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.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which Napoleon tries to give Illya (and their cat) a lesson in poker.

Cross-posted to AO3

Illya had been somewhat skeptical when he and Napoleon had
been assigned to a case in a casino; the memory of a previous failed assignment
in a Monte Carlo casino during the first year of their partnership was still in
the back of Illya’s mind.  Napoleon, on
the other hand, was feeling confident.
They were eventually back home, having a late supper alongside their
black Egyptian Mau, Baba Yaga.

“I don’t think it’s going to be that bad,” Napoleon
said.  “We’re both more experienced now,
and I’m sure we won’t have any crazy, unexpected wild cards showing up like
last time, either.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Illya said, feeling slightly
better about it.  “Now my only concern is
being able to fit in while we search this establishment.”

“…Have you ever played any casino games before?” Napoleon
asked.

Illya blushed slightly, and shook his head.

“Nyet; I have
always considered gambling to be a waste of money.  However, to fit in, I suppose I must learn to
play.”

“I can teach you!” Napoleon said, with a grin.  “I come from a long line of lucky gamblers;
poker is my game, though I’ve dabbled in all of them…”

“Ah, yes, the ‘Solo Luck’ I have heard so much about,”
Illya mused.  “Very well, I am ready to
learn; I know there are different hands, I just need pointers on strategy…”  He trailed off as Napoleon pulled a deck of
cards from his pocket.  “…Do you always
carry those with you…?”

“Uh-huh,” Napoleon smiled.

“…Why?”

“You never know when they’ll come in handy,” Napoleon said.

As Napoleon shuffled the deck, Illya silently repeated
those words, trying to make sense of them.
In the end, he shrugged, and proceeded to gently pet the cat on the
table, who looked up from her dinner and was staring with interest as Napoleon
now dealt the cards.

Baba Yaga, after accepting the pets from Illya, now chose
this moment to walk along the table to where Napoleon was sitting and rubbed up
against his arm, meowing.  Napoleon
good-naturedly pet her a few times and resumed dealing the cards—and had to
pause as Baba Yaga put her paw down on one of the cards.

“Oh, you want me to deal you in?” he teased.

Illya rolled his eyes in amusement as Napoleon did just
that, allowing Baba Yaga to play with a hand of cards that were face-down in
front of her on the table.

“Poker is about 40 percent luck and 30 percent strategy,”
Napoleon explained to Illya.  “You
discard and draw cards until you get a good hand.  The highest possible hand is a royal
flush—and a straight flush before that.
You have to be incredibly lucky to get those, so most people go for
four-of-a-kind or a full house.”

“…That’s only 70 percent,” Illya observed.  “What’s the other 30 percent?”

“Mind games,” Napoleon grinned.  “If you’ve got a bad hand, you want to trick
your opponents into thinking you’ve got a good one—you bluff by raising the
stakes.  They can either fold or try to
call your bluff, but depending on how convincing you can be, you can get them
to fold.  I once got someone with a full
house to fold to my two pair.  This might
be the easy part; as agents, we bluff for a living.”

“That’s true,” Illya mused.

“It’s second nature,” Napoleon said.  “Alright, let’s play out this hand…”  He trailed off as Baba Yaga now swatted two
of her cards back at him.  “…Are you
discarding these?”

Humoring her, he dealt her two new cards as Illya
chuckled.  He and Illya continued to
discard and draw—and Baba Yaga swatted a couple more cards away, prompting
Napoleon to deal her new ones.

“Ordinarily, this is where we’d be adding to the pot, if we
had one,” Napoleon said.  “But we’re just
going through the motions now, so…”  He
placed a fish stick on a small plate.  “I
bet a fish stick.  You can either fold or
match my stake—or, if you’re confident, raise the bet further.”

“I will see your fish stick and raise you half a fish
stick,” Illya said, adding his half a fish stick to the pot.

“I call,” Napoleon said, adding another fish stick to the
pot.  He glanced at Baba Yaga.  “What about you?”

“Mrrrah,” she replied, staring at the fish sticks.

“…I’m going to take that as ‘I’d call if I had any,’”
Napoleon translated.  “Of course, in an
actual game, if she had nothing to start with, she couldn’t be dealt in.  But this is informal, so I’ll let it
slide.  You going to raise the pot or
fold, Illya?”

