Outside the Touch of Time (MFU) Pt 1 of 2
Mar. 2nd, 2010 08:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilda_eliseTitle: Outside the Touch of Time
Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon /Illya
Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cynaravurzyn for the sixth annual Down the Chimney Affair. Prompts were: Family, Conch, Winding Key.
Outside the Touch of Time
“Hi,” Napoleon greeted him as he walked away, leaving Illya standing in the doorway. “Come on in.”
Illya followed his partner into his apartment, closing the door behind him and setting the alarms. “Why aren’t you ready yet?” He’d been surprised to see Napoleon in a t-shirt and with no shoes on.
“I got a call from headquarters about twenty minutes ago. Mr. Waverly doesn’t need us in until nine-thirty.” Napoleon turned, walking backwards towards the bathroom. “There’s coffee if you want. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
Illya took off his coat, draping it over the couch as he made his way into the kitchen. He served himself a cup of coffee then opened the refrigerator to scrounge around for something to eat. When he came up empty, he grabbed his cup and proceeded back into the living room. He took a seat in the recliner that he vowed he’d someday manage to sneak out of Napoleon’s apartment and leaned back, more than willing to use the extra time to relax if nothing else.
“Why the change of schedule?” he asked loud enough for Napoleon to hear him.
Napoleon walked out of the bathroom, doing up his tie as he joined Illya. “Something about Mr. Waverly being stuck in a meeting.” He undid his pants and began tucking in his shirt. “He must have something in mind for us that’s going to take most of the day. Why else would he not want us in before we see him?”
Illya took a drink of his coffee then placed his cup on the small table next to him. “As if we have nothing else to do; it would have been nice to spend the time attempting to catch up on our paperwork.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it have?” Napoleon responded, his voice laced with just a hint of sarcasm. Fully dressed now except for his shoes, he took a seat across from Illya. On the table in front of him, next to his own cup of coffee, lay several stacks of envelopes and small packages. “I thought I’d used the time to sort my mail.” He grabbed a handful of letters. “I hate coming back to so much of this.”
“We were gone rather long on the last affair.” He let his gaze wander over the piles of mail. “You do seem to get rather a lot.”
“Well, you know, bills, family—” He looked up for a moment. “Or maybe you don’t.”
Illya grinned. If he had any family members out there, he didn’t know about them. And he preferred using cash to pay for things. He watched fascinated as Napoleon sorted the letters and packages into different piles, some placed in smaller stacks to the side but with the majority of the mail going into the ones directly in front of Napoleon.
“Is there some method to your madness?”
“Of course.” Napoleon picked up the smallest stack of envelopes which had been sitting to the side. “These are bills. They’re not due yet but I’ll put them on my desk so I’ll know to get to them as soon as I have the time.” He put them down and motioned toward the half dozen stacks in front of the unsorted mail. “These are sorted by who sent them, businesses here, then acquaintances, close friends and then finally family.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a large family.” The last stack was by far the largest.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Napoleon responded as he continued at his task. “Sometimes I wish—” Napoleon quieted suddenly.
“What’s the matter?”
Napoleon threw the mail down on the table then covered his face with his hands. “Damn.”
“What, what is it?”
“It’s from my parents.” He scrubbed at his face then he brought his hands down and picked up the letter.
Illya frowned. “And this is bad because?”
“Because I already know what it is,” he answered as he slit open the envelope and pulled a card out. He scanned the note then carefully reinserted it into the envelope. He sighed as he threw the envelope down again and slumped back against the couch. “It’s my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“That would mean,” Illya scrunched his brow as he figured it out, “that they had been married...fifteen years when you were born?”
“Yes, I was something of a surprise.”
“I would imagine, though I don’t understand why that would make their anniversary a problem.”
“I don’t get along with my family very well, except for Aunt Amy...and my mother, of course.” Napoleon suddenly got up and approached the small desk tucked into a corner of the room. He quickly flipped through the pages of the calendar then swore softly to himself.
Illya twisted around so he could see his friend. “What’s the matter?”
“Amy’s going to be out of town the weekend of the party.” Napoleon swore again and then walked back and plopped dejectedly on the couch. “Wonderful, just wonderful.”
“Amy is your father’s sister, is she not? Won’t she find some way to be there for something so important?”
