Chapter Text
Up and Down
The little cafe was bustling at this time of day, and as the hostess it was your job to graciously and elegantly bring people to their seats. The place might have been a small establishment, located on the piers and docks of this remote South African town, but your boss, Jameson, (who had retired from marine salvage, and whose boredom and love for food had prompted him to subsequently open this small, but classy, American-comfort-food-oozing place) liked to insist on making the place stand out as a location slightly more fancy than others. As the hostess, it was your task to do that--and a large portion of that, you knew, was based on how you looked. As Jameson was often reminding you guiltily, feminism did take a few steps back with the need for a pretty hostess in a classy little cocktail dress--but you understood how the world worked, and for the most part you were fine with it. You liked to look nice, and you knew that your long legs and thin, athletically-curved body lent you a certain "svelteness". Many times you'd been asked to model, and occasionally you'd done it; but the lecherous photographers always made you feel self-conscious, and you couldn't shake the feeling that it was a waste of your time and efforts when you could be doing something better with your day.
So, now you alternated your time between two tasks: hosting at the restaurant, where you got to meet people and chat (you were more of a talker than you'd ever thought, since your sisters had always been the ones to chat up a storm) and heading out on your boat to study the sharks that populated the South African coast (a job that balanced the restaurant with a little silence). It was a solo job now, but you had used to do it with your two sisters. The sharks were in trouble, due to overfishing, and so were many of the people who were unfortunate enough to encounter them. Studying the sharks' behavioral patterns and submitting your research was allowing more and more people, hopefully, to understand sharks every day. Young, foolish boys would try to swim out to Seal Island at night--the most dangerous time in the water--to poach abalone, and you'd taken it upon yourself a few years ago to patrol in your boat every night, looking for the telltale glimpse of their waterproof flashlight and listening quietly for the slap of their flippers. They almost always had to be forcibly saved, unless a shark was actually close to them; but their parents were always grateful to you--even if the boys in town hated you for it. You had several faint scars on your torso, and a few on your legs, from the rescues that required you to actually dive in the water with only a speargun and pull them out. Jameson had often chided you for being so reckless, while simultaneously admiring you for being so brave; diving into pitch-black waters in an area teeming with great whites was no small thing, and he knew that you weren't stupid enough to be anything but scared. But when someone was in trouble, you couldn't quite explain the power of the drive that surged forward within you and propelled you into situations. You were a rescuer, through and through, perhaps because your sisters had needed it so much...
You also had many rough scars on the outside of both your upper arms, but those were from something else. Something that you did NOT think about.
Today you were wearing a lovely little burgundy lace dress, one that you'd tailored to fit your body perfectly (it paid to know a little bit about tailoring, turned out), with matching high heeled-pumps and your long hair in a simple little half-up-do. You'd even been bold enough to match a burgundy lipstick; it was fun to dress up, since most of the day was spent in a sleek wet-suit and a simple ponytail. Aside from the "pretty hostess" that many of the regulars unofficially came to see, dark teak wood tables and a fairly low lighting was all that it really took to make the place seem more upscale--and Jameson kept his prices low, knowing the value that American travelers would place on cheap, but delicious, food from their home. As an American himself, he appreciated it more than anyone (you yourself had an American accent, although yours was New England; you'd worked hard to completely eradicate the other one, and only Jameson knew about it). Initially, you'd been surprised that Jameson seemed so confident about the "American travelers" that would constantly come swarming to this place during their international travels; but as it turned out, Jameson ran in certain less-than-legal circles (something that you had absolutely no problem with). This wasn't the sketchiest town in the world, but it was rough enough that a knowledge of guns, combat, and no small amount of tact had become crucial for you--and Jameson's clientele certainly made that the case, too. You kept your distance, but kept an ear open to hear about all the goings-on in those illegal circles; Jameson's friends were usually working in the treasure-hunting business, which was among the more savory of illegal businesses, so you liked to hear about it. Not to mention you found history and piracy fascinating, as anyone associated with marine life probably would. For a while you'd even dabbled in underwater archaeology, since your diving skills (and deep-sea-diving skills) were both top-notch.
