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Theresa Denman stepped over the threshold to SI:7 headquarters, a brown paper bag clutched in one hand. Arthur Huwe looked up at her entrance, giving her a smile and small nod which she returned, before going back to the very heated discussion he’d been having with Jasper Fel, who neither noticed nor cared about the woman making her way towards the grand staircase. A few operatives scuttled about, no one she knew, and Theresa continued on her way up the stairs and down the hallway before stopping at the second door on the right. There was no nameplate, nothing to mark its owner, but Theresa didn’t need one. She knocked sharply ﹣ onetwothree ﹣ and after a moment heard the gruff and scratchy, “Enter!”
So she did.
Behind a handsome oak desk sat a goblin, and despite the goblin’s short stature, the desk actually seemed too small, dwarfed by the enormous personality it housed. Papers were arranged in four neat stacks along one side, and to the goblin’s right was a ceramic mug filled near to overflowing with steaming black coffee. At her appearance, the other figure in the room turned ﹣ Mathias Shaw.
“Good morning, Theresa,” the spymaster said, his tone cordial despite his downturned mouth. He looked better than the last time she’d seen him, newly returned from Zandalar and about a stone lighter.
“Morning, Spymaster,” Theresa replied, smiling pleasantly. She was glad she’d had the time to make him a little something too. To the goblin, she said, “Ren, you forgot this,” and placed the bag on his desk.
Renzik nodded, only half hearing her, and Theresa knew his mind was going in a thousand different directions at once. He was a typical goblin, in that regard. “Thank you, doll,” he said absent-mindedly, long green fingers wrapping around his cup of coffee. “I knew I wasn’t all there this morning.”
“There’s one in there for you too, Master Shaw.”
That earned her a small, genuine smile. “Much appreciated. Thanks, Theresa.”
Theresa didn’t linger. She’d interrupted the men, and she wasn’t SI:7 besides. Her shop wouldn't open itself. “Have a good day, boys,” she called over her shoulder, and shut the door tightly behind her.
* * *
Renzik threw his arms over his head and stretched, groaning as his joints popped. He’d been sitting for hours, pouring over dozens of ciphered field reports and missives. A Horde scout had caught sight of Sylvanas in Northrend, but an SI:7 operative had located her in the Ghostlands, and no one knew where the Blightcaller was. He’d finally shoved off all the work he’d been covering for Shaw back onto him, now that the boss was back, but someone had to carry on the mundane, day to day activities of SI:7, and unfortunately, that someone was still him.
He glanced at the clock and made a face. Half past one. He usually liked to take lunch early, polish off the remains of his breakfast and have something small around four to tide him over until dinner. But with agents reporting in all over the globe about Sylvanas, and others trooping back incrementally from Kul Tiras only to ship out again to Zandalar, the time had gotten away from him. As if in agreement, his stomach let out a loud rumble.
Well. At least Theresa had brought him his lunch, and he knew there was a large, delicious, flaky muffin waiting with his name on it.
He stopped by Shaw’s office on his way out, rapping quickly with the backs of his knuckles. “Boss! I’m taking lunch.”
“Enjoy,” came the muffled reply, and Renzik could picture the scene in his head. Shaw, bent over his desk, brow furrowed in concentration and one hand pressed against his carefully groomed mustache and perpetual frown. Probably a lone cup of coffee to the side, long gone cold, and a muffin, twin to the one in Renzik's lunch, sad and still uneaten.
“It’s after one,” he prodded. “Get some grub.”
There was no answer ﹣ probably the boss was ignoring him. If Renzik were a kinder man, he’d sacrifice his prized pastry to be with the other in the hopes of tempting Shaw to take at least two seconds and ingest something of caloric value. Theresa's baking was the best in the city, and if she hadn't explicitly told Shaw there'd been a muffin for him, Renzik would have kept them both.
