MFU blurb

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

Summary:
In which their return to New York in 1986 and seeing the latest trends leads Napoleon and Illya to muse about fads and trends from their carefree younger days.

Not cross-posting this because I’m just too lazy rn.  As always, the Return movie is not a part of my timeline.

Aside from the few, white clouds in the air, it was a
beautiful fall day in Manhattan—just as Napoleon and Illya had remembered
them—they had, after all, left U.N.C.L.E. after Napoleon reached 40 that fall
day in 1972, and disappeared to Hawaii for 14 years.  But times had changed—and so had the
rules.  The new management saw the folly
of forcing clever, resourceful, and well-accomplished agents to leave their
positions when they still had so much to do.

After much pondering as to whether or not they should
return to the dangerous lifestyle they had left behind, the duo realized that
the duty of care they’d had in 1972 had never truly left them.  And so, here they were, traversing familiar
streets with their cat, Baba Yaga, who was eagerly sniffing the air at the
smell of fish markets and seafood restaurants—the tastes she had grown up with,
though that wasn’t to say that the tropical fare hadn’t been pleasant, either.

But quite a lot had changed—though Napoleon and Illya had
seen some of the new styles and trends in their time as private eyes, seeing
the crowds decked in ‘80s fashion made them feel very old and overdressed
indeed—to say nothing of some of the conversations they were overhearing.

“…That’s the fifth person I’ve heard saying to ‘gag them
with a spoon,’ and I really, really hope that’s just hyperbole and not some
crazy trend,” Napoleon said.

“You think it might be?” Illya asked.

“Well, our generation was the one where we tried to stuff
ourselves into phone booths, after all, remember?”

“…No,” Illya said, staring at him.  “What on Earth–?”

“…Guess that fad never hit Russia,” Napoleon shrugged.  “What about the Greasers?  Did you know about them?”

“Oh, I knew about them, alright.  In fact, I…”
Illya trailed off.  “Well, never
mind…”

“No, no—please, continue,” Napoleon said, with a smirk.

“Let’s hear about you trying to squeeze into phone booths,”
Illya said.

“There’s not much to say about that—this, on the other
hand…”

“Oh, alright,” Illya grumbled.  “I was 18 when I arrived in Cambridge, and
was in a considerable more lax environment than Russia would have been.  I saw an American film and, very briefly,
wore a leather jacket and slicked my hair back.”

Napoleon stared at him with a grin.

“Are there pictures?
Please tell me there are pictures!”

“I did not keep any,” Illya insisted.

“Fine, I’ll just get in touch with your graduating class
from Cambridge—I’ll have access to the U.N.C.L.E. files again once the
paperwork goes through.”

“You wouldn’t…!”

And as they continued to banter as they walked, it was
beginning to feel as though no time had passed at all as the Manahttan streets
once again welcomed them home.