Chapter Text
Pros of taking a part-time job at the place you intended to rob: Easy way to case the place, learn the routines of the people there, easy excuse to loiter around every day, plus getting paid on top of all of that.
Cons of taking a part-time job at the place you intended to rob: Having to go into work the day after you robbed the place.
It was tempting to just quit, to not show up and tempt fate that someone would have somehow both noticed and remembered the new hire and then be around at night to put his face to the dashing masked stranger who broke in. But uh, that seemed a little more suspicious? To just not show up immediately after a priceless item was stolen?
At least, Stanley thought so, which was why he had dragged himself to the museum cafe the next morning, still sore from the workout the night before.
He tried to look on the bright side: the cafe hours were shorter than the museum hours, so he wouldn’t be there all day and he didn’t have to start at the crack of dawn like in a normal coffee shop. He was still new enough on the job to be shadowing someone, so it wasn’t like he’d be left alone up at the counter either. And when it came time to quit, he could even point at the robbery as a reason to leave, something about feeling unsafe or another.
It sort of helped, but thinking positive only took you so far when you still had to walk past the spot under the skylight you fell through last night. Even tastefully cordoned off with tarp, Stanley still grimaced as he remembered what that impact felt like.
“Can you believe we got robbed??” was how Mariella greeted him behind the counter.
“I know!” Stanley said, trying and falling short of matching her morning person energy. “Do they know who did it?”
Perfectly normal question for someone uninvolved to ask!
“Well Cynthia from security said it had to be a professional level heist team! But Jim from security said they were, y'know, masked.”
It was thrilling to hear that, even though it should also probably worry him. Recognition was, logically, bad if you were a large-scale thief, even if you were a charismatic, athletic, well-dressed catburglar with nine lives. But dammit, what was the point of the last half if you couldn’t enjoy a little bump to your ego now and then?
“Wow! Any idea what they looked like?” Stanley asked, maybe fishing a little too obviously this time.
But Mariella scoffed and waved her hand.
“I wish I knew, but they’re not going to tell us that, we’re just the coffee jockeys.” she said, and Stanley tried not to look too disappointed.
“Right, right.” he said, and with other museum employees shuffling in for their morning coffee, he set to work looking busy.
He’d gotten used to the same few people coming in before the museum really opened to the public, so the man who walked in stood out even before Mariella pointed him out.
His hair was - platinum? Is that what they’re calling it now? - whatever, it was light, and he was dressed like he came off the front cover of Distinguished Professors Quarterly’s fall issue, a sensible coat and scarf for the mid-fall weather.
Though, it was strange. The man had half of his face hidden by a black reusable mask and a broad pair of glasses, but there was still something about him that seemed familiar.
“Ooh, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks!” Mariella said in what Stanley hoped was a low enough voice not to be heard. “He’s a regular, but he doesn’t like work here. Chris says he has a thing with the head curator, and I can kinda see it, but I think that’s in their past and I’ve never seen a ring on him, y’know? But he’s always got the mask and never talks, and he’s said (well not said but you know) it’s because he’s under the weather but if that was true, then he’s never not sick, and Pam thinks it's because he’s a smoker and he lost his voice, I think he totally used to be like, secret service or something and he’s got a scar. He’s got a real ‘Christopher Lee telling Peter Jackson what a guy sounds like when he’s stabbed’ vibe, I can’t explain it, he stands too straight. He also always orders tea (earl grey, splash of milk) if he’s here in the afternoon and coffee (cream and sugar if it’s late morning, splash of milk when he’s here at opening). Good morning sir!”
Stanley blinked, because seemingly without breathing, Mariella had filled the air for the entire time it took for the man to enter the cafe and make it to the counter. Since Mariella had everything in hand, Stanley just nodded and smiled a little nervously, in case the man overheard them.
If he did, he wasn’t showing any indication of that. The corner of his eyes crinkled under his glasses as he tipped his head in greeting.
Stanley had no idea what ordering looked like if you were committed to never talking, but then again, Mariella had his orders memorized, enough that she was already apologizing.
