Work Text:
The first time the couple ever come in, Margaery immediately thinks that the boy is pretty. Not really her type, but definitely pretty, all blonde curls like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. Actually, he may well be an Abercrombie & Fitch model, because the haughty turn of his nose screams out rich and spoiled – and speaking as someone typically both very rich and spoiled herself, Margaery would know.
“Can we get some service here?” he whines from the counter, while Margaery, in the middle of cleaning the filter, sighs deeply. She's only been working at this cafe two weeks, and already she hates it. But she has to, since her grandmother insisted: if she was going to take off a year from her fashion degree, she had to be working somewhere, and none of the rest of them were going to try and argue back.
Still, she has a job to do, and so she throws her ponytail back over her shoulder and approaches this douche with as charming a smile as she can muster. “Hello there, sir, and what can I do for you... two?” His girlfriend has been so quiet, Margaery barely noticed her. She's also very pretty though, a strikingly tall redhead lurking shyly behind him. Far more Margaery's type.
The douche huffs to finally be acknowledged. “We'll have two long blacks, thanks,” he says, sounding decidedly less than thankful.
Behind him, the girl pipes up hesitantly. “Um–”
“What?” the douche spins round to look at her. “Did you want something else?” The girl hesitates. “Please tell me you're not one of those girls who doesn't like coffee, who will only drink pure sugar, I can't stand that.”
The girl winces, her eyes dropping down to the floor. “Oh no, no, that's fine,” she murmurs. “A long black is – great.”
While they're not looking, Margaery frowns. No it bloody well isn't, she thinks, but before the douche returns to looking at her, expecting her to do her job, she plasters a grin back on her face. She works at a coffeeshop. She's here to make coffee.
“I'm Joffrey. This is my girlfriend, Sansa.” This Joffrey winds a possessive arm around his girlfriend's shoulders and presses a dismissive kiss to her temple. Sansa, for her part, just looks embarrassed. Margaery nods along and writes their names in squeaky marker on the plastic cups, while they walk off and take a seat. Margaery tries to convince herself to mind her own business.
Five minutes later, she walks up to the table, two cups in hand. Joffrey takes his without even looking at her, but Sansa makes sure to smile and say thank you, even though Margaery can tell from the look in her eye, she's not looking forward to this at all. Reluctantly, Sansa presses the cup to her lips, and than Margaery watches as her brows go up in shock once she tastes it – the chai tea full of cinnamon, nutmeg, hazelnut, anything else sweet and girly that Margaery could think to put in there. Sugar and spice and all things nice, as they say.
Sansa stares at her a moment, looking utterly bewildered. She's gorgeous, Margaery notices. She has such an innocent looking face, and it's hard to imagine what on earth might have led her to be going out with this dick. Margaery simply smiles at her, reassuring. It's okay. I'll keep your secret. He doesn't have to know.
For the record, Margaery herself loves coffee, but she doesn't think it's anyone's place to be acting like it's some outrage if Sansa doesn't.
"Do you want something?” Joffrey's snide voice interrupts hers and Sansa's silent conversation, and Sansa looks away apologetically. Margaery represses a sigh, and smiles once more.
“No, of course not sir,” she says. “I'll be on my way.”
By the time she returns to the counter, Sansa is looking over her boyfriend's shoulder as he goes on about some business at his daddy's company, smiling up at her in return. Joffrey doesn't even notice. Inexplicably, Margaery finds herself blushing.
She blames it on the faulty French press.
This becomes a common occurrence. Any hope that Joffrey and Sansa were just on their first date, that she would soon wise up and dump his ass, evaporates, as they come in week after week, Joffrey orders whatever bitter concoction he feels like for the both of them, without a second of thought for his girlfriend's tastes, and Sansa sends apologetic looks while Margaery gets to work deciding what she thinks would actually please the girl.
This is absurd, thinks Margaery as she gets to work, pushing herself to the front desk before one of the other employees can get there and serve Sansa what she's actually been ordered. This is far more effort than a barista's job should at all require.
But Sansa always smiles at her when she tastes whatever she's been given, always looks so surprised and pleased someone would go to all the effort, and well, how is Margaery meant to resist?
“This is absurd,” she huffs as she comes home from work one day, removing the tie from her hair with a huff. “I can't believe she's still with him. I mean, you should have heard him today, the things he said to poor Elinor! And Sansa was trying to calm him down, but she didn't want to upset him any further...”
