Chapter Text
Like her parents, Emily Stanton never hesitated to work hard or chase what she wanted. Unfortunately, also like her parents, she could never manage to get ahead. At the age of 23, she was working two jobs and barely making ends meet. She lived with her parents in a tiny tenement. Her father was bedridden, and her mother struggled to leave the home and took in clothing repair jobs to try to bring in a little money.
Both of her parents had developed lung and joint issues from the smog in the city, and from years working strenuous jobs in hazardous factories. Their medical bills were mounting, and their landlord kept raising the rent. Emily worked herself ragged trying to keep a roof over their heads. Both of her parents hated that this was how she was spending her youth, but they didn't have any solutions.
During the day, Emily worked as a mechanic. She liked engines and vehicles, even though her family could never afford to own a car. She had started doing clerical work at a repair shop on the weekends when she was still in school, but she asked so many questions that one of the mechanics finally took her under his wing.
In the evening, she waited tables at a diner by the university. Students camped at the tables to study and get free coffee refills. Other regulars came in for a cheap meal or a late-night plate of fries while they sobered up after a night at the campus bars.
Emily had her favorites, the customers who got extra smiles and conversation, and a quicker refill on their drinks. She provided good service to everyone, but Emily believed in rewarding kindness and courtesy by returning the same.
There was a professor who brought applicants to her grad program to the diner as part of her interview, only interested in accepting applicants who treated the wait staff well. There was a cute old couple who had met at the University in their youth and still liked to come to the diner for dinner once a week, occasionally joined by their adult children and young grandchildren. There was a quiet, middle-aged man who came in every couple weeks with a new novel in hand, and Emily always listened while he shared the plot, and occasionally the discussion deepened if the book was one she'd read.
But the regular she looked forward to seeing most was a strange, shy, neurotic doctoral candidate named Thomas. Thomas came in a couple nights a week to take advantage of the free coffee refills and the late night hours. He would grab the first available booth and spread his textbooks, notebooks, and sketches all over the table, pulling them haphazardly out of an overstuffed messenger bag, loose papers and pens often falling out as he did so. He would sit for hours, studying, calculating, sketching, writing, drinking cup after cup of black coffee. Occasionally he would order food, usually whatever was on special or whatever was cheapest, and he would absentmindedly pick at it as he worked.
It took a long time for Emily to get Thomas to notice her. He was usually too absorbed in what he was doing to engage with her beyond asking for a coffee warm-up or asking her to bring the day's special without even knowing what it was. He was kind when he spoke to her, and he always left a tip, which was more than she could say of many of her customers. She thought he was cute, if untidy, his shirt sometimes missing a button, his hair sticking up in all directions.
Sometimes she asked him what he was studying, or what he was working on. If he wasn't too deep in his own thoughts, he would answer, explaining his engineering and robotics studies. Occasionally he would go as far as sharing his vision for the future, a future where no one needed to work a hazardous or strenuous job. A future where machines could serve the needs of the people, and the people would no longer need to worry about trading their lives for their livelihood. He would show her sketches and diagrams, all of his theories and experiments for how to make a machine that could walk and move and lift and respond to orders.
These were the moments that captured Emily's interest, that made her absolutely determined to get his attention. She put extra effort into her hair and makeup on the days he usually came in, although her effort was often undone by her day job at the auto repair shop before she even got to the diner. She tried leaving the top couple buttons undone on her shirt while waiting on him, but if he noticed, he never showed it. Unfortunately, other customers did notice, and some leered, so she gave up that tactic quickly.
One night, while Thomas was working on one of his schematics, puzzling over how to make the machine strong and agile enough to lift heavy loads, Emily looked it over with admiration and fascination. She wished so badly she could learn the things Thomas was learning, but it just wasn't in the cards for her. Thomas actually turned to her and explained the roadblock he kept running into, the shortcoming in his design that forced him to choose between strength and mobility. Emily pointed out how complicated the joints were and suggested a far simpler design, going as far as sketching it on the corner of his sheet of graph paper. She may not have had his training and knowledge, but she was clever and mechanically inclined, and Thomas immediately saw the value in her suggestion. Emily hoped that this might be a turning point, the thing that would finally get him to notice her. Unfortunately, once he thanked her for the suggestion, he was reabsorbed into his work and asked for more coffee so he could start implementing her idea.
Emily sighed as she walked away, wondering if she should just give up on him. She was intrigued by him, and she wanted to get to know him better. But he just didn't seem interested, and it was no good barking up the wrong tree.
Ironically, it was Thomas’s friend and fellow doctoral candidate Albert who helped her to finally capture his notice. Albert sometimes tagged along with Thomas, ostensibly to study with him, although he often proved to be more of a distraction. Emily hated when Albert came to the diner. He made her uneasy, often leering at her and at other young wait staff and customers. He always paid the check for the table, and he made it clear he had money to throw around, but it still felt like he was the one taking advantage of the friendship.
On the night in question, Thomas and Albert were seated at a booth tucked into a corner, and Emily came over with two mugs of coffee and two glasses of water on her tray. The men were deep in discussion, something about robots and investors.
When Emily set the beverages down in front of them, careful not to spill on the array of notes laid chaotically across the table, Thomas looked up at her, and their eyes met. Rarely did she get a good look at his eyes. They were usually turned down towards his work and hidden under a curtain of shaggy, unkempt hair. But she was immediately taken in by his kind expression, his eyes lit up with a rare twinkle of excitement.
Before she could even greet the pair, Light had launched into a rapid-fire description of his latest robotic leg prototype, going into deep detail on the joint and its strength and flexibility. His words were directed right at Emily, more words than he'd probably spoken to her altogether over the many months she'd been bringing him coffee and meals. His enthusiasm was palpable, a force flowing out of him with every syllable. She was enthralled.
