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John wasn’t even sure he knew what this fight was even about anymore. He wasn’t even sure it was still a fight, or that it had been one to begin with. But when two men with more military training than socialization tried to “talk something out,” it sounded an awful lot like an argument. It had started slowly, a quiet build-up of passive remarks from Nik when he’d come back to the flat after a month tangled up in the latest mission his group had completed. He’d been damn near chipper on the phone from the airbase after touching down, so clearly, the job had gone well. John had been grinning right along with him just listening to him after the limited contact during the time he’d been away.
Making dinner had seemed a nice surprise, in his mind. He knew how draining missions could be, even the wildly successful ones. He knew how much Nik had invested in his operators, in his work, in all he did, and that investment hardly stopped at time and money. Just like John, he cared about the work, and that could take its own toll. Besides, Nik had done the same for him time and time again. Countless nights, mostly just back on base in the shitty little kitchen there, making sure he had something hot on his plate when he needed it. Probably showing off at first, earlier in their relationship. Some confounded method to impress upon John that he was everything someone could want—not that John had needed much convincing in wanting, more in the taking and having. But those early days were a few years behind them now.
All of this in his mind, John could not for the life of him figure out why Nik seemed upset that he had started preparing a meal. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but they might as well have been across the fucking English Channel, considering the utter lack of understanding between them right now.
Half of dinner was halfway ready around John. A baking pan of chopped carrots, sprouts, and potatoes, all seasoned and oiled, was waiting to get into the pre-heated oven. A pair of steaks, likewise prepared, were ready to sear and join the veggies afterwards. Was it a terribly exciting meal? No, but considering a few months ago, John had been worried about burning anything that wasn’t just-add-water, he had been looking forward to the two of them enjoying the fruits of his labor.
“Nik, I don’t need supervision chopping vegetables!” he said sharply, gesturing to the vegetables.
“No, of course not,” Nik allowed, but it wasn’t convincing. He’d barely settled in since coming in the door a few minutes ago. His bag was by the door, but his shoes and jacket were still on.
“Then why on Earth would it have occurred to me to wait for you to get home to start cutting vegetables?” John asked, throwing his arms out to the side. He hated raising his voice with Nik, absolutely hated it, but the man was being completely obtuse.
“It’s not that long to wait!”
He exhaled through his nose, looking up to the ceiling for any clarity. He found none. “Look, I asked you on the phone if all this was good for dinner—” he said, once again gesturing to the food around him.
“It is good,” Nik cut in, a bit indignant perhaps. He knew that John knew what his favorite meals were, and this one ranked fairly high. There was still something shifty in his expression, though, and it was driving John absolutely mad.
“Oh, bloody fantastic, it’s good,” he responded with a bit too much sarcasm. “Then what th’ fuck’s the problem with it right now?” Nik’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t get any words out. “What, ‘s’it the wrong cut o’ meat, then?” John went on, struggling to keep his voice down, and only somewhat succeeding. “Y’want bloody purple carrots or some shit like that?”
“No, I don’t need purple carrots!” Nik rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “The food is fine, John—”
“Then what in the fuck’s got into you?” he demanded. “’M tryin’ to do somethin’ nice—”
“You didn’t need to start it before I got back,” Nik interrupted.
John barked a laugh that didn’t have much humor in it. “Oh, fuck me—Nik, that’s the nice part!”
Again, there was this shadow behind Nik’s expression, one John didn’t recognize. Something was eating at him, and for some absolutely asinine reason, the man wasn’t owning up to it. “Well, it does not need to be so nice,” he countered, folding his arms. It only made him look more petulant and poked the thorn deeper into John’s side.
He tried changing tactics. Clearly, that one wasn’t going anywhere. “Luv, ya look half-dead on your feet,” he said, managing to soften his voice a touch despite his frustration. “Ya really wanna fly across how many time zones, deal with god only knows how much paperwork to start debriefing, then drive all the way to this flat, and then worry about dinner?”
“Why not?” Nik’s voice was even sharper now.
“Hell d’you mean ‘why not?’” John wanted to know. “You wan’ that over kickin’ yer feet up on the couch—”
“Is not a crime if I do want!” he shot back before John could even finish his sentence. Now he looked properly pissed off, which was pissing John off, because he still didn’t know what the hell had pissed him off in the first place.
“’S not a crime if you don’t, either!”
“Da, well, I do want,” Nik said, his dark eyes flashing. “And you are keeping me out of the kitchen.”
What? How was John keeping him out of the kitchen? He had merely suggested Nik didn’t have to be in the kitchen, and suddenly he was keeping him out? “Not keepin’ you outta nowhere, fanks, ‘cause all I’m tryin’ to say is you look tired, had a long day, and I can deal wiv’ dinner for once. Been learning!” He brandished the tongs intended for the steaks.