Loras, playing some knights-and-dragons game on his phone and lazing on the couch, is by now so used to her rants that he does not need any reminders about what she's on about. “So, the customer you're trying to steal from her boyfriend still hasn't wisened up and dumped him, huh?”
Margaery frowns, huffing as she peers over the back of the sofa. “I'm not trying to steal her,” she says. “I wouldn't mind if I never saw her again, so long as I was sure she'd gotten rid of that jerk first.” A lie, but Loras doesn't need to know that. “It's just, she's so lovely! She's so pretty and kind, and I know she could do better, so how on earth has she gotten sucked into–”
“Margaery.”
Loras puts his phone aside and looks up to stare at her. Margaery sighs. Damn, she hates it when he's right. “Oh, shut up. You still owe me one for stealing my prom date at school.”
Her brother raises an eyebrow at her. “What, the date that literally everyone knew was gay, that you only agreed to go with as a beard, and because you knew I fancied him and it was a good way to get him back to our house?”
Margaery flicks him behind the ear. “That's not the point.”
Loras laughs at her, then sighs. “Look, Marg,” he says. “I know you like her. You know you like her. So, ask her out! It would take a lot less effort than this whole secret-not-actually-coffee-fairy thing.”
Margaery groans. Great, she remembered to tell him about Sansa hiding the fact she hates coffee. Why did she do that again? “It's not that simple,” she says, trying to ignore that Loras has just given her the exact same advice that she would've given him if the positions were reversed. “She has a boyfriend, remember? An awful boyfriend, but a boyfriend nonetheless. And how do I know she even likes girls? I mean, who other than a straight girl would put up with all that?”
“A closet case?” Loras suggest, and Margaery frowns. Alright, maybe. But she doesn't want to get her hopes up. “Look, I don't know. But you need to do something, or else you're going to drive me mad.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, leave it to you to turn the boring gap year job Grandma made you get into one of your matchmaking schemes. Well, at least you're trying to make your own match this time.”
Margaery hits him with a cushion, and he simply laughs and goes back to slaying dragons on his phone.
Sansa's there alone for once. Margaery's so run off her feet she probably shouldn't even notice, but she can't not. She keeps darting her eyes around nervously, checking her phone. Margaery frowns in concern, wanting to go over there and see what's up – very professional, she tells herself, and tries to focus on the customers right in front of her. It's hard to miss Sansa, though. That deep red hair, she'd spot that a mile off.
Twenty minutes or so later, the crowd has thinned out a little, and Joffrey still isn't there. Margaery sees Sansa bite her lip, face somewhere between sadness and irritation. Margaery huffs, gives a quick word to Elinor to look after the counter, and makes her way over.
I'm only asking what she's going to order, this is my job, she thinks, not believing a word of it. She has plausible deniability on her side though. “Hello there,” she says gently, not wanting to spook the girl.
She's not quite sure she succeeds; Sansa does jump a little, but she quickly returns Margaery's smile. “Oh, hi,” she says, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Sorry, I'm just waiting for my boyfriend. I'm not loitering, am I?”
“Not at all!” Margaery insists. Really, if all their customers apologised for spending so long before ordering... “I was just wondering if you wanted anything, that's all.”
“Ah...” Sansa hesitates. Part of her still thinks she should wait, but she also clearly sees the opportunity to order what she actually wants without being mocked for it, instead of having to rely on Margaery's intuition. Margaery likes to think her intuition's pretty good, but she does worry that she might give the poor girl an allergy attack someday. Sansa gives a guilty grin. “Well, it is autumn,” she says. “How about a pumpkin spice latte?
Margaery grins back. That's my girl. “Coming right up,” she says, and darts back over to the counter, where Elinor is starting to drown in customers – and is waving her arms around like it, too.
Approximately half an hour later, Sansa has finished her pumpkin spice latte, and Joffrey is still not there. Bastard.
Without even really thinking about it, Margaery finds herself headed to the machine again. She makes her way over with hot drink in hand. “You know, we have a free hot chocolate policy for girls who get stood up.”
Technically, Grandma never actually told her that, but Margaery thinks it was implied. Sansa blinks in surprise, looking at the warm chocolatey goo, covered in marshmellows. “Thank you,” she says sweetly, and takes a long gulp. You'd think it was whiskey or something. “Honestly, I'm not even surprised,” she says, drumming the table. “He's always doing this. Apparently it's always his mother's fault. I wouldn't mind so much if he'd simply tell me, but no, he just doesn't show up and expects I'll understand.”
