Fern didn't work the Del Florio entrance much. She was lucky enough, though, that whenever she did she was always got to see them. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuriakin.
Each of the girls had their favorite and friendships had been destroyed over liking the wrong one. Fern never liked to take sides, so she always stated her favorite was the same as whoever was standing closest to her.
The door hissed open and they walked in. Napoleon, impeccably dressed in a sharp blue suit was tall, dark and handsome. He looked every inch the secret agent he was. Illya, a step behind, was shorter, blonde and as enigmatic as any riddle. He wore some ridiculous green-shaded glasses and a Nehru jacket that made him look like a beatnik from Greenwich Village.
Their bantering stopped when the door closed behind them. She quickly gathered their badges as she greeted them. Napoleon, as usual leaned in for her to pin the badge on. As he did so, he smiled and said something flirty. She didn't quite hear it because she managed to stab herself with the badge pin.
Illya handed her a tissue in exchange for his badge and nodded at her bleeding thumb. "Don't worry," he said quietly, "there's no shame in being wounded in action." Then he smiled at her, a brilliant grin that made her knees grow weak. She gratefully sat down and pressed the buzzer for them to go on in.
Oh, yes. Her favorite was definitely whoever was standing closest.