Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: Takes place during *that* scene from “The Children’s Day Affair.”  Napoleon knew he was throwing away his chances of escape by stopping to help Illya.  Part of him was counting on it.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Contrary to what Mother Fear had thought, Napoleon Solo had
known exactly what he was doing when he had found Illya moaning in pain in that
THRUSH cell and decided to stop and help him.
Napoleon had known that he was forfeiting a chance of escape to help his
wounded partner.

Nothing else mattered right now other than helping Illya.  How THRUSH could even think that Napoleon
would have considered abandoning his partner, even for a minute, would have
been laughable had the situation not been so dire.  Did THRUSH really not know anything about
him?

He wasted no time, of course; he used explosives to open
the cell door and reach his partner’s side.

“What’s the matter?” he had asked, softly, and Illya hadn’t
even been able to reply.  All the Russian
could do was to look up weakly, glance back at him, and have a faint look of
relief cross his face at last as he lay back down on the cot to let Napoleon
treat him, clearly exhausted by his ordeal.

Slowly, Napoleon lifted the back of Illya’s shirt, frowning
as he saw the purple bruises from where Illya had been hit with fists, and bleeding,
open wounds from where he had been whipped.

Napoleon didn’t say a word as he began to clean Illya’s
bleeding wounds.  Illya winced, but
didn’t resist or insist that he was fine, as he usually did.  That was Napoleon’s second clue that
something was very wrong—his partner’s moaning had been the first clue that the
normally unshakable Russian had been suffering.

In addition to that, what had struck Napoleon most was the
brief flicker of fear in Illya’s eyes before he realized that it had been
Napoleon with him.  Illya didn’t frighten
easily, nor did he normally try to let on that he was in any pain; so, what had
he been through to react in such a way—unable to keep from expressing the fear
and pain he would normally be able to suppress?
What had they done to him!?

With each moment that ticked by, Napoleon knew that there
was no chance of him getting out of here; oh, he would try, and he would try to
take Illya out of here with him, but he knew that they wouldn’t get far.

At this point, there was a part of him that didn’t want to get far—it was a part of him
that only rarely showed itself, and, subsequently, it was a part of him that
frightened him the most about himself.

For even the most kind and good-natured man like Napoleon
had his limits, and THRUSH had crossed them by hurting his partner like
this—not just his physical self, but his spirit, as well.

Nevertheless, he wanted to get Illya out of here, and so he
made an attempt—helping his partner to his feet and trying to ease him out of
the cell—only to be met by the THRUSH guards ready to take him prisoner now, as
well.

Again, Napoleon didn’t say a word as he was taken captive
with his partner.  THRUSH thought they
were trying to teach lessons in this academy of theirs?  Fine—they were about to be schooled.

He would spare the children, of course—and hope there would
be a way to undo the THRUSH brainwashing.
But the adults?  They would not
see the mercy that Napoleon normally showed his enemies.

His love and compassion for Illya was not a weakness.

And THRUSH was about to learn that the hard way.

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: A high-society wine-tasting party leaves Illya perplexed, and Napoleon determined to find a way for Illya to enjoy the joys of it.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Illya was more than perplexed when it came to how wine
tasting parties seemed to be a big, fancy thing in the United States.  Not having been much of a people person,
Illya hadn’t engaged in social drinking before meeting Napoleon.  Napoleon, clearly, had been to these before,
judging by the way he repeated the actions of the others perfectly, swirling the
crimson liquid in their glasses before daintily taking a sip of their drinks.  It seemed so… choreographed, almost, and, in
addition to perplexing, Illya found it fascinating to see how Napoleon fit so
flawlessly into this.

Then again, should he have been surprised that his partner
would fit so well into high-class scenarios?

Illya did his best to imitate him, tasting the wines and
offering his opinions along with Napoleon and the others.  Halfway through the tasting, however,
Napoleon offered his apologies to their hosts and announced that he’d had
enough for the night, and he and Illya left the party, taking an evening walk
in the night air, departing the hotel and heading back towards their apartment.

“You didn’t have to leave the party because of me,” Illya
said.

