Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Reservation?

Raynor.

The maître d’ nodded. Party of two, private balcony?

Yes.

And will your tablemate be joining you later?

He nodded and was handed off to be led outside.

He sat. Give me about five minutes, will you? The waiter nodded and left.

He waited. Four, three, two…

Sarah dropped from the roof silently, absorbing the fall expertly and smoothly taking a seat.

Still got it, he said.

Like riding a bike, she smiled back. I don’t think anyone saw me.

Well, if anyone calls the military, Matt promises I’ll know first. … But can you imagine if someone did? What the hell is the Queen of Blades doing skulking around on the roof of a five-star restaurant?

She laughed. It was a very good sound to hear. Her eyes genuinely twinkled. Why this place? It really is fancy - even the roof.

Valerian suggested it. The staff are supposed to be trained to stay cool no matter what’s happening; the place could be under attack from three directions and they’d be politely guiding people out the fourth.

Kerrigan looked mischievous. Well, we’ll put that to the test.

You know what else Valerian suggested, he offered to pay for it out of the diplomatic budget.

She laughed again. Well, actually… Did you take him up?

No, dammit, I have a salary now. And I said I was gonna take you out.

Well, that you have. I have to say, you look surprisingly good in a tux.

Surprisingly‽

You’re not much of a high society man, Jim.

I’ll have you know I’ve worn a tuxedo on at least two occasions in the past!

She thought briefly. What was the second?

Valerian’s coronation.

Ah, so you have recent experience.

The waiter returned. True to the reputation, he showed precisely zero reaction. Shall we ensure there is no photography, sir?

That’d be appreciated. … And no rumors.

Of course not, sir! He sounded offended by the suggestion.

Just making sure, son.

His offense didn’t linger. Are there any dietary limitations we should know of?

I can’t eat lemon, said Kerrigan, to several seconds of silence.

Lemon, miss?

Lemon. I know-

No, no. I shall return in a few moments. He departed again.

Jim blinked at her. You can’t eat lemon?

I’m allergic. All zerg are allergic to lemons and lemon juice. We’re working on it, but it’s not simple. Zerglings have it worst; I wouldn’t enjoy it but I’d be okay. But we’ll have it fixed by the time you get the lemon bombs worked up so don’t bother.

Well, we wouldn’t be using them on you anyway, right?

She shrugged, using her wings as part of the gesture. Sure, but if you do have to deal with ferals or rogues, let me know first. It’d be good for the Swarm to have something to do, and I can probably make it a bit cleaner.

What are you up to, actually?

I’ve been thinking about mercenary work, but I can only think of maybe three clients I’d trust. Any chance the Dominion has a piracy problem?

’Fraid not. … Zerg mercenaries…

No job too big!

The waiter returned, delivering a plate of fried wedges of something with a dipping sauce.

After he left, Sarah commented, Oh, this is one of those places where they decide what you’re having ahead of time, isn’t it?

Raynor nodded. If they let you pick, you might choose the wrong soup. Or something.

She reached out and picked up one of the wedges, pinching it between two talons and sighing slightly. I tried to cut these earlier but they grew back.

Grew back?

She set the wedge down, braced her talons on the edge of the table, and struck at the ends of the fingers with her other hand. Two talons broke off. She held up her hand and, as they watched, the claws replaced themselves.

She picked the wedge up again, dipped it in the sauce, and took a bite. After a moment, she set it back on the small plate in front of her, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. Oh my god, food. … I just realized the last time I ate was nine months ago.

And when did you last have something that wasn’t rations?

…I think it was our last date, actually. Five years? Six? She shook her head, then resumed eating. Raynor followed suit.

After finishing the first wedge, he picked up and inspected the small quantity of some spirit that had come with it. You’re supposed to drink it slowly, warned Sarah.

I know, I know. He took a sip.

Almost as soon as they finished, the three plates were removed and replaced by a small soup. Kerrigan had slight trouble with the spoon and her webbed fingers for a moment, but was able to manage.

At least it’s not chopsticks, said Jim, making reference to an incident when they were still with the Sons of Korhal.

Don’t you dare. She glared at him.

The soup was good. In an alarming moment, Jim just barely avoided slurping by accident. Sarah tried not to laugh at him, and mostly succeeded.

Next they were presented with carrots, to which something had been done, though neither of them had the expertise to identify what. Unlike the fried… whatever it was, they were on separate plates, for a reason that quickly became obvious.

Alright, there’s definitely lemon in this.

She cocked her head. Not in mine. After a moment, she placed a small piece on his plate. He sampled it, then rocked back slightly in surprise. That’s… completely different.

