[turtle bakery]BINGO: Wedding (Anniversary)

[pineapplechild]

“Hey babe” Tiger said, grinning at him from his kitchen counter.
“What the hell.” Cya said, stopping dead in the middle of the kitchen’s floor.
“What, honey, you thought I’d miss our wedding anniversary?” She cooed.
“Since you missed the last six, I had rather, yes.” He said tightly.
“But baby, I brought you a present and everything!” she pouted.
“Take it and go home. You have two minutes to start moving before I arm the wards.”
Tiger just settled back on her hands, looking stunning as always in a white sundress. She looked up at him through long lashes, and purred
“Baby, I have to say, I’m hurt you took me out of the wards. The poor things hardly remembered me, I had to do some blood work to fix that.”
Cya stiffened.
“You. Did. What? How?”
She smiled, that smile he’d always loved, and it burned.
“I am still your wife, by oak and ash.”
“And still an assassin? Just stopping through on a job, like Chicago?”
“The Blind Order isn’t just assassinations. And, baby, you were never, ever, just a job. I promised I’d never bring work home after we got married.”
“I thought that meant you’d stopped, that you’d *retired*.”

She smiled again, but this time, it was worn and old. “He is my liege-lord, till he decide to release me or my mother take the debt back.” She slid off the counter, and rummaged around in the large shoulder purse she carried. It was turquoise, and Cya realized with a start that it was the one he’d given to her for her birthday, the day before she’d told him that Sandrigham has given her an assignment. She produced a small package, wrapped in plain white paper. A small card said, “To my dearest husband, with love.”
“Here.” She said, holding it out. “I will leave, if you’d like.” And, without the haze of rage, Cya noticed the gauntness to her features, the way the slim white dress hung slightly too loose on her frame, the way her muscles corded as she moved.
He took it absently. “Have you had breakfast yet?” he asked. Her lashes fluttered, and that was the only way he knew he’d startled her. Her smile was breathtaking.
“Not yet, no.”
“Sit down then. I’ll get you something while I put the sponges to rise.” He said briskly, putting the package in his satchel, and grabbing his apron off the hook. Washing his hands, he considered what he could feed Tiger. The oat scones were straight out, that was just impolite. He still had some clotted cream, and he thought he’d seen a left over cranberry scone or two.
Tiger had seated herself in the corner by the shelves. It was one of Cya’s favorite places to sit, watching the people on the street, or, as now, the sunrise. But he suspected she’d chosen it because it was one of the seats where no-one could be in her blind spot.
He set the plate in front of her, and set down a measuring cup full of orange juice.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. He smiled crookedly, and shrugged. “It was the only thing other then my three travel mugs, and anything other then coffee in them would curdle up and die. Even the coffee has a hard time somedays.”
She laughed. “So, why do you have orange juice anyway?”
“It goes in those scones you’re having.”
She paused while spreading clotted cream on one of them. “Really?” she broke off when they heard the back door open, and her fingers tensed on the butter knife.
“It’s okay Tigs, it’s just my baker, Ana.” He murmured.
“Nobody has called me that in years.” She said quietly, but didn’t loosen her grip on the knife.

“Hey Cya, you in?” Ana’s voice rang out in the bakery. He saw her come up to the front of the shop, and stop. “Am I interrupting?” she said, surprised.
“Oh hey, Ana.” Cya said, standing up from Tiger’s table. “This is March.”
Tiger waved at the girl. “Call me Tiger.” She said. Cya shot her a startled look, but headed back behind the counter.
“Ana, I was thinking those pecan sweet rolls this morning, and we have that spelt order for Spider, then the double sunflower batch for St. Mark’s.”
“Got it,” Ana said, pulling her hair back and tying on a bandanna. “What about the special order for whatshisname, the Old Believer who needs the special prep?”
“I’ll do that. He likes me best. Say’s my ‘aura is bright’, whatever the hell that means.” Cy said, trying to lose himself in the routine of the bakery, stop himself from thinking about Tiger, sitting in the front of his bakery.

—-

Around two or three, the lunch crowd started dying off, and Cya’s afternoon manager came in. Cya, now with time to be distracted, looked for Tiger. At some point, she’d gone from his front table.
He stood at the front counter, hands on his hips, and swore throughly and multi-lingually in his head. Of course she left. Tiger *always* left.
Fuck.
“You sticking around all day Cya? Thought you said you were off.” John, his afternoon manager said laconically. Everything John did was laconically.
“Yeah, guess I’ll head out.” Cya said tightly.
John nodded, and then pulled a folded note out of his apron pocket.
“Your lady friend” he waggled his eyebrows “left this for you.”
Numbly, Cya took the note, and unfolded it.

Dearest,
Went to run some errands. Will pick up Grace from school. See you for dinner~
<3,
Your Tiger

“I could *strangle* that woman.” He muttered under his breath. John laughed, that terrible braying laugh. Cya glared at him, which just made him laugh harder. Cya gave it up as a bad business and left.

—-