“You didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” Napoleon
said.  “There’s no fun in it for me if
you can’t enjoy it, too.  …In hindsight,
I should have realized there’d be too many people for you…  Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Napoleon,” Illya insisted.  “And it wasn’t the number people—well, that
wasn’t the only factor.  It was all very…
awkward, don’t you think?  The
choreographed sniffing and swirling and sipping…”

“Yeah, there’s a certain social grace to wine tasting
parties,” Napoleon said.  “I remember on
my eighteenth birthday, Ma took me to one—it was incredible.”

“Of course, you’d think so…” Illya mused.  “But did it not strike you as odd how
high-class society seems to have rules for every little thing?”

Napoleon paused for a moment, thoughtfully.

“Well, I suppose when you put it that way, it does seem a
little weird to someone on the outside looking in,” he admitted.  “I never really gave much thought to it,
though.”

“You don’t really need to,” Illya admitted.  “You fit in so well with all of these high
society things.  Sometimes, I wish I did,
too, so that we could enjoy these things together, rather than things like this
happening…”

Napoleon paused in his tracks, clearly having an “aha”
moment.

“Maybe there’s a way we can,” he said, as a grin crossed
his features.  “Illya, you go on back to
the apartment.  I’ll join you there in
about half an hour.”

“…What are you planning?” Illya wondered.

“You’ll see,” Napoleon said, as he cheerfully hopped into a
taxi.

Illya stared as the taxi pulled away; after a moment, he
shrugged, and walked the rest of the way back to the apartment, where Baba Yaga
greeted him, almost questioningly, as though expecting him back later.

Illya sighed and picked the cat up, relaxing on the couch
with her.

“Oh, I ruined another outing,” he sighed.  “How Napoleon’s patience can be so infinite,
I’ll never know…”

Baba Yaga meowed at him, as though trying to explain
something obvious.  Illya’s mind was
elsewhere, though, but he was brought back to reality as Napoleon came in,
carrying a couple of paper bags.

“Where have you been?” Illya asked.

“You’ll see,” Napoleon said.  He got two wineglasses from the kitchen and
placed them on the coffee table, and then proceeded to place five bottles of
wine on the table.

“Napoleon…!” Illya exclaimed.

“See, there is a way we can enjoy a wine tasting party
together!”

Baba Yaga looked at Illya with a satisfied expression and
then looked back at Napoleon, meowing at him.

“Of course, my dear, I didn’t forget you,” Napoleon
insisted, pulling out a catnip toy.
“There—now we can all indulge.”

The Mau eagerly accepted the catnip toy and proceeded to
roll around on the floor with it as Napoleon and Illya enjoyed their own,
private wine-tasting party, with no rules other than their own.

It was one of the most enjoyable nights Illya ever had.

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

Summary: In which Illya discovers a secret garden in the resort where he and Napoleon are spending their vacation.

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 90% similar.

Napoleon was curious as to where Illya was leading him; he
had paid for a luxury resort vacation for the both of them with their two weeks
off.  Initially he had been concerned
that Illya wouldn’t want to spend his vacation in a tropical region, but after
tossing the idea around casually, Illya hadn’t seemed to mind at all.  And so, Napoleon had booked the resort
vacation, and was both surprised and pleased that Illya, despite his
heat-shunning, introverted ways, was enjoying himself playing golf and table
tennis with Napoleon during the day, and then keeping him company in the casino
during the evening when Napoleon took everyone else for a ride during the
nightly poker games.

Illya did slip away for brief periods during the poker
games—usually to get extra food, but sometimes, he would go for a walk in the
evenings to explore the resort grounds and see some of the natural beauty of
the tropical plants.  Napoleon had
deduced that Illya was leading him to somewhere he had discovered during his
wanderings.

Napoleon hadn’t expected a garden gate to be their
destination, but he shrugged and followed Illya through the gates, which he
noticed had a key in the lock of the gate.
The path, lined with flowers of all colors—red, orange, yellow, and
white—led to a crystal-clear pond with water flowers floating on the
water.  Large willow trees shaded a
small, grassy area—perfect for sitting down and watching the animals visiting
the pond

“What’s this?” he asked, amused.  “A Secret Garden?”

