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chapter three
LARGE AMERICANO
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AS FATE WOULD have it, Ceres doesn't find Steve Rogers. He finds her first.

A crash! startles Ceres and causes her to spill milk onto the counter. She turns to see that her teenage co-worker, Jada, has dropped one of the glass coffee pots, covering the floor with jagged pieces of shattered glass and leaking liquid into the grout of the brown tile floor. Jada immediately covers her mouth with both hands and stares at the mess with widened eyes. A few strands of coiled hair have slipped from her messy updo, curling around her dark face. It's been a long day for both of them— this is the last thing they need.

"Shit," Jada curses under her breath, her voice slightly muffled by her hands. She lowers them with her dismayed gaze still fixed on the broken pot. "As if this shift couldn't get any worse."

"I'll take care of the line," Ceres tells her gently. "Finish this drink and then we'll clean it up, okay?"

Jada nods, some of the tension easing from her shoulders at Ceres's calm tone. She tip-toes around the shimmering pieces of glass and grabs the second pot, pouring it into a paper cup.

Ceres wipes her hands on her apron and approaches the register. "Welcome to Think Coffee. What can I get y—"

She looks up at the person standing at the counter and finds herself back on the streets of Midtown, smoke burning her lungs and a haze blocking her vision. The face in front of her is clean and void of cuts, but those crystal blue eyes are the same.

Steve Rogers has his hands in the pockets of a brown leather jacket, dressed in civilian clothing and yet still managing to stand out like a sore thumb. It could be his towering height or the fact that the entire world knows his name now. Anonymity doesn't come as easily as a pair of jeans and brown boots.

"Sorry," Ceres quickly says, catching herself before the pause becomes long and awkward. "That was rude. What can I get you?"

Steve gives her an easy smile. Judging by the expression on his face, he doesn't recognize her, and she can't blame him. The last time they met, her hair was a tornado around her dirt-coated face. Now it's tossed in a knot on top of her head and her skin is clear except for a bit of sweat from the heat of the machines. Why would he recognize her out of context, especially when he'd saved so many lives that day?

"It's fine," he assures her. "Can I have a large Americano?"

She types the order into the register and tries to ignore the shaking of her hands. His sudden appearance has sent a shock of adrenaline through her body, electrifying her nerves to a state of high-alert. It's a wonder that her voice doesn't waver when she asks, "Anything else?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you."

Ceres almost grins— that's the second time he's called her that, and the old-fashioned formality has her biting the inside of her cheek to keep her face neutral. Instead, she tells him the price, accepts his cash, and hands him his receipt with his change.

Such an average interaction compared to their last one. Ceres turns toward the back wall and blows a slow breath from her lips, willing herself to stop trembling. Her brain is back on business mode after the initial shock of seeing him again, but her body has returned to that day in May, and the shadow falling over her arm is the rubble falling—

A tap on her biceps has Ceres jumping hard. She whips her head around to see Jada looking at her with a mop handle in her hands. "What was that last order? Large Americano?"

"Yeah," she says, slowly recovering from the burst of adrenaline that had flooded through her veins. "Yeah, sorry. Large Americano for Steve."

"Got it."

Ceres smacks both hands on her face and smushes her cheeks together. Pull yourself together, she chastises herself. She's tough to shake after all she's been through, but the unexpected arrival of the Avenger had thrown her back in time. It takes a moment for her to reassure herself of her whereabouts. You're in the coffee shop. You have an order to complete and a shift to finish. Let's go, Ceres.

And that's all the time she gives herself. Nobody else is in line at the register, so she helps Jada put away the mop and toss the broken glass in the garbage bin. Several months on the job have made the teenager an efficient barista, so she has the coffee ready by the time Ceres walks back from the storage closet.

"Here," Jada says as she shoves the steaming to-go cup into Ceres's hands.

She furrows her brows. "Why can't you give it to him?"

Jada drops her voice to a whisper and stands on her tip-toes to reach Ceres's ear. "I think he likes you."

"What?"

Ceres can't help it. She instinctively glances at the super soldier standing casually behind the counter, his hands still in his pockets like he's trying to blend in, even as he catches every footstep of the other customers in the dining area of the small café. He only pretends to examine the pastries in the glass case. She can tell because, for a brief second, his eyes flicker to her, and they meet stares.

Ceres averts her gaze. She can tell by the crease between his eyebrows that he's puzzled— a part of him now recognizes her and he's trying to place where he knows her from. But to Jada, who's oblivious to their connection, it definitely looks like he's trying to discreetly check her out.

"Go get him." Jada gives her an encouraging nudge and a wink.

The woman rolls her eyes playfully and quickly scrawls Steve's name on the cup. She ignores Jada's whisper of "Write your number on it!" and slides the hot beverage across the counter.

"One large Americano," she says, giving him a smile. "Have a great day."

"Thank you. You too." Steve takes the cup and scans her once more, his mind whirring, before realizing how it must look and blinking quickly. He turns toward the door and leaves with the bell chiming in time with his departure.

Ceres winces when Jada's elbow digs into her ribs. "That was so lame! You could've had a chance with Captain America."