Margaery wonders if she can spell dump him! out in Morse code by blink. “That sounds awful,” she sympathises, brushing her hair slightly. “I can't believe he'd do that to you.”
“Trust me, I can,” Sansa scoffs, taking another sip of hot chocolate. “Honestly. I should just dump him already, but...”
Margaery tilts her head to the side curiously. But? She does want to know. She has wondered so much why a girl so lovely would bother with a boy so not, after all. Still, she is here in a professional capacity, and she knows better than to pry. Instead, she just gives Sansa her most sympathetic face, and waits for her to continue.
Luckily, it works. “It's just, I've liked him since I was what, thirteen?” Margaery winces. Ah yes, old crushes, those die hard. Bugger. “He's my dad's best friend's son, you see, so we always met each other at family get togethers and the like. He always seemed so nice and polite then!” Sansa exclaims. “Turns out, he only acts like that when his mother's around.” She pulls a face, and hides it behind her mug.
Margaery nods along, getting a handle on the situation now. “But if you dump him, you're afraid you'll upset the whole family dynamic?” Sansa looks surprised by her insight, but nods also. Margaery smiles. “You know, I'm sure your family wouldn't want you to make yourself unhappy, just to make things easier for them.”
“Oh no, of course they wouldn't, trust me, if my dad knew some of the things he's said to me he'd kill him, and if my mum knew he'd be lucky if she just killed him, but...” Sansa trails off. She shrugs, and smiles apologetically. “I don't know. Maybe I'm just not that brave?”
Margaery purses her lips together. Part of her tells herself to be careful of crossing any lines she shouldn't, but another part of her thinks, maybe Sansa needs her to cross that line. “I'm not so sure about that,” she says confidently. “I can't imagine someone as pretty as you could be a coward.”
As compliments go, it's not her best work – there are in fact plenty of pretty cowards in the world – but it does make Sansa stop, and blush faintly. “Oh. Thank you.” She averts her eyes timidly, and while she's not looking, Margaery grins to herself. Maybe she's in with a chance after all. “Really, thank you. I owe you a lot. Really, with the whole – giving me things I actually want to drink instead of coffee. I don't know how many baristas would have bothered to do that. I don't know how many baristas would have noticed to begin with.”
“It's a gift,” Margaery shrugs, but she can't help glowing. “Although I did worry a little that you might turn out to have a deathly nut allergy and I might kill you. So sorry in advance, if that happens.”
Sansa laughs. “Don't worry, if it does I promise I'll rise from the grave and haunt Joffrey for putting us in this situation to begin with, not you.”
“Very thoughtful.” Margaery is still in the middle of grinning at this girl when, from behind her, she hears a loud cough.
Oh. Elinor. She turns round and sees her cousin trying to handle a long line of customers single-handedly again, and raising her eyebrows decidedly at Margaery. Margaery winces, and turns back to Sansa. “Sorry, I really ought to–”
Sansa nods hurriedly, suddenly remembering the situation. “Oh, of course,” she says. “You've got better things to worry about than my problems, you have a job to do–”
“I mean, it's not like I need the money,” Margaery reassures her. “I'm a very spoiled rich girl, don't worry, but my Grandma insisted I take a job in her cafe if I was going to take a year off uni. And trust me, when my grandmother tells you to do something, you do it.”
“...I see,” Sansa says, sounding a little puzzled, but also, intrigued. Margaery wishes she had more time to explain. It's unsettlingly difficult to force herself up and onto her feet, away from Sansa, and back to the counter. That's a bad sign of just how deep in she is, if the secret not-coffees weren't a dead giveaway.
When she does make it back, Elinor still has her eyebrows firmly raised. When Margaery makes her way over to the steamed milk machine, her cousin leans over to whisper: “And you say I'm shameless.”
As subtly as possible – so the customers won't notice – Margaery smacks her on the arm. “One word from you, and you're cleaning out this machine for the next month.”
It's a busy day. Many days are busy days, people do love their coffee (except for the one), but this day seems busier than most. Margaery doesn't know why. She's pretty good at maintaining her composure in a crisis, but even she's a little run off her feet.
Joffrey and Sansa are there, of course, but Margaery forces herself to just give them their drinks and go. She doesn't have time to do anything else.
However, maybe she was being a little too quick, because before she's even back to the counter she hears a loud: “Eurgh! What is this?!”
Margaery spins around. In front of her, Sansa's mouth drops open in horror. She mixed their drinks up.
