Chapter Text
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Waverly had a particularly calm voice this morning, which was worrying in and of itself, “can you explain to me why you failed to capture the THRUSH agents in Brazil?”
“Daylight Savings Time, sir,” Napoleon replied, at his most smooth and respectful. “We thought we were in an area of the country that didn't observe it.”
“Unfortunately,” Illya added, “we were further from the equator than we thought.”
“Daylight Savings Time.” Mr. Waverly looked thoughtful. “You missed them, then.”
“Yes, sir,” Napoleon glanced at his partner. “By an hour.”
“Almost exactly,” Illya added, studying the cover of the report he held in his hands.
“Hmph.” Mr. Waverly stood up and started leaving his office that doubled as the briefing room; the other two men hurriedly stood up and followed. “Why the governments of the world ever started the blasted custom, I shall never know,” he grumbled as he walked down the corridor toward the elevator. “If you ever attempt to use such a flimsy excuse again, gentlemen,” he added with a glare at them both, “I shall see that you’re both put on courier duty for the rest of your careers as field agents.”
“Yessir.” The two men spoke in near-perfect unison and only glanced at each other after they finished speaking.
Mr. Waverly swung around in the elevator and gave them another glare. “Hmph,” he said again, and the doors shut.