#coffeeflower

A birthday dinner and a few small surprises. Harper is sure they can manage it.

They’ll head to ADMart to pick up the rest of what they’ll need for dinner. Then, Mason and Leah will go to Lizzie’s to pick up flowers, while she and Wesley head to the coffee shop.

On paper, the plan looks perfect. That should be the first sign that it won’t be.

--

Leah is personally offended by ADMart’s produce.

“It’s not good!” She insists. “Look at it! It looks fake!”

She rubs at it a bit with the hem of her shirt, and finds the garment now stained with what appears to be red paint.

Mason tries his hand at it, coming away with the same result. “I’ve never been anywhere where they paint the vegetables…”

They leave empty-handed.

--

On their way into town, a firetruck races by.

--

Tanya looks up from her tea in time to see a cat who looks suspiciously familiar playing tag with two overly large ravens. She blinks her eyes once, then again.

Is that really one of the cats? Here?

Clearly, she’s spending far too much time around the scientists. There’s no way he could have followed her.

Abruptly, the cat and birds break off their game and assume a far more somber pose. She watches as the Speaker passes by, and as the creatures begin to tail him: three omens of doom.

Her attention is soon drawn away, however, by the appearance of General Hayden’s children --- the youngest ones only a year or so older than her own daughter.

She’d really like to be home already.

--

By the time they make it to Lizzie’s shop, Harper is ready to upgrade their prognosis from ‘bad’ to ‘maybe not the worst.’ They have a pound of Dad’s favorite coffee, freshly ground, and a new mug for him.

It’s a start.

“Did you know ADMart paints their vegetables?” Mason asks.

“You --- right, you guys are still new here. You’re not used to this kind of thing.”

“You’re not upset?” Harper asks.

“We’re all more or less used to it. ADMart is hell and the Speaker is the devil --- without any of the charm he’s supposed to have.”

“The vegetables!” Leah bemoans. “Who does that to vegetables?”

“ADMart,” Lizzie and Lazarus answer in unison.

“I can’t cook with those,” the older twin insists. “They’re barely even food.”

Lizzie pauses from the bouquet she’s arranging, a mix of bright red and yellow blooms. “Wait, why do you guys have to buy food, anyway? Dad too busy.”

Harper shakes her head. “It’s his birthday. We want to surprise him with dinner.”

“Oh. I didn’t … hang on.” She finishes with the bouquet and sets it in the freezer. “Come on, Lazzy! We’re taking the kids on a field trip.”

--

Resistance Farms produces the kind of produce Leah deems far more suitable as a medium for her craft --- and at prices that put ADMart to shame.

Harper considers the possibility that their plans might be salvaged after all.

--

When they make it back to the shop, the Speaker is waiting angrily outside the door.

“Oh boy,” Lizzie mutters. “Here we go…”

She opens the door with as much poise as she can muster. “Mr. Speaker. What a surprise.”

He glowers at her, practically shaking in indignation. “Where are they?”

“Where are who?”

“Your help.”

“Mr. Speaker, we’ve gone over this: I don’t have help.”

“Weir and Wake.”

“Weir’s home. And Lazarus is here.”

“Where were they at ten o’clock this morning?”

“…Here. Doing work. As usual.”

“Are you aware of the … incident that occurred today?”

Wesley elbows Harper. When she meets his eye, he silently mouths “The trucks! “No, Mr. Speaker. I am not. I’m sure you will inform me.”

“My car was mysteriously set ablaze. And no one seems to be interested in discovering the responsible party.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she manages after a beat, “but I’m afraid I can’t help.”

“Do you know anyone who would have reason to inconvenience me in this way?”

“It’s because your vegetables are fake!” Leah yells.

Lizzie collapses into laughter.

--

With help, they make it home in time to make dinner, and wrap the presents they have collected.

They hide in the darkened kitchen, and await the telltale sounds of their father’s entrance.

For a town at the center of one of the greatest cosmological mysteries ever observed, it’s surprisingly cute. It has its oddities, yes, but on the whole, he’d go so far as to call it charming. He’d say the hybrid floral shop-cryptid detective agency was an odd business model but something tells him they do a booming business.

--

Can I have the attic room? Harper’s text reads. Want to be Meg Murray.

Oliver chuckles and considers his response. Let’s just hope your never need Which, Whatsit, and Who to rescue me and Wesley.

--

The situation works like this: he has the kids during the school year and for the first half of the summer. Emma has them for the second half and school breaks. They spend the holidays together, one big dysfunctional family after all.

