Chapter Text
When she first faced herself with the challenge of brewing Sumerian coffee in a more traditional way, she had felt confident enough to complete the task. The historian was an expert in brewing coffee and tea, and obviously, making some of the coffee that a few segments had already nostalgically reminisced didn’t seem like a big deal.
Well, she was wrong. The first time, the coffee had been too strong, making her wince and pour it into the sink. The second one had too much water and tasted bitter. Madame Zoya had already given her a few mildly concerned looks, hearing her curse and hiss under her breath with each failed attempt.
“What are you trying to make, dzietka?” She asked the woman while focusing on the soup she was preparing.
She sighed, running a gloved hand down her face. “Coffee. Sumerian coffee.”
“One of our cooks knows how to do that.”
“Yes, but the Doctor always complains that it’s not the same as he remembers it. I wanted to try my own hand, but it doesn’t turn out well. The coffee beans are… hard to work with.”
“Why don’t you ask him, then?” She wondered with a frown. This was the first time she heard the Doctor complaining about his coffee, but then again, Madame Zoya didn’t exactly go near that man. She tried to stay out of his way whenever she could.
“It was, ah, supposed to be a surprise.”
Oh, of course it was. The older woman let out a sigh that sounded like fond exasperation, shaking her head to herself. “Afraid I can’t help you, this time. I’m better at baking bread.”
With a small ‘ugh’, she started stuffing away the things she had been using. She had helped herself with a recipe that she found, but it didn’t taste good. Something was definitely missing, but she didn’t know what. Fontainians didn’t complicate their own life that much and their palates were much different—she knew that Sumerian pastries were coated in honey, while in Fontaine they used chocolate or cream. She would have to find a way to ask Dottore about the recipe without him knowing, she thought, distracted by her own thoughts until someone walked into the kitchen.
She saw a familiar mask from the corner of her eye and turned around, meeting eyes with Theta, who was seemingly looking for her. He caught her and his lips pulled into a smile, immediately walking over, to the displeasure of Madame Zoya.
“Ah! There you are.”
She turned her back to the coffee beans that were still on the counter, trying to hide them from view as she waved a hand at him. “Theta, what brings you here? Were you not busy with… eh, whatever Dottore told you?”
“You underestimate my willingness to spend my time with you, historian,” he answered with mirth, stepping in front of her and crossing his arms. It took him seconds, only seconds, to notice she was leaning a little backwards. “What have you got there?”
“Nothing interesting.” She waved a casual hand. “I was helping Madame Zoya in the kitchen.”
“Is it… something explosive? Something from Dottore’s lab? Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” he said as he leaned closer, his gloved hands settling on the counter, at either side of her. “Come on, I’ll be your partner in crime.”
She frowned. “Should I be worried by the speed in which you jump to those conclusions? Theta, I would never steal something from Dottore.”
“Not even the chocolates he has stashed at the back of his bottom drawer?”
Silence.
“Okay,” she huffed, resigned. “I give up.”
The woman stepped aside, only to reveal a simple bag of coffee beans. Confused, Theta grabbed it and held it up to read the label, tilting his head like a bird. It had been imported from Sumeru, and it was seemingly good quality. His whole expression shifted in delight, looking back at her.
“Sumerian coffee? My dear partner in crime, how could you hide such a treasure from me?” He purred. “I’m offended. What were you attempting to do with it?”
His thrill only grew when he saw her mildly flustered expression, like she was embarrassed, which wasn’t something he saw often. After a moment of hesitation, she sighed.
“Ah… I overheard you and the segments speak of how the coffee never tastes the same in Snezhnaya, so I wanted to try and find a recipe.”
“Oh.”
Madame Zoya stole a look over her shoulder, only to see Theta look at her with a rather elated expression, which made such a fearsome harbinger look almost dumb. After a second of awkward silence, Theta smiled in a sheepish way, looking at the bag in his hand again.
“I can teach you, then you can impress the others. It can be our little secret.”
She perked up instantly and looked at him with new hope in her eyes.
“I would love that.”
And so, Theta and her started the task of brewing traditional coffee. The receipt, he said, was good, but not good enough, as it missed a few key ingredients.
“The beans are always heavily roasted,” he explained to her as he ground the beans himself, the motions making his long hair sway. She was leaning to the side, listening carefully. “Could you find cardamom? Maybe even saffron or cloves.”
The historian nodded and asked Madame Zoya, who reluctantly told her which cupboard she had to search. She found cardamom and saffron, came back with it, and added it to the coffee powder that he had been working on.
“Traditionally, it’s served in a dallah. It’s prepared when guests are coming or for special occasions and the bitter taste is balanced with dates or other sweets that are typical to Sumeru.”