“Tom, Tom, this lovely young thing doesn't care about your prototype. I'm sure she'll benefit as much as everyone else once we get things underway, but stop boring her with all your technical ranting.” Albert’s voice positively dripped with condescension, a smirk punctuating his arrogance. “Two egg salad sandwiches, dear. And what's your soup today?”
Emily hid her gritted teeth behind a tense, closed-mouth smile. “We have tomato soup and clam chowder today,” she answered.
“Tomato, then. Thank you.” Albert barely looked at Emily, except to ogle as she turned to walk away and put in their order.
Emily stepped back into the kitchen to drop off the ticket, but she stayed there for a few minutes, too angry to return to the dining room right away. She was used to being talked down to. It happened all the time as a woman working in an auto repair shop. Most of her coworkers and many of her customers talked down to her and assumed she didn't know what she was talking about, even after she proved them wrong.
As a waitress, she was called ‘sweetheart’ and ‘cutie’ by customers who made it clear how little they thought of her. She was used as a threat by parents of university students, saying, “Make sure you study hard, or you'll end up waiting tables, like her.” Emily had heard it all, and she'd built up a thick skin. Even getting pinched by a pervy drunk as she walked away barely registered with her anymore.
But this one got to her. She was hurt and angry, and she couldn't seem to push her feelings down this time. She hid in the walk-in fridge for a minute or two, trying to cool down the fiery anger she was feeling, but to no avail. When one of the cooks stepped into the fridge to grab a tray of hamburger patties, he yelled at her to get back on the floor. Emily took a deep breath and made her way out of the kitchen.
To her surprise, Thomas was waiting outside the swinging kitchen door, looking concerned.
“Sorry, you probably need a refill on coffee, don't you? I just got your order in, so it'll be a few minutes on food,” she said, trying desperately to hide how flustered she felt.
“No, I wanted to apologize for my friend. My business partner, actually. I'm sorry about how rude he was to you. I told him you were the one who inspired the joint design. He'll apologize when you come back to the table, but I wanted to check on you first,”
“Oh, thank you, but don't worry about it. That's not even the worst thing someone has said to me today,” she said, trying to pass it off as a joke.
“I really do appreciate your suggestion. It might have taken me months to solve that without your idea. If we can get our business underway, the world will have you to thank,” he said warmly, his voice sincere. “By the way, I'm Thomas, Thomas Light.”
“I know. And I'm Emily Stanton. I would love to hear more about what you're planning. I like hearing you talk about it.”
“I would love to tell you more,” said Thomas.
Emily looked at him expectantly. That was the perfect opening to ask her on a date or offer his contact information. But Thomas remained oblivious to her cues. He was starting to notice her, how clever she was, her pretty smile. But social interactions had never been his strong suit. Unsure what else to say, Thomas returned to his table to resume his discussion with Albert.
Emily analyzed her interaction with Thomas as she checked on her other tables. She'd check on him and Albert soon, but she wanted a few minutes to let the moment settle first. She wondered if maybe she would need to just bite the bullet and ask him out. She had no problem with that. If he'd shown even the slightest interest in her during any of their past interactions, she would have asked him on a date long ago. But there was no way she would try to make her move in front of Albert. She'd have to wait for another opportunity.
After a couple minutes, the food order she'd put in for the inventors at the corner table was ready, and she brought it over with a smile on her face. She set the plates down, trying to make eye contact with Thomas, who was back to being absorbed in his work. Albert reached for her hand, and her head snapped to look at him, barely hiding the disgust she felt at his touch.
Albert flashed a big, arrogant smile at her, seemingly oblivious to how uncomfortable he was making her.
“Tom tells me you're the brains behind his latest prototype. I had no idea! Tell me, what's a genius like you doing working as a waitress?” Albert asked, still clinging to her hand.
Emily realized with horror that he wasn't oblivious to her discomfort. He was enjoying it. She pulled her hand away from him.
“Just paying my bills,” she said, trying to deflect.
Thomas looked up at her then, making eye contact for a moment before looking away. He sensed that something was wrong, but he wasn't quite sure what. He was about to thank Emily, but Albert cut him off.
“Since you're so full of ideas, I would love to take you out to dinner and pick your brain,” he said, watching Emily the way a cat watches a mouse. Much like a cat, Albert liked to play with his prey. “A night of conversation, wine, dancing - what do you say?”
“Albert, leave her alone. She's working,” Thomas said, trying to rein in his friend, blind to Albert's true nature.
“You're the one who used her to solve your design problem, also while she was working,” Albert replied, petulantly. “I'm trying to do something nice and offer her a way out of this life of servitude.”
“Albert, you're being very rude,” Thomas said.
“So what do you say, my dear?” Albert said to Emily, savoring her distress.
“No thank you. I'm not interested,” Emily said, and she quickly walked away.
She found one of her coworkers, Esther, an older woman who'd worked there for decades and was tough as nails. She asked Esther to trade tables, not able to tolerate Albert any longer. Esther offered her an obnoxious table full of drunk young college students who definitely wouldn't tip, and Emily thanked her for it. Emily wished she could go home and get away from him altogether, but she couldn't afford to give up a shift.
She was on edge the rest of the night, unable to keep herself from looking over at the men in the corner table. She swore she could feel Albert's gaze on her, but whenever she looked over, his eyes were on Thomas.
When the end of her shift came, Thomas and Albert were still in their booth, Thomas writing in hasty scribbles, and Albert watching intently. She was surprised. Thomas often stayed late, but not usually this late. She pulled off her apron, shoved her tips in her pants pocket, and slipped out the door, eager to get home and take a shower to wash off the day.