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“Oh my God—” Magpie startles as they enter through the front doors of their tavern, clutching their chest in surprise at the sight of someone sitting at the bar. “AJ? What are you doing here?” they splutter, bewildered.
AJ, of course, looks both wholly unsympathetic toward the fright she gave them and far too pleased with herself as she smiles, languid and full of teeth.
“There you are, Magpie!” she calls, “Service here is so slow. I was startin’ to wonder if anybody even worked here.”
Magpie huffs, rolling their eyes in exasperation.
She crosses the floor to stand behind the bar, fixing AJ with a less-than-amused tilt of their brow. “What are you doing here, AJ?” they repeat, pausing momentarily to give Flick a scritch under the chin in greeting.
“Well,” AJ drawls, “you hadn’t left me any coffee today, so I figured I’d come get the next best thing.”
Magpie feels a sting of guilt at that, and nearly opens their mouth to apologize, but stops the words in their tracks as she notices the smugness of AJ’s expression.
Instead, Magpie bristles: “What, am I your personal barista, now? You can’t even make yourself a measly pot of coffee?”
AJ laughs, amused. “I like the way you make it,” she says with a shrug, and it’s said like a joke, but her tone is a little bit too soft for it to stick the landing, and something unnameable churns in Magpie’s gut.
AJ meets their gaze, then, eyes sparkling as she adds, voice low, “And… maybe, I just wanted to see you. Is that a crime?”
Magpie swallows, sharply, and turns, suddenly in need of something to do with their hands. “Which are you in the mood for, then?” she asks, back still turned, “Coffee, or something stronger?”
AJ hums, thoughtfully, drumming her nails across the counter. “How about both?”
Magpie blinks. “Both?” they ask, turning to face her.
AJ nods. “Mhm,” she replies, “there are a bunch of different drinks you can make with coffee and liquor.”
“Really?” Magpie asks, mouth twisting in disgust as they imagine the flavors mixing, “Do they even go together?”
AJ smiles, nodding. “Mind if I join you behind the counter? Maybe we can whip something up together.”
Magpie considers this for a second — how, moments before, they’d believed AJ’s visit was strictly transactional in nature, that she came because she needed something, and that this, now, was something different — before tilting their head to say, warningly, “As long as you don’t make a mess.”
AJ grins, wide and bright, and then she’s sat up in her chair and leaning across the bar, propping herself up with her hands as she actually vaults herself across the counter and lands, somehow, in a movement that should have been more sloppy than it was.
Magpie makes a sort of surprised squeak, gaping as AJ rights herself. “What is wrong with you?!” they shriek, and AJ just laughs and laughs.
Despite the strange circumstances, the smell of coffee makes something in Magpie’s chest soften in relief, as if already comforted by the familiarity of the scent alone.
“Okay, so,” AJ says, brows furrowed in concentration as she studies the bottles of alcohol in front of her, “you don’t have any coffee liqueur, but that’s okay. We’ll improvise.”
Magpie nods, though they don’t completely understand. She knows the basics, of course — AJ had explained what typically went in an espresso martini — but they are, they know, out of their element.
AJ, on the other hand, couldn’t be more at home.
And that isn’t just because it’s alcohol-related: it’s an interesting kind of transformation, watching AJ as she becomes entirely focused on the task in front of her, the gears in her mind nearly visible in their whirring as she takes in every individual object, picturing the ways in which they could fit together.
She isn’t entirely void of her usual energy, but it’s concentrated — rather than spilling outwards uncontrollably, looking for something to latch onto, AJ’s chaos becomes productive; it becomes a tool rather than a weapon.
Magpie wonders if she gets like this when she’s holed up in her workshop at odd hours of the night, tinkering away at whatever project she’s given her entire focus to.
(They think, for only a split second, of what it would be like to have that kind of focus directed toward them. They quickly force the thought away, their skin prickling uncomfortably).
AJ’s tongue is sticking out slightly as she mixes vodka, coffee, and cream, shaking the mixture up until it becomes a smooth light brown. She does a quick taste test, and then erupts in excitement, “A-ha! Yes! I think I got it.”
Magpie can’t help but notice how young AJ seems, like this — unburdened in the throes of innocent glee; the simple elation of a successful experiment.
They feel themself smiling, fondly, at the display.
AJ fetches two V-shaped glasses, waving off Magpie’s skeptical glance. “You don’t have to drink all of it,” she assures them, “but I think you should try at least a sip, if you want.”
Magpie only nods, leaving AJ to it as she assembles each of the ingredients: more vodka, more coffee, and the homemade liqueur, shaking them in a mixer before pouring equal amounts into each glass.
