Work Text:
Alina knows Talulah better than she knows herself. Alina knows Talulah better than anyone, even Talulah, knows Talulah.
Talulah is many things: bold, confident, fond of the men’s clothing department; a walking hurricane of a woman, with a very secret soft side and even more secret sweet tooth. She’s committed, with a picture-perfect memory of every detail about Alina’s life, every floral scent Alina likes, even the exact shade of her favorite color memorized down to the number. With Talulah, there are hardly any surprises about what she’ll do next, and instead the mystery is in the how.
For instance: Talulah, three days ago, had promised Alina an anniversary dinner. Despite being swamped with paperwork from Kal’tsit herself, Talulah had gently clapsed her wife’s hands in her own and looked hard into Alina’s eyes with a fervent love and a tired gaze, swearing she wouldn’t forget.
Right now, Alina is sitting across Talulah in the booth of a WcDonalds.
Talulah is looking anywhere but Alina’s face. Her eyes ping-pong throughout the place. They dart to the window, hesitantly attempt to trail up Alina’s chest towards her face but fall ridiculously short, stare into her half-empty cup of fries, at her half-eaten burger, at Alina’s untouched milkshake. She coughs in a sorry show of clearing her throat. “So.”
“Yes, dear?”
“I didn’t forget our anniversary.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And I know this isn’t what you had in mind.”
“Mm,” Alina hums. “It’s certainly…not what I was expecting.”
Not that she isn’t not happy about the arrangement, per se. Alina is happy just to be spending their anniversary together, instead of having to wait until Talulah has finished occupying her station in Lungmen or Sargon or Columbia, or wherever else - the point is that they aren’t a million miles apart, at least.
Of course, their other celebratory dinners have been much more, ah, classy. Her most favorite memory is the time when the Rhodes landship had been stationed on the outskirts of Victoria, and they had traveled together for two hours to fill a reservation at a fine Siracusan establishment; Talulah had ordered the most heavenly brand of red wine, and they had clinked their glasses together, smiling at each other from across the table.
Alina spins her ring in idle thought.
“I’m sorry,” Talulah bursts out.
She appears angelic in the dim light of the WcDonalds. Her hair is a mess, just barely meeting the standard of being neatly combed; her navy blue suit is rumpled, narrowly having dodged acquiring a fresh ketchup stain; the bags under Talulah’s eyes look more pronounced than ever in this atmosphere as they occupy the almost-empty restaurant at near midnight.
Alina finds it in her heart right then and there to forgive everything.
“It’s okay,” she says, cutting Talulah off mid-ramble about how busy her schedule was and how this project needed so much oversight and other things. She reaches over to entwine their fingers together. “I thought the fries were nice,” she adds with a gentle smile.
“They’re pretty good,” Talulah admits with defeat. She’s starting to sag forward. It’s unbefitting.
“Dear, I don’t care that we’re in a WcDonalds. You know that, right? As long as we’re together, then everything’s okay.”
Talulah’s frown falters at that. “Mmh,” she sighs. “You have a point.”
“I love you.”
“Well, of course you do. You’re my wife.” Talulah grins. “That’s why I married you, because I love you.”
She blushes. Alina moves to steal a fry to distract herself. Talulah pretends not to see.
“It was a nice anniversary,” Alina says. “I’m spending it with you.”
And it’s true: every sip of her cold milkshake and every ungraceful bite of her warm WcDonalds burger is that much more delicious when she eats it by Talulah’s side. Food always tastes better with company.
“Before we leave,” Alina asks, blinking up at Talulah with her innocent doe eyes. “They’re selling My Little Kuranta toys…”
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Talulah promises in earnest.
That’s how Alina’s most cherished anniversary goes: a good, filling meal at WcDonalds with her wife and a plastic Kuranta figure in her hands. She really couldn’t have asked for more.