Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Click. Click. Click. As he walked down the stone paved road, the noise of his shoes echoed out amongst the hubbub. It calmed him to hear the rhythmic tapping on the ground as he pushed his way through the stressful London crowds. As he turned the corner he made another quick glance at his watch. 20 minutes. Plenty of time.

They called him 'The Captain', a name he prided himself with. It gave him an air of superiority and mystery, both which were welcome by him. The name was given due to his commanding presence and serious tone, although that wasn't at all who he was. In truth, he was gentle and nervous. But that was a part of himself he'd locked away long ago, never intending to let it out ever again. Little did he know, that was all about to change.

Another turn down another street, when a neon sign brought him out of his thoughts. It read 'The Mess Hall' in bright rainbow glowing letters plastered on a colorful background. So this was the cafe that all his friends were recommending for him to go. Each and every one of them had said it reminded them of him. Even Fanny had paid it a visit with Kitty once, and she didn't at all like exploring. Or Kitty. The Captain yet again looked at the time. Still a few minutes to spare before he was officially late to work. And it was on the way. After a moments contemplation, he decided on a quick stop-off.

The metalic call of a bell rang through the little shop as he opened the glossy wooden door. Despite the bright signage outside, the interior was very different. The cosy cafe was 1940s themed, from the style of lightbulbs to the wartime photographs on the scratched walls, and even a gramophone in the corner playing old WW2 songs. The Captain's eyes lit up at the sight of so many of the delightful objects he was obsessed with. It was as if he'd stepped through a portal taking him directly to work, or, in his words, heaven.

"Hello there sir, how may I help you today?" A cheerful voice came from behind the entranced Captain, startling him back from his amazement. He whipped around, posture rigid to face a tall, brown haired man. He was rather good-looking, The Captain though, with his gorgeous hazelnut eyes and dimpled smile.
"I, ah- well... ehm- what?" He cringed at the garbled junk flowing out of his mouth. He wanted to hang his head in shame as his face went red with embarrassment, feeling as if all the eyes in the world were burning straight into him.

Thankfully, the waiter didn't seem to hear him, as he was already rollerskating his way to the counter, swinging his lanky frame around the corner and through the gap between the desk and wall. With slightly mischievous glint in his eye, he looked over at the graying man who stood shocked in the doorway.

Quickly getting over himself, The Captain made his way over to the other man.
"So, can I take your order?" He asked, leaning slightly over the counter. The first few buttons on his shirt were left undone, exposing his collarbone, and as he rolled up his sleeves The Captain desperately tried not to stare.
"Ahem, could I just get a caramel latte please?" He muttered, running his hands down his jacket in an attempt to come across as confident. So far, he was being less confident than a 3-week-old peanut butter sandwich.

"Sure, can I get a name for that?" The waiter asked as he picked up a marker. Immediately he was met with "Captain." as a sharp reply. He raised an eyebrow quizically, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, uhm- ahh.. that- that's not... oh-" The Captain began, unsure how to explain the rather odd nickname. Truth was, so many people had called him this that now he was used to just introducing himself as 'The Captain'. After all, it was inevitable that anyone new he met would end up forgetting his actual name and resorting to using the nickname as well.
"Hey, no judgement!" Assured the barista as he scribbled down the name in a neat, swirling handwriting, "It's cool if you don't want to give your name. I mean, just last week we had a Batman come in. Personally, I think your pseudonym's pretty cool." The Captain wiped that deer-in-the-headlights expression he seemed to wear so well off his face and gave a thankful smile for his understanding, even if it was slightly wrong.

Before he could clear up the name business, the waiter had already turned around to make the coffee, his nimble fingers quickly navigating the machine and its buttons. Within less than a minute, he had taken the steaming liquid and poured syrup into it, taking an extra few seconds to fashion a beautiful design on the surface. He popped a lid on the cup and passed it over to The Captain with a smile.

The unfamiliar customer took it gratefully, passing over a neatly folded up £5 note.
"Enjoy your drink, sir. Come back soon!" The younger man behind the till chirped as he handed over the change, before giving him a slightly flirty wink and turning to the next person in the line. The Captain looked at his watch, his eyebrows shooting upwards as he clocked the time it took for his coffee to be made. Well, that was quick. Very quick, actually. He made his way to the door, opening it up to remind him that the outside world still existed outside this tiny pocket of heaven and its angel. With one last look behind him, he stepped outside.

As he closed the door, his attention turned towards the warm paper cup in his hand. He took a sip, and it felt like the world had stopped. Surely it couldn't be possible for a cup of coffee to be this good! It made his eternally rigid posture fall into a slump. The flavors burst on his tongue like fireworks, giving him more joy than he'd experienced in a very long time. Hell, he'd give up his house if it meant having another one of these! He gulped it down, definitely enjoying it as the man had said. Running a hand through his hair to push it back, The Captain binned the empty cup and went on his way, rushing to work.

