Chapter Text
Whether you were to ask her now, tomorrow, or fifty odd years in the future, Schneider would vehemently deny falling asleep on that front porch until the day she died.
She slept in a perfectly warm bed, curled up like an infant, and she did not freeze her sorry ass off on that cobblestone after having hung up the phone for the night. It was simply a fateful coincidence that she had remained there until the Governor had called her the next morning. Nothing more, nothing less. This is the story she will be sticking to.
Yes, this was a perfectly rational explanation.
“I think your coffee is burning.”
“Merda—”
Schneider rushed over to the hob, quickly turning the knobs off. She did her best to push the smoking pot off the ring, swearing and yelping all the while. That voice, ever so compassionate and gentlemanly, came through clear over the speaker behind her, crackling with delight.
Once she was sure there’d be no fires in her future, Schneider snatched her phone back up, bringing it with her to the sink.
“Figghiu di putt— How the hell did you even hear that?” She flipped the tap on, running her fingertips under the tepid liquid. Some had already begun to swell and turn red.
“I didn’t. I put a timer on.”
She grumbled petulantly, mocking its words under her breath. It must’ve heard her— surely, not her intention— because that mischievous chuckle echoed through once more. Despite herself, she felt the tension in her shoulders loosen considerably.
“Not a morning person, I take it?”
“The night cossets me,” and she brought her fingers out from under the faucet, flicking away the excess water. She took a moment to roll her wrist, hearing the tendons snap and pop. “Considering all your very important work, I would assume you felt the same,” she hummed lazily.
There was an unnatural silence on the other end, until—
“…Please tell me that noise wasn’t your back.”
Schneider grinned. “Something amiss, signore?” In a stroke of sheer brilliance, she plucked an empty carton off the countertop and brought it as close to the speaker as she could, crushing it in her palm. A sick mimicry of the sound prior.
“Yes.” There a sharp exhale over the line— distress, she had got better at reading it now— “Is it too late to return to your budding chiropractic career?”
The smile tugging at her lips was almost painful.
She sighed, loud and theatrical. "I’m afraid they’ve already offered me senior management.”
“How unfortunate.”
This time, she couldn’t hold back a bubble of laughter, smothering it as best she could with the back of her hand. It took her several moments to regain her composure, inhaling long and slow.
“Easy now, my dear Governor.” Then, before she could think any better of it— “It was just my wrist, don’t worry.”
To her surprise, that rough sigh returned.
“Still. You really should get that looked at.” Its cadence, usually so even-toned, felt strangely soft.
Schneider’s eyes flitted to the offending limb, her cheeky smile beginning to fade. The rushing water, not unlike a deluge, waned in her peripheral as she carefully turned it over, examining the old break.
The bruising had started to fade, morphing from a series of lilacs to something vaguely resembling the varying ripeness of a banana. She was technically supposed to be wearing a sling— something Marian loved to remind her of— but it just felt far too awkward.
She was struck by the thought that perhaps, just maybe, the sling wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable if she were properly looking after the injury. That quite feasibly, if she were to spend less time pushing and prodding at it and more time letting herself have a proper rest, she wouldn’t be plagued by the constant aches and pains that wracked her nerves day-in and day-out. That she might even, God forbid, start to heal.
…No, that didn’t sound right at all.
Making a mental note to call her sister less, she cleared her throat, turning the faucet off.
“I’ll get around to it,” and she plopped the phone back onto the centre island. She opened the cupboard above, reaching for a mug. “Why are you awake this early anyway, signore?” she said, changing the subject.
She could hear it give another soft huff— whether at her or whatever had led to its prompt awakening, she wasn’t quite sure— before that cool voice returned.
“Exams. I got the worst of the blockings compared to my friends.”
Schneider could hear its childish sulk trespass the distance between them. After pouring herself a cup, she tutted at it mockingly.
“Che peccato, however will you fare?” she said, bringing it up to meet her waiting lips. She imagined those pensive brows furrowing, some of the coffee dribbling down her chin in her impish haste. “No choice but to drop out now, save yourself the social ridicule.”
“Har-har, very funny.” But she could hear that tired chuckle come through regardless. “I should probably get going, actually. Sonetto will kill me if I’m late.”
