For Sinthia

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Illya was still a bit confused about the living arrangements with Sinthia and Sam. Rather than taking his frustrations out on furniture or people, he was currently pounding away at a heavy punching bag at Delflorio's. It was an old fashioned gym a couple of blocks from his apartment. Old fashioned in that there was no fancy equipment, no stair steppers, no treadmills, or ellipticals. No women looking for Zumba classes or whatever. No women were allowed. There was a boxing ring, punching bags, a couple of sets of well used weights, an ancient yet usable rowing machine. He didn't feel as if he had to impress anyone. They were used to seeing the big Russian there. He'd had a membership ever since he moved to the United States. He didn't usually draw stares at Delflorio's, unless someone new came in. He didn't have to hide the tattoos as much as if he'd gone to a fancier place. He'd been working out for over an hour now. Illya had started with warming up, jumping rope, and then working at the punching bag. Still after nearly an hour, he was pounding on the bag as if he meant to kill someone.

After his conversation with Sam and learning that the guy was roommates with his girlfriend in a studio apartment with only one bed, he was a little confused and insecure. At first, he had wondered if he had done something wrong. Perhaps this arrangement with Sam was her way of telling him to bugger off. But then Sam had said he had his own girlfriend. Still, Illya felt like he had committed some sort of faux pas.

How did that work? Did Sam sleep at his girlfriend's place? Either way, if he'd known there was a roommate involved, he probably would not have been making out on the couch in the living room with Sinthia if there was the possibility that someone might walk in on them. He was a very private person when it came to it. Especially in romantic relationships. He had tried calling Sinthia to talk about his concerns with her, but he got her answering machine. Which he didn't want to talk to. After a couple of times, he gave up. Perhaps she was busy at her job. Or maybe she did not want to talk to him.

Delflorio wandered by at one point and watched him for a few minutes. "Good form. You training for a boxing match?" The old man asked. He must have been in his nineties. His hair was white and his face showed his age. But anyone who knew the old man, knew that the owner was a former boxer who could still throw a punch. Illya answered with a curt, "No." The old man warned, "You know, kid, if you break it, you bought it." "Da. I know," he replied, continuing to wail on the bag with his fists.

Comments

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"Nothing is wrong. We can talk somewhere. Not here," he said. The other guys in the gym did not need to know his business. He hurried into the locker room to shower and change clothes.

It did not take him very long, though he did not time it. In a few minutes he emerged in his work clothes. A nice suit and dress shoes.

"Hey, Rusky, you clean up nice," someone hollered in his direction. "Is that Armani?"

"You are only jealous you don't look this good," he replied, buttoning his jacket. Illya carried his gym bag with his shoes dirty clothes. He smiled and leaned down to kiss Sinthia. To another choice chorus of catcalls.

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She chuckled because his hair was still damp when he came out, blending the amusement with the kiss, smiling as they parted. "I like this one," he murmured. "Are you gonna tell them it's Gucci?" she asked.

"You visit the most interesting places, I must say."

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"No, they would not know the difference," he offered her his arm as they headed out of the gym. He was in a much better mood now that he had worked out much of his frustrations on the punching bag. "Interesting? I would have said it was quaint."

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"I was trying to be diplomatic," she murmured, taking his arm but lacing her fingers through his more comfortably. "I like it on you, that suit. It's cut nicely for your shape."

Sinthia knows good clothes, both men's and women's: having worked several years in the area she has, she deals with people whose version of professional dress is very strict. Today in fact she's far more casual than usual, but comfortable in the clothes. It's her lazy style, requiring none of the undergarments that her dresses do. "Are you going to tell me what you were calling about?"

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Once they were out on the street, "I was surprised by meeting your roommate, Sam." That was putting it mildly. "And I was confused. You did not tell me you had a roommate. Where does he sleep? In the closet?"

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"Were you? You missed the bedroom door?" she asked, looking over curiously. "My apartment has a bedroom, Illya, it's on the other side of the closet. That's where Sam sleeps, and I didn't tell you because you didn't ask. He has a girlfriend and it's not me, so there was never any conflict between you to me. But they had money stolen from them and their house was illegally sold, so when he needed a place to stay I told him he could sleep at my place."

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"I entirely missed it. I thought maybe that other door was linen closet," he said. "I hadn't got very far past the bathroom in your place." Illya hadn't bothered snooping around either. She usually kept him too busy for that. "I am jealous idiot."

"You are good friend," he said. "Nicole has some place to stay too, yes?"

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She chuckles, shaking her head. "You're a man, and a normal one. I'm sorry it didn't occur to me to tell you, but I simply didn't think about it. I didn't intend to keep you in the dark about the man living in my house."

Sinthia shrugged. "I have uses, I suppose." One of them being that few people knew exactly where she lived. "As far as I know, she does. I don't know her well at all, and when Sam came to stay with me they weren't together."

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"He must be very neat. I would not have guessed a man even lived there," he admitted. "That is good. I may have felt a little silly for being jealous and invited Sam and his girlfriend on a double date with us sometime."

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"A what?" she asked, surprised and blinking at him, stopping for a second mid-step before catching back up.

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"A double date. I was feeling stupid for letting myself get angry, so I was trying to be nice," he looked a little worried. "And it was the first thing that I thought of and double date just popped out of my mouth."

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Sinthia just looked surprised, and a little confused at the idea of what he'd suggested. "I have no idea what to do on one," she said slowly, a little hesitant. "I've never been on one."

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"Neither have I," he confessed. "But he said it would have to wait until things were settled down. Who knows when that will be. By then, maybe we think of something."

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"Do you think we'll be able to when things settle down?" she asked. It was a legitimate question.

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"Perhaps," Illya considered it. After everything was done. "We could maybe go to concert or something."

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"I'd love to go," she said softly with a little smile, hopeful that after everything is over they'll still be able to live in New York, much less enjoy it. Somehow, Sinthia wasn't sure how that would go, especially if Illya pissed off the Vor. She thought about talking to Konstantin, though she couldn't very well do that beforehand, or tell Illya easily at any point that she knew the man well enough to think of him in first-name terms.

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If everything went as planned he wouldn't need to worry too much about the Vor. They would be under the impression that he was a loyal soldier who died protecting his boss. Though it might mean that staying in New York was out of the question. There were plenty of other places to live though.

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"You're quiet," Sinthia murmured to him after a little while of companionable silence, squeezing his fingers.

"Busy thinking?"

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"Da. The other thing that has me anxious," he said quietly in Russian. "The agencies have come up with plan." Illya squeezed her hand a couple of times nervously. "It is not the smartest plan. They want to fake my death."

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"How are they planning to do that?" she asked, mildly shocked; it showed in the sudden rigidity of her shoulders.

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"I do not know yet. They are not very forthcoming with their plans," he said, his own tension was obvious in the way he nervously squeezed her hand.

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"Illya," she murmured, feeling an odd and distinctly uncomfortable sensation in her chest just behind her ribcage as she finally took a breath after this information. "Are you scared?"

She was. She would and could admit that; she'd grown undeniably fond of the Russian holding her hand and she didn't like the idea that he and death were going to be in the same thought. Too often faking someone's death turned into botching it and them actually dying.

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"As I said, incredibly stupid plan," the muscle in his cheek jumped as he ground his teeth. Illya let go of her hand a moment to show her how badly his was shaking. "What do you think?" he was not afraid of dying, though he certainly didn't want to. He was afraid of the uncertainty of the plan. They were making it up as they were going along.

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"When?" she asked, taking his hands again in hers and holding them close to her, resting her lips on his fingers.

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"This is part of problem. They will not tell me." Sinthia holding his hands calmed him a bit.