”
“You’re part of a doomsday group,” Em reminded him, “For fuck's sake, even the government has a library of seeds for this situation. Self-sustainability is the most important part of our survival.”
Langdon shook his head and laughed before looking at her once more, “oh, I like you.”
Em eyed him, “I’m afraid I haven’t quite decided if the feeling is mutual.”
“Most of you are so preoccupied with winning I was starting to doubt the efficiency of The Cooperation,” he says, “salivating like dogs over the last bone.”
“Desperation certainly gives insight into true natures.”
“That it does.”
Langdon rose from his seat, straightening out his jacket before walking towards the door, “I look forward to speaking to you again.”
Mulling over his words, Em stayed only momentarily — long enough that she wouldn’t run into the man again on her way out. Though she didn’t put it past him to lay in wait at the door. Collecting the books before her, she began to put them away.
She knew the library like the back of her hand now. Organized it herself. The Cooperative didn’t seem to care what order the books were put in, a testament to their last-minute planning. The brunette didn’t mind it. There was little to do to amuse oneself these days.
When she finally meandered back to the table, she found a book wide open on its surface. Chalking it up to her own forgetfulness she approached, brows furrowing as she realized which book it was.
Turning around, she looked for a sign of any sign of Emily or even Langdon. Mind games were certainly the latter's forte. Every hair on her body was standing on end, goosebumps rising on her arm and she turned and turned, looking for a sign of a single soul.
Finally, heart hammering in her chest, she approached the book. It was opened to another spell she hadn’t noticed before, meant for finding something lost.
“Quod est super me manus quondam sciebant,” she mouthed as she read, “revertere ad me quid suo mihi admondum est alicui licentiam.”
She shrieked as the candles went out around her, an echoing chorus coming from outside the library as a gust of wind raced throughout the outpost. Hands went to cover her head as she crouched on the ground as if she expected the world to cave in around her.
Her heart wanted to burst from her chest, eyes frantically looking here and there only to find nothing.
“Emily?” She called out, voice cracking in fear, “Timothy?”
All she could hear was the screaming voices, begging for salvation. Whimpering, she backed up until she could feel a wall, slowly sinking to the floor as she covered her ears which did nothing to drown out the screaming that echoed in her head.
Timothy was right, something was wrong about this place.
Summary: It’s Bring Your Child to Work day at the Cooperative! Unfortunately, it doesn’t go well for his 5-year-old daughter.
A/N: Another small story in this series! Enjoy. There is an open taglist for the series!
The elevator dinged and the sounds that came into the office weren’t like the ones Michael was used to hearing. There were children and laughter, Michael gulped hard remembering that he was the one that did all of this. Shit.
“Daddy what’s wrong?” a small voice asks from his side.
“Nothing Angel, ready to see what Daddy does all day?” he questions, squeezing the 5-year-olds hand and offering up a smile. She smiles back up at him and they walk out of the elevator, the usual stares of dread from his employees were today focused on their kids as they showed them their cubicles.
“If I could get everyone's attention?” Michael asks loudly, placing his hands behind his back, his trademark smile appearing on his lips. Heads turn and children were told to hush from their parents. Some fearful parents placed a gentle hand over their childs lips “As you all know its Bring Your Child to Work Day. The Cooperative, for this first time, will be taking part. Our work day will be cut in half and there has been entertainment for the children set up by my assistant.” Michael coughs and lowers his eyebrows “I expect nothing but the best, or we all know the outcome.”
Mallory taps Michael on the shoulder and turns the boss’ attention to the clipboard she was holding. Cornelia lets go of her dads hand and looks at other kids her age coloring in one of the conference rooms. Her head perks up and tugs on Michael’s jacket sleeve “Daddy, I want to go play,” she demands.
“Go, Darling,” he coos, he kneels down and straightens out her fluffy white dress. “Have fun with the other kids, I have to get to a quick meeting.” His daughter rolls her eyes, whenever he says he has a quick meeting it means he’ll take all day and forget their play date.
“Promise?” she sighs. Michael chuckles at her glare, it reminded him of her mothers. She did the same thing when he would have to stay late at the office to get things done. His ring-clad hand rises and pushes back her blonde bangs.
“I promise,” he repeats and kisses her forehead. She smiles and stands on her tippy toes in her purple jelly shoes to kiss back on his forehead.
The small girl hurries off and stands in front of the glass door, she pries open the door with a small grunt. She stumbles inside and smiles at the kids who were giving her odd looks before returning to their coloring books. She started to get nervous, she didn’t know any of them.
In the corner was a small black girl lying on her stomach and flipping through the colorless pages. Perfect! Cornelia trotted over and sat on her knees in front of the girl “Hi!” she greeted cheerfully. The girl looks up with wide brown eyes and smiles just as wide.
“Hi. I’m Bethany,” the girl says.