That odd flame of disappointment reignited in her chest, before—
“I’ll speak to you tonight?”
—it was gone.
That grin never left her, even as she feigned annoyance. “If you must,” she said, though her tone had already softened considerably. “Ciao, Ms. Governor.”
The line had already clicked as she went in for another sip of coffee. It was incredibly bitter, the burnt grounds robbing it of what little flavour it had prior. There wasn’t enough milk or sugar in the world that could salvage it.
Her eyes remained on her cracked screen, still faintly illuminated.
Well, it could be worse.
The long muffin queue marked the start of another exciting day. How it had already managed to stretch down the block, around the corner, and into the next alleyway over, before either she or Sotheby had flipped the “Open” sign would forever remain one of life’s greatest mysteries.
Thankfully, London seemed to have mercy on her today, with no customers in sight for the foreseeable future.
Sotheby had told her as much before disappearing into the storage room, though Schneider hadn’t quite been able to follow her train of thought beyond “something, something, slow day. Praise the Lord in heaven above.” Instead, she focused on clearing out a small space on the counter, and soon Sotheby reappeared, only the tip of her feathered hat visible amidst the crowd of boxes. She set them down with a harsh THUMP.
“We’ll have a few hours before it picks back up,” she was saying, wiping thick piles of dust from the cardboard. “So we’ll be doing some tidying up in the meantime!”
She tipped the box over, letting a cascade of old books tumble forth. Some were practically falling apart, while others looked to have hardly ever been opened.
Schneider’s jaw fell open instinctively.
“Are these…?”
Sotheby followed her gaze, before shaking her head vehemently, bringing her hands up with a nervous grin.
“Oh! No, no, these are all Mr. Karson’s,” she said, rummaging through the pile for one of the cleaner looking books. “We’re supposed to keep a record of all the things we buy, but…”
The lamb trailed off, suddenly sheepish. Schneider couldn’t help but notice the ledger in her hand hadn’t even had its spine cracked.
She took a long, deep breath. “It happened to slip your mind, then?”
Sotheby retreated into herself further— seems she hit the nail on the head. “Usually he comes back to help me with it! We’ve just been busy lately…”
A groan played at the tip of her tongue, but Schneider swallowed it down, instead moving forward to examine the mess. She reached for a book, noticing how Sotheby retreated slightly from her movement. A smidgen of gratitude came to her for the gesture.
Plucking a ledger at random, she flipped through it, squinting past the dust that rose from its pages. “Will I just be cataloguing them, then, boss? Or tallying the expenses as well?”
To her surprise, her gaffer shook her head, snatching the book from her hands.
“No!” Sotheby protested, clutching the log close to her chest. “I can’t make you do this all by yourself!”
Schneider blinked.
Oh, right. Cooperation.
What a foreign concept that had become.
A placating smile came swift to her lips. “How generous of you. Then, how can I help?”
She chose her words carefully, not really sure what her place was here. On one hand, taking on too much leadership could be overstepping, though that was the easiest way to earn her keep. Conversely, do too little, and she could be branded as lazy. There was no way she’d be kept around after that.
Sotheby seemed oblivious to this conundrum, instead digging through another, adjacent box. She hauled a large, analog calculator out of it, thumping it onto the counter next to the books.
“We just need to write everything from these old, stinky books into these new ones.” With a grunt of effort, she hopped up onto the counter, soon sitting cross-legged at Schneider’s right. “I’ll read you the logs, and you can jot down the numbers!”
She paused in her excitement for a moment, suddenly turning her head.
“Is that alright? Not too much work?”
Concern, another foreign concept to her.
Schneider’s fawning smile never faded. If anything, it grew slightly wider.
“Your wish is my command, boss. I will do my job perfectly”
As boring as it was, monotonous maths was not the worst way she could’ve spent her day.
Sotheby would read to her a string of listings, and she’d tally the numbers up for the totals. It took her a moment to adjust to the pound sterling conversion— still the worst currency to ever be invented, by the way. Even lire would be easier than this— but once she had got the hang of things, it went by rather quickly. It reminded her of the quiet days of her old life, the few that there were.
They had got through nearly half of the books before she heard the other girl begin to trail off, long, distinct pauses beginning to reoccur between listings. Eventually, she had ceased to talk at all, and when Schneider looked up she found Sotheby’s eyes already on her, staring intently.