Well, someone knows what they’re doing.

I’m starting to get concerned that we aren’t approaching the main course. He continued to eat the carrots.

So far this seems like a ten-course, so… next we should have a salad, then fish, then the first main.

First main?

It’s not so big.

He shook his head. And when did you learn this?

If you’re going to spy on fancy people, you have to know which forks to use first. … Do you not know what we’re having either?

Valerian said they give you a menu after.

They had reached the main course. Something based on chicken, with a complex sauce. Like everything else, it was good.

Following that were a pair of small white sorbets. They sampled them.

Mint, said Kerrigan.

Lemon, said Raynor.

She grinned. Such precision.

The second main was an exceptionally tender few pieces of pork, on rice.

I think I’ve had that before. My mother made something like it once. She sipped her wine. I know people don’t usually say this, but… I think this is better than hers.

Ouch.

…Well… she’s dead.

He rapidly changed the subject. So, if not mercenary work, what are you planning?

She took a breath. There’s a lot of ferals and rogues out there, and… other messes to clean up. In particular, I hear the Daelaam are starting to think seriously about retaking Aiur… I’d like to give them a hand, if Artanis will trust me.

I can vouch for you.

Dessert was an assortment of berries and fruit pieces in whipped cream, with a layer of cake beneath. They were both certain it had a fancy name, but couldn’t think of it. It disappeared quickly, with no conversation until it was gone. I’d like to learn to make something like that.

Why? he asked, sounding puzzled.

It’d be great at parties.

You’re gonna start throwing parties?

Well, maybe we move in together.

His heart ached suddenly. He tried to say something in response, but couldn’t. She smiled at him and held out a hand. Someday, she said quietly.

He took it. Ah, man, Sarah, I… She pulled him in and they kissed softly over the table for a few seconds.

She was still smiling happily at him. It was an incredible sight. You don’t have to find the words. I feel you.

Right.

The waiter returned with very appropriate timing, leaving them with a small assortment of tiny chocolates.

What is this? asked Jim after he left. A second dessert?

It’s called a mignardise.

A what now?

Mignardise, she said, slower. Basically a second dessert. But smaller. She picked up a piece and bit off half of it. Mm, dark.

They savored these much more slowly. Sarah picked up the last and held it out; Jim accepted it, ending up with his lips around her thumb talon when she pushed the chocolate in. She removed it, giggling at his expression.

Well, she said with a satisfied sigh, that should be the last course.

It’s a marathon.

Gives you time to talk. She stood. He followed suit a fraction before the waiter entered.

He handed them each a card, on which the menu had been printed.

I… don’t have anywhere to put this, Sarah noted after briefly inspecting it.

You need pockets, Jim said, putting his there as she returned hers.

I thought about trying to get dressed up, but finding the most genius tailor in the universe to make anything look decent on short notice sounded hard.

There was a silent moment.

And how did you find everything?

Excellent, said Kerrigan. My compliments to the chef. Especially in avoiding lemon so creatively.

Of course, miss.

Well, Jim, I assume we’re already settled? He nodded. Then I’ll meet you where we agreed.

She turned, tucked her wings tight, and vaulted the railing, vanishing into the night.

And I understand she arrived via the roof… noted the waiter.

Jim nodded. Bill me if there’s any damage.

They met in a park. Well, that was lovely, she said as he approached, and I even got a chance to get some practice.

Right, the most important part of a romantic night, covert infiltration.

And exfiltration. Almost as important.

There was a disturbance a few meters away. When they turned to look, a woman in a Ghost suit - though unarmed - was approaching them. She tossed a device onto the ground in front of them - a camera.

Nova? Raynor identified.

She flipped up her visor. Special assignment. You don’t make it easy, she looked at Kerrigan, but at least if I can’t follow you, neither can a newsie. He must have tailed Jim. Take a less direct route next time, she said, now looking at him.

You didn’t-

No, but he isn’t sure I won’t. It won’t make print.

Jim and Sarah looked at each other. I don’t know Valerian would approve of-

She cut Jim off. Oh, Valerian doesn’t know anything about this. Have a nice night, you two. She flipped her visor back down and recloaked.

Kerrigan pointed, continuing to indicate her position as she moved away.

You’re no fun, Kerrigan, her voice came. She stopped pointing.

There were several silent moments. Sarah nodded when she judged the Ghost was out of easy earshot. Well, she kissed him, my place or yours?

Mine. Yours is slimy, I assume.

Is that a bad thing?

And I’m the pig.