The Rookie: Assignment 2
Place: New York, San Francisco
Rating: T (Just to be on the safe side)
Synopsis: Just because she's too good to be true, does that make her a problem?
"Your luggage arrived." Napoleon pointed to the dark suitcase on the floor next to Illya's desk.
She took a look at the latches as she reached for the bag. "Somebody unlocked this." She met Napoleon's gaze curiously. He, in turn, looked elsewhere. "Illya thought I might be hiding something in there?" she asked sweetly as she swung the case onto a nearby chair and opened it. She blinked at the contents, frowning as she carefully ran her hands through the top layer of garments. "OK, whose idea was this?"
Napoleon cocked an eyebrow upward. "What do you mean?"
"This isn't my stuff." Her tone implied an idiot would have known that. She looked at the tag. "Uhm, did anyone else notice this is tagged to San Francisco?" She then took a look at the ID tag. , Angel Island, San Franciso, California. "This isn't my bag."
"No. It isn't." She pulled out several long black skirts, matching black button up shirts with long sleeves, black tights and a pair of black penny loafers. Underneath those items, things were stranger. There were several vials of some black substance, a velvet lined box with two strange looking symbols cast in solid gold and a trio of black leather bound volumes with locks. "Did you and Illya go through this or did you just notice that my pantsuit was missing?"
"We were expecting the clothing to be on the top."
"And you didn't notice that none of this stuff resembles anything I wore?" If he was going to admit that Illya was the culprit, now was the time. The Russian was not big on fashion. Napoleon was.
"Ah .. Well .. Illya opened the bag. I .. didn't question his evaluation that the clothing you wore when you fell in the … whatever it was … wasn't there."
"Napoleon, why would I be carrying this stuff?" She gestured to the peculiar items.
"Perhaps the better question is when did you acquire a residence on Angel Island," Illya cut in from behind her.
He nodded to the tag. "That says you did."
"Or it says someone else acquired my last name, probably on their way through an immigration station."
"It's more probable I have another place in San Francisco?" she demanded. Her mouth worked for a moment after that, but nothing came out so she threw up her hands in disgust.
"Or your name sake isn't dead," he pointed out softly.
That shook her. "Oh. Well, there is that. Wouldn't she be in her 60's?" She held up the blouse and skirt nearest her, shaking her head. The items were conservative but not… old? "Oh, I know. She's a THRUSH agent!" she offered brightly with a wide smile. "Mind you, I'm not too sure about this stuff. Maybe the lab should test it." With that, she swept the vials up and headed out of the office. It was just as well neither man left in the room could hear what she was muttering, even if it was in three different languages.