From within the shop, the waiter stared outside after the handsome newcomer who'd just left the shop. He hoped that subtle flirting wasn't too bad. There's only so much a magazine can help with, and, after all, it wasnt every day that you got to see a customer who took your fancy. On another note, it seemed the man had liked the drink. He wished he'd come back, but didn't get his hopes up. It wasn't as if he'd get to know him better. But still, doesn't hurt to dream, he supposed. Checking him out one last time before he hurried down the street, he sighed dreamily.
"Damn, he was hot!"

Chapter Text

It was a gorgeous day in Central London. The sun was beating down high up in the cloudless azure sky, and the streets were overflowing with people. There were hardly any cars, only the odd couple or a stray bus every few minutes. It was much too hot to spend any time in those metal machines. Bright and boldly colored shops advertised products and air-cons, enticing passers-by to come in and cool down that morning.

From within the little cafe on the high street, Anthony flipped another page of his magazine. He was halfway through an interesting article about the men from that new movie, 'Ghostbusters', when a shout came from behind him. 

"Oi, Havers! Stop slacking and reading teen girl magazines. You're taking this next one." A blue haired lady batted him playfully on the shoulder and grinned as she skated over to another table. Anthony laughed and made a mental note to tell her that his teen girl magazines were more interesting than her ones about motorbikes. 

The bell had rang for the hundredth time that morning, signalling the arrival of the customer Anthony's co-worker was talking about. He looked up at whoever had just come in.

"Hello, may I ta-" 

His eyes met with the sparkling cobalt ones on the other side of the till, almost knocking the air out of his lungs. 

"Hey, it's you again! It was Captain, right?" The Captain smiled, slightly taken aback that this man even remembered him. 

"Heh, well yes, I suppose so." He seemed to have much more confidence than last time, the way he held himself and his presence telling Anthony just who was in charge. But he didn't think it in a bad way.

"Let me guess, the first latte was so good, you had to come back for another?" The lame joke was met with a rarely heard chuckle.

"Actually, you're spot on."

"Well in that case, I'll be right on it!"

As he made the coffee, he couldn't help but wonder how the other man wasn't feeling hot. That summer it had been pretty warm, and only someone who was made of ice would be able to walk around in mid-June wearing that many clothes and drinking something hot. Maybe he came from a country that made sunny England look like winter. Well, more than it usually was. But he didn't look or sound foreign. Oh well, it didn't matter. Anthony finished making the drink and passed it over, taking the money he was given and depositing it in the till. 

He didn't realise that as he was preparing the latte, his customer had picked up the girlish magazine and was skimming the contents of the open page, playing a bit with the end of his moustache. He seemed a bit confused.

"Ghostbusters?" He wondered aloud, "isn't it that strange movie that came out last week? Yes, it's very popular, isn't it?"

Anthony brushed a loose curl from the side of his face 

"I've been meaning to go see it, haven't had the chance to yet though. Everyone I know is talking about it, and from what I've heard it seems awful good." The Captain frowned, replacing the magazine back where he found it.

"It sounds like utter nonsense to me. I mean, ghosts are hardly real now, are they? Personally, I'm much to busy to waste time and money on something that is, quite frankly, rather ridiculous." At saying this, his grumpy expression flashed into something that resembled a mix between shock, frustration and what Anthony thought might be fear. His arm shot up as he checked the time. "Good Lord!" 

He quickly thanked Anthony, before hurrying out of the cafe and onto the sun-kissed pavement outdoors. It must've been at least 30°C out there. 

Although he tried not to be, Anthony was visibly disappointed that The Captain hadn't stayed for longer. He was surprised he'd even come back in the first place. It was selfish, the man had a job, and probably a wife, after all, but he couldn't help it. Ever since he was a child he had always been more emotional than the other children in his town. He found it much too easy to succumb to things like grief or love, but he didn't care. In fact, he hardly ever cared what anyone thought about him, always completely open about who he was and how he felt. Sometimes it got him in trouble, but that's life. 

However, this time he really cared about making a good first impression with this mysterious stranger. There was something about him that he liked, something that made him want to know more. He seemed interesting, and, to be honest, Anthony was already developing a little crush. 

"Anthony!!" The same lady from before was now standing beside him, hands on her hips and annoyance written on her face.

"Huh" He ripped his gaze from the window and lifted his head slightly from the propped elbow he was resting it on. The woman gestured at some people who were deciding their order. She leaned towards him, speaking in an over-exaggerated stage whisper.

