Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: Undercover in a Napa Valley mansion, Napoleon and Illya prepare to make contact with an informant.

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 98% similar.

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

Being undercover with false identities was
always an interesting time as U.N.C.L.E. agents—it helped that, this time,
Napoleon and Illya were undercover together, hoping to meet with a retired Army
scientist who had, during the course of the Second World War, developed a
potent truth serum and potential mind-control drug that he had realized was
better off in U.N.C.L.E.’s hands rather than in the hands of any world
power.  And so, Napoleon and Illya had
been sent—separately—to meet in the major’s Napa Valley mansion, with Illya
going undercover as one of the major’s many weekend guests, and Napoleon as a
shoe salesman who had gotten caught in a bad storm on the way back from a sale.

It had taken all of Napoleon’s charm to
convince the butler to at least ask the major if he could seek shelter for the
night; mercifully, he did, and the major, of course, agreed, and once Napoleon
had gotten himself settled in a room, he proceeded to sneak around upstairs
while the major and the other guests were downstairs.

His first choice of room to break into,
however, was simultaneously the best and worst—worst, because the occupant just
happened to be there at the moment, but best as the occupant turned out to be
his partner—who, after taking a moment to threaten the “intruder” with what
looked like a piece of lead pipe, rolled his eyes and placed it aside.

“There are easier ways, you know, to sneak
into my bedchambers.  Invitation, for instance…”

Napoleon rolled his eyes now.

“With all of the guests staying here at this
mansion, what were the odds that yours would be the first one I’d break into?”
he asked.

“Your legendary luck strikes again, for I doubt
that any of these other fools would be so receptive to an intruder,” Illya
said.

Napoleon caught his partner’s tone of voice.

“Driving you bats already, hmm?”

“Let’s just say that I cannot imagine how you
live as an extrovert,” Illya said, with a nod.
“They’re still carrying on downstairs; I snuck away here to clear my
head.”

“You ought to be getting back down there,”
Napoleon said.  “I have the excuse of not
knowing anyone.  But ‘Dr. Mallard’ is
supposed to be an acquaintance of the major; they’ll be wondering where he is.”

“And hear more of my stories about pathology?”
Illya asked, as he adjusted his purple bow tie in the mirror.  “I don’t think so…”

Napoleon winced.

“You didn’t…”

“Well, I couldn’t think of any better way to
get people to leave me alone,” Illya said, with a shrug, pleased that his cover
identity had a profession that he himself dabbled in during fieldwork downtime.  “You’d be surprised how quickly into an
autopsy story you can get someone to leave you alone.”

“I think I can imagine,” Napoleon said,
forcing a smile.  He never could stomach
Illya’s autopsy stories, either.  He, too,
decided to change the subject.  “Just
tell me something.  Why did you
choose a cover name that was a duck!?”

“Well, I could ask you why you chose your
cover name,” Illya countered.  “Albert
Stroller?”

“Hey, it’s not a pun,” Napoleon
insisted.  “Even if I am strolling along
through here.  You know Ma wanted to name
me Albert, but Dad beat her to the punch with Napoleon.  And Stroller was her maiden name.”

“There you are, then,” Illya said.  “You know my mother used to call me Kachenya—which
means ‘duckling’ in Ukrainian.”

“Ah…”  Now
it made sense…  In fact, he should have
guessed…

Illya now put on a tweed jacket, making him
look very distinguished indeed.

“That’s a good look on you, you know,”
Napoleon said.  “The biggest challenge
tonight won’t be trying to meet with the major alone—it’ll be trying to keep my
passions from going into overdrive.”

Illya smirked, but then sobered.

“Then do your best, and stay alert,” he said,
slipping his Special into the jacket.  “I
did catch the major alone in the hall once this evening—only for a moment
before we were interrupted…  Napoleon, he
seems terrified for his life, and I think his fear might be stemming from one
of his own guests.”

“He thinks one of them might try something?”
Napoleon asked, frowning, making sure he had his own Special on him.

“It’s possible,” Illya said.  “And we’ll be in the thick of that crowd—no telling
who it might be…”

Napoleon now gently touched Illya’s arm.

“Be careful,” he instructed, softly.

“You, too,” Illya responded.

They paused for a moment, and then kissed,
briefly.

“We should go downstairs,” Illya said.  “Separately; I’ll go first, you can join us
in about fifteen minutes.”

“Right,” Napoleon said.

He headed back to his room and waited as
Illya went back downstairs; after fifteen minutes were up, he headed to the
lounge, as well, catching Illya’s eye briefly before the other guests, surprised
by this new arrival, crowded around to meet him.

It was going to be a very interesting
evening, indeed…