Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary:
In which Napoleon has a hangover.  Thankfully, he’s got a helpful partner, too.

Cross-posted to AO3

It wasn’t often that Napoleon got drunk; he knew that, as
an agent, even when off-duty, one had to keep one’s senses at their peak, lest
one get sneak-attacked by a THRUSHie and all the trouble that entailed.  However, when his old grade-school friend
Takeshi ended up arriving in town for a destination wedding, Napoleon had,
inevitably, been invited to Takeshi’s bachelor party.  Though Takeshi had also extended the
invitation to Illya, he understood that Illya preferred to shy away from such
things and did not mind that Illya declined the invitation.  Illya did, however, arrive at the end of the
party to collect his rather smashed partner—a prearranged agreement between the
two, as Illya would be staying sober and, therefore, able to look out for
Napoleon if he indulged.

Napoleon had clearly enjoyed the party and had attempted to
tell Illya all about it before falling asleep midsentence.  Illya had just shrugged and put him to bed,
where he slept like a rock all night.

The following morning, Napoleon was still in a deep sleep,
and Illya opted to let him continue to rest, and set about making breakfast.  Though not as good a chef as Napoleon, pancakes
were more or less foolproof, and Illya soon had a stack of them on the table,
one of which was immediately pilfered by the cat.  Illya had just put the copper teakettle on
the breakfast table when Napoleon hobbled in.

“Good morning,” Illya offered, putting a couple pancakes on
a plate for him and setting up a teacup and saucer.

“…I guess so,” Napoleon mumbled, wincing at the
sunlight.  He fumbled with the curtains,
closing them, and then placed a hand to his head as he sat down at the
table.  “Oof.  I definitely had a few supernovas too many…”

“…What?” Illya asked.

“Well, you know Takeshi works for NASA; all of the drinks
and food were space-themed,” Napoleon said, as he fumbled with the teakettle
and the syrup bottle.  “I ended up liking
this one called the supernova.”

“A supernova is an exploding star, Napoleon.”

“…That would explain a lot,”
Napoleon said.  “Well, at any rate, by
the time the party was over, we were all seeing stars.”

Illya nodded, and then stared for a moment.

“Napoleon, I think you need to rest some more.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one thing, you just poured yourself a cup of
syrup and you’re now pouring tea on your pancakes.”

Napoleon looked down.

“…Oh.”

Illya shook his head and got Napoleon a new plate of
pancakes, serving the syrup and tea himself.

“I think I will rest some more after breakfast,” Napoleon
sighed.  “Oh, and Illya?  Do me a big favor—don’t ever let Ma know that
I got hungover.”

“Why?  Do you really
think she’ll be disappointed in you?”

“Yes, but not for the reason you’re thinking,” Napoleon
said.  “We’re talking about a woman who
drank bathtub liquor during Prohibition without flinching; she will never let
me live it down…”

Illya tried very hard not to snark into his tea.

“Very well, Napoleon; your secret is safe with me,” he
said.  “And don’t fret too much about it;
you obviously had to take after your father in some respects…”

Napoleon managed a wan smile.

“…Thanks.”

And Illya continued to look after him–all the while idly wondering
just how many supernovas Cora Solo would have been able to down.

Some mysteries, he decided, were better off unsolved.