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[andhiswife]

Greta hesitates outside her own front door, apprehension stilling her hand. It's stupid, really. She didn't do poorly, or embarrass herself, or any of the other things she feared might happen. She'd actually done well. They all had; the judges and the hosts had gone on about what a difficult decision it was.

Part of her is relieved, even. She'd been wanting to get her life back, and now she has it -- minus next weekend, of course, when they'll all be gathering to watch the grand finale. Things can finally start getting back to normal. She can think about Christmas, and their upcoming anniversary, and other things that are more about them and not just her.

But it was the hosts who delivered the bad news back in the tent, and now she has to be the one to share it. However she feels about being out of the running, it seems vaguely unfair that it's suddenly her job to tell people. There's no cheerful way to spin I lost.

There's a quiet snuffling on the other side of the door, followed by an impatient, canine groan. Well, there's no use hiding out here; the dogs know she's home, which means Thomas does, too. She shakes her head, then lets herself inside.

Sadie and Cú mob her immediately, and she seizes the excuse to focus on them, letting them sniff her hands and then ruffling their ears. "Yes, yes," she murmurs. "I'm home."

Comments

[very_sharpe]

Thomas has, blessedly, fallen back into the routine of taking care of the house. It's far easier now that he doesn't dread every shadow or reflection. He's learned quite a lot of cooking since Greta's been on the show: he had his staples, of course, but he's ventured out and grown more confident at least following recipes. Sometimes he and Saoirse search the internet for new things to try (though he does reserve final veto power).

Tonight, he's working on a curry when he hears the dogs rush to the door. "Greta?" he calls as he pokes his head out of the kitchen. He smiles when he sees her and wipes his hands off on the apron he's wearing. It was a gift from Saoirse and Greta, and he wears it dutifully, even if he blushes a tiny bit every time he puts it on. Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin' indeed.

[andhiswife]

She can't help but smile when she sees him in that apron. It had been an impulsive purchase on a shopping trip with Saoirse a couple of weeks ago, the both of them giggling when they picked it out. He'd turned a very rewarding shade of pink when they'd presented it to him, though it hadn't taken as much wheedling to get him into it as she thought it would. (Perhaps because, so soon after those awful visions had ended, they'd all been in the market for a little levity.)

"If it isn't Mister Good Lookin'," she says with feigned surprise, lifting a hand to her chest as if to recover herself. A bit more levity won't hurt. "And here I am, all a mess."

That is only half a joke. She's always a bit frazzled after a day's filming, and if he looks closely, it's not hard to tell she's been crying. She couldn't really help it; everyone else had been crying and hugging her and so on, and it had been a beastly challenge, besides. She thinks she would have wept even if she hadn't been eliminated, just because they'd all needed to.

[very_sharpe]

Thomas laughs quietly and, much to his chagrin, he feels a bit of heat creeping into his face. "You're hardly a mess," he insists.

It takes Thomas only a moment to notice her red-rimmed eyes and his smile falls. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" As he asks, he reaches for her to guide her into the kitchen so that she can sit, and maybe have a cup of tea or a glass of wine while he finishes dinner.

[andhiswife]

The blush gives her a little thrill of triumph, but her own smile wanes at his question. A baronet might know how to explain a failure in such elegant language that it almost comes across as a success, but she has no such skill. So she pulls in a breath, steeling herself as he draws her into the kitchen. Then: "I'm out," she says quietly.

She gives the words precious little time to sink in before she barrels onwards. "Not that it'll make much of a difference in our schedule; we'll all have to be there next weekend, anyway, but..." But. Her shoulders hitch in a shrug, and she looks down at her hands, fidgeting with her blouse.

[very_sharpe]

It takes him a moment to realize what she's saying. His smile falls and he moves closer to kiss the top of her head. "I'm sorry, darling."

Thomas kneels down in front of her rather than making Greta look up at him. He takes her hands gently and kisses her knuckles. "But you were brilliant, you know. I know I won't really get to see what you did until the show airs, but I've seen what you've practiced. You've made Saoirse and I terribly proud, and I hope you're proud of yourself for getting so far."

He leans up to kiss her cheek.

"How does a rather large glass of wine sound?"

[andhiswife]

She closes her eyes and makes a soft sound when he kisses her hair, half-whine and half-hum, enjoying the attention, if not the reason for it.

"It's--" she starts, opening her eyes, but she falls abruptly silent when she sees him now kneeling in front of her. Her heart leaps into her throat, and for a dizzying moment she wonders if he's about to pull out a ring, if this is even a good time for that, what on earth she'll say if he does. It's hard to even process what he's saying, to take it at face value and not as a potential preamble to something else. Is he seriously doing this now, tonight, when she's tired and defeated and just wants a bath?

And then he kisses her cheek, and offers her a glass of wine, and that's... that's it, then. The breath she'd been holding escapes in a cough of a laugh. "Oh, do get up," she says, tugging him back to his feet. "And a glass of wine certainly wouldn't hurt." It might help with the unanticipated surge of bloody adrenaline she now has to deal with, at any rate. And after the day she's had, she would've thought she was fresh out, no longer capable of being rattled by anything. So much for that. She rubs a hand over her face as she makes her way over to the table, pulls out a chair, and plops down.