Recently Jameson had seemed more excited than usual; as it turned out, a friend of his named Nathan was coming to visit. Apparently it had been a while since they'd seen each other, and Jameson seemed absolutely thrilled at the prospect of a reunion. From what you had gathered, Nathan had taken up the marine salvage business where Jameson left off, but had expanded it to include more international--and, you'd surmised, LEGAL--jobs. Although you doubted that "illegal" was off this Nathan's description list. No one who said they were completely out of the game really was, at least not in this town and with this crowd.
Earlier this afternoon, after you'd come in from a dive and arrived dressed for work, Jameson greeted you with a big smile. You smiled back, laughing.
"They're coming in today, aren't they."
Jameson's smile widened.
"Why yes they ARE, Miss (Y/N/)." His slow, Southern voice always made you feel at ease; in many ways, Jameson was a surrogate father to you nowadays. "Now when they get here, you make sure to put 'em right here, at this table"--he gestured to the one in the back nearest the bar and the back door--"so I can have them all to myself and get some conversation in without actually working."
You laughed again and nodded, turning to head back to restaurant's main doors. "Whatever you say, Jameson."
Two hours later, you were in the thick of it. The place was teeming with regulars lounging on the tables outside overlooking the water and the indoor tables were filled with travelers who wanted out of the sun. Oftentimes those who came indoors were specifically seeking quiet spots to do "business", but tonight there was no one who seemed to be in the business mood. Drinks were being passed all around, entrees from the beefsteak to the lasagna to the mac and cheese were being heartily devoured, and the air was filled with chatter. You were good at gauging the tone of an atmosphere, and tonight it was one of relaxed, slightly tipsy camaraderie and jovial pairings. A good night for Jameson's friends to arrive, you mused to yourself as you strode confidently through the restaurant, leading another group to their table. It was nights like this that made you feel great; being in the thick of things, but being in your stride, accomplishing a long-practiced task and feeling great at it.
Not to mention looking great, if the appreciative glances of the night had been anything to go by--but it was Jameson who noticed those, not you (he liked to keep an eye on you, for your safety. Criminals couldn't always be trusted not to follow a girl home, after all). You had a tendency not to notice men's flirty gazes, and you were just all-around nice to everyone, whether they were a man who was having no luck flirting with you or a little old lady who accidentally thought you were her daughter once in a while. Most of the men here had accepted that casual flirtations with you were all they'd get; anything more was like talking to a brick, burgundy-lipped wall. So instead, they just decided that you were nice to look at.
Since the place wasn't huge, it took you only a moment to return to the front door, where three men were waiting--and all attractive. There was little that fazed you on the job, though, so you just hit them with your usual big, happy smile--and, judging by their widened eyes and growing smiles, they were reacting to your positive greeting in much the same way as all men here did. Even old Terry lit up when he heard you coming, and he was blind. You once again marveled internally at the simple powers of a smile--although little did you know that it was all the rest of your body, too, that made men react.
Your walk confident, you strode right up to the man in the middle--a young, good-looking and strapping guy with blue eyes and scruffy brown hair. He looked a little roughed up, as did the other two, but that was, again, nothing that fazed you. Not in a place full of criminals, and certainly not in this part of South Africa. You held out your hand for a welcoming handshake, smiling still and already speaking as he dazedly raised his to meet yours, his eyes fixed on your face. You maintained eye contact and kept your handshake quick but kind, even though his hand remained limp as a wet noodle; meeting strangers was nothing new to you anymore, and you knew that eye contact was a simple but astoundingly effective way to instantly make anyone feel listened to and well-liked.
"Hi, you must be Nathan. I recognize you from Jameson's pictures. He's asked me to set you up in the back so he can come see you later."
None of the boys responded instantly, and the place was busy, so you took it in stride and smoothly said "Follow me!" with a cheerful little chirp, turning to lead the way and trusting that they would follow. They did, looking not unlike zombies.
You swiftly led them to their table, turning with perfect timing as they arrived behind you.
"Here you go! And Jameson will be right over. He's been excited," you added laughingly to Nathan, touching his arm briefly as you passed back by them. Nathan's face turned bright red. You left them with one last happy little "Enjoy!" and a cute little wave before heading back through the crowd as smoothly as a fish through a reef.
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All three stared after you, before slowly sitting down in chairs, wobbling a little as they did and all subconsciously choosing chairs that allowed them to look out over the restaurant for a certain someone. There was a comical period of silence while they all continued to stare, despite the fact that you were now around a corner and they were staring at an empty bit of soft ruby carpeting. Most people who walked by thought that the trio was staring at their shoes, and several of them not-so-surreptitiously checked their footwear moments later right before they sat down, convinced that Sam, Nathan, and Victor had seen some unforgivable scuff or muck.