He’d offered them the chance to reverse the arrangement when it became clear the relocation was imminent. Not one of them even considered taking him up on his offer.

Harper rides in the front passenger seat, map spread out on her lap, charting their course. Mason, Leah, and Wesley take up the middle row, with a generous helping of snacks and their must have essentials in the third.

“Ready, Navigator?” He asks.

“Let’s go!”

--

Against all odds, it’s a pleasant ride north. They stop in North Carolina for the night, and manage a real dinner. In the hotel room, the twins gleefully jump on their bed.

They wake bright and early in the morning, and are on the road once more for the final six hours.

He drives them through the center of town on their way to the house. They’ll still beat the moving truck by hours, and he wants to get them acquainted with their new home.

“Dad,” Mason pipes up. “What’s a cryptid?”

--

They spend a busy night with the movers, hauling boxes and setting up the bare bones of the house. He finds Harper half-hanging out of her attic window, gazing up at the stars.

“It’s perfect, Dad,” she gushes.

He sends them off into town the next day while he unpacks the kitchen and waits for the cable company.

They return some time later, arms laden with flowers and a thermos of coffee --- and without Mason.

“He’s still at the florist’s,” Harper explains. “Lizzie was happy for the distraction to keep Lazarus out of trouble, she said.”

“Who?”

“Lizzie. The florist.”

“And who is Lazarus?”

“They work for her.”

“Why did you leave your brother there?”

“Oh! Lazarus is a painter. We couldn’t get Mason to leave, and Lizzie didn’t mind.”

“You left your brother with a florist and a painter?”

“Here,” Harper says, pulling a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it from her pocket. “She said you’d be worried.”

“She was right.”

“Lizzie’s nice, Dad. Don’t worry about it. We wouldn’t have left Mason with anyone bad. You can call her if you don’t believe me.”

“I think I’ll just go introduce myself.”

--

He finds his son safe and unharmed, happily sitting on the counter when he walks in the door. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by a woman somewhere in the back.

“Will, that better not be drawn in blood.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; it’s ketchup.”

“And, technically, it’s painted,” a third voice adds.

Oliver feels the color drain from his face.

“Hey, Lizzie!” Mason yells. “Dad’s here!”

The woman who emerges does not look like a serial killer, at least, but he knows all too well how deceptive looks can be.

And she had just implied there might be blood somewhere.

But she doesn’t seem threatening.

“Hi,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Lizzie. You must be Oliver; welcome to town.”

He takes it. “I hear I owe your assistant for their time.”

“More like I owe your son for his.”

Something crashes in the background and he watches her grimace. “He did a lot to keep Lazarus from their more … adventurous tendencies.”

“Lazzy told me about the cult!”

“The … cult?”

“They’re friendly. Not … Jim Jones or Heaven’s Gate. Just … you know. Paying homage to the ocean. While running around dressed like knights. With cats.”

Oliver thinks he’s losing his mind, but she does have the decency to look sheepish.

 “You get used to it?” Lizzie offers. “It was kind of a shock for me when I moved in. But, they’re not recruiting anyone. Well,” she pauses. “Not actively. They’re pretty welcoming, but ---”

Another crash in the background.

“Should you go … check on that?” He asks.

She shakes her head. “It’s … I’m sure it’s fine.”

A third crash.

A look of positively parental exasperation passes over her face. It’s a feeling he knows well.

“We have company, you two!” She calls over her shoulder. “Can we at least feign some normalcy?”

“Boss, normal is vastly overrated,” Lazarus yells back.

Again the look of exasperation. Oliver begins to understand Harper’s assessment.

“Elizabeth,” a taller man appears over her shoulder.

He realizes he should have made the connection. A town full of strange happens and the name Will should have pointed him to only one person. He’s still shocked to cross paths with Weir out in the wild.

Weir looks every bit as surprised. “Hayden.”

“Weir.”

“Oh good,” Lizzie says. “You two know … each … other?”

“Work,” Weir answers, not missing a beat.

“Work,” Oliver agrees.

Mason looks to him. Lizzie looks to Weir. Neither of them volunteer any more detail.

If Weir is here, the situation’s even more interesting than he’d been led to believe. After the incident with his agents and the Looking Glass, his people had taken a keen interest in the phenomenon. For Weir to be out in the field, well.

Las Flores del café / Coffee Flowers

The last few days before Christmas present an unexpected challenge.

(Weir belongs to @inbatcountry17 and Tanya is @coloneljamesmoriarty‘s --- thanks, friends!!)