Self-consciousness began to prickle under her skin. “…Is everything alright, boss?”
“You’re really good at maths.”
She blinked.
“I’m… sorry?”
Sotheby either didn’t notice her hesitation or didn’t care, instead leaning forward on the meat of her palms, book forgotten entirely. “You haven’t even been using the calculator. Druv— Ms. Weyerhaeuser had said you were a quick-learner, but you’re super-duper smart too!”
For all her wit, Schneider was at a complete loss here. She looked down to the accounts in her hand, tracking her progress. It wasn’t particularly difficult maths, she didn’t think so, at least. If anything it was just—
“It was quicker to just do long-hand,” she shrugged, suddenly deeply unsure of herself. Was this not the way she was supposed to do it? She should probably go back through and check her calculations later, God forbid she got any of it wrong.
Her little boss was peering over at her notes, one missed footing away from falling off the countertop entirely. She tilted her head, trying to get a better look, until Schneider eventually took pity on her and turned the book to face her.
“Did you do a lot of maths in school?” she asked, looking up to Schneider with wide eyes.
No. She cleared her throat, trying to find the best phrasing. “It was one of my more preferred subjects,” not technically a lie, “I used to help my dear family with the books from the orchard,” …not technically the truth.
“Oooh, how exciting!” Whichever made the best story was fine for Sotheby. “I hated maths, it always took the fun out of experimenting.”
A wave of curiosity overtook her as she watched the girl pout. Schneider chanced a glance over her shoulder, making sure no one would be interrupting them. Once she was sure, she set the book aside, leaning against the counter in turn.
“Do you do many experiments, boss?” she asked, tilting her head. “At your school?”
Sotheby nodded excitingly. “Yes, yes! We have a decent chemistry program there, but they let me take classes with my friends at the local university too.”
She sprung up onto her knees— Schneider’s bandaged hand shot out instinctively, ready to catch her if she fell— and brought her arms out wide. “It’s huge, like you wouldn’t believe!”
Maybe she was less lamb, more climbing goat. Schneider felt a bead of sweat form on the back of her neck, making a mental note to add first-aid supplies to their inventory listings tonight. Between the two of them, they’d need it.
Something about her phrasing perked her ears though. “And your friends, where do they—?”
“Oh my gosh, that’s right!”
Whatever she were going to say was lost on her lips as Sotheby— probably intent on giving her a heart attack— hopped off the counter, wobbling back and forth. She quickly composed herself, snapping upright to full attention and placing fisted hands onto her hips.
“I have to grab some things for tonight, you can take a break early if you’d like.” She scrambled for her belongings, shoving whatever was in sight into a decorative bag nearby.
Schneider could hardly keep up. “I assume these are for your— ah, the— V…?” She trailed off, feeling herself go cross-eyed as she watched Sotheby, somehow, fit the most disorganized wallet she had ever seen into her purse.
The ewe parsed her meaning, though, brightening up. “The VIC’s, yes!”
There was no elaboration as she rushed out from the register booth, running off towards the door. “I won’t be far, in case of any problems!” she shouted, already halfway out of the store. The chiming bell rung out overhead. “And I’ll get you a muffin!”
She did not want a muffin. She tried to remedy this heinous proposal, but by the time her jaw had made its way open, Sotheby was already out the door.
Soon, silence overtook the space, as Schneider watched the small bell sway softly back and forth. Once again, she was entirely, and blissfully, alone.
She gave the heavy logs a once-over before pushing them aside, stretching lazily. The girl had said she could take an early break, surely a half-hour or so couldn’t hurt. Plus, well, her hand was starting to cramp. The distinct popping sound of her joints was testament to that.
Something about it brought her a giddy feeling, though. The phantom scent of burnt coffee invaded her nostrils.
She sifted through her pocket for her phone, chancing a glance at the time. There were about three hours or so left in her shift, that should give her enough time to settle the books. Perhaps she would even get home a bit early. She’d have more time then.
Her eyes lingered on the screen.
When did the university let out their exams?
For the first time in an incredibly long time, she let herself think back to Chicago. One of her sisters must’ve taken exams at some point, or one of their friends, or their boyfriends. Was it the same in London as it had been in the States? Or were there different timings?
