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section7mfu2019-03-08 06:39 pm
jantojones.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2019-03-08 06:39 pm
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The ABC Affair Challenge 2019 - C is for Crawfish
Illya Kuryakin had, yet again, found himself confined to desk work; this time thanks to a sprained knee. His situation was made all the more annoying by the daily calls he was getting from his partner. Napoleon was on assignment in New Orleans, and was taking great delight in regaling Illya with stories of all the restaurants he’d visited.
As he worked through the pile of paperwork on his desk, Illya’s stomach rumbled at the thought of all the wonderful food Solo had been eating. He glanced at his watch and realised he was in danger of working through lunch. His stomach signalled its emptiness again, just as the office door opened, allowing Rhonda Mackie from the archives to enter.
“I’ve brought the file you requested,” she said, “Though, judging by that sound, you should perhaps leave it until after lunch.”
Illya smiled and took the file from her.
“I am more than ready to eat,” he replied. “And Napoleon’s calls from New Orleans are really not helping.”
“Can I bring you something from the commissary?” Rhonda offered. “It will be fairly busy right now, and with your knee it’ll be awkward.”
Illya had been managing perfectly well, having had plenty of practice on crutches in the past, but he couldn’t deny it would be easier if Rhonda fetched him something. If nothing else, it would save him having to face the attentions of all the sympathetic women he would encounter.
“That is very kind of you,” he accepted. “I do not suppose they will have anything to match what Napoleon has been enjoying.”
“Probably not,” she answered. “Although . . .”
“Although what?”
“Can you spare an hour, and would you like to join me for lunch?”
..........................................................
A short while later, Rhonda brought her car to a stop, outside a restaurant only a couple of blocks from headquarters. In the passenger seat Illya smiled as he read the name ‘Cajun Kitchen’.
“They do the best crawfish here,” Rhonda enthused. “My favourite is the Cajun crawfish étouffée. What do you think? Want to try it?”
“Indeed I do,” Illya replied, his mouth watering in anticipation. “But not right now.”
Rhonda’s face dropped.
“Do not take that the wrong way,” Illya said, hurriedly. “What I meant was, why not have something from that deli down the street for lunch, and we can come back here tonight instead? I am unable to take you dancing afterwards, but maybe a movie, or a jazz club might be acceptable.”
Rhonda’s smile could have outshone the sun.
“It’s a date.”
As he worked through the pile of paperwork on his desk, Illya’s stomach rumbled at the thought of all the wonderful food Solo had been eating. He glanced at his watch and realised he was in danger of working through lunch. His stomach signalled its emptiness again, just as the office door opened, allowing Rhonda Mackie from the archives to enter.
“I’ve brought the file you requested,” she said, “Though, judging by that sound, you should perhaps leave it until after lunch.”
Illya smiled and took the file from her.
“I am more than ready to eat,” he replied. “And Napoleon’s calls from New Orleans are really not helping.”
“Can I bring you something from the commissary?” Rhonda offered. “It will be fairly busy right now, and with your knee it’ll be awkward.”
Illya had been managing perfectly well, having had plenty of practice on crutches in the past, but he couldn’t deny it would be easier if Rhonda fetched him something. If nothing else, it would save him having to face the attentions of all the sympathetic women he would encounter.
“That is very kind of you,” he accepted. “I do not suppose they will have anything to match what Napoleon has been enjoying.”
“Probably not,” she answered. “Although . . .”
“Although what?”
“Can you spare an hour, and would you like to join me for lunch?”
..........................................................
A short while later, Rhonda brought her car to a stop, outside a restaurant only a couple of blocks from headquarters. In the passenger seat Illya smiled as he read the name ‘Cajun Kitchen’.
“They do the best crawfish here,” Rhonda enthused. “My favourite is the Cajun crawfish étouffée. What do you think? Want to try it?”
“Indeed I do,” Illya replied, his mouth watering in anticipation. “But not right now.”
Rhonda’s face dropped.
“Do not take that the wrong way,” Illya said, hurriedly. “What I meant was, why not have something from that deli down the street for lunch, and we can come back here tonight instead? I am unable to take you dancing afterwards, but maybe a movie, or a jazz club might be acceptable.”
Rhonda’s smile could have outshone the sun.
“It’s a date.”
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