Chapter Text
Faustina stormed into April Dancer’s office. The quiet shushing of the door was an unsatisfactory accompaniment to her entrance, so she slammed one of the desk drawers before flinging herself into the chair.
April and Mark Slate exchanged a glance. “That's my top complaint about this building,” April said from her perch on the edge of the desk. “No doors to slam.”
“I'll take myself off then, shall I?” Mark said, unfolding his long frame from a chair.
“Yes, darling, I think that's best,” April replied.
“Must go practice my pucker, in any event. Don't want to sprain my lips tonight.” He made a show of stretching his mouth.
Faustina laughed in spite of her mood, wondering why it couldn't be Mark who tempted her to end her monasticism. She asked, “Music all set?”
“All set. Don't forget, sound check at 7:30 sharp. I expect the newest birds in The Bird Watchers to be prompt.”
“We’ll be there, fearless leader. Ta-ta.” April waved at Mark as he left, then shifted to face Faustina. “Now spill.”
“Slight change in our afternoon plans. Are you free yet?”
“Yes, Mark and I just finished some paperwork. What's the hurry?”
“I need a metalsmith, if your shoulder is up to it.”
April threw her good arm in the air. “Hallelujah, she’s wearing the Rabanne! But why the sudden decision? I've only been after you to wear it for a year.”
“Illya’s an ass.”
“Ah, I see,” April said sagely, wrinkling her nose at the choice of words. “What did he say this time?”
Faustina chose her words carefully. April was a good friend, but her knowledge was still limited to the story Waverly had concocted for Faustina's personnel file. “He insulted the party décor. And my hair. They’re both hard and artificial.” She picked up a pen and began to twirl it over her fingers. “He hasn't seen anything yet.”
“Well, look at the bright side. You'll finally be making good on the small fortune you paid.”
“It was hardly my idea. ‘You look divine, ‘T. You simply must buy it.’” Her imitation brought a smile to April’s lips. “Lesson learned. Cocktails after we hit the boutiques, not before.”
“As I recall, that weekend began with a similar complaint about Illya. You know there are better ways to relieve the tension between you two,” April said with an exaggerated wink.
Faustina rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”
April continued undaunted. “Just look at me and Napoleon. No promises, no questions. Just blissful interludes.” She smiled dreamily, lost in recollection, until Faustina prodded her with the pen. “And look at you two. All suspense and tension, but none of the fun and games.”
“A’, dear, I medaled in those games. Took the gold, went pro, blew out a knee and retired.”
“Honestly, ‘T,” April exclaimed, shaking her head, “that is the most depressing description of l’amour I've ever heard.”
Faustina shrugged. “Besides, I'm not the ‘No promises, no questions’ type. I'm the wine in the face, perfume bottle against the wall type.”
“Illya can duck,” April insisted. “And, darling, the drama just makes it that much more exciting.”
Faustina jumped up and began to pace, the pen still flying across her fingers. "Yes, it was exciting. Addictive even. Every love affair a grand passion, a new adventure to rush headlong into.” Illya had been right in a way. Her restlessness of late had turned her thoughts to the past, stirring up old longings.
“My point exactly. Sounds like just what the doctor ordered.”
She sighed and looked at April, her heart in her eyes. “And when the perfume hit the wall, there was another handsome adventure already calling. I’d be consumed with the next grand passion, and the past would be dead, just some forgotten photos in an album.” The prospect of Illya as another page in her scrapbook was unthinkable.
“‘Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi,’” April said gently.
“Exactly.”
April’s eyes were sympathetic. “I think I understand. Does it have to be that way?”
“I don't know, but it always has been.” She stopped pacing and massaged her thigh absently. “I never used to count the cost. Apparently I’ve grown up.”
April smiled mischievously. “That's one way of putting it.” She drew a square in the air with her index fingers, then ducked as Faustina lobbed the pen at her. “So no more adventure and passion?”
“UNCLE provides all the adventure I could want. As for the passion, there’s nothing like cold-water bathing,” Faustina said.
April shuddered expressively and slid off the desk. “Well, if I'm going to wire you into a dress, we'd better get going.” She grabbed her purse and linked her arm with Faustina's. “It’s too bad we're both on medical restrictions. We could have done a little fencing to work out your tension.”
“You only say that because you always win.”
“You could try throwing the foil at me,” April suggested.
“Ta gueule, A’.”
“Language, darling.”