“Nyet.”

“Neither am I.  How
about you, my dear?”

“Mrreh,” she meowed.

Alright, then; time to put the cards on the table…”

Illya had a straight, which Napoleon had topped with a full
house.

“Not bad for your first try, but it looks as though I win,”
he said.  “Don’t let it bother you; I’m
just experienced and, of course, naturally gifted in the luck department…”

He reached for the fish as Illya gave a good-natured shake
of his head, and Baba Yaga let out a loud meow of protest.

“But I won, my dear,” Napoleon explained.

“Did you, though?” Illya asked, indicating the cat’s five
face-down cards.

“Well, it’s not as though she was actually playing
strategically…” Napoleon began, but he stopped in midsentence as he flipped
over Baba Yaga’s five cards—and revealed all four kings, plus an ace.  “…Four of a kind!?”

Illya was struggling to hide his amusement as Napoleon
stared, gobsmacked, at the cat’s winning hand.

“She has won the pot, Napoleon.  …And I think she is the only one other than
myself who would appreciate winning fish sticks, anyway.”

Napoleon shrugged and place the plate of fish sticks in
front of her, prompting her to go at them, purring loudly.

“Well,” Napoleon sighed.
“Looks like we learned something today.
Black cats aren’t unlucky—they just draw all the luck to them, making it
seem like you’re unlucky…”

“We are both lucky to have her,” Illya said.  “And each other.”

Napoleon smiled, gently petting the cat again.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed.  “We are.”

And the cat looked up with a knowing glance, as if to say, Yes, you are very lucky.

That was certainly no secret.

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

Summary:
In which Napoleon learned that not everyone appreciates the natural beauty of the world around them–but, thankfully, Illya does.

Notes:
There are two versions of this piece.  This is the light slash
version (also cross-posted to AO3).  There is a gen version on my
dreamwidth if you’d prefer reading that.
The two blurbs are around 95% similar.

                                                  *June 29, 1949*

“Come on, Solo, what’s this big surprise you have planned
for us?”

“You’ll see, Norm,” Napoleon said with a grin, as he drove
out of the city outskirts.  He had
insisted on driving four friends to see something that he insisted was going to
be an amazing sight.  “You and Chip have
been so impatient about this whole thing.”

“You know, the night is young—there’s a lot we could do,”
Chip countered.  “Isn’t that right,
Brodie?”

“Yeah,” Brodie grunted.  
“So, if this is you taking us to a special showing of Casablanca again in the next town, I
think I’ll pass.”

“It’s not Casablanca
again,” Napoleon promised.

“Then it has to be–” Norm began, but Napoleon cut him off.

“It’s not Hamlet
either,” Napoleon added, rolling his eyes.
“What about your guess, Takeshi?
You’ve been quiet.”

Takeshi shrugged good-naturedly, ready to go along with
anything Napoleon had in mind; unlike the other three, who had become friends
with Napoleon upon starting high school, Takeshi had been a friend since
elementary school, and had been grateful when Napoleon had refused to abandon
him upon joining the in-crowd led by Norm, Chip, and Brodie.  Chip and Brodie rarely spoke to Takeshi; Norm
never did.  But Napoleon refused to leave
him behind.

Napoleon now brought the car just off of a dirt road near a
small pond.

“Look at that,” he said, with a grin.

The sun was setting, dyeing the sky and clouds a bright
pink.  Around them, over the pond and in
the grass, dozens of fireflies glowed around them as they signaled to each other.

“…What exactly are we supposed to be looking at?” Chip
asked.

Napoleon glanced back at him in disbelief.

“Are you serious?” Napoleon asked.

“Yeah, Chip, isn’t it obvious?” Brodie said.  “Out-of-the-way spot like this?  You can bring a date up here—park the car and
get some kisses in–”

“…No,” Napoleon muttered, resisting the urge to
facepalm.  In hindsight, perhaps it had
been pointless to try to get those three to appreciate the natural beauty; at
least Takeshi seemed to be enjoying the sight.

Napoleon sighed and put on a cheery air.

“Yeah, that’s right—a secret little romantic spot.  But, ah, don’t be coming up here too much,
got it?”

