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

Summary:
In which Napoleon leaps to Illya’s rescue… in his own, over-the-top way, of course…

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.

Illya hadn’t been surprised when he had been assigned to go
undercover in yet another theatre company, and he wasn’t surprised when he
ended up in another absolutely ridiculous costume—this time, it was a sequined
jumpsuit in oranges, reds, and yellows to mimic the look of a fire, to pass him
off as a fire elemental dancer.

He hadn’t been surprised either when he was found out by
the THRUSH infiltrator (there always was one, wasn’t there…?), either, after
all the times he had been a party to this ploy before; Illya had infiltrated so
many theatre companies, Napoleon had jokingly said that he was due to be
nominated for an award any day now.

Illya hadn’t been surprised, either, when the irate THRUSHie
was threatening him after hunting him down to the set on the stage (mercifully,
Illya was back in his regular turtleneck now), he could see Napoleon’s
silhouette up in the rafters, getting ready to make his move.

Illya remained calm and almost came across as bored as the
THRUSHie continued to snarl at him until Napoleon’s voice boomed across the
stage–

“Ahoy, villainous scoundrel!”

And Illya certainly wasn’t surprised when, moments later, Napoleon
swung in for a rescue in the most dramatic fashion, quite literally—the
backdrop had suddenly lifted, further distracting the THRUSHie, and Napoleon
suddenly swung in from the counterweight rope as it descended, planting both
his feet onto the THRUSHie’s chest in a flying kick (followed by tranquilizing
him for good measure).  It was just the
kind of rescue Napoleon would think of.

What did surprise Illya, though, was the outfit that
Napoleon was wearing—a forest-green tunic with a matching plumed hat.  On his back rested a quiver of arrows, a bow
was slung over his shoulder, and a sheathed sword hung from the side of his
belt.  A pair of tights, covering his
legs, finished the ensemble.

Illya stared for a long time as Napoleon handcuffed the
unconscious THRUSHie before he turned back to Illya, grinning from ear to ear
as Illya struggled to maintain a neutral expression.

“You’ve got to admit,” Napoleon said, positively
beaming.  “This is one of my most dynamic
rescues.”

“You’ve always wanted to do that, haven’t you?” Illya said,
just barely suppressing the growing smile on his face.

“Oh, absolutely,” Napoleon said, without missing a
beat.  “Now, be honest…  How was that for a rescue?”

Illya, who had still been trying to keep a neutral
expression, now found himself betrayed by his own emotions as the corners of
his mouth turned up into a smile.

“Very Robin Hood,” he said, eagerly.  “In fact…”
Illya indicated the costume Napoleon was wearing.  “It would seem you were trying to achieve
that on purpose.”

“Actually, yes,” Napoleon grinned.  “For one thing, it helped me fit in backstage
without people asking too many questions.”

“…And is there another thing?”

“Well, ah… I would have preferred Hamlet, but they didn’t seem
to have a costume on hand—shameful!  But Robin
Hood was a great second choice considering that if I couldn’t be my favorite character, then, at least, I
could be yours.”

Illya smirked.

“I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence,” he said.  “Very well…
I shall deliver this THRUSHie into custody.  In the meantime, you head back to the hotel
room; I will meet you there.”

Napoleon blinked.

“…Er…”

“Yes, Napoleon?”

“So… my clothes have sort of… gone missing…” he said.  “I think they were swept up in the clothes of
the other cast members and got sent to the laundry pile.”

The smirk on Illya’s face grew.

“Then I shall regret not being able to see you explain your
way back to the hotel wearing that.”

“Illyaaaaa…”

“Relax, Napoleon, I will attempt to get your clothes back
to you… eventually.”

“But what am I supposed to do at the hotel dressed like
this?” Napoleon asked.

Illya now leaned forward and kissed Napoleon firmly on the
lips.

“Leave that to me,” he said.  “I plan to thank my brave rescuer
thoroughly.”

He glanced back at Napoleon as he left with the THRUSHie,
leaving Napoleon smirking too, now, as he left for the hotel.

Perhaps he should play Robin Hood more often…

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya, undercover, find a murder mystery on their hands

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 95% similar.

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

Illya looked around nervously as he wandered into the old
mansion’s lounge.  The party had been
cleared out hours ago on account of the events of that night—events that had
left everyone shaken and suspicious.
Even Napoleon and Illya, no strangers to the dark side of humanity and
all that could emerge from that darkness, had also been visibly shaken.  However, as they were both undercover as men
who were total strangers to each other, it meant meeting here, in the dark of
night, without the eyes of others upon them—something that they needed to make
sure of, especially since one of those pairs of eyes belong to a poisoner, who
was still among them.

