The Man From R.A.M.E.N.
Title: The Man From R.A.M.E.N.
Words: 1,392
Fandom: Bandom mish-mash (Gabe, Bill, Butch Walker, mentions of Bob)
A/N: Written for au_bingo square Historical: 1960's. Bovs, this is a Man From U.N.C.L.E. AU. ^^
In Chicago, Illinois, on an unassuming corner of North Clark Street, there’s an ordinary tailor shop...or is it ordinary?
Gabe steps through the door of McLynn’s Tailor Shop as naturally as he can. It hasn’t quite been a long time coming, but after a few days in the hospital and then a week on bed rest, he’s willing to face whatever’s ahead of him the way he’s always faced it: head on, and not in the most organized of manners.
Mr. McLynn barely looks up when Gabe walks in, just nods, and goes on ironing the shirt in front of him. Gabe passes through toward the dressing room, listening for the double-hiss of McLynn’s iron before he tugs at the wall hook, pushing the door open and heading into the R.A.M.E.N. building.
The first thing he sees is a welcome sight in all its familiarity; Bill’s still parked behind the desk, head propped up on one elbow as he scans the morning newspaper. He doesn’t even look up until Gabe’s halfway to the desk.
"Well hello again, Mr. Saporta," Bill grins as he stands, flicking his hair over one shoulder. "How was your vacation?"
"Could have only been better if you were there, Bill my sweet," Gabe smiles, brushing a hand through his own hair as he approaches the front desk. Bill tends to have the ability to leave Gabe doubting his own hygiene, no matter how impeccably he’s dressed. “Do you have my number?"
"I've got your number," Bill nods. He reaches over, grabbing one of the yellow badges without a glance. "Eleven, right?"
"Oh, you know me too well."
"Mmm-hmm," he grins. "Welcome back, Gabe."
"Thank you, Bill,” Gabe can’t help but smile back as he leans forward to let Bill pin the badge to his lapel. He doesn’t straighten up right away, and is rewarded for his patience with a quick hug.
Bill pulls back, quickly putting on a professional façade as the door behind him opens once more, but it’s only Agents McCoy and McGinley. They exchange quick greetings and goodbyes on their way out toward McLynn’s and their latest mission. When Gabe looks back, Bill’s holding out a couple slips of paper for him.
“Butch wants to see you first thing,” Bill says, lowering his voice slightly. “He’s moved up a bit since you were here last.”
Gabe shakes his head. “You’re the one who deserves a promotion, Billvy, you know everything about this place.”
“Gabe.”
“What’s he up to now, Five? Four?”
“Gabe?”
“Swear, that guy’s been gunning for a promotion longer than you or I’ve been…”
Gabe trails off as he realizes Bill’s tapping his fingers. More specifically, he quits laughing as he realizes which empty badge slot Bill’s tapping his finger on.
---
Gabe nearly chokes when he walks into the office, finding Butch surrounded by paperwork, thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose.
"Never thought I'd see you behind a desk, Butch-I mean, Mr. Walker," Gabe can barely keep a straight face as Butch looks up and rolls his eyes. "All due respect now that you're Number One, right sir?"
"Yeah, cut it out, Gabe," Butch leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head and flexing his wrists. "After they shot me a couple times, burned down both my houses, the R.A.M.E.N. network decided it was time for me to settle down some...if you can call doing anything in our field 'settling,' that is."
"I understand,” Gabe grins. “Believe me, I understand.”
"Oh believe me, I understand you understand," Butch raises one eyebrow slightly. "Believe me, ever since the Midtown Affair-"
“Well,” Gabe throws himself into the nearest chair, his relaxed posture blatantly at odds with his tone, and he hates himself for it a little. “Not wasting any time on pleasantries, are we Butch?”
Butch sighs, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “The Midtown Affair was a success, Gabe-“
“I know that, Butch.”
“Well start acting like it then,” Butch frowns. “Need I remind you you’re the one who wanted to cut your recuperation time in quarters, insisted that even after a long-term undercover affair you didn’t need any-“
“How many long-term undercovers have you done?” Gabe raises one eyebrow. He feels childish, but he can’t quite stop himself. “Have you ever taken the full month off after one?”
“I’m just saying, Gabe, you come out of a long-term affair like that, it takes you a while to remember who you actually are,” Butch gestures vaguely at him. “You, you look like a whole different person-again-I know I’m not the only one boggling at the fact that you’re wearing colors beyond black once more.”
“Some things never change, I see,” Gabe mutters, trying to recapture some of the good feelings he’d had that morning, the eagerness to head back to work. He reminds himself that this, at least, this is better than sitting at home, alone. “You’re still all about appearances.”
Butch quirks an eyebrow. “I have to be. It’s sorta our business to be deceiving.”
“Funny, I’m not sure that’d be Mr. Wentz’ take on the whole thing.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, because I’ve got the Number One badge now, not him,” Butch steeples his fingers, leaning forward on his desk with a serious expression. “Some things never change, but a lot has been changing, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s actually part of the reason why I called you in here today.”