Joffrey turns to glare at her. “I'm sorry, is there a ten year old girl in here you've confused me with? This is pure sugar! And it's ice cold. Take it away.”
Margaery swallows deeply. Joffrey's right, it is very sweet, and cold – it's a vanilla milkshake, because it's an unseasonably warm day and Margaery thought that would be right up Sansa's alley. Joffrey talks to her like he's a king, and she's some medieval serving wench. God, she loathes him. If she were still at uni, she'd tell him exactly how much, how utterly cruel and pointless it is to treat serving staff the way he does – not to mention the way he treats his poor girlfriend.
But this is her job, and putting up with it when customers treat you like shit is what retail workers do, from what she's gathered. So Margaery grins and bears it. “Of course sir, right away.” And she's just about got her hand on the cup when–
“Wait,” Sansa's eyes flash quickly, and she reaches for the cup at the same time, her fingers circling Margaery's wrist. God, her skin is soft. “Don't take that away.” Her eyes turn toward Joffrey. “That's my order.”
Shit.
Nervous, Margaery turns her head to look at Joffrey's face, and sees him frowning in confusion. “No, you ordered the same thing I did...”
“You ordered that, Joffrey!” Sansa shouts, getting the attention of other patrons. “You always do! Everytime we go somewhere, you just assume I'll want what you want, and make fun of anything else!” Joffrey snorts and makes a dismissive hand gesture, which only makes Sansa angrier. “You know what, I don't even like coffee!” That gets a shock gasp from some of the other customers. “And you might think I'm a stupid little girl for that, but the fact of the matter is, I don't! I like my sweet sugary drinks and chai lattes and herbal teas, and who are you to tell me that what I like to drink isn't good enough?”
Joffrey seems bamboozled, and Sansa huffs a little, looking at Margaery a moment. “Someone here actually did care enough to notice that I didn't like coffee, and has been helping me out ever since we started coming here. Why should a barista understand and respect my tastes better than my own boyfriend?”
A good question, thinks Margaery, but she doesn't get time to contemplate it much before Joffrey turns to glare at her. “So this is your fault.”
“No, Joffrey, it's your fault!” Sansa shouts. “It's your fault for being such a prick I can't even be honest with you about my coffee order, let alone anything important!” Yep, the whole cafe is definitely staring at them now. Oh well. At least her hair's good today. “You know, this whole time I've been trying to make excuses for you, to convince myself you're not as bad as you seem, but you are. You're probably worse. And I am getting out, now, before it's too late.”
“Wait, Sansa–”
Sansa stands up. Her posture is proud, strong, regal. Margaery can't help but stare, and admire. She storms out of there like a woman on a mission.
Behind her, she leaves Joffrey. His throat bobs with fury, and his face turns red. He doesn't look upset at all, just – angry. Humiliated. All around him, the other customers smirk and titter.
Margaery really wishes she was anywhere else right now, but Grandma did hire her to do a job, after all. “Sir?”
“You!” Joffrey rises to his feet in a rage, and Margaery takes a step back. “What did you do, you bloody cow, she was always perfect before, we never fought about anything, you cunt, where is your manager, I want you fired, I hope you never work again–”
The titters stop dead. Some of the customers she can see take a step forward, prepared to step in if it looks like he's really going to hurt her, but Margaery can't bring herself to be afraid. This Joffrey is too pathetic to fear.
“Well good luck with that,” she snaps, and Joffrey stops, gobsmack that she would dare speak back to him. Yes, Margaery has been trying to play Employee of the Month, the customer is always right and all that, but she has her limits, and this prick is far past them. “You might not know this, but my grandmother owns this cafe. This is a proud family business, and she's been very insistent about me taking this job. Now, if you think you can get my own grandmother to fire me because your girlfriend dumped you, publically and humiliatingly, and you need someone lower than yourself to take it out on – well, you can try, but somehow I doubt it's going to as planned.”
Joffrey just keeps huffing and puffing at her a little longer. Still, he's too much of a coward to start any real trouble. “Fuck you, bitch,” he spits, and Margaery can only raise an eyebrow. How eloquent.
He also storms out, far less impressively than Sansa did. She looked like a goddess of war. He looks like a petulant child.
That leaves Margaery in the eye of the storm, with the whole cafe staring at her, wide-eyed. Some of them clap hesitantly. Fuck. She got so caught up in the drama of it all, she forgot her actual job. Still, she's sure she can manage. “Sorry everyone,” she calls out. “I promise your coffees are coming as soon as possible.” A pause. “Or whatever you drink.”
