2007-09-14: Kielbasa... With CHEESE!

Starring:

Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif William_icon.gif

Summary: If we were a superhero team, our lair would be like Eddie Izzard's version of the Death Star, with people just walking around, opening doors going, "Oh, I— um… oh." Seriously.

Date It Happened: September 14th, 2007

Kielbasa… With CHEESE!


Downtown, NYC - Noodle Heaven

So, hi, welcome to Noodle Heaven — where they serve absolutely no noodles. That's okay, though, because they've got a cheesesteak baguette that's to die for! Not that Mariska would know, of course. She doesn't swing that way. There she is, seated by herself at a table next to the giant window, nibbling at a veggie wrap and watching the people pass by on the street. New York's a great place to get a gander at some interesting sidewalk sightseeing.

It might be nice and quiet and serene in Noodle Heaven, but outside, it's war. Or … sort of war. Or maybe just an Israeli rushing madly down the sidewalk to get away from some crazy Jewish woman who may or may not have been insulted by a few remarks said in jest minutes earlier. But it's all right folks, they're professionals. The moment he reaches the door to the little sandwich shop, Namir attempts to swing inside and close it abruptly behind him in order to fend off his pursuer.

Samantha skids up to the door and tries to open it. "You - you!" she bats her hand against the door handle. "You let me in you son of a mangy camel!" She looks like a cross between fierce and cracking up hysterically. "I'm going to go Godfather on your ass and there'll be a kielbasa on the pillow tonight, you wait and see!"

Felix is slowly introducing Misha to all the good places to eat in NYC. So presumably, she's there waiting for him? He's approaching more sedately behind Sam and Namir, one brow arched. So, engagement makes you crazy. Good to know.

Well, hello. How could anyone ignore an entrance like that? Mariska's attention is instantly drawn to the farcical war of the words taking place in split-screen; both inside and outside the little sandwich joint. Hey, she knows that guy! Kinda. Namir, that is. Samantha? Not so much, but odds are pretty strong she's probably about to get familiar with the woman's comically cranky side. Oh, wait, is that Felix caught in the crossfire? This ought to be good.

HA HA. Once secured behind his door-shield, Namir takes a moment to breathe and glance around Noodle Heaven's little dining area. Any stares thrown his way are fielded with a half-apologetic grin. Don't mind us, we're engaged. When he spots Mariska, he offers her a nod of greeting, but then it's back to Sam and her threats of kielbasa. "Oh, come now, dearest," he purrs saccharinely, "you're making a scene. I'm not letting you into this fine establishment until you calm down." And then he grins, because he's got the door and he's safe from a beating — right now.

"Kielbasa," Sam snarls behind the glass door, "With CHEESE." No, not the dreaded milk and meat combo! She puts her hands to the glass, her eyes widening into something resembling a docile tiger. "I'll behave." she says. Really, she will! Who wouldn't trust those eyes? (She's so going to kill him.)

"Dayan. Do not make me roast-beef you," Felix says, drily, coming up behind Sam, and eyeing Namir very sternly. "Let your betrothed in."

Oh, these wacky almost-Americans and their crazy slang. Mariska probably only picked up about half of that conversation and is now under the impression that Samantha is trying to bribe her way in to the building with the promise of homemade sammiches when they get home. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to. America is strange.

Oh, there will be something homemade, and not sammiches. There is death behind those innocent eyes, but Namir is disturbing the peace and holding up business, so he finally acquiesces and opens the door. Come what may, he has a last will and testament written up somewhere. This might be a good day to die.

Samantha gives Namir a pat on the cheek and a too-sunny smile. Oh yes, revenge will come. Fear. As she walks in, she sees a familiar face, and brightens. "Hey, Felix." she walks toward him and Mariska, offering the woman a more genuine smile before she looks to Felix expectantly. Introduce us, you cad!

"Sam, this is Misha Dmitryeva. Misha, this is Samantha Applebaum, who saved my life when I got shot," Felix explains, smoothly. "The goon in the door is Namir Dayan, who somehow managed to get Sam to agree to marry him. He's NYPD."