"What are you doing? I've called you a thousand times! We have customers, you know."

"Yeah- yeah, yep, yes we do," He snapped out of his absent state and returned to his full height, "Sorry about that Christine. Won't happen again." He flashed her a quick smile, to which she raised an eyebrow, and skated over to the waiting group.

Once he had finished with them, he made his way back to Christine, intent on starting a conversation to distract him from his thoughts.

"Where's Simon? He coming in today?" Christine gave Anthony a look that made him feel like he'd morphed into an alien. "What?"

"He's over there. " She pointed at the man clearing out some tables without even having to look, "You literally talked to him like 10 minutes ago. Is your head screwed on right?" Anthony felt like sprinting to the burger place across the road and shoving his head in the deep-fryer. He reached over for his magazine, but Christine snatched it away from him. 

"Seriously, if you're not feeling well you can take the day off." 

At this point their other co-worker had come up behind them, gliding over to the sink with the dirty plates.

"What's up?" He asked, a light accent creeping through as he spoke, "Anthony's not feeling well?" 

"I'm fine!" He sighed. He took the magazine back from the tattooed woman and went back to reading it. Right now he didn't want them to know that he was acting like a 14-year-old high school cheerleader with some childish crush on a guy on the football team. This was pretty rich coming from him, seeing as his choice of literature wasn't doing him any justice. Or anything about him, really. 

The other two side-eyed the older man for a moment, before sharing a Look. 

"Dios mio, something is definitely up with him!" Christine crossed her arms, lifting one at a 90° angle.

"Oh yeah." She replied, "He might not talk now, but we're gonna get to the bottom of this. No friend of ours is gonna hide anything from us." She smirked as the young man beside her bumped her fist with his, a mischievous look replacing the uncertain one that had been on his face just moments ago.

After all, watching a couple detective movies surely made them professionals with all the skills to solve 'The Great Mystery of What Anthony's Hiding.'

Right?

Chapter Text

Ding!

The sharp call of the bell sounded throughout the cafe.

"Ill take it" Simon offered, already taking the lid off the marker. Anthony immediately shoved him out of the way, his eyes shining with eagerness as he laid eyes upon the person who'd just walked in.

"No, no, I'll do it!" When Simon tried to say that it was his turn, Anthony kept insisting that he should just take a quick break, Lord knows he deserves it.

Simon skated away, finding the other worker. She turned an ear to him, in which he muttered

"Hey, Christie, he's doing it again." She discreetly looked through the corner of her eye, noticing at once the brilliant beam plastered on Anthony's face. They both looked at the other man. He'd been in the shop a few times. Actually, he'd been there for nearly a week, which was around-about the time Anthony started acting weird. He'd come in, get a coffee, and leave. Any other time, Anthony would be completely normal, as if nothing ever happened. But when that man came in, he changed. And each time it was always Anthony serving him.....

"Oh dios mio!!" Simon exclaimed, barely concealing his excitement, "Hermana, I see it!!"

"See what?!" Christine demanded, begging to know what had clicked in the 20-year-old's mind.

"You know that man?" He asked, eyes widening with every word. She nodded furiously. "Well, he comes in for a couple of the days now, si? Maybe a week. Well, Anthony also is acting funny for that same time. Ohh man, its so obvious now!" Christine couldn't take it any longer. She grabbed him by the shoulders and started shaking.

"Tell meeee!!" She whined, resembling a pouting toddler. 

"Christie," he whispered, his voice barely understandable, "That man is the FBI agent, and Anthony is a big time gang leader!!!" 

She fell over.

"I'm fine!!" Christine picked herself up hurriedly, ignoring the quizical stares coming from around the room, but especially from two particular people. She straightened up and whisper-screamed "Oh my god no wonder he smiles so much its to make the agent think that he doesn't have an underground drug bussiness!!" Simon grinned like a madman and they both had to use every fiber of their body not to scream out loud. "And here I was thinking Anthony was in love!" She (ironically) joked. At this, Simon clamped a hand over his mouth super tight, swallowing laughter and instead making a noise that sounded like mix between a strangled pig and a kettle giving birth. 

Behind the bizarre scene happening in the middle of the shop, Havers was still smiling widely as he and The Captain idly chatted about cricket. On most days, the man just nodded and gave a tight-lipped smile, but when you got him started on a topic he liked, boy could he talk! Sure, he took a lot of coaxing, but it was well worth it. Over the past five days he had picked up on little things and had discovered that:

-The Captain was a very busy man with a very tight schedule. It seems like he now had almost no time for anything.