Once she's returned to the cafe, she does her best to get back into the rhythm, doling out drinks like nothing happened. Still, as soon as she gets thirty seconds to herself (which turns out to be about half an hour later, because all the drama hasn't made anyone less thirsty – far from it) she sends a quick text to her grandma.
So, I accidentally got some asshole dumped by his girlfriend at work today, and he says he wants me fired for it.
Barely a minute later, far quicker than one would expect from an eighty year old woman, she gets a reply:
That's my girl.
To be honest, Margaery does worry after that, she might never see Sansa again. After all, if you don't like coffee, and your asshole boyfriend isn't dragging you along, why would you visit a coffeeshop? And it's for the best, really, Margaery knows she did the right thing, getting Sansa to dump that douche (though honestly, she doubts how much she had to do with anything) – it's just. Well.
She's going to miss her.
Margaery gets about two weeks to settle into a state of romantic pining, to sort Sansa into one-that-got-away status, and to make Loras roll his eyes at her. Whatever. Like he didn't moon just as badly over Renly for the best part of three years.
Then, guess who comes back in?
It's late, they're almost about to pack up, but when Margaery sees Elinor reaching for the doors she kicks her. It's raining outside, and Sansa's red hair is plastered to her forehead – but somehow, that only makes her look lovelier.
Elinor rolls her eyes, and then retreats to the back room. Margaery grins to herself. See, she does talk smack about her family sometimes, but really they're all very supportive.
“Hello there,” Sansa says, wiping the hair out of her eyes. “I hope you remember me?”
Margaery has to laugh at that, the sheer absurdity of the thought she could ever forget. “Darling, trust me, no-one 'round here will be forgetting you in a hurry.”
Sansa blushes at that, but chuckles good-naturedly. “You never know, girls dumping their boyfriends in giant screaming fits might well be an everyday occurrence in these parts. See, I don't visit cafes much, I don't know what happens in them.”
“Well, we get our share of break-ups, but few as interesting as that.” Even if more people did make such a scene in their cafe, Margaery's sure Sansa would still be unforgettable – but she can't say that aloud. “How did that go, by the way? You know, with your parents and all?”
“Oh, really well,” Sansa enthuses. “Turns out, they all hated him as much as I did. They were just waiting for me to wise up and dump him, they were so relieved.” She pauses. “Alright, his mother's been on the phone claiming I'm a bad influence, but apparently that just means she and Robert are fighting again.” Sansa winces. “Really, I do feel a little bad for Joffrey. His parents seem to have a very rocky marriage.”
Margaery sighs. Be that as it may. “Well then, what can I do for you?” she asks. “It looks like you could use something to warm you up. A nice traditional Earl Grey, perhaps?”
Strangely, Sansa blushes deeper at that. What's so embarrassing about Earl Grey? “Oh, I mean, that sounds lovely...” she says. “But actually, well, I wanted to thank you. Again. It's just, I don't think I would have done what I did without you. Him being awful to me was one thing, but talking to you like that...”
“Oh, I can look after myself,” Margaery says breezily, trying to ignore the way her heart thumps.
Sansa nods, and Margaery can't not notice her nervous gulp. “But, you were so kind to me, giving me those drinks without me even asking, and I... wanted to make it up to you?”
Stay calm.
Sansa coughs, her blush deepening even more. “I'd like to buy you a coffee, sometime,” she says. “I mean, I'd like to have coffee. With you.”
And Margaery can't speak.
Fuck.
Yes!
Sansa clearly takes her silence the wrong way, and she starts backtracking. “But I mean, you don't have to, I understand if you think that's, you probably didn't mean anything–”
“No, no, no!” Margaery quickly interjects, before this beautiful, sweet, innocent girl really does get away from her. “I would love to have coffee with you,” she says, and when Sansa looks unconvinced, she has to emphasise. “Really. I would love it.” A pause, and then she grins. “Really, I don't think I've thought of anything but having coffee with you for weeks now.”
Sansa's mouth pops open, and then she blushes even deeper. “Oh. Well.” Her voice is high and strained, but she tries to retain her composure. “I mean, I probably won't be having coffee. You know how I feel about coffee.” She pulls a face, and Margaery laughs. That she does. “But still: what would you like?”
Hmm. That's a good question. Margaery needs a moment to think on it. “Well, I do like a good mocha,” she says. “See it's both coffee, but it's chocolate too.”
Sansa grins, reaching for her purse. “Not sure I see the appeal, but alright.”