burnthemall | Been a Long Time Coming for the Working Man

He barely hears the knock over the music, but Hansel does hear it. He looks over his shoulder at the door and is a little surprised to see Lydia. When she hadn't come in at her usual time he had been a little worried she was a busy woman. She didn't need to stop by all the time.

He shoves the mop in the bucket before he goes over to the door and taps the glass to get her attention.

"Gotta come back tomorrow, Red."

There's a tap on the glass to echo hers and she starts, lifting her head to see Hansel standing behind the door, a mop and bucket sitting quietly behind him. Oh, of course.

Normally, she'd give him a winning smile and try to con her way into the store, citing her favored status or just steamrolling over him until he let her in, but she's tired and she's had a bad day, and the idea of fighting with him, no matter how much fun it is regularly, is just too much.

So she sighs and gives him a little nod, the barest hint of a polite smile making an attempt to curl her lips. She mouths sorry and gestures to her wrist with a shrug, indicating she forgot the time, then picks up her briefcase again and half-turns away.

Now that he gets a good look at her, Hansel can be worried. She looks like someone ran over her cat and her. His natural inclination to be alone wars with his worry for about thirty seconds before he digs out his keys and unlocks the top lock on the door.

Before she can get very far he opens the door, grabs her arm and pulls her inside. He locks the door again behind her then moves towards the kitchen. He's shut down the main coffee machines, but he has a little pot going in the back.

She looks like she really needs the coffee.

"Oh!"

Before she really knows what's happening, Lydia is being dragged back into the store, almost slipping on the wet floor in her heels before regaining her balance. "Hansel, what—"

He's not listening to her, pulling her along behind the counter and through the doors into the back of the store, somewhere she'd never been before.

Once they're inside the kitchen he lets her go. "Don't touch anything."

He has bowls of dough laid out and some ingredients as well. It's his system that not even Gretel messes with. He leaves Lydia to not touch anything while he gets a mug from the drying rack and pours a up from his little miniature coffee pot.

"Go sit down out there." He hands her the cup along with giving the order. "You look like shit."

She feels markedly out of place here; this is not her world.

But it's fascinating, still, and so even though she's not allowed to touch anything, she leans over the bowls and looks, trying to figure out what he's doing by the ingredients alone.

"Well, you don't look much like a ray of sunshine yourself, sweetheart," she gripes, automatically accepting the cup. She looks down at it, so tempting and warm and creamy, but shakes her head and sets it down on the counter in front of her. "Thanks, but I really shouldn't. Not if I want to sleep at all tonight."

"Did you just fucking turn down free coffee from me?" He crosses his arms over his chest because he's trying to do something nice for her and of course she says no. He's kind of pissed over that.

He let her in after closing, brought her back to the kitchen, his domain and he let her have coffee that she just basically threw in his face.

This is why he never does nice things for people.

"Hansel, I'm—" She presses her lips together tightly and huffs out a quiet sigh through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment before trying this again. "Thank you. Really. But it's already almost nine and if I'm going to have any hope of sleeping tonight, it's going to be with a Valium and maybe a whole bottle of wine, so coffee isn't going to help there."

She tries to give him a grateful smile, but she's not sure if she hit the mark yet. "It smells amazing, though."

"Fine, go home."

Like most emotions, Hansel doesn't handle rejection well. He tried to do something nice when he had no reason to other than she looked like shit and now he feels snubbed.

He walks around her, keys already in hand. "I'll get the door for you."

She reaches out and catches his hand in hers, frowning. Now she feels guilty on top of everything else, and that's just... If she was anyone else, she might break down and start crying right now, but she's not, so she just swallows thickly and tries to keep her mask up in place.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

He had been hoping there was something more to her than attitude and ego, but those walls of hers seem to be set in stone. He's not going to get close to someone like that. It always ends up hurting him in the end.

"Can I just..." she looks around, at a loss. "Just sit here for a bit? I'll stay out of your hair, I promise, I just need to sit for a little while."

She can't quite make eye contact; it's not because she doesn't want to look at him, but because she's almost ashamed, that she's admitting weakness, that she's unable to just soldier on home, whatever. Her apartment is so quiet, so empty, even Alastair isn't enough company to keep her out of her head right now.