-He was also very logical, intelligent too

-He liked gardening, and his favourite flowers were carnations

-He used to be an avid cricket player, but now has no time

-He really enjoys his job (whatever that may be)

-He has a passion for WW2 history

-Bus times are a right pain in the knees (why knees, Havers did not know)

These were the notes he had mentally taken, and was seriously considering writing them down. For purely educational purposes, obviously. It wasn't like he had a crush on the guy. 

While they talked, Anthony couldn't help but gaze at The Captain's gorgeous face. He probably sighed at some point, but he had no clue. He was too busy with his head half in the clouds, The Captain's voice echoing through his lovesick mind. He wondered if the man had a romantic partner or a lady he liked. Little did he know, the straightest thing about The Captain was his posture.

Meanwhile, The Captain resisted every urge to reach out and touch the waiter's arm. He had no clue why wanted to tuck the loose, dark strand behind his ear so much, but the feeling was nice. Usually he had trouble looking people in the eye for too long, it felt awkward, yet he couldn't tear his own eyes away from the chocolate pools opposite him. It was like seeing a Greek god in person (no, not one like Dionysius).

"...and, bally hell, was that a terrible game!" Anthony watched The Captain's animated gestures with a contented smile. There was something so charming about his complaints. When he'd finally finished grumbling, Anthony slid the coffee cup towards the older man. In return he was given another folded up banknote. Each crease was perfectly aligned, not a single corner poking out. As he took the note that had once belonged to The Captain, Anthony could feel his heart flutter. These moments felt too surreal, like he was deeply asleep and dreaming. Wouldn't be surprised. After all, he did have an overactive imagination. 

The Captain once again turned and walked out of the shop, and Anthony once again wanted to cling to him like a needy koala and force him to stay. He felt as if this was actually WW2 and his partner was leaving to go die abroad. The aesthetic of the cafe wasn't helping him too much either. Quite literally. Stop acting immature Anthony, pull yourself together!

"Shh!" The waiter turned around to se his two co-workers suspiciously huddled together and sharing hushed whispers. He rolled his eyes and got on with the next order, not thinking much of it. His mind was too preoccupied with other things to wonder what on earth they were doing. 'Other things' being a specific person.

Half an hour later, Anthony was on his break. He sipped on a lemonade, idly doodling, his head full of daydreams and fantasies. After a few minutes Christine tentatively called him over, signalling the end of his break. Quickly picking up the paper, he scrunched it up and placed it in his pocket, putting the pen he was using to draw his mysterious customer, his mysterious Captain, back where it belonged, and got back to work.

Chapter Text

The Captain walked out of the shop, cup of coffee in hand. He found that he was surprisingly rather enjoying these little interactions with the waiter. It wasn't something he did often, having conversation freely as this (Yes, The Captain considered two sentences to be very free conversation). Usually he was antisocial and kept a stiff upper lip, even with his friends. To be honest with himself, the poor guy probably thought that the old man was a lunatic. He didn't blame him, after all if he met someone who was constantly acting crazy, he too would wonder if he were talking to a serial killer. Ok, so maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but still, he was well aware that he wasn't acting like a normal person. Good lord, he couldn't even give his name! It was physically impossible for him to be normal. No matter how hard he tried, he always had to go and screw it up eventually. It was a wonder that a lovely man like him would bother to talk to someone like The Captain. 

Letting his thoughts on his personal life go wild for once, he reached the bus stop, making it just in time as a red double-decker rolled to a stop. He hopped up the steps, managing to find a space on the crammed vehicle where he could stand. His body might have been on his way to work, but his mind was still in that blessed cafe, still staring at him. He wasn't sure why he had taken such a liking to a random waiter, maybe it was his friendly demeanour, or the way those eyes sparkled under the golden lights. Maybe...

10 minutes passed like seconds, and before he knew it, he was jumping off at his stop. Just a quick walk down the road, a right turn, then a left and.. there! Right in front of him stood the Imperial War Museum, tall and proud like a primary school child finding out that they're the tallest in the class. But a thousand times more majestic. He pulled out a card from his pocket and practically marched to a door on the side of the building, inserting the ID into a mechanic slot. When the light flashed green, he opened the old door with a heavy clunk and made his way to his department. 

The comforting clicks of his smart shoes tapping the marble floor echoed through the halls. Keeping count of the endless corridors, he patiently watched out for his. Corridor B3... Corridor G6.. A2.... I9.. H5... finally, F7! Why they didn't order each section in alphabetical, he didn't know, but it infuriated him every day. When he found whoever decided on that order, he was going to use one of those damn grenades they kept locked up and blow them up.

"Good morning sir!" A small woman piped up from an equally tiny table in the corner from the room. The Captain hummed in return, briefly acknowledging her existence. 