Mariska makes with the meet and greet from her seat, offering Samantha and Namir a polite and pleasant smile without any teeth, lest she make a poor first (or would that be second?) impression by having something stuck between them. When she speaks, it's readily apparent that if she's a local, she's wandered her way out of Brighton Beach. "Hello," she offers succinctly. "Would you like to join us?"

The problem with impending revenge is Namir never knows when it will come. He gets to spend the next week or so checking every possible place for a prank that he can think of. Paranoia: it's fun. No matter! Once Sam and Felix are in, he follows right behind the former and places a kiss on the back of her head. No hard feelings? Please? "I bribed her with jewelry and promised her a bigger apartment," he explains. "And we've met. How have you been, Mariska?" As for joining them, well, he'll leave that up to Sam. He doesn't care where they sit, so long as there isn't a whoopee cushion or a conveniently placed blob of ketchup in his seat.

Samantha is meaner than that, she's all about the nail tack, followed by a tetanus shot. Mwahahaha. "Thank you Mariska, that would be lovely. Please call me Sam." She takes a seat, giving Namir a sidelong (evil) smile, and looks between Felix and Mari. "How long have you been in America?" she asks of the latter, as an invitation to small talk.

Felix lets Mariska talk. Because, honestly, not all that certain of the cover story. He seats himself by Misha, and picks up the menu while removing his glasses.

Despite having been witness to the other couple's previous antics, Sam's slightly sinister smile gives Mariska a moment of pause and she steals a glimpse at Felix as if to be assured that Namir and his lovely lady haven't conveniently been called in to devour her whole at his behest. "I am well, thank you." How long has she been pinned like a butterfly in a box — er, in the States? "Uh… not long. Few weeks," she replies honestly (at least, for now). Quick! Where's Felix's knee? She needs something knobby to clutch in a clandestine fashion under the table…

…unfortunately, it's just that moment, as Mariska's fingers meet bended knee, Felix's phone rings. The look on his face tells the tale — he has to take it. Federal business. This means Mariska is left to fend for herself. Be gentle?

Samantha watches Felix walk away with bemusement, and seems to catch Mariska's own. "Don't worry," she assures, "I'm only cruel to the men in my life. Keeps them on their toes. Welcome, by the way. You're looking to settle here, or just here on a visit?"

Hmm. To go get sandwiches at the counter and risk having his seat sabotaged (yes, yes he saw that look), or to stay at the table and go hungry for a time? There are decisions to be made, and finally Namir decides that sandwiches are the way to go. Besides, Felix left the table swimming in estrogen, so he needs a manly (halal) sandwich to give him pause during those moments of conversation where menfolk should not speak. So with a smile and a polite, "I'll just go get our sandwiches" he turns and escapes to the counter for a moment.

Mariska's own half-eaten veggie wrap seems to have been momentarily forgotten as both Felix and Namir abandon ship. One-on-one with Samantha shouldn't be too difficult to survive, eh? The Russian woman cracks a smile at Sam's assurance and replies with a non-committal sort of shrug, "I do not know if I'll stay…" She sends a look off in the direction of her departed countryman before adding the ever-enigmatic, "We shall see."

Sandwiches! Namir has them. One for himself and one for Sam, and never the twain shall meet — hopefully. He passes off the one sandwich and then (after a subtle and scrutinizing look at his seat) slides in next to his companion and settles nicely. "Any news on your daughter?" he asks of Mariska, because it is proper dinner conversation.

Samantha blinks. "Oh, you're - oh." Samantha has the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm so sorry." she says to Mariska, apparently having heard something of it.

Mariska's chosen response to Namir's inquiry is to slowly shake her head from side to side and don a melancholy look that she has no problem manufacturing — because there's a very real gravity making her shoulders slump as her thoughts drift off to her 'kidnapped' daughter's fate. Her lips thin out into a contrite little line and she offers Samantha a brow-knitted look. Should she be thanking her for her pity? It's such an awkward moment. So, how about a jack-knifing topic change? "Felix said you two are engaged to be married?" She only pauses momentarily for confirmation before adding, "How long have you been together?"