"I already said you could, Red."

Some of the tables have their chairs on top of them, but in the places he's already mopped, they're back on the floor. The arm chairs are always open for people. With the lights half-off, it's more intimate than usual.

He can sacrifice some of his private time. She really looks like hell.

"Thanks," she murmurs, squeezing his hand for a moment before finally letting him go and trudging back over to the chairs, leaving her briefcase on one of the unoccupied counters, seemingly forgetting all about it.

Toeing off her shoes, she settles in one of the arm chairs and tucks her feet up under herself like she used to when she was a teenager, leaning her head on the back and turning away from him a little. It's easier to relax when she doesn't have to be afraid he'll see her face.

However, that means that she's left alone with her thoughts as she sits there, morbidly replaying every moment of her day, like she had any control over any of it.

He understands the need to get away from people and sit quietly. He does that a lot when his tangled mess of fucked up emotions gets the better of him. Without a word he picks up the mop and gets back to work.

If she wants to talk, she'll say something. Otherwise, he'll give her as much privacy as he can.

The longer she sits there, the harder it is not to stew in her failures, in how much her head hurts, in how pathetic she feels. It means that by the time he's finished mopping the floors, she's constantly touching her eyes, trying to absorb any tears that form before they have the chance to mess up her makeup or trickle down her cheeks.

She hasn't let herself cry in years, she can't believe it's happening now.

The difficult thing about crying girls is that Hansel doesn't know if he should approach or not. Gretel likes to be left alone when she's crying, unless they're the really unhappy tears from their childhood, then she wants to sit shoulder to shoulder with him.

Lydia's a big old fucking mystery and he hates that. It makes him feel helpless and that feeling sucks.

He briefly disappears into the kitchen and returns with a cold wet washcloth and a fluffy towel. He stands in front of her, awkwardly. "You can clean up with these."

She sniffles a little, her cheeks burning with shame when he stops in front of her with his towels. She can't believe she's letting him see her like this.

Not quite making eye contact, she accepts them with a wobbly smile. "Thanks," she mumbles, turning her head away again and dabbing at her face with the washcloth.

"God, I'm sorry." Apparently she also can't keep her mouth shut. "This is so... I can't believe I'm crying, god."

Yeah, he can't either. He didn't think she knew how.

"It's alright. Things happen." His tone is gentler than usual, but just as awkward. He doesn't know what to do with her crying. It's just not right.

Gretel should be here to fucking help him.

She hiccups in a breath and tries to keep her mouth pressed tightly together to keep any more tears at bay, but apparently the dam has been broken, because she's at it again, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she makes a horrified noise in the back of her throat.

"Oh, fuck." Time to hide behind the towel, it seems. Also time to shut up, because she might just start sobbing if she opens her mouth, and that's not okay.

He is really bad at this. He was trying to be comforting but apparently he's doing a piss poor job of it. He doesn't know what to do so he reverts to dealing with his charity kids.

He kneels down in front of her, puts his hands on her knees and looks her in the eyes. "It's going to be okay, Lydia."

That's the best he's got.

She sniffs again, hesitating for a moment before letting herself pitch forward and lean on him, hiding her face in his collar. Sometimes she just needs a hug, and since Stiles is rarely around and Dean is at work, Hansel's being called up to bat.

"My fucking day, man," she moans, voice thick with tears. "Can I just get a do-over?"

Oh God, crying woman on his shoulder. He even freaks out when Gretel does this to him, if only for a second. He's really not good with emotions. He puts an arm around her and pats her back.

"I don't have a time machine, Red."

"Dammit," she replies, half-joking, but she's too tired to try to be funny so she just slumps against him and sniffles into his shoulder, letting her hands settle on his chest, her fingers curling under the apron he's still wearing to hold on. He's clearly not good with hugs — but this is why she has gay best friends, right? — but he's trying, and that's good enough for right now. Plus he smells nice, like coffee and sugar and sweet breads overlaying his aftershave, and it's comforting.

"Yeah, I know." He makes a good shoulder to lean on, even though he's not sure what else to do except distract her.

"So, uh, Field's Medal. What did you get nominated for?" He figures talking about something she doesn't do on a daily basis is a good idea. Otherwise, they'll just be right back in more emotional shit he's not ready for.

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