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Dieter had checked his watch five times in the past twenty minutes. His knuckles were turning white gripping his crystal glass of whisky, eyes darting about the bar, looking to catch someone's attention.
There had been a mix up with the reservation. The restaurant had double booked itself and found themselves without a table when you arrived at your designated eight o'clock slot. You had only just managed to keep your husband from shooting the concierge there and then; somehow you had convinced him a couple of drinks at the bar wouldn't hurt whilst you waited for a spot to open up.
Dieter's anger was only amplified by the fact it was your second anniversary. This was the first day in months he'd been able to spend with you properly, his work meaning you had seen little of each other besides at dinner - and even then sometimes he would be called out of bed in the middle of the night on urgent business. You finally had him to yourself - and now this.
Courteously the restaurant had offered to pay for your drinks, but it wasn't enough. Dieter was fidgeting like a maniac, pure fury in his eyes directed at any poor soul who happened to walk past.
"Darling don't worry about it," you offered, reaching out to place your hand on top of his. "Just a mix-up. It's fine."
The place was gorgeous, and it had taken him months to get the reservation - even after reiterating to them for the umpteenth time who he was.
"It's not fine." His voice was harsh, but you knew his anger couldn't have been further from you. More than anything he was angry for you. Dieter had been surprisingly understanding about the situation. Though you never voiced it, never wanting to add extra worries onto his plate, he saw how your eyes grew damp at his coarse kisses as he darted off to work, how you always assented when he had to cancel plans due to an emergency. You had been nothing but the dutiful wife, but he hated feeling like he was taking advantage of you. Tonight had been his chance to show you how much he appreciated you, how he didn't take you for granted - and now he'd failed at the first hurdle.
"It's just dinner. Twenty minutes won't kill us." Your thumb drew circles over his knuckles. Dieter knocked back his drink hoping it would steady his nerves.
It did anything but.
"You deserve better than this," he sighed, eyeing the barman as he topped up his glass.
Smiling gently, you reached your hand to his cheek, noting the subtle way he nuzzled into your touch. He had it in him to calm down, but you knew it would take more than a few shots and soft touches.
"Dieter, all I could ever want is you. I wouldn't care if we were eating from a street stall so long as you were with me."
His eyes softened and you knew you had him. Beneath your hand, running down his neck, to his shoulders, to his arms, you felt him loosen each muscle in turn. Part of your present was seeing him in a proper suit, finally free of his uniform for one night. How you'd managed to convince him to don one - the first time since your wedding day - would remain a mystery: you were just thankful he'd complied.
Another five minutes passed and still nothing.
"This is getting ridiculous."
"I'm sure they're trying their best," you tried, though all of the alcohol was hitting your empty stomach too quickly. You could feel your head getting a little light and resisted the urge to join your husband in his anger. You had to keep your cool. For the both of you.
Dieter Hellstrom was not the kind of man you kept waiting.
You dreaded to think what he might do. You had to remove him from the situation before he snapped - but how? The more he drank the tighter his grip on your hand became, his thumb pressing your wedding band a little too forcefully. You were sure it would leave an angry red indent.
To save both your finger and the restaurant staff you suggested that he go and splash some water on his face. A trip to the bathroom might help clear his head, and allow some time for the circulation to come back to your hand.
Dieter was clearly reticent to leave you but was soon on his way after your gentle insistence. In his defence you did feel a little odd once he disappeared from your sight.
Your mind flooded with the memories of all the nights you'd turned over to find an empty bed, every breakfast you'd had alone, the way your heart leapt in your chest when messages were delivered. Fiddling with your ring, you wished now you'd asked him to stay.
"It's a rare sight to see someone as beautiful as you drinking alone."
The voice came so suddenly you couldn't immediately identify its owner. Such comments you were only used to in Dieter's soft tone, the voice he reserved only for you. This speaker was gruff and the accompanying body stunk of the heavy drinks he'd been knocking back all night.
Before you was an enlisted man of medium height, black hair pinned down to his head by a thick layer of gel. His face was bland and his grin was that of a shark's, which you realised was his way of flirting.
