Chapter Text
Normally, Bitty and Lardo’s customers were great.
They stopped by on the way to work, and there was always a steady crowd around lunch, and students had a tendency to pile up in the evenings, and the fact that their business was a small, privately owned coffee shop, meant that most of their regulars were quiet and respectful.
Every once in a while, people showed up who were the opposite.
Of course, when Jack Zimmerman and Kent Parson walked in one day, nobody really knew what to expect.
It was mid-morning, so Lardo was working the register and making drinks while Shitty tried to distract her, and Bitty was in the back, focused on making sure they had enough baked goods to make it through the day. They’d never actually ran out, but they did always drop off the leftovers at the local shelter, so he really didn’t mind making a few too many.
He enjoyed baking enough that he also didn’t mind making a few too many batches , but that was beside the point.
Lardo had caught onto what he was doing ages ago, and she’d just rolled her eyes, gotten Holster to double check that they could actually afford Bitty’s charitable efforts, and then she’d let it be.
He was still always done baking by the time the lunch rush rolled around and, as long as he was there to help Lardo with that, everything ran smoothly.
Of course, he rarely spent the entire morning in the back and, more often than not, it was Shitty and Lardo’s conversations that drew him out of the kitchen. Today, it was their hushed voices, and the strange but noticably tense voices of customers that brought him out.
And then he was in out of the kitchen and in the shop, and he was about to ask what was going on, when Lardo and Shitty both shushed him at once.
Shitty was sitting at the bar with a million textbooks spread out, notably not doing any work, while Lardo was on the other side of the counter, with a cloth in hand and a cup in the other, though she wasn’t actually moving. She was leaning closer to Shitty than usual, and she nodded her head for Bitty to join them.
He raised an eyebrow, but he also took his spot, leaning on the counter beside her, and then he followed her gaze to a table behind Shitty, that was currently occupied by two ridiculously large men.
It took half a second for Bitty to recognize them, and then he understood the whispers and the curiosity.
Shitty was facing the counter and couldn’t turn around without being completely obvious, so Lardo was providing a play by play.
Bitty was appalled.
“Do you two not have any shame ?” he hissed, and then, “Eavesdropping? Really?”
Shitty almost looked guilty, but Lardo just kept staring past him.
“All I’m saying, is that they’re sitting very close together, and that my money's on Zimmerman throwing the first punch,” she whispered, at which point Shitty’s eyebrows shot up, and Bitty’s curiosity also got the better of him and he also snuck a look past his friends and, well .
He definitely saw what Lardo meant.
There was no good reason for two grown men to be sitting at a table as tiny as the one they’d chosen, and yet there they were. There was also no good reason for Kent Parson to be taking up so much space, and yet he was. His legs were sprawled out underneath the table, and he was leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and Jack Zimmerman seemed to be making a point of leaning back in his chair, which was pushed as far away as possible. It would be comical, if Jack Zimmerman didn’t look as uncomfortable as he did.
As it was, he was frowning deeply, and he seemed to be making a point of not looking at Parson, and his arms were crossed over his chest and Bitty was almost positive that his hands were in fists.
Bitty felt bad for the man, and he felt even worse when he realized that he was eavesdropping as well.
“And all I’m saying, is that they clearly want some privacy ,” he said, making a point of looking away, even as Zimmerman leaned a bit closer and looked like he was about to speak for the first time, and-
And that was none of his business, Bitty reminded himself.
Of course, his friends didn’t listen to a word he said, and Shitty couldn’t actually see what was going on, but apparently Lardo’s play by play had told him enough that he felt comfortable making observations such as, “And all I’m saying, is that maybe the rumors about them aren’t completely wrong,” and Lardo snorted, while Bitty froze.
Much like everybody else in the world who followed hockey, Bitty had his own opinions on the nature of the relationship between Kent Parson and Jack Zimmerman.
Also like everybody else in the world who followed hockey, he’d seen one particularly unfortunate interview, where Jack had been asked about those rumours, frozen up completely, and had then been ushered away by his publicist.
Because of that, Bitty’s main opinion on the relationship between Parson and Zimmerman was that it was nobody’s business but their own, and he knew that his friends knew that, so he wasn’t particularly surprised when, moments later, Shitty said, “Sorry, Bits, I’ll leave it,” though he couldn’t help but snort when Shitty added, “And I’ll check my privilege, and all.”
“You do that,” he said and, while the tension between the three friends seemed to diffuse, it was also that moment that Kent Parson stood up, knocked his chair over, and ignored everybody else in the room, as-
“I’m trying to help you, Zims,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down and not bothering to hide his anger, as he went on with, “But I’m not going to keep trying forever and neither is everybody else, so just- Just get it together, man.”
He left after that, leaving his chair on the floor and his friend looking more tired than anything else, and Shitty turned around to watch him go. When he turned back to face Bitty and Lardo, his eyes were wide and he was frowning, and he looked genuinely concerned. The look was mirrored on Lardo’s face and Bitty felt the same way so, after Jack Zimmerman didn’t move for several seconds, Bitty let out a sigh, pushed himself off the counter, and grabbed a plate.
A few seconds later, he had a piece of apple pie in one hand, a fresh cup of coffee in the other, and he was ignoring his friends and heading around the counter, straight for Jack Zimmerman.