“Normally she would, but she’s taking an old friend on a cruise. The woman only recently lost her husband. I don’t think she’d be up to going to an anniversary party.”
Illya nodded. “You’re probably right.”
Hey, wait a minute.” Napoleon brightened. “Maybe we’ll be out of town that weekend.”
“I’m not sure that’s something you should count on. But surely it can’t be that bad. After all, they are your family.”
Napoleon shook his head. “It’s worse.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just my folks and my sister, but my brother will be there, along with about a hundred other relatives that I’d rather not see.”
“I don’t understand.” When Illya saw the grimace that twisted Napoleon’s face, he immediately backed off. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Even though I don’t have a family, I understand that it’s a relationship fraught with pitfalls.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.” Napoleon gave him a fleeting smile. “And, no, it’s not that I want to keep anything from you, it’s that...well, it’s complicated. For one thing, my brother and I don’t get along at all. He’s twelve years older than I am so it’s not like we actually grew up together. I think he saw me as more of an annoyance than anything else. I idolized him as a kid, which probably didn’t help because I tried to follow him around as much as I could which irritated him no end. Then when I was older I think I resented the fact that he didn’t want anything to do with me.” He turned his face away and his voice became almost a whisper. “I think I hated him for awhile.”
“And you have never been able to work things out?”
Napoleon shrugged. “After awhile I didn’t see the point. And he certainly never did.”
“And your sister?”
“She’s okay.” Napoleon seemed to relax, leaning back and putting his stockinged feet up on the table. “We’ve never been what you’d call close but she’d try to run interference when things got really bad between me and Alex.”
Illya lifted his brow. “Alex, as in—”
“Yes, as in Alexander. And before you ask, my sister’s name is Victoria. My parents seemed to have had delusions of grandeur...at least as far as their offspring was concerned.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t very well miss your parents’ golden anniversary, can you?”
“No, I can’t. At least if Aunt Amy were going to be there I could stick with her. It looks like I’m on my own this time.”
“When is it, exactly?”
“Two weeks from this coming weekend.”
“Napoleon,” Illya hesitated, not sure how his suggestion would be taken, “what if I was to go with you?”
At first, Illya thought his friend was going to refuse out of hand. The look on Napoleon’s face was—Illya wasn’t sure what it was. He looked almost heartened, yet there was something else there, as if hope warred with...what?
Napoleon swallowed hard. “I’m almost desperate enough to take you up on it.”
“I can’t imagine it could be any worse than many of the situations we have found ourselves in. And have managed to get ourselves out of, I should add.”
He stared at Illya for several moments. “It would only be for a few days. And you’d only have to put up with a party on Saturday night and a private luncheon on Sunday. We’d be back Monday night at the latest.”
“Napoleon, I wouldn’t have offered if I thought I couldn’t handle it.”
Taking a deep breath, Napoleon gave a nod. “Okay, if you think you can handle it, then, yes, I accept your offer.”
“Good.” Illya glanced at his watch. “But I think it was time we were on our way.”
They both stood. Illya walked around to get his jacket while Napoleon slipped on his shoes. At the door, Napoleon grabbed his own jacket and shrugged into it as they exited.
As they started down the hallway, Napoleon stopped and placed his hand on Illya’s arm.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to say...I just wanted to say thanks.”
Illya could only wonder how it was that Napoleon hadn’t yet realized that he would do this and so much more. “Any time, my friend.”
~~~~~
As Illya had forewarned, things did not go as Napoleon wished, and two weeks later they found themselves bound for Florida. By the time they landed in Miami it was almost two o’clock. They had a quick lunch at a nearby restaurant before renting a car and starting the almost four hour drive to Napoleon’s parents’ residence in Key West.
Illya couldn’t recall ever taking this particular road before. Leaving Miami in the convertible Napoleon had insisted on, they headed south along the coast. About thirty minutes later they drove onto the Overseas Highway.
Since Napoleon was driving, Illya took the opportunity to enjoy the view. Everglade savannas changed to open sea, changed to picturesque islands. Illya had always suspected his friend came from wealth; he had an idea that his suspicions were soon to be proved true.
