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The mission in the Middle East goes off without a hitch.
Well as much as a secret agent’s mission can. There was a moment with an escaped jaguar that Irina would rather not mention in the job report.
Karasuma is home late, as usual, but he always tries to get home at least a bit earlier on the days of her return from a far away job. He’s not the most emotionally expressive person but he does love her so he tries.
She’s in the kitchen when he walks in to their rather large apartment (courtesy of the Ministry of Defense), the rich, meaty smell of pljeskavica wafting about. She always makes traditional Serbian food on mission return days.
‘It reminds me of my roots,’ she’d said when he’d asked why she pushed herself after an assignment, ‘It reminds me of my mother. Of the fact that I’m still human.’
She hears him of course, and smiles softly when he walks into the kitchen and rests a gentle hand on her hip, leaning forward to place a bottle of wine on the pristine quartz countertop. As exhausted as she is, Irina squeals in excitement when she sees he’s brought home her favorite wine and feels the puff of his amused chuckle against her neck. It’s a French wine, rather expensive, but Irina has always had lavish tastes. He does enjoy indulging her occasionally.
Shrugging off his coat, he moves to set the dishes and silverware on the table as his wife pours the wine and sets the pljeskavica on a serving tray. His wife. It’s been seven years and it still takes him by surprise sometimes. He’s already lit the candles when she arrives and she smiles at that, bending over to press a soft kiss to his cheek, fingers brushing through surprisingly soft hair. It’s down, just the way she likes it.
Dinner is nice as always, Tadaomi asking about the mission and Irina replying, in turn inquiring about the happenings at the Ministry during her trip. He laughs when she begrudgingly tells him the jaguar story and she can’t find it in herself to scowl because she loves his laugh.
Then comes after dinner, when they’re leisurely sipping their wine and the world is serene around them. This is when Karasuma lets his worry bubble up to the surface and he looks at her with imploring eyes, always the same question.
“Are you hurt?”
She hums and he’s on his feet in an instant because she never lies to him and had she not been, her answer would have been an unwavering ‘no’. He doesn’t say anything at this point as she stands as well and guides his reaching hands to her stomach. Tadaomi looks into her eyes, almost asking permission, before lifting the material of her shirt gently and splaying his fingers across the bandaged stab wound. A scowl overtakes his features, narrowing his eyes, turning down the corners of his mouth. She can feel the wave of rage that pulses through him and the ever there concern etched into his movements.
“One of the guys at their base jumped me from behind, I rid him of his gun but he pulled a knife. I knocked him out and secured him quickly enough for it not to disrupt my escape, but was left with a rather ugly wound,” she pouts, “I’ll have to wear bandages for days. And I’ll have to see that doctor that has a crush on you because Yamikawa-san is out of town.”
“Don’t take your injuries so lightly,” he scolds, but it’s quiet and touched with amusement and relief because she’s okay and that’s all he needs.
She pouts harder, pretty blue eyes scrunching slightly. Tadaomi slips his arms around her waist, cradling her gently and laughs again.
“Tell you what, I’ll come with you to the doctor’s tomorrow so you can cling to my arm and immaturely stick your tongue out when you think no one’s looking.”
She huffs indignantly but there’s a smile biting at her cheeks.
“I’m holding you to that.”
He touches his nose to hers in lieu of an answer and Irina giggles, nuzzling slightly before leaning in to steal a chaste kiss and promptly dragging him towards the bathroom because ‘Kayano-chan sent me a package of new bath bombs when I was gone’ and ‘You smell like boredom and old men in suits Tadaomi’.
Two hours later, they’re in bed, arms curled around each other and legs tangled under the sheets. Contrary to her original belief, he doesn’t sleep rigid like a cardboard cut out of an army general. She’s asleep in mere minutes, despite her best efforts to stay awake because she knows he will, and he does. For a moment he just stares at her, almost reverentially. Then he reaches out to brush her bangs gently out of her closed eyes and presses a feather-light kiss to her forehead before allowing sleep to envelop him.
Karasuma Tadaomi has wonderful work, a beautiful home, treasured colleagues. And most importantly, he has her.