"I've finished," Gaby said.
Raising the look from his magazine, the American nodded.
"Let me see," he said reaching for the sheet with elegance and firmness.
She grabbed the bottle of rum, frowning. She decided against it -vodka would be way better to handle Napoleon's criticism in a friendly way-and put the bottle back where it had been and went to the opposite side of the hotel room where the three of them were staying. Reaching for a bottle of vodka with her fingertips, she sat in the sofa next to Napoleon to fill her glass before placing her feet on the coffee table. The dim light of an evening in Vienna was getting through the large windows. She removed the wrinkles of her Armani dress, feeling relaxed. It had been weeks since she had started studying several hours per day in order to pass her Russian exam, without which she wouldn't be able to take part in the next mission. It wouldn't have been that hard if Waverly hadn't demanded advanced Russian and if there hadn't been so many missions lately.
"You did fairly well," Napoleon said, still holding the paper in his hands, frowning slightly. He had promised to correct and mark each of her essays, and she always surprised him, even at that point, when they had been working together for almost a year, "Did Peril teach you grammar?
"Are you kidding me, was that okay?" She said surprised. "And no, he didn't teach me anything, I don't need any help from him."
He nodded, and gave her the paper back, ending the conversation. He kept on reading his magazine, which was sure to provide him with more than enough fashion arguments against Illya in future missions. Gaby, proud of herself, stood up, aiming to store the essay inside a folder in her own bedroom, away from the blond's glare, who had previously tried to find her works but had never succeeded.
While she was opening the folder, the Russian agent opened the door of the bedroom and caught Gaby by surprise, who let her sheet fall to the ground. She hated Illya's annoying mania of entering everywhere without knocking on the door, always startling her. But she guessed that was exactly why he was a good spy, he was able to frighten people without even having to properly interrogate them.
"Target located. We leave in five minutes," he said plainly, as if he was discussing the topic of a TV show. He started to turn back to talk to Solo, when something caught his eye. "Is that Cyrillic?"
"No, of course it isn't, it's German, "she said, unable to think of any decent excuse. Anyway, it was too late, as he was already reading. She tried to take it away from him by jumping, but there was nothing she could do against his height, except for, maybe, wrestling. Gaining momentum...
"This essay is terrible quality," he announced, with the same tone of voice he criticised her shopping preferences. All of her wrestling ideas faded away and she suddenly felt vulnerable. "You will never pass the exam, at least not with this poor level."
Maybe that was not the wisest thing to tell the German.
"Do you always have to be such an asshole?" Gaby snapped. She came near him, staring into his eyes ferociously and started clenching her fists.
"It lacks grace in each of its paragraphs," he said slowly, enjoying having control of her feelings for the first time since they had met.
Meanwhile, the tension increased within seconds, and Gaby measured her words, with the purpose of finding the most offensive to attack him with. Opening her mouth and lifting her heels, she got ready to throw her criticisms at him, when the door slammed open.
"Sorry to interrupt your little party, but it's time to go."
Gaby and Napoleon were in a bar of Vienne, tired after a whole day of tracking their mark, without a single update of her location. Apparently, the mark had decided to stay at her hotel, and everything they had been able to hear from the hidden mics had been continuous snores and yawns. A bar had seemed a wonderful idea for both of them, but Illya had politely declined their invitation, as usual. Half an hour later, Napoleon had already flirted with all of the waitresses and had attempted to seduce two costumers. Even for a man like him, the number of targeted women didn't seem right to Gaby. It looked like he was avoiding her on purpose, and that could only mean one thing. He was hiding something.
She tried to initiate a conversation several times until she desisted from doing so and asked what was going on.
"Well, Gabs -Waverly called," Napoleon said, his face actually showing concern. She stared, expectant. "He wants Peril to teach you during this whole month, to make sure you're doing the best you can. And he added that it's not a suggestion, it is a mission that you both will have to reconcile with the rest of the work."
Her gaze was so cold that it would have given goosebumps to anybody, but not Solo, as he was used to that kind of reactions when she was told to do something she particularly disliked. Her jaw muscles were tight, and if he didn't know better, he would have sworn she was grinding her teeth. She was feeling the same fury Kuryakin regularly felt, with the only difference that she was better at hiding it. With the intention of loosening her up a little and avoid further arguments; he rushed to add a convincing point.