Illya hid behind the shadows of a dark blue upholstered
armchair as he heard footsteps approach.
The footsteps stopped a few feet from Illya for a moment, and them
approached the armchair.

Illya tensed; he wasn’t sure if it was Napoleon or not, so
he lunged, trying to get a grip on the other person’s arms, but he, too, found
his arms gripped.  Just then, a bolt of
lightning briefly illuminated the room—and the two men saw just who they were
grappling with.

“Illya…?” Napoleon asked.

Illya breathed a sigh of relief, now hugging him.

“Napoleon…” he sighed.
“Forgive me; I have an unusual case of nerves, and it is not like me at
all…”

“I know, I know,” Napoleon sighed, hugging him back.  “I think what happened earlier has a lot to
do with it.”  He was shaking slightly,
but he stopped himself to gather his mettle.
“It’s my fault, of course.”

“What do you mean?” Illya asked.

“I just wasn’t as vigilant as I should have been,” Napoleon
said.  It was a sobering, horrible
moment—recalling how their informant, who had been in the middle of a
conversation with Napoleon, had suddenly reacted severely to something and had
died.  Illya had been able to sense the
work of a powerful neurotoxin—but neither of them could explain how it had been
administered to the victim, despite Napoleon or Illya being nearby the entire
time.  Mr. Waverly had not been pleased,
and had ordered them to find out what had happened, and if THRUSH had played a
role in the poisoning.  “How else could a
poisoner manage to strike right under my nose?”

“Our noses,”
Illya corrected.  “I am as much to
blame.  If I had better equipment, I
could have found out exactly what the victim had been poisoned by.”

“There’s more that worries me,” Napoleon said.  “Is the poisoner done, or will he strike
again—and who will be next?  One of the
other guests?  …Or one of us?”

“Why would the poisoner go after one of us?  We have never met these people before
tonight,” Illya pointed out.

“I was right there with the victim when he started reacting
to the poison—I’m a loose end,” Napoleon said.
“And they know you as a medical examiner; whether or not they know that
you’ve looked at the body, they’ll expect you to have attempted to autopsy the
body—they won’t want the poison being revealed.
They have reason to get rid of both of us—doubly so if THRUSH was
involved and recognized us.”

Illya tightened his hug.

“I will not let them get you, Napoleon,” he vowed.  “I don’t care who did it or how; I will now
allow that fate to befall you.”

“I believe that,” Napoleon whispered.

He truly did, too—he could feel the furious fire in Illya,
radiating through him.  When Illya was
determined, he was unstoppable.

“I will protect you,” Illya vowed.  “You can count on that.”

“I know,” Napoleon said.
“And just know that you can count on me, too.”

He wasn’t sure how the poisoner had gotten past him
before—but whoever it was would not do so again.

Together, they would find and stop the one responsible for
this.  Neither of them had any doubt
about that.

Illya, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, now
leaned forward and kissed Napoleon.
Napoleon hesitated, but kissed him back, gently at first, but then more
and more passionately.

A moment later, they both fell over onto the armchair,
which sunk under their weight as they carried on.

They had their love to protect each other.

Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya spend the night in the forest–and Napoleon’s choice of clothing could have been better…

Notes:
This is light slash.

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

Napoleon shivered slightly as a steady breeze creeped
through the trees; he edged closer to the campfire—and to his partner, who was tending
to the fire.  Illya’s response was to
give him a long look.

“You knew we would be spending time in the forest on this
mission.”

“Yeah, I knew,” Napoleon said.  “We were told we’d have to reach the outpost
on foot to avoid being tracked by THRUSH.”

“…When why, for pity’s sake, are you wearing a suit?” Illya
asked.

“…Ah.”

Napoleon took a gander at himself; his choice of clothing
would have been perfect for a number of locations, but the forest was decidedly
not one of them.  Illya, on the other
hand, was in his favorite black turtleneck and perfectly fine in the night
breeze.

“Well, er… I guess I underestimated just how much of the
trip would occur in the forest as opposed to classier travel conditions.”

Illya merely shook his head.

“Well, at least you did not bring silk pajamas…” he began,
but then he paused.  “…You didn’t bring
the silk pajamas, did you…?”

“…I only have silk pajamas, Illya!  Every set I own–”

Illya now facepalmed.

“Very well, now I know what to get you for your next
birthday,” Illya said, simply.  “Well,
you are fortunate that I love you.  Come
here.”

Napoleon sat next to Illya, who graciously wrapped his arms
around him.  Napoleon sighed contentedly
and also wrapped his arms around Illya.