He didn’t really know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but he knew that Jack Zimmerman looked absolutely shattered, and he knew that he hated seeing people upset, and he knew that pie almost always helped.
When he stopped beside Jack Zimmerman’s table, he put the pie down in front of him and set the coffee off to the side and Jack looked up in surprise, but Bitty didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he bent over and picked up the chair, and at that point-
“Fu- Sh- Jesus , I’m sorry about-”
Jack Zimmerman cut himself off with a sigh, and Jack Zimmerman was stuttering over his words, and Jack Zimmerman was clearly trying not to swear, and if Jack Zimmerman hadn’t looked so upset, Bitty would have found it all adorable.
As it was, he had damage control to do, so all he said was, “It’s not a problem, hon,” and then, “And whatever the problem is, I’m sure it’s nothing that a bit of time can’t fix but, for now, pie can’t hurt either.”
At that, Jack Zimmerman seemed to break out of whatever trance he was in. He blinked, and then his eyes actually landed on Bitty and, well, that was a tiny bit disconcerting in and of itself, and then he was moving to pull out his wallet, and-
“Oh no,” Bitty said, taking a small step back and crossing his arms in protest, “This is a gift, and- Lord, did you think I’d make you pay for something you didn’t even order?”
Jack Zimmerman looked from Bitty, to the pie, and then back again for several seconds, before he sighed. “It’s more than I can eat,” he said, and then, “It’s not on my meal plan.”
Bitty couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, as he put his hands on his hips and said, “That is by far the worst thank you I’ve ever received,” and, for a second, Jack Zimmerman looked like he was almost going to smile.
“Sorry,” he said again, and then, “Thank you for the pie,” and then he picked up his fork and took a small, tentative bite, and then his eyes widened and he really did smile, and Bitty wasn’t surprised at all.
His pie was good, and he knew that, and Jack Zimmerman’s reaction was the same one that he always got.
The fact that it was Jack Zimmerman reacting to it didn’t mean anything at all, and it definitely didn’t make his heart flutter or his stomach flip, because that would be ridiculous.
Because of that, Bitty reigned in his excitement and kept smiling gently, and said, “It’s not a problem,” and then, “You looked like you could use it, anyways,” but he regretted it a moment later, because Jack’s face fell.
“Yeah,” he said, and then, “Look- I really am sorry for all of that,” and the fact that Jack Zimmerman was apologizing on behalf of his friend was absolutely ridiculous, so-
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Bitty said, and then, “Goodness, if I didn’t know you were Canadian I’d be worried about the amount of times those words left your mouth,” but he recognized that as another mistake a moment later, when Jack’s eyes widened, and-
“You know who I am?” he asked, and the fact that he sounded surprised was even more absurd than the amount of times he’d apologized and, when Bitty said that out loud, he actually looked sheepish. “I- it’s just…” he trailed off, and Bitty’s heart practically melted on the spot.
“It must be weird,” he offered, and Jack nodded, but it was almost absent mindedly so, and Bitty wanted to say something else, but before he could think of something that would get them away from creepy-fan zone and into complementary and comforting, Lardo interrupted them both with-
“Bits, the timer’s going off,” and that meant that his scones were ready, and even an extra minute in the oven would burn them, and the fact that they were likely going to homeless people didn’t mean that they were any less important, so-
“That’s me,” he said, already taking a step back, and then, “I’ve got to get back to work, but you enjoy your pie, Mr. Zimmerman.”
Bitty had taken a few more backwards steps and was about to turn around, when Jack Zimmerman jumped in with, “You can call me Jack,” at which point Bitty paused for half a second- just long enough to smile and nod- and then he turned on his heel and headed for his scones.
He was more than a little bit relieved to find that they hadn’t burnt, and then he had to get another batch in, and there was a rhubarb pie that was dangerously close to being soggy, and there were cookies and loaves and a million other things that demanded Bitty’s attention and, by the time he made it out front for the lunch rush, Jack Zimmerman was gone.
It was only after the rush ended, and Bitty was wiping down a counter while Lardo ate her lunch, that she said, “By the way, you know Zimmerman bought the rest of the apple pie?” that Bitty actually let himself think about their conversation because, well.
He’d met Jack Zimmerman.
He’d talked to Jack Zimmerman.
He’d given Jack Zimmerman pie and coffee in an attempt to comfort him, and then he’d made him smile, and then he’d been told to call Jack Zimmerman, ‘ just Jack ,’ and that’s where Bitty stopped his thinking, because he realized all at once that he was being ridiculous.
He was never going to see Jack Zimmerman again and, even if he did, there was no way that Jack would recognize him. He was never going to have a chance to call Jack Zimmerman, ‘just Jack, ’ and it was ridiculous to think otherwise because, really.
Bitty owned a coffee shop with his best friend, and Jack Zimmerman played for the NHL, and, in more than a few ways, that put them in completely different leagues.
Because of that, he didn’t resent Shitty for throwing a pencil at him and pulling him out of his thoughts with a question about something that Bitty was sure he wouldn’t understand because, really, there was no point in daydreaming about things that would never happen.
Bitty was happy and he hoped that Jack Zimmerman was too, and their conversation had been nice, and that was that.