"What are you making?" she asks as Sadie insinuates her head into her lap. Greta absently pats her with one hand; the other propping up her chin as she leans against the table.

[very_sharpe]

Thomas gets up with a quiet little noise of effort and he leans close to kiss Greta's cheek. As she sits down, Thomas finds a bottle of wine they'd open recently and pours them each a glass - Greta's might be a bit more generous than his own.

"A curry recipe that the Iron Bull left with us. Or maybe it was Cremisius... one of them. I thought something warm with a good bit of flavor would be nice now that it's getting chilly."

Thomas had watched with a strange sort of fascination when the Iron Bull was in their kitchen, hunched over the stove and telling Greta all about spices and flavor combinations that Thomas had only ever heard about in passing. The entire house had smelled glorious for a week as Greta experimented.

"I don't dare go off the recipe," he admits with a wry little smile. "But I think it smells right. Saoirse was brave enough to do a taste test of the sauce earlier, now it just needs to cook together for a bit longer."

[andhiswife]

"Ambitious," she says with a playful but approving lilt. Some of the approval might also be in response to how much wine he's poured her. 'Rather large,' indeed. "It does smell divine, though. Seems as if you've got everything under control."

She lifts her glass in a toast, then takes a sip. A little tension ebbs away, and though she knows it's all in her head -- too immediate to blame the alcohol -- she welcomes it nevertheless.

Now that she's cleared that first hurdle of telling him what happened, it's easier to recall the positives. Whether she was victorious or not, taking part in the final would have been enormously stressful, and she's grateful to have at least escaped that. And while shouldering the preparation of two or three dinners per week is hardly a burden, and a challenge he's taken on with all the grace and good humor a baronet might summon, she's still glad they can shift back into their normal routine.

Provided he wants to, of course. She's not about to cajole him out of that hilarious apron. But still. "It'll be nice, being able to do weekend dinners together again," she admits, smile softening. "I've rather missed being in the kitchen with you." Not that she's been deprived, exactly. But the demands of the contest usually meant that she used the kitchen for perfecting recipes while Thomas kept both Saoirse and himself out of the way. And then, when it came to actual meals, he gently shooed her out so she could have a break. The system worked, but it was less fun than puttering around together.

[very_sharpe]

"Only a little," he insists. "The recipe is actually very detailed. Which I'm grateful for, because when I was watching the lot of you together in here, I don't think he was actually measuring anything."

Thomas smiles over at her and checks the rice - almost done.

"I won't lie, I'm looking forward to being the sous chef again." He's found that he rather likes doing prep-work for Greta: cutting vegetables, peeling potatoes, or tending to whatever protein they've decided to have while Greta makes sides. Whatever she might need done.

"How are you feeling now that you've had a moment to sit with it?"

[andhiswife]

"Oh, he wasn't." Greta had made her best guesses when she was writing down the recipe, mindful of the possibility that she wouldn't be the only one taking a crack at it. It's possible that she's got some of the amounts off by a touch, but not enough to ruin things, going by the smell. "I had to do some translating, but I think I landed near enough the mark."

After another sip of wine, she adds, "You do make a fine sous chef." If she's being honest, though, it's the camaraderie she enjoys more than the practical assistance. It reminds her of home, a little, the two of them working in tandem to get something done.

And it's doubly enjoyable when Saoirse gets in on the action. The lass is probably upstairs doing homework or something. Greta looks down at Sadie and asks, "Where is that girl of mine?" only semi-rhetorically, and the dog perks up her ears before trotting off, on a mission.

She considers Thomas's question for the time it takes her to pull in a slow breath, then let it out again. "Better," she replies. "A little relieved, even. I'd probably be going round the twist right now if I had to do something next week besides show up." A solid six days of relative normalcy before she has to face the cameras again sounds quite nice, actually.

[selkiesaoirse]

Cú and Sadie both nudge their way into Saoirse's room, and she looks up from her maths homework. Going to the new school is much nicer. It teaches her things slightly differently, and she can still play football, and none of the students bully her like they did at Petros.

Today, she's learning about estimation, and there's lots of 'about how muches' and the like, which she doesn't really like it, but she understands why they're teaching it.

When the door pushes open behind the dogs, she smiles over at them.

"Hello, Cú, Sadie. Is Mum back?"

Cú woofs and wags his tail, so she gets up and runs downstairs.

"Mum! Did you win? I mean, are you in the finals?"

[andhiswife]

It's impossible not to smile at the sound of Saoirse thumping down the stairs -- you wouldn't guess how little she was from the amount of noise she manages to make -- even though it means she's going to have to account for herself once again. And to someone who might not immediately grasp the more subtle benefits of losing.

"I'm afraid I didn't," she admits, her smile taking on a rueful slant. "But -- this means I don't have to practice anything this week. And when we all go to the film the final next weekend, we'll all be able to sit and wait together." Her eyebrows tick up hopefully. She doesn't want Saoirse to take the loss too hard, certainly not harder than Greta's taken it, herself.

