Who: Katya, Gideon and Damian off screen What: Family dinner and sneaking out When: Recently, before the party Where: Katya's apartment Warnings: None, I think. Unless manipulation and playing games with innocent red heads count
Katya was excited to have Gideon over for dinner. She took Friday and Saturday off from work and spent most of the previous day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom. It had been a few weeks already since Scarlette had moved back home, but Katya kept the furniture just in case someone else needed a roommate. With the entire place sparkling, Katya set about cooking dinner. True to her word, she cooked enough for six people so that Gideon would have enough left overs to last him through the week. There was a turkey stuffed with a recipe she found online cooking slowly in the oven, and the potatoes were boiling away for mashed potatoes.
While she was waiting for the potatoes to soften enough to mash, she set the table. Another table cloth went on, a forest green this time, and her best plates were set out as well. There was a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge, along with a six pack of beer, bottles of coke, apple juice and cranberry juice, and a bottle of red wine on the counter. She wanted to be sure to provide him with as much choice as possible so that he would get what he would enjoy. Any extra would, of course, go with him back to his apartment. Katya stepped back to survey her work and smiled. This would be good.
--
Where Kat was busy and careful to give the best impression possible, Gideon was his usual laid-back self. Sure, he was a little...on edge at the prospect of something so domestic as a, for lack of a better word, ‘family dinner,’ but it wasn’t the first time since Kat had arrived in Seattle, and he rested comfortably knowing there wasn’t going to be a repeat of the first dinner they’d had. The food was bound to be worlds better than what he usually had, and--
...Alright. If he were to actually admit it, he wasn’t exactly calm about it. Domestic just wasn’t something he did, and while it was nice to fantasize about it now and again, it wasn’t really something he wanted to deal with day in and day out. It was mostly a foreign concept, something decidedly Bradley Bunch or Leave It to Otter. He didn’t trust it on principle. Like people who ate pizza with a fork; it was just unnatural.
He’d at least managed to clean up before arriving, although that was more because it was his own practice than anything related to ‘expected conduct’. A long day (a hit that came from a source other than Damian for once, and he’d started to wonder exactly when the other man had begun taking up so much of his time and what he was playing at by doing it), but that was hardly an excuse for showing up in public looking like he’d spent the majority of the day in a slaughterhouse; dismemberment was rarely his favorite disposal method, but it was convenient enough when you were already removing things for the client’s scrutiny.
He knocked on the door to make his presence known before letting himself in - keyless, but it wasn’t the first time and would hardly be the last - and dropped the bottle of Midleton on the coffee table (exclusive stock; only fifty oak casks made per year, $124 per bottle, comprised of a combination of a variety of triple-distilled whiskies varying from 12 to 21 years old blended into something that could only be called ‘perfection’, as he’d been told. He’d gotten it from a guy as payment for a very expensive favor. He figured it was about time he actually gave it a try). “Smells good.”
--
Katya heard the knock and smiled widely. She had already finished the mashed potatoes and just needed to finish basting the turkey so she called out, “One moment!” Of course, she heard the door open and chuckled a little bit. “You are not so good with patience, are you?” she called as she heard him walk into the apartment. She finished easily enough with the turkey and shut the oven once more, turning off the heat and letting it rest in the oven for a few moments as she turned to greet her father more appropriately.
“I hope so. It will fill your fridge for at least a week,” she replied, making her way toward Gideon. She didn’t reach out to hug him, not this time. She was still reeling from what his actions meant, unsure of what it could mean. Was he dying? Planning to do something stupid enough to get him killed? Was he planning to leave her? She was dismayed by all of these possibilities, but she consoled herself in the knowledge that she could enjoy him while she had him. “How have you been?” she asked warmly, truly pleased to see him. The turkey would last a few moments while she caught up with Gideon.
--
“Leftovers too? It’s nice of you, but you didn’t have to, really.” He made a note to try to skip out before they got to the packaging stage, not so much because he didn’t want them as the principle of the matter. He didn’t accept charity, or any more assistance than he needed, not unless it was on his own terms to begin with, and even then there was negotiation, terms agreed upon. Blood bonds made no difference; he had his pride.
The embrace she considered wouldn’t have been accepted so easily this time even if she had attempted it; it was a one time thing (or so he told himself), acted on out of momentary irrationality. The offer of food and something neutral, unconnected to either of their personal lives, served to even the keel, and that, coupled with the solidity the gesture had proven, had been enough to send whatever uncertainties he had been trying not to consider back from whence they’d come. The fact that she was still here, still animated as usual and evidently content, finished the job, marked whatever concerns he’d had as, temporarily, at least, unnecessary. “I’ve been good. Busy.” But that was all he was comfortable admitting, and the tone conveyed that. “I brought booze, since I think that’s the convention last I heard.” He nodded over to the table where the bottle sat, but made no move to actually hand it to her. “You?”
