Bellamy, predictably, wasn’t happy. Graves would’ve been more concerned about that if Bellamy ever looked happy, but the chef generally gave the impression that he’d come out of the womb preternaturally cranky and pissed at the world.
“I will pay double,” Graves said, cutting Bellamy off mid-tirade.
The entire kitchen held its breath.
Bellamy’s dark expression got a little darker. “Try again,” he said.
Graves narrowed his eyes. Bellamy’s only loves were books, the Bluebird and puttering around in his kitchen. Double should have been good enough.
“Double and I’ll owe you a favor.”
“You owe me for this anyway.”
“No, I’m paying you for this. Double, in fact. The favor is currency you can’t get anywhere else and you know it.”
“What makes you think I’ll ever need to cash in that favor, Director?” Bellamy shot back.
“You can’t think of a single favor a scion of the Graves line could do for you?” Graves retorted. “You lack imagination, Chef Bellamy.”
Very quiet horrified gasps went all around the kitchen. “Merlin have mercy,” someone muttered, and was immediately shushed.
“Double, a favor, and a copy of Gondulphus Graves’ journal,” Bellamy said.
“What the hell do you want with that?”
“I like history,” said Bellamy.
“Done,” Graves said. He exited the kitchen and headed back towards Credence, every instinct he had screaming danger danger danger at the sight of the clumsy waiter standing next to the wizard he’d spilled water on earlier. They seemed to be arguing about something.
Worse yet, the witch who was probably a reporter was making a beeline for them. There was something strangely familiar about the way she moved, brisk and purposeful. The familiarity of it set him on edge, because that was the way an Auror moved, and he didn’t know that woman.
Were they all Grindelwald's followers?
He readied a wordless incarcerous and paused, because the wizard at the table batted the air next to the clumsy waiter like a demented cat and Merlin’s balls what the fuck was his team doing here?
He was absolutely not going to make a scene in front of wizarding New York’s elite and Credence, who was more important than all of them put together. He wasn’t.
Credence frowned at him with faint concern, one hand resting on the swell of his belly. The desire was gone now, replaced with worry. Everything okay? He mouthed.
Fine, Graves mouthed back, fury rising up until it eclipsed everything else. Damn it, this was supposed to be a date. A real date, like they’d dreamed of while they were stuck in that fucking cell and his team had no right to gate crash his personal life.
“Have the three of you completely lost your fucking minds,” he snarled, anger making the words roll through the restaurant like thunder.
“Oh no,” said the clumsy waiter. That was Collins, then.
“Sir,” the witch said stoically. Hello, Summersea.
“Boss,” said the wizard who resembled a demented cat. Hughes. And, Graves suspected, the ringleader.
“We’re so, so sorry sir,” said Collins.
“We were worried about you,” said Hughes.
“Don’t even,” said Graves, pointing a finger at her. He scowled at Summersea. “What about you? Anything to say?”
“I,” Summersea said very clearly, “did not want to be here.”
“Tattletale,” muttered Hughes.
“Then what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you had better sense than this, John!”
Summersea turned a flat, disgruntled look on Hughes. “Win dosed my coffee with polyjuice.”
“And then made a persuasive case for why you should go along with her crazy,” Graves finished for him, because he knew his teams MO’s. Hughes’ crazy was very persuasive. Even he found it hard to resist sometimes.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Give me one good reason not to fire the lot of you.”
“Nothing I can’t fix in the morning,” Graves said darkly.
“Who are these people? Why are you yelling at them?”
“Hughes. Collins. Summersea.” Graves pointed at each of them in turn. “At least you left Goldstein out of it.”
“Your team?” Credence asked. He frowned. “Why do you – are you using polyjuice?” he asked. “Like Mr. Grindelwald.”
“Yes, yes they are,” said Graves.
“I hate polyjuice,” Credence said.
“It’s not my favorite, either,” Graves agreed.
“Are you spying on us?” Credence demanded, looking torn between outrage and hurt. “You are! Alex, how could you? I thought we were friends!” He pointed at Collins accusingly. “I am going to firecall your wife the instant I am home, Alexander Collins.”
“Oh, no,” said Collins. “Credence, I am so, so sorry.”
Well, Graves thought, that was one way of handling it. Dorothy was going to be furious as soon as she heard from Credence, and then Dorothy would call Angelica. Dorothy and Angelica weren’t as close as Credence and Dorothy were, but they still shared the same bond. Angelica wasn’t going to be pleased either.
Collins and Summersea would both be sleeping on the couch tonight.