She was absorbing that bit of information life a sponge. It was strange, to imagine Dottore in his homeland when she had always seen him in Snezhnaya, but she felt that, at the same time, he fit there like a lost puzzle piece. It wasn’t that she didn’t notice the patterns that resembled the nation—he just didn’t talk about it much, like it was a memory he didn’t want but couldn’t get away from.
“What sweet treats do you like?” She asked, and he smiled as he brewed the beverage with skilled hands.
“Do you plan on trying to make those, too?”
“Maybe.” She gave him a coy smile.
“Then I can’t help myself—it’s baklava. Filled with chopped nuts, sweetened with honey…” He made a delighted sound. “As soon as I depart for Sumeru, I need to get my hands on it. Perhaps I’ll send a soldier to bring me some.”
“I’d like to try them, too.”
“Come to Sumeru with me, then,” he proposed casually. “Right, right, you can’t, because of the Tsaritsa. Well, run away with me, then.”
He flashed her a smile that made her return it, her eyes glinting in amusement. “Run away? Will you climb through my window during the night, confess your love so we can take a ship to Sumeru?”
“What a lively imagination,” Theta laughed. “Your wish is my command, mademoiselle. I can confess during the dark night or in the light of the day, so everyone can see my grandiose declaration of love.”
“I’ve always been the sort to prefer something quieter.”
“Intimate whispers, yes. You look like it.”
She looked away, her neck going a bit red. Leaning back against the counter, she decided to change the topic.
“Did you know that there are actually a few proposals about the origin of baklava?” She mentioned casually. “There was a dish that is mentioned briefly in the bits of information there is about Preir Stryae, the placenta cake. Dough layers with cheese, bay leaves, and honey. It was apparently inspired by Sumerian cuisine, too.”
“You always have interesting things to say,” Theta answered as he grabbed the boiling water, pouring it into the pot that he had put the magic mixture in. She watched as the clear liquid turned a lovely shade of warm brown. “I would dare say that we were meant to be, hm?”
“And what is your proof, the origins of baklava?” She laughed. He sighed dramatically, as if she didn’t understand him, starting to set the utensils on a tray. Some of the segments used sugar, so he put that there, too.
“Why, of course. It was written in destiny, that my favourite sweet treat would lead back to you. For someone like yourself, you sure do lack imagination, dear historian.”
“You’re such a sweet talker, Theta.”
“It’s my job.” He gifted her a smile.
She grabbed the tray, piling a few mugs, the kettle, and a few sweets they could find in the kitchen. It was far from a Sumerian meal. The Dendro Archon would have laughed if she saw the pitiful candies and the way she tried to balance out the objects, but she couldn’t care less. All she could feel was the way Theta steadied her by the elbow and made sure no guard or servant stood in her way while she transported the goods all the way down to the workshop the rest were stationed in.
They reached the one where Gamma and Mu were working. Some sort of blueprint, she decided when she saw what they were frowning at. The former had a disgruntled expression on his face, glaring down at the paper like it offended him. When Theta and her walked in, they looked up in unison.
“Oh, there you—is that coffee?”
She smiled at Gamma, setting down the tray on a clean table. “Sumerian.”
“Sumerian?” He parroted in disbelief, immediately dropping his work and sauntering over to take a peek over her shoulder. “It is! Who taught you?”
The segment tilted his head just so, his short locks brushing against her shoulder as she hummed. It was Theta who stepped in first, dutiful to their new status of partners in crime. “She did it all by herself, naturally. Do you doubt her intellect?”
“Stop trying to suck up to her. You sound ridiculous.”
“I am not!”
“Yes you are. You’re wagging your tail,” Gamma scoffed derisively, all while Mu gave them a curious look from afar. She caught his eye and waved him over, which the other segment complied with silently.
Stools were gathered around the makeshift spot. Back in Fontaine, such meals would be reserved to that lovely table she had on her balcony, or maybe even the grass outside of the city, but here, she had to settle for cold lab tables. Gamma’s sticky fingers were already on the sweets, so she stood up to find a rag or tissues. Weaving past the tables and furniture, she managed to find a few by Dottore’s desk. Only that, when she was about to go back, it just so happened that she nearly walked right into Theta.
The segment caught her by the shoulders. Before she could even process what’s happening, his hands settled on her waist and wrist, twirling her in the narrow space between both tables so she was on the other side. She nearly stumbled and laughed in amusement.
“Someone here yearns to dance.”
“If you’d do me the favour when you have time, mademoiselle,” he retorted with a smile, reaching for the thing he had initially walked over for—a spare screw that Kappa had visibly misplaced.
“It’d be an honour.”
“Stop flirting!” Gamma called out with an annoyed look. Mu’s head was tilted slightly to the side, his attention on them, which made her a bit sheepish. She mumbled a ‘sorry’ and shared another look with Theta, walking back to the rest.
“Leave some for Dottore, you two.”