Author: Orwell is watching-xoxo PM
There were some days that Orwell wished that she wasn't a Fleming. But just the simplest, everyday routine made her second guess that wish.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Family/Friendship - Orwell & Chess/Peter F. - Words: 1,160 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Published: 10-08-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8592632
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
So I've decided to make this canon, after thinking it over since yesterday. Now we all get to see how Orwell really became a coffee addict.
I do not own The Cape, or anything affiliated with the show itself. This could fit in at any time of the series, so you all pick whatever you want.
Some days, Orwell wished that she could forget about her past, or that, she could remember it, but she could pretend like it never happened. It would make it easier for her to come clean to her partner; that much she knew. If she could pretend that her father wasn't Chess, it would make things so much easier.
As it stood right now, she couldn't even drink coffee without thinking about her father. While it didn't do her any good to think of the man she was trying to destroy, at least she did have one little memory she liked to hold on to. Back when the whole world was one block wide and she had nothing to fear, nothing to hate, just her family to love. That was something that she would have liked to tell her partner about, when the time was right.
As a child, Jamie Fleming was like her father's shadow. Wherever Peter went, his daughter wasn't too far behind. How else would she fall in love with coffee the way she did? Her daddy drank it, so it must have been good! Orwell smiled to herself whenever she thought about her first venture with coffee. Despite the screwed up face she was making while drinking some of her father's coffee, she still drank it because her daddy was drinking it.
She was about four years old at the time; the littlest Fleming had always seen her parents drink coffee first thing in the morning, and she often wondered what it tasted like. It would have had to been tasty, seeing how her mommy and daddy perked up after drinking the first one, but kept having their mugs refilled again and again.
Jamie plopped down on her father's lap one morning as he was finishing his second mug of coffee. She looked at him as she snuggled into his side, nothing but admiration in her eyes. "Hi daddy."
Peter smiled at his daughter and kissed the top of her head. "Hello darling. What brings you up this early? Your dance class doesn't begin for another four hours."
Ignoring everything her father just asked, she replied with, "what're you drinking? And why is it so dark?"
The billionaire chuckled and put his mug down on the end table by his chair to secure his child at his hip. "It's called coffee and it's something that your mother and I have to drink every morning."
Jamie made a face and looked over at the mug. "Why every morning? Is it the same reason why mommy makes me drink milk every morning?"
"Not entirely, dear. Mum makes you drink milk because it helps build strong bones. Coffee helps us adults wake up in the morning, especially when they get up as early as we do," Peter explained, sincerely hoping that his daughter wouldn't ask to try some. A four-year-old addicted to coffee couldn't bring anything good.
"Well… I still sleepy, daddy. Could I try some?" the little brunette asked, giving her father the most pitiful set of eyes.
Of course, his daughter also knew that, whatever his ballerina wanted, his ballerina got. And if she wanted a sip of his coffee, that much would be expected from him. Sometimes he hated his inability to say no to his little girl.
"Alright. But only a sip," he added. Hopefully the bitterness of black coffee would be enough for her to stop asking about it. As he handed the mug over, he couldn't help but smile at his daughter's exuberant grin. At least, if anything, they were bonding over this experience.
Jamie took one sip of it and made a face. "Uh, gross!" She looked up at her father, who was just smiling down at her. Then she looked down at the rest of the coffee, which was only about a few sips left. The four-year-old grinned over at her father mischievously and drank the rest of his coffee.
"And would you like to tell me why you drank the rest of my coffee after you called it gross?" Peter asked, quirking an eyebrow back at his daughter.
"'Cause you're my daddy and I wanna be just like you!" Jamie began, giving him a gap-toothed grin.
The billionaire chuckled heartily at that, taking the empty mug from his daughter. "Well, what about your mother? I thought you wanted to be a dancer like she was?"
"I do! But I wanna be like you, too, daddy!" the four-year-old grinned, snuggling further into his side.
Peter just smiled and set the empty mug back on the end table. "Well, next time you want to drink coffee like daddy, have mum fill it with milk first."
And that, that was when a coffee monster was born, whether Fleming wanted to admit it or not. Every morning would be the same thing; Peter would come downstairs and begin to read the newspaper, all while his daughter sat next to him drinking her half coffee, half milk. As she got older, that milk amount diminished and the coffee increased. By the age of ten, she declared that she wanted real coffee, not this watered down crap that she had been drinking. Although her parents didn't necessarily approve, at least she wanted coffee and not something as serious as drugs or alcohol.
Now, as Orwell looked back at all of that, she missed that one thing most about her parents. The three of them could sit down with a cup of coffee and talk about anything. But… after her mother had died… all of that had changed. She still had the memories, if nothing else. She drank her coffee, not just because it kept her from being mega bitch towards Vince, but also because it reminded her that she once had had a normal life. One that she didn't have to hide her identity, one that kept her from hating her father… one where she was happy.
Maybe one day she could tell Vince about her past, hoping that he would forgive her and would want to continue this… whatever it was. Until then, she would keep those memories close to her heart. That way her morning routine would just be that, a morning routine.
And there's the end of that story. It hit me a few days ago, but it took me a little while to get it written. You all know what to do!