“Eh, it is a bit out of the way, anyway,” Norm said.  “Plenty of places in town.  But it’s a cool find, Solo—now how about
getting us to the diner for some sodas?”

“Sure,” Napoleon said, and even as he pulled the car away,
Norm, Chip, and Brodie quickly forgot about the place and the sight, ignoring
the beautiful sunset and the dazzling fireflies.

Takeshi took a look back, and then, in the front passenger
seat, spoke so only Napoleon could hear–

“For what it’s worth… I liked it.”

Napoleon gave him a quiet thanks.

                                                    *June 29, 1969*

Napoleon had learned very quickly how to read people—and
how some bridges were better off being burned.
He hadn’t heard from Chip or Brodie (or made any effort to reach them)
since graduation.  He hadn’t made any
effort to keep in contact with Norm, either, but Norm had crossed paths with
Napoleon and Illya not too long ago—Norm’s immense distrust and dislike of
Illya, solely based on his Russian origins, had caused Napoleon to burn that
bridge a second time—and had himself wishing he’d done it sooner, realizing all
too late that Norm’s snubbing of Takeshi in high school had been the exact same
thing.

As for Takeshi himself, Napoleon was still in touch with
him; he had gotten into space science and worked at Cape Canaveral—and they had
worked together on a mission when THRUSH had attempted to sabotage a NASA
launch, and U.N.C.L.E. had responded by sending Napoleon and Illya to
help.  Illya and Takeshi had gotten along
fabulously—talking about quantum physics at first, though it had been more than
a bit embarrassing when the two changed topic and began swapping their stories
of Napoleon.

Takeshi was also strongly supportive of Napoleon and
Illya’s relationship—he’d figured it out just by watching them, noting that
Napoleon had never looked at any woman the way he constantly looked at Illya.

And, just before Napoleon and Illya had to return to New
York, Takeshi had taken Napoleon aside.

“Show him the sunset and the fireflies,” Takeshi had
suggested.

And so, a week later, when they were on leave and visiting
Napoleon’s parents, Napoleon drove Illya out to the pond one evening, and the
wonder and joy on the Russian’s face as he saw the fireflies under the sunset
was everything Napoleon had hoped to see.

“Napoleon, this is beautiful,” he said.  “Thank you for showing me this!  You are fortunate to have grown up with this
place nearby.”

And Napoleon just smiled.

“Not half as fortunate as I am to have you as a partner,”
he insisted.

“I could say the same,” Illya said.

And it was true, for the both of them.

Illya now snuggled against Napoleon’s shoulder, and
Napoleon gave a long look at his partner.
Illya smiled again, and the two of them came together in a long,
passionate kiss.  The summer breeze blew
around them.

Wow, Napoleon thought.  This is a great romantic spot!  Brodie
was actually right about one thing!  …Who
knew…?

His thoughts went elsewhere as they continued to kiss—as
the fireflies continued to dance around them.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which coming home after a solo mission is worth it to find that your partner had made a gourmet meal for you, as Illya finds out.

Cross-posted to AO3

Illya enjoyed life in New York—for the most part.  The traffic was one thing he could do
without.  Attempts to evade bottlenecks
and jams inevitably led to different bottlenecks and jams, and Illya was
beginning to wonder how dare the taxi services cost so much when walking would
likely get you to your destination in the same amount of time.

Nevertheless, he finally made it home after a solo mission,
and was about to announce his presence when he noticed Napoleon sprawled out on
the sofa, still wearing an apron.  Baba
Yaga the cat was curled up on the armrest, staring at the table, upon which was
a tantalizingly aromatic meal, complete with red wine.

Illya smiled; clearly, Napoleon had intended for them to
share dinner together upon his triumphant return, but as Illya had been stuck
in traffic, Napoleon had ended up drifting off to sleep.

Illya stood by the sofa for a moment, contemplating on
whether or not to awaken him or let him rest—he knew that Waverly had been
keeping Napoleon busy with work within the city, and, no doubt, preparing the
dinner would have taken a considerable amount of time and effort, as well.

In the end, he decided to let him rest; he then turned his
attention to the food, loading up some plates with all the savory dishes that
Napoleon had prepared.  Baba Yaga
followed his lead, heading to her food bowl (she had her own place setting on
the table to eat along with them), but not before helping herself to a piece of
fish from the humans’ feast first.

