WHO: Victor Brannigan and Aoife Gallagher WHAT: Waffles and you know, ever so slight traumatic memories WHEN: The morning after this WHERE: Victor's house WARNINGS: Language?
Victor woke to the delicious smell of food and a rumbling stomach. He blinked, his eyes bleary, and it took him a moment to realise he was in his living room sleeping on the hide-a-bed sofa. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes and glanced over to the kitchen and then his heart froze.
There was a woman in his kitchen, her red hair shimmering in the morning sun. He felt like his entire body seized up as he recalled his traumatic Halloween experience where he had found his dead wife in his bed and she had remained there even after he woke up.
Victor was ready to have himself committed when the woman turned and smiled at him and with great relief Victor realised it was Aoife and not his late wife, Sarah. He put his hand over his heart and gave her a wavery smile. "Aoife. Morning."
"Morning!" she chirped brightly at him. "You have a waffle iron!" She said this as if he wouldn't know.
"I...am aware." Sarah had given it to him for a birthday present one year. He loved making waffles and it was a high-end Belgian waffle maker that he had used to make her breakfast in bed many times. In fact he was fairly sure that had been the reason she had gotten it for him in the first place. Not that he minded, because breakfast in bed almost always led to morning sex.
God, he missed sex.
Since Sarah's death, Victor hadn't touched the waffle iron at all. He found, however, that it didn't upset him as much as he thought it would to see Aoife using it. "I don't usually sleep through people moving around. I can't believe I didn't wake up."
"You did," Aoife said, arching an eyebrow at him. "You mumbled something about not wanting to go into work and I said I was just making breakfast and you should go back to sleep. And you did, like a good little boy."
Victor chuckled at that. He didn't remember it at all. "Yep, that sounds about right." He finally pulled himself out of bed and stretched. "Did you sleep alright?"
"I slept great, actually, thank you," she said earnestly. "And now I am stewing some canned peaches for these waffles and you're going to love them."
"To be honest, I would love just about anything right now," he said with a wink. "But that sounds delicious. Give me a few minutes." And he escaped to the bathroom to freshen up. When he returned to the kitchen he had even gotten dressed.
A plate with two waffles covered in peaches and whipped cream was shoved into his hands the moment he emerged and he stared at it, impressed. "This looks amazing, Aoife."
"I kick ass at cooking," she informed him and he wasn't about to argue. Still, he ignored his demanding stomach long enough to ask her, "how are you feeling after last night?" She seemed like she had put up her happy mask again and he worried.
"Like shit," she admitted. "And I can cry later. But right now I am hungry and I want to eat waffles. Hey, are you busy today?" The way Aoife looked at him, all hopeful and fragile broke his heart.
The decision was an instant one, and he shook his head. "Not at all, Aoife. I'm all yours." If she still had grief she needed to express, he wasn't going to abandon her. "Just a moment, I need juice." He slinked to the kitchen to text his partner to tell him he wouldn't be in to work that day and then he grabbed some apple juice so Aoife didn't suspect him. When he returned to the table he finally tasted Aoife waffle creations.
"Oh...my god," he said, looking over at her as she beamed at him. Once he swallowed he said, "please tell me there are more because this is amazing."
"I made like twenty fucking waffles," Aoife said with a laugh. "So eat, eat!"