AN: Sorry for the long hiatus on my other stories, Life is a thing, unfortunately. Enjoy this fluffy little piece I put together for a friend~
Bruce Wayne was a man of many regrets and allowing Clark and both Johns to have a meeting in Wayne Manor instead of the Watchtower was edging to the top of the list. His work at Wayne Enterprises had been kicking his metaphorical ass while the villans on the streets of Gotham had been kicking his physical one, the demands of the League were becoming overwhelming, and he was becoming rather burnt out. After all, he was still only human, as his aching neck, back, and knees loved to remind him. As good of shape as he was in now, he certainly had not taken care of his body in the pivotal years and that was the pain that now haunted him and reminded him of his age.
Attempting to relax, Bruce had taken the day off, from Wayne Enterprises, the League, and Gotham, and had intended to spend the day with Diana. But even the best laid plans never survive first contact with the enemy and the instant Clark had called him asking for advice, he knew his day of rest was over. Clark had promised, sworn up and down even, that the meeting would take no more than twenty minutes. Fool that he was, Bruce believed him. Now here he was, four and a half hours later, desperately wishing Dick and Damian would call him for an emergency and knowing that they wouldn't, trying to rub the ache out of his neck, and cursing these three numbnuts who wasted an entire hour with a discussion of trying to figure out what the heck kind of color biuce was and—
"MASTER BRUCE!"
Alfred's loud and offended scream echoed through the manor and brought Bruce to full attention. His proper English butler never raised his voice like that and while it worried him more than he would care to admit, he also knew it would offer the perfect distraction and excuse to throw the unwanted men out of his house. Alfred burst through the door to the study, fuming, his face a shade of red Bruce didn't know was possible on that pallid skin.
"What seems to be the trouble, Alfred?" Bruce asked, his voice calm and neutral in the same way that Alfred spoke to him when he was in hysterics.
"Master Bruce, I like to think of myself an even-tempered man, slow to anger, and never quick to judgement or scrutiny," Alfred began, pausing for Bruce to give a nod of 'yes, you're right' before continuing. "I have never, not once, spoken out against any romance you have flung yourself into, no matter how ill advised the object of your affections was. However, Master Bruce, while I must say I had nothing but good things to say about your bride-to-be, THIS is intolerable, and I cannot abide it one moment longer!"
Alfred sounded positively chafed and Bruce had to hold in a chuckle. He couldn't imagine what Diana had done to enrage this self-proclaimed even-tempered man, but it must have been extraordinary. "What happened, Alfred?" Bruce asked, and while he kept down his smirk, he couldn't keep the mirth from his voice. Between Alfred's rage and his compatriot's awkward shifting in their seats, he was quiet enjoying himself.
"That woman, that female, has kicked me out of my own kitchen!" Alfred all but shrieked, and it took all of Bruce's substantial willpower not to start rolling on the floor laughing. "My kitchen, Master Bruce! And she has stormed in and attempted to conquer as Alexander did most of Europe! And what's worse, she had brought peasant food into my kitchen. Peasant food! In my kitchen, Master Bruce! It is the final straw and I cannot tolerate it. I am afraid to say that a choice must be made. This house is clearly not big enough for both of us and so one of us must go, either her or myself!"
Bruce was going to have to excuse himself quickly or he wouldn't be able to hold it together. "Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" he asked and watched Alfred's red face turn a shade darker. Quickly he added, "I'm sure she didn't mean any harm. Why don't I talk to her? And in the meantime you can pour your self and brandy and relax a minute. Gentleman, I'm afraid I have to ask you all to leave now."
No sooner did he get the words out of his mouth than the three Leaguers made hasty goodbyes and departed. No one wanted to get between Alfred and his kitchen.
Once the door to the study was securely closed and Bruce had made his way down the hall and around two corners, he allowed himself to start laughing. Of course his headstrong fiancé would try a hostile take over of the one place in the house Alfred considered sacred ground. While he knew that one Alfred relaxed, he'd rescind his ultimatum, but Bruce still wanted this resolved as quickly as possible. So when his chuckles subsided, he made his way into the kitchen.