Judging from the way they both turned accusing looks on Hughes, they knew it, too.
Hughes had no significant other to tattle to. But she did have six brothers, all of whom would be disappointed in just how badly she’d fucked up and wouldn’t be shy about expressing it, either. Graves suspected one or more of them would be getting firecalls of their own tonight or tomorrow, depending on how badly the marital disagreement went.
“We will discuss exactly how badly the three of you fucked and how you gave yourselves away tomorrow,” Graves said firmly. “If you are very, very lucky and Credence persuades me to be merciful, this will not go in your records as an abuse of department resources and a betrayal of my trust.”
“I am not,” Credence said, spitting the words out like knives, “in a merciful mood.”
Graves pressed a kiss to Credence’s temples. “I know, love,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
“I had plans for you,” Credence grumbled, stalking towards the door like a wampus cat on the hunt. “I wanted to go home and make love to you and now I need to talk to Dorothy about what a complete idiot she married.”
“I know,” Graves said sympathetically. “But the plus side is, she’s the only one you need to talk to in order to make all three of them suffer.”
Credence frowned at him. “I’m not following your logic,” he said flatly.
“Dorothy will talk to Angelica Summersea, who won’t be happy with her husband either. Collins and Summersea will spend the next few nights on the couch, which will put them in a vengeful enough mood to contact Hughes’ brothers. Hughes has a lot of brothers.”
“Six of them, you said.”
“Hm. Yes. Five older, one younger. The oldest ones pretty much raised her. And let me tell you, no one does disappointed quite like Ezra Hughes does. Not even Dorothy. And Miles Hughes could write a book on reading someone the riot act – they’d have to censor three quarters of it for profanity, but what’s left would still be terrifying and righteous. The two of them will make sure Win understands how badly she fucked up, and Morgana have mercy if they decide to get the other four involved.”
“Oh,” said Credence, looking the tiniest bit mollified. “I’m still mad,” he warned.
“So am I,” Graves said. “But I would much rather enjoy the knowledge that everyone who needs their ass kicked is going to get their just desserts and make love to you than stew over the fact that my team is terrifyingly invested in my love life.”
Credence grinned at him, all fey, savage delight and anticipation. “Good plan,” he said. “And thank you.”
“For what?” Graves asked. “Taking you on the worst date in the world?”
“For introducing me to Dorothy,” Credence said. “I like having a support network.”
Just Desserts (2/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
“I will pay double,” Graves said, cutting Bellamy off mid-tirade.
The entire kitchen held its breath.
Bellamy’s dark expression got a little darker. “Try again,” he said.
Graves narrowed his eyes. Bellamy’s only loves were books, the Bluebird and puttering around in his kitchen. Double should have been good enough.
“Double and I’ll owe you a favor.”
“You owe me for this anyway.”
“No, I’m paying you for this. Double, in fact. The favor is currency you can’t get anywhere else and you know it.”
“What makes you think I’ll ever need to cash in that favor, Director?” Bellamy shot back.
“You can’t think of a single favor a scion of the Graves line could do for you?” Graves retorted. “You lack imagination, Chef Bellamy.”
Very quiet horrified gasps went all around the kitchen. “Merlin have mercy,” someone muttered, and was immediately shushed.
“Double, a favor, and a copy of Gondulphus Graves’ journal,” Bellamy said.
“What the hell do you want with that?”
“I like history,” said Bellamy.
“Done,” Graves said. He exited the kitchen and headed back towards Credence, every instinct he had screaming danger danger danger at the sight of the clumsy waiter standing next to the wizard he’d spilled water on earlier. They seemed to be arguing about something.
Worse yet, the witch who was probably a reporter was making a beeline for them. There was something strangely familiar about the way she moved, brisk and purposeful. The familiarity of it set him on edge, because that was the way an Auror moved, and he didn’t know that woman.
Were they all Grindelwald's followers?
He readied a wordless incarcerous and paused, because the wizard at the table batted the air next to the clumsy waiter like a demented cat and Merlin’s balls what the fuck was his team doing here?
He was absolutely not going to make a scene in front of wizarding New York’s elite and Credence, who was more important than all of them put together. He wasn’t.
Credence frowned at him with faint concern, one hand resting on the swell of his belly. The desire was gone now, replaced with worry. Everything okay? He mouthed.
Fine, Graves mouthed back, fury rising up until it eclipsed everything else. Damn it, this was supposed to be a date. A real date, like they’d dreamed of while they were stuck in that fucking cell and his team had no right to gate crash his personal life.