After far-too-long-a-moment, Sam and Victor spoke at the same time, their deep, gravelly voices melding together and their eyes still dazed.
"Hoooooly SHIT, she's hot."
Nathan was sitting on the left, and touched his own left arm delicately, eyes big and blue and face now red as a tomato.
"She touched me," he whispered, awestruck, still staring with the others.
There was silence again. Victor moved as if to lift his ever-present cigar to his mouth, but seemed to forget again instantly, and his arm fell back down to his side softly and slowly. Sam let out a little breath and an odd little "meep" sound, like a balloon deflating a tiny bit.
"TWICE," Nathan whispered now, his hand moving to his cheek and temporarily transforming him into a delicate, dazzled princess.
Jameson showed up then in the same direction that you had come from; he paused and opened his arms wide, a big smile stretching across his face.
"Nathan!! My man. Finally you're here. And you-"
He noticed the complete lack of acknowledgement from the boys; Nathan, upon recognizing his friend's voice, slowly dragged his eyes away from the aisle to look at the friend now closer to him. Seeing the younger man's dazed expression and red face, and seeing the similar faces and wide eyes on the other two (who were even slower to end their stares), he suddenly opened up with a big belly laugh.
"Let me guess. You boys just met (Y/N)." His knowing, mellow voice seemed to bring the boys a little further out of it--and their eyes all temporarily sharpened on him when he said your name.
Still laughing, he sat down, choosing a chair that put his back to the restaurant since the other three men had all chosen ones that awkwardly faced the aisle and left a whole side open. "She's reeeeaaaally something, isn't she. And she's an absolute sweetheart to boot."
"She touched me," Nathan whispered again.
Sam was still staring after you, but with a more serious expression on his face. His chest and stomach felt tight, clenched, like he couldn't breathe, and he let out another little bit of air through his mouth--a groan, though, not his oh-so-manly 'meep' from earlier. He shifted in his seat, straightening a little and leaning forward in an obvious effort to manually recalibrate his mind, and Victor followed his cue and did the same, finally remembering his cigar. He slowly moved it to his mouth--but still forgot to light it. Jameson's grin just grew bigger.
"The three chattiest people I know, at a loss for words. Unbelievable." He shook his head slowly, smile still big and laugh still rumbling. "Or, in this case, believable actually. Y/N is one of a kind."
"She touched me," Nathan whispered again, hand back to his cheek.
Sam grumbled, a little sound unbidden that emerged from his throat.
"You already said that."
Nathan's eyes moved back to the aisle for a moment, holding his head in his hand and leaning forward. He replied dreamily, his voice sighing and higher than usual.
"You're just mad that she didn't touch YOU."
"Hell, I'M mad that she didn't touch me," Victor sidled into the conversation, shifting in his seat again, clearly not quite over your dazzle yet. His response cut off Sam, who was still finding it a little too hard to speak. No doubt his retort would have been weak, at best, he mused briefly--completely unlike him.
"Well, if you boys need me to get her back over here I most certainly can." Jameson laughed again, quieter and deeper this time. "But how about you have some food and some drinks first, huh? Maybe you'll, uhhh, be able to speak some actual words this time."
Nathan blinked again, then again, and then finally seemed to focus more solidly on his friend. "Sorry, Jameson. I got-distracted. It's good to see you," he murmured, smiling a little tiredly as he leaned forward and hugged his friend warmly, holding on for a moment. Jameson was happy; Nathan always gave good hugs. Meaningful ones, like an actual hug for your heart. He hugged him back, then began standing up, stepping away from the table and back towards the hustle and bustle. His face creased with a little concern.
"You boys hurt?" he asked, raising a hand to gesture at Nathan's slight bruises and the blood on Sam and Victor's shirts. It was a small amount of blood, nothing really in a place like this, but Jameson knew what these boys were here in town for, and he knew it had to have caused a fight. "I know you've got some big fish on your tail for this one, after all."
Victor perked up a little, and finally seemed to remember that his cigar was unlit. He pulled it to his mouth now, speaking through the growing haze. Sam blinked at the smell, and reached for his cigarettes, grunting a little at the soreness in his ribs.
