Gaby Teller (recruitable) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-05-14 19:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, gaby teller, napoleon solo |
Who: Gaby Teller & Napoleon Solo
What: Gaby and Napoleon discuss the nature of family and try to put the past behind them.
Where: Their suite on the cruise ship.
When: The night after the pirate attack.
Warnings: None.
They had finally gotten Illya to sleep, though it was fair to say that it had been a difficult endeavor. The man was stubborn as one could be, but fortunately he was no match for Gaby's insistent glaring and commands. Napoleon knew exactly how potent her abilities to wrangle people were, having faced down the same glares and commands not that many weeks ago for his own injuries sustained in a battle. So he had let her take lead and do the heavy lifting, so to speak, until the blond was in her bed and sound asleep. The past few days had been trying, at best, but at least they could say that they were alive and together. There were a few among the Displaced that could no longer say the same. But Napoleon put that out of mind, as he went to where they had been storing the contents of their wet bar - something that the pirates had been after apparently - and pulled out a bottle of wine. Pouring himself and Gaby a glass each, he corked the bottle and tucked it under his arm, as he brought the glasses over to the sofa. He offered her a glass, before settling the bottle down on the coffee table and taking a seat. "It's been hell of a week, hasn't it?" He asked with a sigh, as he took a took a generous swallow of the wine. By now, the two man had certainly grown accustomed to Gaby's peculiar brand of affection, particularly in trying situations. The harder her stare and the firmer her voice, the more that she cared. So when she told Illya that if he did not lay down and rest, she would break his other ribs, he simply smiled at her. But when she flashed him a saccharine smile of her own and told him either he got into her bed willingly or she would never enter his again, he became much more compliant. Once he made himself as comfortable as was possible in his condition, she followed her harsh tones with a sweep of her fingers through the hair that fell across his brow. No words, just soft touches until he was finally asleep. Napoleon had read her mind when he went over to their bar and retrieved the wine. She sat at one end of the couch with her legs curled to the side. She accepted the wine with eager hands and didn't wait for her companion to be seated before taking a drink. Napoleon's comment seemed rather like an understatement. The affair in Atlantis, while terrible, seemed tame somehow compared with recent events. Lives had been lost, which made Illya's injuries seem more severe in some way. They had gotten lucky. "That's putting it mildly." She looked back towards the bedroom door, which they had left open a crack so that they could hear if Illya stirred. "How does it feel to be on this side of the nurse routine?" “I can’t say I particularly like this role reversal,” Napoleon said, hesitantly. The affair between him and Illya had begun back home, during his first serious injury after their team’s formation. The second serious injury, he had rebuffed everyone and forced himself to go at it with minimal help from anyone. It wasn’t his most positive moments. But now, with Illya sleeping in Gaby’s room, it was difficult. For more than just the obvious reason that he couldn’t give Illya the comfort he had received from the man himself way back when. It was difficult, to see the big, strong Russian man that seemed so infallible, fall to such injuries. Now he understood why Gaby had been so distraught and annoyed with him when he had taken that trident for her. He would do it again, but he now understood why she would have rather been injured herself than see someone she cared for laying in bed like Illya was now, like Napoleon had then. “I’m sorry I hadn’t been a particularly decent patient, the last time we had been in this situation,” he offered her, taking a small sip of his wine now, as he reached over to place a hand on one of her knees. He squeezed it slightly, to convey how much he meant his apology. Gaby gave Napoleon a half-smile and pat his hand gently with hers. "Yes, well, there were complications, weren't there?" She pulled her hand away. "Neither of you makes for an ideal patient, really. Though, I can't say that I would be much better." So far she had been spared any major injury since becoming a spy. A few scrapes and bruises only. The wound she received during the fight in Atlantis was worse than anything she had gotten during an op with MI6 or U.N.C.L.E. "If the pair of you would kindly refrain from any more injuries, I would greatly appreciate it. This is not a trend I am especially fond of." Napoleon was slow to remove his hand from her knee, considering the gentle reminder of how things were well and truly complicated between the three of them. He wish that they had been able to do all of this, fix the three of them, in an easier fashion. But at least they were all talking and spending time with each other again. He knew only time would bring them back to their former friendship. “I’ll do my best to not throw myself in front of anymore weapons,” he told her, though