The first thing Gaby does once she gets to London is find a mechanic shop to work in. Professor Waverly had given her some advice about not letting anything hinder her studies, but honestly, if she didn't spend at least several hours a week working on some kind of machine, her brain turned to mush. Besides, what was the point of majoring in engineering if she couldn't play with engines?
It took a few weeks to find a garage willing to hire a German female university student with hazy visa permissions, but eventually she found Quincy, a taciturn war veteran. He sized her up, jerked his head toward a touchy Morris Minor MM, watched her work with a sharp eye, then hired her with a muttered "Jerries always did have a way with machines".
She was elbow deep in a beautiful Wartburg 353 a month or two later when a tap on her leg interrupted her. She was moments away from shouting a curse in German when she realized that the rude visitor wore leather Oxford shoes with suit pants that were worth her entire tuition. Sliding out abruptly from under the car, Gaby looked up at an impeccably dressed young man, who gazed at her with no trace of surprise at her gender or age.
"Ah, Miss Teller. Just the mechanic I've been looking for." His American accent jogged her memory, and she suddenly recognized him as Napoleon Solo, a fellow study abroad student, and somewhat of a legend at the university for his lavish parties, indefatigable charm, and the fact that every girl on campus was in love with him.
Gaby raised a distrusting eyebrow at the American. "You were looking for me?"
"Indeed. I have a Sunbeam Alpine that needs work, and I heard you were the best."
She blinked in surprise. "From who?"
He grinned at her. "My sources are confidential, but everyone knows that Quincy is the best, so logic dictates he would only hire the best."
Narrowing her eyes at him, she decided to give him a chance. "So where is this car?"
"That, unfortunately, is the problem. It won't start. And as much as I love the United Kingdom, I do not trust the skill of their tow truck drivers to deliver my vehicle unharmed. So if you would do me the honor of accompanying me?"
He gestured to a waiting taxi outside, and after a silent nod from Quincy, she collected her tools and glared suspiciously at him the entire ride. They pulled up to a building that looked like a hotel, except Napoleon is apparently the only occupant. Her suspicions quiet down considerably when he shows her a garage twice as big as her dorm, and a beautiful Sunbeam Alpine sitting forlornly silent in the center.
She brings out her tools with poorly hidden glee and rolls under the car to take a closer look. After hours of gently checking and cleaning the cylinders, plus a few other tricks Quincy had taught her, Gaby was properly thrilled to hear the engine roar to life on the third try.
"Now that is a beautiful sight." Solo applauded from the entrance, startling her and once again arousing suspicion on what exactly he was commenting on. She knew his reputation with women, and despite the fact that everything seemed on the level so far, this could easily be a ruse to take advantage of her.
Gaby closed the hood, patted it proudly, and started packing up her tools, waiting for Solo to make another ambiguous proposition.
He did not disappoint. "Well, now that that's taken care of, would you care to join me upstairs?"
Slamming down her toolbox, she whirled around, ready to punch that smug grin off his face. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?" She demanded.
The man considered her question for a moment, then asked, "Would you like to?"
Blinking once, she let out a startled, "No."
She could almost see her answer roll off his back. "Then no. Risotto?"
"What?"
"Risotto. It's a rather delicious dish, if I do say so myself, but it will only be warm for the next few minutes, so if you'd like to join me for dinner…"
Gaby regarded him with a long stare as she wiped her hands with a rag. Coming to a decision, she tossed the rag on the workbench, then stalked past him up into the house. The plate before her smelled like feet and she told him so, earning nothing more than a smile and a suggestion to try it before passing judgment.
Two helpings later, she had judged that despite the smell, the risotto was delicious. She had also judged that Solo was a very odd man, who preferred to hide his truths in insincerities and his loneliness in smiles. While she may not have liked his method of saying one thing to mean another, she understood it. She had her own defenses after all.
That night, as she slipped under the covers of Napoleon's many guest rooms wearing borrowed pajamas, Gaby thought that while Solo may be strange, he also just might be a friend.
A/N: I promise, we meet Illya in the next chapter, and the slow burn commences! I also recommend reading The Best Defense by krakens, which has wonderful characterizations of all three, but especially inspired how I write Napoleon. Please let me know if you like it, and if you have prompts or ideas for any college shenanigans! Thanks!