solo (soloing) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-08-18 18:34:00 |
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After their text message Illya had for a moment considered arming himself but ultimately decided against it as Napoleon had shown no signs of aggression towards him and the dreams were exactly that: dreams. They didn’t mean anything even if his were far more accurate to his current reality than he liked to admit but perhaps some things were universal regardless of the place and time?
Also, the Russian did not need weapons to be dangerous.
He fussed with his appearance for a moment until he caught himself and just shook his head at his own stupidity, it wasn’t like it was a date, so honestly he needed to stop. Which he did, but only after he’d pulled on his jacket and headed out to meet Napoleon at their agreed meeting point.
It didn’t matter that it was early, he’d rather be the first one there, get setup and have a feel for the place and also his mood which was unpredictable at best. If he ever went to see a therapist they would undoubtedly blame his upbringing and subsequent life experiences but the last thing Illya wanted to do was to discuss his feelings at any sort of length.
Upon arrival he secured himself a whiskey on the rocks and found a table, close to the back, someplace they were guaranteed privacy. Then he waited, the occasional sip of his drink being taken but not once did those intense blue eyes leave the entrance.
There was nothing not in place with Napoleon. He rarely went out with a hair out of place, or not very carefully put together in a specific fashion. This was no different really, even just casual drinks with Illya, after the aforementioned had discovered they were sharing a Dream reality and things might not have gone all too smoothly.
Dan had told him it’d be better to do it sooner than later, but it wasn’t like Napoleon could figure out how to put it for them to understand properly. So now both Gaby and Illya knew and Napoleon wasn’t sure yet if that was for the best or not.
He supposed drinks with Illya would determine that.
Illya being there as Napoleon arrived wasn’t terribly shocking, but Napoleon ordered up a scotch neat, shooting a winning smile at the barmaid before slipping through to reach the table Illya chose, glad he’d opted for just a blazer and light trousers with a button down shirt instead of his usual suits.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be offended that you had to arrive first and case the place?”
Illya’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he watched the exchange between Napoleon and the barmaid, unsettled and the tiniest bit perturbed by the strange surge of jealousy and possessiveness that had overcome him. Not too dissimilar to how he’d reacted when Gaby had been bought a drink by somebody while he’d been in the bathroom that night they’d gone out to chat. He hid it well though, the smallest of ticks in his otherwise stony set jawline.
“Old habits, they are… how do you say, hard to break,” Illya offered as he pushed out a chair with the flat of his boot before tipping his head to indicate that Napoleon should sit.
The Russian took a considering sip from his drink and regarded Napoleon over the rim of it.
Napoleon took the seat that Illya pushed out, his long legs extending towards the side of Illya’s chair too. “They certainly are,” and from what Napoleon could gather, these weren’t just habits that Illya developed through the dreams. Oh no, it wasn’t like Napoleon, whose skills lay with sticky fingers, not spy games.
But from the way Illya sat, the careful calculation in everything, Napoleon wasn’t so sure it was the same. But then, it was clear that while Napoleon was forced into being a spy, Illya was practically bred for it in their dream reality. If nothing else, it had been the only thing in the Russian’s life that had drive. If the information in the file Napoleon had dream-read was true, which it most likely was, given the CIA, no one could claim Illya wasn’t damn good at it either.
“Just remember you promised not to try to murder me in the mens room.”
“I did promise that, didn’t I?” Illya mused as he tipped his head to better observe his American friend. He inhaled, placed his glass to one side and leaned back, folding his arms in a way that was not all that dissimilar from how he’d once sat across the table from Napoleon in the dreams. “Why did you not say something sooner?” He asked, to the point, eyes rooting the American to where he sat.
That was an important question, one that needed answering.
Now.
“I actually thought about it,” rather than blow Illya off with some excuses, reasons why he hadn’t told him on some of the occasions after that first meeting of theirs, when Napoleon only knew the Russian by appearance and his impressive determination. But there hadn’t felt like a good time to try to figure out how to explain it, how to put it into words. “That time you asked if I dreamed.”
It hadn’t felt right then, when Illya was just getting through dreams of his mother, the similarity bringing up memories, and they were barely close enough for Napoleon to know how to handle that situation never mind throwing ‘you’re going to dream that I try to shoot you, several times’ into the mix.
As time went on, Napoleon knew that he just hadn’t been sure how to bring it up with either Gaby or Illya.
“And you have to admit, it sounds a bit like a come on, doesn’t it? ‘Are you dreaming about me yet?’ and I like to think I have a little more game than that.”