“I believe that is exactly what it is,” Illya said.  “A beautiful garden in a faraway corner of a
resort that most of its patrons usually don’t waste time getting to?  And yet, they keep the key in the lock, as if
they’re rewarding those who do drag themselves away from the sports and casino
games.”

He sat down on the clearing beneath the willow tree, and
Napoleon sat down beside him.  They
watched a pair of mallards on the water; the two ducks regarded them with
interest for a moment before going back to swimming.  Illya chuckled at the birds, and turned back
to Napoleon.

“This seemed like the kind of place you would like,” he
continued.  “Beautiful, like something
out of a book…  Just the sort of thing
for you to wax poetic about.”

“…Is that an open invitation?” Napoleon asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Ha!  See, I knew you
secretly approved of my poetic nature!”

Illya gently placed his hand on top of Napoleon’s.

“Of course,” he said.
“I just have to pretend not to in order to keep you grounded to Earth.”

“Thanks… I think…” Napoleon smirked.  He looked over the pond and the garden.  “It really is a beautiful Secret Garden—the
greenery of the plants compliments the clear waters and the blue sky—just like
your blue eyes are complimented by your blond hair.”

Illya blushed as Napoleon now
kissed him.

“I could stay here forever with you,” Napoleon added,
gently wrapping his arms around him.
“Well, really, I could stay anywhere in the world with you, but this
place…”  He smiled at the setting.  “It’s almost as beautiful as you are.”

Illya gave his hand a squeeze.

“You put this place to shame with your beauty, as well,”
Illya said.  “I know the casino will be
opening soon for the evening; we can head back after we eat the picnic I
brought.”

But Napoleon now kicked back on the grass, still holding
onto Illya’s hand, and Illya laid back on the grass with him.

“Actually…” Napoleon said.
“I think I’d rather stay here with you.”

“Really?”

“Why would I need to try to prove my luck when I know I’m
the luckiest person in the world to be here with you?” Napoleon asked.

Illya smiled, and the two of them enjoyed their evening
together in the Secret Garden.

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

Summary: In which Napoleon struggles to keep up with Illya in the Arctic–and Illya looks after him in return

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 90% similar.

Napoleon didn’t like to admit whenever he was reaching the
limits of his endurance; it was a matter of both pride and the need to cover
his partner’s back.  He and Illya had
been together for nearly two years now; he wanted to prove to his beloved that
he was ready for anything.  And so, as
they continued their trek across the Arctic, Napoleon kept his complaints about
the cold to himself, ignoring the numb feeling in his feet.

Illya, naturally, didn’t seem to even flinch at the cold;
he was leading the way across the snow, glancing up at the Northern Lights
every few moments.  Napoleon had to admit
that the lights were pretty and helped distract him from his numb feet and
increasing tiredness—the greens and teals gave way to blue and purple.

The colors were so beautiful—so entrancing.  Napoleon could feel his head getting lighter
and lighter as the colors swirled overhead.
It suddenly dawned on him how exhausted he really was, and yet, he
didn’t want to bring it up.

He continued to push forward, but Illya was no fool; as he
looked back to check on him, he immediately sensed that Napoleon was not at the
top of his game.

“Napoleon!” Illya chided.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed to rest?”

“I don’t need rest,” Napoleon insisted.  “I’m fine… I’m…”  He trailed off, trying to shake off his
weariness, but his leg buckled under him, sending him crashing into the
snow.  “Well, maybe a little rest…”

Illya was by his side in an instant, checking him over and
tutting.

“Exhaustion,” he diagnosed.
“And I think you have mild frostbite on your feet.”

“…So that’s why I can’t feel them…” Napoleon responded,
dryly.

Illya shook his head and now attempted to transfer Napoleon
to his back.

“I’ll have to take you back to the U.N.C.L.E. outpost,”
Illya said.

“No, don’t do that,” Napoleon said.  “We might lose the trail of that THRUSH
agent.  Radio back for reinforcements and
go on without me.”

