Been a Long Time Coming for the Working Man

[burnthemall]

Hansel liked the times where he was alone in the coffee shop best. Early in the morning when he was baking or late at night when he was cleaning up, or making doughs to rise overnight. It was quiet, except for the radio he left playing in the kitchen. He was alone and allowed a moment of peace and quiet.

If Gretel stayed some nights that was okay. He never minded his sister's presence.

Tonight, he was alone though, moping the floor and singing along to the radio.

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[chromatist]

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.

[burnthemall]

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.

[chromatist]

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?"

[burnthemall]

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."

[chromatist]

"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.

[burnthemall]

"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.

[chromatist]

"Would've been pretty useful."

She sighs quietly and shifts, getting more comfortable against him. "Partial differential equations and probability theory. I lost to some French guy and a Russian."

[burnthemall]

He remembers the French and the Russian work, but he also remembers her work. She was one of the people who knocked him off the list.

"I, uh, read that paper. It was good work." He doesn't like revealing how intelligent he is. It's a closely guarded secret that he's a bit of an engineering genius. "The Russian did deserve it though. A little more clean up work and you would've smoked him."

[chromatist]

"You did?" She lifts her head enough that she can see his face, still dabbing at hers with the towel. She had no idea he even cared about math, let alone read the proposals for the Fields Medal. She figured he'd gone to culinary school, maybe did a BA in business or something.

"Well, in my defense, I was only twenty three when I wrote that paper, so." She clears her throat. "It could have been better."

[burnthemall]

He studied mechanical engineering, with a minor is math. Gretel was the business woman, except he balanced the books and did the taxes. Baking was basically math you cooked so he managed that fine.

"I read 'em every year." He gets a few nerdy math journals mailed to him. He likes to keep up with the numbers and what's going on.

"Why haven't you tried again?"

[chromatist]

She looks at him quietly for a moment, trying to decide if she actually wants to talk about this or not. But hey, it's not like Hansel will probably ever mention this again, and she knows for a fact that he never talks about her anyway, so maybe getting it off her chest will be good for her.

"When I was sixteen, I got abducted from school during the homecoming dance. I wasn't found until almost three days later. I have little to no memories of that time, but there was plenty of physical trauma for the police to document. Including DNA. Turns out the man who took me was dead, had died earlier in the year. Imagine how well that went over, hm. Dead culprit kidnaps teenage girl." It sounds like she's quoting headlines now, and she is. She's back to staring at her towels because looking at his face is too difficult. "Nobody believed me. My injuries healed and people forgot and I made myself stop thinking about it. I went to college all the way across the country, never stepped foot back home, immersed myself in my new life so I could forget. And everything was just fine, until I graduated Yale and went on to do my master's at Harvard."

A long pause again, before she sighs, her fingers twisting the towel. "He was one of my professors. First day of class, he looks straight at me in the sea of faces in lecture, right into my eyes, and smiles at me. I knew it was him. I could feel it in my bones. I tried telling campus police, called up the city, everything. Nobody believed me. They told me I was imagining things, that I had unresolved emotional issues that were pushing to the fore, that I was projecting. I'm not crazy," she insists, lifting her head to stare at him with a determined expression. "I'm not. It was him, I knew it was. But nobody paid any attention, so I did the only thing I could think of: I dropped out. I moved out of Boston, I got a new job, I bought a taser and a gun." A gun she keeps with her at all times.

"That's why."

[burnthemall]

Well, that was heavy. He wasn't expecting that answer and he had no idea how to respond to it. He thought maybe she just got discouraged or some shit like that. Kidnap had not entered into his mind, though considering his own childhood maybe it should have. He forgot sometimes that other people had shitty childhoods too.

"Fuck 'em," he said with a shrug. "You deserve that medal whatever happened to you. You might as well get back to it. If it's what really makes you happy."

That's why Hansel was a baker, running a business with his sister because it made him happy. Engineering was great and all, but it wouldn't have fulfilled him like running a family business does.

[chromatist]

She ends up shaking her head, still fiddling with the towel in her hands.

"No. I...it reminds me too much of him." A soft sigh and she wipes at her face again. "I'm happy found what I'm doing. When it goes well and my clients don't back out at the last minute, making us lose millions on a specific property."

[burnthemall]

That sounded a hell of a lot like giving up to Hansel, but he wasn't going to harp on her when she already felt like crap.

"You'll close an even bigger deal next week." He figured in her world millions wasn't a lot of money.

[chromatist]

"Well, if I don't get fired between now and then." She's being melodramatic, of course, but it feels apropos right now.

[burnthemall]

"I got an opening for a floor mopper if you need a job in a few days." He's trying to lighten the mood with more of his lame humor.

[chromatist]

She laughs quietly. "Only if you use designer mops."

[burnthemall]

"Only Ace hardware's best." He had no fucking clue where the mop came from. It was just a stupid mop.

[chromatist]

"Good enough for me."

She sits back a little and takes a deep breath, pushing her hair out of her face and clearly trying to get herself back together. "Thanks, Hansel. For...all of this."

[burnthemall]

He shrugs a shoulder. "No problem, Red."

Not that he wanted to do this again. He could only really handle this once or twice a month. Maybe.

[chromatist]

"Do you want me to clear out, let you finish up without me breaking down in the center of your store?"

It's possible she's just mortified he had to see that.

[burnthemall]

"You can stay if you want. I've got to finish up." Because he can't close without cleaning everything up. He's worked until the wee hours of the morning sometimes.

Insomnia is an issue.

[chromatist]

She hesitates for a moment. "...Can I help?"

[burnthemall]

"Can you clean?" Because he can't imagine her cleaning. Ever.

[chromatist]

She gives him a look. "As long as I can do it barefoot, then yes." Because she is not fulfilling any weird teenage fantasies he had about a hot chick cleaning in heels.