“Marginally,” Illya replied with an entirely straight face though if you knew him well enough, you might see a glimmer of a tease in the depths of those normally unreadable blue eyes. “But you are not wrong in your assessment. It does sound like a come on. A cheesy one at that.”
He still hadn’t dreamt as far as either Napoleon and Gaby it would seem though Gaby hadn’t realised that he was the man chasing them in her dreams and he worried how that might go over when she finally got to that point.
“Is there anything I should know about these dreams, anything you haven’t already told me?”
See, and he’d be mortally wounded if Illya ever thought him cheesy.
“I’m far more smooth, I can’t possibly have my reputation slandered with cheesy lines.” Much less awkward ones. At truthfully, he felt bad enough for the nonsense that Illya had to deal with regarding his mother -he remembered the file he’d read in the dreams as well as if he’d read it here. So no, he wasn’t about to complicate that whole scenario.
“Truthfully there isn’t much at this point.” It was odd, the dreams coming in dribbles here and there, among perfectly normal evenings. “You and I are to work together to locate Ms Teller’s father.” Because she was still Ms Teller in the dreams. “You’re very adamant about women’s fashion and far too uptight.” Although Napoleon would give Illya credit for the creativity in his planting of bugs.
“You and Gaby are playing blushing star crossed lovers though.”
“I would imagine anyone compared to you would be uptight,” Illya challenged as he pushed out a breath and reached out to lay his hand flat on the table before his fingers curled and the tips lightly tapped. “We are doing what exactly?”
That sounded surreal especially as out of the two of them Illya was no blushing star crossed lover and he would have thought Napoleon would be better suited for that role.
There must have been something to these dreams for them all to have found one another in this place and this time.
It felt like a dig, it probably was, given how carefree Napoleon tended to appear, but he just shot a smirk at Illya and opted not to take the bait.
“In general? We’re trying to stop neo-Nazi’s getting their hand on nuclear weapons.” Which seemed a lot more glamorous than it should’ve been, dressing up for the racetrack, the parties, mingling. It was all so upper class. But then, weapons dealers tended to have a lot of cash to throw around.
“You and Gaby, well, I believe you’re trying to get something out of her uncle while I dazzle the lovely and insane Mrs Vinceguerra.” It felt like insane was putting it mildly though.
Neo-Nazi’s, nuclear weapons, racetrack, parties, dressing up and weapon dealers? It all sounded very… well, it sounded like something out of a classic spy movie. Though it did fit with the timeline from his dreams.
“It does not sound as if there is a boring moment.”
He took a sip from his glass. “And what is our relationship, in the dreams?”
“You mean after I try to shoot you and you try to throttle me in a restroom?” Well, there were a lot of ways to answer that question; frankly Napoleon wasn’t sure what Illya’s orders were in the dreams, likely something similar to his. Play nice while they had to, but if it came down to it, Napoleon was expected to kill or desert Kuryakin if it meant completing the mission in America’s favour.
And for the moment that sat heavy in Napoleon’s gut; there was a degree of respect for a man of Illya’s talents after all, not just as a spy to a spy, but person to person. Napoleon couldn’t deny that Illya was all that his file claimed and more.
“I suppose reluctant partners would be a term for it?” But they weren’t sabotaging one another, if anything Illya was overbearingly nosy and competent and frankly there was an air of semi-amused competition too. “And you like showing off.”
Showing off? Him? That seemed… well, honestly if he reflected back on when he’d had to work with others then perhaps there had been an element of wanting to show off his skills, but he wasn’t going to admit that aloud.
“I will take from your comments that neither of us are successful in our attempts to kill one another.” Which said a lot as he knew that in this world if he had to he never failed in his attempts to murder somebody.
Reluctant partners? That might explain why he had not immediately dismissed Napoleon on sight. There had been something about him, something more than just his dashing good looks and lethal blue eyes, something that had piqued the Russian’s interest.
“In pursuit of a common goal it would seem.”
“Thankfully not,” He’d maybe honestly tried at least once to genuinely kill Illya, purely because of the job, but seeing him in action, well, he wasn’t lying to Gaby when he said it didn’t seem right to shoot Illya given his determination. “You’d look terrible with a bullet between your eyes.”
Common goals seemed to be all that united them at the moment, given that they spent most of the time disagreeing with each other on principle more than anything else.
“I think that and the drive to prove to the other that we are better than they think. Although, honestly, I do already think you’re rather marvelous. It would just be very un-American to admit as much.” Napoleon didn’t curb the smirk, or the wink he threw at Illya while he covered the rest of the building grin with a sip of scotch.