“I’m also real sorry, but we just put another pot on and it won’t be ready for a few minutes.”
The man shrugged, pleasantly unbothered by the wait. Something about the body language felt wrong to Stanley. It was perfectly natural, but whatever was nagging at Stanley about the man also said the gesture didn’t fit him. Weird.
Apparently, he was thinking over this a bit too long, because the man’s head turned very slightly. His eyes shifted, and that was as far as he got before Stanley pretended to be busy adjusting the stacks of paper cups between the register and the machines, anything to look like he wasn’t staring.
“Oh! That’s right, this is Stanley! He started here last week, he’s only part time but we’re showing him the ropes!” Mariella said, sabotaging him.
Stanley forced himself not to flinch, but he looked up and smiled and nodded at the man.
The man nodded his head too, but his eyes weren’t crinkled in the friendly way they were when greeting Mariella. Was he looking for something familiar on Stanley’s face, too? Why? Where had he seen--
Mariella went still and quiet, which was as good as an alarm to Stanley. He glanced at her, saw she was looking at the door, and leaned around the man to see for himself as the head curator entered the cafe.
Stanley hadn’t been working here long, but in that time he only met the curator once, and it was when he was being shown around on his first day, and it was at her office. He got the impression that’s where she always was, both with how the person showing him around spoke about her and from Mariella’s reaction right now, and from the fact that he’d never seen her around at all.
It shouldn’t have been too weird though, right? Surely even the head curator needed coffee now and then, right?
“Ms. Curie!” Mariella said brightly, and the man at the counter turned as well.
The head Curator approached the counter, smiling serenely.
“Good morning, Mariella.” she said, and turned to the man, nodding slightly. “Nolan.”
The man nodded back. Stanley was trying to watch without staring. He wasn’t sure how much of what Mariella said was true, but this seemed like his chance to find out, especially with how much of their interaction would be silent.
At least, until an even better chance dropped into his lap:
“It’ll be a few minutes until I can get your coffees,” Mariella said to both Ms. Curie and ‘Nolan’.
“Ah, that’s too bad. I have some business to discuss with Nolan, perhaps one of you could walk our drinks to my office when they’re ready?” she suggested, and casually, like the idea only came to her as she spotted him, she turned her head towards Stanley. “Ah, maybe Stanley could do it? It would be a good opportunity for him to get familiar with the layout here.”
The head curator winked, and added, “And it’d be a break from the morning rush.”
Would it ever. The layout more than the morning rush, but he’d take either one.
Stanley nodded, and trying not to sound too eager he said, “Y-yeah, sure, ma’am!”
The man raised his eyebrow, and it was the most natural and least friendly look from him so far. What was it about him? Maybe he’d linger outside of Ms. Curie’s office and find out.
He and Mariella watched Ms. Curie and her guest leave the cafe. Once they were out of sight, Mariella turned towards Stanley and smiled.
“Don’t worry about taking the coffees, I can handle that!” she said.
Stanley laughed a little awkwardly. “That’s fine, Mariella, I won’t get lost.”
“I know, but just because you’re new doesn’t mean you have to be the delivery boy!” Mariella said, laughing more playfully, like this was a huge favour for him.
If he had actually taken this job because he wanted to be a part time barista, he would have been happy to let Mariella do the walking. But even with plans to quit, the idea of getting another pass through the museum, and in the head office of it at that, was tempting.
Last night, he had been focused on his goal: a broad circular ‘seal’ in the museum’s ancient coin exhibit. Most of his personal research walking around the museum had been towards that, which meant the less relevant parts of the museum had been left alone. While he doubted the head curator had a priceless crystal or sculpture as a paperweight or anything, maybe there’d be interesting files he could catch a glimpse of under the excuse of handing over the coffee. Hell, maybe he could ‘accidentally’ spill one to buy more time in there.
He’d gotten away with this much, and again, it’s not like the curator was at the museum when he robbed it. It’s not like anyone was, other than the security guards, and the guy he saw on the roof, and with the security guards on night shift he was pretty safely out of the way of them.
The guy on the roof... That was, he could admit, a strange encounter.