He walked across the room to his office, quickly shutting himself inside. Sometimes he felt as though they'd stuck him in a cupboard, but even so he still loved it. Pulling out a half deconstructed gun from a drawer in his little desk, he quickly got out the rest of his cleaning equipment. It was a treat to get to work on something like this. Just as he was about to continue his little project, a sharp knock came from the door. He groaned.

"Come in." As soon as he'd said it, the door swung open and a happy man bounded in with a mountain of paperwork.

"Good morning sir!" It was like he was constantly chirpy, always speaking with that sing-song voice and that ridiculous smile plastered on his face. The Captain often found him a bit more irritating than the usual person.

"I hope you've got a good reason for coming in here and disturbing me, Singh." The jolly man just chuckled.

"Sir, we've all told you before, there's no need to refer to us by out second names." Not noticing The Captain's look of distaste, his smile grew absolutely enormous, "But yes, I've got something you might be interested in!" Although he didn't really want to know what Singh wanted to say, The Captain still allowed him to continue. "Well, sir, you know how everyone was wondering if we'd ever get a new exhibit? Well there's talk of something happening. I don't know what, but Judy-" He was cut off by a loud sigh.

"So you're telling me that the only reason you came into my office was to tell me that Michaels is spreading rumours again?" Last time was bad enough. He shuddered at the memory of the missing pigeon exhibit half flushed down a toilet.

"No sir, not at all! She's not spreading rumours, it's just something she overheard briefly. It's entirely different to the ghost pigeon." Singh laughed, as if he'd read The Captain's mind, "But I have got something else for you!" He smiled, waving the paperwork. At the first glimpse his boss's resigned expression, he dumped it all on the table, gave him a sloppy salute and walked out of the office.

The Captain glared moodily at the empty space he left behind. He didn't need any other reason to dislike the people he worked with other than the fact that they were annoying. He could hear laughter from behind the door, no doubt his co-workers making fun of him again. His attention turned towards the pile, internally dreading having to do it. After a moments contemplation, he decided to quickly finish cleaning the gun. He was nearly done anyway, and it was no difficult decision between restoring a beautiful pistol to its former glory, or spend hours on a depressing mound of dead trees. 

Half an hour later, The Captain walked out of his office, making sure that as little people as possible saw him. Many people would think that he was a stuck up man who thought he was better than everyone else, and to some degree he was, but the main reason he couldn't tolerate others was because they made him rather nervous. There was just something about talking to another living human being that deterred him from so much as the idea all together. He couldn't make sense of eye contact either, much too awkward. And being touched was a BIG no-no, even if it was accidentally. There were only very few people he allowed to touch him, namely just Kitty, Fanny, and occasionally people like Humphrey or Pat, but anyone else would get a glare worse than being stabbed brutally multiple times like Julius Caeser. He kicked Thomas for nudging him once.

Successfully creeping out undetected by his co-workers, The Captain hurried through the corridor and to a display cabinet almost on the other side of the ginormous building. Luckily for him there weren't many visitors yet. That gave him plenty of time to get across and replace the gun back where it was meant to go. The historian remembered the day which that particular weapon was brought in. When they first got to see all the firearms that would be worked on, he was an awe-struck young man, fresh out of school, new to the job and eager to get started. Now the premature gray hairs had invaded his whole head and his joints ached with every movement, but the same childish amazement seemed to have stuck with him through the years. 

Upon arriving at his destination, he admired the pistol one last time, noting every detail. It had held up for quite a while before beginning to rust again. Secretly, The Captain wished that there would be something else for him to clean soon. It was a part of the job that he absolutely adored, but ever since becoming the head historian, he didn't quite get to do it so much. Paperwork was a nightmare, yes, but it could've been worse. He replaced the gleaming object back onto the plastic surface where it resided, before half-heartedly setting off back to his office, where a lovely long stack of papers awaited.

Chapter Text

Anthony knocked on the rosewood door in front of him.
"Come in." Came a familiar voice from the other side. It opened with a somewhat comforting creak, reminding him of something, although what it was he had no clue. He stepped into the cozy room. It had no windows, but light still streamed through somehow.

"Ah, Lieutenant! At ease." A handsome, moustached man in a military uniform was sitting on a purple desk.
"Forgive me for the interruption, sir. I'll make it quick." Anthony began, but was stopped by his Captain.
"No, no, it's not an interruption at all! Please, feel free to take as long as you need." There was something shining in those breath-taking blue eyes, Anthony simply couldn't control himself.