… good question. Namir pauses with a sandwich on the way to his mouth, considers, and then does the most tactically sound thing he can: he takes a bite. It's not a Twix, but it'll do. Over to you, Sam.

Samantha considers a moment. "Well, we actually met in 2006. He came through the doors with a GSW, but he didn't ask me out until just this February. We got engaged earlier this month." Sam picks up a sandwich and takes a bite. "We haven't set a date yet, though."

The Russian woman wears an interested expression, peppering Sam's brief 'how we met' tale with little nods. She asks, "Gee ess double-you?" The acronym must not be translating over easily.

"I don't think we've had the time to sit down and talk about setting a date yet," remarks Namir mildly. It's only been about a week since he proposed anyway. He's in no rush. The question is once again deferred to Sam, since she's the one telling the story and she's the doctor.

Samantha looks faintly apologetic. She med-speaks out of long habit. "Gun shot wound." she quickly corrects. "Funny, because that's exactly how I met Felix, too."

OH! Comprehension. Oh. Understanding. Ohhh. Gravity. The dangerous life of a police officer is once again brought to the fore and Mariska appears to fully grasp how Samantha's statement is both ironic and sobering. She's seen Felix's scars. But, this conversation is about impending nuptials and so Mariska shines up her smile when she offers, "My best wishes to you both." Ever mindful of their arrival, she then adds, "I am sure it will be a very… exciting event."

Exciting. That's a nice way of putting it. Namir lets out a quiet scoff and mutters, "More than you might think." Gee, that sounded a bit more wry than he'd meant it to. He covers it with a smile of his own and an added, "Thank you."

Samantha actually looks sort of grateful for the well-wishes. Like she expects there to be people who are less than thrilled? "Thank you." she echoes, and looks sidelong at Namir. Suspiciously. "What are you grinning about?"

Hmm what? Namir is the epitome of innocence when he turns a grin on Sam. "I'm grinning because you are wonderful and beautiful and I love you." Mmmmm-hmm.

Now it's Mariska's turn to play the Twix-minus-the-actual-Twix maneuver. Insert veggie wrap. Munch munch. Her eyes suggest amusement but she doesn't dare take on a twist to her lips or a rounding in her cheeks that might suggest she found their interaction comical. Nope. No chuckles here. Eating, see? Munch munch.

"And now Mariska, you see why Namir's eyes are brown." And in case it's not obvious, "Because he's full of shi - poo." she corrects, fluttering her lashes.

What! "Well you are," Namir insists. Totally what he was grinning about. That's his story and he's sticking to it. He thrusts a thumb toward Sam as he looks to Mariska. "She has self-esteem issues."

Oh, is that how that works? The Russian woman raises her eyebrows in a 'so noted' gesture, swinging a little glance over in Namir's direction for whatever sort of confirmation/denial he might feel compelled to dish out. Wait. Where's her drink? She takes hold of her ice tea and puts the straw between her lips just at the corner of her mouth. There. Now she looks casual. Oh? Time to anticipate the inevitable shoulder punch in 3…2…1…

"It's true." Samantha says in a mild tone that suggests DEATH come to warm Namir's cockles later. "I don't know how I'd manage without him. I'm such a frail, fragile flower of femininity, I whimper at the very thought."

All Namir can do at that is grin and suppress a laugh with one hand. He tries to make it look casual, but, well, it's not very. Still covering his mouth with a hand he grins over at Sam. I love you honey~~ pleasedon'tputnastythingsinmytoothpastelater.

This must be what it's like to watch Felix and Mariska interact from the dark side of the moon; opposite and inverted. Namir and Samantha lovingly joke about violence. Felix and Mariska violently joke about loving. The couple across the table has officially earned themselves a genuine grin. Adoribals.

Samantha rolls her eyes heavenward. Oh yes, revenge will be planned. She looks back to Mariska with a whole 'you see? you see what I have to put up with?' expression. She wants to ask the Russian woman more questions, but it seems kind of awkward on her end. Then, "You and Felix need to come by our apartment some time. Dinner would be great. Not that Felix doesn't come over anyway."

