|Illya (redperilatdawn) wrote in valarlogs,|
@ 2020-01-19 21:33:00
|Entry tags:||!complete, gaby teller, illya kuryakin, napoleon solo|
Who: Illya Kuryakin, Gaby Teller & Napoleon Solo
What: Christmas get together along with a bombshell because what holiday is complete without one of those?
When: Christmas time
Rating/Warnings: Low | None
Status: Log | Complete
Any other time, Napoleon might’ve made arrangements to go back to New York for Christmas, visit his mother, make sure things were going smoothly. And that had been his intentions up until just a few short weeks ago when his mother had phoned him, rather out of the blue, to inform him that she was going on a cruise with Ricardo.
Frankly the notion of his mother gaining herself a boyfriend stemmed off any of Napoleon’s questions or disputes and they agreed for her to visit him after the cruise instead of a chilly Christmas in New York he’d have a dream filled one in California. Not terrible. And he wasn’t going to complain about some extra time with Gaby and Illya, not in the least.
Naturally that meant Napoleon was cooking. It wasn’t that he believed Illya or Gaby couldn’t, although Illya’s idea of cooking was probably just whatever kept him going rather than something for the sake of enjoying it. Either way, Napoleon enjoyed it. Using Gaby’s kitchen made more sense than the tiny little area in his new suite -he really needed to get a new place, maybe actually get a place of his own instead of these hotel suites.
“Okay, how hot does anyone want this seasoning, because you absolutely cannot just scrape it off the top.” Because Napoleon wasn’t one for doing things by half.
“Not very,” Gaby answered, putting her glass down on the counter and leaning her hip against it. Though the circumstances that had resulted in them all spending Christmas at hers could probably have been avoided had she not been so quick to help a friend out without asking any questions (and the matter of her safety was still relatively up in the air, but she trusted that Clint would be true to his word. “I would rather retain the function of my tastebuds.”
She glanced over at Illya, who had been setting the small table carefully, though there was still some time before it would be ready. “Illya?” Because if the consensus was to be hot, then so be it, but she would look Napoleon dead in the eye and scrape it off the top when it was served. It was her kitchen, after all.
She finished folding the napkin she had been playing around with and stretched her arm out to hand it over to the Russian. They had both already been out and done a sweep of the perimeter, to make sure that it was safe, and she would hope that even someone with the most intense of grudges would leave Christmas Day out of it all.
All things considered, that was the last thing she needed, since in her dreams things seemed to be ramping up at an alarmingly fast rate.
Illya unlike his counterparts tended to lean towards less conversation and more action and he had been particularly quiet given that the dreams had “gifted” him with a watch that he knew was his father’s from the dreams and exceptionally important. His dream self and his present self had quite a few striking similarities and that was particularly jarring.
Ever since Gaby had reached out to him and Napoleon in regards to her current predicament they had stayed very close as neither of them wished to see her come to harm, they would sooner see those who threatened her come to a particularly nasty end.
It became apparent to him that he was being spoken to and as such he pulled his attention away from listening to the world outside for the signs of those who were stalking Gaby and looked up to regard the woman in question. “I do not enjoy spicy food.”
It was not something he ate if he could avoid it.
He took the offered napkin and rested it on the table that he’d laid “So I would prefer if it was not too hot.”
Heathens, the pair of them, but it wasn’t like Napoleon hadn’t asked, so that was partly his fault. “Mild it is.” He’d work on expanding their tastes, even if it just meant not telling them what he was making and winging it.
Napoleon was aware that Illya was focusing primarily on anything out of the ordinary happening. The man had a single minded focus sometimes, but he guessed it was similar to the situation in the dreams -nothing like a whole bundle of daddy issues to really keep an agent focused. It did mean that maybe Napoleon was putting more effort into keeping Gaby distracted and occupied than strictly necessary, but needs must.
“Gaby, darling, would you pass me the vegetables?” If he was skipping the spice until later -like when he’d portioned off for Illya and Gaby- he might as well skip out on putting the sauce in the pot and just give them a dish of it to choose. It did mean another pot to wash, but Napoleon found clean up just as soothing as cooking.
Maybe they’d even be able to pull Illya into an actual conversation.
