Work Text:
October in Brooklyn had smelled of damp air, decaying leaves, and cooling asphalt. The sky above the city had been covered by an even gray blanket that kept threatening to turn into a fine drizzle. In weather like this, people on the streets became a faceless, hurried mass wrapped in dark coats and jackets.
Hermes had not stood out among them at all. He had worn a gray jacket, blue jeans, his favorite pair, and a burgundy baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. On his feet had been burgundy Pumas, his new favorite sneakers. Dressed like that, he had looked like just another Brooklyn guy with nowhere in particular to be.
He had been sitting in a small café with windows perfectly positioned between Alice's office and the entrance to the subway station. From there he had had an ideal strategic view of the doors to her clinic. Hermes had been absolutely certain he would not miss her.
He had sat at his table and googled the doc. The results had been, frankly, boring. The very first link had led to her official physician profile: a formal photograph with her hair neatly pulled back, her expression focused. He had been sure it was the same picture on her staff ID. There had also been a brief biography, information about her degree, a list of continuing education courses, and her professional career.
He had already seen all of it when he had first made an appointment with her.
Her Instagram had been almost empty, just a few photos of Central Park in autumn and several official group pictures from medical conferences and professional events. Her Facebook had looked even more depressing: links to psychoanalysis articles, reposts of medical research, and silence in the comments.
Hermes had yawned openly as he had scrolled through this digital trail. He had been especially amused by how people these days managed to stick his caduceus with its snakes onto every other medical form and clinic logo, even though historically it had been a symbol of trade and reconciliation. Healthcare had actually belonged to Asclepius with his modest staff. But mortals, as always, had mixed everything up, and he had not been about to complain.
While waiting for the end of her workday, Hermes had entertained himself by testing the café's coffee menu. He had ordered strong black coffee and asked them to add different sweet syrups each time.
The cherry syrup had been excellent, thick and pleasantly tart, reminding him somehow of wine. The chocolate one had also been good, making the coffee sweet and rich. But the caramel had been awful, cloyingly artificial, completely destroying the taste of the coffee. Hermes had pushed that cup away with obvious disgust.
Then, as dusk had begun to settle over the city, the clinic doors had opened.
Hermes had straightened in his seat. He had spotted her immediately. She had stepped outside, wrapping her short trench coat more tightly around herself as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. She had not seen him. Her eyes had been fixed on the pavement, lost in thoughts of her own. Maybe she had been thinking about her patients. Maybe about him. Or maybe about her crimson ears during their last session.
Hermes had watched her through the café window, carefully noting her route.
Alice had walked down the street. Hermes had left a few bills on the table, pulled up the hood of his gray jacket, and slipped quietly into the cool evening air. He had kept a respectable distance, blending effortlessly into the crowd.
They had approached the subway entrance. Hermes had been preparing himself for the moment she disappeared underground, knowing he would either have to follow her into that stifling hell. But Alice had walked straight past the blue-and-green subway sign without even slowing down.
Not far from here, Hermes had noted to himself.
He had followed her for another four blocks. This part of Brooklyn had grown quieter, the high-rises giving way to neat brownstone townhouses with tall stoops. Alice had turned toward one of them, climbed the stone steps, taken her keys from her pocket, and disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.
Hermes had stopped on the opposite side of the street beneath the broad branches of a maple tree. He had waited a couple of minutes to see where the lights came on, then looked up at the illuminated window on the third and top floor.
Now he knew her address. The knowledge had settled onto his mental map of the city as one more carefully marked point.
He had adjusted his burgundy cap, smiled faintly at his own thoughts, then turned around and headed back toward the subway with his light, springy stride, disappearing once again into the Brooklyn autumn and the countless, endless errands that filled his days.