he knew that he would still take any hurt meant for any of his partners over them suffering. It was, in a way, easier to take on that pain over the worry that occupied watching over a loved one suffer. Finishing his glass of wine too quickly to have actually enjoyed the drink as it should have been, he started to pour himself more. Raising his eyebrows, he shook the bottle a little at her, silently asking her if she wanted more for herself. “You know, at this rate, I’m wondering if we’re ever going to see this Tumbleweed people keep talking about,” he said, finally changing the subject completely away from injuries. Gaby was not put out by Napoleon's lingering touch. It called to mind the way things used to be between the two of them, back before Napoleon had been kidnapped. Now it was clear why things had changed. Secrets always leave their mark. "Let's just hope this place doesn't give us any more opportunities for that to be an issue." She sipped from her glass, even as her companion made quick work of his. She held out her glass for him to top hers off. "It doesn't much seem like it. But surely this cruise must have an end date? I never thought I'd complain about living in such luxury." Her family had been well-off before the war, but after, living comfortably took on a new meaning. “Even I’m growing tired of it all and you know how much I love shiny things,” he said, leaning back into the couch and letting the exhaustion of the last few days melt away. It was quickly replaced by the warm lingering touch of the wine they were drinking and he welcomed the temporary bliss offered from the uncertainty of their situation. He let the quiet settle in then, picking through his thoughts to see which one he wanted to pursue with her. “Do you ever wish to go back? Back to U.N.C.L.E., back to our lives as agents?” Napoleon finally asked, knowing that his own answer wasn’t too much of a surprise to anyone, including himself. If he had the choice, it was clear he would stay here, even on the ship from hell. Gaby thought about it for a moment. "Not really, no." She had only ever collaborated with MI6 because she thought it might be her only means of escaping East Germany. She had been disappointed, but not entirely surprised to find that there were more strings attached to her being an asset than Waverly initially let on. While she had come to discover that she enjoyed the work, given the choice, she would not have chosen to stay an agent. Though, her desire to remain near to her fellow agents did complicate things. "There is truly nothing for me back there, especially when the two of you are here." She took a sip from her glass and eyed Napoleon with her most studious gaze. "I don't need to ask your feelings on the matter." “No,” he said, meeting her gaze head on. Months earlier, when they had first began working together, Napoleon wasn’t sure they would last as a team. They kept too much from each other, their loyalties didn’t lie completely with one another. But the three of them had been drawn to each other in a way that couldn’t really be explained by logic. They saved each other’s lives, even after betrayals and their countries wanting the other dead. And with time, it became clearer to the three that there was more to them and that they were, essentially, the only family that they needed. None of them had the emotional intelligence to come to that conclusion and voice it, but it remained to be the truth. And now, here on this neverending cruise, they were starting to branch out and include others in their little circle - Napoleon more than Gaby and Illya. There was nothing for him back home, just like she had voiced. With Illya and Gaby here, he had no desire to go back to a lifetime of servitude to the CIA and U.N.C.L.E. Especially now that he had Rogue and Anka Irene. Not to mention Quentin, who had been an unexpected surprise for him. “Like you said, there’s nothing for me there. Here? I have another opportunity to do something with my life - to make my own decisions again. Here, I have Rogue and Quentin and Anka Irene. Here,” he said, smiling a little more softly, “I have you. I have Illya. We might be a little fractured now, but I believe we’ll work it out.” "You do seem especially adept at making a family wherever you go." There was a twinge of sadness in Gaby's voice, an acknowledgement that things had changed. In spite of all that had happened between the two of them recently, and their own little deceptions--Napoleon with his secret trysts with Illya, Gaby with her secret MI6 connections when they first met--Gaby had always felt a special fondness for Napoleon. Although he had disrupted the British op by walking into her mechanic shop that night, it had been Napoleon and not Waverly and his promises who had gotten Gaby over the wall. She had played her own part in her escape, of course, with a cool head and some magnificent driving. Still, for just a moment, sitting in that seedy CIA safe house drinking wine and eating Napoleon's truffles, Gaby had felt free, and that feeling was inextricably linked with the American spy. A lot had changed since then, but that feeling hadn't. "So what will you do if we ever make it off this ship?" Gaby had hopes of returning to mechanics again, and brushing up on fifty years worth of innovation. “Given that I’m dead to