Illya was just starting to load another plate when Napoleon
stretched out his arms and got up after a moment.

“Welcome home,” he said, with a grin, as he removed the
apron.

“…You weren’t asleep,” Illya accused.

“Nah, just resting my eyes,” Napoleon said, grabbing a
plate of his own.  “I knew I had to be
awake for dinner when you got here, or else you’d have eaten it all.”

“Ha, ha,” Illya said, sardonically.  “I would have saved you some!”

“Yeah, and then this little girl would have snagged that
the first chance she got,” Napoleon said, indicating the half-eaten piece of
fish topping the cat food.

Baba Yaga looked up at him and meowed innocently.

“…I don’t buy that for a moment,” Napoleon said.

“She is an angel who would have also left you food,” Illya
insisted, gently giving the cat a few sktritches behind the ears.

“You’re both in this together, I see…” Napoleon said,
smirking as he finished filling his plate and sitting down.

Illya suppressed a smirk.

“But never mind,” Napoleon said.  “So, tell me about your mission…”

“You would have enjoyed it,” Illya said.  “The embassy party I had to guard had ordered
the finest Mediterranean food I had ever seen!”

Napoleon whistled.

“I don’t suppose you saved some of that for me?’

Illya gave him a look.

“You know it wouldn’t have kept on the journey back,” he
said.  “Pity—I would have enjoyed sharing
it with you.”

“You and me both,” Napoleon sighed.

“As it is,” Illya smiled.
“I will enjoy sharing this with you—perhaps even moreso than that.”

“Really?”

“The dining company here is unparalleled.”

Napoleon smiled.

“I agree.”

Baba Yaga murowred in agreement as she continued to eat.

Illya smiled back and continued to talk about his mission
while Napoleon and Baba Yaga listened, and they partook of the meal together,
grateful to have each other.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which Illya reads about an ancient, cursed pendant–unaware that Napoleon is already handling it.

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

Illya was busy finishing up a carbon-dating experiment on
some old, dirty bone fragments that had been found within a box of
artifacts.  THRUSH had attempted to seize
them to finance their operations, but Napoleon and Illya had retrieved the
artifacts, which looked like genuine items from the New Kingdom of ancient
Egypt, and, in order to determine their authenticity, Illya had taken the bone
fragments to Section VIII to test them as Napoleon sorted them out.  Beside him, Baba Yaga, the Egyptian Mau that
he and Napoleon had raised from a kitten, sat patiently, grooming herself.

The results were coming in as George caught up with him.

“The entire building is talking about those artifacts that
you and Napoleon found—I caught a glimpse of them just now; Napoleon’s still
cataloguing them for the evidence locker,” he said.  “They look authentic, but I guess I wanted to
see the test results for myself.”

“You’re just in time,” Illya said, tearing off the results
as they were printed.  “…They are
genuine; the results indicate that the bone fragments found with the artifacts
are nearly three thousand years old!”

George let out a low whistle and now consulted a book he
had been carrying.

“I brought a book on New Kingdom artifacts,” he said.  “It’d be interesting to see what we have–”

“Whatever we have, we don’t have it indefinitely,” Illya
said, slightly amused by George’s enthusiasm.
“Now that we know that they are genuine, we’ll have to get in touch with
Karim in the Luxor branch; he’ll know the authorities to contact so that we can
return the artifacts to them once they are no longer considered evidence.”

“All the same, it’s still interesting,” George said.  “Look, there’s this same statuette of Bastet
that was in the collection–”

George was cut off as Baba Yaga meowed loudly at the
mention of Bastet; Napoleon had insisted that Bastet was their cat’s mother,
and though Illya had been skeptical, both he and George were now looking at the
Mau as she hopped on the table, looked at the picture of the statuette in the
book, and started purring at it.

“…You don’t suppose…?” George began, but Illya just
shrugged.

“What else do you see in that book that was in the
collection we seized?” Illya asked.

“Well, there’s this Ushebti—it’s from the Pharaoh Sethos,”
George said, turning a few pages.  “There
was this white alabaster jar…. And there was this weird-looking gold thing…”

“Thing” seemed to be the best description of it; it was an
odd golden pendant, a triangle with an eye in the center, and the triangle
surrounded by a ring of gold.  Small
pendulums dangled from the circle.  Illya
was just about to comment on how odd it looked when Baba Yaga suddenly arched
her back and flattened her ears, hissing at the picture in the book.

