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

[abyssum_invocat]

"Then don't," she said simply, decisively as she kissed him once more, closing her teeth gently around his lip.

"Let me make you dinner. It's warm in the sun, we can eat outside. And then watch a movie." Sometime, she thought, if they were going to spend much more time in her apartment they'd have to arrange clothing for Illya that wasn't his suit being laundered.

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He smiled into that kiss, "I won't." When she let him go, he slipped off his jacket and hung it over a chair. "If you want I will take Avi for a walk while you cook."

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"If you want to," she agreed. "It won't take me long. Don't run away with someone else," she murmured as she stepped back, hands lingering around his waist affectionately.

"You like fish?" she asked. "Just in case."

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"I like fish. We won't," Illya promised as he got the dog's leash and hooked it onto his collar. Avi danced at the door excitedly. Illya put a plastic bag in his pocket. "We will be back shortly."

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"Okay," she murmured, watching him hook the leash to Avi's collar; the white dog wore a gold and black collar with two gold leather tassels that muffled his tags' noise. The thickly padded wide ribbon band was strong enough to hold up to his tugging.

In the time they were gone, Sinthia kicked off her shoes and jacket and most of her jewelry to cook, setting a paella dish on the stove and putting on the heat to brown the rice it would need. The food would be simple: rice, peas, red peppers and several varieties of seafood later, it was nearly done, and as she waited for the timer to go off had put on music, which she was dancing around to.

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When he and the dog returned about thirty minutes later, it was to the house smelling fragrant of saffron and Sinthia dancing in the kitchen to a tango as she cooked. Illya shut the door quietly and hung up Avi's leash. He took off his shoes and his tie, unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up.

Then moved up behind her. "May I have this dance?"

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Sinthia whirled around when his voice surprised her; she'd had the music turned up too loud, since the doors were open to the balcony and she wanted to cover up the noise of muffled traffic.

"I didn't know you knew how," she murmured, lifting her hand to take his.

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"I do. My mother taught me," smiling, Illya tangoed her around the small kitchen. He dipped her carefully because of the limited space.

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"She must have been a talented woman," Sinthia said, bending back gracefully as he dipped her; the dance was informal compared to most, and their steps were smaller given the size of her kitchen, but it was intimate.

"You made me think about this music when you started singing," she teased, looking up at him as she stood.

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"She was an amazing woman." When he brought her back up, he drew her into a kiss. "Three Dog Night makes you think of Tango and Paella?" Illya laughed. "I am glad it did."

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"Spain makes me think of tango and paella," she replied laughingly, giving him a little twirl as she came back into his arms. "Three Dog Night makes me think of snow."

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"We must go dancing sometime," he said, holding her and swaying. "Especially when we go to Spain," Illya said as the music came to an end.

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"We must," she murmured in agreement, dropping her head to his chest as the timer went off with a buzzing bell sound, making her sigh. "It's beautiful overlooking the ocean from the cliffs. You've really never been?"

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"No. I have never been to Spain," he said, letting her go to finish the paella. While she did that, he got down plates and silverware for them. "I did not travel much when I was younger. Not until I joined the army. Then it was Afghanistan, Syria, Chechen, Siberia. Russian army is like American army, if there is horrible place on Earth they will find it and send you there." He got out a couple of wine glasses and opened a bottle of wine. "They sent me to such exciting places. I have traveled more with Ivan in the last few years than I ever did in the army."

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She chuckled, and gestured out the door as she picked up the paella with a quilted pad to protect her hand. "Come on. No plates needed, the forks are good enough with the serving dish."

Sinthia kissed him, leaning over the pan and listening to him as she sat on one of the wrought-iron chairs around an iron and glass table. "I've been to some of those places. Siberia, Syria. Mostly I got sent to cities, because I could blend in. To men, because I was thought pretty."

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"Oh," Illya leaving the plates, he grabbed the silverware, napkins, wine glasses and tucked the bottle beneath his arm. After she set down the pan, he handed her a fork, napkin, and a glass and set his down so that he could pour the wine. "You are beautiful. I could see where that would be an advantage for an assassin."

He sat, scooting his chair in a little. "You are also very good cook," he said taking a forkful of rice and peas. Illya raised his glass of wine and said,"Salud," before taking a sip.

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"Salut," she echoed, turning her wineglass by the stem. "I never actually slept with a mark. It was just...letting them think they had a chance," Sinthia admitted, shrugging a shoulder. She'd chosen to sit ninety-degrees to Illya rather than straight across so she could see down the street her balcony overlooked; the glow from the rest of the city lit up the sky too much to see the stars but it made the shadowy lee sides of the buildings around and taller than them seem private.

"Can I tell you something without you getting angry?" she asked rather suddenly.

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"Sure," he paused in his eating. Though saying that meant it was something that she thought would make him angry. "You can tell me anything."

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"You remember a week or so ago, when I got the black eye?" she asked, looking up at him as she absently turned the fork around between her fingers.

"It was one of your coworkers. Ivan's men. I don't remember what his name was, but I remember the tattoo on the back of his hand. He probably won't like it distorted so much." She'd broken the man's hand, nose, and fractured his skull, so it was safe to say he wasn't enjoying anything at the moment.

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"Yes, I remember," he said cautiously. His mouth opened and closed, as he tried to make sense of what she was telling him. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and very calmly, almost too calmly, got up from the table. "Give me a moment, please," he said and went inside.

She was right, this information made him very very angry. He was pissed that she was only just telling him this. More so that Sergei would lay a hand on Sinthia as if she was a common whore. Illya swore under his breath and took several deep breaths to calm himself before returning outside to sit back down at the table. He took a long drink of wine and then set down the glass carefully.

"I am not angry with you." But he couldn't hold it back finally and a little snicker escaped him. "That little shit lied. Sergei said he had been hit by car."

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She watched him rise and walk inside, lips parted but expression otherwise entirely unreadable; she felt her muscles bunch and brace, not wholly consciously, ready to stand and defend or to run, however the situation turned.

"Sergei is a very poor combatant," she said when he'd sat back down and she felt a wave of relaxation fall over her, enough to chuckle at the man's excuse. "I didn't want to tell you right then. You'd have blown your cover, especially if it's still making you mad enough to curse like that."

She'd been reading his lips. "How is his head, though?" She'd broken his hand, three fingers at least and his nose, but her finishing strike had been jabbing the point of her elbow into his temple, feeling the thin bone there fracture and nearly give way with a crack.

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"I would not have blown my cover over that," he didn't think she would tell him in public. "I have maintained it for long time." Illya took another sip of wine. "I would curse like that if any one of them did something so stupid as to touch my girlfriend and treat her like whore. I would have done more than broken his face and his hand. He is very lucky." He calmed down considerably. "He is out of hospital but had cast on his hand and his nose. The skull fracture was minor, he said. However, I will tell Ivan what he has done and suggest that he should be fired. Or I will make it known that he was beaten up by woman and lied to our faces. I will also talk to Sergei and tell him if I ever see him treating woman like that I will kill him. And remind him that if he touches you again, you will kill him."

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She snorted at that. "By all means, tell everyone he got his ass kicked by a girl. He took it like a pussy," she murmured, bringing her wineglass to her lips, finally beginning to eat.

"He thought I was getting too...close to you. Too confident in how I acted, evidently," she said with a shrug.

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"Who I get close to is none of that little suka's business," he growled. "He is pussy. I merely remind him of his place." Sergei was at the low end of the food chain in the Vor. He didn't have his stars yet. At this rate, he never would.

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"Illya," she murmured. "Why are you so angry about something so stupid?" Sinthia asked, reaching a hand out to her lover.