the family I was born into, I’m especially glad I have that skill,” Napoleon said, the cheerful way he said the words had a touch of longing to them. Napoleon didn’t speak about his family often, very briefly when he could help it, but he was comfortable enough with Gaby that he let things slip here and there. Despite how terrible things had been between he and his family, he missed the idea of them, occasionally. But here, with Gaby and Illya and all the others he cared for, those moments passed quickly. He changed the subject, latching onto the sadness he had noticed in her words earlier. “You know that you’re my family now, yes? Despite everything else, that when I’m here with you, I feel like I’m at home?” Of the trio, they had been the first to meet one another and from that moment on, there had been something between them. For people who were near strangers during that first mission, he had thrown his life on the line for her multiple times and it wasn’t because he felt a sense of duty to the mission. It was something else entirely and that had grown in the months following. Sitting here, he knew that what he was saying was true. With her, he was home. And it hurt to think that he had almost lost that because he hadn’t trusted her to be able to take the truth of his and Illya’s relationship. “Whatever we do when we’re off this ship, I only know that I want to make sure I’m not far from you or Illya. I haven’t given much thought to it other than that, given how much uncertainty the future holds.” Napoleon rarely talked about his family, and even then, it was only abstractly, followed by a quick deflection. It was one of the parts of their relationship where there was a clear imbalance. He knew all the dirty little secrets of her own family, while she knew nothing of his. She was open about her upbringing, while he was mostly closed about his. The intel MI6 provided to her only detailed his activities following his enlistment in the army, but from the few hints he had dropped over the months and his character overall, she had determined that he must come from wealth and influence. Gaby tilted her head to the side at this newest revelation, and she wondered if he would elaborate if pressed. He had promised her they would talk about such things, but only when he was ready with answers. She wondered if he was ready now? "That word doesn't mean a whole lot to me, Napoleon," Gaby confessed, taking a drink of her wine before continuing. "Family has a tendency to leave, to not be people you thought they were." Her mother died in a bombing raid during the war. Her father had been forcibly sequestered by the Reich, then recruited by the Americans and left her behind in war-scarred Berlin. Her foster father, who had been as kind as her father was callous, died as well. Family simply meant impermanence. Home, though, that was another matter. To her, it was a feeling more than a place. She felt it when she thought about her mother. And now, lately, with Illya. And, she realized, something she could have with Napoleon, too, if she let herself be open to it. She smiled bittersweetly at him. "Well, I'm not going anywhere." “Family was never what I thought it was supposed to be either, as I grew up. I come from a family of politicians, high society members, and, generally speaking, crooks. Not one of them had a heart, knew what love or the meaning of family was. But finding you and Illya, the meaning of the word has metamorphosed into something else for me, something important. I'm only sorry I jeopardized that with my dishonesty about Illya and my feelings for him.” Looking over his shoulder to where Illya was resting, “Seeing him hurt like he was, it made me realize that if I lost him,” here, Napoleon turned back to look at Gaby, “If I had lost you, I don't think I could on with my life as is. So the next time something awful happens, let's make certain you don't get a turn on bedrest.” "It wasn't your feelings for Illya that put it in jeopardy. I know all about unasked for feelings for that insufferable yet endearing man. But all the secrecy? Let's leave that for the spy game." She observed him for a moment, taking in what he had revealed to her about his family. For a man who apparently did not know love growing up, it was amazing how warm and open-hearted he was. Sure, it was easy to assume that it was all an act. She had thought as much when they first met. And maybe some of the charm and the swagger was in order to conceal some deep hurt or insecurity. But when she looked at him now, she saw sincerity, not pretense. She finished her wine and set the empty glass on the table in front of them, then nudged Napoleon's arm good-naturedly with her own. "Oh, I think you would manage fine without us. But let's hope you don't have to. Besides, we both know I'm far too sensible to do something stupid enough to put me on bedrest like the pair of you." “I have to confess,” he said, haltingly, not sure if he should go forward with what he wanted to say. But then he took a leap of faith, trusted her for her word. “I can’t exactly admit that my feelings for him are in the past. The whole affair began as something physical for us, but my feelings on the whole matter changed. And I have been trying to get beyond them, but I have to admit I haven’t been very successful.” A little