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They are arguing again. Well, mostly Napoleon is rambling on while Illya does his best to ignore him.
“But they’re obviously better!” insists the American, “You don’t have to walk them or anything!”
Illya doesn’t move from his position staring out of the car window, but replies “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You are wrong.”
Gaby, stuck in the back seat of their stakeout car, rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time that night. “Does it really matter?”
They both respond “Yes!” almost simultaneously. Finally, something they can agree on.
For the past hour, Illya and Napoleon have been arguing over which is better: cats or dogs. It probably doesn’t help that they’d been stuck in a tiny, cramped car all night, with nothing to distract them.
Gaby is almost glad that they’re arguing, almost, because it takes her mind off the incessant pitter-patter of the rain outside.
Napoleon is extoling the virtues of cats while Illya is maintaining that dogs are superior, and the main problem, in Gaby’s opinion, is that the reasons Napoleon likes cats are the same reasons Illya doesn’t like them, and vice versa for dogs. But obviously, they don’t realize that. Or maybe they just don’t care.
“Now you’re just being unreasonable,” huffs Napoleon, staring sulkily out the window.
“No, I am being right,” Illya says, and even in the semi-darkness, Gaby can see Napoleon is trying not to smile.
“Maybe I should go out into the rain and catch pneumonia just so I don’t have to hear you two anymore,” Gaby comments mildly. Napoleon lets out a little laugh, and Illya mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “crazy chop-shop girl”.
Gaby smiles, watching the rain roll down the windows, enjoying the moment of quiet.
“So, Gaby, what do you think?” Napoleon breaks the silence, smirking at her over his seatback. Gaby smacks him lightly, saying “I’m not telling.”
“Ow, what did I do to deserve that?”
Gaby arches an eyebrow at him, because he knows exactly what he did.
“Dogs are still better.”
Gaby allows her head to flop back against the seat, letting out an exaggerated moan. Both Illya and Napoleon laugh.
It’s raining even harder, but Gaby doesn’t mind so much now.