“That’s much better,” Napoleon said.

“Da, and with the
meal you have generously provided us with in spite of these harsh
conditions…”  Illya indicated the fish
roasting above the fire.  “We will eat
well tonight.  I must thank you.”

“I hope you aren’t keeping me warm only because I provided
you dinner.”

Illya scoffed.

“Of course not—no more than you provided me dinner with the
expectation of my keeping you warm.”

Napoleon smiled and tightened his hug.

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

“So you have told me,” Illya mused.  “You are pretty adorable yourself.”

Napoleon’s grin widened.

“You know, it’s interesting, isn’t it?” he asked.  “I’ve been used to the good life my entire
life.  And yet, here I am in the middle
of nowhere, in this cold, windy forest, and it doesn’t matter at all just
because you’re with me.”

“I must admit, I have always been amazed at how easily you
can forego luxuries when I am with you,” Illya replied.  “Not very many can adjust so well—I have seen
it when I was in the navy.  These harsh
conditions aren’t easy, and yet, it seems that you fit right in…”  He arched an eyebrow at Napoleon’s suit.  “…Almost.”

“…You’re not letting me forget this, are you?”

“Not at all,” Illya teased, kissing him on the nose, and
then breaking into giggles that led Napoleon into giggles, as well.

“I do love you,” Illya said.  “And it pleases me to know that my presence
alone can keep you happy, even out here in the wild.”

Napoleon responded by nuzzling Illya’s face with his own.

“You can say that again,” Napoleon said.  “Illya, everything I have—that cozy
apartment, all my luxurious furniture, and even all the money in my bank
account…. I’d give it all away in a heartbeat if the choice was between the
good life and you.”

“Really, Napoleon?”

“Really,” Napoleon replied.
“Because how could it be a good life without you?”

“…I would accuse you of trying to flatter me, except I know
you are sincere,” Illya said, nuzzling back.
“And, also, that I, too, would give up anything to be with you, so I
know it’s true.”

Illya also tightened his hold around Napoleon now, the
night air no longer able to chill them as they kept each other warm.

They had each other.
And it was all that they needed.

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

Summary: In which Napoleon realizes that kicking a bad habit is harder than it looks–but that having a loyal partner helps a lot.

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.

Illya was watching silently with their cat, Baba Yaga, as
Napoleon proceeded to turn the apartment upside-down as he upended drawers
stuffed with odds and ends in his search for the cigarettes that he had asked
Illya to hide.  He had been trying to
kick the habit and had enlisted Illya’s help for this specific quest, and Illya
had agreed, having wanted Napoleon to kick the habit for some time now.  But the optimistic beginning had given way to
withdrawal cravings—something that Illya had warned him about.

Napoleon had assumed that the withdrawal cravings were
something he could easily handle, in spite of Illya’s reminders that this
wasn’t an evening at the casino (“All the luck in the world won’t change the
body’s natural response…”), and it was only after they had set in that Napoleon
realized the full fury of a body’s betrayal of itself.

His search for the cigarettes that Illya had hidden was
coming up empty, as well; neither Illya nor the cat had moved from the couch as
they watched.  Obviously, Illya felt for
Napoleon, and yet, he knew that if Napoleon relapsed into smoking again, trying
to quit the next time would be even more difficult; it was why Napoleon had
decided to go cold turkey in the first place, feeling as though that trying to
reduce the number of times he smoked would only lead to him putting off the
final day.

At least, that was what he’d thought then; now, it didn’t
seem like such a bad idea.

“Okay,” he sighed, mopping the sweat from his brow.  “Maybe I should have gone with the gradual decrease
method after all.  Illya, give me my
cigarettes.”

But Illya didn’t budge.

“Napoleon,” he said, gently.  “Though I did warn you about the cravings,
you agreed that you would attempt to hold out as long as you could.”

“This is it,” Napoleon insisted.  “This
is as long as I could.  Cigarettes,
please?”

“Napoleon…”

“What do you want me to do!?  Beg!?”

Illya arched an eyebrow, clearing imagining Napoleon on his
knees.

“Oh, my God, you do…” Napoleon groaned, facepalming.  “Illya, please don’t do this to me…  What did you do with my cigarettes!?”

“I considered keeping them in the kitty litter,” Illya
admitted.  “But Baba Yaga would not have
liked the smell, and besides, you would have run out and bought more–”

“…I can still do that now,” Napoleon realized, and he
headed for the door, stopping as he felt his empty pocket.  “…Where’s my wallet?”  He looked back and saw Illya looking back at
him serenely.  “Oh, for the love of–!”