frustration crept into his voice. “You would think it would be easy to get over someone as annoying as him, especially when you’re the one to end things. But he’s making it difficult by being…him.” This revelation was not news to Gaby. She had figured as much based on Napoleon's reaction to the news that she and Illya had finally acted upon that unspoken attraction to one another that had been simmering below the surface since Rome. And if she was being honest with herself, she was quite sure that Illya was facing similar troubles coming to terms with his feelings for the other man. He had assured her repeatedly that he loved her and wanted to be with her, and she believed that he did. But she was not foolish enough to believe that he could put his affair with Napoleon behind him so easily. She sighed, adjusting her posture on the cushy sofa and pressed her lips together. It was one thing to assume something, another entirely to have it confirmed. But she had wanted honesty, and Napoleon was obliging. He deserved some in return. "When he told me about you and him," and here she paused for a moment. Honesty was not a problem for her. She could dish it out on a silver platter with a self-satisfied smile on her face. Emotional honesty was another thing entirely. It took effort. "When he told me about you two," she began again, "I couldn't help but feel like I had gotten in the way of something. I couldn't understand why Illya would even start something with me when the two of you were..." She could not put to words just what they were. She wondered if either Napoleon or Illya could either. "I'm afraid I still feel that way. And what you're saying now tells me I have every reason to." It was not easy for Gaby to announce her own insecurities in that way. “I’m sorry, I probably should have kept that to myself. But I was tired of half truths as much as you were,” he explained, running a hand through his hair and huffing. How did he always manage to make things worse? “He’s always loved you though. Even when we were together. He made no secret of the fact either and we had discussed it, some. I had encouraged him when we came here because it was obvious whatever dallancies were occurring between us, he cared for you in a way he would never care for me. I had ended things so he could finally tell you about his feelings. So there was nothing to get in the middle of because we were over, despite whatever I felt.” "No, I am glad you told me." Gaby reached out to touch a part of him that she could reach, which happened to be his elbow. "This is better than lies and secrecy, despite the discomfort." She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before returning her hand to her lap. "That may be true, but you are the one he turned to first, not me." They had scarcely talked about any of this since that night of revelations. She had been trying not to think about it, but it had apparently been lingering in the back of her mind. “Only because whatever it was between us was physical. Physical is easy,” he explained, uncrossing his legs and leaning onto his knees. “With the physical, he doesn't have to worry about ruining our friendship because of messy emotions. With you, I'm sure he had those worries and concerns about losing you if he hurt you emotionally. With me? There was no such concern because it wasn't a relationship of substance.” Gaby narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to read his body language. "Are you sure that's all it was, or is that just what you have to tell yourself?" She did not add that they had both hurt her emotionally, but she was still here. She had learned a long time ago just how much pain she could take. And so, it seemed, had Napoleon. “It’s all that was discussed,” Napoleon said firmly. “Whatever I felt otherwise, it wasn’t mutual. If it had been, we would probably be having a completely different conversation right now.” He smiled a little tightly then. “What can I do or say that will make this situation up to you, Gaby? Because I miss laying around drinking wine with you without any worries or cares. And I realize the cause of the change was my dishonesty, but I’m trying to make up for it. And I don’t know how.” Gaby had not wanted to venture into this in the first place, but now that they had, it was as far as she could go. "This is a good first step. Or second or third. I haven't been keeping count." She smiled weakly. "I suppose we both just need to put the past behind us, even if it is easier said than done. I am willing--I have been willing--to do that. Can you?" He didn’t like seeing her like this - the weak smile, the uncertainty in the situation. And he liked it even less, feeling directly responsible for it. “I can do that, if that’s what you think is best. I just want you to feel like you can come to me in the middle of the night with a bottle of wine to complain about the latest kink in whatever car project you have going. I want that easiness back between us.” "It may not be easy, but we can certainly try." Gaby retrieved her empty glass from the coffee table, poured herself some more wine, and settled back into the couch. "I don't know how soon we'll be back on dry land or if I'll ever have my own garage again, but here's hoping." She lifted her glass in the air slightly in a little toast and took a drink. |