“I’m not tired!” John blinked, momentarily silenced by the Russian yelled in his direction. Actually yelled, which almost never happened to him. In his silence, Nik went on, still in Russian. “I am not tired! I can come home and I can cook. I can cook in my fucking sleep! Long day? Long day—no, not so long I can’t sear a damn steak. No, I don’t need to put my feet up like some lazy fuck who lets his wife do all of the cooking because he cannot imagine being of actual use in a home.” He rubbed his eyes again—he really did look tired—and gestured to the prepped meal. “Will you just let me do this?”
Forget the English Channel between them; there was the entire Atlantic Ocean there. John stood there, still holding the tongs, and just gawked at him. It was a good thing the stove wasn’t on, because he didn’t want to explain to first responders that an argument this inane had started an oil fire. Eventually, his silent staring got to Nik, whose harsh expression started faltering the longer it went on.
He had to say something, though. Something.
“Uh.” Fucking brilliant. He set down the tongs and folded one arm across his chest, using the other hand to cup his chin. “Nikolai.” The man shifted, his brash, indignant confidence cracking. “What did you hear me say?” he asked, pulling it out of something Kate had told him months ago about a tiff with her wife. When Nik’s brows only furrowed, now out of confusion, he tried to explain. “When I said you looked tired, and that I could deal with dinner,” he said, all traces of anger gone from his voice, “what do you think I’m saying to you?”
Another moment of silence stretched, though this one felt less strenuous. Nik stared back at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the countertop and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. After a moment there, he picked his head up again, and John caught a glint of shame flicker in his face before he spoke. “I want to take care of you,” he said plainly, back in English. “Now I feel like I cannot.”
John blinked at him. He glanced at the vegetables and the steaks and the tongs around him. He dropped his arms and started around the kitchen island towards his partner. “Nik…” he said. “You take better care of me than I do most days.”
One corner of Nik’s mouth twitched. “That bar is a bit low, though.”
“Yeah, awright,” he said, allowing a soft smile. “Did it never occur to you I might wanna return the favor every once in a while, luv?” Now that he was close enough, he reached for Nik’s chin, running his thumb over the silver and black in the short beard there.
Nik leaned into the touch, but there remained some hesitation in his face. “You don’t have to.”
“Didn’ say nuffin’ ‘bout having to, darlin’.”
He glanced sideways at the food set up around the stove, like there was still something telling him he should be over there. John wished he knew what to say to shut it up, whatever it was. It was a sweet notion, but not when he could see how much Nik needed to rest and recuperate. At length, Nik sighed, leaning heavier into John’s hand and closing his eyes. “I missed you.”
He smiled, feeling something bright and warm bubble up in his chest at the admission. He stepped closer and took Nik’s face in both hands now, running his thumbs over his cheekbones. So fucking handsome. There was still lingering awe that someone this bloody stunning had waited way too long just for him.
“Aye, missed ya too, Nik,” he murmured.
“I should not have yelled at you.”
He shook his head even though Nik’s eyes were still closed. “No, but I’ll forgive you. On a condition.”
Those dark eyes flicked open again. His hands moved from his pockets and slid into place around John’s waist. “Condition being…?” It sounded like he had his suspicions already.
John hummed, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth spreading from those big hands. “Condition being,” he said, “you actually go over ‘n’ sit on the couch with yer feet up while I make us dinner.” He watched Nik’s brows draw up and the corners of his mouth twitch down as he clearly resisted the urge to pout and complain about the condition. With a smile, he went on before he stopped resisting. “I know, I know, that’s askin’ a lot. Think of it like this: when I tell you you look tired and to let me handle dinner, I’m not callin’ ya useless, ‘m not callin’ ya a failure, an’ I’m definitely not callin’ ya a lazy fucker who can’t imagine being of any use around the house.”
The reminder of his own words made Nik wince slightly. “That was… a bit harsh.”
“Yeah, a bit,” John agreed. “An’ I’m not your wife. But I’m not sayin’ any o’ that, right? I’m sayin’ this is a place where you can jus’ exist an’ not worry about the little things, ‘cos I can help take care o’ the both of us, aye? I’m doin’ it ‘cos I love you, absurdly capable man that you are.” Unable to resist himself any longer, he leaned in to press his lips to Nik’s. The gesture was returned without hesitation, and Nik’s hands slid around his waist to his back to draw him closer.
It was a sweet kiss, unhurried, but clearly something Nik had missed while he was away. He’d missed it too, of course. When they parted, Nik kept their foreheads resting against the other and sighed quietly. “I will… try better. To be better. It’s… I do enjoy cooking for you,” he said apologetically.
“I know,” John said. “I like it too. ‘M not takin’ anythin’ away from you, learnin’ all this. ‘M givin’ you options, Nik.”
“Options…” he repeated. He lifted his head, once again looking over at the kitchen and the food laid out. There was still a pinch of conflict in his brow, but he dipped his chin faintly. “Do I have to sit on the couch?” he asked, turning up the puppy dog eyes as he looked back at John.
He chuckled, letting his hands slide down Nik’s jaw to his neck. “Awright, no, ya don’ have ta sit on the couch. But if you start backseat cooking, we’ll be ‘avin’ another chat.”
Nik nodded very seriously. “Agreed.”