They both stand there, admiring the drinks, before AJ snaps her fingers in sudden realization: “Oh! I almost forgot! Magpie, could you grab a couple coffee beans?”
Magpie is doubtful, but nods, handing them out to AJ, who shakes her head.
“I want you to do the honors,” she says, smiling, “just sprinkle a couple on top of each. It’s like a garnish. The finishing touch.”
Magpie laughs, feeling a little silly, but obliges, feeling AJ’s eyes on them as she does it.
The full effect, they have to admit, is nice.
“The finishing touch,” they echo, and AJ grins.
They wait to try their drinks until they’re sitting at the bar — because “It’s irresponsible to drink on the job, Magpie.” A scoff. A laugh. And then a reply: “You’re ridiculous.” — with Flick watching curiously, chirping away.
“No, Flick,” AJ admonishes, solemnly, “you can’t have any…” she glances in Magpie’s direction, then adds, “…this time.”
“What do you mean, this time?” comes Magpie’s incredulous reply, as AJ expected it would; the familiar song and dance.
“Alright,” AJ says, finally, “I’ll try it first to tell you if it’s good.”
And, really, Magpie’s surprised it’s taken AJ this long to try her drink. They’ve never known AJ to wait for anything.
Magpie nods, watching AJ’s expression intently as she takes a sip from her glass. “Oh,” AJ groans, in a way that feels a bit obscene, “Magpie, that’s glorious.”
Magpie, cheeks flaming, brings the glass to their lips before they can talk themself out of it.
Tentatively, as AJ watches, she takes a sip: coffee, and something sweet — the liqueur — and then the bitter taste of alcohol, the taste of which is somehow chased away by the coffee flavor once more.
“So?” AJ asks, with barely-contained anticipation, and Magpie schools their expression into one of distate.
“Not a fan,” they say, watching as AJ’s face falls slightly and she says, “Damn. Sorry, Magpie,” before letting their lips turn upward, taking another sip.
AJ gasps. “You little shit!” she exclaims, but she’s smiling. “You do like it, don’t you?”
Magpie smiles over her glass as they nod.
AJ shakes her head, grinning. “I knew you would,” she remarks, chest puffing out slightly in a proud movement that reminds Magpie, adorably, of Flick.
Magpie smirks. “Sure you did,” they counter.
A few silent sips later, tongue loosened and feeling pleasantly warm, Magpie decides to ask: “Why did you really come here, AJ?”
AJ’s shoulder lifts in a half-hearted shrug. “I dunno,” she says, looking down at her drink instead of meeting Magpie’s gaze, “I wasn’t lying earlier, y’know. I looked for coffee, and there wasn’t any, and then- and I couldn’t find you, either, so I decided I’d come here and wait. See if you showed up.”
Magpie hums. “So, what you’re saying is, you missed me.”
AJ balks. “That is so not what I said at all. I wanted coffee, and you didn’t make any, so I came to get some!”
Magpie just shakes her head, smiling. “No, no, you said it earlier, AJ,” they tease, “admit it: you wanted to see me.”
AJ scoffs, but she doesn’t disagree. “So what if I did?” she says, almost a whisper. “Maybe I wanted you to beat me up again.”
AJ’s lips are curled into a serpentine smile as they wrap around the mouth of her glass, her dark eyes boring into Magpie’s mismatched ones.
Magpie gulps, their throat suddenly dry. They take another sip of their drink.
“Making a drink together is pretty different than having me beat you up,” Magpie counters.
The corner of AJ’s lips quirks upward as she appears to consider this.
“Maybe,” she offers, seeming thoughtful as she downs the last of her drink, eyes still locked on Magpie’s as she bites down on the coffee beans with an audible crunch that is almost reminiscent of bone.
It isn’t cold, but Magpie suppresses a shiver.
“I’d go as far as to say that they’re two entirely different things,” they argue, just to say something.
AJ rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she grabs the mixer from across the bar and tops off her glass. “Whatever you say, Magpie,” she acquiesces.
(It’s only later, lying in bed, still a little fuzzy but having downed a few glasses of water, that Magpie realizes how far out of their comfort zone they’d allowed AJ to lead her — letting AJ take the reins while making the drink, though she’d been sure to assign Magpie menial tasks; willfully lowering their inhibitions, loosening their white-knuckled grip on control as she allowed alcohol to soften the edges of their mind — and how willingly they’d let themself be led.
Magpie tries, valiantly, not to think about how that makes them feel).