Capes

Gus flips the sign to OPEN, and the room behind him cheers. It's been a long time since that door has been opened. After three hours of deep cleaning, and another two with the ruler rearranging the furniture, they are open for business. 

It would have been one, but he hadn't hired a strongman. Those types don't usually apply for restaurant work. They can make it as real heroes, instead of just heroes of hunger. He wishes he would have hired one for the day, scuff marks along the floor from scooting tables around.

He also wishes he had thought of the Heroes of Hunger name before he ordered the sign for outside. Capes is a great name, but they're also a hazard in the kitchen, so nobody wears them. He has his regulars that come in that understand, but the tourists, not so much. They're looking for a show.

Head stuck out into the sidewalk, he's looking for his regulars. Had he been replaced by coffee machines and toaster waffles?

Stupid quarantine, with its stupid closures.

He adjusts his mask. He's ordered ones for all of his employees, who are now settling down into a booth, awaiting the rush. They've been apart for so long that they need to catch up. The funny stories keep the room light, but Gus knows better. He can hear their thoughts, with reasonable doubt that things aren't going to work out. 

They don't know that he knows. As far as they're concerned, he's an ordinary man, the only one without powers. He prefers it this way. It gives him the insight to change things while looking like a genius, and not just another freak with powers. 

Okay, maybe freak is a strong word. Genetically advanced is more fitting, if you want to be technical. 

Nobody ever wants to be technical.

They have competition across the street that calls them the Freaks on Fifth, avenue that is. They think they're all fancy with their cloth napkins and their smooth jazz pumping from the sound system instead of a boom box playing eighties hits from the front counter. He'd call them Fancy on Fifth, but it doesn't sound nearly as insulting.

The song switches to Don't You Want Me, and his heart sinks. That hurts.

He slides a chair over and joins his staff. They're sharing horror stories. They've been together for the three years he's had this place open, from an ad in the newspaper all those years ago.

'Calling all rejected heroes: Looking to staff a super restaurant. Come be a hero to the tastebuds!' 

It was a terrible ad, and only a few rag tag idiots came. Those rag tag idiots have become a family to him, and these past months without them have been tough, sitting alone in his studio apartment upstairs, watching the sidewalks grow empty in the wake of the virus. The first day was the hardest, seeing the regulars come tug on the door to find a tear splotched note in the window explaining that they'd be back, someday.

Today is that day, and yet nobody is pulling on that unlocked door. 

Tidy Tim is going on about the time that he accidentally transported a customer's purse into the sink. He is a teleporter by nature, still honing his craft. One day, he used to swear, he'd grow bigger (they liked to call him Tiny Tim, much to his frustration, because he insisted second puberty would set in sooner or later) and leave this joint. In the meantime he would practice his powers as busboy, teleporting the trash to the rubbish bins and dishes to the sink.

The thing about powers is concentration. Tidy Tim, bless his heart, is not the best in that regard, eyes flitting to any pretty girl passing his view. It didn't happen often, but one afternoon it did, right as he was clearing the table for a very aggravating woman. She had already sent her meal back twice, and after clearing most of her plate, she had asked for the check.

Tidy Tim came along to clear the table, got distracted by her beautiful daughter and plunk, the purse had sank into a sink full of sudsy water. Thankfully it had been zipped shut.

Unthankfully she had chewed Gus out and swore to never come back after retrieving her dried off, squeaky clean purse. 

He ended up taking that daughter out on a few dates, he likes to brag, until her mother came home to find him in her daughter's bed. If only he had mastered teleportation of himself.

Hot Hank is talking now, fiddling with the salt shaker. He too has an unruly customer, one that had ordered gazpacho. They had added it to the menu for the summer, and a touring yuppie had come in for lunch. He set his briefcase on the chair next to him, waving away the menu.

Asking what the specials were, because, and he quotes, 'every day should be special,' he had inquired on the gazpacho. He'd been told it was a soup. There were more details that would have followed, had he not cut Hank off demand a bowl, shooing him away to take a phone call.

Bringing the soup back, the yuppie put his hand over the receiver of his phone, glaring at the waiter.

"Bowl's not even hot."

"It's gazpacho. It's not supposed to be hot."

"It's soup. Soup is meant to be hot. Make it hot," he paused to read his name tag, "Hot Hank. Seriously, a guy who calls himself Hot Hank can't even make soup hot? That's lame."

Hank removed his glasses, sticking them in his apron pocket. Fixing his eyes on the bowl, he rose the temperature. The customer complained that it still wasn't hot, merely warm. So he nodded his apologies and fixated on the bowl until the soup boiled.

