Who: Micah and Iris What: Iris sets both of the men she knows up on dates and sends them away. Clearly this is a good tactic to keep them busy. When: After their argument about the Watch. Before (I think?) Eliot's Date. Where: Le Croquembouche Warnings: Language, some mature discussion, nothing too bad.
Micah had no interest in going out with the girl who worked the shift before Iris'. In fact, he'd only agreed to make Iris jealous, which, in retrospect, was probably a terrible idea. You couldn't make someone jealous who had their sights firmly set on someone else, albeit unwittingly.
He'd lingered a little longer than necessary at the office, pursuing his burgeoning theory that Bellum Letale existed outside of the law somehow, and then he'd taken a quick shower at the nearby hospital, dressing simply and taking his time walking to the coffee shop. It was completely unintentional that Iris was still there when he arrived, not at all planned, and he grinned at her when he walked in the door.
A moment later, however, his gaze was skirting over the women present, looking for this Paragon of Perfection Iris had promised him. Sweet, nice, pretty, uncomplicated - that's what Iris thought he needed, was it? He would have been lying if he didn't admit that dancing and drinking and a good lay wouldn't go a long way to relieving the tension of Aaron, Iris, Eliot and the full moon. But the fact that the Paragon of Perfection worked with Iris made the latter highly unlikely, regardless of necessity.
Unless, of course, she was irresistible. Micah was, after all, only human.
Iris knew, somewhere deep down in the thick marrow of her bones, the stuff that held her together and made her strong, that she couldn't ever go on a job again. Long cons were based on a development of trust, and Iris, like all professional con artists, knew that getting trust meant giving it. You had to prove you were honest to get away with being dishonest. Show your own money to make the mark give you his; bet as if you have nothing to lose, so the people around you would do the same. People were not sheep, but if you got them hot, riled them up, and made them ignore their better judgment, they were easy to fleece just the same.
In the past year, Iris had discovered that she was physically unable to demonstrate that all-too-pivotal trust. Men, the most vulnerable targets and the most willing to lose to a pretty woman, were now creatures to be feared, and despite her best efforts, she could not convince herself otherwise. She couldn't intercept an admiring glance without wondering if the motivation behind it was violent, and she couldn't experience a brushe of contact without a surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline.
It was fucking annoying.
Worse than that, it was debilitating. Her old pursuits, even those traditionally scheduled in her downtime, were out of reach. She could certainly admire, even desire, but the moment she crossed into physicality, she literally fell to pieces. Right now, she was marking time until some hazy court date materialized on the horizon, so she could manage life well enough without sex or man, and save the other problems for later. Her control over her body, expressions, and language generally served her well in this functional concealment. She could hide discomfort and even fear. She could prevent herself from moving when she wanted to retreat, and force herself to meet a gaze even when she desperately wanted to look away.
Except with Micah. He was too observant, too persistent, and far too sexual not to notice there was something wrong with her right out of the gate. Iris was not in the habit of making friends, especially not with attractive young men, but this one would not go away, and she would be a fool to turn away such a powerful--and convenient--ally. In another life she would have just slept with him and been done with it, and with his needlessly protective and extremely male leader-of-the-pack personality, she suspected that in that life, she may have managed to secure his interest long enough to get what she wanted out of him before disappearing into the ether. Obviously, that option was out of her reach, so Micah had stayed a friend despite his meddling personality and blatant, truly terrifying sexual interest.
So now Iris found herself stuck with a man she cared about but most fervently wanted to keep at arms-length. He had too much restless energy to direct at either herself or violent pursuits (too separate categories that she continually remind herself would stay separate), and that meant she had to find something to distract him with.
That something was Stella.
Stella was several years out of college with an arts degree that did her no favors; she had a biting, careless personality but also a serious frame of mind, and while she was never warm, she was certainly passionate. Of Hawaiian origin (Iris identified the choppy yet rolling accent without effort) and Japanese descent, Stella had a magnificent gold skintone and an artist's eye for dark shadow colors picked out in the little bronze ornaments she liked to design. She had glossy dark hair and precisely the kind of unselfconscious demeanor that meant she left it in an uninteresting thick braid.
Iris was not particularly pleased to see Micah during her shift (she had very much planned to be somewhere else when he showed up), but she had suggested something of a blind date with her very attractive neighbor, and having just come out of a relationship with a real idiot of a man--the suited wall street type--Stella had been agreeable enough to the idea. She was busy at the moment delivering baskets of sweet potato fries and paninis, and Iris, standing at ease behind the counter in the lull between customers, caught Micah's eye and directed it in the right direction. Iris herself looked arch and immobile in ruby tones, and she definitely did not return his grin. She just raised her eyebrows in silent question.
Micah looked in the direction she indicated, and then he looked back at Iris. The woman was attractive, to say the least. She wasn't Micah usual type, but then neither was Iris. Micah usually liked his woman plump, curvy and with a wicked bossy streak (though he'd never admit that), but her skintone reminded him of home, and that thick glossy hair, braided like it was, put him in the mindset to work his frustrations out on more than dancing, despite the fact that she was Iris' co-worker.