Gaby’s eyebrow arched delicately, looking between the two of them for a moment before she just nodded. Illy’s meticulous setting of the table aside, there was a tension in the air she was hoping was nothing to do with her situation and more to do with where they all were in these Dreams, the dreams where they knew each other remarkably well considering they had only spent a little while together.
In many ways it was a relief that Napoleon’s love of cooking - even though her instincts kept telling her to call him ‘Solo’, like her dream counterpart did - had translated across.
She hummed to herself, getting the vegetables for Napoleon and placing them carefully on the counter before forraging in the refrigerator for the wine. She popped the cork expertly and poured them each a glass.
“Have either of you had any more dreams?” she asked, sliding Napoleon’s along to him where he was at the stove in his fetching apron and sharp look of concentration causing his lips to curl up slightly at the corner, the other glass being held out to Illya, who was also focused on the table, scrutinising the place mats. “Illya, it looks good.”
The tension was in part down to Gaby’s situation and the precarious nature of her safety all because of some dumb friend who had thought it acceptable to place her in the firing line. The other? Well that was Illya’s fault who despite not saying anything could in fact radiate a mood like nobody else.
“Not since the whole drunken wrestling,” he answered with a shake of his head.
He had however had many possessions through, some more positive than others, the watch in particular felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He bent at the waist and narrowed his eyes at a particularly problematic placemat that wasn’t quite straight which meant he was annoyed by it, evident in how he reached out to correct it.
When a glass of wine was presented to him he straightened back up and took hold of the glass, saying thanks as he did. “Have either of you had… items arrive?”
Illya’s admittance of where he was with the dreams -likely the first night in the hotel, before the meeting at the track- meant that Napoleon could at least gauge if they were likely to catch up with him. Illya wasn’t that far behind if Napoleon remembered correctly but it wasn’t like it was easy to work out how steadily these dreams would happen.
He took the offering from Gaby, the wine when it slid along too, even as he sipped at it, turning towards Illya at the mention of items. “No,” he’d been ahead from the start, given his recognising both of them before they recognised him, so he was a little bit surprised at the mention of Illya having items coming through, “But I have heard it’s not that uncommon an occurrence.” People around here really liked to mention the things they got and dreamt of.
“What exactly is coming through?”
“Several things,” Illya shared. “Some more practical than others. Guns, listening devices, sweaters, lockpicks, a battery powered fence cutting CO2 laser, a jacket, the KGB files on you both and-” He paused and decided against continuing, sipping at his wine instead. “I was just curious if either of you had experienced a similar occurrence.”
He adjusted a fork which had somehow been knocked out of alignment and strayed away from the table over to the window to take a look, assessing whether or not they needed to be worried. Illya did not know enough about this potential danger to Gaby’s life and that did not sit well with him, anything could happen.
“And you, Gaby? Have you had anything come through?”
“Some dresses,” Gaby answered with a lift of her shoulder. “I have them in my wardrobe. I believe it is the one that you both argued over when we were in the boutique.” That had been quite a dream, the two of them arguing over what she would wear for a moment as if she had not been there. In the dream, she had not noticed the tension between the two of them. She saw it retrospectively.
Her shoulder lifted again. “Nothing at all, Napoleon?” she asked, “Would you like the belt that came through from my dreams?” Her lips twitched up into a little smile, only teasing him a little.
It was a little strange that they'd had so many things through, comparatively speaking, but Napoleon wasn't exactly fussed. He couldn't say there was anything significant from the dreams that he'd like through, given that he lived from safe house to safe house, largely as the CIA's pet thief. Possessions weren't really an issue for him -if he wanted it, he got it, legally or not. Napoleon just pulled a small face as Gaby mentioned her dress, their little spat in the boutique at the time, turning back to the food to check if it was ready.
It gave him something to do while they compared notes at least, switching off the heat and stirring up the sauce into a dish and then getting the plates of food sorted for each of them. "A kind offer Gaby, but I'm not sure I have the waist for it. Or the hips." He finished up with the plates, each of them portioned off and the sauce in the only thing Gaby had that resembled a sauce dish, before moving the pots over to the sink to steep in water. "Not terribly bothered about anything coming through honestly," and he could actually say that honestly, "I doubt I'd be needing anything that could."
“I don’t quite know what to do with what has come through,” Gaby confessed with a lift of her shoulder. “Currently it is in my wardrobe.”