Illya was not one prone to bouts of silliness or anything of that sort but when Napoleon admitted that he thought him quite marvelous he was acutely aware of just how much heat had crept up his necks and spilled over onto his cheeks. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat and flexed his fingers where they gripped at his upper arms. Clearly he was not used to compliments.
“Well, if my dream counterpart has not in fact murdered you by this point, then I feel as though I should inform you that it’s because he probably admires and respects you on some level.”
He dropped his gaze as he fought through the apparent gagging order on his throat. “And I must admit I find you-” What was the right word? It was hard sometimes to grasp for the accurate word in English when it wasn’t your first language. “Plenitel'nyy”
Vulnerability, not something Illya was familiar with or enjoyed all that much, and he hurriedly took a sip of his drink so he didn’t say anything else.
“Oh, he had a good try of it,” the bathroom incident was not one that Napoleon was going to let go of any time soon. And he honestly believed that the only reason Illya hadn’t actually strangled him to death was because he was told off by his superior. “I can’t say I minded terribly after the fact.” During it was a different story, but hindsight is always a different story.
But it did seem like Illya, the dream version, certain thought something if all the bugs and constant micromanaging was anything to go by. After all, Illya could easily had just ignored Napoleon and done his own job. “I do hope that’s a compliment,” Napoleon’s smile was a little more honest, easy. Dimples that barely ever showed up highlighting the sincerity maybe. “I tragically don’t speak Russian.”
It didn’t feel like Illya was calling him an idiot though, not give that absolutely adorable blush on the Russian’s cheeks. If any one could pull of dangerously adorable, it was likely Illya.
“Was that the bathroom incident?” Illya queried, tipping his head to better regard Napoleon.
He didn’t speak Russian? Well, that was a relief. “It was a compliment.” The assurance provided accompanied the smallest of smiles which evidenced that he was in fact telling the truth.
Napoleon confused him in the same way Gaby did but more so, probably due to the fact that he was a man and attraction to men where he came from was seen as perverse and you could be killed for that.
“Yes, it is.” Probably a little bit of background on that, “Our first actual meeting I suppose, since I managed to escape Berlin with Gaby. I dare say it wasn’t the best circumstances, so reactions can be forgiven. I can’t say I reacted terribly well myself.” But then, Napoleon wasn’t trained as a spy in the same way that Illya was.
Napoleon was a thief, he was not a brawler. It was probably evidenced in how easily Illya could overpower him after all. But then, close quarters with a man like Illya was probably deadly even if you were a well trained spy. Napoleon was sure he lost his train of thought halfway through the fight purely because of the sheer intensity of Illya.
“I think the bathroom stalls took the brunt of it all,” two full grown men wrestling in a small restroom wouldn’t exactly be ideal by any measure. “I’m sure one of our agencies picked up the tab.” Likely the CIA. “And then we were told to work together and became the best of friends.”
That would be infuriating. Illya could see why his dream counterpart might be annoyed enough to want to lunge at the American upon second sight of him. “Well, that is something.”
He had upon first meeting sized up Napoleon and concluded that beneath those perfectly pressed suit jackets and shirts was a man of impressive build so it must have been quite a struggle.
“But I did promise you that I wouldn’t attempt that here.”
“Well, certainly no murdering,” he couldn’t say he was opposed to most of it, he just liked a little certainty that he wasn’t going to end up dead on the floor, “and not in the bathroom, I think we’re both a little too broad for those kinds of games.”
It was perhaps a little odd how easily the flirting came, but then, he’d been doing that since roughly their first interaction in Orange County, why change the habit now that Illya knew they shared a dream reality. If anything, his comments might get a little more factual too.
He’d just avoid mentioning Illya’s mother this time around. No need to get in low blows.
“I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun when you get to that part.” Or not, who knew, “Where exactly are you, dream wise?”
“Not as far along as you and Gaby are.” In fact he seemed quite behind. Maybe due to the fact he didn’t sleep all that much, possibly? He picked up his glass and took a sip. “I’ve just joined the KGB and been on a few missions. The next one I’ve been told is a big one so I can only assume it is the one that brings me to you and Gaby.”
He idly thumbed at the glass as he considered something.
“I have had belongings turn up though.”
It did seem like Illya was a fair bit behind them, but for the most part, Illya had probably been involved with being a spy for much longer than either he or Gaby, probably more to deal with. “I’m sure you’ll love the adventure, even if you don’t appreciate being shot at.”
At least Illya knew that Napoleon wasn’t successful in shooting him.
“What kind of belongings?” People talked about that here and there, getting things from the dreams, cherished items or just something a little meaningful showing up. Napoleon, as of yet, could not relate.