“What got into her?” George wondered.

Illya blinked, and then looked at the description in the
book.

“‘An unknown cursed pendant, circa the 18th Dynasty,’”
Illya read aloud.  “‘It is said that the
mere touch of this pendant causes one to be corrupted by the darkness that
resides in one’s heart.”

“…Napoleon is down in the evidence locker with that thing
right now!” George exclaimed.

Illya’s mind raced; he didn’t know what to believe—though
the nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that after all the bizarre,
unexplainable happenings, there were things beyond belief that sometimes
occurred.  With another glance at George,
they dashed out the door and headed down to the evidence locker.

Napoleon, oblivious to all of this, was continuing to put
the evidence away, one by one, after placing them in the appropriate plastic
bags.  He stopped to chuckle at the
Bastet statuette, and then paused as he looked at the odd golden pendant—it was
like nothing he had ever seen before.
With a shrug, he picked it up, as he prepared another evidence bag, and
then paused as he heard a whispering voice.

“Napoleon Solo…”

Napoleon paused, looking around for whoever had spoken.

“…Hello…?” he asked.

“I am speaking to you
from within this ring.”

Napoleon glanced back at the artifact in his hands.

“…What.”

“I know not how I
have come to be in your possession, but now that I am, I have a proposition for
you.”

“…Well, ah, technically, you are not in my possession;
you’re going into an evidence locker…
…Why am I talking to a piece of ancient gold!?”

He moved to place the artifact in an evidence bag.

“Wait!” he heard
the voice whisper.  “I told you, I have a proposition for you!  Do not lock me away; keep me, and I can make
your deepest desires come true.  I can
give you power beyond your wildest imaginings.
Surely there are things in this world you need!”

“…Clearly, what I need now is coffee,” Napoleon said,
shaking his head; he paused again as the artifact glowed in his hand.  He arched an eyebrow at it.

“I can grant you your
wildest, deepest desires!  What is it in
this world that you desire the most?”

“I already have it,” Napoleon said, and he placed the
artifact in the evidence bag.

“Impossible!  How were you not brought under my
power!?  No one can resist me!  I resonate with the darkness that resides in
every heart–!”

The voice was cut off as Napoleon let go of the artifact
and sealed the evidence bag.  It also
stopped glowing, and he shook his head again and put it away with the rest of
the evidence.

“…I gotta stop pulling these all-nighters.  Now I’m hearing things…”

“Napoleon!”

“Napoleon!”

“Meowrowrrr!”

Napoleon blinked again as he saw Illya, George, and Baba
Yaga running towards him.

“Napoleon, are you alright?” Illya asked, as Baba Yaga ran
figure eights around Napoleon’s legs before hissing at the artifact in the bag
in the locker.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“We just read something about a cursed artifact,” George
said, pointing at it.  “It can supposedly
corrupt people by touching it—tapping into the darkness in their hearts.”

“…And you were worried about me?” Napoleon asked, looking
at Illya, who shrugged helplessly.

“I have reached a point where I no longer know what to
believe,” he admitted, gently touching Napoleon’s shoulder.  “You are alright?”

“Yeah,” Napoleon said, trying not to think about the voice
and how the artifact had glowed, trying to corrupt him—and how it had been
shocked at its failure.  “I… just need
coffee.”

He didn’t want to worry George, but he would talk about it
with Illya over coffee; he owed Illya that much—after all, his partnership with
Illya was what had left him with the contentment he’d needed to resist the
temptation of needing anything that the voice had to offer.

He smiled to himself as George and Illya now helped him bag
the rest of the evidence, and as Baba Yaga continued to hiss at the artifact
while alternating with purring at the statuette of Bastet.

Napoleon was a lucky man, and he knew it—and that might
have been what had saved his soul that night.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which, after Napoleon is whipped by Captain Shark, Illya, the so-called Ice Prince, looks after him.

Cross-posted to AO3

When Illya had been released from Captain Shark’s brig, the
first thing he did was try to find Napoleon.
All he could think about was how he had tried and failed to stop Shark
from whipping his partner—and he knew that, once he had been taken away, there
would have been no stopping it.