“Have the three of you completely lost your fucking minds,” he snarled, anger making the words roll through the restaurant like thunder.
“Oh no,” said the clumsy waiter. That was Collins, then.
“Sir,” the witch said stoically. Hello, Summersea.
“Boss,” said the wizard who resembled a demented cat. Hughes. And, Graves suspected, the ringleader.
“We’re so, so sorry sir,” said Collins.
“We were worried about you,” said Hughes.
“Don’t even,” said Graves, pointing a finger at her. He scowled at Summersea. “What about you? Anything to say?”
“I,” Summersea said very clearly, “did not want to be here.”
“Tattletale,” muttered Hughes.
“Then what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you had better sense than this, John!”
Summersea turned a flat, disgruntled look on Hughes. “Win dosed my coffee with polyjuice.”
“And then made a persuasive case for why you should go along with her crazy,” Graves finished for him, because he knew his teams MO’s. Hughes’ crazy was very persuasive. Even he found it hard to resist sometimes.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Give me one good reason not to fire the lot of you.”
“Percival?” Credence asked, slowly approaching them. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing I can’t fix in the morning,” Graves said darkly.
“Who are these people? Why are you yelling at them?”
“Hughes. Collins. Summersea.” Graves pointed at each of them in turn. “At least you left Goldstein out of it.”
“Your team?” Credence asked. He frowned. “Why do you – are you using polyjuice?” he asked. “Like Mr. Grindelwald.”
“Yes, yes they are,” said Graves.
“I hate polyjuice,” Credence said.
“It’s not my favorite, either,” Graves agreed.
“Are you spying on us?” Credence demanded, looking torn between outrage and hurt. “You are! Alex, how could you? I thought we were friends!” He pointed at Collins accusingly. “I am going to firecall your wife the instant I am home, Alexander Collins.”
“Oh, no,” said Collins. “Credence, I am so, so sorry.”
Well, Graves thought, that was one way of handling it. Dorothy was going to be furious as soon as she heard from Credence, and then Dorothy would call Angelica. Dorothy and Angelica weren’t as close as Credence and Dorothy were, but they still shared the same bond. Angelica wasn’t going to be pleased either.
Collins and Summersea would both be sleeping on the couch tonight.
Judging from the way they both turned accusing looks on Hughes, they knew it, too.
Hughes had no significant other to tattle to. But she did have six brothers, all of whom would be disappointed in just how badly she’d fucked up and wouldn’t be shy about expressing it, either. Graves suspected one or more of them would be getting firecalls of their own tonight or tomorrow, depending on how badly the marital disagreement went.
“We will discuss exactly how badly the three of you fucked and how you gave yourselves away tomorrow,” Graves said firmly. “If you are very, very lucky and Credence persuades me to be merciful, this will not go in your records as an abuse of department resources and a betrayal of my trust.”
“I am not,” Credence said, spitting the words out like knives, “in a merciful mood.”
Graves pressed a kiss to Credence’s temples. “I know, love,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
“I had plans for you,” Credence grumbled, stalking towards the door like a wampus cat on the hunt. “I wanted to go home and make love to you and now I need to talk to Dorothy about what a complete idiot she married.”
“I know,” Graves said sympathetically. “But the plus side is, she’s the only one you need to talk to in order to make all three of them suffer.”
Credence frowned at him. “I’m not following your logic,” he said flatly.
“Dorothy will talk to Angelica Summersea, who won’t be happy with her husband either. Collins and Summersea will spend the next few nights on the couch, which will put them in a vengeful enough mood to contact Hughes’ brothers. Hughes has a lot of brothers.”
“Six of them, you said.”
“Hm. Yes. Five older, one younger. The oldest ones pretty much raised her. And let me tell you, no one does disappointed quite like Ezra Hughes does. Not even Dorothy. And Miles Hughes could write a book on reading someone the riot act – they’d have to censor three quarters of it for profanity, but what’s left would still be terrifying and righteous. The two of them will make sure Win understands how badly she fucked up, and Morgana have mercy if they decide to get the other four involved.”
“Oh,” said Credence, looking the tiniest bit mollified. “I’m still mad,” he warned.
“So am I,” Graves said. “But I would much rather enjoy the knowledge that everyone who needs their ass kicked is going to get their just desserts and make love to you than stew over the fact that my team is terrifyingly invested in my love life.”
Credence grinned at him, all fey, savage delight and anticipation. “Good plan,” he said. “And thank you.”
“For what?” Graves asked. “Taking you on the worst date in the world?”
“For introducing me to Dorothy,” Credence said. “I like having a support network.”