A heavenly smell was already drifting in the air when he opened the stainless-steel doors. Diana was hard at work over the stove, browning chunks of meat before transferring them to a pressure cooker. Even in sweats with her hair up and an apron covered in flower, she still looked a vision, and Bruce marveled that just the sight of her still made his heart skip a beat after all these years. While she hadn't made any move to acknowledge him, he knew the warrior in her knew she was no longer alone. Therefore when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, she didn't flinch, instead leaned back into his broad torso and added more meat to her frying pan.
"Smells good," he muttered, resting his chin on her shoulder. "What are you making?"
"A kokkinisto," she answered simply. She must have felt his confusion because she clarified, "Beef stew in tomato sauce with red wine. And I have baklava in the oven."
"That sounds divine," he replied, kissing her cheek sweetly. "Just like you."
"Aww, Bruce," she flushed, embarrassed, leaning into his embrace while her cheeks heated. "You were supposed to still be in a meeting; I wanted this to be a surprise."
Bruce felt a vein bulge in his forehead. Had Diana engineered Clark's inane meeting just too keep him occupied? Calming himself, he said instead, "Alfred is perturbed, you know."
"Oh!" Diana replied indignantly, shoving Bruce's arms off her as she stepped closer to the stove in frustration. "He's being unreasonable!"
"He thinks you're bringing peasant food into this house," Bruce continued, watching her stiffen.
"All I wanted was to make you baklava!" Diana cried, throwing the last of the meat in the pressure cooker. "He insisted he knew how to make the best baklava! Ha!" At that she whipped around, facing him to the first time since entering the room, and pointed the tongs in her hand right at his nose. Fury blazed in those cobalt eyes and he had to stop himself from drowning in them. "I tell you there is not one single Englishman, or person for that matter, on this planet that can make baklava better than my mother and she taught me ergo of course I can make a better baklava than Alfred!" Now Bruce understood his butler's rage; there were few things Alfred prided himself in more than his baking skills. "Then he threw a fit and stormed out of the kitchen claiming that if I insist on being a better cook that I can do all the cooking but I didn't have a lot of time and needed something quick and simple and stews are quick and simple and flavorful and wonderful so you can stuff it, Alfred!"
For self-preservation, Bruce took several generous steps back as Diana grabbed for the bottle of wine and pour it into the pot for deglazing, her tongs waving wildly in the air. As the wine began to sizzle, Diana brought the bottle to her lips and drank heartily, making a face as she slammed it onto the counter so hard the glass shattered in her hand.
"SHIT!" she screamed; her anger heightened as she dropped the broken glass into the nearby sink.
Thankfully the bottle was empty, so there wasn't spilled wine everywhere, but still broken glass and Bruce jumped into action to clean before Diana got any ideas of using the shards on either him or Alfred. Luck was also on their side as Diana hadn't cut her hand on the glass and had gone back to her cooking while he cleaned. She seemed to relax a bit as she scraped the pan with a wooden spoon, capturing all the burnt and flavorful bits of meat left over from browning. Before Bruce could interject with any thoughts of reconciliation, he heard Diana sniffle. Fear gripped him as he realized his fiancé was on the verge of tears.
"I just wanted baklava," she whimpered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I didn't mean to upset him…"
"I know, darling," Bruce said softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, sighing gently as her eyes closed. "Let him cool off for a bit and then we can go with baklava as a peace offering later. Sound good?"
Diana just nodded into his arm. He felt her body relax and he pressed a sweet kiss to the top of her head. Sometimes it scared him how in love he was with this woman, though he couldn't dwell on it for very long. He was going to have to be extremely clever to come up with a kitchen compromise that would satisfy both Alfred and Diana. After all, he couldn't have Alfred threatening to leave every time Diana made his favorite desert.