“I’m Cornelia Langdon.” She had a habit of saying her full name, her parents snicker to themselves when she introduces herself to new people. A formal one they say. Bethany’s face fell and she quickly stood up, her light up shoes flickering. She’d heard her mom complain every day when she came home from work about someone called Langdon.
“My mommy told me not to play with you. Your dad’s mean, my mommy calls him the devil,” Bethany quickly walked away from the shocked child. She hung her head low in thought, Michael wasn’t mean, he was so nice.
Her head turns and see’s Bethany whisper to the kids at the high table. They all laugh and watch her sit sadly in the corner by herself. Cornelia grumbles and stands up, she put on a brave face and walks over to the table and climbs up in the black roller chair.
“Can I have a purple?” she asks, pointing to the faraway crayon box.
A boy a few years older than her scowled “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like you.”
“Me either,” another girl chimes in.
Cornelia’s lower lip trembles and her cheeks heat up from embarrassment “Go cry to your dad, Crybaby,” a boy taunts. Tears spill from her eyes, she pushes back the chair and runs off, trying desperately to open the door.
Her goal was to find Michael’s office, in the daze of her emotion, she forgot where it was. She peered around the corner and sniffled as she quickly walked down one of the isles. The blonde girl let out another loud sob and wiped her eyes that looked exactly like her mothers.
One of the office doors swung open and a man with icy blonde hair worriedly looked out into the hall “Oh my God!” he gasps as he sees the girl. He runs up and pulls her into a hug “What happened to you?” he asks as he cradles her.
“I can’t find my daddy,” she answers into his leg.
The man pulls away and looks at her messy hair, he instantly recognized her. She had the same color hair of her fathers “I’m Mr. Gallant,” he introduces kindly.
“Cornelia Langdon,” she tells him weakly, looking up at him with sad eyes. Gallant isn’t shocked, she looked exactly like her parents, and who could miss the head of blonde curls. Her hair! He silently scoffs at the state of it, disheveled and full of knots, this simply wouldn’t do.
“Your hair is a mess! We need to fix you up before we go find your dad,” he takes her by the hand and leads her into his office, pulling out one of the office chairs for her. Cornelia climbs in the chair and places her hands in her lap. Gallant gives her a colorful box of tissues and grabs his emergency hair kit from his desk.
He grabs one of his many combs and gently combs out the knots in the childs hair “Now tell me,” he sighs like he’s talking to one of his clients, “what happened to you?”
Cornelia’s eyes tear up again and her cheeks become warm with embarrassment. Gallant frowns and pats her head to assure her “T-the other kids were being mean...and laughing at me.” Gallant rolls his eyes and huffs.
“Kids are so cruel.”
“They think my daddy is mean,” she whispers bitterly.
Gallant paused for a moment while he dug through his kit for a hair tie. The kids weren’t wrong. Michael was mean, he didn’t care about feelings or had a thoughtful bone in his hot body. Gallant closed the box, but that statement wasn’t all true either. There was a shift in Michael’s behavior when Cornelia was born, he showed slightly more compassion and tried to be fair...but he was still the devil. “He isn’t mean...just stern.”
“What does stern mean?” she questions, wincing when he starts pulling on her hair.
“He’s serious when he’s at work,” he explained, taking a step back to admire the elaborate braid. Patting himself on the back, he helps her out of the chair and leads her on the hunt to find Michael’s office.
“No!” Michael shouts through the phone. He bangs his fist on the table “Don’t take the fucking deal.” He clenches the phone while the man on the other line yells back “I will tear your life apart do you hear me? You will never work in this Goddamn country ever again!”
“Mr. Langdon!” A nervous voice calls out.
Michael looks up and notices Gallant in the doorway with Cornelia cradling his leg. The man hangs up and puts on a quick smile “Angel? That’s wrong?”
“Why were you yelling?” She whimpers. Michael looks at Gallant with a warning scowl. The icy blonde man shakes his head in response. “The other kids were making her upset...the sad you were mean.”
Michael’s face fell, his sad expression matched his daughters. He quickly gets up from his desk and walks to her, getting onto his knees and holding his arms out for her. She was hesitant but slowly walked over and hugged him back, relief washing over her “I’m not mean Sweetheart, I’m ju-”
“Stern. Mr. Gallant told me,” Cornelia finishes, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
“Thank you,” Michael mouths to Gallant.
Gallant smiles and nods, not knowing the right words. He exits the room quietly and shuts the door behind him to give them some alone time. “Are you the devil?” Cornelia asks softly.
Michael shakes his head and rubs her back “No Angel, I promise.” His daughter hums in response, taking his words to heart. She nuzzles against him and hugs him tightly.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Darling,” Michael answers kindly as he picks up the child and carries her to his desk. “How about I call mommy and you go home a little early?” he offers.
The child frowns and shakes her head “No! I want to help.” Michael laughs and places her in his lap giving her a pen.
“Well then Ms. Langdon, we have a lot of paperwork to do.”
