MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which a repressed memory from the Korean War returns to Napoleon in full force–and unleashes a rare anger in him as Illya tries to help.

Not cross-posting this as I’ll be expanding this in the future.

       Well, I was there and I saw what you did, I saw it with my own two eyes,
               So you can wipe off that grin, I know where you’ve been,
                                      It’s all been a pack of lies.
                                  — Phil Collins, “In the Air Tonight”

Napoleon was always grateful when Illya accompanied him—even
on errands that he didn’t even need to waste time on.  An old acquaintance had summoned Napoleon for
help, claiming that he and Napoleon had served in Korea together and was now
the head of a growing business.

“Derek Smith…” Napoleon said, repeating the name for the
umpteenth time, trying to recall the owner.
“I can’t, for the life of me, remember who he was.”

“Well, in your defense, that is an incredibly common name,”
Illya pointed out, as they headed into the luxurious office suite where he had
asked to meet them.  “Perhaps your mental
block will lift upon seeing him.”

“Maybe…” Napoleon mused.
He trailed off as a man approached them, looking at Napoleon with
recognition in his eyes.

“There you are, Solo!” he said, ignoring Illya completely.  “Wow, you look well after all this time!”

“Derek Smith…?” Napoleon asked.  Seeing him wasn’t ringing any bells, either,
much to his frustration.

“Yeah, that’s right—Korea, 1951.  You were just a young corporal then,” Smith
mused.  “Look, I’m sorry for how
unprofessionally I’m dressed; I just got off the golf course, but I really do
need to speak with you.  See, climbing up
the corporate ladder isn’t easy—you make a lot of enemies doing this, but they
tell me you’re a crackerjack agent for U.N.C.L.E. who has protected the lives
of many diplomats…”

Napoleon suddenly noticed something—a gold pendant with
Korean letters etched on it, resting around Smith’s neck.  And, suddenly, something in Napoleon’s memory
sparked; he recalled seeing that same pendant back in 1951, covered with
crimson blood—but it wasn’t Smith who had been wearing it…

It had been a
stormy night outside of Uijeongbu, and Napoleon had been heading back to camp
after going on patrol.  A Korean woman,
carrying a bundle that was unmistakably an infant, was approaching another
solider, calling for help.  She had been
wearing the pendant—but then, the soldier she had been approaching raised his
gun…

Napoleon
remembered now—how his horrified shout had been lost in a crack of thunder and
gunfire as the other soldier had shot the woman.  The baby had begun to cry even as his mother
fell, lifeless.  And the soldier, not even
flinching, had merely reached down and snapped the pendant off of the body,
pocketing it for himself as spoils of war, ignoring the crying infant.  And as the soldier turned to go, Napoleon had
seen his face in an instant, illuminated by a flash of lightning…

Napoleon snapped back to the present.

“How about it, Solo?” Smith asked.  “Will you take the job as my personal
bodyguard for this fancy party?”

Napoleon’s face turned down into a fierce scowl—something that
took Illya by complete surprise.

“Never,” he growled.

Smith was taken aback; he hadn’t expected Napoleon to
refuse.  Illya was more stunned by
Napoleon’s tone; anger was a very rare emotion for his partner, so Illya knew
that whatever it was that had sparked it now must have been serious.

“I…. I don’t get it,” Smith said.  “They told me you were the best.  Solo, I’ll be a sitting duck at this venue; I
need someone to protect me!”

“That woman who approached you back in Korea wanted
protection, too!”

Smith froze, stunned; all these long years, he had assumed
that he had been alone that night.

“What… what are you talking about?”

“Korea, 1951,” Napoleon hissed, pointing to the pendant
Smith was wearing.  “A woman, wearing
that pendant, was coming to you, asking for help in getting out of the storm
she had been traveling in.  You shot her at
point-blank range and stole that!  You did
a good job of washing the blood off of that pendant.  But you will never be able to fully wash the
blood off of your hands.”

“I…” Smith stammered.
“Look, that woman was holding something—it could have been a bomb or–”

“She was holding a baby!” Napoleon roared.  “She was holding a crying baby—I know because
I was there!  I saw you kill her and
leave that baby there to die after you looted the body!  I carried that baby to the orphanage myself!”

Illya cursed loudly in Ukrainian; having lost his parents
violently to war, as well, this had struck a nerve.

“I should have had you arrested that night itself, but I didn’t
know your name then.  Well… anyway, this
banquet is the least of your worries,” Napoleon went on.  “But I know just how I’ll solve your problem—you’re
under arrest for murder and war crimes.
Maybe your enemies will have a harder time trying to get to you in
prison.”

He ignored Smith’s protests and practically dragged him
back to U.N.C.L.E. HQ, but was slightly surprised when Mark Slate ended up
interrogating Smith, when he had been fully prepared to.

“I had asked Mark to handle the interrogation, Napoleon,”
Illya said.  “As you are the witness, it
would be less objective if you also did the interrogation.”

“Oh.  Good point…”

Illya hesitated.

“I… also thought it would be better if Mark handled the
interrogation after seeing how you reacted in Smith’s office,” he
admitted.  “Napoleon…  I know you are furious with Smith because of
what happened—you have every right to be.
And I fully support you testifying to make sure he is given the harshest
punishment the law can give for that heinous crime.”

“…But…?” Napoleon prompted.

“But,” Illya agreed.  “…Napoleon…
Please understand when I ask you to promise me that you will not lose
yourself—who you truly are—in your quest to ensure justice.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You mind suppressed this horrific sight for so long,”
Illya explained.  “Now that it is back in
your consciousness again, there’s every chance in the world that it can affect
your entire personality—it already has.  I
have rarely seen you angry, Napoleon—and though your anger is justified, I beg
you…. Don’t let this change who you are.
You are unique because you are kind and loving, and to lose that…”  Illya shook his head.  “If you changed your personality like that,
it would be like losing you.”

Napoleon exhaled, forcing himself to calm down; he managed
a soft look as he glanced back at Illya.

“You won’t lose me,” he promised.

Illya nodded, satisfied, but also hoping that Napoleon’s
words would be true.