That sound you hear is Namir's shovel quick at work. He knows he's in for it. But that's half the fun, right? Turning his attention on Mariska again, he nods with a soft clearing of his throat. "Yes, you should." A pause. "You're not allergic to cats, are you?"

Ah, the implied 'group unit' designation. It's hard to deny, given the circumstances; outward appearances suggesting that Mariska and Felix are all but a couple on the cusp. But, Mariska can't help but feel awkward in her own skin as she tries to come up with some polite way to hypocritically beg a crowbar separation. Mariska's 'totally negatory' headshake comes complete with a little wide-eyed look and 'who, me?' eyebrow lift. Thankfully, this denial is in regards to the cat allergy question. "I would love to," she says, invitation accepted. "When?"

It may be less complicated than Mariska thinks. Sam is a New Yorker, and she's acquainted with all kinds of non-traditional dynamics. Yes, she's aware that Mariska is the alleged mother of Felix's alleged child, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're bunking up now. Especially since she's aware of Felix's predilection for switching partners mid-dance, nudge nudge, wink wink. But it's an effort to be friendly, since Felix has indicated that's how his friends should interact with Mariska.

Of course that said, Mari has NO idea what goes on in Sam's head, thus rendering all that information useless. Oh well!

She turns to Namir. "Whose turn is it to cook?"

Namir is part way to taking a bite from his sandwich when that question comes up. He hesitates, then contorts his face into something thoughtful. After a moment, he comes back with, "I think it's mine." Pretty sure she cooked last time.

As it becomes increasingly apparent that Felix won't be returning to them soon, Mariska becomes somewhat restless; shifting in her seat, toying with whatever utensils there are to be found within reach, fingertips put to plastic fork tines and gently rocked on the tabletop. With her pale eyes fixed on the door, she's succumbed to a quiet that goes beyond the polite allowance given in order for the couple to sort out kitchen duty. When the Russian realizes the brief banter has waned, she blinks and then offers apologetically, "I should… go." Why? "Just, uh, let Felix know when is good for dinner or…" More specifically to Namir now. "…you have my phone number. You can call."

Samantha seems surprised that Namir has Mariska's number, but not in a disturbed way. "Oh, no need to leave." she says. Admittedly, it is kind of awkward. "Let's give Felix a few more minutes, yeah?"

Felix returns from the phone call, looking embarrassed. Ah, the joys of afterhours Bureau business. "Sorry about that," he says, reappearing out of the crowd.

Oh, she's leaving. As Mariska gets up to go, Namir once again hesitates in taking a bite from his poor neglected sandwich and blinks up at her in some surprise. Just when he opens his mouth to echo Sam's sentiments of not leaving, Felix appears and he closes his mouth, only to smile and open it again: "Happens to the best of us." And then a glance to Mariska. And then to his sandwich. Which he finally gets to take a bite of. Munchmunch.

So much for that escape plan. Mariska had only managed to make it two steps away before Felix's uncanny reappearance caught her in mid-retreat. Now what? Does she stay? Does she go? Was she fleeing Felix's absence… or fleeing IN Felix's absence? Hm. «Is everything alright?» she asks in a subdued but some how too-curious tone. It's hard not to pick up the vibe that somehow… for some reason… she might have been concerned that Felix's phone call had something to do with her. Egomaniac… or rightfully paranoid?

He flicks the phone shut, and tucks it away. "Yeah," he says, with faint irritation. "More schedule rearranging. I hate dealing with the DEA." He drops back into his seat, and assumes a properly contrite impression. "Sorry about being a celphone asshole. I hate it when people do that."

Samantha chimes in, "We were talking about having you two over for dinner. Namir's going to cook."

"Take that as you will," adds Namir in a deadpan. Not that he cooks horribly.

Okay, right, so… staying. For now. Misha reclaims her abandoned seat, tray with food that was to be discarded now returned with her.

Felix glances between them. "Everyone keeps wanting to feed me. Will was talking about a dinner party the other day. But that sounds wonderful. And in thanks, I'll take you out somewhere nice," he offers. Because god, Felix hates cooking.

