Bigger Than Life

sept || les hommes

I'm nervous as hell that night at work.

Nixon has already got the job nailed- he pretty much knows most of the drinks and baked good names, but that's not what is so amazing. It's the fact that he's already making friends with the customer and sparking conversation with almost everyone that comes by if they're friendly enough. Even though he must be tired- I know I always am even halfway through a five hour shift- he manages to smile and laugh with people he doesn't know. I find that sort of amazing, because towards the end of the shift I'm too exhausted to be nice.

And although having a co-worker so enthusiastic and friendly should put me in a better mood, it just can't; not when I know that there's a very good chance that Denny is probably going to come and visit now that he knows when and where Nixon works, and I have no idea how Nixon is going to react to that. After all, in the 'message' he had wanted me to deliver to Denny, he had told Denny to stay away, and now Denny is going to do the complete opposite of that. I just hope this doesn't completely backfire and get Nixon angry at me.

I have a feeling having Nixon angry at me is the last thing I want.

"You look pale," Nixon comments randomly at around eight o'clock. I look up from where I'm refilling the hot chocolate machine, surprise by his sudden remark. "Are you okay?"

I gulp. "Oh yeah- I'm fine. Sorry."

Nixon chuckles lowly. "Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything. I just wanted to make sure you were alright- you look... jumpy."

Swallowing, I wonder how Nixon is able to tell that I'm nervous. Am I really that readable? I didn't think I was. "No, it's... I'm fine."

Nixon leans against the counter, his white teeth digging in slightly to his bottom lip and his green eyes expressionless. His fingers are tapping against the counter behind him, and the movement makes my eyes flicker to his wrist, where I see a small, thin and worn out string bracelet around his wrist. I figure once it was a much brighter green, but by now it has dulled out. Curiosity getting the best of me, I point to it and ask, "Did you make that?"

Nixon's eyes flicker down to where I'm pointing, his taunt lips pulling into a small smile. His hands lift off of the counter to bring his right wrist up- the wrist with the bracelet- while his left hand tugs on it a bit. "No, Mariah did."

I furrow my eyebrows. I don't know a Mariah. But then again, Nixon knows a lot of people I don't, and judging by the gentle smile on his face at the mention of her, she's a close friend. "Oh."

Nixon lifts his head again, his eyes meeting my own once again. I've noticed that Nixon has this thing for eye contact- he's always making it. "Mariah is the daughter of James Garrett." Understanding is quick to flood my body- James Garrett, the man who Nixon got hypothermia while trying to convince him not to jump off a bridge. "It was a thank you for... you know..."

"Saving her dad's life?"

Nixon looks back down at the bracelet, softly breathing out a, "Yeah."

I purse my lips. "You know, it's really amazing that you did that..."

Nixon snorts.

I look up at him with wide eyes at his blatant unimpressed action. "Um..." I manage, feeling embarrassed.

"I don't get why people find it so amazing," Nixon says, shaking his head. He looks away, a faraway look in his pale eyes. "It's really not. It's not because I'm such an amazing person; it's just because I happened to be in the situation. Tell me," His eyes quickly flicker to meet mine once more. "If you saw a man getting ready to jump off a bridge, what would you do?"