He glanced over at his friend. Illya had been more than surprised when Napoleon had picked him up that morning not dressed in his regulation Brooks Brothers suit. Instead, he wore a pair of light tan chinos with a cotton shirt of pastel blue. But perhaps because one would expect the reverse, the casual wear seemed to add an extra elegance to his partner. He smiled to himself. Napoleon had such confidence in his looks, he could probably pull off dressing in rags.
After awhile, Illya began to notice that the closer they got to their destination the more nervous Napoleon became. Possibly no one else would have noticed but after three years of Napoleon watching, it would have been impossible for Illya to miss the signs; the focused intensity that usually only surfaced during a particularly hazardous mission, the lack of patter and the almost indiscernible tightening of his eyes.
“Did you tell your parents what time we’d be arriving?”
“I called them from the airport.” Napoleon sped up a bit as they finished passing though Big Pine Key and started the last stretch into Key West. “They knew we wouldn’t be getting there until almost seven, so they were going to go ahead and eat dinner without us. Sorry tovarisch, but all you’ll be getting tonight are leftovers.”
“I have a feeling I won’t mind at all,” Illya responded dryly. “What are your parents like, Napoleon?”
Napoleon bit his lip, not answering for several seconds. “My mother’s okay. Just an ordinary housewife...who actually does wear pearls during the day and wouldn’t be caught dead in slacks. My dad, I suppose the best word to describe him is distant. I don’t know, maybe all dads are that way. They’re too busy bringing home the bacon to have time to spend with their kids.”
“What does your father do?”
“Did, he’s retired. He worked in a bank.” Napoleon snorted. “Who am I kidding? He owned the bank.”
Illya’s brow shot up. Apparently, his friend was better off than he had imagined. “So why do you work for UNCLE?”
“What do you mean?”
“Obviously, you do not have to work. Why put yourself in danger, day after day, when you could easily find something far less dangerous to do?”
“Right, like work for my dad? No, thanks. Alex went that route and he’s not exactly the happiest person in the world. Besides, I enjoy what I do. I always have.” He glanced at Illya. “You’re one to talk. You could be safely buried away in academia, shielded in your ivory tower. I don’t see you putting in your resignation.”
Illya laughed. It was true. His degree had been a means to an end. It had never been a dream of his to teach or even do research. Like Napoleon, not for him a life behind a desk. “Fair enough. And getting back to your family, what about Victoria? What does she do with her time?”
They’d reached Key West and Napoleon made a turn into a residential area. “Not much. I love my sister dearly, but she’s really pretty useless. She got married, pregnant and divorced all in the span of two years. Now she spends her time jet-setting around the world, having one shallow relationship after another, and spending money like there’s no tomorrow. And before you say it, yes, I realize that could describe me, too, but somehow,” he frowned, “somehow, it doesn’t seem the same.”
“No, it’s not. Your jet-setting is hardly for your entertainment, and while you do seem to, how shall I put it, have a full social life, I’ve never had the impression that it was because you couldn’t settle down, only that you haven’t again found the person you’d like to settle down with. The money part, though, that’s the same,” Illya added.
“Oh, ha ha.”
“You say she has a child?”
“A son, David. He’s twenty now and in his third year at Princeton. He’s nothing like my sister...or her ex.”
Illya mulled over all he’d been told. He’d been given bits and pieces of Napoleon’s history over the three years of their partnership; he’d known that his friend had been married and widowed, and he’d met Napoleon’s Aunt Amy on several occasions. He’d even heard him mention a cousin or two, though now that he thought about it never anything about his siblings. But since that day two weeks before, he’d learned so much more. It was a lot to take in.
“Okay, here we are.” Napoleon pulled over and stopped the car.
Illya slowly exited the car, his focus caught and held by the house in front of them. It was a two, no, make that three-story white colonial structure, though the third story was probably the attic. Porches swung around three sides on the first and second floor, their white railing and posts matching the picket fence that surrounded the front yard. Black shutters hung from the sides of the windows and doors on both floors. Towards the back, the house flared out on the ground floor in each direction. Not quite a mansion, it nevertheless spoke of wealth.
“This is where you grew up?”
Napoleon gazed at the house. “Here and in upstate New York. My parents didn’t buy this until I was almost in high school. Come on,” he walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk. “Let’s get this over with.”