"Will's having a dinner party?" Sam perks. "We better get invited, or I'm totally revoking my status as his fa - uhh, galpal."

"You don't have to," Namir utters to Felix. The mention of William having a dinner party gets a lift of his eyebrows, but Sam's tripping over her words gets a grin. He leans over and murmurs in her ear, "You're cute when you are trying not to be crude."

A long finger gets laid on the horizon against Mariska's lower lip as she momentarily averts her eyes to look at anything else but her current tablemates — Felix included. Oh, look. Someone's just walked through the door. Mariska makes a pensive study of the stranger, pale eyes unfocused; it's not a sharp, pointed stare, but Will's definitely being tracked visually.

Fel's gaze also darts to Will, for a moment. And lingers there a hair longer than it should, before he grins and lifts a hand to wave the teacher over to them. That's not a blush, is it? "Hey," he calls.

"I'm just saying." Samantha says. "You know, if you're not going to have him on your side of things, he can totally be on mine. I need him to fulfill all the stereotypical - " and then Fel's waving and she turns, beaming. "William. You sly, sly devil, you!"

William makes his way in, humming a show tune softly under his breath. The familiar voice calls his attention to them. "Hello!" Will calls back but he's not coming over yet. He needs a sandwich first. This is top priority for him at the moment. He places a non-pork order quickly. Turkey seems safer than ham at the moment. "Have I grown horns?" He says towards Sam in amusement, mock checking his head for them.

Wait, what? They know this guy?? Mariska's shoulders shed their slack posture and she straightens in her seat as the previously anonymous apple of her eye is summoned to the booth. Seriously?! That's just… we'll go with 'uncanny'.

"No, sweetie." Sam beams beneficently at William. "Horns on the head is my people."

It's like magic! Mention the gay teacher friend and he appears. Namir also turns when all the greetings go up and offers Will a smile and wave with the others. "Sam was just referring to your being one of my groomsmen." Yes, he gets Will on his side of the wedding. Because he just said so. Just now. His family doesn't have to know that the teacher is gay.

A quick glance to Sam before he adds, "I think you mean pink snouts and curly tails, habibti." Love you dear~

"How are the plans going on that?" Felix wonders, finally bothering to pick up his own sandwich. "Mariska, this is Will. He's a teacher. Will, this is Mariska," he explains, once Will is in range. And then he stares at Sam, like he can't entirely believe she made that joke.

William brings food and soda over. He snags a chair from another table to sit at the end and gives Namir a grin. "Oh? I'm one of your groomsmen, huh? I suppose that beats wearing a bridesmaid dress." Will jokes before he gives Mariska a look over. He's apparently heard about her. "Uh, nice to meet you." It's not an unfriendly tone, but it doesn't have the warmth that Will's voice did when talking to Namir and Sam.

"Nice to meet you," Mariska mynahs, voice just as equally even and not entirely enthusiastic. One more conspirator added to the mix. She falls back in to the same Siberian silence that had overtaken her shortly before Will's arrival.

"I don't know, you'd look gorgeous in the right colors." Sam teases Will, and seems content to look to her own food now. "And what's this I hear about a dinner party?"

There's definitely some tension in the air. Namir can tell, but he's doing well in not showing it. Will, Felix, Mariska — it's quite a triangle. "There are no plans yet," he informs Felix with a smirk. "We haven't had the time to sit down together and start hammering them out."

Oh, god, the awkward. Because Fel is now squeezed between the current object of his affection, and the would-have-been object. He's really trying to calmly go on with his dinner….and instead, he's blushing. The pokerface really isn't convincing. "I see," he says, simply.

William gives Sam a grin. "Yeah, but just because I'm gay doesn't mean I have to wear skirts." Will jokes towards Sam before he adds. "I was hoping to have all of you and maybe a few others over for dinner some night. It'll likely be takeout again." But at least good takeout. He slips into Arabic to comment to Namir with a smile. «So, you finally got up the nerve to pop the question, huh?»

