DRIVE WEST

TWO - Truth or Croissants

"No, because my fiancé died."

The waitress stopped serving and stared at Apollo blankly. Monday's jaw dropped slightly, before she quickly collected herself and commanded her expression to be silent. She knew that there was something about very handsome men being vulnerable that awoke the nurturing side of most women, which is why the server looked at Apollo hypnotically, imagining something.

Now Monday's eyes went back and forth from the waitress to Apollo waiting for the server to stop staring-- She innocently directed her elbow towards her fork on the round table and let it hit the ground, making the woman wake from her trance to reach down to the ground.

She looked away and brought her napkin to her perfectly clean lips, in hopes of distracting him from the empty space that was her reaction at this moment. She scratched her eyebrow stiffly and then finally raised her coffee mug, "I hadn't heard." She sipped.

His mouth twitched, leaving a trace of hidden amusement in seeing Monday struggle with vulnerability, though he felt no pleasure in the subject. "Her name was Teresa. She was a High-School teacher." He paused for what felt like a full minute; his mind was elsewhere. Then he snapped back: his mood seemed clear and in peace, but the wind felt colder; heavier, "One day a kid brought a gun to school and shot her. And eight others." He wiped his hands on his pants and then blew the steam off his coffee like it was any other day. "Now tell me about your issues with authority."

Monday tried her hardest to not look too taken back by the news she'd just learned. Whatever game this was, she knew she had just lost. Fair and square. "My father doesn't really like me, so I've learned to just do what I want and not need validation or acceptance. I'm bad with authority because I don't care about approval."

Apollo nodded, and without looking at her added, "Do you actually believe that?"

"What?"

"That you don't need approval?" He leaned back on his chair. "That the whole world is desperate for it except for you," his mouth curved down mocking her, and then he tilted his head, "You don't need it because you're special?"

She exhaled quickly through her nostrils, as a way to laugh, and then raised her eyebrows, "You don't seem to believe me."

"I don't."

They looked at each other while both sipped their drinks silently, their lips showed mysterious delight in disagreeing with each other knowing they themselves were right. Both wanting to be impressed. They knew patience was a demonstration of power only few could afford.

A pause. An exchange of looks. Neither of them were in a hurry to win.

Monday made no mistake: At that moment she could clearly hear, from a distance, a small, soothing sound that could never be confused with anything else: Jazz. The kind that sounded like how floating feels.

The sounding sax was nonchalant, as too were the two protagonists sitting across from each other. Showing satisfaction, or anything associated with happiness, was only for the poor of heart.

"Let me ask you something, March. Do you know the difference between wanting to kiss and wanting to be kissed?" Monday replied only by tilting her head down but looking up at him; her eyelashes like a cell for the secrets her iris was keeping. This turned Apollo on more than anything, but he didn't reveal it. "It's very subtle, but important." He almost whispered, like he was telling a secret. "You want approval like you want to be kissed. You want someone to show you what you deserve. You want someone to grab your neck after an argument and teach you what a kiss feels like. You want someone to teach you how to be validated; how to feel accepted. You don't want to kiss anyone." He shook his head, "You're not exactly the picture of a woman looking for acceptance." He chuckled, and then slowly got serious again. He got closer to her face from across the table and pointed his finger at the right corner of her lips, "But I can see it in this light. If you look close enough, you can see the lips of a girl who wants to be kissed."

Monday immediately adjusted her posture on her chair, her body confessed she was feeling troubled, and that was enough for the boy to open up a wide grin of pleasure. She cleared her throat and took a long bite out of her croissant. Her face rapidly folded in disgust.

His eyebrows tensed, "Is the croissant bad?"

She swallowed it all in a single gulp and then hurriedly washed it down with the water that stood on the table. "No, I just hate croissants."

Confusedly, Apollo dared, "Then... why did you order it?"

She moaned complaining from the bad taste still, "Every time I go undercover I try to get something that I hate and make is so my new character likes it. That way, if the line is ever blurred of who I am and who the character is, it helps me remember."

Apollo's eyes glimmered like black crystals, "That's brilliant!"

She sighed and took another large bite out of her croissant, "I know."

He smiled as he watched her chew the obnoxious dough. "You chew like how a man who's been in show business for two decades smokes a cigar." He said, looking at her full mouth.

She let out the smallest chuckle. "I like that."

He continued to stare at her as she reached for her coffee, and tilted his head; wondering.

Her phone rang and she answered it right away, "March." Her eyes scanned the items on the table as she took in the information from the other end of the line. "Yes, sir." She looked up at Apollo, who cocked his head to the phone with a line growing between his eyebrows, indicating curiosity. "We'll be ready." She hung up.

"Gideon?"

She raised her hand gesturing for the bill to the waiter and then stood up, "I hope you have a tux and a name. Mission starts tonight." She took a last bite out of her croissant, grabbed her purse, and laid a $50 bill on the table.

-

A/N

please don't forget to vote :)