Chapter Text
If there was one thing Joe Beans didn't expect to see when she went to take the trash out behind the back of the coffeeshop, it was a handsome woman sitting between the bins.
She almost doesn't notice her, in a rush to come back to the counter and avoid missing any customers. But her eyes catch on the bright white of her rumpled shirt, and she stops dead in her tracks. It’s a tall and thin older woman, maybe a few years older than her, with short messy gray hair and a seemingly out-of-place dark blue suit. She’s resting against the wall, knees pressed against her chest, and her eyes are vacant.
Joe is so surprised that for a second all she does is stand there, still holding her two heavy trash bags. But then the woman shivers, and finally she drops the bags, kneels down to be eye level with the mysterious woman, and gently waves her hand before her.
"Hey hon, can you hear me?"
The woman lifts her head up to look at her and frowns. She opens her mouth, but it’s a few moments before she starts to speak.
"I… Yes, I… I'm here."
She’s conscious, at least. Joe runs through the first aid training she learned ages ago, trying to be methodical. "That's good. What are you doing here? What do you need?"
She blinks slowly, and Joe realizes she probably is in no state to answer questions right now. She has to think fast. To the best of her knowledge, Gareville does not have a hospital - which she now realizes is a bit strange for a city this size, but that’s not the matter at hand. She could go ask around for a doctor's office, or a ride to a hospital in a nearby city, but that could take a while. What this woman needs right now is to not be sat in between bins in a back alley.
"Alright, you’re fine,” she says, more for herself than this woman. “I’m gonna help you, I just need you to wait here for a moment, I’ll be right there.”
She stands up and walks back into the shop, where a handful of people are still sipping on their drinks. She goes behind the counter and puts on her best "friendly, but firm" voice, the one she uses when a customer asks for a special drink order they heard about on BikBok.
"I'm sorry everyone, I'm gonna have to close a little early today for personal business. Please finish up your drinks and head out, we'll be open tomorrow at the usual time!"
The customers look at each other in surprise, like they’re trying to confirm that they all heard the same thing, but soon most people nod. There are a few who grumble, but in a few minutes the shop is empty and she can switch the door sign to "closed".
Back in the alley, she sees the mysterious woman has stood up, and is now holding her arm against the wall to keep herself upright.. Reflexively, Joe grabs her shoulder, afraid she's going to fall. The woman nods to reassure her, and slowly the two of them make their way upstairs, into Joe's small flat above the shop.
Joe guides her to her dining table, sits her down, then places a glass of water in front of her. The woman drinks it in one go, then holds her head in her hands.
"Thank you," she says. Her voice is hoarse and tired, but at least she sounds more present than before.
Joe checks a mental box off her list of things to assess. “What’s your name?” she asks.
The woman opens her mouth like she’s about to answer normally, but then frowns, silent. "I am… I think…" Joe wants to ask her if she needs more time to rest, but then the woman shakes her head and answers as if nothing happened, in a perfectly even tone: "My name is Fancy Brew."
She’s probably still in shock, she thinks. "Alright Fancy, glad to meet you. I'm Joe Beans, you were in the back alley behind my coffee shop. Do you know how you ended up there?”
The woman - Fancy - shakes her head no. “Alright,” Joe continues, keeping her voice as slow and soothing as she can manage. “Do you know where you live? Perhaps we can walk you back there, once you’ve rested a bit.”
Fancy holds her head up to look straight at Joe. Despite the heaviness of the situation, Joe is briefly struck by the fact that Fancy has ink dark eyes. It looks quite striking against her pale face.
“I don’t think I know… anything,” the woman says, confused. She has the steady voice of someone who is usually confident and listened to, and so her words feel jarring in contrast. She continues: “I’m not sure where I came from, or where I was going. I’m not even sure what I do .”
That is entirely outside of Joe’s expectations of the situation. Surely, that can’t be right. Full amnesia - if that is what this is - is usually reserved for cheap telenovelas that need an easy twist. She had always assumed nothing like that existed in real life, and certainly not in her own back alley.
But then, what is she to do? That woman does not have the look of someone who is lying - what would she even gain from that lie? Whatever is going on, she can’t imagine letting Fancy go out on her own, resourceless. The plan to look for some sort of competent doctor could take a good while, nevermind looking for a shelter or a place to stay.
This leaves her with just one possibility, but even for her, raised to always be hospitable, it feels like a lot to offer.
To give herself time to think, she gets up to fill Fancy’s glass again, and drinks one herself. The cool water of the tap feels grounding, allowing her to slow down and get out of panic mode. She has to take this one step at a time, before making any big decisions.
She turns around. “You must be feeling dirty, having been in those bins. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll see about finding you some clean clothes.”
Fancy looks down, seeming to only now notice that her shirt is stained and, quite frankly, smells bad. Self-consciously, she wipes her hands down her pants. “Thank you, that would be appreciated.”