The cracked screen went idle, then dark.
Schneider clicked it back on.
…Maybe they separated it by course of study? That would make sense, some being longer than others, after all. Perhaps it was still too early to hear anything. If she were going to hear anything, that is. Which she wasn’t.
The screen went idle again.
A groan left her, and she flipped the damn thing over on the counter, deciding to avoid it entirely. There were better things in life to do than to chat with someone 24/7. She could handle a day’s work without being embarrassingly starved for human contact. She had done so for years before this months-long ordeal began, and she would do so for years after it, inevitably, ended.
…Dio, she needed to get a dog or something.
Schneider picked herself up, shaking her head a few times. Her thirty minutes had already passed, and there was work to be done in the meanwhile. Gathering up the ledgers Sotheby had left, she propped one up beside her, oscillating between them as she read, ran the maths, wrote, and then repeated.
The hours passed by quickly after that, and soon she was through, each column of the book filled with— albeit, in the worst handwriting known to man— invoices and totals. There was a nonzero chance that her darling boss was going to forget all about these books the moment they put them away, so as long as the numbers were neat enough, she doubted the rest of it mattered.
A quick glance outside told her it was well after closing, the sun having just dipped below the horizon. After a stretch, she shuffled towards the door, flipping the sign over to “Closed”.
The rest came easy to her: First, sweep the floor. Tidy the shelves, toss any stray leaves or thorns, and wipe away any tracked-in mud. Then, settle the register, and make a copy of the receipts— one for the books, one for safekeeping.
She hummed to herself as she worked, some older song she must’ve heard on Mamma’s radio. Scribbling out the stubs for the night, she closed and locked the register, lifting her head back up towards the door.
Sotheby still hadn’t returned. It was well after close, now, but the little lamb was nowhere to be found.
Schneider watched the entrance for a while, waiting. Should she just leave? It felt wrong to, somehow. Yes, she was technically off the clock, but the idea of her boss returning to an empty storefront didn’t sit right with her.
Slipping her phone into her jeans just in case, she gathered up the boxes instead, slowly and deliberately packing away each ledger. The analog calculator was an especially large hassle, weighing practically more than her, but with a bit of finesse, she was able to hoist it back into the box.
With a grunt, she lifted the parcels into her arms, making her way into the storage room.
Somewhere between climbing the step-stool and stacking the boxes on the shelves, she felt a buzz come from her pocket. A wave of giddy excitement coursed through her, the hefty package in her grip— once solid and secure— now falling directly onto her thumb. In one of her more graceful moments, she stepped through one of the holes in the stool, managing to right herself just before her chin could collide with the wooden ledge in front of her.
None of it mattered to her. She spun herself around, fishing the phone out of her pocket and into her hand.
The screen was alight, a small green widget stretching across its face.
It was a message.
…From Marian.
Several emotions flooded her— disappointment, sadness, embarrassment, shame— but the one she settled on was irritant rage. Furious fingers swiped open the notification, punching in her code.
What awaited her was an extremely blurry, borderline indiscernible photo of a cat, mid-run. Underneath, two messages had been written out.
The first, informatively, said, “Cat.”
The second— dare she say, even more informative than the first— read, “Ate the plants.”
On her fifth re-read, Schneider determined, logically, that she had something between a concussion and acute lead poisoning. Firing off a series of less-than-pleasant emoticons, she clicked the phone off, taking a long, hard breath.
She wasn't sure what she had expected. They— It called her, never messaged. It was naive to think otherwise.
The screen hummed to life again, several more messages— images attached— awaiting her from Marian. But as she swiped the application open, it was the widget in the corner that she lingered on. A small plus, enshrouded in a green circle.
She could always—
The door chimed open.
“Hellooo!”
That wasn’t Sotheby.
Schneider went stock still, not daring to even breathe. The fluttering in her stomach overturned itself into this horrible knot. A million scenarios ran through her mind, eyes darting around the storage room for something, anything, to latch on to.
There was another voice, very low, muttering something before the first returned, this time louder.
“Mate? You here?”
Customers.
It was just customers.
