Work Text:
A 26 year old, pink haired, 5-year-veteran of the Foreign Service Office has to make a call using a nearby phone booth. As she does, she remembers just how many times her husband would complain that she needs to call his office whenever she has to discuss business with him. Technically, this counts as business. So, like the good wife she is, she dials his office phone for once.
No answer. He must be out for lunch.
“Hello, you have reached the office of Damian Desmond, Member of Parliament for the West Berlint District, if you have a message for the MP please leave a message after the tone. If this call has anything to do with Anya Desmond-Forger of the Foreign Service Office, please just obey whatever instruction my crazy wife gives you or find the nearest empty room to scream in. *Beep* ”
That asshole.
“ ‘My crazy wife’? ‘MY CRAZY WIFE’?! YOU JACKASS! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME THAT! I DON’T REGULARLY STOP TERRORISTS JUST TO GET CALLED ‘CRAZY’ BY MY OWN HUSBAND’S CRABBY-ASS VOICEMAIL!” Anya screeches into the payphone before slamming the phone as hard as she can without breaking the booth.
The one time she calls his office, Damian can’t even bother to be there! Jerk. Bad enough that WISE, Garden, and the SSS all have specific profiles on her. Now her husband has that for his voicemail!? Anya furiously dials the usual number. He’s at least always answered this one.
*******
At a cafe, MP Damian Desmond is eating lunch with some of his staffers when he hears the phone in his briefcase ring. He’s got a pretty good guess about who is calling.
“Sorry, I have to take this.”
“Starlight calling?”
“Probably.”
He pulls his state-of-the-art brick phone from out of his briefcase, walks outside for better reception, pulls out the antenna, and hits the answer button.
“Hello, this is MP Desmond speaking,” Damian starts, honestly not knowing what to expect. It could be Anya giving pertinent information. It could be Anya wanting to gush about otters. It could be Anya wanting to argue about date night restaurant choices. There was even a small chance it wasn’t Anya at all.
“HI! THIS IS YOUR ‘CRAZY’ WIFE SPEAKING! YOU GODDAMNED ASSHAT! WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?”
“DON’T YELL AT PEOPLE THROUGH THE PHONE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT DID I EVEN DO?” Damian hypocritically yells back.
“YOUR GODDAMNED VOICEMAIL YOU JERK! THE ONE FUCKING TIME I CALL YOUR STUPID OFFICE PHONE AFTER ALL OF YOUR WHINING AND YOU DON’T EVEN ANSWER.” Anya stops to take a deep breath, “Why does your voicemail say ‘whatever instruction my crazy wife gives you,’ Second Son?”
“Starlight, do you have any idea just how many calls my office gets about you?!”
“So what!?”
“So, I get calls from police, I get calls from the SSS, I get calls from the military, I get calls from fellow parliamentarians, I get calls from other countries, I’m pretty sure I get calls from WISE, I’ve even got a number of calls from criminals! Criminals! All complaining about you! I had to do something to address it.”
“Did you have to be such an ass about it?”
“It’s worked. The number of voicemails I get never randomly spike to 30 with things like ‘What is with your wife?’, ‘Why did your wife steal my car?’, ‘Your wife just told me to hide in the air vent, do I have to?’, ‘How does your wife know my mistress’s address?’, or even ‘Can you please tell your wife to stop appearing in my nightmares?’ .”
“Heh.”
“Anya, this isn’t something you should be proud of.” Damian stresses as he presses his forehead with his fingers. He knows exactly the face she’s making.
“I haunt terrorist nightmares~”
“Okay, that one was pretty funny,” Damian conceded, after he got that particular call he laughed for a good 10 minutes, “But there is still the matter of all the others!”
“I’m still proud~”
Figures. Damian sighs, “So, what is it about my voicemail that made you angry?”
He didn’t remember the exact voicemail. The parliamentarian made the voicemail over a year ago, right after he’d gotten over 20 calls about his wife’s involvement in some incident. By then he was done. So, he set the voicemail and refused to answer the phone for the rest of the day. Probably not the best mood to be making voicemail greetings.
“Instead of calling me your ‘crazy’ wife, I should be your ‘beloved’ wife or your ‘always correct’ wife or your ‘most brilliant in all the world’ wife.”
“...Right…”
“When this is all over, we can record a new one~”
“Fine. Wait, ‘this’? Is something happening? Is that why you initially called?”
“Oh yeah! A terrorist cell is going to try and kill you–”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAD WITH THAT?!”
“–but don’t worry some nice agents–"
“ ‘Nice agents’ ?”
“–are going to stuff you in a closet after stealing your face and clothes–”
“What?”
“–so you should just sit tight and let your darling Starlight save world peace.”
“O…kay…”
“Oh, but if the people who approach you are wearing skull pins, you should punch them. You remember Mama’s lessons right?”
“Yeah…”
“Awesome! Love you. Bye. *Click* ”
And just like that, Damian Desmond is left to process how his wife just managed to flip his entire day in 10 seconds.
Unfortunately for the MP, that is the moment a cloth bag is shoved over his head.