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chapter nine
THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS
ARE FOR
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IF YOU ASKED CERES, she would say that pessimism is Ilyas's thing.

She has known him for decades and has never once heard him think positively or assume the best of a situation. Any time someone new enters his life, they are regarded with suspicion— guilty until proven innocent. It used to drive Hank insane when Ilyas would bet on his experiments failing. Despite being skilled in many different areas, he was banned from being a teacher at the Xavier's School because of his frequent talk of death and destruction, sending several children into hysterics.

Yes, if you asked her, Ceres would be confident in her answer that Ilyas is a pessimist, while she is not.

Until lately.

The realization doesn't hit her until several weeks after she'd revealed herself as a former X-Men to Steve. She spends countless shifts at Think Coffee, one eye on the door in case she sees a familiar pair of broad shoulders. Three days pass without contact with him, then six, and then two full weeks. That time is torturous— the minutes seem to tick by as if Tempo is slowing them down, each of her movements feeling like she's dragging her limbs through sludge instead of air.

And then the thought pops into her head. Of course this would happen.

A part of Ceres has been waiting for Steve to vanish like a mirage, dissolving out of her life as quickly as he'd burst into it. That their connection was too good to be true, and now she's scared him off with her cursed nature and roommate who isn't afraid to stab himself at any given moment. She's been expecting it. Good things come into her life only fleetingly, then leave her behind with the bitter taste of laughter on her tongue, disappointment churning her gut.

That is until she receives a knock on her apartment door and whisks it open to reveal Steve Rogers standing at the precipice, his hair windswept as if he'd been running. He would probably be breathless if he were any other person. But his tousled blond locks and cheeks pink from the cold are the only indicators that he'd been in a hurry.

"Hi," he says.

It is only years of undercover training that prevent Ceres's knees from buckling in relief. She is so stunned to see him at her door that she merely stares at him for a moment, her lips parted in shock. Then her brain remembers how to function and she replies, "Hi. Do you want to come in?"

"Sure, yeah. Thanks."

She lets him inside, embarrassed by the ashtray that Ilyas had left on the kitchen counter. She silently curses at him as she all but throws it into his bedroom before closing the door again, startling Antichrist, who had been lounging on the back of the sofa. The cat's jade eyes linger on Steve before closing again, content that this visitor has already passed her inspection.

"I'm sorry for disappearing like that," Steve begins. "I had an emergency mission and had to leave before I could say anything. I wanted to call, but I realized that I gave you my number, but I didn't have yours, and..." Realizing he's rambling and that Ceres looks amused, he takes a deep breath and steadies himself. "Anyways. I went to the coffee shop, but you weren't there, so I figured I would try my luck here. And, uh, well..."

Ceres doesn't notice that his hands have been behind his back the whole time before he hands her a tiny silver gift bag. It's only the size of her palm, such a small thing, but it may as well have been an engagement ring for how hard Steve is blushing. His face is already flushed carmine — and not from the cold this time — even though she hasn't opened it yet.

"You got me something?" she asks, both bewildered and touched. She removes the small tuft of tissue paper and reveals a magnet of the Gateway Arch that says 'MY BEST FRIEND WENT TO ST. LOUIS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS MAGNET.'

"I noticed you have quite a collection." He gestures to their refrigerator, which is indeed covered in various magnets from their trips as X-Men. They serve both as mementos of their travels and reminders of where they have been— a fun alternative to documenting everything in a journal before the memories slip away with time. "I didn't think you had a St. Louis one yet."

"We don't." Ceres beams at him, which only seems to make him more embarrassed. She can't help but poke the bear and tease him further by asking, "We're best friends?"

He scratches the back of his head while staring hard at something to her left. "The gift shop had a limited selection. They didn't have 'favorite barista'." He racks up the nerve to meet her eyes and returns her grin, crooking one side of his mouth upward. "I had about half an hour of free time and decided to use it wisely. I felt guilty for up and leaving without an explanation."

"Steve, you can't control when catastrophes happen," Ceres says. She places the magnet among the chaos— its newness makes it stick out from the old, sun-faded ones that surround it. "It wasn't your fault. What happened?"

"A target popped up and we had to chase them across state lines," he answers. "It ended with a confrontation in St. Louis, where we neutralized the threat before they could blow up the Gateway Arch. Sorry that I can't say more, it's just... it's classified SHIELD data."