Illya gently placed a hand on Napoleon’s face; it was
almost magical, how Illya’s hand was still warm, even in the bitter cold.  And the lights of the aurora illuminating him
made him look like something from another world.

“Napoleon,” he said, gently.  “I have lost count of the number of times you
have cast aside our objective to ensure that I was safe after an injury.  I love you, Napoleon, and you are more
important to me than anything else in the world.  I dare not risk a chance that the help you
want me to call will find you before you freeze—I can see that you can barely
keep your eyes open as it is.  No,
Napoleon; I will not leave you—no more than you could ever leave me if our
conditions were reversed.”

He gently kissed Napoleon and once again moved to carry his
partner on his back; this time, Napoleon only complained quietly, but
eventually went along with it.  Illya
eventually had him in bed, tucked under blankets with his frostbite—thankfully
mild—being treated.  The cocoon of warmth
was once again lulling him to sleep—but Napoleon struggled to keep his eyes
open long enough to say what he had to say.

“Illya… thank you…”

Illya just smiled, continuing to keep his warm hand on
Napoleon’s face as the Northern Lights from the window managed to continue
casting that otherworldly glow on his face.

“Rest, Dorogoy,”
he instructed.  “Regain your
strength.  We will continue our endeavors
soon enough.”

Napoleon nodded and let himself sink into slumber, all the
while thinking about how lucky he was to have Illya as his partner.

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

Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya celebrate New Year’s Eve in Times Square, 1961.

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 90% similar.

Times Square was normally not a place that Napoleon or
Illya found themselves in outside of missions, but New Year’s Eve was always an
exception, assuming they were in town for it.
It was the one night where the crowd would be happy and energetic, waiting
for the ball to drop at midnight and signal the arrival of the New Year.  And 1961, Napoleon and Illya’s second year as
partners, had brought them many successes.

It had also brought them closer than ever before, having
started a relationship back in January.
In addition to successes, the last year together had been wonderful,
getting to know each other in new and exciting ways.  And they were happy—happy in their work, and
happy in their relationship.  The last
year had proven to both of them that they had, at last, found what they were
looking for in a life companion.

And so, when Napoleon had asked Illya to spend New Year’s
Eve in Times Square with him, Illya had accepted, despite his hatred for crowds
and noise.  He knew that Napoleon usually
enjoyed attending the festivities, but hadn’t been able to last year as he had
still been recovering from a mission where he’d ended up falling from Niagara
Falls.  Napoleon had expressed interest
in going this year, and when he’d offered Illya the chance to come along, Illya
considered it before eventually accepting.

It was clear that Napoleon was enjoying himself as they
watched the glittering ball, illuminated with the bright, white lights, sparkle
overhead, and despite the unfathomable number of people, Illya found himself
enjoying it—and he insisted it during the numerous times Napoleon stopped to
ask and make sure that Illya wasn’t feeling uncomfortable in the crowd, though
Illya appreciated him asking.

At last, midnight drew near, and the duo watched, along
with the rest of the revelers, as the giant, glittering ball descended, and
once it had completed its descent, the crowd erupted into joyous shouts to
welcome 1962.

Napoleon turned to his partner with a grin.

“Happy New Year, Illya,” he said, warmly.

Illya smiled back.

“Happy New Year, Napoleon.”

They both paused as, somewhere, a band began to play “Auld
Lang Syne,” accompanied by someone on a microphone, singing the lyrics.  The partners’ eyes locked, briefly, and after
looking around to ensure that they were more or less invisible to the crowd,
who were either still too busy shouting greetings to 1962 or indulging in a New
Year’s kiss, Napoleon and Illya quickly indulged in a New Year’s kiss of their
own—a moment that they had wanted to steal in public, and finally snatched the
chance to do so.  The thrill of their
stolen moment, despite being in full view, was practically sending electricity
through them.  They pulled away from each
other after a moment, the both of them grinning ear to ear.

And it was with triumph that Napoleon now gently held
Illya’s hand, once again unnoticed by the crowd, looking on as Illya softly
began to sing along—

“And there’s a hand,
my trusted friend/And give a hand o’ thine…”

Illya’s voice was bewitching, and Napoleon gave a slight
shake of his head that clearly said, “That
should be you singing on that microphone.”