On a good day, the goblin liked to take his lunch outside ﹣ anything to get away from the mundanity of paperwork. But he was already behind schedule today, even having skipped his normal lunch, and he decided to eat in the mess, where the coffee would be ready and waiting and perhaps he could trade his herbal tea for Sloan’s mango juice. He set the brown paper bag down on the counter and, tea in hand, went off to find Sloan.
Mathias was late. This in itself wasn’t unusual ﹣ the man was always getting caught in his work, secret classified things way above Flynn’s pay grade, and it didn’t help that he was a bit of a workhorse in the first place. But he’d been the one to suggest lunch that day, and Flynn was more than a little miffed that he’d forgotten.
He drew some curious stares as he strode into SI:7 but he supposed he was a familiar enough face by now that no one would stop him. Or else it was a slow day and they were taking bets to see how far in he could get before someone stabbed him.
Mathias wasn’t in the front office, and that Romano bloke offered, “Haven’t seen Master Shaw since this morning.” That meant Mathias was probably still holed up in his office, or in Renzik’s. Things had been rough since he’d come back from Zandalar. Flynn didn’t think Mathias would come home at night if Flynn didn’t badger him to.
He poked his head in the mess anyway. If Mathias was still working, chances were he’d be waiting quite a while longer for that lunch. If Flynn was lucky, he could find something to sate his poor stomach until he could finally drag Mathias away from his desk.
SI:7 didn’t have regular dining hours, not like onboard his ship, when the cook would ring the dinner bell and they’d all come running. Different people showed up at different times, and they didn't have a proper cook at all, just the odd person who might have known how not to burn water. But the Tidemother was looking out for him even here today: there was fresh coffee brewing, and a muffin laid out all proper like on a plate. Flynn felt guilty about taking the last one, but if it wasn’t meant for eating why would it be here?
And it was heavenly, that muffin. There were berries baked into the flaky crust, each bite melting in his mouth. The dough was buttery and soft, and the little top had been dabbed with a sort of sweet, sticky glaze that had him licking his fingers between each bite. He’d have to ask Mathias the name of the bakery it had come from ﹣ he probably knew. Mathias knew this city from top to bottom.
Oh! Didn’t bakeries have sandwiches and things? They could go there for lunch.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Flynn paused, the last bite of muffin halfway in his mouth. It had been Renzik, Mathias’s goblin second, who’d spoken, and he did not look happy.
“Hullo!” He dusted muffin crumbs from his beard and front. “Seen Shaw?”
But Renzik wasn’t looking at him, his beady little eyes fixed on the bit of pastry still in his hand. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Flynn started. “Come again?”
“I’ve been waiting all fucking morning to eat that!”
Oh. Oh. Flynn looked to the muffin and then the goblin. He held the little bite out, fingers stained pink. “You, uh, want the rest?”
Mathias was having a day. First the new report on Sylvanas ﹣ reliable sources had put her in Icecrown, of all places. What the fuck was she doing there? And the Syndicate was stirring up trouble with his Arathi agents again, and Jorach fucking Ravenholdt was no help on the matter. Renzik had done an admirable job holding down the fort while he’d been wasting away in a Zandalari prison made of gold, but Renzik didn’t know, and couldn’t keep tabs on, the top secret informants, the ones whose files Mathias kept hidden in the false bottom of his locked desk drawer. A few of them had reported in, using a cipher even Renzik didn’t know, and decoding it and issuing additional orders was a matter of the topmost priority. There was the goblin in Orgrimmar, and Landro Longshot in Booty Bay…
He made a face. Landro could wait, maybe.
“﹣can’t believe you﹣”
“﹣didn’t know﹣”
“﹣just waltz in here like you own﹣”
“﹣the big deal, it’s just a﹣”
That was unusual, but not entirely. SI:7 had gotten a little louder since Flynn had shown up.
Mathias’s eyes widened. Flynn. His eyes darted to the clock, and he deflated. He’d promised to meet Flynn for lunch, and here he was, still at his desk and an hour late.
Flynn would understand, but he still felt guilty.