Well, there's a little slice of unexpected. Mariska's absent attention drifts back into focus when Will says something in, what was that? Arabic? Funny. He doesn't look the type. Score a point for unassuming white guys who speak something other than unassuming white guy languages. Not that she has any idea what's been said, of course. Er, back up — did he say 'gay'? Damn. All the cute ones really are gay or (almost) married. She's just picking at the sad remains of her veggie wrap now, twisting a piece of the wheat shell off from the rest and gnawing on it thoughtfully. Her gaze roves from Felix to Will to Sam to, wait — why is Felix blushing?

Samantha volleys back, "No, it means you'll probably manage the heels better than most of my girlfriends." She holds out her hand to snap her fingers (conveniently showing off the rock), "Hey, none of that speaking in another language like sneaky bastards in public, please." Finger-waggle, chide!

That gets a little laugh out of Namir, who's also noted Felix's blushing — hell, that's not something you see every day, amirite? — but is doing his best not to draw attention to it. «I had to be sure we wouldn't kill each other after living together for a month or so,» he responds to William in equally fluent Arabic. At Sam's chiding, he grins over at her and adds in Hebrew, «Even if it's a language you can understand?»

The rock is very interesting. It is a very good excuse for Fel to avoid looking at the people on either side of him. Dammit, Sam, now Misha's gonna get ideas. He simply rolls his eyes at Namir and Will, and reaches for his glass. "Gentlemen. The ladies don't speak the language."

"Well of course. Walking in heels it a skill taught to all SEALs. Just in case." Will jokes lightheartedly before he goes back to eating. See, if he jokes with Sam and Namir, he won't have to shoot as many awkward looks at Felix and Mariska, though Felix's blushing earns a hint of a smile. He blinks for a moment before he switches into Hebrew as well. «Yeah. We can include you on the teasing of Namir in this one.» He looks to Sam's ring and takes her hand to get a better look, so long as she'll let him. "Namir, I never imagined you had this good of taste." He states, back in English again.

Samantha lets him of course! But adds, "Felix and Mariska don't speak Hebrew. Cut it out, you two. Your mothers raised you better!" Pointedly at Namir, I know your mother did."

Oh God, they did bond somehow during their chance meeting. Namir is utterly mortified (but secretly glad). He winces at Sam's verbal beat-down. "Yes, ma'am." To Felix and Mariska he adds, "Sorry, sometimes I get a little carried away." Will gets a grin. "I'm full of surprises." He had no help from the store clerk at all. No really.

Felix shrugs. "I know you can't help it," he says, drily. And then there's the image of Will in heels to distract him. The ex-Seal gets an owl eyed stare for a heartbeat or two. "Fabulous weapons, fabulous makeup. Or wasn't that the paratroopers?" he says, musingly.

Hey now. Samantha might be Semitic, but she's from New York, as her Queens accent makes very apparent! "If you ladies are done talking shop," she drawls, and rolls her eyes to Mariska. "I swear, they're worse then a panty party."
William smiles over to Sam. "Congratulations." He says before he just laughs over to Felix. "If you could call camo paint fabulous, yes." He gives Sam a quick smile. "Suddenly I'm glad my mother is back in Iowa. So you can't know for sure." And Mariska gets another quick curious look. Maybe he's trying to figure out what Felix sees in her.

"Unfortunately," Namir chuckles to Will, casting a look over at Samantha, "my mother showed up at our apartment a few nights ago while I was held up late at work, so Sam knows. I had to rush home to save my poor sweet elderly mother from her clutches." She was trying to smother Cairo with a cat and kill her with tea. True story.

Mariska's looking at Will. Will's looking at her. The exchange isn't so much hostile as… aggressively appraising? Hm, maybe that's not quite right, either. Suffice to say, when Samantha makes another attempt to draw Mariska back into the conversation with an eye-rolling aside, the Russian has to blink to break visual contact and then drawls, "Yes, they are." Worse. What's a panty party?

Felix looks confused, like he's not entirely following the story. And well, yes. Foreign born, with friends from the Middle East. He's gone silent again, finishing the end of his sandwich. He and Misha must just talk each other's ears off back in his place, right? Still not looking at either Will or Misha.

