Work Text:
“Alright that’s it, the drink’s on me.”
And finally, finally the captivating brunette that was sat across the bar looking like she was intently listening to something, looked up and met your gaze. The warm hustle of the bar was buzzing about in the background and the yellow lights made sunrays in her hair and the freckles of her deep brown eyes.
“Oh…no no I’m fine, really”
She quickly muttered and then, sighing, patted her ear. Perhaps it was some type of miniature hearing aid? God, did they even make tech that small? Maybe you were getting old…You couldn’t really tell, but it didn’t really matter because now her attention was focused completely on you. You remembered the drink.
“Please, I insist. I’ve watched you sit here the past hour staring a hole through my bar—”
“Stalker!”
The corners of her lips tugged into a small smile and you scoffed at the accusation, but continued nevertheless:
“All I’m saying is something’s clearly bothering you. A drink is the least I can do and I’m crazy good at finding the perfect match for my customers. It’s kinda like my superpower.”
She let out a small “Ah..” raising her brows as if to look impressed but in truth she seemed to be holding in a giggle. Wow, was this some type of joke to her? You really were one of the best bartenders around, even won ‘Bartender Of The Year, 1988’ last year. Clearly she thought she had seen more impressive things, but you smiled mischievously, words ‘I’ll show her’’ fluttering through your head briefly. And with that you turned around to sift through your castle of bottles and glasses and stacks of intoxicating liquids debating the type of drink a girl like that could possibly want.
“So, you from around here?” You asked, back still to her while inspecting a certain antique Whiskey in your hand. No that wouldn’t do. That bottle was reserved for heartthrob aristocrats looking to show off, and your ‘guest’ spoke of something completely opposite...
“Yeah, I live just downtown.” She answered simply.
“Do you now? Strange I haven’t seen you before…”
“Well, I’m not one for nightlife.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Oh, and you can tell? Is that another secret superpower?” She mocked and you turned to catch her eyes. She tilted her head, giggling, curious.
“Very funny,” You stated with absolutely no humour in your voice and picked up another bottle, “And no, it’s the stunning number you’re wearing tonight that gives you away. You can’t possibly be a stay-at-home person when you own a dress like that.”
She bent forward observing you, an eyebrow lifted slightly in confusion,
“Are you hitting on me or are you just a fan of fashion?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.” You stated smiling, then turned around again to face the shelves behind the bar and rested your eyes on a bottle of wine.
Had she really just asked that? Openly flirting away like it’s nothing? You really wondered what type of crazy future world she was living in in her mind because as far as you were concerned, it was 1989 and you were both women flirting with each other in a public space, and, although you had been out for a while, you weren’t really up for being stared at like you were gross this evening. You lifted your eyes to the brunette again tracing her features...damn it, maybe you were.
“Well, looks like you caught me, Supergirl.” Came her voice from across your shoulder finally breaking the silence. “I did lie. I’m actually very much up for some fun and drinks every now and then--even tried these alien puffies once and those were all ‘Party Rock!’” She exclaimed obviously mimicking some tune and raised her hands in the air. You furrowed your eyebrows is confusion.
“Right! That song isn’t even released ‘til like 2011...” She muttered.
You wondered for a bit whether you should question her weird little monologue but decided to instead focus on what you had promised: ah, right, the perfect drink.
“Unfortunately, I’m actually here for business. In fact, any chance you’ve seen this man?” She pulled out a photo of a well-built black man and you shook your head failing to recognise him.
Suspicion found its way into your gut and an unsettling feeling washed over your body. Was this all just staged? Was she trying to secretly interrogate you? Is that why she was being so nice?
“Why are you asking? Wait.. are you with the police? Is this man a criminal--” Your voice was colder now and the brunette jumped in to interrupt, somberness catching her features,
“More like a missing friend..family even. And he’s not the only one.” Her glance was cast downward as she fidgeted with the corners of the photograph and then hid it away in her purse.
“Oh..I’m sorry” You stated honestly, she shook her head,
“It’s alright,” she sighed, a distant look on her face, “They’ll find their way back to us..eventually.”
The wine you were holding felt heavy and expensive in your arms. It spoke of class and freedom, of evenings spent in red silk and pearls draped around your neck. You looked again at the brunette across the bar and saw nothing but generosity and giving and care, some inexplicable craving for simplicity....No, this wasn’t the drink for her, you concluded placing the wine back on the counter and proceeded to look further. Cheap spirits, gins and vodka passed your eyes without a second thought: they were for those looking for an easy way out, an escape, and your companion didn’t seem to want to get mindlessly drunk or she would have ordered a drink already. She wasn’t looking to forget, instead, she seemed to be looking to remember…
“This ‘family’ you talk of, are they close by?” You asked fearing the silence was becoming extensive,
“They are—well, except for the ones that are missing, but they can’t be gone for long.” You wondered for a second whether you should ask, whether this was even polite or appropriate or invasive, but gave up to the overbearing curiosity crawling through your veins to solve the enigma that was the gorgeous brunette sat across the bar.