“Relax,” Illya said, pulling both Napoleon’s wallet and his
cigarette case from his own pockets; Baba Yaga caught a whiff and bolted from
Illya’s lap.  “To continue this would be
too childish.  We are both grown
adults.  Not only that, we are both
trained enforcement agents…”  He paused,
briefly, as Napoleon reclaimed both items from him, and immediately pulled out
a cigarette from the case; Baba Yaga, who had still been watching, now
flattened her ears back in disapproval.
“You are one of the best enforcement agents I have ever met, Napoleon.  You are a hero and a good man—that is innate
in you.  But you are also a strong
man—that is from your own training, having shaped yourself to that way.  You have defeated so many enemies thanks to
your inner strength.  That is why I
believe you can defeat this, too.”

His words had the desired effect; Napoleon had been lifting
the cigarette to his mouth while looking for his lighter, and had stopped upon
Illya’s last statement.

“You have an endurance that was ranked among the highest in
your Survival School records,” Illya continued.
“Not just physical endurance, but mental endurance, as well; you were
able to completely resist all of the known forms of hypnosis and brainwashing
in THRUSH’s bag of tricks.  Do you not
realize the amount of mental strength that is required to achieve that?  THRUSH once succeeded in brainwashing me, and
yet they have failed with you!  Even when
they use fear gas or other substances to play on your emotions, you still
manage to remain true to yourself!”

Napoleon continued to stare at the tiny, white object in
his hand.  It was true; he had great
mental strength against the very worst that THRUSH had to offer.  So how was this tiny cigarette able to
control him so well?

“Even with the nicotine withdrawal having made you
irritable, never once did you raise your voice to me,” Illya continued.  “Even when I was being purposefully
difficult—you begged and pleaded and showed your exasperation, but you refused
to show me any hostility for my part in your frustrations.  I have heard tales of others suffering from
the withdrawal symptoms who have driven their loved ones to tears from their
irritability.  So, you see, you are
already more in control than you realize.”

He gently tugged on Napoleon’s sleeve, pulling him down
onto the sofa beside him.

“I can help you,” Illya said.  “I know you think the world of me.  If I gave you an ultimatum—that the lips that
touched cigarettes could never touch me, I could get you to drop that cigarette
right now.  But I only wish to use that
as a last resort—for there are other ways to help you that can rely on your
inner strength.  For example, I can word
that ultimatum differently and make it an invitation instead.  Napoleon… I can show you something else you
can do with your lips…”

He suddenly pulled Napoleon in close and kissed him.  Napoleon hesitated a moment, and then dropped
both the cigarette and the case, which spilled its contents on the floor.  He didn’t notice, instead wrapping his arms
around Illya and kissing him back.  As
they carried on, Baba Yaga sniffed at the cigarettes, hissed at them, and, with
several swipes of her paw, sent them under the couch.

Some time later, as the cat was contentedly attacking her
scratching post, the cigarettes still remained forgotten as Napoleon and Illya
continued to distract themselves on the couch.

Napoleon was stronger than he realized.  And he had Illya lending him his strength, as
well.

He would get the
best of this.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: Napoleon is out of the action with a minor bug, and Illya has to (reluctantly) take his place as security detail at a fancy party.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Napoleon groaned in frustration after letting out another sneeze
that seemed to cause the room to shake.
He sniffled into a handkerchief, cursing whatever bug had decided to
attach itself to him—the same bug that had attached itself to Illya the week
before.  In all fairness, Illya had
warned him to keep his distance, but that was an impossible task as far as
Napoleon was concerned.

And so, he was tucked in bed, grumpy with the knowledge
that the world was continuing to go by, and that included Illya; Illya had
requested time off from work to look after Napoleon as Napoleon had done for
him, but an emergency security detail was needed at a fancy international gala,
and no one else from Section II was available.
It was the sort of thing that Napoleon would have loved to have
attended—but that was quite out of the question now, as was any hope of Illya
staying home that evening.

And so, Illya, dressed in a striking black tuxedo with
matching bow tie, stopped in to the bedroom to give Napoleon a mixture of lemon
water and honey to help sooth his throat and to offer his apologies for leaving
him.

“Are you sure you will be alright without me?”

Napoleon just grunted again, once again sniffling into his
handkerchief before drinking the mixture.

“I’ll be alright,” he promised.  “Baba Yaga will look after me.”

As if understanding, the cat meowed, and Illya gave her scritches
behind the ear, which she gratefully accepted.

“Yes, I trust her to look after you,” Illya agreed.  “Are you feeling any better, by the way?”

