It has been four days since "The Incident" (as Brigitte has taken to calling it), and each day is worse than the last. She has been avoiding Reinhardt, she cannot deny it. She can't explain why either; it's just that, now she has become hyper-aware of his presence. Each sound he makes, each movement through the house. She spooks when she thinks he is coming closer, which, since they practically live in each other's pockets is nearly constant. It is becoming intolerable.
Worse still is she is performing more poorly in their sparring sessions than she has since she first began training with him. She hasn't managed a pin in days, her forms are weak and she second guesses every move. On Thursday night after another hour of solid defeats, she stalks to her room the second she can. She hops into the shower, wishing she could scrub off the grimy sensation of shame. When she thinks back to that last pin, she feels a flood of heat in her face. It would have been so easy to break it if she hadn't been panicking!
Brigitte scrubs her scalp furiously, bubbles lathering up in her hands. This is not who she is. She is not some shrinking violet, she does not have 'delicate sensibilities' regarding any bodily functions, so why is she so bothered by this?
She turns her face into the shower stream, squinching her eyes shut against the torrent of water and sputtering as she rinses the suds from her hair. As the metalsmith combs conditioner through her thick tresses, she thinks.
She has been thinking about it almost nonstop since it happened. There is no logical reason that she can find for it to bother her. The only reason that she can think of that might explain it is this: that it has made her realize for the first time that Reinhardt is a man .
"Which is stupid, of course." She says out loud. She begins to soap herself down, letting the conditioner sit awhile longer. It is stupid. So completely stupid. But it fits .
As a child when she listened to the stories her father told of him, Reinhardt Wilhelm seemed larger than life. A knight, like in the ancient fairytales who was strong enough to slay dragons, turn the tide of wars, win the hearts of countless people. When she finally did meet him, she saw that he truly was larger than life. He towered over her, seeming to eclipse the sun with his broadness. His laughter boomed through every corner of the house as she had sat star-struck in front of him, listening to him spin the tales of his deeds. From the moment she saw him, she knew that she belonged at his side.
So what has changed?
Well, she supposed that up until that moment she had still seen him that way; the honorable knight, superhuman paragon of justice and virtue. And then, well…
He was all that, and more. He was a man too, with the wants and needs of all mortal men; a sexual being. Human, in a way she never considered. And she didn't know how to assimilate the two views.
Growling her frustration with herself, she rinses vigorously and steps out of the shower. Well, she wasn't going to have another sparring session like that! Wrapping herself in a towel, she wipes a hand across her fogged-up mirror and glares into her own eyes.
"Alright, listen up Brigitte," she says to herself. "You are going to get over it, and you are going to get over it right now . Who cares that he masturbates? You do it too! Probably everyone does! He does, you do, your dad probably does-" Okay, ew. That isn't something she wants to think about, "-the point is, it's dumb to get all worked up over it. So, that's it! You're over it! And starting now, you are going back to. Acting. NORMAL!" She punctuates the last three words with vigorous slaps to her cheeks, hard enough to sting.
Okay, that actually hurt a little.
As she gets dressed to go to the pub, she notices with some amusement that she actually does feel better. Maybe giving herself a pep talk is something she needs to do more often.
Brigitte barges out of her room and positively skips into the kitchen. "Okay, where we going tonight?" She chirps.
Reinhardt eyes her strangely at her as he pulls on his boots. Maybe she's overdone it a little with the enthusiasm. "Tonight is your choice, Schildlein. I have picked the last four nights."
Oh, that's true. It doesn't take long for her to pick; she always wants the same place.
" Bäckerei-Bar! "
Bäckerei-Bar is exactly what it sounds like. A bakery, with a bar attached. It's relatively new to the area, but it has quickly become one of her favorite haunts. It's a little smaller than the other bars, but the atmosphere is much warmer, in no small part due to the fact that they churn out baked goods all morning and afternoon. She has to be careful not too go here too often, lest she spoil all her hard training but it's difficult . When she pulls the car up, she can barely stop herself from bouncing in her seat as she drives. She knows that this place isn't Reinhardt's favorite as it doesn't really have a good selection of dinner food, but there's a sandwich shop just next door that they can grab something from before going home.
When the squire pushes open the front door the sweet smell of baked goods fills her nostrils. She practically floats to the bar, where she eagerly picks up a menu to see what new creations they have available. Among their regular fare of donuts, sweetbreads and pastries they have a few seasonal specials like pumpkin Bienenstich and apple-cinnamon streusel. And of course there are semlor!
Brigitte orders one each of the seasonal specials and a hot milk as Reinhardt takes a seat next to her. She thrusts the menu at him so he can choose what he wants and then takes her time drooling over the glass cases that line the walls, full of various baked goods.
When her order arrives she sinks a fork into the streusel and brings it to her mouth. Ah, she is in heaven! Each bite she savors, but too soon it is gone. Next is the Bienenstitch , washed down with sips of her milk. By the time she picks up her semla Reinhardt's order of beef Bierocks appear. She eyes them amusedly. He doesn't really have an appreciation for dessert.
Semla is the best . She eats it as slowly as she can manage without torturing herself. The delicate flavor of the almond paste, the airy texture of the bread, the sweetness that is not too sweet, but just right: she is in heaven. When it's gone she mourns. She could easily order another dozen semlor but no, she must not. Eating it too often will spoil her enjoyment of it.