“Sweaters, bugs, a laser cutting device, lockpicks and guns. Lots of guns.” Not exactly sentimental by any measure but must clearly be important to his dream self. “Not the same as some I have seen on the network.”
It was what it was. He didn’t do sentiment so couldn’t imagine that his dream self would either.
“I can only assume that they’re of use in the dreams.”
Of course Illya got a bunch of spy gear, Napoleon just smirked and shook his head. “I’m sure those are all things you could find a use for here all the same.” But then people on the network seemed to be getting things like technology or animals, there were the odd mentions of weapons too of course.
Maybe a chess set would eventually show up, but that might actually be useful.
“Well, I was charmed when I had to hunt for all your bugs in my hotel room,” not like Napoleon hadn’t done the same thing, “I’m sure you’ll get there.”
“Undoubtedly,” Illya agreed readily. It wasn’t as though his career was that much different from the one in his dream just a little more modern. He bit his lower lip to stop the smile from creeping over his face at the admission from Napoleon that he had been hunting for the Russian’s bugs in his room. “Oh, I’m sure. Bathroom incident first though.”
He smirked a little as he took a sip from his glass.
“Yes, first you get to enjoy wrapping your hands around my throat,” and there was still a smirk, as things edged towards the flirtatious with Napoleon, although it rarely really moved too far away from it where some people were concerned.
“So, if you haven’t met either Gaby or myself yet dream wise, how do you know the lovely Ms Teller?” How odd was it that the three of them met outside of the dreams in just some odd turns of happenstance?
Illya might not have said anything in return but honestly his expression spoke volumes and it was not at all put off by that particularly flirtatious comment.
“I have the unfortunate habit of breaking my cars,” he offered casually and so offhandedly that it was possible to deduce that he had in some way sabotaged his car at some point to have an excuse to see Gaby again. Which he had. Repeatedly.
He’d even snapped his handbrake into two pieces in order to have a reason to go and see her again.
Thankfully now they had exchanged numbers and had been on a few dates. Hopefully that was the right word?
“How did you meet her?”
“You, breaking a car? Why, I would’ve never thought.” Although it was most definitely over the top and Napoleon couldn’t help the chuckle, “You’ll single handedly ruin the automotive industry.” Even if it was just an excuse, after the first time, which Napoleon could definitely understand, Gaby was quite something to behold, “I do hope you’re not ripping off bumpers.”
Napoleon was still amused by the fact that he hadn’t had to seek out either Gaby or Illya, hadn’t needed to put work into figuring out if they were real here or if they were near, both of them just waltzing into his life in a fashion similar to the dreams -at least by way of mystery.
“In a bar, actually.” He’d been sure it was her, and happily surprised that it was, even if she didn’t know that was what it was. “Of course, at the time I knew who she was while she had no idea who I was and it was just a tiny little but awkward.” At least Napoleon could salvage that rather quickly. “I’m quick on my feet though.”
“Not in my recollection,” Illya replied though it would not be beyond the realm of possibility as the Russian seemed to possess an inordinate amount of strength in his frame. It helped that he was very stubborn and once he had his mind set it was near impossible to dissuade him. Or stop him.
He snorted quietly when Napoleon admitted to being quick on his feet and knew that to be true as it had been evidenced in their interactions.
“I assume yours and Gaby’s relationship in the dreams is very different from the one you share with me.”
That was a crying shame really; Napoleon rather liked the display of strength and determination that came with Illya’s attempt to stop a car through sheer force of will. Not to mention the fact that they’d slowed down until the bumper came free of the car.
“Marginally,” his relationship with Gaby was somewhat different, given that he hadn’t tried to murder her, bonus. But that didn’t make it especially easy, there was still a level of animosity, primarily because Gaby didn’t especially want to be there. Solo couldn’t blame her. “I think the fact that she’s being used by both our agencies is creating a layer of tension.” And forcing her to look for a father who abandoned her.
“You spend more time with her, fake engaged and all that.”
“I can understand why that would make her tense,” Illya agreed with a nod of his head. “Nobody likes being used.”
The thought of being fake engaged to Gaby was an interesting one especially as he knew that their relationship in Orange County was a positive one to date but it didn’t appear that way in the dreams itself.
“Where are you in the dreams?”
“Where as in time wise, or where as in locations?” While they were technically working on this thing as a team, there was a degree of separation in it too. While Napoleon had one target, Victoria, and Gaby and Illya had another, Uncle Rudy.
“While you and Gaby are schmoozing with her uncle and some fun fascists,” which really, should be a thing that was long since died out, alas, it was still somewhat too common even today, “I’m in the process of wooing Mrs Vinceguerra,” something that wasn’t entirely new for him. “Separate but together in a sense,” since he was in the hotel room above Gaby and Illya.