Ceres nods. "Oh, believe me, I understand how precarious it can be to handle classified cases. It's hard to keep track of what you can and can't tell certain people. I'm glad that everything went well— if they had succeeded, then there would've been a lot of civilian casualties."

"Yeah. That was the goal, unfortunately," Steve sighs. He shakes his head as if eager to move on from the topic, adding, "But I should be back for a while. We still have missions here before we have to head back to Headquarters."

She tries to keep her tone light, disguising the prickle of sadness that stabs her in the gut. "When's that?"

He shrugs. "Not sure. Everything's moving slower than expected. A few months, maybe? Don't worry, I'll tell you before I head back to DC. I wouldn't abandon my only friend in New York like that."

"I'm sure you have more than one."

"Some I would address more as teammates than friends."

"Well... you have me, and Chris, for sure," Ceres says, scooping Ilyas's cat up from the sofa and cradling her like a child. Chris makes a mmrrrp noise as she's disturbed from her doze.

"Oh, yes, how could I forget?" Steve asks. He softly strokes Chris on the head with his knuckle, smiling when she rams her forehead into his hand affectionately.

"Do you still have that notebook I gave you?"

"Of course." Steve reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and produces the small book, its brown cover slightly worn from use even after such a short time. He's added a few more entries already, filling two pages. This pleases her immensely.

Ceres takes it and grabs the pen they keep on the counter for convenience. Then she jots a series of numbers onto the last blank line.

"My phone number," she says, adding '(Ceres's cell number)' after it. "Do you know how to use a landline or a pay phone? I know you said you have one, but have you used it?"

"Yeah, I got that down after staring at one for about fifteen minutes," Steve replies. "I was surprised that there wasn't an operator to connect the call."

Ceres nods. "That happens automatically now. And if you ever want to try a cell phone, there are still flip phones available. Those have actual buttons instead of smartphones, which are just a screen." She shows him hers — a red Pantech Burst — and watches his eyes widen a bit. "Flip phones are a lot less complicated."

Steve shakes his head in awe. "Technology is amazing. I never would've guessed I'd be able to have a telephone in my pocket."

"Change can be scary, for sure, but I'll help you through it," she assures him. "You don't have to be embarrassed about anything, okay? You can ask me whatever you want. There's a big chance it has probably confused me, too."

Steve smiles, and in that one facial expression, she can feel the gratitude exuding from him in waves. He's much more relaxed around her than when they'd first reunited at the café. And he's so smiley. Ceres feels a burst of joy every time he grins, proud of herself for having caused it, glad to see him happy when his trauma must cut so deep.

She wants to make sure he's not drowning. It's a feeling she knows unfortunately well.

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It's another busy night at the bar, filling Ceres's ears with catchy rap music pouring from the speakers and the chatter of patrons as she fulfills drink orders. Her movements are fluid and precise as she measures each ingredient. It's gotten warm behind the bar, the air sharp and heavy with the scent of alcohol, so she's glad she'd chucked her jacket on a hook in the back. Being in just a black tank top keeps her from sweating too much.

To her surprise, the black-haired newcomer to the city remembers her. Frank slides onto an empty barstool with a blonde woman at his side.

"Hey!" he calls to Ceres, grinning. His smile is handsome — all perfectly straight teeth and crinkles around those electric blue eyes. "Guess what? I made a friend! This is Annie. Annie, this is the bartender who kept me from drowning my sorrows in liquor when I was wallowing over being unemployed. Oh, that's right — I'm also employed now!"

Ceres laughs at his topic-bouncing. "That sounds like a cause for some drinks on the house. Nice to meet you, Annie. I'm Ceres."

"You know, technically, you were one of the first people I met in Brooklyn," Frank tells her. "And like a douchebag, I forgot to ask for your name before I left."

"I know that night was rough for you," she replies, shrugging. "Any preferred drink? I can't give you anything top-shelf for free, but I can be flexible."

"How about some Green Tea shots?" Annie suggests. Her eyes are a striking shade of green even in the low light of the dive bar.

Frank nods. "Haven't tried those, but isn't green tea supposed to be, like, healing and shit? I could use some of that."

"It's not going to cure all of your diseases, if that's what you're expecting," Ceres warns him, grabbing three shot glasses.

"That's okay. I like myself diseased."

Ceres finishes crafting the shots, watering hers down of course, and the trio clinks their glasses together before downing the burning liquid.

"I can feel all of my problems being washed away already," Frank says. "Thank you."