Joe shows Fancy how to use the shower, gives her a towel, and goes back to her bedroom to see what she can give her. She puts aside all of her dresses and skirts, which unfortunately take up a big part of her wardrobe. Then, there’s the issue of size: Fancy seems to be all skin and bone, and a good bit shorter than Joe. Shame Joe threw out all of the clothes her ex left at her place, she and Fancy had a similar body type.
Eventually, she digs around for a sweater that will still be wearable when oversized, and a pair of pants that will work with a good belt. It won’t be perfect, but at least it will be clean and keep her warm. As she folds them, she finds herself blushing just a bit at the idea of seeing Fancy in her clothes. She shakes her head; there are more important things at hand, and it would be very inappropriate to do anything with someone in mental distress. Whether or not she would have flirted with Fancy had she met her in a normal place is irrelevant; they met here, and this kind of thinking is off-limits.
She breathes in, squares her shoulders, and reminds herself that she should be acting like a nurse. She grabs the outfit, leaves it by the bathroom door so Fancy can grab it from inside, and looks around her kitchen for a snack to give her.
The evening passes by as Joe keeps look for ways to make Fancy more comfortable. It starts with tea and biscuits, then they get talking and before she can think about it Joe finds herself preparing dinner. Fancy asks her many questions about where she’s from and what she’s doing now, occasionally pushing for details on some fun anecdotes. It feels strange to have such a one-sided conversation, but every time Joe tries to ask a question back, it’s always the same answer:she doesn’t know.
“Did you know anyone in Gareville when you moved in?” Fancy asks while stirring her tea.
“I didn’t,” Joe replies. “I guess I took a bit of a leap of faith, but the deal I was offered was really good. And besides, I felt like there wasn’t much holding me back where I lived before. I…” She stops herself from continuing that sentence. Fancy has enough on her plate.
“I think,” Fancy replies, looking down at the tea leaves twirling in her cup, “that I have people counting on me at home. I don’t know how but…”
Joe’s curiosity is immediately peaked. This is the first time Fancy has offered something other than her name. “What kind of people?”
Fancy thinks for a few more moments, but eventually shakes her head. “I can’t remember. It’s a very faint sensation, I’m afraid.”
Joe doesn’t push it, and they move on. They quickly exhaust the light hearted topics that Joe is comfortable discussing with someone she’s just met, so Joe decides to put an album on. Then, any silence that may occur won’t be awkward. She’s been using that trick for years, and it has never failed her.
To her surprise, Fancy gets up to inspect her vinyl collection as she’s looking through it.
“You have a lot of country music,” Fancy notes.
It seems strange that she would remember music classification and not anything else, but she won’t comment. “It’s my favorite genre,” she says. “I would have even more albums if I hadn’t decluttered for the move.”
“Interesting,” Fancy replies. “I’ve never listened to much of it, but I would be curious to hear more.”
Joe is only too happy to show her her favorites. She puts on a Johnny Card album and impulsively decides to grab some wine for them while Fancy continues to go through her record collection. Occasionally she offers a commentary on either the song playing or the album in her collection: she seems to approve of Joe’s love of blues, especially Nina Bimone. Joe asks her a few questions back, and despite the amnesia Fancy does manage to remember that she loves early rock music.
Joe does not like to admit that this is the most company she’s had in months. She’s talked with regulars, and even visited the local shops a few times. But more often than not, she finishes work too exhausted to do anything but watch TV on her couch until she has to go to bed, in time for her early rise to get the shop ready. It’s the problem of being the only worker at a shop: she has to work every shift.
The idea that she refused to voice earlier comes back to her. It feels like it’s pressing against her teeth, trying to slip out every time she opens her mouth.
“If you have nowhere to go,” she says, her voice a bit shaky, “you could always, maybe, stay here until you get back on your feet. I only have the couch, but if you helped me out a bit at the coffee shop, we could arrange something…” She’s not even sure of the details of what she’s saying, so she takes a sip of her wine.
Fancy turns back to face her, one eyebrow raised. “That’s very generous of you, thank you. I think, I do have to accept the couch for tonight, I don’t have a place to go…” She taps her foot on the floor and looks away to the living room window, her face growing worried.
“It’s alright,” Joe says, “I was never going to let you get lost in the streets at night, as peaceful as Gareville is.”
“Right…” Fancy says, her gaze still fixated on the window. After a moment, she snaps back and turns back to Joe. She smiles at her, but it doesn’t ring quite true. “If you don’t mind, then. I don’t quite know about tomorrow, and after that, but…” She drifts off, and Joe knows she can’t make any long-term decisions right now.
“Fantastic ! I do have to warn you, I get up early to set up the shop, but you’re welcome to sleep in. I can leave some food on the kitchen table.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” Fancy protests. “The least I can do is assist you. And besides, I suppose my name is sort of perfect for the job.”
“Good point!” Joe giggles. A bit too much of the wine, perhaps, but she can feel herself growing a bit giddy at the idea. “Well, I certainly won’t say no, although be warned that it’s long hours, and that the customers can give you a bit of a hard time.”
“For some reason,” Fancy frowns, “I have a hunch I’ve dealt with difficult customers before.”