Illya walked over and grabbed his valise, Napoleon already having pulled his own out. His friend slammed the trunk closed, took a deep breath and led Illya up to the house.
~~~~~
The door opened while they were still making their way up the porch stairs and an older woman, well into her sixties, stepped out. The difference in years did nothing to erase the unmistakable fact that this was Napoleon’s mother; the same expressive eyes looked out from a face with the same features, though somewhat softened. She spread her arms.
Illya looked at his partner. Napoleon grinned, then dropped his bag at his feet and took the three steps that brought him across the porch and into the woman’s arms.
“Oh, Napoleon, I’m so glad you’ve come.” The woman held onto Napoleon as if she was afraid he’d disappear.
“I told you I would.” Napoleon pulled back, though stayed in the woman’s embrace. He turned toward Illya. “Mother, this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. Illya,” he smiled down at the woman who barely came to his shoulders, “this is my mother.”
“I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Solo.” Illya extended his hand which was taken in a gentle but firm handshake. “And I appreciate you allowing me to join into your family celebration.”
“Any friend of Napoleon’s will always be welcome. And where are my manners? Come in, both of you.” She finally released her son and held the door open for them while they brought their luggage in. “Leave it here for now.” She looked toward Napoleon. “Your father and sister are out on the deck having after dinner drinks. You can relax and tell us all about your drive.”
“Alex isn’t coming?” Napoleon asked as they made their way through the house.
“Of course he is. He called earlier, their flight was delayed so he and Sarah probably won’t get here until late tonight or early tomorrow morning,” Napoleon’s mother responded as she led them outside and onto a very large deck.
It ran the width of the house and off to one side Illya could see the silhouettes of two people against a fire that danced in the fire pit behind them. Their voices were barely audible over the rush of waves from the ocean not fifty feet away. As they drew nearer to them, the larger of the two turned and then stood up.
“It looks like your mother was right after all. You actually made it this time.” The man approached and gave Napoleon a quick hug. “Glad to see you, son.”
“Same here, Dad.” Napoleon waved at the woman, who had turned around but had not vacated the lounger in which she sat. “Hello, Victoria.”
“Napoleon.” Her gaze slid over to Illya. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, yes, Dad, Victoria, this is Illya Kuryakin, a coworker. Illya, my dad and sister, Victoria.”
“Mr. Solo.” Illya shook Napoleon’s father’s hand, though only bowed his head slightly in the direction of the sister. “Victoria.”
“Come, you two,” Napoleon’s father motioned them to take two of the vacant loungers. Mrs. Solo had taken the one next to her husband’s, so Napoleon took the one next to her, leaving Illya with Victoria on his left.
“Let me get you both a drink.” Napoleon’s father made for the bar built against the house. “Scotch all right for you, Napoleon?” At Napoleon’s nod, he looked at Illya. “And you, Mr. Kuryakin?”
“Vodka, if you have it, and, please, ‘Illya’ will do.”
“All right, Illya it is and one vodka coming right up.”
“It would impossible to imagine you’re anything but Russian,” Victoria commented.
“Ukrainian to be precise. I was born in Kiev.”
“Have you two worked together long?” Mr. Solo asked as he handed Illya his drink then went around to take his own seat.
Illya looked pointedly at Napoleon. Coworkers? He didn’t have a clue as to how to respond to these people’s questions.
“Ah, it’s been about three years,” Napoleon finally answered. And from that point on Illya let him take the lead, answering their questions as vaguely as he could only when called on and depending on Napoleon to come up with a halfway believable response the rest of the time. Mostly, he just sat back and studied the interaction between the four Solos.
Napoleon’s father was taller than his son by at least three inches but he carried himself with the same easy grace. Illya could see no other resemblance; it wasn’t immediately apparent, as it had been with his mother, that they were related. While Illya had always thought his partner an attractive man, his father was the sort that turned heads. In his youth, he had probably been beautiful.
Where Illya found a true resemblance was between Mr. Solo and his daughter. Victoria was striking, though not in the conventional sense, her looks a composite of both parents. No, it was more in their bearing. While Victoria lacked the stunning looks of the father, both were tall aristocrats who bore themselves with the unmistakable air of those who knew their place in the world and never doubted that they were deserving of that position.