“As far as I can tell, I started dreaming before you and Gaby, so I’m a little ahead of the curve with the details.” If they’d catch up was still to be seen.
“And how successful have you been thus far in your wooing?” Illya asked, but it was impossible to tell if he was asking about the dreams or in their current reality becaue as dumb as a rock he might be when it comes to human interaction but Illya knew very well that Napoleon had been flirting with him.
The intensity of his gaze might have given a hint either way.
“I’m hurt,” Napoleon pulled the exaggerated hung dog look, hand over his heart, “I’m nothing if not effective,” of course impressing Victoria wasn’t terribly hard, frankly it was woefully easy, a few well placed lifts and she was already seeing dollar signs.
“It’s all about knowing the person.” He couldn’t really use the same moves on everyone after all, things had to be tailored to each person, it was far more than that. Of course, when it was doing it for real, things tended to be a little less shallow.
Fewer lifts, but not none. It wasn’t like you could stop a thief from thieving entirely.
“You may think me a terrible spy, but I’m nothing if not super at wooing married women.” And single women, and married men, and single men. Just in general.
Illya hummed something approaching agreement in the back of his throat as he returned to sit back into his chair, hands flexing around his upper arms. “I can imagine.” He inhaled, glanced at his now empty glass, and then pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m sure I will learn this for myself when I am at that point in the dreams.”
He supposed he needed to start sleeping properly again if he wished to catch up with both Napoleon and Gaby. Illya had rather purposefully been avoiding it ever since he’d revisited a time and place with his maternal figure that he would much rather forget. Not to mention some KGB missions which were questionable at best.
Idly he reached up to touch the edge of his right cheekbone just beneath his eye as he could have sworn he’d dreamt about an injury that had left a scar, but perhaps he had been imagining it?
“This has been informative,” he shared as he drew his attention back to Napoleon. “I now understand more about why I felt drawn to you and Gaby.”
Being drawn to people you didn’t know, it was likely strange enough, but for someone with control issues (in the dreams at least) like Illya, it was likely far more unnerving. “I was meaning to tell you,” it wasn’t like he’d set out to keep secrets, or spring a surprise on either of them. They’d just happened to find out before he could really get himself to work out how to tell them. “I just didn’t know how.”
Maybe it was more about not having that same animosity in the dreams, trying to hold on to some kind of easy friendship rather than the risk of it turning to something else.
Of course, hindsight was telling him there was a bigger risk of that by not telling Illya the truth sooner. “You have to admit, it sounds a bit crazy.”
“It does,” Illya conceded. “But the network supports the fact that dreams are possible so regardless of how crazy there were other things in place to support the fact you were telling the truth.”
He was for the moment disconcerted by the fact both Napoleon and Gaby knew about his dream self than he did but hopefully if he started sleeping more he might stand a chance of catching up.
“Anything else I should know or has that covered everything of importance?”
It almost felt like Napoleon was being told off for thinking that crazy things would make him sound crazy when surrounded by all this crazy. It was enough to make him smirk at Illya, almost dopily.
“That pretty much covers what I know of.” Mutual attempts on each other’s lives, fantastic wrestling in a bathroom stall, forced partnership. He was sure that Illya would find tiny little details in the dreams that Napoleon didn’t count as all that important, but there they were.
“You’re taking it rather well, I must say.”
“I am Russian,” Illya shared with the smallest lift of his broad shoulders. “We tend not to panic or let our emotions get the better of us.” Except of course anger, that was one emotion he still struggled with but there were reasons for that or so his file stated.
He finished his drink and eyed the now empty glass before placing it back on the table.
“I suppose this means I must now allow myself to sleep.”
“No, you don’t strike me as the panicking type.” At all. Most likely the keep calm and burn all the evidence type. Which would sit rather similar to the Illya that Napoleon was dreaming of, less murderous towards him, just as stoic, but with more range.
“It might help in the dreaming department, if that’s what you want to do.” Napoleon could understand hedging the bets on that. He hadn’t been too thrilled about it at first either, although at the time he knew neither Gaby or Illya. But given Illya’s dislike for the first few dreams, from what Napoleon could tell, he could understand the hesitancy.
“I do not wish to be left behind.” It was a simple enough statement but one that carried weight, emotional importance. It sounded like the three of them were connected in the dreams and if he did not dream and did not catch up then he might be left behind, he did not like that feeling at all.
Hopefully he would no longer dream of his childhood or more importantly, his mother.
That was a dream he did not wish to relive.