Credence gave him the politely puzzled look Graves was starting to recognize as his version of a frown. He suspected the Barebone woman hadn’t liked any signs of anger or defiance, and Credence had learned to hide them.
“Why are you smiling at me?” Credence asked.
“No reason,” Graves told him. “It’s just – you really do have the most incredible heart. It’s magnificent.” He cleared his throat to keep the moment from getting awkward. “Lunch?”
“Of course,” Credence said, scrambling to bring him the tray.
Graves inspected the sandwiches. Cold roast beef and cheddar with red onions and horseradish mustard sauce on rye that had probably come from his own pantry. There was also tuna salad on sourdough that had probably come from the deli down the street from the Woolworth Building, since they were the only ones he knew of who added diced red bell peppers and dill to their salad. All in all, it was a healthier lunch than he’d expected Grindelwald to provide.
“How do you feel about spicy food?” he asked. “Horseradish has a little bit of bite to it.”
Credence shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, in lieu of saying that he’d never had any.
“Try it,” Graves suggested, holding half a sandwich out. “You might like it.”
Credence accepted the sandwich and took a tentative bite. He wrinkled his nose at the flavors. “It’s … strong,” he said.
Graves took one of the remaining sandwich halves apart and handed Credence the piece of bread without horseradish on it. “How about without the horseradish?” he asked.
“Better,” Credence said, after another tentative nibble. “But I can eat this,” he said, gesturing to the sandwich he already had. “I don’t want to be wasteful.”
“You don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to,” Graves said, taking the sandwich back and returning the bits without horseradish. “Today, we’re experimenting. Call it practice, for our dinner at the Luminaria. Today, we’re going to see what you like. Me? I like horseradish.” He put both of his half-sandwiches together and took an enormous bite to prove it.
He didn’t like horseradish quite that much, but he’d eaten stranger things during the war, to say nothing of Dindrane’s experimental culinary phase. Their mother thought well-raised witches and wizards should know how to feed themselves, but she hadn’t expected Dindrane to take to it with her particular brand of scientific inquiry.
In retrospect, Dindrane’s career as a researcher made an awful lot of sense. Graves was just grateful that she’d settled on magical theory rather than trying to take the restaurant world by storm. There’d been a reason he’d been the only child allowed in the kitchen to help during holidays.
“I like roast beef, and the cheese,” Credence decided eventually. “The bread is good too.”
“How about tuna?”
“We have fish sometimes,” Credence said.
“Give it a try,” Graves said. “It’s from the deli down the street from the Woolworth Building. Where I work,” he clarified, at Credence’s puzzled look.
“It’s really good,” Credence said, after two bites.
Graves ate one of the tuna salad half-sandwiches. Roast beef would keep, for lunch tomorrow. Tuna salad wouldn’t. And besides, Jonesy’s had excellent tuna salad. It’d be a shame to waste it.
They shared the pitcher of orange juice between them, passing it back and forth the way they did the water pitcher in their cell, since Grindelwald thought cups could also be a security risk. (Graves might have broken the first one and the shards to carve sigils meant to weaken Grindelwald’s wards into walls of his prison. Their current pitchers were goblin-forged steel, practically unbreakable and resistant to transfigurations.) They finished off the tuna salad in short order.
“We can save these for tomorrow,” Graves said, tucking the remaining roast beef sandwiches into a half-hidden nook he’d spelled out of the wall, hidden by the cot.
“Is this honey?” Credence asked, nibbling on one of the apple slices.
“It was one of my favorites, when I was a boy,” Graves admitted. “I don’t know how Grindelwald found out.”
“It’s delicious,” Credence said. “Here, have some,” he added, scooping one of the pieces up and pressing it to Graves’ lips.
Graves ate it, shoving down the feeling of satisfaction he felt at having his lover hand feed him.
He’s not yours, he reminded himself. You’re wooing him, but you’ve no right to him. Not unless he tells you so.