She would never wear those clothes, despite being curious about what she might look like in something so… feminine. Her preferred style was certainly more tomboyish. Even in the dreams, the clothes had fitted her perfectly but she had been uncomfortable in them.
She glanced over at Illya, “You got some 1950s spy gadgets come through?”
“Mm,” Illya affirmed with a nod of his head. “And 1950s weaponry.” Classics in fact, he appreciated them far more than somebody else might given that he was in the trade that he was, there was something a little lacklustre about modern 9mm pistols.
He looked up and over at Napoleon.
“Some of the listening devices are American made so I suspect they might belong to you.”
Napoleon couldn’t avoid the small smirk at Illya at the mention of listening devices, but first turned to Gaby, “You should keep it, just in case.” In case someone got their act together in some version of their lives. Napoleon had gotten far enough to see something with Illya and Gaby building. Who knew what it would do though.
“Feel free to keep them, I don’t think I’d have much use for old spy tech.” He tended not to need to bug anywhere he wanted to be, and while 1950’s equipment might be harder to trace back to someone, it wasn’t like it could be entirely reliable.
With the eventual clean up started, Napoleon served up their meals, the sauce at the side mild enough that they could both choose what to add, going back momentarily for his wine before taking his own seat. “Or you could sell them, antiques tend to be sought after.”
Illya would not be selling them. He would be holding on to them as he did with most things until he had determined their usefulness. The Russian was not one for sentiment after all, it was too… American.
“I think I will keep hold of them for now, they may have some use.”
He pulled a chair out for Gaby and waited for her to sit before he himself did the same, reaching for a napkin which he placed over his lap as he was not a messy eater by any means but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.
“This looks amazing, Napoleon.”
Credit given where credit was due.
Gaby smiled broadly, pleased that so far the two men hadn’t started bickering like an old married couple and therefore no food had been flung around her home. Setting on her chair, she adjusted her cutlery a little before leaning back as Napoleon dished out the food.
“It does look incredible,” she agreed, glancing up at them both once Napoleon was seated, a bit of mischief sparkling behind her eyes, “I should end up on a hitman’s radar more often.”
Had she mentioned it was a hitman? Oops.
Napoleon had a comment, he did. One where he was subtly humble while appreciating the praise because he did put work in to make the dinner nice for everyone, Christmas being somewhat nice given it was the first time they’d done something resembling a celebration event together.
But then Gaby dropped in exactly why she’d asked the pair of them to be a little more present in her day to day life, and honestly, he was worried that he’d lose his eyebrows to his hairline, before then worrying that Illya would smash through a wall.
“Excuse me, a what now?” That was slightly more extreme than even he had thought it was.
Illya had by the point Gaby revealed she was on a ‘hitman’s radar’ picked up a glass that was not only shattered but broken quite spectacularly into several pieces and if the Russian was bleeding he was not bothered in the slightest. If anything he was only bothered by the confession and the narrowing of his eyes followed by the distinct twitch in his jaw indicated as much.
“Hitman?” He repeated, voice eerily calm but also cool, too cool. “Why did you neglect to mention that this friend of yours who I admit is lucky to have all his limbs attached at this point had you put in the sights of a hitman?”
“I told you before,” Gaby said patiently, finishing the bite of food she had been enjoying and placing her cutlery down, moving to the kitchen to get her first aid kit from where she kept it beside the fridge. “It was an accident, he didn’t think it would result in this happening. At least he intervened before I got hurt, and it was on his suggestion that I asked you both to keep an eye on me.”
Returning to the table, her fingers brushing apologetically over Napoleon’s shoulder before she focused her attention on stopping Illya from bleeding all over her tablecloth.
“I thought I had told you. Or at least that it had been heavily implied. We can talk about it more after we’ve eaten.”
At least, that was what she was hoping. The food was too good to let go cold.
“For the record, I was trying to make a joke.” It had fallen somewhat flat due to the fact that she’d forgotten the ‘hitman’ part of the set up. “I have no desire to go through this again.”
Napoleon’s cutlery were left on the table, his elbows resting so that his head could hang into his hands. Glass and wine on the tablecloth, Illya bleeding, a headache was absolutely going to smack him at some point. “Oh Gaby, your humour needs work.” It was partially muffled in his hands.