He had fallen through the skylight, something he hadn’t seen coming because the glass had been so sturdy on his way in, yet he knew with clarity the moment his foot touched the weak pane, that he was going to go through it, straight down to the floor. And he did. He felt several things break when he hit the ground, most of them his own bones, and everything went dark.
Then, after a few seconds, he opened his eyes, coughed, brushed the broken glass off his sleeves and got to his feet.
It wasn’t his first time falling, or his first time (sort of, it’s complicated) dying, so he already had a routine down for this: he took out his grappling hook, fired it through the hole in the skylight, and hit the retract button, zipping his way back up.
That’s when he saw the man, who he could have sworn wasn’t on the roof before the skylight broke. He was talking to someone out of sight, and stopped cold when he saw Stanley ascend through the broken skylight.
The coffee pot beeped, drawing Stanley out of his plans. Thankfully, a family entered the cafe before Mariella could reach it, one that she was apparently familiar with as she and the parents started chatting over the register.
Perfect.
He checked the order ticket Mariella wrote up for Ms. Curie and her guest and made the coffee to the best of his abilities while staying as absolutely quiet and conservative in his motions as possible to avoid Mariella’s attention. It worked, and he was shortly walking out of the cafe with a pair of drinks on a paper carrying tray and the confidence of someone doing what they’re supposed to be doing.
It just so happened that actually was the case this time.
He paused just outside the office door, because he could hear a voice and it wasn’t Ms. Curie’s. Seems the masked man wasn’t so mute after all. After making sure the coast was clear, he leaned as close to the door as he could.
“... don’t know why you didn’t just close... the threads are going to be a headache to untangle... really should have just...”
Whatever Stanley could hear didn’t make a lot of sense to him. Too bad, but he at least knew the man could talk, maybe that’d be something he could pass on to Mariella. Either she’d have more useful gossip in exchange, or she’d come back with even more information about this to dump at him after a day or two.
It was handy to have an informant who didn’t realize she was an informant.
Stanley waited until the man was in the middle of talking, and then opened the door.
The man who was apparently Ms. Curie's guest was seated with his back to Stanley, and Stanley could see from the door that the mask was on the desk. The man was sitting straight with his arms crossed, posture that was cold, unfriendly, and a much more natural look on him than the polite air he had as a cafe customer. He’d also gone quiet immediately, so much for catching anything real juicy out of him.
“Ah, thank you, Stanley.” Ms. Curie said, pleasant as always.
“Sorry about the wait, ma’am.” Stanley said, since it felt like the normal thing to do, and he walked right up to the desk.
It wasn't until he set the coffees down on Ms. Curie's desk that Stanley realized the man wasn't wearing his glasses anymore either, and also that he was on the brink of deep, deep shit.
Just before he fell through the skylight, he felt his thoughts - his thoughts were almost describing the glass breaking and how he would fall, and at the time he had chalked it up to his own internal summary of events as he compartmentalized it all.
But when his grappling hook pulled him back up through the hole, he could hear someone talking on the rooftop:
"- no, he's not dead - yes, I know it seems unlikely, but you know how I work, there wasn't an end for him there. He probably only broke his-"
And the voice had been similar to - no, exactly - how his thoughts had sounded like when the skylight shattered.
In that weightless moment at the top of his arc, between ascension and falling, he had locked eyes with the man on the roof, a pair of eyes so golden, he could swear they were glowing.
Without the glasses, Stanley could see they were the same eyes meeting his now as the man glanced at him entering his space. It was a reflexive gesture, but any hope Stanley had of him not recognizing him was shot before it could rise: His eyes flicked back to the coffee, but just as quickly they returned to Stanley’s face. And narrowed.
Stanely was absolutely hosed.
Not the least because he had kind of landed on the man after rising through that skylight.
He quickly looked away, like that could save him, and met Ms. Curie's eyes instead. It was strange - he was sure he looked at her face before, he must have - yet there was something striking and new about her. Her eyes, nearly lavender, seemed to catch the light unnaturally, and her smile was more than serene, it was knowing.
The office door, moving under its own weight, closed with a click.