And then his office door banged open, and the man in question ran in, duster billowing behind him. On his heels was a very angry goblin.
“Mate, I think I broke Renzik.”
“What?”
Renzik jabbed his long green finger in Mathias’s direction. “Captain Moron﹣”
“Hey!”
“﹣ate my muffin! My muffin!”
“Renzik, mate, calm down. It was just a﹣”
But Renzik was not calm. “He just walked right up and stuffed it in his face hole!” he shouted. "My fucking muffin!”
Mathias blinked several times. The hallucination did not go away. “I’m afraid I don’t﹣”
“You know how good Theresa’s baking is, Shaw!”
Oh. Oh. That’s what this was about? Oh, by the Light.
“﹣never has time for it! Where does your Captain Moron get off, eating another man’s muffin?!”
“Renzik, I’m sure Flynn didn’t mean﹣”
“Who just pinches another man’s muffin?!”
Mathias felt a headache coming on.
“Go home, Shiv. Get another one.”
“There ain’t another one! That was the only one!”
Light, his life had really degraded to mediating lunchroom disputes, hadn’t it?
Renzik was angrier than Mathias had seen him in a long time. He wasn’t a typical goblin ﹣ didn’t tinker or hoard gold, didn’t especially enjoy getting blown up. But there was one thing the goblin coveted, and that was the baked goods of one Theresa Denman. Mathias couldn’t even fault him ﹣ Theresa had a gift with flour and sugar that rivaled even the king's personal chef.
The goblin clenched his fist, finally seeming to get himself in control. He must’ve had as long a morning as Mathias'd had, to have lost his temper this badly. “You stay out of my shit, Fairwind. Stay out. Of my shit.” And then with a sneer, his wiry hand lashed out and snatched the muffin Theresa had brought Mathias, still in its paper, off the corner of his desk.
“You don’t get to enjoy this!” Renzik snapped and, defiantly ripping off the wrapper and staring them both in the eye, took a large bite and stalked from the room.
After a moment, Flynn let out a long whistle. “Hoooo boy,” he chuckled nervously. “What crawled up his ass?”
Mathias pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “You really can’t go anywhere without causing trouble, can you?”
“What??” Flynn spread his hands. “It was just a fucking muffin!”
“His wife made it,” the spymaster said tiredly. “She doesn’t bake a lot.”
Flynn stared. “Shiv’s married?”
“Mm.” Mathias knew he should’ve eaten the pastry when he’d had the chance.
“To who?”
“Theresa Denman. She owns the jewelry shop along the canal.”
“What.”
Renzik’s grudges held fast. Mathias didn't think he'd be getting anymore of Theresa's baking anytime soon.
“Hold on, mate. Hold on.” Flynn shifted to his other foot and held out one finger. “You’re telling me, Shiv’s wife made that?”
“Didn’t I just say﹣”
“And she’s not a professional baker?”
“No,” Mathias confirmed. “She runs the jeweler’s with her brother.”
“Tidemother’s tits, she’s in the wrong profession. That was the best pastry I’ve ever eaten.”
And that earned him a glare. “At least someone got to enjoy it.” It had looked so good too, with raspberry glaze and golden crust. He'd been planning to enjoy it with his coffee, when the coffee had still been hot. It would've even tasted alright with the coffee cold.
To his credit, Flynn did seem at least a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“You should be.”
“One more question.”
Mathias sighed, lurching to his feet. He thought Flynn’s one more question would turn into at least a dozen, and with his muffin repatriated by an angry goblin, he supposed they would have to go out to eat. Which was, actually, the entire reason Flynn was here in the first place. “What?”
“Shiv’s married to a human? How do they even﹣”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
Flynn’s eyes widened. “Mate! You’ve never wondered﹣”
“No.”
How they managed to leave the building unscathed, Mathias would never know. Flynn was loud, and somewhere, he could feel Renzik’s furious eyes boring holes in his back.
Yeah, he could kiss Theresa’s baking goodbye.