OOM: Paris, New Year's Eve, 1955

[redintheledger]

She had, three days earlier, insisted that she'd take Alex dancing. It's a frivolous wish. They are busy with controlling and taking advantage of the fallout from Quentin's death, and while she thinks they are doing well, it's no time to stop working.

Except...

It's New Year's Eve. Both of them are increasingly tired and while they could use the parties for politicking, equally they could run the risk of being caught. It would not be out of character for James and Nancy to take the time to themselves like the devoted pair they are.

And what better time to finally get Alex to dance than New Year's? Get dressed in something nice and warm, head over to the big street party at Avenue des Champs-Élysées...

Not that she's going to tell him that. There's an element of surprise she's looking forward to. But while she's not going to tell him the details, it'd be the right thing to see how he'd like the idea, and if she should use one of her plans for a smaller celebration instead.

She waits until they are doing the clean-up from lunch (she washes, he dries), and then, with more artful innocence than she'd ever do for a real assignment, asks,

"What are your feelings on large crowds?"

Comments

[redintheledger]

Hours later, when they are rugged up in heavy coats and walking down the street, he has that same look in his eye. Like he's far too amused at himself and his plans.

She breaks her patience only because they aren't being serious.

"Where are you taking me?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Out to dinner," he replies, without even the slightest hesitation. The smile he slants at her has more than a hint of mischief in it.

[redintheledger]

She arches her eyebrows at him.

"How mysterious."



She does not sound displeased.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Me? I'm an open book."

The street curves slightly, leading downhill. He doesn't follow, but guides her up the hill, toward the mouth of a small alley where dim candlelight discreetly indicates the presence of a door.

[redintheledger]

"Mmm, maybe," she says.

"But I'm not always sure what language the book is written in."

The discreet door gets a flare of excitement - discretion tends to mean exclusiveness of one form or another, always fascinating. But she doesn't ask; this is his show.

[nerves_of_ice]

He chuckles, and escorts her to the door, opening it for her with a small flourish.

"Monsieur, Madame," murmurs the host just within, as he beckons to someone to come take their coats. "Welcome to Anjou."

[redintheledger]

Her mind clicks over, pulling together snippets she's heard from a few sources in the expat community after the previous few weeks. Her mind works quickly, so her look of surprise is genuine.

"Charmed, thank you," she murmurs back at the host, shooting her partner an impressed look once the other man had turned his back.

And if her appreciation is a combination of both personal and professional, well. Only they need to know.

[nerves_of_ice]

"I thought you'd appreciate this place," James tells her, as the host begins to lead them to their table.

The restaurant has more than a hint of Old World elegance in its design and in the richness of their surroundings. Their table isn't the best in the house, of course, but neither is it in an awkward location.

"Quite a bit of history here, of course."

[redintheledger]

"So I've been hearing. Although, not in nearly enough detail," she adds.

She picks up the menu and, in the guise of discussing their meal with him, leans in.

"Thank you."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You're welcome."

He owes Henri Durant for this, and he's well aware the man will find a way to call in the favor due... which in itself will be useful for the purposes of their mission.

But mission or not, he finds he's pleased to be able to do this for his partner.

"Happy New Year."

[redintheledger]

1955 has been...Not the worst year of her life, but it ranks up there in the (dis)honourable mentions.

"Happy New Year," she replies, with a faint emphasis that she really couldn't help.

"Now, important matters," Nancy says, glancing down at the menu. "...did any of your sources make any recommendations?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He laughs, and relaxes into the easy companionship between them.




Some time later, as an after-dinner coffee and cordial are set before them, James raises his eyebrows at her.

"Was there any particular time we needed to be -- wherever you're leading me next?"

[redintheledger]

It's nice, talking to him outside their rented apartment. Normally when she goes out with company, it's to be Nancy, and working. Here, right now, she's just Natasha-known-as-Nancy, talking with Alex-known-as-James.



"Mm, no, not really. It'd be a good idea to get there soon, but it's not a set time."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Soon we can manage."

He takes a sip of his coffee. Blandly, he adds,

"I'm entirely at your mercy."

[redintheledger]

His comment garners the faintest arching an eyebrow.

"Always a good thing to be aware of."

A little more directly (perhaps, even, a little too quickly): "So you have no other tricks up your sleeve?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"All kinds," he says, with a casual shrug of his left shoulder.

"But none that need playing tonight."

[redintheledger]

"Then I propose they get played not tonight.

We have fun."

(Not that the two are mutually exclusive, even if the last major piece of play had involved more of her own emotions than acting.

But there's a thrill, much like with any other kind of fight.)

"And you've spent so long avoiding dancing with me, I'm not sure if you can or not."

[nerves_of_ice]

He leans forward over the table, a sparkle in his glance.

"That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

[redintheledger]

"Oh, did it," she murmurs with an innocent flutter of her lashes.

"I can't imagine how that happened.

[nerves_of_ice]

"I'm sure."


"Lead me to the dance floor, and we'll find out."

[redintheledger]

"Challenge accepted, then."

Suits her.

And it's not as if Paris's jazz bands are driven underground like Moscow's.

The night is colder now, although not as cold as she's used to winters being when you actually walk around in them. She adjusts her hat, and then steps back in to his side.

"That, I think, was the best meals I've had since we've arrived."

[nerves_of_ice]

He puts his arm around her waist, both to guide her through the growing crowd and to reduce the chance of anyone bumping against his left arm and noticing anything off.

"I'm glad I was able to take you there, then."

[redintheledger]

"Let me know if you require any assistance in paying the favour back?"

She's not talking about dinner, but rather, whatever strings he pulled to get them there. There are strings. Of course there are strings. Even if war had never happened, and she'd had a perfectly normal academic career without being recruited anywhere more dramatic than a social club, there would have been strings.

[nerves_of_ice]

"I will."

Not that he expects to, but it's nice of her to offer.

[redintheledger]

Partners.




The closer they move towards Avenue des Champs-Élysées, the more the crowds build, both in number and laughter. It's a party night, and the mood is infectious.

(Briefly, she thinks of Enjolras, banished from his beloved Paris by death. There is no opportunity to show him, and it's not worth the secruity risk, but she tries to remember what she sees. If he could stand it, maybe he wouldn't mind hearing.)

"And now," she says, twirling out from Alex | James in a flare of coat and skirts, "we mingle."