--
Katya brushed off his comment that she didn't have to cook so much. Of course she had to, because how else would he have proper home cooked meals? She had considered simply breaking into his apartment like she did Job's but Kat figured that would destroy whatever trust he might've had in her to keep his privacy. The last thing she wanted to do was push him away. "I hope you enjoy it. The computer insisted it was the most delicious recipe available," she explained, picking up the bottle.
The label was unfamiliar to her, but if that was what he wanted then she would accept it graciously. "I will pour you a glass?" she asked, already making a move toward the kitchen. "I am glad you are doing well and keeping busy. You have not had any trouble yes?" She had a feeling he wouldn't tell her one way or the other if he was running into trouble from the Masks, but she felt obligated to ask. "The new Mask, Fawkes, he will attempt to kill you if given a chance." She didn't say be careful, simply because she knew he was very thorough.
--
“Trusting taste to the internet? Sounds a little 2001 if you ask me; watch out it doesn’t get smart on you and try to shunt you off into space.” He smirked at the attempt at humor, not that he thought she would follow; it wasn’t exactly an obscure movie, but it wasn’t anything most kids these days would waste time on either.
“I can do it myself,” he commented in response to the offer, “but that’s not really why I brought it. You know, one person hosts, the invite-ee brings alcohol...It was either that or boxed wine and I figured it was a little offensive to skimp.”
“Not any kind of trouble I can’t handle.” Her concern gained only a shrug, and a hint of a smirk that she thought he needed to be warned; she might not have said as much, but he’d gotten pretty good at reading between the lines, and it was as clear to him as if she’d said it outright. “He wouldn’t be the first or the only one; I’ll be fine. He’s only dangerous because he’s hiding behind a mask; find out what’s behind it and he’s no threat to anyone.”
--
Katya looked at him curiously, before finally replying, “I am sorry, but I do not understand what you mean by that.” She shrugged and put the bottle back down. “You did not need to bring anything. Your presence is what matters,” she added, walking into the kitchen and pulling the turkey out of the oven. It was ready to be sliced, so she focused on that as he brushed off her concern about Fawkes.
“Very well,” was about all she could think to say. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact that he could very well get himself killed given that his job description matched exactly what Fawkes would consider morally wrong and punishable by death. She finished with the turkey and piled it onto a platter, bringing that over to the table. “There is wine, soda, beer, and juice in the refrigerator which you can help yourself to if you would like,” she offered, setting to work plating the mashed potatoes and gravy. Those were on the table after just a few moments and Katya poured herself a glass of white wine before sitting down for dinner.
--
Gideon shrugged. “It’s a cultural thing, I guess; something about expressing thanks for the effort. I never really understood it either, honestly.” While she abandoned the bottle, he just picked it up again, figuring since she’d already as much as offered he might as well help himself. It wasn’t as if he had a second bottle at home. He selected a glass from the cupboard before pouring, then followed her to the table, where he dug in once the food was made available.
“So what’ve you been up to?” As cheap a springboard for conversation as anything, but usually an effective one. It wasn’t as if he actually knew what he was doing in this particular situation, he could afford a few cop-outs.
--.
Damian sat by the phone, smiling to himself. He had been having some fun these last few weeks. Gideon had a daughter and he had a play toy. She was all too oblivious to everything, so focused on saving people. People didn’t need to be saved they needed to be thinned out- survival of the fittest. Their ancestors knew it, understood that killing was necessary. He had been watching Gideon as much as he had been watching Katya. Making sure when he interacted with her Gideon didn’t know. Now was the time for his next move. To see how Gideon would react to it. How soft did his daughter make him?
Picking up his phone, he called her house line and waited.
--
Katya matched his shrug as she took a sip of her wine. “You do not need to follow typical customs with me. I am simply happy to have your company,” she replied warmly, helping herself to mashed potatoes. She mixed some butter and salt in with them and then went for the turkey, waiting for the butter to melt in her potatoes.
“I have been well. Patrolling with Madeline has been quite successful thus far. We have stayed away from Fawkes as well. Work has also been wonderful, though I will not be able to afford my apartment for much longer on my own. I am sure things will work out though,” she replied, about to take a bite of her mashed potatoes when her phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, getting up from the table and grabbing the phone off the kitchen wall. “Hello?”
--
“Pronto, Bella.” He answered back, his voice a whisper. “I can’t talk for long... I really need your help right now. If you’re still offering.” There was a tinge of panic in his voice. Damian held his phone to his chest and moved into another room. He slid underneath a table so the phone would have an echo to it if she listened hard enough. If on cue, a train passed by the open window screaming loudly and shaking the walls.
“Sorry... You’re there right?” What made his voice so on edge and believable was that he made himself believe his lies for those moments. During this phone call, he was a scared man worried about his sister and the men that were after him. He would have fun with who he made the men to be at a later time. Oh and it would be great.