The differences in attitude made for a sometimes awkward conversation, especially between Napoleon and his father. It was apparent that, while the two did love each other, there was a world of difference in their outlooks and expectations. He caught his partner more than once deferring to his father in order to avoid arguing with him. Luckily it was late enough that after only an hour or so they used the desire for sustenance and need for sleep as pretext and excused themselves.
“Am I in my old room?” Napoleon asked his mother as they stood to leave.
“Of course. But I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to double up. We’re in the process of redecorating part of the house and with Alex and Victoria also here, there aren’t enough rooms to go around. That won’t be a problem, will it?” She looked from one to the other.
“No, Mother, it’s fine.” Napoleon put his hand on Illya’s shoulder and pulled him around toward the house. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour before bed.”
“Have a good night, Mr. and Mrs. Solo, Victoria,” Illya called out as he was hustled into the house. Once inside he added, “the only way I’m going along with this is if part of the tour is through the kitchen.”
Napoleon laughed. “That was going to be our first stop.”
The kitchen was a pleasant surprise. Illya had been expecting something more modern, something along the lines of an olive and gold monstrosity with lots of Formica that was so much in vogue right now. This one, while large, had been allowed to retain the charm of its original construction. The appliances were from a bygone era, when function mattered more than form and the large, wooden farm table invited one to sit and stay awhile. The bump-out which included a breakfast nook only added to the room’s cheeriness.
“Take a seat, I’ll throw something together.” Napoleon walked over and opened the refrigerator door.
Illya did, well prepared to allow Napoleon his space. He’d always enjoyed watching his friend in the kitchen. Napoleon was quick and efficient when he cooked, with a graceful élan that complimented how good the food always ended up tasting.
“Napoleon, why did you call me your ‘partner’ to your mother but your ‘coworker’ to your father and sister? Don’t they know what you do for a living?”
Napoleon, precariously balancing a platter of meat, a loaf of bread and several jars of condiments, came over and clumsily deposited everything on the table. He pulled a knife out of the rack on the counter and started on the sandwiches. “My parents do, though I think my dad tries not to think about it. It’s Victoria I haven’t told and have no plans to. The woman can’t keep a secret to save her life...or mine, as the case may be.”
“Does your brother know?”
“Alex? Are you kidding?” Napoleon snorted derisively. “He probably wouldn’t believe me even if I told him. Alex sees me the way he’s always seen me, as the little brother he didn’t want and certainly didn’t want around.”
Illya’s image of Napoleon’s golden childhood, a silver spoon stuck firmly in his mouth, was slowly crumbling.
“So what should I say we do?”
Napoleon shrugged. “I usually say I work in tourism. We certainly travel around enough to qualify.”
“That’s certainly true. Spasibo,” Illya added as he took the sandwich Napoleon handed him. “Very well, we can be two intrepid travel agents who put their lives on the line for their customers.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Napoleon returned everything to the refrigerator then joined Illya at the table. They made short work of their meal, even Napoleon eating more than talking. After they finished they cleaned up and headed upstairs, their tour put off for another time.
At the top of the landing Illya was surprised when Napoleon continued climbing, taking the second flight to the upper floor.
“The attic, Napoleon? Your room was in the attic?”
“It is an actual room, you know.” Napoleon chuckled at the look Illya gave him. “Hey, I was twelve years old. Having a room at the top of the house was considered cool. Besides, no one else wanted it.”
“Oh, great. I’m going to be spending the next two days in a crawl space.”
Napoleon gave a full-blown laugh. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Anyway, it turned out to have something a lot of the other bedrooms don’t...its own bathroom.”
Illya perked up at that, though continued complaining about all the stairs he would forced to take as he followed his friend to the room.
~~~~~
Illya shifted onto his back and opened his eyes. Light filtered in through the front window, the tree right outside fortunately blocking most of the morning sun. It occurred to him that he’d found the reason for Napoleon’s penchant for room-darkening drapes; twenty years before the tree may not have been doing its job quite so well.
He looked toward his partner. Napoleon was buried beneath the covers with only the top of his head peeking out. He was turned away but the regular and deep rise and fall of the blankets told Illya that his friend was still asleep.