Thankfully, she's not by herself this time, so the work is evenly split between Ceres and her coworker, a heavily tattooed woman named Gianna. They don't have a dress code beyond black clothing. Gianna mostly sticks to tops that are buttoned up to her neck and rolls her sleeves to her forearms. Ceres is pretty sure this is to make sure her tattoo of two interlocked feminine symbols is prominently displayed. She doesn't like to wear her wedding ring while on the job, so she tries to let men know she's not interested in the next best way without having to open her mouth.

"I should just get a tat on my forearm that says I LOVE MY WIFE, because too many guys keep thinking I'm just playing hard to get," she'd once complained to Ceres. "Or knuckle tats that say LESBIANS. Maybe one on my forehead?"

Ceres, in contrast, figures she may as well take advantage of the extra tips she gets when she plays the part of the sexy bartender. Her tank top exposes some of her cleavage. She'll toss her hair to the side and look at men under her lashes, lowering her voice to a sultry tone. She doesn't understand how people could be sexually attracted to someone they don't know, but she'll milk that as much as she needs to.

As she works, she frequently visits Annie and Frank, catching snippets of his story. He's lived in the shadow of his older sister since birth, so he'd moved to New York in the hopes of making it big somehow. Except it's not working out so far.

"I wanted to stick it to my family that I'm not useless, ya know?" he sighs, swirling the thin black straw around his drink.

"I don't think you're useless," Ceres says. "You seem like a nice person. And now you have two whole friends in Brooklyn."

"And a job, solid place to live..." Annie elbows him, her full lips lifted in a teasing grin. "Looks like your next stop is Broadway."

"How'd you know I'm singlehandedly crafting my own musical?" Frank mocks astonishment, placing a hand on his chest. "I'm going to write a one-man show."

Ceres plays along. "What's it about?"

"Haven't gotten that far yet."

An uproar from the pool tables in the corner causes both Frank and Annie to turn their heads toward the noise. Because he's sitting right by one of the bar lights, Ceres can see him better than the first time they'd met. And something makes her frown. The edges of his ear are smudged with black. There are more traces near his sideburns, staining his tanned skin. It's hair dye.

At the same time she finds it suspicious, she dismisses the thought. Lots of people dye their hair. Maybe he's going prematurely gray.

"Jeez," Frank says, going back to nursing his drink. Ceres straightens her face before he can notice her frown. "That happen a lot?"

"More often than you'd think," Ceres replies. "Security will kick them out if they start getting physical." She briefly gnaws on her bottom lip before taking a chance and asking, "If you don't mind me prying, what does your sister do that makes her seem so great?"

Frank scoffs. "More like what doesn't she do? Always top of her class, in tons of clubs at school and college. Got scholarships galore. Volunteering. She got scouted for modeling as a teenager — the whole black hair, blue eyes thing in our family helped with that — but dropped it when she turned eighteen because she wanted to become a vet. And now she's saving the lives of puppies and kitties and has never done anything wrong in her life."

His sour tone could curdle milk. Ceres feels bad for asking. Annie notices the guilt flashing across her face and shakes her head, her expression reassuring. "Don't worry about him. He's... dramatic."

"Really?" Ceres tilts her head to the side. "I hadn't noticed."

Frank points his glass at her warningly. "Hey, now."

But even as the night continues, she can't shake the feeling that something is off. It's similar to the sensation that used to help her during missions. She learned to sense when she was walking into a trap, trusting her instincts that sent alarm bells throughout her body. It leaves her slightly nauseous by the time Frank and Annie pay their tab and say their goodbyes.

Ceres grins and waves at them, telling them she hopes they come back soon, but inside, she feels like she needs to crawl out of her skin. Something is not right here. Something has followed her here to her job, to one of her safe spaces.

Something has caught up with her.

________

a/n:

hey all, sorry for the long wait between chapters! every time i thought about writing this fic, i was reminded of the tragedy that occurred when i was working on the last one (check my previous author's note) and needed a little push to continue. then CACW was on tv and i kept imagining ceres and ilyas in it, and BOOM. i started this chapter that same night. funny how inspiration works.

here is a reference photo of ceres's phone:

PEAK of 2012 technology here

there will only be a handful of chapters left before we get to CATWS! updates will likely come faster than because i'll have a concrete plot to follow. i'm excited for you guys to see how i fit our favorite mutants into the storyline :)

— kristyn

( word count: 2.8k )