"Unless you start working this out, you will be out of the next mission, you know."
The point apparently had the opposite effect that he had wanted, as she stood up suddenly from the chair of the bar where they both were, making the content of their glasses shake dangerously. All Napoleon could see from his seat was a blur of a blue Gucci dress while she made haste to the hotel.
Not even the feeling of the cold Viennese breeze helped her to calm down, and when she got to the door of their room, her keys almost fell to the ground due to her promptness. Finally opening the door, she saw the Russian playing chess '-with himself, as always-, sitting on the two-seater sofa. He lifted his head, apparently unaltered by the rage of her eyes, and smiled a little, as if he were pleased, practically revealing malice.
"I must assume you heard the news, yes?" he asked with a presumptuous tone, similar to the one he used when he gave her the fake ring in the first mission.
"Yes," Gaby said, sharply. "But, I doubt someone as thick-headed as you is going to be able to teach me even the basics." And then she smiled with derision at her frown, before heading to her writing desk.
Half an hour later Gaby was in her blue pyjamas, desperate to find the suitable words for the conclusion of her essay, she really wanted to be able to impress the reader, but at that point, she was clueless. The last two lines of her work had taken her at least ten minutes, if she got stuck like that in the exam she would have zero opportunities to go to the next mission in Russia. Thereupon the blond agent entered the room with two different dictionaries in his hands, and then he slowly placed the objects on the writing desk. Perhaps he only wanted to help her, perhaps all he wanted to propose a truce between them. Maybe he could forgive him, just for a while.
"We will start right now," he announced. "We will do ten exercises of reading comprehension, and then you will write four essays, which I will correct. Unless you prefer failing the exam."
All the calmness she had managed to keep had suddenly evaporated, and the tension was rising dramatically. If he wanted to fight, she would, no one told the little German what to do.
"I. Don't. Need. Your. Help."
"Clearly you do. Your exam will be despised by the examiners." He added, nonchalanty
" What do you expect, when I've been studying for just two months, to pass with flying colours?" She was outraged.
"Mmm, no. Knowing you have the level of a six-year-old child, I do not expect that."
Gaby considered leaving him standing there and going to the hotel bar to drink something strong enough to help her fall sleep immediately and forget what the Russian had said about her writing skills. She would wake up the next day with a terrible headache but without a single bruise. The problem was that she had never been like that, she was a fighter, with all the consequences it involved. So she stood up from the chair she was sitting on and got prepared to throw herself with all her strength against him. Illya, who predicted what her intentions were, secured his position and tensed up. He hadn't intended to get to that point, and he almost regretted saying what he had said, but this time he wasn't going to let her win the fight, she didn't have the element of surprise that had allowed the little woman to defeat him in Rome. Just then, a familiar voice resonated in the room, Waverly. Gaby stopped in her tracks and the shoulders of the Russian relaxed again.
"How are the classes going so far?" The boss asked with a casual tone, pretending he didn't know what was going on, although the two agents were aware that he had come because he had expected that reaction and didn't want to pay another exorbitant bill.
"We had just started," Illya said, briefly looking at her to make sure she wasn't going to tell the truth, shedding an unflattering light on him.
"Yes," Gaby supported with a cold smile and a piercing smile towards her boss, adding sarcastically, "You really couldn't have thought of someone better to teach me"
"In that case, agents, I'll leave you two to keep working," he said ignoring the sarcasm of the woman's voice he was so used to "Oh, and tonight the mission will be finalized by Solo, so you have extra time to study."
Turning away from Illya, after she had looked him dead in the eye, Gaby headed for the bottle of rum which was on the bedside table when an unwavering hand stopped her. She looked up at him, demanding an explanation.
"No drinking during study hours," he announced lifting the chair which was still on the ground.
Gaby knew all she could do was to resign herself to the mission, not even Napoleon was on her side. She promised herself that Waverly would pay the price for having made such a terrible decision. Yes, he would pay the price for it, maybe not that day, but he would, eventually. Illya cleared his throat, pointing at the chair where she finally sat down, whining. The next three weeks were going to be a real nightmare.