--
Katya recognized the voice immediately, eyes wide with worry and concern. “Of course I am still offering, Damien. Where are you? I will come,” she replied immediately and without hesitation. She heard the train and pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment because of it’s volume. “Damien, I am here. Where do you need me to come? What is going on?” Her tone was urgent as she gave Gideon an apologetic look and walked into her bedroom to pull on more battle ready clothing. She emerged a moment later in gray track pants and a loose fitting cotton t-shirt, covered with a matching gray hoodie.
--
“I... I’m by Smith’s Cove. In a warehouse. I’m not quite sure where exactly. I only got to see out the window once.” He took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. “Katya I really need you right now.” He said in Russian. There was more rustling on his side of the phone. Someone in the background yelled out in Welsh. His voice deep and full of anger. And then another voice, again is Welsh, said something that had a tone of mocking in it.
“I can’t stay on the phone much longer.” He whispered quickly. “I’ll leave my cell on... if you can track it somehow.” The warehouse he was in was one he picked for the money drops for the hits he sent Gideon on. Just another means to his own amusement.
--
“Calm, Damien. I will be there as fast as I can, hold on please,” she replied in Russian, voice soft and soothing. She would find this Smith’s Cove and rescue Damien. She hung up the phone and put it back on its hook.
“I need your help,” she said urgently, turning her attention to Gideon. “Do you know a warehouse near Smith’s Cove with a train passing near by it?” she asked, crossing the room in a quick stride to Gideon’s side. “Please, I believe it is life or death.”
-- He’d heard the conversation, or at least enough of it to pick out names and basic details.
Damien. She’d said it enough damn times, he’d have to be a complete idiot not to hear it. And whether or not it was the same person, his mind automatically went to the only one he knew. The man who had trained him, the only one in the game he knew of who had even less compunction about what it was they did (and who wasn’t a complete mental case) than he did. The man who had prompted him to warn his daughter about new people she met once he’d realized he was in town because he’d known where it would lead.
Shit. This was why he’d made it such a point in the past to keep things separate. Because there was no way she knew him by coincidence, not unless Damien had changed drastically since they’d parted ways.
The longer the conversation went on the blacker Gideon’s expression grew, jaw tightening in repressed anger at the whole situation. “You’re not going.” Terse, deadly serious, no arguments. End of, do not pass go, do not collect $200. It wasn’t happening.
--
Katya looked at him disbelievingly. “Not...I must go. He is in trouble. There are men holding his sister hostage and he is in grave danger,” she insisted, taking a step back from him. “Please, help me save him, or I will go by myself.” She sounded determined and resolute, and she was deadly serious. She would go and find him without Gideon’s help. Even if it meant asking Oracle for directions.
--
“What part of what I said are you having trouble with? You’re. Not. Going.” The growl was probably uncalled-for, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t about to explain the situation, the real situation, who this guy was and why he wanted her there, not unless it was absolutely necessary, but it had always been his way to expect immediate compliance. People didn’t second-guess him, they didn’t say no when he gave an order. It just didn’t happen. And it wouldn’t start with her. He’d restrain her if he had to, there was no way she was leaving.
--
Katya softened a moment later at his growl, immediately dropping out of her defensive stance. “There are dangers in what I do. I know this. But I must go. I promised, and I do not break my promises,” she replied, softly but firmly. She would not be dissuaded from her mission. “I am sorry that it upsets you, but it is what I do. Just as what you do upsets me. I love you and support you despite that. Please do the same for me.” She wanted him to understand this from her point of view, and she thought that he was only worried about the potential danger the mission presented.
--
“This situation that you’re so gung-ho about. It’s not what you think it is, this guy isn’t who you think he is, whatever he’s told you. He’s dying, he’s in trouble, his family’s in trouble...I know--” he stumbled over the sentence, not enough to be noticeable to the average Joe but more than was usual for him -- “guys like him. It’s a ploy to get you there. To get--” He cut himself off before he revealed too much. She didn’t need to know the full details, it would only get her into further trouble, and admitting that was completely out of the question. If he mentioned his suspicions that it was only an an attempt to get to him she would just leave anyway the minute his back was turned, if not take off right now. Damn Masks, always needing to do what was right instead of what was smart. “It’s just gonna get you into trouble. Trust me. You’re not going. Don’t think I won’t tie you to a chair to keep you here if I have to.”
--
Katya eyed Gideon suspiciously. “How do you- no, I do not wish to know. Nor do I wish to argue this with you.” She sighed and relaxed. “If you do not wish me to go, then I will not. I will go change once more,” she added, moving with sure steps back toward her room. She closed the door behind her and paused. She couldn’t leave Damian hanging, it just wasn’t in her. She also didn’t want to disobey her father, but in this case, she believed she was correct. With sure steps, she crossed over to her dresser. She pulled out her Comm and, with a regretful glance toward her door, Katya slipped out the window.