Dancer sat alone at a table in a crowded Commissary, sipping her mug of tea and nibbling on her tuna fish sandwich.
Having had the distinct impression she was being shunned when she first approached a tableful of Communications specialists and secretaries; she was told the empty chair was being saved for another one of the girls.
She tried several more times, not only asking women but some of her fellow Section II agents if she could join them. The variety of excuses she received told her simply that her company wasn't welcome.
It had been two months now since she'd been promoted to Section II and learned quickly that it was lonely at the top.
Solo and Kuryakin along with her partner Mark Slate made her feel more than welcome and there were a few others as well; George Dennell, Lisa Rogers and of course Mr. Waverly but a good many were giving her the brush off.
The CCO had warned her there would be prejudices against her being a field agent; she expected it from the men but not from the women as well. That was rather disappointing, given the liberated times, one would have thought it might have excited them to see a woman making it in a man's world.
There of course were the rumors that persisted about her rise to Section II... she'd slept with Waverly, Jules Cutter and other Section I higher ups to get her position of field agent. Of course there were rumors about her and Solo as well as Kuryakin...especially after word got out Illya was giving her lessons to improve her Russian. For some reason that translated to her and the Russian having an illicit affair...not that April wouldn't have minded that; Illya was really cute and Napoleon was just about the most handsome man she'd ever met.
Mark told her to ignore the naysayers. "They're all jealous of a bird like you. You just show them how it's done luv and they'll change their tune."
April looked up, hearing some of the women who'd turned her down to sit with them now fawning over Napoleon who'd just come into the commissary, as they were now trying to get him to grace them with his presence. "Flirtatious bitches," she mumbled under her breath. She harumphed, sticking out her lower lip, not pouting but in annoyance.
"No thank you ladies, I have a seat waiting for me." Napoleon bowed out, taking his cup of coffee and danish with him.
"April, care for some company?" He smiled at her.
She shivered at that drop dead gorgeous look. "Sure, I'd welcome it. Seems I'm getting the cold shoulder from everyone else," she shrugged.
"Really? Well we'll see about that." Napoleon turned to face the rest of the employees still seated in the Commissary.
"Napoleon please don't? I can handle this myself. It's just going to take time for them to get used to me that's all. I'm not here very long and it really hasn't been much time for them to get used to me as a person much less my position in Section II."
He seated himself next to her. "If that's what you want."
"Mr. Waverly and I discussed this when I accepted the job. His advice was to speak to Illya, knowing as a Soviet he's been on the receiving end of some bad attitudes here."
"Hmm, for that I can vouch. Illya has had his share of run-ins both with attitude problems and physical altercations. I made him a promise though to always have his back. I'm sure Mark has told you that as well, but trust me April. I'm here for you...so is Illya."
"Thanks Napoleon, that's good to know," she gave him a shy smile and after finishing eating, she excused herself from the table.
"Sorry I have to leave you, but I need to powder my nose and see to some paperwork Mark is showing me how to handle. Thanks for the support darling, I really appreciate it, but again, I'm a big girl and can take care of myself."
Napoleon watched as she left the room, and as soon as she was gone, he stood up, clearing his throat.
"Excuse me everyone. I'd like to make a brief but very important announcement. If it ever comes to my attention that you or anyone else in headquarters is mistreating, snubbing Miss April Dancer...you'll have to answer to me. I can very easily have any of you transferred to a closet in Iceland listening for non-existant radio transmissions. Make sure this warning is spread among the rumor mongers. Am I clear on this?
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
"If I don't hear answers, I'll start having transfer documents written faster than a speeding bullet."
"Yes Mr. Solo. Sorry. Yes sir," came a multitude of recalcitrant replies an apologies.
At that moment Illya entered the room, grabbing a couple of sandwiches and a cup of coffee.
"That's much better...and that goes double for Mr. Kuryakin too. Now carry on," Napoleon essentially dismissed them.
"What was that all about?" Illya asked as he placed his tray on the table. He'd added a bowl of soup and a salad to it as well.
Napoleon looked at the food, ignoring his partner's question. "It's not lunch time yet, isn't that a bit much."
"It is just a snack to tide me over until lunch." The Russian answered matter of factly.
"Oooh, oookay, that makes perfect sense partner mine."
"So what were you speaking about when I walked in?"
"I was just making a comment about the quality of the food lately, and figured you'd agree with me. Your entrance couldn't have been more perfectly timed."
"Oh," Illya shrugged, though something told him his partner was lying...