He took another few seconds before getting up to help, since they should at least clean what they could before it got worse. Thankfully Gaby could take care of any injuries that Illya had, while Napoleon got the trash can and a brush to get the discarded glass out of the way.
“I think if we’d been told it was a hitman you’d have a shadow 24/7 and the Red Peril there would’ve been full KGB mode by now.”
“How nice of him to have enough foresight to consider how he might get involved before you were gravely injured,” Illya drawled sarcastically and in a tone that belied just how angry the Russian actually was. “Perhaps if he’d had the same amount of foresight you never would have been in this Hitman’s sights.”
He glanced at Napoleon and whilst he said nothing it was clear that he was agreeing with the other man. “Also he was right to suggest that Napoleon and I keep an eye on you because it’s clear from everything I have learned about this friend of yours that he is completely incapable and unfit for any sort of protective duty.”
An eyebrow arched in Gaby’s direction. “And what exactly is his plan to deal with this hitman?”
Gaby finished wrapping the bandage around Illya’s hand, having used an alcohol swab to clean the cuts. Thankfully there was nothing so deep that it would need stitches: that would have hampered their Christmas Day even more than her poorly timed revelation. She pressed an impulsive kiss to the side of his head before she double checked that Napoleon had cleaned up all the broken glass and moved away to get another one for Illya. She squeezed Napoleon’s shoulder again as she walked past, moving a little out of her way to do so.
She considered grabbing him a plastic cup but thought the room was definitely not in the right mood for that.
“I don’t know, the man seems to have gone to ground as far as I understand it. C- My friend hasn’t shared the details. I believe he thinks he’s got me in enough trouble as it is.”
She tilted her head, “Can we talk about this after we’ve eaten?”
Illya’s outburst made sense, and honestly, Napoleon wasn’t terribly surprised by it. He could understand Gaby trying not to make this a thing, the attempts at reassurance as she passed welcome but not really shifting things entirely. Napoleon sighed and drained his wine glass before moving himself to get a refill.
“I’m fairly certain that we’ll be discussing this while we eat, rather than after.” It wasn’t like Illya was going to focus on anything else. “But Gaby does have a point about eating.” This was directed at least towards Illya. “We’re all in the one place right now, nothing is going to happen. If I’m right, you need to eat something.”
The Russian pushed an exceptionally disgruntled breath out of his chest and pressed the sharp edges of particular teeth together in an effort to control his emotions, impulses even, and keep from flipping a table.
“So he has lost him,” Illya muttered disapprovingly as he glanced at Napoleon, gaze cool. “Which means he could be anywhere.” Napoleon did have a point though, they were all in one place and should a hitman attempt anything then he would find himself at the unmerciful hands of one rather efficient KGB agent who was not only trained but highly skilled in the ways of torture and all things unpleasant. “But fine, we will eat, it is a lot of effort to go to waste.”
The Russian did however get to his feet in order to retrieve himself another glass.
Gaby finished cleaning up the table and returned to her seat. “He’s handling it,” she repeated, “but we agreed that I was safer with you both. And since you’ve kept me safe so far, even though he’s gone to ground, isn’t that what’s important?”
She took a sip of her wine and went back to her food. “Do you want to grab the bottle of wine from the fridge, Illya? It might be easier than us getting to our feet to get refills.”
Her eyes fell to Napoleon again and she smiled softly. “I’m sorry to draw attention away from the meal; this really is delicious.”
Taking his own seat, aware that Illya would need to deal with whatever he had to before he rejoined them at the table, Napoleon offered Gaby a smile of his own, reaching the distance to pat the back of her hand, “Don’t worry about it.”
Truthfully, it wasn’t like Napoleon was going to be offended that Gaby’s safety was a more pressing matter than their food -even if he did work rather hard to make a nice meal. But Illya’s mood wasn’t unwarranted, and Napoleon didn’t begrudge him that.
“I think maybe you should make big revelations before there are sharp utensils or glass around from now on.” Especially if Gaby was going to remain friends with people who put her at risk.
“Well,” Gaby said with a shake of her head, “I’m hardly intending for something like this to be a regular occurrence.”
She was pretty sure Clint wasn’t intending on something like this happening again, though in the few short months she had known him he did seem like he was quite the disaster.
“So here’s hoping this is the only revelation I will need to spring on you both.”