Gabe sits up a bit straighter. “I’m getting a promotion? Am I gonna be Number Ten finally?”
“…close.”
Gabe can’t help it; he holds his breath as he asks, “Single digits?”
“I meant phonetically,” Butch shrugs. “A partner.”
Gabe feels like he’s deflating as he repeats, “A partner?”
“A partner. You’ve been on your own too long, Gabe, and the R.A.M.E.N. network’s found-“
"Butch-seriously. All due respect dude, yet again, but I didn't start going by Solo just because it's an easy alias to remember."
"Well Mr. Solo,” Butch stresses the word in all the wrong places, and the sound grates on Gabe’s nerves like nothing else. “All due respect, but I didn’t pin on the little Number One badge just because I liked the way it looked this morning-but because I figured you might need reminding that yes, I am your boss."
He scowls. "Come on Butch-"
"Gabe," he says, a note of caution in his voice. Gabe bites his lip to keep from snapping back. "He's scheduled to arrive here at ten, so you have roughly forty-five minutes to both come to terms with it, and come up with a new alias.” Butch pauses thoughtfully. “Might I suggest Gabriel Duo?"
"You might not, jerk," Gabe mutters to himself. "Do I even get to know who? It better not be one of those newbie chumps from Sector Five."
"No, he's from a much more...respectable sector," Butch picks up one of the files on his desk, shuffles through a couple more, and finally hands one over to Gabe. Gabe grabs it, spreading it across his lap. "The, ah, Northern Sector. Agent Bryar is a Russian foreign intelligence special op, transferring to a local field on account of injury, details not listed-"
"Bryar. Robert Bryar?" Gabe looks up. "What is that, German? He's a German Kremlin agent?"
Butch's mouth quirks. "Might be an alias."
"Hah," Gabe mutters, standing up again and tucking the file under one arm. “Well. If there’s nothing else, sir? I wanna go get reacquainted with my desk.”
“You do that,” Butch nods. “Gabe?”
He pauses, already halfway to the door. “Yeah?”
“No reindeer games trying to run Agent Bryar out of the office, alright? He escaped from the Kremlin single-handedly, I think he can take your bull, but still.”
“Pfft,” Gabe grins, breezing through the office door. “The Kremlin’s in downtown Moscow, Butch. I’ll be impressed when he escapes someplace like Jersey on his own.”
“You didn’t escape Jersey on your own either, Gabe!” Butch calls after him.
Gabe pretends not to hear him. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the past, things like the Midtown Affair. He’s got more pressing matters to attend to, he nods to himself, like remembering how to get to his office, and figuring out how soon he can drag Bill away for an early lunch.
Words: 1,392
Fandom: Bandom mish-mash (Gabe, Bill, Butch Walker, mentions of Bob)
A/N: Written for au_bingo square Historical: 1960's. Bovs, this is a Man From U.N.C.L.E. AU. ^^
In Chicago, Illinois, on an unassuming corner of North Clark Street, there’s an ordinary tailor shop...or is it ordinary?
Gabe steps through the door of McLynn’s Tailor Shop as naturally as he can. It hasn’t quite been a long time coming, but after a few days in the hospital and then a week on bed rest, he’s willing to face whatever’s ahead of him the way he’s always faced it: head on, and not in the most organized of manners.
Mr. McLynn barely looks up when Gabe walks in, just nods, and goes on ironing the shirt in front of him. Gabe passes through toward the dressing room, listening for the double-hiss of McLynn’s iron before he tugs at the wall hook, pushing the door open and heading into the R.A.M.E.N. building.
The first thing he sees is a welcome sight in all its familiarity; Bill’s still parked behind the desk, head propped up on one elbow as he scans the morning newspaper. He doesn’t even look up until Gabe’s halfway to the desk.
"Well hello again, Mr. Saporta," Bill grins as he stands, flicking his hair over one shoulder. "How was your vacation?"
"Could have only been better if you were there, Bill my sweet," Gabe smiles, brushing a hand through his own hair as he approaches the front desk. Bill tends to have the ability to leave Gabe doubting his own hygiene, no matter how impeccably he’s dressed. “Do you have my number?"
"I've got your number," Bill nods. He reaches over, grabbing one of the yellow badges without a glance. "Eleven, right?"
"Oh, you know me too well."
"Mmm-hmm," he grins. "Welcome back, Gabe."
"Thank you, Bill,” Gabe can’t help but smile back as he leans forward to let Bill pin the badge to his lapel. He doesn’t straighten up right away, and is rewarded for his patience with a quick hug.
Bill pulls back, quickly putting on a professional façade as the door behind him opens once more, but it’s only Agents McCoy and McGinley. They exchange quick greetings and goodbyes on their way out toward McLynn’s and their latest mission. When Gabe looks back, Bill’s holding out a couple slips of paper for him.
“Butch wants to see you first thing,” Bill says, lowering his voice slightly. “He’s moved up a bit since you were here last.”
Gabe shakes his head. “You’re the one who deserves a promotion, Billvy, you know everything about this place.”
“Gabe.”
“What’s he up to now, Five? Four?”
“Gabe?”