Samantha finally seems to be getting a sense of the awkward. Maybe it's time to break this shindig up. "So when is your dinner party, Will? So Namir and I don't arrange something for the same night?" Yes, get the technicalities out of the way, and then all these poor souls can scurry off.

William considers that. "Um, I don't have a date yet. Let's set one now. Are weekends better?" They are for a teacher, but it doesn't mean the others have anywhere near similar schedules. He looks over to Felix with a faint hint of a blush on his cheeks and then to Mariska. "I hope the two of you will be able to make it as well."

Yes, there is plenty of awkward to go around at this table. Maybe when they get somewhere alone, Namir will tell Samantha alllllll about it. Meanwhile, he screws his eyes up to the ceiling. "Weekends are … touch-and-go with me." Obviously. "If you give me a weekend, I can tell you if I can make it or not."

Sure, okay. Let's play it straight. No funny business going on here, right? Right. Instead of jerking one eyebrow upwards and drawling out a disbelieving 'oh really?', Mariska pastes on a pleasant smile and says, "Me, too." Because what would be really awesome is if there was a repeat performance of this very moment, only with slightly nicer clothes and possibly alcohol involved. Bring your cameras, kids!

"Weekends are generally good for me," Felix says, gently. "Earlier the better, though, in all honesty. But what Namir said." He finally meets Will's gaze. It's not -quite- that moment in Lady and the Tramp, right? Less wet noses, more embarrassment.

"We'll sort it out on the phone." Sam resolves and rises. "Mariska, it was lovely meeting you, and I hope we'll get to see you more. Guys, keep in touch." She can't help curving a little smile at Felix and Will, awww… so cute! Namir gets a little tug on the shoulder.

That's his cue, it seems. After one last bite of his sandwich, Namir also rises and clears his throat. "Yes, nice seeing you all again. Have a good night." And with that, he turns to follow his fiancée out. He even opens the door for her and is generally extra nice so that Sam will feel horribly, horribly guilty whenever she decides to exact her revenge.

Uh oh. Did the curfew klaxon that only straight people can hear just ring or something? Misha gives Namir and Samantha a friendly send off both in English, "Goodbye. Take care." and Russian, «Good luck.» She then shifts her shoulders as she tucks both of her hands between her thighs and it's right then that it occurs to her that there's hasn't been a single instance of clandestine contact between her and Felix this entire time. Huh. Must have been a really distracting phone call. Maybe she should (do what she always does and) make the first move…? Alright. Kneebump. It's casual.

William finishes his sandwich and stands. Now that Namir and Sam are gone, it's polite enough to talk a language the others understand, right? He slips into Russian to say, «It was nice to meet you. Have a good night.» Maybe it's just a warning that he speaks the language. There's a last look to Felix and a sigh before he turns to head out the door.

"Take care, you two," Fel says, watching them go almost wistfully. It sucks, having to lie to them. He reaches for Misha's hand, under the table. «Evening, Will,» he says, quietly.

Oh, hey. There she is. Right where Felix left her. In a diner. Commence awkward Russian deathgrip handholding contest in 3…2 — wait. When Will switches over to Russian so flawlessly, Mariska's head actually cranes and tilts as if on a pneumatic pivot and she blinks at the man, suddenly overcome with an indescribable curiosity. Six lives left. «Your diction is remarkable.» If she only knew. Hell, if Felix only knew… amirite?

«He's ex Spetsnaz,» Felix explains, quietly. «Very good with languages,» He's really done with his dinner - his hand remains in Misha's. He's still blushing, albeit faintly. «Uh. I think I'm done. Shall we head home?»

Ah, there's the eyebrow lift Mariska was holding back earlier. She inclines her head wordless toward the door, a silent 'sure', and relinquishes her grip on the man's hand so as to dispose of the last crusts of her forgotten food.

Felix takes care of the tip, and rises to head for the door, waiting for her. Not quite cold enough for him to have his overcoat out yet.

Just wait… there's a cold front coming…

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