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

Summary:
In which Napoleon and Illya’s rental car breaks down in the desert, but Napoleon’s hidden depths save the day yet again.

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 99% similar.

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

Illya knew that U.N.C.L.E.’s further budget cuts meant that
their rental cars and other equipment would have to be obtained from cheaper
sources—but there was a limit to these things, and Napoleon had certainly had
reservations about renting their car from the company that Waverly had
instructed them to contact.

Well, reservations was putting it mildly; Napoleon’s exact
words, in an undertone, had been “I’ll bet this place has more lemons than a
citrus grove.”

And, sure enough, as they drove through the Mojave Desert,
the car that they had eventually chosen (the least disastrous-looking one of
the lot, which wasn’t saying much) broke down, surrounded by nothing but desert
plants and red and brown sand as far as the eye could see.

“Well, now what?” Illya asked.  “Should we follow the road and try to find a petrol
station or someplace with a phone?”

“They are even fewer and more far between than you’d expect
out here, Tovarisch; there probably
isn’t one for miles,” Napoleon said, as he walked to the front of the car and
propped the hood up.

“Then we shall call headquarters—ask them to get us a
replacement vehicle or some other means of transport?” Illya asked.

Napoleon tilted his head slightly as he looked at the engine.

“Actually, I don’t think we need to; this isn’t as bad as I
thought.  I can fix this.”

“Oh,” Illya began, and then he paused.  “…What!?”

He stared in befuddlement as Napoleon removed his
suitjacket, tie, and shirt, placing them inside the car so as not to get them
dirty, and then moved to begin working on an engine with a wrench he had found
in the toolbox in the trunk.

“…Exactly what do you know about fixing a car engine!?”
Illya queried.

“It’s just stuff I picked up,” Napoleon said.  “I was able to hot-wire the family car when I
was fifteen.”

Illya stared at the immaculate shirt, jacket, and tie that
was folded on the seat inside before watching Napoleon work on the car in utter
fascination.  How had it come to be that
Napoleon Solo, gourmet-loving jetsetter who loved all of the finer things in
life, could cast that aside in an instant and work on a car engine like he had
been a mechanic all his life?

“I think I got it,” Napoleon said, after a little
while.  “Try starting it now!”

Illya did so, and they both exchanged triumphant glances as
the engine roared to life once more.

Napoleon grinned as he poured some water on a handkerchief
and started to wipe the grease stains from himself.  Illya once again watched how intriguing it
was to see him slip the shirt, tie, and suitjacket back on and transform once
more into the Napoleon Solo that everyone else in the world saw him as.

It was a flawless transformation—and one that Illya knew he
was very blessed to see, for it was a transformation that precious few ever
would.

Illya just shook his head in amazement as Napoleon returned
to the front passenger seat, savoring this precious bit of knowledge that he
had about his partner as he drove off down the road.

“You must teach me this later,” Illya said.

“Oh, sure,” Napoleon said.
“Just put yourself in my hands.”

Illya’s mind drifted slightly to the thought of Napoleon’s
grease-covered hands.

“With pleasure…”

Napoleon Solo was a very complex person, it turned
out.  And Illya knew that, no matter what
anyone said, he was not a shallow playboy that so many people were convinced
that he was.

He was so much more.  And Illya was fortunate to have him in his life.