"He's a customer," she points out.

"Oh my God. Look at him. He is a large Americano."

"I don't know if I should laugh at that or not given that you're seventeen and he's, like, almost a hundred."

Jada shrugs. "He looks your age. It could work."

He looks your age. If only she knew. Though the cafe's manager knows about Ceres's circumstances — to make things easier, it lists immortal on her mutant license, which she'd needed to use to get hired — but the rest of the employees don't. Most have come and gone over the past twenty years, anyway, so nobody has noticed Ceres's constant, unchanging presence in a quaint coffee shop in Brooklyn.

The rest of her shift is uneventful. By the end of it, she's exhausted and ready to crawl into bed for a nap. But first comes the walk to her apartment— the same voyage where, last week, she had watched a man die and had his blood sprayed all over her.

It had been a horrible tragedy, of course, but part of Ceres is almost grateful for the disruption to her routine. She's been working the same two jobs for almost two decades now. Since she's not with the X-Men anymore, she doesn't have exciting missions to spice up her life. After the death of one of her longtime friends and the near end of the world, she and Ilyas had formally disbanded from the whole superhero thing. Ceres is used to the people she loves passing from old age. Watching them die right in front of her in the blink of an eye is much, much worse.

Regular people love to say that you only live once. But Ceres has lived through three generations by now, and the days seem to cloud together. Little surprises like Steve's unexpected visit tend to snap her out of her daze. Sometimes she worries that nothing will bring her out and she'll be stuck in that trance forever, living almost the same day over and over as the world advances around her.

Even Jada will graduate high school this upcoming spring. Then she's off to college, and Ceres will be left behind with another hole to patch in her heart. She's grown fond of the girl who joined the café's crew the moment she was old enough to apply. The ache of missing Jada before she's even gone has already started to spread through her bones.

She supposes she could follow the advice of normal people and travel the world — Ilyas certainly makes enough from his job as a tattoo artist to cover the expenses — to try as many different things as possible. Breathe in the salty air near the ocean. Feel her stomach drop when she looks down from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Sample some of the spiciest food in a local market. But ever since she'd immigrated here from Nepal, a piece of her heart has been wedged into New York. That first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty had instilled her love of the state almost fifty years ago.

Plus... her plants. Ceres doesn't trust Ilyas to take care of them— he'd forget about them in a matter of hours. She can't bear the thought of returning to their apartment and seeing them all with wilted leaves and dried-up petals.

So Ceres walks home, dodging every pothole while crossing the road and large crack in the sidewalk purely by muscle memory. She could complete this journey blindfolded.

It's why she finds herself jolting out of yet another trance when something prods at her brain. Most people wouldn't even notice the gentle nudge, but she's been so accustomed to it by now that her heart warms.

What's up, old man? she thinks in lieu of a greeting.

Most people might say hello, Charles Xavier says back to her within her mind.

Hello. What's up, old man?

Ceres feels more than hears his chuckle — a light, tingling sensation that sends dopamine flooding through her brain as it senses Charles's laughter. A small grin of her own quirks up her lips for a brief moment.

Just wanted to see how you're doing. His English accent is soothing; it always has been for her, even when he wore a much younger face.

Same old, same old. She pauses before continuing, Though Captain America did stop by my work today.

Oh? Did you talk to him?

Just gave him his order.

Ceres, Charles chastises, his voice sounding so disappointed and admonishing that she physically cringes. Not even a thank-you for what he did?

After the Battle of New York, Charles had checked in on both her and Ilyas to make sure they were okay. Ilyas had slept through the entire ordeal back in Brooklyn while Ceres had the chance encounter of a lifetime.

He didn't recognize me, she answers with a frown on her face. If anyone had been watching her for the past few minutes, they would've thought she was insane— making facial expressions and physically recoiling even though nothing is being said aloud.

Something tells me that's not the whole story.

Damn Charles and his ability to literally read her mind.

I heard that.

Good, Ceres retorts. You need to be humbled sometimes. I'll keep you updated and give a call if I need anything, okay? Tell Hank, Jean, and Scott I said hi.

After his own goodbye, Charles's presence vanishes from her mind. Ceres is almost gone by now and finds her steps lighter than they'd been before the conversation. Speaking to her oldest friend always brightens her days— second only to Ilyas, he's the one person on the planet who knows her best. Almost fifty years of friendship has made them know each other inside and out.

Ilyas isn't home when Ceres arrives. She gives Chris a quick scratch on the head when the cat bounds over, tail high and meows chorusing in greeting, then heads straight to her room to grab her current journal off of her desk. In a blank spot, she writes:

August 15, 2012: Steve Rogers stops by Think Coffee. He likes Americanos and does not recognize me yet.

_______

a/n:

i think it's safe to say that jada is a representation of all of us. homegirl just wants to see ceres happy and honestly? same.

i'm looking forward to continuing this story since things are going to pick up a bit from here. we still have a LOONNGG way to go before we get to the events of CATWS, but i know i'll be able to set it up correctly. i'm so excited for that movie, you have no idea.

thank you for reading!!

—kristyn

( word count: 2.2k )