“Then what is it that hurts you so deeply?”
The brunette stilled. You swallowed embarrassed, you really had overstepped this time. And to think this was going so well—
“Look who’s the police interrogator now.” She sighed shifting in her seat, weaving her fingers together on the counter-top. Her half smile tried desperately to lighten the mood you had just pushed into whole new depths of rock bottom. You didn’t answer with a quip or banter though, you just kept searching her deep pools of brown for something, something that would explain her otherworldliness..
“I miss home.” She breathed, voice cracking a little and you felt sorry you asked. “I um... the truth is I’m so far from where I’m supposed to be…” She trailed off chuckling sadly as if it were impossible,
“Sounds lonely.” You offered simply,
“Right? And you’d think time travel would be fun!” She shook her head and you smiled at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. Man, she really wasn’t giving up on that story.
“..Everyone seems so distant, and now Mack and Deke are missing... Simmons isn't being her adorably dorky self which makes me worried and May— its funny because these days she reminds me more of a robot than robot-Coulson—and Daniel...well, he quite literally shouldn’t even be here I mean we actually kidnapped someone from history?!” She declared out of breath, then fidgeted with her hands a bit glancing downward. “I just hope we can figure everything out soon..”
Just then you realised fancy mixers and wines weren’t going to cut it for your companion, she was looking for something else, something...You debated for a second whether this was too simple, perhaps she would be unimpressed after all that bragging about your ‘superpowers’ as a bartender but deep down you knew that this had to be right. You reached down towards the cooler and pulled out an icy beer with a proudly shining label and placed it with a thud on the bar.
The brunette observed the beer as if it were a specimen under a microscope: carefully, gently running her fingers over its features.
“This is it? My perfect drink?”
“Whiskey and wine didn’t seem like your thing, they’re expensive and refined. You seem honest though, honest enough to be vulnerable with a complete stranger bartender about the things that truly bother you.. that also makes you very brave. People like you don’t tend to go for flashy drinks to show off the power they truly hold. Instead you keep it to yourself because you aren't defined by other's opinions, you're defined by those closest to you..your family. You don't seem to want to lose your head to alcohol either, you don't want to escape because you seem smart and you know it won't last. Instead, you look like you seek simplicity, maybe a memory of times when things were..different. A beer will do that for you, it's ginger and cold but glows warmly like childhood or embers in the sunlight.."
Like the yellow light caught in your curls, like the sunrays trapped inside the freckles of your eyes, you didn't add.
“You’re good, Supergirl.” She admitted nodding, it seemed that the bottle in her palms was flashing memories at her, carrying her further and further away from her surroundings. Then, she gave an honest, toothy smile and the tips of her eyes seemed to glisten and you didn't even feel like calling her out on the nickname she had come up with for you. "You're good."
"--Daisy?!" Came a rather loud voice from the crowd stumbling around the dance-floor. The brunette across from you whipped her head around to search for the source, beer gripped tightly in her palm.
"Daisy! There you are!" A well-dressed man approached her, then looked around as if to check they were not being watched, "You turned off your..the communication device. We're about to jump, we need to get back now."
"What?! What about Mack and Deke?"
"We'll find another way, Simmons said, but we need to leave, we don't have much time."
With that, the brunette--Daisy-- nodded and turned to you,
"Thank you for the drink, Supergirl, I'll see you around."
Somehow you knew that wasn't true, but she smiled and with a flash of golden curls and disco lights she was gone. So was the beer.
* * *
Oblivious to you, somewhere in the depths of a quinjet, a certain Daisy Johnson sat sipping a beer. She remembered 'Battleship' game nights and scrabble with Simmons always winning because of the dorky adorable nerd she was, the way Tripp got so adorably annoyed. She remembered watching a rocket launch with the first golden rays of the sun and Fitzsimmons bantering in the background about who had had too many drinks. She remembered playstation with Mack and drinks with Hunter and Izzy, she remembered Bobbi and, more recently, when she had to rescue Deke after his little 'Zima' adventure ending up in police custody. She knew things were different now, that they would rarely be the same again, but she also knew that those people, the sunny warm people in her memories, were still the ones around her. It's just that they had gotten hurt and lost and they had grown--she had grown alongside them, and pride bubbled up in her stomach at the thought. But for a moment, it was soothing to let the drink in her hand take her back to the glowing sunshine and laughter...She didn't notice the amber freckles in her eyes light up with her smile, but she didn't need to.