He walked over to the now brown desk and sat next to his CO and ran a hand through his silver hair. The older man caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. He leaned closer to the grinning Lieutenant.
He murmured into Anthony's ear, "I can't wait for this stupid war to be over." His lover laughed.
"You and me both, my dear." His eyes flicked down towards The Captain's lips. It was as if they were inviting him to kiss them, an offer he couldn't refuse. The two men leaned towards each other, closing the gap like magnets pulling together. His lips touched Anthony's and--

DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING!!!

Anthony groaned as his alarm clock went off. Great. Just when he was getting to the good part of his dream. He quickly smacked it off and turned onto his other side. Why was the universe against him?! Not even a minute into his self-pity party, someone was knocking on his bedroom door.

"Uhm, Mr Havers?" Lately Simon and Christine had taken to calling him 'Mr Havers' rather than just Anthony. He had no idea why. Probably just them being weird or playing a prank again. He made some indistinguishable noise to signal that he was still alive, and in reply was met with a high-pitched squeal and the sound of running.

Anthony thoughtlessly pulled a large t-shirt on and groggily walked out in his underwear. He shuffled to the kitchen, pulling some sugary cereal from a cupboard and eating it from the box. As he tried to shove the matted hair from his face, Simon watched him from the corner of his eye.

They used to share the apartment with Christine too, but she moved in with her boyfriend a few months ago, leaving Simon alone with the 'gang leader'. He was absolutely convinced that his flatmate, the man who was too lazy to even eat his breakfast with some damn milk, had killed at least five cops in an attempted drug bust. At the start it was funny, imagining Anthony of all people running an underground illegal organization, but then they realised that if that was true, he would be a lot more dangerous then he let on. And then the theories came. "Do you reckon he was involved in the JFK assassination?" "I bet he was the one who stole that thing from Marco's work!" "Simon why would he want your brother's crusty stuffed parrot?!" "First of all, it was a pigeon, and second, I don't know! To get rich?...... Well, whatever, he's definitely cloning his evil goons so he doesn't need to hire more when he shoots them." In their eyes the poor guy was your classic movie villain, they were even theorising what his super-villain outfit would look like.

He was brought out of his thoughts about the current 'revalation' by the sound of music switching on. He watched Anthony turn up the radio, simultaneously knocking down a stack of magazines next to it. He bend down to pick them back up, only to spill most of the cereal onto the floor. Anthony rubbed sleep from his eyes, a string of curses leaving his mouth. He started scooping the rainbow diabetes off the floor, eating the few he deemed clean enough.
"Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette," Anthony quietly sang along, "Extraordinarily nice, she's a killer queeeeeennnnn.."

Barely clearing his mess into their teal bin, Anthony immediately perked up and rushed back to his room. From behind the squeaky kitchen door, the other inhabitant peered at where Anthony had went. He could hear him singing much louder now. As he crept past the door, a loud thump nearly made Simon trip up. He scurried to the front door, slamming it behind him.

Anthony poked his head out from his door just in time to see the flash of Simon's uniform escaping.
"Hm." Instead of wondering what on earth Simon was doing going to work half an hour early (like anyone with a brain would), Anthony just spun around and threw another shirt out of the closet and over his head. Picking up the lopsided pillow from his equally messy bed, Anthony hugged it tightly and sighed. However rather than do something productive, like getting ready for work or tidying his chaotic bedroom, he just flopped back on the bed with a giggle.

He had to admit, that was a lovely dream. But even more lovely was the idea of seeing the Captain in real life. So he got off his bed for the second time that day, pulled on his scratchy woollen trousers, got his nicest, unstained white shirt and set out to make himself a lot more presentable.

Twenty minutes and a bottle of hairspray layer, Anthony put the finishing touches to his eyebrows. Taking a good look at himself in the mirror, he sprayed his trusty old lavender perfume and applied an unholy amount of lip gloss. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the right man to show up. He slid down the corridor, plucked his polished rollerskates off the floor and skipped all the way to The Mess Hall.

"Look, all I'm saying is maybe Marco knows more about Anthony and other drug dealers than we do!" Christine sighed, "I'm not being racist to Mexicans!"
"Oh yeah? Then why mention it?!" The smirk on Simons face grew a fraction wider as he tried not to burst out laughing. It was always entertaining to mess around with people when it came to subjects like this.
"Why do you do this every time?!!" Finally, the man cackled as his best friend went off in a huff.

Before she could start defending herself further, the cafe door smashed open.
"Morning!!" They dived into the storage cupboard as Anthony tumbled into the cafe. He cheerfully ran a hand along the counter, looking forward to 7:15 for once in his lifetime.  Still humming, he tied his apron and opened the coffee shop early.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived.

It was as if Anthony was seeing the sunset, he could watch it any amount of times and still find it breath-taking. Not even the brilliant weather outside could make him feel as happy as this strange random man. The bustling city seemed to fade away, leaving only the two men standing together.