Slowly, she remembered how to breathe. She released her death grip on the shelf ledge, brushing herself off, trying to put herself back into some semblance of composure. Straightening, she made her way back to the register.
Two women awaited her, both around her own age. One was bouncing from heel to heel, leaned up against the counter with her fingertips drumming against her cheek. She was fashionably dressed, a bright blue ascot complimenting honey-blonde hair, with a large pair of sunglasses hanging down her nose; No doubt the one shouting prior.
The other seemed calmer, though. They were dressed for the weather, if a little stiff for her tastes, with an overcoat and button-up.
The hat was a nice touch, though. She’d give her that.
She opened her mouth, but Schneider beat her to it.
“We’re closed.”
The other woman went still.
The blonde, though, gasped in offence. She leaned up further onto the counter.
“What? But we just got here!” she said, pinching her shades between two fingers to swish them aside. “What if we wanted to buy something?”
Schneider shrugged. “Very sad. Try again tomorrow.”
This plan did not seem to please her, and she turned to her compatriot with a look of pure, unadulterated outrage.
Curiously, the overcoat woman did not seem to notice. She was staring at Schneider with a slight furrow to her brows that wasn’t there prior. Her jaw was clenched.
“We open at six,” Schneider continued, paying neither of them any mind. Her eyes flitted to the door, scanning for Sotheby. “Try your luck then.”
The woman looked like she might say something, mouth opening just a fraction, before it snapped shut again. Her friend had no such qualms.
“Wha– that’s rubbish! We’re supposed to be here.” She was near stamping her feet now, and something about it made Schneider want to rile her up a bit more. Call it boredom, leftover adrenaline, what-have-you, but nothing on her fake resume claimed she was any good at being a “people person”.
She smiled coyly. “You most certainly are,” she said, pointing lazily to a display by the window. “Between the hours of six and six, that is.”
The blonde’s eye twitched.
Before she could leap over the counter and strangle her, the door chimed open once more. All heads turned— Schneider’s and her patsy’s in quick succession, the overcoat woman’s slightly slower— as this time it brought with it the olive lamb she had been waiting for. She was pushing the door open with her shoulder, hands full of pastry bags and other various trinkets.
Upon seeing them all, though, her boss’ face lit up, dropping all that she was holding and rushing over.
“Ah, you made it!” Sotheby said, enveloping the irate blonde in a leaping hug. “I was worried I was going to miss you.”
She spun the pair around before letting her friend go, both slightly wobbly. She seemed to notice Schneider at the counter, then, her smile only growing larger. “And you’ve all met!”
She rushed over to stand beside her, puffing up her chest. Schneider straightened a bit in turn, in an effort to not look quite so lazy next to her boss.
“This is Schneider,” Sotheby declared proudly, “she’ll be working here now.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Schneider thought she could see the overcoat woman mouth something to herself, very slowly. Before she could pay any further attention to it, Sotheby was continuing on.
“These are the friends I had mentioned from the university,” she was saying. She leaned in close, part of her feathered hat tickling Schneider’s cheek. In a stage whisper, she said, “They’re our VIC’s.”
Schneider nodded dutifully, following along as her boss wheeled upright, pointing first at the blonde. “This is Regulus, she’s the one who loves apples!”
Regulus— as she were now called— was gaping at the two of them. A vein was throbbing in her forehead.
Schneider smirked. “We’ve met.”
A joyous squeal came from Sotheby, who had already begun to bounce on the balls of her feet.
“Wonderful!”
Next, she turned to the overcoat woman, who was still staring at her curiously. She watched the two of them— no, she watched Schneider— with a strange intensity.
Sotheby gestured to her with an open palm. “And this is—”
“Hello.”
Time stopped.
Her voice was calm. Cool, even-toned, distinctly British and vaguely feminine. Not old, but not adolescent.
One she was intimately familiar with.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Suddenly, the details that hadn’t mattered before became supremely important. Schneider’s wide eyes swept across its— across her face; The tired eyes, the slightly crumpled overcoat that it— that she slept in more often than not.
The smattering of freckles across the bridge of its nose.
The stupidly bureaucratic hat.
The way it— she was looking at her, doing the same, taking everything in for a second-first time. Lingering on her like she— like it knew.
It knew.
Oh.
“I’m Vertin.”
Fuck.