AN: Written because someone said Indian food is an aphrodisiac. A tribute to Chairman Humph. RIP.
I don't need onion bhaji, I just need some bhaji to love.
"God, Goren, how can you eat this stuff?" Eames spluttered, her mouth overflowing with half-chewed pakora. He passed her a half-empty water bottle.
"There was a British base next to ours," he explained. "They ordered out a lot. As a training exercise, they'd ask us to intercept their take-out." He couldn't help but grin when she went diving into a carton of rice.
"So, how do you explain all this to a date?" she asked, tearing up a naan bread. The grin reappeared.
"I lived in the back, near the airbase. I only heard yodelling. Vindaloo. Vindaloo..."