Napoleon, forgive
me, I have failed you…

He had found Napoleon in the room that Shark had assigned
them, lying facedown on his bunk, recovering.
The whiplash marks, looking vivid and painful, burned bright red on Napoleon’s
back, glistening slightly from whatever ointment that had been administered to
him.  And yet, Napoleon was clearly in
discomfort.

“Napoleon…?”

His partner looked up at the sound of his voice, managing a
smile.

“Hey, how are you?”

“I am fine,” Illya said, his blue eyes looking slightly wet as he continued to look at the marks on Napoleon’s back.  “They only left me temporarily winded and
locked up after my ordeal.  But you…”

“It looks a lot worse than it is, I’m sure,” Napoleon said.

“Don’t try to sweep it under the rug,” Illya said, as he
sat beside Napoleon.  “…Oh,
Napoleon.  Shark knows his way around
that whip.  I shall do my best for you,
but I fear…. I fear there will be permanent scarring.”

Napoleon’s expression was unreadable, but Illya knew what
was going through his mind—the realization that the perfectly-toned upper body
he was so proud of was now forever marred.

“…I had a feeling,” he said, after a while.  “Well… I’m sure there’s something or other
that can cover it up in some way…”

“First, let me clean your wounds to minimize the scarring,”
Illya said, and he proceeded to do just that with a wet cloth and some
disinfectant.

The disinfectant stung, but aside from an involuntary
recoil, Napoleon remained quiet and calm as Illya treated him.

“…How bad do you think it will be?” Napoleon asked, after a
while.

“That depends on how the skin will heal,” Illya said.  “As much as I want to tell you there will be
no scarring, I cannot lie to you.  There
will be scarring regardless, but how badly it will be will be determined by how
it heals.”  He sighed.  “I am sorry, Napoleon.”

“It had to happen sooner or later,” Napoleon sighed.  “I guess I should be grateful it’s not my
face.”

“Nyet… I mean, I
am sorry for not being able to stop it.”

“Well, it wasn’t for the lack of trying,” Napoleon reminded
him.  “I’m grateful for you trying to
stop it.  Really.”

Illya wanted to say something—to say that it wasn’t enough
to have tired, that he had utterly failed in protecting him…

Napoleon continued talking, as though tuned in to Illya’s
thoughts.

“You know, I wouldn’t be here talking to you if it wasn’t
for you,” he said.  “You’ve saved my life
multiple times.  And you always try to
help me when you can.  I don’t think I
tell you enough how much I appreciate it—appreciate you.”

“…Even when I fail you?” Illya finally managed, the
bitterness evident in his voice.

“You didn’t fail me,” Napoleon insisted.  “You wouldn’t be here looking after me if you
had.”

“There must have been something else I could have done–”

“You would have ended up getting whipped along with me,
Illya.  How would that have been any
better?” Napoleon asked.  “I mean, do you
think that you’d be… sharing the burden or something?”  There was an awkward pause.  “…You actually do think that!”

“I know it is foolish to think so,” Illya said, going
slightly red as he continued to clean Napoleon’s wounds and now bandaged
them.  “Such irrationality is not like
me, and yet I cannot help but think it…!”

Napoleon managed a smile.

“You’re fine, Illya.
It’s called having a heart.
Sometimes, I think you actually believe that you are the ‘Ice Prince,’
despite that it’s just a front, and these feelings end up surprising you, too..”

Illya couldn’t find a reply to this, and he changed the
subject as he finished bandaging Napoleon’s back.

“Be that as it may, I wish there was more I could do for
you.”

Napoleon now propped himself up on his arm to look back at
Illya.

“You’re here,” he said.
“That’s all I could ask for.”

And, at last, Illya managed a smile back.

“And by your side is where I will stay,” he promised.

“Great,” Napoleon grinned, reaching for his evening
suit.  “Then let’s head down to Shark’s
party and find a way to stop him.”

Illya nodded in agreement.
They would succeed—together.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which Napoleon’s parents throw a party, but trouble arises when one of the guests takes issue with Illya.

Cross-posted to AO3.