"We sure do at that," Victor replied to Jameson grimly. "Got our heads knocked around a bit, but no harm done. Least, nothing that can't be fixed anyway. And she was probably the magic cure." He gestured with his cigar towards the restaurant's entrance around the bend of the wall nearest him. A little chuckle left his mouth as he lowered the cigar down a bit.
"That she is," Jameson laughed again a little. "But you boys need anything? I've got medical kits galore in the back. And if Rafe comes in here--"
"You just send him our way, Jameson," Sam grunted, finally finding his voice--even though it sounded a little like it had been scraped over sandpaper. "We'll be ready for round two."
"All right, just you don't go messing up my pretty little restaurant now. I've got a good thing going here," he added with a smile, turning and laughing before heading to the kitchen. "Food'll be out in a minute."
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Two hours later, you'd still been seamlessly hustling people in and out of the restaurant like clockwork. It was all clinking glasses and hearty laughs, and you whirled between the inner and outer restaurants like a dervish, casting contented glances at the beautiful ocean sunset along the way. This was what you loved, nights like this; and your beam spread everywhere you smiled.
Jameson's trio would watch you whenever they got a glance--abruptly stopping their sentences to stare, not one of them too unaffected to even notice their own behavior--but your work mostly kept you at the front of the establishment. Two hours went by quickly in a place like this, and you loved when it was so busy. Your shift would be over shortly, and it would be time for patrol...your friend Lily was going to meet you at the docks today, and head out with you. It was Thursday, after all, and on Thursdays there was a particularly bullheaded boy who insisted on trying every week--and who presented enough of a challenge that an actual dive would be required. It would be suicide to dive off the coast of South Africa, at night, without a "safety", so another person always worked with you on nights like this. Usually it was Tara, or the newcomer Lily. Both women worked more on the actual marine-biologist side of things in general, and were only going to be here for part of the year this time. What you'd do when they had to leave, you didn't know; but for now, you had backup.
You spun to avoid a waiter's tray delicately--your few years of ballet paying off--and headed back towards the bar. The crowds were winding down, but you could hear raucous laughter from the back--genuine, easy, loud laughter that meant someone was truly relaxed. By the sound of it, it was Jameson's friends, and you smiled to yourself, glad to hear that they were having a good time. No doubt the alcohol and mac and cheese had kicked in.
"Y/N, come over here!" You heard Jameson call good-naturedly, and you grinned as you came around the bend. The laughter from before rapidly faded, as all three men proceeded to suddenly choke. Apparently they'd been mid-drink, you thought to yourself as you stepped around the table to pat the nearest man on the back. They'd rearranged for some reason--a game of cards, you saw now--and it was the other young brunette guy that you patted on the back. Oddly enough, to you, this patting only seemed to make the situation worse. He straightened immediately, letting out little huffs of a cough that was clearly uncompleted, and knocked on his chest once, solidly, with a strong fist. Worried, you bent over to look at him more closely, hearing that the other two's coughs had subsided.
"Are you okay? You're awfully red..."
(Oh god, she's touching me she's touching me TOUCHING TOUCHING TOUCHING please stop touching me stop)
He raised a hand in mild protest and responded immediately in a deep voice--that is, eked out a response in a scratchy little mewl-- "G-good, I'm good-"
A laugh came from Jameson, and you saw that the coughing man's eyes shot up at his friend viciously for a moment and his jaw tightened before he bent over coughing again, your hand still on his back and his face getting rapidly redder.
(please god stop touching me jesus christ)
"Water?" You handed him an almost-empty glass from the table, a little surprised. The waters were hardly ever drunk; people didn't want to take the buzz off of their alcohol. And none of Jameson's friends were the non-alcoholic kind, in any sense of the word.
He took it and drank, straightening up against the chair and almost crushing your hand. You tugged it out at the last second, while Jameson quickly cut in (deciding, unbeknownst to you, to show poor Sam some mercy. Nathan and Victor were both just back to staring).
"He's all right, Y/N. It happens with smokers--speaking of which, for Samuel and Victor here--" he gestured to Sam and Victor, whose eyes were both on him now pensively, like students who really, really hadn't expected to be called on--
"You've still got some of that special lotion you made, right? For removing gunpowder stains from hands?"
The men's eyes moved to you tentatively. Now all three of them were blushing.