"Stanley, I'd like to introduce you to my associate." Ms. Curie said.
"Yes, I don't believe we've met." the man with the yellow eyes said, not even bothering to sound convincing or anything other than irritated.
Without the door muting him it was that much clearer that it was him Stanley heard narrating his fall.
Both of his falls, because as he made his escape from the museum roof, he had heard the man call after him, telling him he would fall off the edge, and he had thought it was supposed to be a warning or a threat, but...
"Oh, that's fine - nice to meet you, but I should really-" Stanley stuttered, backing up.
"Please, Stanley, take a seat. I'd like to discuss your future here at the museum." Ms. Curie said, still pleasant, still smiling.
This was bad. He looked to the door, and wondered if he should even bother with an excuse-
"Stanley turned around, pulled out a chair, and took a seat, as directed. Clearly, this was his best option." said the man.
Stanley could hear the voice through his ears, but also deep in his brain, deep enough that his body mistook it for his own thoughts and obeyed them automatically. He felt himself turn, felt the resistance of the chair as he dragged it across the floor, and then again as he scooted it forward after sitting. Just like how his legs locked themselves at the edge of the museum roof, just like how he kept running when he knew the glass was about to break.
The man with the yellow eyes watched him the whole time.
But it wasn't over. Ms. Curie folded her hands on her desk, and with a pleasant smile, she too spoke in a voice that dug deep through his core:
"Stanley knew he was in over his head. While his career was still young, he was very prolific, and through his own talents he had remained free to continue his crimes, and if the Parable Art and History Museum had been staffed by ordinary people, that would still be true. Unfortunately, no one is ever truly alone in this world, not even people with extraordinary abilities, whether it was coming back to life or simply knowing everything about a person by looking at them.”
There were questions running through Stanley’s mind, muted as they were under the words coming from Ms. Curie’s mouth and going through his ears. Naturally, what would happen to him and how he would get out were-
“What would happen to Stanley now?” Ms. Curie said. “Would he be turned over to the authorities? The evidence might be flimsy, but it was possible with the right influence. Of course, there were worse consequences than being turned over to the authorities, and with the talents the head curator and her old friend had, those weren’t off the table. Stanley could simply be blackmailed for his future cooperation, as his talents were quite unique, something any letter agency would literally kill for. And while Stanley thought himself otherwise unremarkable, there was plenty of information that could control him. The numerous stolen artefacts in his possession being the most obvious angle, but there was also the matter of his personal life, or what served for one. Stringing Mariella along had not been planned, but it was a development he was happy to exploit, same as his other budding friendships with museum staff. How they would turn on him, if they knew he didn’t even think of them after clocking out, that they were simply a means to an end for him."
Stanley could only listen. His hands had a white-knuckle grip on his knees.
"But none of those reasons were why he would take the offer the head curator was about to present to him. No, his motivation for that was far simpler: Excitement." Ms. Curie smiled.
"Stanley was someone who found pleasure in life's simplest offerings, such as tending to his plants and watching them flourish, or enjoying the taste of a good meal. The wind on his face, the smell of coffee in the morning, a walk in the park on a sunny day. He found all of this satisfying, but it wasn't exciting. And that was the true reason he did what he did. Stealing from the rich, taking back stolen objects, intercepting the thefts of others, rooftop chases and daring getaways, none of that was really for the good of others. It had seemed a waste not to use his ability and the skills he had acquired in his life, and in his mind, this was the most exciting way to do it. He knew whatever someone like Ms. Curie and her old friend had to offer would certainly be more daring than his independent operations - or at the very least, offer him better compensation than just the adrenaline rush."
The man’s words had hooked into his brain and changed his mind and his actions, while Ms. Curie's words poured straight through him, and terrifyingly, changed nothing. The man's commands had made him stay, but this, more than anything, was what kept him in his seat.
Nothing Ms. Curie had said felt new to him. It was simply a truth uncovered, no matter how hard he had avoided that part of himself.
Stanley exhaled. His hands slowly relaxed.
And he grinned, because what else could he do?
"Well, you got me! So why don't we talk about that offer?"