Yuppie burnt his tongue. Dramatically fanning it, he jolted upward and spilled the boiling soup all over his lap. Sputtering a mess of foul language, he attracted the attention of Gus.

"He burned himself on the gazpacho," Hank had explained, placing his glasses back on his face. Present day Hank was laughing at his story, pushing his glasses back up. Pauly has taken the salt shaker from him, and the floor.

Pausing Pauly has the ability to stop time. In all honesty, he is amazing at his skill. There are no bounds to how long he can do it, and it could all happen in the snap of his fingers.

However, he has a debilitating anxiety disorder that made him too emotionally weak to fight crime. He is a coward at heart, and every time he would panic, snap would go the fingers, so that he could be alone to breathe. The others never felt a thing, but Gus would always hear it about to happen. Reading a racing mind is an exhausting thing. He really wants to get him a therapist, or meds or something, but Pauly insists it could interfere with his power and that he totally has it under control.

Except for, oh, about every single dinner rush where he pauses time before realizing that he is the only one moving and now has to do the work of two people instead of one. He often has bags under his eyes, and this is the first time in a long time that Gus has noticed he doesn't, having been alone in his apartment. No outside stress to freak him out, or pulling three hours out of three seconds.

He half expects his story to be about some kitchen disaster, and is pleasantly surprised to find that instead he talks about all the time he paused so he could go pet people's dogs as they waited outside for their owners to come back. There was a fenced in area that they were bound to, a doggie haven with meat scraps and climate control. He'd watch them through the window and be so drawn to them that he'd pause time to rub their bellies and scratch their ears. They'd never notice, but he'd come back calm, ready to face the world. 

During quarantine, he made a habit to get groceries every Thursday, walking past an alley way with a hungry looking dog. He'd buy a snack and bring it back, feeding the mutt. Said mutt became so accustomed to him that he followed him home, refusing to leave. 

"Sounds like we're going to have to upgrade the pup pit for your new buddy to come to work." 

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

He can hear the happiness in his head. 

Duplicating Danny claps him on the back. "Get me a plank of wood and a bottle of paint, and I'll make it happen."

The great thing about Danny is his power to multiply. It keeps the food costs down so that he can offer things like lobster and steak without breaking the bank. The only problem is nobody seems to order the same meal as anyone else, so he's stuck making single portions of everything. Gus knows that he has duplicated meals to feed the crew, and he's fine with it, as it's not coming out of the budget, but Danny tries to keep it a secret from him.

Gus likes steak too.

It turns out Danny had been staying at his parent's house, and had taken to duplicating his mother's cookies. She is a professional baker at that fancy restaurant across the street, and refused to share them with him, counting the cookies every morning to make sure there were still as many as she had left. To her, keeping the secret recipe secret was more important than her love for her only son.

If you ask her, she'll say she was looking out for his figure. All those duplicated meals had not been kind to his shape, and he jiggled a bit when he walked. He preferred using his power for personal gain instead of fighting crime. That required effort, and to be honest, he was a bit lazy.

One morning she had been out grocery shopping and he duplicated the cookies, taking the leftovers to his room for examination. 

"I'm pretty sure I have figured out the recipe," he says, sliding a cookie onto the table before multiplying the feast. "If we can outdo them on their desserts, we may finally get ahead in this war." 

Crumbs flying, Tim wipes his shirt. "I could've used your powers when I ran out of toilet paper. Dang cougar went and took the last pack on me while waving that tight bod of hers in my face."

Tock shakes her head. Her brother is always thinking with his groin. 

"Why didn't you ask me to go back in time to pick you up a pack?" She was always getting sent back to get ingredients at a cheaper price, or study under the greats to bring back their recipes. She had been in the middle of a Colonel Sanders case when the shut down went into effect. That man was tight lipped about his herbs and spices. 

"You heard dad. No taking your germs back in time until you get vaccinated for the virus. He's not letting you destroy the world all for the sake of toilet paper." He shifts towards Gus. "Why'd you bring her back if you can't send her back yet anyhow?"

A small part of wanted to confess that she brought a much needed female presence to the group, and his life, but he refrained. It was a good thing they couldn't hear his thoughts.

"We're a family. You don't ditch family. Besides, someone needs to go spread the word and get our regulars back in here."

"How am I supposed to track them down, exactly?"

The bell on the door rang.

"What are you doing sitting around? I'm hungry. Waited months for a plate of waffles." 

"Simon, you do know that you can buy waffles at the grocery store, right?"

He waves the suggestion off. "Pfft. Now scoot. 'Yer in my booth. Al is on his way, forgot his mask so he had to turn back. Theo is still asleep. Not used to this early riser thing anymore."

Gus rushes them all to the kitchen, the door bell dinging again.

It's good to be back.