The night before, Illya had been surprised at how little the room must have changed from when Napoleon had last occupied it; it was more a boy’s room than a man’s. Now, as he let his gaze wander drowsily about, he wondered how much he could glean of his partner from it. They’d been busy unpacking the night before and had then almost immediately gone to bed. Illya hoped that sometime during their stay he’d have the opportunity to study the room more thoroughly.
His stomach gave a loud growl. He looked over at the clock and realized that it had been almost ten hours since he’d last ate. Carefully climbing out from under the covers, he quietly gathered his clothes and entered the bathroom, making sure the door made no noise as he closed it. Twenty minutes later he was dressed and ready to go.
As Napoleon still slept, Illya decided to take his partner at his word, that the kitchen was open twenty-four seven and that Illya was more than welcome to make use of it whenever he wanted. He silently let himself out of the room and headed downstairs.
The second floor was quiet, the rest of the family still obviously asleep, yet as he approached the kitchen area Illya saw that a light was already on; a cook, perhaps? Given the family’s wealth, he wouldn’t be at all surprised. But when he entered the room what he found was a man sitting at the breakfast nook. Tall, exceedingly good looking, almost a carbon copy of Napoleon’s father. He had a cup of coffee in his hands and was staring out the window but turned at Illya’s approach.
“Good morning,” the man greeted while watching Illya rather guardedly at the same time. Still in his pajamas, the man’s robe was untied and he’d apparently not expected anyone else up this early.
“Good morning.” Illya made a beeline for the coffee pot sitting in the corner. “I hope I’m not disturbing you but Napoleon mentioned that the kitchen was always open.”
“Ah, you’re Leon’s friend.”
Illya was surprised at the use of ‘Leon’; he’d never heard his friend called that before. He’d also caught the slight emphasis on the word ‘friend.’ “Yes, we work together,” he responded as he poured himself a cup of coffee and then went to join the man at the table. “Illya Kuryakin,” he stated as he sat down. “And I’m assuming you are Alex.”
“That’s right. My wife and I got in a couple of hours ago.”
“Will your wife be joining us?”
“Eventually. Unlike me, she doesn’t have a problem with insomnia. Actually, I doubt anyone else will be up for a couple of hours at least.” Alex eyed him curiously. “‘Kuryakin.’ What kind of name is that?”
Here it comes. “I am Russian but I have been in this country for many years.”
To Illya’s surprise, Alex grinned. “I’m surprised Leon had anything to do with you, what with him being in Korea and all.”
“Napoleon is not one to judge a person strictly on where they come from. I would have thought you would know that, being his brother.”
“Leon and I have never been what you’d call close. I left home when he was still a kid. God, he was a brat. I haven’t seen anything since that would make me think he’s changed.” Alex’s hand tightened around his coffee cup. “He’s always gotten whatever he wanted.”
Illya fought a scowl. He wasn’t used to people talking about his partner in this way. He didn’t like it; he didn’t like it at all. He wanted to call the man on it, make him realize how very wrong he was about Napoleon. But this was Alex’s home, or had been, so instead Illya got up and walked over to prepare himself something to eat. Alex, seemingly once again lost in his own thoughts, didn’t appear to notice.
At the refrigerator, Illya pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread. He stood pondering a couple of seconds before adding the package of bacon. He took down two pans from the rack above the stove and started cooking the bacon in one.
He worked in silence. From time to time he’d throw a look Alex’s way, but the man had retreated into his own little world. As far as Illya was concerned, he could stay there. When the bacon was almost ready, he began heating the second pan for his eggs.
“You can fix me a couple of those, too.”
Illya looked up. Napoleon stood in the doorway, a teasing smile on his face. He started into the room but abruptly stopped when he noticed his brother. His lips tightened but he said nothing, just continued over to Illya’s side. “You do the eggs, I’ll make the toast. How does that sound?”
Illya nodded, reaching over to pull out two more eggs and handing Napoleon the bread. Napoleon took it over to where the toaster sat and pulled out a couple of slices. Illya saw him glance over at Alex a couple of times as he placed the bread in the slots. He pushed the handle down and then, almost hesitantly, walked over to his brother.
“Hello, Alex.”