Micah's gaze on Iris, when he looked back, was appreciative. Despite the fact that Iris was being intentionally immobile and silent (Micah suspected payback for his tardy arrival), he thought she looked regal and like a force to be reckoned with, all while looking like a scared little girl. He gave her a wink, and then he walked up to the counter and leaned against it. "Your friend's busy," he said, looking back appreciatively. "And not as amazing as you, but she's attractive."
She moved a step or two away, in front of the machine, to make him one of his café con leche, just because she was feeling particularly obtuse today. "So glad you approve," she said, in a voice tinged with just the right amount of sarcasm. "Be nice to Stella, Micah. I don't want to hear any horrible stories about you." Actually, if the whole thing went to the blazes, Iris imagined she wouldn't hear a damn thing from anyone.
She curved a glance his way, taking in his dress of choice, and said, without any particular judgment, "At least you're not trying too hard."
He chuckled at her chiding remark, and he looked down at the shirt and jeans (which he found absolutely no fault with, thank you very much), and then he pushed away from the counter and wove his way between the tables until he was behind Stella. "Hey," he said simply from over her shoulder, voice low and rich, at ease in a way that said he wasn't trying any harder than his clothing was. He ducked his head, and he smiled. "Iris says I'm not dressed up enough."
Stella turned. She had been in no few relationships, and generally she stayed on the safe side with sane, cultured types. She liked Iris well enough, for a coworker, but mostly she just wanted to distract herself from an empty apartment. Surprised, she looked him over and stepped back to present her apron, stained and with crumbs still clinging to it. "Neither am I."
He grinned at her. She had a pretty face, a little reserved, perhaps, but pretty. "I won't tell if you don't," he said easily, his grin smile natural and unthinking. "I'm Micah, Stella," he said, and he held out a hand in respectful equality, holding her hand just a little too long when she offered it to him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Iris was watching, and he almost laughed at the preoccupation. Instead of concentrating on it, he ducked his head and whispered in Stella's ear. "Do you dance?" his breath warm, voice just slightly accented for her benefit.
Stella was an easy sell, because he already had what she wanted. "Hula lessons when I was a girl," she said, shifting her hips as if to demonstrate. Reserved she might be, but he already got her to smile back at him, and she definitely had no compunction about leaning in, nor about letting him have her hand as long as he liked. She had an even grip, fingertips with odd callouses where she bent wire jewelry.
And yes, Iris was watching.
The hand, so easily, offered, was held a moment longer, and he held her gaze along with it. The swivel and shift of hips didn't go unnoticed, but it was the niggling feeling that he was being watched that made him grin at Stella with more interest than he truly felt. "Go dancing with me," he said with a flash of dimples and teeth. His hand moved to her hip, his fingers long and strong and spanning from hip to waist. He pulled her close in an approximation of a dance move, graceful in a way that seemed impossible for someone his size.
Stella, who had not been pursued in quite this way before, was enjoying herself, and smiled again. "You get a pass on the usual coffee-dinner routine because I work at a coffee place and I'm not hungry yet." She easily kept her balance and shifted automatically against his palm. "You want me to stay in the apron or clean up first?" She had very white teeth past the dark curve of her lips. She'd painted them a faint, faint pink.
Iris rolled her eyes upward. Amateurs.
He chuckled, and he stepped back. "Clean up. I'll wait for you," he said. "I have a coffee to finish anyway." He slid his hand away from where it had continued to linger on her hip, letting it brush over the outside of her thigh as he moved back, then he walked back to the counter and the abandoned café con leche.
"Doing better on the 'not trying too hard' accusation?" he asked Iris as he brought the cup to his lips. He watched her over the rim, his eyes warm with challenge.
"Don't do it just to get under my skin, Micah," Iris said smoothly, wiping out a cup without looking up. "If you like her, take her out, otherwise just say so." Damned if she was going to show him anything.
He reached out a hand slowly, letting her see it coming, and he stopped her hand on the cup. "She's pretty, but she isn't what I want, and you I both know that," he said, voice low and private. He moved his hand back a second later, and his expression melted into something easy and relaxed. "But I like dancing, and I haven't been in a while," he said truthfully. That, at least, was complete honesty. Micah wasn't hard-up for sex, and he wasn't hard-up for women. He was actually looking for something completely different than what Iris seemed to think would satisfy him. But all of that didn't mean he couldn't have a good time with an attractive woman.
Iris was abruptly very sorry she'd come up with this idea. She wanted to finish her shift and go home, alone, where she didn't have to worry about dealing with Micah, or Stella, or anyone. She would have turned away but she couldn't give anyone her back, so she just moved sideways behind the coffee machine. "Well you better make up your mind before she comes back out."
He was watching her steadily, his gaze intelligent and observant. "You tell me, Iris. You want me to go out with her or not?" he asked, putting the ball back in her court. He straightened to his full height, and he crossed his arms, and he waited. "You made this move, not me."
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?" She didn't let her voice get very high on the inquiry. Part of keeping her voice mellow despite the conversation meant that she could maintain emotional distance, supposedly. Giving a damn about this situation was not part of the plan.