[very_sharpe]

Thomas pours the rice into a serving bowl and sets it on the table, followed shortly by the chicken curry in another bowl. He stares at everything for a moment, then recalls he has naan bread that needs warming. A quick turn in the microwave sees to that. He looks up when Saoirse appears with the dogs in tow.

"There will be a lovely picnic or party or something," he says to Saoirse, as if he might need to hype the idea of Greta not being in the finals. There is some part of him that is sinking into the relief of it all. No more stressed out Greta, no more kitchen in disarray with a quietly distressed baker on the floor in the middle of it all. She's done admirably, and he's proud of her, but he has to admit... it'll be nice to get back to normal.

[selkiesaoirse]

They both sound... Not happy that she's lost, but not sad about it, either, and Saoirse is confused. She wants to be angry. Greta is the best baker in all the world — there's no way she could lose! But she has, somehow, and she isn't upset about it.

"But you can't lose," she argues. "They're wrong."

[andhiswife]

Well, then. Greta blinks, not having braced herself for outright denial. It’s flattering, in a way, but it’s one thing to argue that losing isn’t the worst thing and another to argue that it happened at all.

So she pats her lap invitingly, hoping she can coax Saoirse over for a brief cuddle before they eat, and gives Thomas a slightly hapless look. “It was a very tough challenge,” she explains. “I don’t think any of us did our best work. But they had to send someone home at the end, and they picked me.”

“It’s not all bad, though,” she adds bracingly. “It means things can start going back to normal, and we can spend more time reading or playing games. I’m rather glad of that, to be honest.”

[very_sharpe]

Thomas hides a smile at Saoirse's blunt denial. It's sweet, actually, and he can't blame the little girl for not liking the idea. Greta's a wonderful baker, and Saoirse is rather bias.

"It's how things go sometimes, in competitions," Thomas says to the little girl as he finishes setting the table. "Not everyone can win first place, but your mum did wonderfully, and you and I both know how talented she is. That will never change."

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse tries to wrap her head around this. But no matter how she looks at it, it just sounds like the people on the show think that there's someone better than Greta. That's how it is in footie: one team wins because they're better, because they practiced longer or differently from the other team, or maybe got a lucky shot in.

She thinks about that for a moment. A lucky shot. One moment when the keeper is a moment too slow, or there's a bug, or a bird, or a blade of grass that's just right for a shot to go in the net instead of the keeper's mitt.

Maybe this was the lucky shot that got Greta out of the game.

She frowns, because she still doesn't like it, but she supposes they're right. This is just the way of it.

"And... You're not upset?"

[andhiswife]

Thomas's words might be meant to reassure Saoirse, but they leave Greta feeling better, too. She had trusted him to not be disappointed -- or perhaps just assumed he wouldn't be, because of the adjustments he'd had to make and the stress it had injected into their household, and because of his own clear-eyed awareness that it was just a silly television show (something he'd had to remind her of on several occasions, often while picking her up off the kitchen floor). But it's still a relief, hearing him speak of it calmly and insist she did well, and she gives him a warm, grateful smile.

Saoirse doesn't look entirely convinced, though Greta can just about see the gears turning inside her head. "I'm a little disappointed," she admits, because she suspects the lass would see through any outright lies. "But I'm mostly relieved that I don't have to worry about it anymore, and that we can go back to normal."

[very_sharpe]

Thomas returns Greta's smile and gives her a wink. Of course he's proud of her. Through all her breakdowns and uncertainty, through all her triumph and determination, he's believed in her. That isn't going to stop just because she didn't win a silly competition.

"And it's alright to be disappointed," Thomas adds when Greta admits to it. "Of course it is. But now we're going to find out who will win, and it will be fun. And you don't have to worry so much about me burning dinner."

Despite his comfort as a sous chef, Thomas is fairly certain Saoirse side-eyed him the first few times he made dinner in Greta's stead.

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse considers this all a moment longer, then nods her head at last.

"Well. Alright. I suppose not worrying about burnt dinner is good. And now we can snuggle more on the couch. There are new episodes of PUMA Squad to watch, too!"

PUMA — Pubescent Unique Martial Artist — Squad is a show about five young teens with strange abilities, who use these abilities to fight crime. There are usually interesting vocabulary lessons in each half hour episode, and it's one of Saoirse's favorite shows to watch.

[andhiswife]

Greta levels a playfully incredulous look at Thomas's self-effacing joke -- he's come far enough in the kitchen that she can't even imagine him burning dinner -- but if it helps jostle Saoirse into a better frame of mind, she won't argue the point.

"We certainly can," she agrees, curling her arm around Saoirse and pulling her close, just long enough to press a kiss to her hair. She could take or leave PUMA Squad, but there are worse things for Saoirse to watch, or for her to knit to. It's the thought of downtime that appeals more than anything else. "Maybe we can pick out a book after dinner, and all of us can have a good snuggle. Provided you're all done with your homework, of course. Otherwise, it'll just have to be me and Thomas," she says. She punctuates it with a heavy sigh of regret, as if that would be a terrible shame, but then winks at him in turn.