Work Text:
You scroll up in the 3-person groupchat on your phone, intertwining with Kate’s offered hand as you step into the dimly lit restaurant.
Food (3 members)
Laswife 💍(me)
same italian place 6pm, kate and i will meet you there
John 🤠
K.
Go in w/o me.
Running late.
Kate 💍
Us too. Take your time
Kate gently tilts your head with her free hand, patting down a few locks of stray hair you hadn’t even noticed getting out of the car.
The waitstaff smiles pleasantly, greeting the two of you and asking for your names over the buzz of other patrons’ chatter.
“Reservation for Kate,” Your wife replies. “Three people.”
“Kate… yes, perfect. Please follow me to your seats. What can I get the two of you to drink while you wait?”
Kate pulls out the wiry metal chair for you, gallantly dampening the screech of metal across tile. Hand on the small of your back, she smoothly orders hot water. You break out of a fascinated stare into the flickering tealight centerpieces to nod gratefully at the waiter.
Ever on alert, Kate sits straighter next to you as she surveils the surroundings. You watch her, reverently.
Her eyes crinkle at the four elderly women enjoying matching pasta plates a table over — you know she wants a scene like that in her future.
She smirks at what must be a middle schooler cringing and shushing as his dad tries to show him a music video with the phone’s volume on full blast (she knows it reminds you of your parents).
You watch as she fiddles with the tablecloth and fake greenery spilling out of the decorative glass centerpieces; it unconsciously matches the swells and lulls of the piped-in orchestra music playing through speakers in the ceiling.
…The way her eyes flick towards the door off to her side every so often, and size up the waiter suspiciously when she sweeps by with a water thermos, doesn’t go unnoticed either.
You speak before she gets too caught up — there’s no need to surveil tonight. That’s the whole reason the two of you (and, whenever he shows, Price) are here.
“No bumps or bruises? I’m proud.”
Kate breaks focus to snort good-naturedly. “None. But I did see something horrendous.” She only pauses for a moment, noticing your look of concern. “One of the rookies wore earrings to training.”
The gears move slow in your brain, and you blink a little dumbly as you move to pour the both of you water. “So?”
A sardonic smile breaks out on your wife’s face as she lifts her mug to blow puffs of air into it. “It’s frigid in Russia, honey.”
“...Oh my god.” The realisation dawns slowly but surely, and you giggle a little in fascinated horror. “What happened?”
“He kept saying he was fine right up until the medic told him he almost got frostbite. He’s pledged to never wear earrings again.”
“No one stopped him?!”
“He put them in coming off the helo. We weren’t even at basecamp yet!”
You groan, a mix of amusement and secondhand pain.
Kate packs your back sympathetically. “At least you get your entertainment the regular way.”
You’re sidetracked temporarily by the door jingling off to your right, and you wave to flag down Captain John Price as he steps in. Still, the thought of your trainees at work invades your mind as he takes notice and approaches the table.
“It’s so bad. I think I get how my boss felt when I first started.” You lament mournfully. “We were meeting with the software team to show them our prototype, and after the meeting some of the trainees asked me what Figma was.”
Kate definitely does not know what Figma is either (the polite confusion on her face is endearing). John, standing next to the table as to not interrupt your rant, looks equally frightened and unenlightened. Lucky them.
“It’s like an artist kit for web designers. They’re supposed to know how to use it; it’s all they teach design majors in college now. I don’t know if they were asleep the whole four years, or…?” You trail off, shrugging helplessly.
John pulls out the chair across from Kate, plopping down in it with an exhausted sigh. “Same boys who only came up with two ideas in a brainstorming session?”
You nod. (The disappointment is not unlike how you would imagine your parents feel at your career choices.)
“Green as grass.” John rumbles. “Need a couple more years ‘til their heads grow in. Sorry I’m late, by the way. Forgot my tank was near-empty. Had to stop for petrol.” No doubt that’s the most conversational speaking he’s made in weeks. Noises of acknowledgement and your hungry stomach leave you at the same time, and the three of you pick up the embossed menus.
Three orders (and about three and a half story exchanges) later, the waiter bestows your food upon you to a chorus of quiet appreciation.
Despite the interruption of Kate’s ardent defense of the utterly ancient operating systems the 141 somehow still uses for administration, you figure your wife and friend are more than eager to finally eat food that doesn’t come from a cafeteria in the middle of nowhere.
…Your alfredo smells comforting as ever, but the garlic bread with Kate’s lemon shrimp pasta is looking tasty too. You might have to nab a piece when the two of you exchange food samples.
To your bafflement, John seems to have left his comfort zone; you can’t remember him ever ordering spicy lasagna. (Maybe food with seasoning is growing on him?) You nod approvingly when John reaches for his fork and immediately remembers better.
“Camera eats first.” You repeat the mantra like you do on every meal out. The embarrassment in pulling out your phone is part of the routine too.
Kate and John, to their credit, wait patiently as you snap a picture of the three plates as quickly as you can — trusting the moody restaurant lighting to make up for any blur.
The picture gets saved into a folder, the phone goes back in your pocket, and within five seconds the ritual is over. John already has his mug of tea in hand, that strong stuff you swear he only drinks because it has the bitterness of coffee.
Kate and you lift your mugs in kind, clinking them together.
“Cheers,” You declare. “Here’s to outliving those fuckass intranets.”
Kate huffs and bumps your shoulders, but makes no contradiction; she’ll have to upgrade soon. (You'll have to teach her how.)