“Delicious,” he agreed. “You eat them,” he said, when Credence offered the plate up. “Fresh fruit is good for you.”
Credence huffed out his breath in a way that was distinctly reminiscent of Graves’ own impatient laughter. A wolf-laugh, Theseus had called it. More polite than an eye-roll, but only just, if you knew what it meant.
It was odd to think that Credence probably did. Graves hadn’t made any effort to hide his tells from Credence.
“You can’t live on half-portions the entire time I’m with child,” Credence said, shoving another apple slice into Graves’ mouth. “Stop being pig-headed and eat.”
Graves stared at him for a second. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had insulted him so directly to his face. (The New York Ghost was quite another matter.) Then he’d burst into delighted laughter. Credence had spirit, buried beneath everything else.
“Yes, dear,” he said meekly, the way Collins did when his wife threatened to send Howlers to the office.
He wondered if Credence would like Dorothy Collins. Dorothy was a sweetheart, with a surprisingly vicious streak when her loved ones were threatened. Dorothy had accompanied Collins to the office, not long after Collins had been transferred to Graves’ team, and looked him up and down with the sort of gimlet-eyed stare that would’ve done a hardened interrogator proud. Then she’d broken into a bright, beaming smile and invited the team home for supper. “You too, Director Graves,” she’d said. “You look like you could use a home-cooked meal.”
Graves had liked her audacity. “Yes, Mrs. Collins. May I bring wine, for the meal?”
“Thank you, Director Graves. That would be lovely.”
He thought Credence probably would like Dorothy. They were both sweet, with the same kind hearts and unbreakable spirits. Dorothy could explain the ins and outs of being an Auror’s spouse far better than Graves could.
Credence laughed at the endearment, bright and sweet, and offered Graves another apple slice. Graves let him shove it into his mouth, and dared to lick the honey from Credence’s fingers.
“Can we have more magic lessons after lunch?” Credence asked.
“Of course,” Graves said. “You can have anything you want.”
FILL: "Nothing Shall Be Impossible" Part 14b/? - Grindelwald + Graves/Credence Breeding Program
“Why are you smiling at me?” Credence asked.
“No reason,” Graves told him. “It’s just – you really do have the most incredible heart. It’s magnificent.” He cleared his throat to keep the moment from getting awkward. “Lunch?”
“Of course,” Credence said, scrambling to bring him the tray.
Graves inspected the sandwiches. Cold roast beef and cheddar with red onions and horseradish mustard sauce on rye that had probably come from his own pantry. There was also tuna salad on sourdough that had probably come from the deli down the street from the Woolworth Building, since they were the only ones he knew of who added diced red bell peppers and dill to their salad. All in all, it was a healthier lunch than he’d expected Grindelwald to provide.
“How do you feel about spicy food?” he asked. “Horseradish has a little bit of bite to it.”
Credence shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, in lieu of saying that he’d never had any.
“Try it,” Graves suggested, holding half a sandwich out. “You might like it.”
Credence accepted the sandwich and took a tentative bite. He wrinkled his nose at the flavors. “It’s … strong,” he said.
Graves took one of the remaining sandwich halves apart and handed Credence the piece of bread without horseradish on it. “How about without the horseradish?” he asked.
“Better,” Credence said, after another tentative nibble. “But I can eat this,” he said, gesturing to the sandwich he already had. “I don’t want to be wasteful.”
“You don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to,” Graves said, taking the sandwich back and returning the bits without horseradish. “Today, we’re experimenting. Call it practice, for our dinner at the Luminaria. Today, we’re going to see what you like. Me? I like horseradish.” He put both of his half-sandwiches together and took an enormous bite to prove it.
He didn’t like horseradish quite that much, but he’d eaten stranger things during the war, to say nothing of Dindrane’s experimental culinary phase. Their mother thought well-raised witches and wizards should know how to feed themselves, but she hadn’t expected Dindrane to take to it with her particular brand of scientific inquiry.