It was clear that Napoleon’s parents were just as talented
at throwing great parties as Napoleon was—clearly a talent passed down from
mother to son, as Cora Solo was the driving force of the party that she had
insisted Napoleon and Illya attend.
While Cora spearheaded the endeavor, her husband, Leopold, backed her up
whenever he could; Napoleon and Illya attempted to try and help, but Cora
insisted that they relax as guests.

As more guests arrived, Napoleon, who knew most of them,
began to mingle.  Knowing that Illya was
introverted, he didn’t press him to mingle—something that Illya was grateful
for.  And as Cora and Leopold set out the
food on sterling silver serving trays, he began to cheer up as he ate.  He continued to man this post by the food
table, watching Napoleon and his parents interact with the guests.  A few of the guests casually greeted Illya as
they came for food, but soon left him alone to rejoin the party, and aside from
the times that Napoleon, Cora, or Leopold checked to see how he was doing,
Illya was mostly left alone—just the way he liked it.  It let him hone his people-watching
skills—skills that were important as an agent.

He was privately analyzing each guest—from the shy man who
seemingly had a puppy-love crush on Aunt Amy (who was either completely
oblivious or uninterested) to the young student, daughter of one of Cora’s
friends, who was here when she clearly should have been studying, to the snooty
rich woman decked with jewelry (Illya was secretly pleased to see both Cora and
Napoleon privately rolling their eyes at the amount of jewelry she was
wearing).  Illya watched for a while
before turning his attention to the other guests.

He was refueling with some more food when he heard someone
speak to him rather haughtily.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before around here…”

Illya looked up, surprised to see the overly-bedecked woman
now standing beside him, looking at him with a judging look on her face.

“…Er…  No, Madam, you
have not,” Illya said, politely.  He
tried not to react as the woman’s expression darkened at the sound of his
accent.

“Are you Russian?”
she asked, as if scandalized by the notion.
“How did you crash this party!?”

“…I am half-Russian, half-Ukrainian,” Illya said, realizing
that this would do nothing to change her mind.
“And I did not… ‘crash’ this party; I was invited by Napoleon’s
parents.  Napoleon and I work for
U.N.C.L.E.–”

“Now you listen to me—and cut the lies!” the woman said,
suddenly standing an inch from Illya’s face.
“Cora Solo would never invite one of the enemy to one of her parties!
Obviously, you manipulated Napoleon into letting you come!  Now, I’ve known Napoleon since he was a
child—don’t you go corrupting him with those un-American ideas; you stay away
from him–!”

“Is there a problem?” Napoleon asked, sharply, suddenly
coming out of nowhere to stand between Illya and the woman.

“Napoleon!” the woman exclaimed.  Her expression changed to an accusatory one
as she pointed to Illya.  “This
incredibly rude colleague of yours insulted me!
I demand an apology this instant!”

Napoleon scowled and was about to tell her off—except that
his mother beat him to the punch.

“I heard everything, Naomi,” Cora said, as she, too,
appeared out of nowhere, radiating as much rage as her son was.  “For your information, I did invite Illya to this party—the three of us did, unanimously.”

“That’s right,” Leopold scowled, and Illya was admittedly
surprised; it just dawned on him that he’d never seen Leopold upset before
until this very moment.  “As far as we’re
concerned, he is family, and he is welcome in this house whenever he wishes.”

“You, however, are not,” Cora added.

“Hmph!” the woman scoffed.
“As if I would want to be in a place that harbors Russians!”

She left, and all three Solos silently dared anyone else in
the room to say anything; when no one did, they now turned their attention to
Illya, apologizing profusely for him having to endure that.

And Illya assured them that it was alright—and he meant it,
for the knowledge of having a loyal family to back him up, no matter what the
situation, was something he’d never thought he’d have again—but he had it now,
and it was all he could ever want.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary:
Napoleon is disheartened by the results of his latest physical fitness test–but Illya points out one key factor in the results.

Cross-posted to AO3.

After years of association with his partner, Illya always
knew when Napoleon was in a gloomy mood—not that it was too difficult to tell,
as Napoleon rarely hid what he was feeling.
But there were different sources and levels of gloom, and Illya could tell
exactly which was what based on just one glance at his partner.

