V (marvel comics au)

In Which Sam Proposes Assimilation

The café part of V Café Deli and Supermarket, was a collection of plush armchairs and cluttered coffee tables, gathered around a large pillar at the front of the store. The pillar was nicknamed Hab Central, to the left of it was the counter where people could order their (completely vegan) drinks. The counter continued into the display case of the Deli section, which led into the kitchen. To the right of Hab Central was the supermarket section, filled with fresh fruits and herbs and eighteen different kinds of trail mix.

Hab Central was basically staff headquarters. It was where the team meetings were held, consensuses consented, and coffee was served. Good coffee.

The organic soy latte sitting in front of T'Challa was still steaming, whisps curling off of the creamy surface. Each one was shaped differently; if he looked closely enough he could see a tidal wave, or a tiger contrasted against the blue chipped ceramic of his mug.

Sam was agitated, waving his hands around as they discussed revenue and profit. The store owner was nestled in the biggest comfy chair, Natasha was perched lazily on his armrest, her skinny jean clad legs folded over one another. Steve was sitting to his left, elbows resting on his knees.

"Okay that's it for The Farmers Market," Sam shuffled at some of his papers. "What do we have on the rooftop garden?"

"Some potatoes, rhubarb, okra," Steve began, all while Sam nodded astutely. "Last I checked, we were running low on snap peas but we still have some snow peas, sugar peas, chickpeas-"

"Okay Steve, shut up about the peas for two seconds." Natasha cut in. Steve closed his mouth looking bemused. The head chef turned to kick lightly at Sam's shin. "What is up with you?"

"What?" Sam blinked.

"You're really out of it today, don't think we haven't noticed." Natasha stared at him intently, T'Challa was reminded of the first time they'd met. University, 2014. The way she smiles with just her eyes. She was smiling at Sam now, the corner of her mouth lifted empathetically.

Sam waved at them. "I'm not out of it," he replied indignantly, flapping his hands, "I'm fine." He made a motion like he was swatting a fly.

"You move your hands a lot when you're upset." Natasha declared wryly. The wind in her hair as they stood on the lighthouse, Steve running his hands over the glass and the mirrors.

"I'm just," Sam sighed, and T'Challa was overrun with another memory: his father pinching the bridge of his nose as he sifted through paperwork. The backs of his mother's knees.

I guess today is one of those days. The cashier felt sick to his stomach. If Jess was here she tell him to take the day off, she could always tell when T'Challa was in a mood. He felt his gaze drawn to Ifan, his friend was sitting with his chin resting on steepled fingers, watching Sam as he struggled to speak.

"The new lodger rattled me, yesterday." The store owner said finally, "the way he looked at our sign... He seemed put out, like our store offended him, or something." Sam picked up his coffee (cappucino in a red mug), and set it down again. "We've been losing customers lately, I thought maybe that was because of our style? I mean I always want to discuss the restaurant idea-" to this they all made sympathetic noises, "-but what if... what if the issue is with our catering?"

The whole room took a short, sharp breath. Sam picked at the orange fabric of his chair, and then at the green fabric of his shirt, refusing to meet the questioning eyes of his friends.

"Are you suggesting," Ifan had one eyebrow raised, his hands twisting around his cream coloured mug of Gunpowder tea, "that we conform to the majority?"