Chapter Text
Nirvana screamed into his ears as the woodlands burst into fields and orchards.
Napoleon looked outside the window to see freshly trimmed grass and the small lake on the grounds that he’d skinny dipped into many times when the moon was the only source of light. Instead there were ducks in it, and like every blasted year he’d been here, the Head of School had a loaf of bread and was feeding them. It was like he didn’t have anything better to do than greet new students. Napoleon thumbed the man’s stolen rugby championship ring in his blazer. He probably didn’t.
He glanced back at the sky and it was just like it had been all the other years. It’d rained last night and the odd drop still fell from the flat gray skies.
Napoleon felt his chauffeur's gaze on him, “It’s for your own good, sir,” he saw Andrew speak, unable to hear the words through the music.
He closed his eyes and waited for Andrew to open his door and the cold rush of fall air that would come with it.
“I’ll get your bags, sir.”
Napoleon sighed before tucking in one of his earbuds into his collar, leaving only one to run beneath his dress shirt to snake up his ear and distract him.
He looked up to the very familiar red brick building of the boys dorms. Trimmed hedges surrounded the gardens and a fountain gushed water. The opening doors were fine despite being broken last year and glistened with varnish.
How perfect. How disgusting.
He was escorted to registration, got his room key and schedule, and briefly spoke to some of the boys who he could still consider his friends. All around him there was noise. Parents hugging freshmen with rapid last minute reminders, juniors high fiving their friends welcome, even the school mascot –no doubt the poor kid in there was sweating- a Spartan to spark school spirit.
Napoleon would have a room at the end of the dorm, at the utmost edge of the happy hype in the crowd. It would be small, with a kitchen, and for one person. A punishment. A reminder.
Andrew put his bags in his large, solitary room and clap him on the shoulders.
“I’ll miss you, sir.”
“I feel that you’ll be the only one who will.”
Andrew gave him a disapproving glaze, before digging into his pocket, “You forgot this.”
The small silver signet ring flashed despite the dim lighting of the room.
“You represent the Solo family, no matter what you do, or where you are.”
“Right,” he smiled at the small ring in his palm.
“I have faith that you’ll be allowed a gold ring this year, Napoleon. Your father wishes for you to earn it back.”
Anger flooded him.
“But only if I behave.”
“That’s right. Be good, yes?”
Napoleon smiled tightly and opened the door for Andrew.
“I’ll be good.”
Napoleon watched his chauffeur’s figure disappear into the crowd, as he pulled out two wallets from his pocket. He took out forty dollars from each.
“I suppose I should return these then.”
__________________________
Despite having patched up the hole in the wall on Saturday, Illya could still feel traces of the fall wind coming inside. He would have to fix it, as there was a limit to how many layers you could wear inside before being unable to work.
The cold seeped into him as he opened the envelope to reveal a green card, papers, and an invitation to a boarding school. The school sounded fancy, as his Russian tongue struggled over the English letters.
“No.”
“Illyusha.” His mother ran her hand through his hair, “It’s for your own good.”
“I will not go to America.”
“You should, you must.” He stroked his hair again, before going back to the pot of bubbling soup, and stirring in the chopped celery, “You are a boy full of potential.”
Illya shuffled through the papers that covered the whole of the table, and picked one out of the bunch, “the FSB seems to agree with you. America does not.”
His mother stopped stirring, “You cannot work with the FSB.”
“Why not?”
“They will do horrible things to you.”
“Like they did to father, yes. I know,” he spat.
“He made his decisions, and you can make yours. He paid for his.”
Illya looked down at his hands, “And you are still paying for his. I must stay, and help you.”
She dipped the ladle into the pot and poured the thick broth into a bowl and set it down in front of him, “No, not anymore.”
“But-”
“It is every mother’s dream to see their children be happy and accomplish as much as they can. Staying in Russia and helping pay the rent will not do that. You must go to America. Now eat up, before it gets cold.”
Illya silently looked at the letter of acceptance from Crawford Academy and shuffled through the other papers in the package, “This is not cheap.”
“I know.”
The similar pain of the last six years swept through him. His mother didn’t come home some nights and would appear in the late hours of the morning smelling like scotch and sex.
Illya would hug her, upon coming home from his job, and do the house chores while she slept off the memories of the night.
He would not go to America at the price of that.
“I am not okay with this.”
“And I am,” she said, blowing on the spoon of steaming soup, “I have seen your drawings when you have the time. I see your work in Art class. Your talent cannot go to waste,” she paused, “I would sacrifice everything for your happiness and wellbeing, Illyusha.”
“What if you’ve sacrificed enough?” he took her cold hand in his, and squeezed it softly.
“Never,” she smiled and rested her small hand on his, “Now go, and pack your suitcase.”
__________________________
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
Gaby eyed the man standing beside the car warily, “Why would they want me?”
“Why do you think?”
Gaby looked down to her oil covered hands and her dirty green mechanic jumpsuit, “No matter how good I am, I am sure that they can find a mechanic of equal value who didn’t grow up on the streets,” she looked the man who’d introduced himself as Waverly, the Crawford Academy Insignia on his tie seemed to glare at her, “After all, I’d smell like hard work and dirt and ruin the vibe.”
Waverly didn’t flinch, “You seem to have a hatred towards the wealthy.”
“Really?” Gaby narrowed her eyes as she tightened a bolt, “Perhaps you would, if you ate from their garbage bins for years.”
“I apologize for whatever occurred in your past, but think of it as this. If you have been eating from our bins for your life, this is the opportunity to sit at the table and eat the five course meal.”
“I think I’d get sick to my stomach. Too much rich food.”
Waverly shrugged, “The offer is there, for the taking. If you wish to accept it, that would fabulous,” he paused, “Full ride scholarship, a fully stocked garage for your use. It would be a shame to waste your talent. Going to Crawford...it would be for your own good.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“A mechanic with real life experience. As you can imagine, many of our students don’t have that. You’ll be the breath of fresh air, so to speak. It’s a new program. Lots of scholarships, and extending our reach to other countries. Our graduates don’t have a world view, despite having read about it in their textbooks. We plan on changing that.”
Gaby leaned on the hood of the car, “Will I get my own room?”
“Yes.”
“Will I be fed?”
“Three square meals a day.”
“Can I leave...” she picked her nail with the edge of a screwdriver, “...any time I want?”
“We’re a school, not a prison.”
She narrowed her eyes once again, “And what about my cars?”
“They can be transported to the garage, but you will be expected to go to class and not spend all your time there.”
“And I suppose there’s a uniform?”
“It will be paid for.”
“How about living expenses?” she challenged, “Clothes, toiletries, furniture.”
“I’m sure we could arrange pocket money. It was considered at the board meeting for students in your situation,” for the first time in the conversation he looked annoyed, “We’ve thought our decision through.”
Gaby looked at the man in the crisp pinstripe suit and glasses. He’d already opened up his briefcase to show that he had the necessary documents ready for her to sign. Slowly, she offered her right hand.
“So long as I don’t have to pay a cent, and you keep your promise that this boarding school isn’t a prison, you’ve got yourself a new student.”
Waverly pumped her hand once, “Excellent,” he checked his watch, “The school term starts in two days.”