That morning, Illya’s first observation after his shower
was noticing that a full, warm breakfast was on the table, and yet, Napoleon
was now sitting in a chair by the window, glumly resting his chin on his hand
as his brown eyes gazed out, blankly, at nothing in particular.  In Napoleon’s other hand was an opened
letter; the rest of the mail was on the table, so, clearly, Napoleon had been
fine until something in the mail, which must have arrived after he had finished
making breakfast, had upset him.

Illya cast one more glance at the tempting breakfast before
pulling up another chair beside Napoleon’s.

“What is the bad news?” he asked, gently.

Napoleon sighed deeply, glancing at Illya for a moment
before looking back out the window.

“I’m getting old.”

Illya exhaled.

“I would ask if this was about you finally noticing your
greying temples…”  He paused as Napoleon
gently touched them out of reflex—something that Illya had noticed occurring over
the last few weeks.  “But clearly you’ve
been aware of them for some time.  So, I
presume that mail you received wasn’t someone else pointing out that you had
them?”

“No,” Napoleon sighed, handing Illya the letter he had
received.  “The results from my latest
physical fitness test came back…”

Illya glanced at the results—and could see why Napoleon was
concerned.  The results had taken a sharp
drop from the last time’s, as indicated in one of the columns.  And Napoleon’s blood pressure, resting pulse
rate, and cortisol levels had all increased significantly.

Illya exhaled and was about to comment that, yes, this was
a cause for concern… at least until he noticed the date of Napoleon’s fitness
test.

“Napoleon?” he asked.
“You had your fitness test less than a week after we’d returned from
Berlin and the Summit Five meeting?”

“Mm-hmm,” Napoleon responded, glumly.

Illya looked up from the test results to stare at Napoleon
in utter disbelief.

“Why?”

“I was already overdue for my fitness test even before the Summit
Five meeting,” Napoleon sighed.  “I
convinced Medical that our need to be in Berlin was absolutely urgent, and so
they made it quite clear that I had to have the test within a week of our
return from Berlin.  So, that’s what I
did.”

“…You… this…”  Illya
was struggling to put words together as he pointed from the paper to
Napoleon.  “Why…?  Blockhead!”

Napoleon glanced at him in some confusion.

“You are fretting over results of a fitness test that was
taken less than a week after you were systematically tortured!?” Illya finally managed to ask.  “What, may I ask, was the logical result, if
not this?”

“There was a time when I could have taken the test the day after, and there wouldn’t have been
any way to tell,” Napoleon pointed out.
“I guess I agreed to take the test so soon because I wanted to see if I
could… still do that.  But I can’t.”

“Well if that was what you were expecting, Napoleon, then
yes, you are getting older.  Neither of
us can stop getting older.  If the Baron
of THRUSH rose from the grave and tortured me on those saltires of his like he
did seven years ago, I would not bounce back again as quickly as I did
then…”  He trailed off again as he saw
Napoleon’s shoulders go rigid at the mention.
“I see…  This thought has already
occurred to you.”

“Maybe we’re not unfit—not yet,” Napoleon said.  “But you just admitted it—we’re not as fast
in bouncing back like we used to be.
We’re not…”

“Not invincible?” Illya finished.  He gently drew an arm around Napoleon.  “I have news for you, Napoleon.  We never were.
Deep down, we both have always known that; even if we never gave much
thought to our own mortality, we certainly did think about each other’s—a lot.  You have given me plenty of scares over the
years, and I am sure I have done the same for you, as well.”

Napoleon responded by drawing Illya into a tight hug, which
Illya returned.

“I was worried for you as recently as Berlin,” Illya
said.  “How I had to see you suffer and
couldn’t do a thing to stop it…. Napoleon, I don’t think you realize how close
I came to killing Strothers.  Part of me
still wants to.”

“You got to kill Beldon.”

“And I noticed you didn’t ask me to show him mercy as you
normally would…”

“Well, he tried to kill you, too.”

Illya glanced at Napoleon with a “See?” look and Napoleon
managed a smile.

“And that is how we have made it this far, Napoleon,” he
said.  “We cover each other’s
weaknesses.  That is how we will continue
to face the next five years.”

“You know, what, Tovarisch?  I do believe you’re right.  So, how about that breakfast?”

And Illya smiled now.
He still insisted that he was never great at pep talks—but he was
certainly glad to have been of help now.
It’s why the partnership had worked so well—and would continue to do so.