#ot3: if i'm not here anymore you must have yelena remind you

[civilight-eterna]

You put a gun to my head so here I am asking for the most sickeningly domestic scene from the Reunion Cafe you can give me.

"Talulah? Could you please give this a try and tell me if it's alright?" Alina extends a fingertip dipped in cake batter towards Talulah as she rests her whisk against the side of her bowl.

"Of course-" Talulah leans forward to accept, audibly clicking her tongue against her teeth with a pondering expression. "-Why, it's just perfect. Divine, really. And I suppose the cake batter is not bad either."

"Talulah. Really now-!" Alina pats flour off her hands against her apron and her mouth scrunches to the side reproachfully.

"Can the two of you get a room or something?" Lyudmila quips from her seat in the doorway as she fastens her knee pads. "Also if there's any small orders, I have a little room left on the bike to take them."

"Sorry Lyudmila." Talulah walks a small box over to her, "No other orders, but why don't you bring these petit fours to that rope bunny girl you've had your eye on-"

"Don't call her that." Lyudmila flushes bright red in the face of Talulah's knowing smile, but swipes the box regardless. When she turns to go out the door, however, a wall of an individual blocks her path.

Patriot silently blocks the way. In his hands, he extends Lyudmila's helmet expectantly.

"...Right. Don't worry. I'll wear it." Lyudmila takes it and fastens it onto her head. Pleased, Patriot steps aside and makes his way back to the kitchen.

Minutes later, Yelena walks through the front door, arms loaded with groceries from the market.

"Eno, Sasha, those tables look great. I'll give you some candy if you help me unload everything."

"You know we'd do it anyway." Sasha tucks his washcloth into the edge of his apron, and Eno puts the finishing touches on the table.

"Hold on, don't say that-we're singing tonight. We need that candy!"

"Then get a move on." Yelena hands them two pieces each as they pass her in the doorway, "And while you're out there, let Misha and Alex know they can trim some flowers from the garden for the vases on the table? Thanks."

"Talulah," Alina gives her a pair of friendly swats on the shoulder, "go lend her a hand would you? As much as your shameless flirting and matchmaking is so very entertaining."

"I'm going, I'm going-here, Yelena-" Talulah intercepts a particularly heavy package from her and holds it low, "-load me up."

"Thanks-ah, actually, could you take over? I need to talk to Daddy-"

Talulah flashes a conspiratorial smile, "-Aren't you already-?"

Yelena and Alina sigh in unison with the long-suffering air of being Talulah's partners for as long as they have.

"Hey Alina. Sorry. We'll be short-staffed tonight. I have to kill her now."

"If you can get to her before Patriot does. Really, Talulah. You just saw him walk past. You'd better thank your stars the espresso machine is so loud."

Yelena piles boxes into Talulah's arms until she can no longer see her winsome grin, then heads to the back to find her father.

"Daddy," She calls out, "Are you ready?"

"In here."

Yelena pulls her desserts from the freezer and sets them before him at the table.

"I'm having trouble narrowing it down to one design. It's just...missing something. But here, this parfait can come in one of three flavors. There's a chocolate mousse, vanilla clotted cream, and a strawberry shortcake."

"I see." Patriot folds his claws on the table as neatly as he can, though they are comically large on the surface. His tone is very grave indeed, and Yelena wonders if he is perhaps considering how to voice a gentle rejection, when-

"I think-" Patriot intones seriously, "-I think we should keep all three." Another pregnant pause. "-May we?"

"Oh-dad, it's your restaurant! You worried me. I hadn't realized you've become such a glutton."

"All of ours." He corrects her, "But yes. If admitting that much will keep all three of your recipes on the menu. Yes. I am, a glutton."

He reaches for the shell-shaped white chocolate garnish on one of the parfaits. With a slight exertion of pressure, he snaps the shell into two leaf-like shapes. Yelena watches as he dips the points of the shell into the ice cream at the top, arranging them gingerly with his claws until they resemble the ears of a rabbit poking out of the ice.

He folds his claws again and spends a long moment beholding his work.

"I am pleased with this." He announces, and Yelena knows, knows how dearly Talulah is going to tease her, but there's nothing for it-Patriot's oft-unreadable expression is radiating too much pride.

"...Daddy..."

...

Patriot stands behind the polished wood counters at the cake display. He listens as Eno and Sasha's warm vocals lilt from the small stage in the corner. He watches his daughter between Talulah and Alina, enduring their overt appreciation of the decided parfait designs. The youngest, Misha and Alex, catch up over the coffee he has brewed them personally-with just a little milk to sweeten it. Lyudmila idles at a table with some cake of her own, taking a well-deserved rest; she has taken a liking to petit fours, recently.

The room is warm, lively, with the scent of coffee, of crumble cake, the aroma of fresh-cut flowers.

All is as it should be.

All is well.