"No, Iris. It's what you wanted," he said easily, without batting an eyelash. "To distract me."
"You just said you're in the mood to be distracted." She refused to look up, and found another cup to clean.
He reached out a hand again, and he took the cup from her gently. "Si or no, mamita. Do you want me to go?"
She backed away and looked around for another one. "I'm not making decisions for you. They're suggestions. You figure out what you want to do, and stop making me feel bad about it." She'd gone too far with the explanation, and she knew it. Giving up, she left the cup on the counter and retreated from the shop entirely, moving through the staff door into the back. The swinging black snuffed out the red, like a match, and she was out of sight almost immediately.
Stella, looking exotic and svelte in a v-neck and dark skirt, came through the door on the second swing, and looked over her shoulder with a slightly puzzled look on her face.
Stella looked amazing, and Micah could appreciate that. His gaze slid over the v-neck before ever getting near her face, and he considered chasing after Iris.
No, he did more than consider.
He touched his hand to Stella's arm, and he whispered in her ear. "Give me a minute?" he said, and he walked back into the staff area without thinking twice about the fact that he shouldn't be there.
Stella opened her mouth to say something, but then he was already gone. She wasn't an idiot, and she tipped her head as he headed after Iris in the back. There was something going on, and while Stella was typically level-headed, she wasn't in the mood to be part of anybody's game. She stood there as he went, and tried to decide if that's what this was.
The back of the coffee shop wasn't amazing. They'd had to do some remodeling to fit the kitchen and the slide in, and under the rattle of kitchenware most everything had a hard echo. Iris had gone straight through the back and taken her bag from where she'd left it in a cupboard. The bang of the alley door and the seam of a red skirt betrayed her destination, however.
Micah cursed under his breath in Spanish. She was going to get herself fired if she stormed off like that, and he knew she couldn't afford to get fired. He followed after the red skirt, and he let the alley door bang behind him intentionally. The last thing he wanted to do was sneak up on her in the dark.
"Iris," he called out. "Stop."
Iris, at the mouth of the alley, turned back at the sound of the door, stiffening up immediately until the figure resolved itself. She'd been digging in the bag for her lighter, cigarette already in the opposite hand, and she let out a hiss of irritation at the sight of him. "Micah, can't you just leave me alone?"
"Go back in and work before they fire you," he said, and he crossed his arms as she lit up the cigarette. "Then I'll leave you alone." He looked stubborn, even in the dark. He meant what he said. If she wanted him gone, she'd go back inside.
"I'm taking a break," she replied, aggressively, eyes glinting dangerous steel in the orange glow of the cigarette as she inhaled.
The aggressive reply and the dangerous glint made him move closer, rather than encouraging him to step away. It was new, and Micah was very much like moth to flame with any new aspects of Iris' personality. "What is it, mamita? You thought I was going to be a good boy, show up before you got here, and you'd never have to see what you started?" he asked, voice low and slow.
Iris refused to be baited. "Jesus," she said, employing a ruthless American accent to chop her phrases further, "did you just leave her in there?" She didn't back up, digging her heels down into the cement through her sandals. "You did, didn't you? I was trying to help you, Micah, not turn the coffee shop into a goddamn war zone!"
"I asked her to wait a minute," he said, his tone staying just as low and calm, his steps toward her almost a cat-like prowl. "You were trying to help me? Or you were trying to help yourself?"
She thought he was trying to frighten her, and she refused to cooperate on principle, standing her ground. "I thought that's what you came here for. Normalcy." She jerked her cigarette toward the shop. "That girl? She's normal. She's a nice person, as far as I can tell, and God knows there's not many of those around." Ash scattered.
"You thought that what I came where for, Iris?" he asked, stopping when he was close enough to smell the sweet, slight musk of her skin. "To this coffee shop? To your fire escape the other night? To New York?" He left to America unsaid.
It would be so easy for him to grab her from there. Take her arm first, and then her throat... Iris blinked. Hard. "Here. New York. America." She made as if to shrug.
He caught the blink, coupled with the sound of her voice (the fear there), the almost-shrug, and he realized what it meant. He took a step back, then another, until he couldn't reach her without moving if he tried. "I came here because I didn't have a choice," he said, voice hard, the words forced between teeth that were gritted tight, jaw set.
He turned, and he came back the way he came. She wanted him to go out and have a good time? Fine. He would go out and have a good time.
Iris didn't answer. She didn't pursue, nor did she call after him. Instead, she waited until the door swung shut, then she put her back to the wall and slid down to the curb. It took her a couple of tries to get the cigarette back to her mouth, but she knew her hands would stop shaking eventually. She just had to wait until they did.
Stella was nowhere to be seen when Micah re-entered the coffee house, but that wasn't surprising. In fact, it was a bit of a relief, since any desire he'd had to have a 'good time,' as he'd tried to convince himself a moment earlier, was completely eradicated (if it had ever truly existed).
He left the area of the coffeehouse (after lingering around the corner long enough to make sure Iris made it back inside safely), and he returned to Bellum for his camera.
It was dawn before he returned to 202, and even then it was just long enough to shower and leave for work.