"Oh I'm not alone, my husband's just gone to the bathroom," you corrected, shifting a little further away from him in your seat. You were shocked when the stranger plopped himself down in the seat before you which Dieter had only a few minutes earlier occupied. He swayed a little even when sitting. He was pissed. Gone beyond all hope.
You didn't know how to handle the situation. It was rare that you met someone who didn't know who you were, whose wife you were. Even the boldest of officers tended to steer clear of you, and now, here sat a plucky cadet practically fucking you with his eyes.
"Right, right: he's coming right back, though yeah?" The man laughed, swigging off the rest of his beer before slamming the empty glass down harshly onto the bar. "Come on, doll. That's not gonna work with me. There's no need to lie."
"Why would I lie? Look." As evidence you held up the small diamond resting on your left ring finger, hoping some physical evidence would get rid of him. You weren't so lucky.
"I'm not that dumb!" Although he was squinting at your hand: perhaps through his haze he couldn't actually see the ring. You wondered how many hands he thought you had. "You women wear rings all the time. You're just playing hard to get. I like that in a girl."
"I'm playing married," you grumbled, eyes turning across the floor praying for Dieter to hurry up. Maybe he was right. He leaves you alone for two seconds and this is the result.
"I don't mind that either." The soldier reached out a hand toward your knee which you were quick to slap away. Please come back, please come back. The more the interaction progressed, the worse you foresaw your husband's reaction being upon his return.
Still there was no sign of him.
"Oh, she's a fighter! Don't worry, sweetheart, I don't bite." Again you watched his wrist reach out toward you, though instead of landing upon your person, the limb was suddenly yanked back with such force you wondered for a moment where it had gone.
Dieter had the man's arm twisted behind his back in such a position that one wrong move would render his arm snapped. He seemed to have materialised from nowhere, but now he was completely sober and completely furious. His eyes, as black as night, watched you, protective but so harsh you couldn't help trembling. The alcohol coursing through your blood had sent your emotions into overdrive and part of you genuinely worried he might kill the man before you.
The soldier let out a pathetic whine, panicked breaths puffing in and out. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't snap your arm clean off."
"Dieter please. He's just a drunken idiot."
His eyes flashed to you, and though you knew he would never hurt you, you quickly silenced yourself, surrendering to the situation.
"Nothing to say?" Dieter growled into the man's ear. Part of you did feel a little pity for him, but the disgusting sting of where his hand had been on your knee corrected your judgment. He deserved everything coming to him.
"No, wait, wait! I didn't know! She said she was alone!" the man pleaded, his eyes scrunching up in agony as Dieter pulled harder.
Your husband's eyes flashed to yours, but he already knew the man was lying. There was no doubt in his mind of your loyalty, and to have even someone as insignificant as this question it sent him over the edge. Before you knew it, that fatal crack resounded and the man fell limp at your feet, roaring with agony and clutching at his arm for dear life.
Even for Dieter, you were a little surprised. Sure, you knew he was the jealous type, but that never usually amounted to more than glaring at other men who looked at you for a beat too long. This was a serious escalation. Still, you found yourself unable to be intimidated by him, the way he immediately came to your side - once he had finished with the soldier - wrapping a strong arm around you, the very same grip that had just shattered bone. When it embraced you, though, it was impressively gentle, Dieter's whole person changing as though he were two separate entities.
"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" he whispered, moving to help you put on your coat. The whole situation had left you shaky, and he made it his mission now to bring you down from your height. Every touch was soft, completely unlike the man administering them. Only ever for you.
"I'm alright," you tried. "Just a little overwhelmed." Stunned, perhaps would have been a better word. You moved almost unconsciously as Dieter slipped your arms through the sleeves and helped you down from the high seat at the bar.
As you approached the exit the host made a great show of apologising profusely, but Dieter didn't take his eyes from you for a second. Behind, the echoes of the man's cries followed you out onto the street. You knew he wasn't long for this world, but you were appreciative your husband had staved off killing him in such a public space.
"Come on," Dieter said with a smile, a protective grip wrapping around your waist, his strong hand coming to lay gently upon your hip. "Let's go and see if any of the food stalls are still open."