"Yes," you said easily, smiling and moving towards the back of the restaurant. "And I've got some for cigarette stains, too."
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Sam straightened further as soon as you left, letting his real cough out for a moment and then promptly grabbing Victor's full glass of water next to him and chugging it, little coughs coming out along the way. For once, Victor didn't scoff at him; he just watched Sam get his breath back and swallow, Jameson looking on bemusedly and Nathan continuing to watch you leave.
"GodDAMNit," Sam muttered.
(get a grip on yourself sam goddamit get a fucking grip)
(she's a girl, you've talked to girls before she's just a-)
But then you came back, and his brain froze again, glass half to his lips.
You had a small knack for making ointments that you'd learned from your youngest sister; nothing like her ability, but enough to know a few recipes. And where you'd grown up, these two lotions had been particularly handy--just as they were a significant perk for many customers of this restaurant, considering their line of work. Jameson often jokingly called them "goodie bags", since you handed out little vials of the lotions so often.
You slid up to the table, five vials in your hands. This section of the restaurant was completely empty now, but you knew that Jameson's friends would be staying late and leaving with him whenever he closed up for the night--which, depending on the crowds and weather and his mood, could be anywhere from 8 pm to 6 am.
Big smile still beaming across your face, you leaned forward and delicately placed the vials down on the table--two in front of the other two men, and one in front of Nathan, whose face was bright red again. (But not quite as red as his brother's, he'd notice later with some level of satisfaction.)
"Gunpowder-stain-remover for all three of you, so you don't have to share, and the cigar-stain one for you" you gestured elegantly to Victor with a smile, "and the cigarettes for you," you finished brightly, after placing the last one in front of Sam with a tiny little ceremonial flourish. You could see that he looked nervous, or stressed, or something, and were hoping that a little bit more of your smile and good cheer might ease his mind. Instead, his face just got redder and he looked anywhere but your face--so, mainly, the table.
Poor guy. He probably didn't like coughing like that in front of everyone, you observed to yourself silently. Speaking of which-
"Oh!" and you stepped back around the bar and bent to grab some cough drops, unaware of your ass's subsequent rise in the air as your body dipped and the immediate increased heart rate of all three men in the near vicinity--not including Jameson, of course, who had both the decency to look away and a lovely wife waiting for him back home. You promptly pivoted back around and placed the cough drops next to Sam's vials. "And these. Hope you feel better!" You threw him your biggest smile, hoping against hope that that would help too--instead you saw him gulp, enormously, and watched his faintly-visible Adam's apple bob up and down. Good grief, you thought, his throat really MUST hurt. Poor poor thing. He looked far more nervous now, and like his face was frozen.
Deciding against helping any more--since it didn't seem to be working--you smiled at the boys and turned to Jameson.
"It's that time of night again, Jameson. Did you need me for anything else?"
Jameson's brow suddenly furrowed, as he abruptly remembered where you were going. It was like this almost every night; he forgot until right before it was time for you to leave.
"Tara's going with you, right?"
"Lily this time, actually."
Jameson stood up, sighing. "She's not as experienced, Y/N, and it's a full moon tonight. Things get weird under full moons. AND it's Thursday; he'll be out there. You be CAREFUL."
In other careers it might have seemed suitable to wave off Jameson's concern with a good-natured scoff and an eye-roll; but you knew better. This was dangerous, and every night there was a chance that you might not come back. Besides, you liked having someone care about you. Although you did--ironically--worry that Jameson was worrying too much about you when you weren't even family. He'd lobbied hard to go out there with you, but you knew in your bones that he'd jump in the water without a doubt if you were in danger. And Jameson was no shark diver.
For now, you let your somber thoughts show a little on your face and hugged him. "I will, Jameson, I promise I will. I'll text you the moment we're out of the water." This was the song and dance that you did together every night, but it was one that comforted you both.
"Be safe, Y/N."
You kissed his cheek lightly and stepped away, turning at the waist to wave back to the boys sweetly. "Bye, guys. Have a good night!"
Victor could do nothing but raise his cigar a little in greeting; Sam made some kind of meowing noise at you, it sounded like; and Nathan stared at you as if there was a halo over your head. What an odd bunch, you thought. But you liked them anyway. One last smile and you were gone--and one moment later you were out the door and Jameson could start laughing again.