"Hello again." To Anthony's surprise, The Captain began the conversation today.
"Hiya." A fond smile escaped his lips. Without thinking, Anthony ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Let me guess, caramel latte?"
The Captain shook his head.
"Am I that predictable?" A half smile formed on his face, sending the butterflies in Anthony's stomach to spiral even faster.

Before his customer could say anything else, Anthony was already preparing his drink.
"How are you?" He asked, hoping to find out more about his secretive crush. The Captain made some sort of unintelligible noise. Anthony felt his breath hitch. God, he was adorable!
"Not bad, not bad. Got a bally lot of paperwork to finish, but in all honesty I can't complain. What about yourself?"

There was something in the way that The Captain spoke that made Anthony feel fuzzy all over. He couldn't explain it.
"Yeah, I'm very ga- GOOD!" He spluttered, "I'm very good. Mhmm."

What the hell?! How could he nearly announce that to a man who barely knew him! I'm very gay. I'm very gay! Honestly Anthony, he probably knows that by now, with the way you keep looking at him! Get it together man!! He swallowed.

Choosing to ignore The Captain's ever so slightly taken aback look, Anthony carried on making the coffee, just about saving it from getting knocked over by yours truly. Abruptly, a clatter from the storage cupboard prevented his customer to question his unexpected shout.

Simon swung himself through the cupboard door, narrowly missing a collision with Anthony.
"Simon, you alright?" Simon averted his gaze, making Anthony further furrow his brow.
"Yes Mr Havers." He said, quickly skating back once he'd picked up a cloth from the counter. Anthony didn't give it a second thought.

"Mr Havers?" Anthony's attention was quickly turned back to The Captain.
"Oh, please, just Anthony is fine. Don't mind them, most likely just a dumb prank."
The Captain seemed to consider this, before echoing the waiter.
Anthony.... I didn't quite expect that." He panicked upon seeing whatever it was in the other man's eyes. "N-not in a bad waay! Definitely not in a bad- bad way. I mean, it's a lovely name- it suits you! I, em- ahh..." He waved his hands in the air, clearly at a loss for words. Anthony just chuckled and handed him his finished coffee.

"What about you?" He ventured.
"What about me?"
Another giggle at The Captain's confusion. Adorable. "Haven't you got a name?"
He finally picked up. "Ahh. Well, yes, obviously. My parents didn't legally name me 'Captain'." He wasn't trying to be funny, but in that moment Anthony's sweet laugh made him feel as though he'd make the perfect joke. It filled him with a strange, glowing sensation.
"Well? Aren't you going to tell me it?"
The Captain shook his head. "You'd just forget it. Everyone does."
"I'm pretty sure I won't." Anthony's mischievous grin made his heart skip a beat. He considered telling him for a second, but quickly decided against it.
"I'm not that interesting, trust me. Much easier to stick to what people know." He cleared his throat and payed for his cup.
"Where on God's green Earth did you get an idea like that?" At the lack of a response, Anthony continued, "For what it's worth, I think you're rather interesting."
The Captain just nodded. With the dim lights of the café,  Anthony couldn't see the rosy pink gently dusting his cheeks.
"I... ah, well." He mumbled, "Thank you, I suppose. Have a nice day, Havers." With that, he straightened up and left the café.

When The Captain had thanked him, Anthony had caught the earnest look in his eyes. How could such a beautiful man think he was uninteresting? He was amusing and kind, while being polite and private at the same time. And, gosh, he was handsome!

But there was no use dwelling. More customers arrived, so for the time being, Anthony had to put his thoughts away and get to work.

So that's just what he did

Chapter Text

"Hey, idiota!" The bell tinkled as someone walked in. 

"Marco!" Simon immediately set down the empty coffee mug he was holding and skated towards his brother. "About time you came over. And stop calling me idiota, you know that's Christine!" At hearing this, the woman playfully slapped Simon on the head.

"Am not! So, Marco, how have you been?" He shrugged in reply.

"Eh, busy. My boss is still as disagreeable as ever, but what can you do about it?" Marco laughed, "Anyway, what was that thing with Anthony you wanted me to check?" The younger adults shared a look.

"Well, this is what we've figured out..."

The bell finally announced the arrival of a much awaited customer. The Captain walked in, unaware that he was about to be watched like a lion in a zoo. 

"There!" Christine whispered, pointing at the new arrival. Marco peeked as discreetly as he could. Not a great view, he couldn't see the other guy's face, but it was enough to see whatever events would unfold. 