Illya read and understood the look, and let out a snort
through his nostrils before gently gesturing for Napoleon to sing along with
him.  After a brief “Who, me?” gesture, Napoleon shrugged and did so, the two of them
enjoying the peace and joy that they both had helped to ensure—and would
continue to do so.

“We’ll take a cup of
kindness yet for Auld Lang Syne.”

For @ksturf

Summary: In which, during a mission, Napoleon and Illya find themselves in the middle of nowhere during the holidays–and Napoleon is a bit disappointed and homesick.  Light slash, no gen version.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Napoleon sighed as he and Illya made themselves comfortable
in the old cabin.  It wasn’t unusual that
they were on a mission during a holiday, but it was difficult for Napoleon to
accept sometimes.  The hardest part was
calling home to tell his parents that he and Illya wouldn’t be able to visit
them again; Cora and Leopold’s disappointment was evident, though they tried to
hide it.  And Napoleon’s own
disappointment was evident, as well.

Illya was of mixed emotions.  In the past, he never celebrated Christmas,
but once he had met Napoleon and had gotten close to him, he found it
impossible to not celebrate with Napoleon—Napoleon’s enthusiasm for the holiday,
as well as his parents, had been endearing to Illya.  And besides that, Illya loved Napoleon, and
anything that made his beloved happy was something he would enjoy, as well.

And so, Illya knew that he would have to do his best for
his partner to help with his disappointment.
This was going to be a challenge—particularly in a cabin in the middle
of nowhere, trying to hide from THRUSH.
Napoleon was roasting fish over the fire—the only source of protein he had
been able to acquire since their provisions had begun to run low in the forest.

Very well, if
Napoleon shall provide the feast, then I shall provide everything else, Illya silently declared.

And while Napoleon was preoccupied with making the fish
perfect, Illya was able to accomplish what he had sought out to do.  At last, Napoleon transferred the fish to two
plates, which he had garnished with a few herbs.

“Well, it’s not much of a Christmas dinner,” he
sighed.  “But at least we’ll be eating
well tonight.  There isn’t much of a
dining room here, either; where do you want to eat?”

“How about by the Christmas tree?” Illya offered.

“Christmas tree?  We don’t
have a…”

Napoleon trailed off as he noticed Illya standing beside a
large branch he had taken from a fir tree, which had enough smaller branches to
look like a miniature tree.  Illya had
propped the tree upright with some rocks, and had then decorated the tree with
the ribbon of a worthless decoy audio cassette tape that they had taken in the
hopes of finding THRUSH data on it; more than a little frustrated that the cassette
tape had been a dud, Illya had consoled himself by pulling the ribbon out of the
tape.  It seemed now he’d found a
practical use for it—replacement tinsel for their replacement tree.

Illya had further decorated the tree with a few
brightly-colored pebbles to serve as replacement ornaments, held in place with
small amounts of the industrial-strength adhesive that was part of their
equipment.  A small piece of quartz
served as a makeshift star.

“What do you think?” Illya asked.  “I know it isn’t much compared to the tree we
would have had at your parents’ place–”

But Napoleon had already put the plates of fish down in
order to take Illya in his arms and kiss him.

“It’s beautiful,” Napoleon said.  “…But nowhere near as beautiful as you are.”

Illya smiled shyly.

“You flatter me.”

“Maybe a little…” Napoleon admitted.  “But I still mean it.”

Illya smiled, and the two of them soon feasted on the fish—and
it was the most appetizing fish they’d both had in a long time.

Once dinner was over, the duo spent the rest of the night
in front of the fireplace, Illya gently snuggling against Napoleon as he
wrapped a blanket around the both of them.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked.
“Thanks.  For everything.”

“I am always glad to make you smile, Dorogy,” Illya whispered back.

And Napoleon was smiling indeed—and still was as they continued
to snuggle against each other as the fire crackled on.

The cabin was warm—and so were their hearts.

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…