“…Not really,” Napoleon admitted.  “At this point, my nose just feels like a
dead weight…”

“That feeling will pass in another day or so,” Illya
promised, sympathizing with him.  “And,
perhaps, next time, when I tell you I am contagious, you take my advice and keep
your distance!”

“…Probably not…” Napoleon admitted.

Illya rolled his eyes.

“Well,” he said, his expression softening.  “You know how much I dislike being at these
parties—you can be sure I will return as soon as I can.  And I’ll make Mother’s chicken soup recipe
for you—she made sure I got down every little detail of it.”

Napoleon managed a chuckle at this.

“She probably would have mailed it if she could have…” he
mused, as Baba Yaga’s ears perked up at the mention of chicken soup.

“That, I don’t doubt,” Illya mused.  “I left the number of the hall by the phone;
if you desperately need my attention, let me know.”

“I–”

“Let me rephrase that; if you desperately need medical attention, let me know.”

Napoleon put on a mock-offended look, but then managed a
smile as Illya gave him a sympathetic look.

“I will see you soon,” Illya promised.  “Try and get some rest.”

Napoleon nodded and closed his eyes as Illya took his leave
and Baba Yaga kept a close eye on him from her basket.  Illya, true to his word, had returned and had
been by his side when Napoleon later awoke, the hot soup ready in hand.

With his partner to look after him, Napoleon was feeling
better already.

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

Summary: Takes place post-retirement.  In which Napoleon takes “Dance like no one is watching” to heart–not realizing that Illya is watching.

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.

Life in retirement from U.N.C.L.E. meant a lot of time on
Illya’s hands.  A lot of it was spent
traveling on adventures with Napoleon and their cat, Baba Yaga, for
globetrotting was an indulgence they could never get enough of.  But a lot of the time was also spent at their
Hawaiian bungalow, watching time go by.

It was always a stark contrast to the fast-pace life they
used to know; there were times that it felt very foreign, even as time went
on.  Illya still yearned for the rush of
adrenaline and the flirting with danger—he could tell that Napoleon did, too,
in spite of how at home he seemed here in the tropics.

Illya had been watching TV with Baba Yaga one morning when
the he decided that it was time for snack; Baba Yaga let off an offended meow as
he stopped petting her and got up, and grumpily followed him to the kitchen,
bumping into his leg as Illya suddenly stopped short in the doorway.

Illya had stopped upon seeing a most unusual sight in the
kitchen.  Napoleon was preparing a stew
that smelled like it would be another culinary masterpiece for lunch—but
Napoleon himself, wearing an apron decked with tropical flowers and lush green
leaves, was dancing to the music on the radio as he worked on the stew.

It was “September,” by Earth, Wind & Fire—and Napoleon
was very clearly into the music, stirring the stew in time to the music.  He did a pirouette, which allowed him to grab
a pinch of spices from the cabinet and then gracefully toss it into the stew.

Illya watched in utter fascination as Napoleon now sampled
the stew, and then used the spoon as an impromptu microphone as he continued to
dance, seemingly without a care in the world.

It took Napoleon another pirouette to notice that he was
being watched; he stopped in mid-twirl, blushing bright red and looking rather
embarrassed as he noticed Illya watching in fascination and Baba Yaga watching
in utter confusion.

“Er…” Napoleon said, indicating the radio.  “I was just…
I mean, ah…  Lunch will be ready
in about five minutes.”

“The song will be over by then,” Illya noted.  He walked into the kitchen, smiling.  “Shall we dance until then?”

Napoleon blinked in surprise; dancing wasn’t something that
Illya did often—and certainly not to this kind of music.  Waltzes and the foxtrot, yes—on rare
occasions, the tango…  But… disco?

And yet, he extended his hand to Napoleon, who smiled and
took it; the two of them danced together there in their little kitchen.  Baba Yaga stared incredulously at the both of
them for a moment before deciding to dismiss the whole thing and give her
attention to her scratching post instead.

But Napoleon and
Illya continued to dance together, enjoying one of many cherished moments
together—moments that they had fought for so long and so hard over many years
of dedicated service.  Yes, it was
different from the adrenaline-filled life they had known before, but that
didn’t make it any less enjoyable—especially when they still had each other,
after all this time, still full of happiness and joy—and full of the same love
they had felt for each other even then.
That was one thing that had never changed—and something that they knew
never would, no matter how much time had passed.

And as they looked into each other’s eyes, stealing kisses
as they danced across the kitchen floor, they had to agree, it had been worth
it all just for this—the promise of a happy future together.