Chapter Two – Of Pursuits and Perils
Despite her best intentions, Gaby found herself almost liking Napoleon. He waved at her across campus, sat next to her in their shared Anthropology class, and after a long rant about the irrationality of expecting Art History majors to take any sort of math, and how Mechanical Engineering majors were all brilliant at math, got her to agree to study with him.
One day, after placing the engine upgrade she'd been working on carefully in the Wartbug, Quincy stopped her before she could start attaching wires.
"Gaby," he started slowly, "there's been an offer."
She stared at him in growing trepidation. "An offer?"
"On the car."
"No! Not the Wartburg! You can't! They won't take care of it like-"
"Gabriela," The use of her full name halted her protests. "It's already done."
She bit her lip, then angrily turned away. Before Quincy could say anything else, she rolled under the car and stared up at the underside until she heard him leave. She was venting her frustration on a particularly stubborn coupling when she noticed a pair of expensive Oxfords standing by the hood.
"You know, I always thought this model was underpowered, but this upgrade looks incredible. Put some wings on it and you'll need a runway."
That only soured Gaby's mood. "What do you want." She growled from underneath.
"Well, I came to find a mechanic to work on a car for me."
"What car? The Alpine again?"
"Actually, no. My father has... reclaimed the Alpine. I was thinking of this car." He patted the engine as Gaby rolled out and stared at him. "Apparently, it's rather touchy, and needs a firm hand." Solo raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Know anyone who'd be interested?"
She slowly stood up and stared at him, not daring to hope he was actually sincere.
"The job comes with some perks as well. There's a wing of the house-"
"I already have a place." She said reflexively.
"Yes, and while the plumbing is practically labyrinthine and the cockroach population truly impressive, the wing next to the garage is going to waste, so I thought you might stay there. If you like."
Gaby glared at him. "You know too much about me."
Napoleon shrugged. "I have a hobby of knowing too much about everyone. Keeps me occupied." He glanced at Quincy, who was scowling at him from the opposite corner.
"Well, I'll leave you to think it over." He tipped an invisible hat at Quincy in farewell. "Q."
As he left, Gaby chewed her lip in thought; tempted, but unsure.
"That young man," Quincy spoke slowly. "He looks to be more trouble than he's worth."
Gaby snorted. "That's for certain."
"But perhaps," She turned to see him rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps he's not so bad. For a yank."
And so, with Quincy's blessing, Gaby moved into Napoleon's spare wing. She insisted on paying him rent, since she was most determinedly not a charity case. He agreed amiably, then said he'd take it out of her pay for working on the Wartburg. So he bought her materials, insisted she keep the upgrade in, and surrendered when she insisted that only she drive the Wartburg.
While there were no fraternities per se in London, there were several different societies that attempted to recruit Napoleon. He affably refused to join all of them, but would happily accept payment for pranking any other group. His offered skills included rearranging furniture, relocating or recovering items, and occasionally, discovering closely guarded secrets.
Gaby rolled her eyes at his antics, especially his claim that he was truly unbiased, since he was unwaveringly loyal to whoever was paying him at the moment. But, when he offered to share the profits with her if she acted as his getaway driver, she shrugged her shoulders to hide her excitement and casually agreed.
And so, she found herself parked outside the study abroad student halls, waiting for Napoleon to return from raiding someone's room. A little after chapter five of her textbook, Solo opened the door a bit faster than usual, slid prone into the backseat, and tersely asked her to step on it.
Ignoring his unusual behavior for the pure joy of revving the Wartburg, Gaby zoomed away from the curb. When she did look in the rear view mirror, her eyebrow raised at his slightly unkempt hair and rapid breathing.
"Rough night?"
"I'd rather not discuss it."
"Did someone catch you?"
Solo looked offended at the suggestion. "Of course not. I am never caught." He peeked out the back. "Although, I may have been... pursued."
"Pursued?" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement behind them. She sped up, and watched the figure speed up at well. Narrowing her eyes, she pulled the emergency brake and jerked the wheel left. Napoleon pulled out a map from the backseat and guided her through the twisting roads of London. They were halfway home when Gaby glanced at the side mirror.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to remark calmly, "I think you should look out the window."
Popping up, Napoleon squinted into the dark. "You can't be serious."
Since she was distracted by the tall figure chasing them, Gaby swerved a half-second too late to avoid the curb, and winced as she heard the tire blow.
Cursing colorfully in German as she felt the hub rattle over the rough pavement, she looked up and shouted in surprise. Taking advantage of their reduced speed, the hulking monster was practically on top of them.
"What is he doing?" She shrieked as the car started slowing down.
There was a long pause. "He's trying. To stop. The car."
From the collection of groans and creaks coming from the car, she thought he might be succeeding. Glaring at the vague face in her mirror, blonde hair briefly illuminated by the passing lampposts, she growled "Can't you do something about him?"
"Somehow, it doesn't seem like the right thing to do." Napoleon answered in a tone close to fascination.
Snarling in frustration, she stomped on the gas and silently pleaded with the Wartburg to give her just a bit more. There was a loud clang, and then the car jerked forward. She sighed in relief, then heard a crash behind her.
"What was that? Did he throw something at us?"
"... Yes."
"Did he hit us? I swear, Napoleon, if he scratches this car..."
"Well, I don't think he scratched it."
If she hadn't been so focused on navigating, she would have been more suspicious at Solo's tone. As it was, she gave her whole attention to losing their tail, favoring the blown tire, and making it safely back home.
As the garage doors closed, she let out a long breath, then got out to turn on the lights.
Napoleon dove in front of her. "Gaby, maybe we should just go inside. It was a very stressful evening, after all, and I'm sure we could do with some rest."
This time, she did catch his tone. "What? Why? What did you do? What are you hiding?"
"I didn't do anything, and I'm honestly hurt that you would suspect me of hiding anythi-"
She reached past him to turn on the lights and turned to look at the car. The sound she made was somewhere between a scream of rage and a wail of despair.
"The car! My Wartburg!"
"I mean, technically it's my car-"
Gaby whirled around with a deadly glare.
"But you've put a lot of time and effort into it, so I understand why you're upset." Napoleon hastened to add.
"The boot is gone! The whole back of the car is off!"
"Yes..."
"What. Happened. To the boot. Of my car?" She grit out.
"Well, he... threw it at us."
Resisting the temptations to punch Napoleon, scream again, or go out and hunt down the assailant herself, Gaby instead stuck her finger in Solo's face.
"Who was he?"
"I'm not sure. But believe me, I intend to find out."
Grunting in agreement, Gaby realized that she could not wait until she saw the tall, blonde, Wartburg-hating monster of a man again. He'd never see her coming.
A/N: Just in case anyone is confused, in the UK, the trunk and hood are known as the boot and bonnet, respectively, and 'halls' are dorms. I promise we'll meet Illya for real next time, and thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You all really helped me finish this chapter. Thanks!