In retrospect, Dindrane’s career as a researcher made an awful lot of sense. Graves was just grateful that she’d settled on magical theory rather than trying to take the restaurant world by storm. There’d been a reason he’d been the only child allowed in the kitchen to help during holidays.
“I like roast beef, and the cheese,” Credence decided eventually. “The bread is good too.”
“How about tuna?”
“We have fish sometimes,” Credence said.
“Give it a try,” Graves said. “It’s from the deli down the street from the Woolworth Building. Where I work,” he clarified, at Credence’s puzzled look.
“It’s really good,” Credence said, after two bites.
Graves ate one of the tuna salad half-sandwiches. Roast beef would keep, for lunch tomorrow. Tuna salad wouldn’t. And besides, Jonesy’s had excellent tuna salad. It’d be a shame to waste it.
They shared the pitcher of orange juice between them, passing it back and forth the way they did the water pitcher in their cell, since Grindelwald thought cups could also be a security risk. (Graves might have broken the first one and the shards to carve sigils meant to weaken Grindelwald’s wards into walls of his prison. Their current pitchers were goblin-forged steel, practically unbreakable and resistant to transfigurations.) They finished off the tuna salad in short order.
“We can save these for tomorrow,” Graves said, tucking the remaining roast beef sandwiches into a half-hidden nook he’d spelled out of the wall, hidden by the cot.
“Is this honey?” Credence asked, nibbling on one of the apple slices.
“It was one of my favorites, when I was a boy,” Graves admitted. “I don’t know how Grindelwald found out.”
“It’s delicious,” Credence said. “Here, have some,” he added, scooping one of the pieces up and pressing it to Graves’ lips.
Graves ate it, shoving down the feeling of satisfaction he felt at having his lover hand feed him.
He’s not yours, he reminded himself. You’re wooing him, but you’ve no right to him. Not unless he tells you so.
“Delicious,” he agreed. “You eat them,” he said, when Credence offered the plate up. “Fresh fruit is good for you.”
Credence huffed out his breath in a way that was distinctly reminiscent of Graves’ own impatient laughter. A wolf-laugh, Theseus had called it. More polite than an eye-roll, but only just, if you knew what it meant.
It was odd to think that Credence probably did. Graves hadn’t made any effort to hide his tells from Credence.
“You can’t live on half-portions the entire time I’m with child,” Credence said, shoving another apple slice into Graves’ mouth. “Stop being pig-headed and eat.”
Graves stared at him for a second. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had insulted him so directly to his face. (The New York Ghost was quite another matter.) Then he’d burst into delighted laughter. Credence had spirit, buried beneath everything else.
“Yes, dear,” he said meekly, the way Collins did when his wife threatened to send Howlers to the office.
He wondered if Credence would like Dorothy Collins. Dorothy was a sweetheart, with a surprisingly vicious streak when her loved ones were threatened. Dorothy had accompanied Collins to the office, not long after Collins had been transferred to Graves’ team, and looked him up and down with the sort of gimlet-eyed stare that would’ve done a hardened interrogator proud. Then she’d broken into a bright, beaming smile and invited the team home for supper. “You too, Director Graves,” she’d said. “You look like you could use a home-cooked meal.”
Graves had liked her audacity. “Yes, Mrs. Collins. May I bring wine, for the meal?”
“Thank you, Director Graves. That would be lovely.”
He thought Credence probably would like Dorothy. They were both sweet, with the same kind hearts and unbreakable spirits. Dorothy could explain the ins and outs of being an Auror’s spouse far better than Graves could.
Credence laughed at the endearment, bright and sweet, and offered Graves another apple slice. Graves let him shove it into his mouth, and dared to lick the honey from Credence’s fingers.
“Can we have more magic lessons after lunch?” Credence asked.
“Of course,” Graves said. “You can have anything you want.”