They are currently the only two inside the bar, so she has no other regulars to chat with. She nudges Reinhardt in the side.
"How are your Bierocks ?" Of course, she manages to ask the question the instant he takes a mouthful of one. In lieu of him answering with his mouth full, she leans over and snags a bite of it before it makes it to his plate. He lets out an outraged noise; he can be very territorial when it comes to food.
"Hmm, those are pretty good. I may have to get one next time!" She smiles and takes another bite of semla .
They don't stick around long at the bar as it closes earlier than all the rest. Brigitte orders half a dozen donuts to go, thinking that she deserves a treat for getting herself back on track. They go to the sandwich shop next door and pick up some to go; a beer brat sandwich for her, currywurst for Reinhardt. They will go quite well with some of the drinks they have back home.
In the kitchen they load their sandwiches onto plates and pour some cold brews into frosted steins. She eats through hers and thumbs through the news on her holopad, looking for the scores of the women's football game.
"Brigitte, there's something we need to talk about." Reinhardt's serious tone interrupts her musing, sending a frisson of dread through her. Oh no. He wants to talk about it .
Well of course he wants to talk about it! She thinks furiously to herself. You haven't exactly been subtle about how much it's bothering you! If only she could have gotten ahold of her feelings sooner, or at least acted natural! This could set everything back!
"You've seemed...distracted, lately." He continues, looking at her steadily over his plate. She meets his gaze evenly, trying to keep her uneasiness from showing. "You have been performing poorly during sparring, you -" Wait, that's an opening she can take!
"I was just taking it easy on you!" She interrupts him, smirking and bluffing bravado. "I thought you needed a break after how much I kicked your butt on Tuesday, but I won't be so nice tomorrow!"
It works; he is thoroughly distracted from his train of thought.
"Taking it easy on me? " He exclaims, mouth agape.
"Yep." She pops the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, oozing smugness. "Tomorrow, you're going down." She gets up from the table with her dishes, turning her back to him to rinse them in the sink.
"Hmph!" The knight splutters behind her, trying to find a retort. "That's brave talk Schildlein , considering your performance lately!"
She whirls on him, dishes forgotten, and stalks back to the table.
"Alright then," she purrs. "Howabout a little wager? First one to pin tomorrow gets to pick dinner locations for the next week." When he opens his mouth to reply, she adds, " And loser has to pay!" He can never resist a challenge.
" Hah, you have a DEAL!" Reinhardt exclaims, extending his arm for her to clasp. They grip each other's forearms to seal the pact; her hand barely encircles half of his huge wrist.
"You better get some serious beauty rest tonight old man, you're going to need it!" Brigitte calls over her shoulder as she swaggers to her room, dishes forgotten. His echoing laugh follows her until she closes the door, and then she throws herself onto her bed grinning. Well, that had been easier than she had though. Now all she has to do is follow through.
Sleep that night comes easily. How could it not? The last few night's rest had hardly been restful; she had tossed and turned for hours. When she wakes the following morning she feels like a new woman; she hums as she brushes her teeth and changes clothes. She eats breakfast with Reinhardt and then together they take a walk through the forested german countryside. She whistles back at the birds when they sing, her breath puffing in white clouds through her pursed lips.
When they get back to the castle Brigitte washes the dishes that have been left in the sink while Reinhardt goes to train. Then she retires to her own workshop where she is tweaking her armor. Abandoned on half of her work space are the materials for her shield; she has the tecra-magnesium on order and the molds in which will cast the pieces are already waiting. The particle field generators cannot be set until the metal is cool, but they have all been tested and await insertion.
Today she is working on her flail. She wants to increase the rotational kinetic energy of the reeling mechanism so that when she extends it to strike, it returns more quickly. She thinks perhaps it could be improved upon if she can reduce the friction of the surfaces inside…
Lost in thought, she is busy calculating the coefficients of friction, searching up industrial lubricants and toying with the idea of reworking the system altogether when her stomach growls. She checks her watch; it is almost 1! She races off to lunch, decides she needs to eat a smaller meal so she won't be sluggish for their sparring tonight, and then returns to her workshop.
The metalsmith sets up to practice her drills; a padded moving target on an empty wall of the workshop clanks to life and begins darting like a spider along its surface. She takes up her flail and shield, holding the barrier guardedly as though facing an imaginary foe. The target pauses for a second, and she lashes out with the flail; it strikes just to the right of the center.
Over and over again she strikes, varying her distances and speed. Brigitte practices until her arms quiver with fatigue, and then rests. She stretches her muscles, massaging them with her hands as though she can squeeze the exhaustion from them. She needs to be in top form for their sparring tonight.
She abandons practice early in favor of returning to her room to change and scheme. As she pulls her leg pads, she thinks she might have a strategy. Most of the time, she spars more defensively. Reinhardt is too strong for her to simply rush in headfirst and attack; she has to wear him down through dodging, or capitalize on a particularly big mistake. That's why most of her pins come near the end of the session, when he is tired. But perhaps there is a way to take first victory tonight.
As she puts her hair up in front of the mirror, she tries a little more of that self-talk that worked so well yesterday.
"You will win this. You will! " She tells herself, pointing into mirror-Brigitte's face.
Whether or not she wins or loses isn't strictly the point; she had already succeeded in her objective of distracting him from another embarrassing conversation. Now it's simply a matter of pride.
She goes to the dojo early, kneeling in the center of the mats and simply waits.