Anthony grinned in the distance. Immediately, Marco's already doubtful demeanour was confirmed by that obvious look on his face. The customer (and suspected FBI agent) came up to him. He looked as if he were still living in the 70s, sporting a suit that nobody had worn since the last decade. Marco thought that he looked terrifyingly like his boss. But surely, it couldn't be, not with the way Anthony was looking at him. Still, he'd recognise that walk anywhere. If he could see it. There weren't too many men out there like 'El Capitan'. In fact, there were probably none. After all, how many horrible, walrus-looking, disagreeable, grumpy, bad-mannered, ill-tempered old monsters could there be roaming around the Earth? Especially one who wore three layers in the middle of summer.

Without any way of knowing his most unruly employee was spying on him, The Captain greeted the nice waiter with a nod. 

"Hey Cap!" Beamed waiter boy. That sugar sweet smile melted the stony Captain's heart. 

"Cap?" It was a name he was used to, most people tended to shorten his nickname to 'Cap', whether he liked it or not. But the way the waiter said it made something flutter in his stomach. 

"Well, I figured if I'll be calling you 'Captain', I might as well give you a less formal nickname." He shrugged, finally seeing the way The Captain's face started going a few shades pinker. Maybe he was feeling warm. Or he didn't like the abbreviated nickname. "As long as that's OK with you, that is." He hurriedly added. Cap nodded.

"No, no, its fine. Lots of people call me that, actually." He purposefully missed out the part that it was usually against his will, instead directing the conversation away from himself. Initiate Operation Find-out-about-Havers. "So, how have you been? Busy? Done anything.. nice?" As Havers replied, Cap couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride at his ability to ask a question. 

"Yeah, it's actually been quite busy today. But it's worth it when I get to see my favourite customer." He shrugged and got on with his job.

"Ah. So, who is your favourite customer?" It was a genuine question on the Captain's part, so it kind of shocked him when Havers started to laugh. His confusion only grew as Havers simply winked conspiratorially at him. He still hadn't got over himself when he was handed a warm cup.

Marco whipped his head around as Anthony's companion exited, attempting to look as though he wasn't peering at them suspiciously. Which he definitely wasn't doing. He considered what had just happened. The resemblance was striking, but it just couldn't be El Capitan!! He was just too..... eurghh.

"Well?!" Hearing his little brother's voice, he remembered the other two dumbasses sitting with him.

"I think..." they looked eagerly at him, "..that you two are the stupidest creatures to ever come into creation." Marco suppressed a smirk at the look on their faces, opting for a dramatic sigh instead. "Sharp as marbles you are. Oh, how simple must you be!" Just at that very moment, Anthony skated towards them, still wearing that stupid grin.

"Hey gang!!" He greeted them in an enthusiastic sing-song voice. While Simon and Christine shared yet another alarmed look, Marco just wiggled his eyebrows at the newcomer. 

"Soooooo... who is he?" An embarrassed smirk invaded Anthony's face at the question.

"Who?" He lied, his ears going a brighter red than they already were. One could hear Marco roll his eyes from Yonderland.

"Anthony William Peregrine Havers, you are a terrible liar." He gestured to an empty chair. "Go on, don't be shy." 

Finally giving in, Anthony sat down. He sighed. "I'm not entirely sure who he is." He glanced around, checking if anyone was listening in. "But, ah... you know?" His smile told Marco all he needed to know. Marco nodded.

"Wait what's going on?" Having been silent this whole time, Christine finally piped up. Between the redness of Anthony and the laughter coming from Marco, she was starting to piece together that maybe this mystery guy wasn't actually a cop. Simon, on the other hand, was unfortunately not as gifted when it came to situations such as these. If anything, the poor guy looked as if he was on the brink of tears. Anthony sheepishly cleared his throat, making sure to keep his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. Simon's brother had finally had enough with all their ninconpooping.

"Anthony fancies the guy, you fools!" A fork clanged as he slammed the table as gently as a rather muscular T-rex. The action was followed by an incredibly loud hissing (which was meant to be Anthony shushing him, but he was just a bit too panicked to form an actual shush) and a couple nearby heads turning in curiosity.

Anthony whipped his head around frantically, searching to see if he was in danger of being exposed to his one and only old man love. Finally picking up, Christine and Simon slowly turned to look at each other, before beginning to bicker over who's bright idea the whole FBI thing was. Enjoying the free entertainment, Marco slurped his diabetes-inducing sugary coffee. 

"What the hell..." Anthony slapped a hand across his forehead, piecing together the strange activities with the conversation being had before him. How the heck would having a crush look like being a wanted criminal?! And for God's sake, they were in the UK. There was no FBI there! Well, that's what you get for working with young cinema enjoyers.

Deciding he could interrogate his co-workers' more thouroughly later, Anthony just got up and slid towards the growing line of customers at the till.