And another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary:
In which Illya, on his way home, gets stopped by three muggers, but is able to stall until his Knight in Shining Silk Pajamas arrives in time to back him up.

Notes:
There are two versions of this piece.  This is the light slash
version.  There is a gen version on my
dreamwidth if you’d prefer reading that.
The two blurbs are around 95% similar.

Not cross-posting this because I’m just too lazy rn.

Illya usually didn’t mind the late hours that international
assignments came with—as long as Napoleon was with him, that is.  When it came to solo missions, however… each
hour was excruciating, especially when dealing with delayed flights and missed
connections that ended up landing him home in New York at 3 in the morning.

He had suspected that Napoleon would be awake, or trying to
stay awake in preparation for his arrival, yet Illya couldn’t bring himself to
have Napoleon drag himself all the way to the airport to pick him up.

He took a cab home and, as per their usual security
precaution, had the cab drop him off down their street, rather than at their
apartment building.

It was a warm night—a busy one, as most Manhattan nights
were.  Illya dashed past a woman who was
trying to make eyes at him, and then relaxed once he was out of her line of
sight.

Letting his guard down might have been an unwise thing to
do; as he passed the last alleyway just before his apartment building, a trio
of masked men leaped out of the alley.

“Awright, Blondie,” one of them said, his voice muffled
through the mask as he prodded a billy club at Illya’s chest.  “Hand over your wallet and all your cash!”

The streetlamp light reflected off of a knife in the second
man’s hand, and the third was holding a chain.

Illya was mentally calculating his options; his wallet
contained sensitive information, mainly his case aliases and his actual ID,
which he couldn’t allow out of his possession, lest THRUSH somehow get ahold of
them, effectively neutralizing him as a field agent.  These street fighters clearly had no guns,
and were just trying to intimidate him.

He could, effectively, “take them,” as the Americans said.

But a glance at the apartment building showed him that there
was a light in the apartment he shared with Napoleon—and the window was open.

Backup was always welcome.

“Forgive me,” he said, loudly, exaggerating his Russian
accent.  “I do not follow very well.  What is it you ask of me?”

The three thieves glanced at each other, and the first one
pressed his billy club against Illya’s chest again.

“Money!  Cash!  These things!” he said, holding up a $20 bill
he had undoubtedly seized from someone else.

“Ahh, spacibo!”
Illya said, cheerfully, taking the $20 from him.

The thief stared at his now-empty hand, utterly baffled.

“I can have this, too?” Illya asked, snatching the billy
club as he discerned a silhouette emerging from his apartment window, creeping
down the fire escape.  Behind him
followed the silhouette of a cat.

The thieves were oblivious to this, trying to figure out
exactly where they were going wrong with this hold-up.

“Look,” the second creep hissed, now waving his knife in
front of Illya’s face.  “We.  Want.
Money.”

“Ahh.  Here, I give
this back…” Illya said, handing the $20 to him.

“Now give the rest of it!” the third creep said.  “Let’s have it!”

“You can have this!” Napoleon’s voice snarled.

The trio turned around; two of them were knocked out simultaneously
as Napoleon punched one and Illya karate chopped the second.  The third thief chose to flee, but Napoleon quickly
floored him as he retreated, and their cat, which had followed Napoleon,
proceeded to claw at the fallen assailants.

Illya glanced at his partner, and paused as he saw him
under the streetlight’s glow.

“Ah, so my knight in shining armor is more of an agent in
purple silk?” he mused, glancing pointedly at Napoleon still wearing his
pajamas.

“Well, in the time I would have taken to throw on a robe,
you probably could have beaten them all; I wanted you to admire my grace and
timing.”

Illya chuckled.

“Your grace is something I have always admired,” Illya
said, kissing him under the streetlamp.

“Just my grace?”

“You should know better than to try to fish for compliments
with me, Napoleon; I make efforts not to stoke your ego.”

Napoleon scoffed.

“But help me process these three hooligans, and I will sing
your praises and show my appreciation,” Illya promised, kissing him again.

Napoleon arched his eyebrows.

“I’ll be holding you to that!”

“I’m sure you will.”

Illya couldn’t help but enjoy being able to tease Napoleon
again as their cat now glanced up at them, purring.

It was good to be home.