“Swear, that guy’s been gunning for a promotion longer than you or I’ve been…”
Gabe trails off as he realizes Bill’s tapping his fingers. More specifically, he quits laughing as he realizes which empty badge slot Bill’s tapping his finger on.
---
Gabe nearly chokes when he walks into the office, finding Butch surrounded by paperwork, thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose.
"Never thought I'd see you behind a desk, Butch-I mean, Mr. Walker," Gabe can barely keep a straight face as Butch looks up and rolls his eyes. "All due respect now that you're Number One, right sir?"
"Yeah, cut it out, Gabe," Butch leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head and flexing his wrists. "After they shot me a couple times, burned down both my houses, the R.A.M.E.N. network decided it was time for me to settle down some...if you can call doing anything in our field 'settling,' that is."
"I understand,” Gabe grins. “Believe me, I understand.”
"Oh believe me, I understand you understand," Butch raises one eyebrow slightly. "Believe me, ever since the Midtown Affair-"
“Well,” Gabe throws himself into the nearest chair, his relaxed posture blatantly at odds with his tone, and he hates himself for it a little. “Not wasting any time on pleasantries, are we Butch?”
Butch sighs, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “The Midtown Affair was a success, Gabe-“
“I know that, Butch.”
“Well start acting like it then,” Butch frowns. “Need I remind you you’re the one who wanted to cut your recuperation time in quarters, insisted that even after a long-term undercover affair you didn’t need any-“
“How many long-term undercovers have you done?” Gabe raises one eyebrow. He feels childish, but he can’t quite stop himself. “Have you ever taken the full month off after one?”
“I’m just saying, Gabe, you come out of a long-term affair like that, it takes you a while to remember who you actually are,” Butch gestures vaguely at him. “You, you look like a whole different person-again-I know I’m not the only one boggling at the fact that you’re wearing colors beyond black once more.”
“Some things never change, I see,” Gabe mutters, trying to recapture some of the good feelings he’d had that morning, the eagerness to head back to work. He reminds himself that this, at least, this is better than sitting at home, alone. “You’re still all about appearances.”
Butch quirks an eyebrow. “I have to be. It’s sorta our business to be deceiving.”
“Funny, I’m not sure that’d be Mr. Wentz’ take on the whole thing.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, because I’ve got the Number One badge now, not him,” Butch steeples his fingers, leaning forward on his desk with a serious expression. “Some things never change, but a lot has been changing, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s actually part of the reason why I called you in here today.”
Gabe sits up a bit straighter. “I’m getting a promotion? Am I gonna be Number Ten finally?”
“…close.”
Gabe can’t help it; he holds his breath as he asks, “Single digits?”
“I meant phonetically,” Butch shrugs. “A partner.”
Gabe feels like he’s deflating as he repeats, “A partner?”
“A partner. You’ve been on your own too long, Gabe, and the R.A.M.E.N. network’s found-“
"Butch-seriously. All due respect dude, yet again, but I didn't start going by Solo just because it's an easy alias to remember."
"Well Mr. Solo,” Butch stresses the word in all the wrong places, and the sound grates on Gabe’s nerves like nothing else. “All due respect, but I didn’t pin on the little Number One badge just because I liked the way it looked this morning-but because I figured you might need reminding that yes, I am your boss."
He scowls. "Come on Butch-"
"Gabe," he says, a note of caution in his voice. Gabe bites his lip to keep from snapping back. "He's scheduled to arrive here at ten, so you have roughly forty-five minutes to both come to terms with it, and come up with a new alias.” Butch pauses thoughtfully. “Might I suggest Gabriel Duo?"
"You might not, jerk," Gabe mutters to himself. "Do I even get to know who? It better not be one of those newbie chumps from Sector Five."
"No, he's from a much more...respectable sector," Butch picks up one of the files on his desk, shuffles through a couple more, and finally hands one over to Gabe. Gabe grabs it, spreading it across his lap. "The, ah, Northern Sector. Agent Bryar is a Russian foreign intelligence special op, transferring to a local field on account of injury, details not listed-"
"Bryar. Robert Bryar?" Gabe looks up. "What is that, German? He's a German Kremlin agent?"
Butch's mouth quirks. "Might be an alias."
"Hah," Gabe mutters, standing up again and tucking the file under one arm. “Well. If there’s nothing else, sir? I wanna go get reacquainted with my desk.”
“You do that,” Butch nods. “Gabe?”
He pauses, already halfway to the door. “Yeah?”
“No reindeer games trying to run Agent Bryar out of the office, alright? He escaped from the Kremlin single-handedly, I think he can take your bull, but still.”
“Pfft,” Gabe grins, breezing through the office door. “The Kremlin’s in downtown Moscow, Butch. I’ll be impressed when he escapes someplace like Jersey on his own.”
“You didn’t escape Jersey on your own either, Gabe!” Butch calls after him.
Gabe pretends not to hear him. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the past, things like the Midtown Affair. He’s got more pressing matters to attend to, he nods to himself, like remembering how to get to his office, and figuring out how soon he can drag Bill away for an early lunch.