Alex slowly turned his head to look at his brother. “Hello, Leon. What a surprise, you actually decided to show up for once. What’s the matter, the travel business slowing down?”
Even from across the room, Illya could see his partner’s features tighten. He continued at his task, all the while keeping one eye on his friend.
“The travel business is just fine. I take it the banking business is doing well.”
“I don’t have any complaints. You shouldn’t either, considering the money I’m making for all of you.”
Napoleon lowered his head for a moment, as if trying to rein in his anger. “I’m sure everyone in the family appreciates the job you’re doing.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet they do. Keeps you rolling in dough, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine you make much as a travel agent.”
Napoleon ignored the jab. “How’s Sarah?”
“My wife? She’s just fine. Too bad the same can’t be said for yours.”
Illya raced across the room. He’d seen that look so rarely, yet he knew that Alex was in imminent danger of losing his life. He grabbed Napoleon’s arm. “You need to butter the toast. Come on, your breakfast is almost ready,” he added as he tried to pull his friend away.
At first, Napoleon only stood and glared at his brother. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and allowed Illya to maneuver him across the room.
They took their meal at the kitchen table, rather than at the breakfast nook. A minute or so later, Alex left the room. And while they both ate everything on their plates, Illya was sure Napoleon had tasted none of it.
~~~~~
On to Part 2
Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Pairing: Napoleon /Illya
Note: Written for
cynaravurzyn for the sixth annual Down the Chimney Affair. Prompts were: Family, Conch, Winding Key.“Hi,” Napoleon greeted him as he walked away, leaving Illya standing in the doorway. “Come on in.”
Illya followed his partner into his apartment, closing the door behind him and setting the alarms. “Why aren’t you ready yet?” He’d been surprised to see Napoleon in a t-shirt and with no shoes on.
“I got a call from headquarters about twenty minutes ago. Mr. Waverly doesn’t need us in until nine-thirty.” Napoleon turned, walking backwards towards the bathroom. “There’s coffee if you want. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
Illya took off his coat, draping it over the couch as he made his way into the kitchen. He served himself a cup of coffee then opened the refrigerator to scrounge around for something to eat. When he came up empty, he grabbed his cup and proceeded back into the living room. He took a seat in the recliner that he vowed he’d someday manage to sneak out of Napoleon’s apartment and leaned back, more than willing to use the extra time to relax if nothing else.
“Why the change of schedule?” he asked loud enough for Napoleon to hear him.
Napoleon walked out of the bathroom, doing up his tie as he joined Illya. “Something about Mr. Waverly being stuck in a meeting.” He undid his pants and began tucking in his shirt. “He must have something in mind for us that’s going to take most of the day. Why else would he not want us in before we see him?”
Illya took a drink of his coffee then placed his cup on the small table next to him. “As if we have nothing else to do; it would have been nice to spend the time attempting to catch up on our paperwork.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it have?” Napoleon responded, his voice laced with just a hint of sarcasm. Fully dressed now except for his shoes, he took a seat across from Illya. On the table in front of him, next to his own cup of coffee, lay several stacks of envelopes and small packages. “I thought I’d used the time to sort my mail.” He grabbed a handful of letters. “I hate coming back to so much of this.”
“We were gone rather long on the last affair.” He let his gaze wander over the piles of mail. “You do seem to get rather a lot.”
“Well, you know, bills, family—” He looked up for a moment. “Or maybe you don’t.”
Illya grinned. If he had any family members out there, he didn’t know about them. And he preferred using cash to pay for things. He watched fascinated as Napoleon sorted the letters and packages into different piles, some placed in smaller stacks to the side but with the majority of the mail going into the ones directly in front of Napoleon.
“Is there some method to your madness?”
“Of course.” Napoleon picked up the smallest stack of envelopes which had been sitting to the side. “These are bills. They’re not due yet but I’ll put them on my desk so I’ll know to get to them as soon as I have the time.” He put them down and motioned toward the half dozen stacks in front of the unsorted mail. “These are sorted by who sent them, businesses here, then acquaintances, close friends and then finally family.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a large family.” The last stack was by far the largest.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Napoleon responded as he continued at his task. “Sometimes I wish—” Napoleon quieted suddenly.
“What’s the matter?”
Napoleon threw the mail down on the table then covered his face with his hands. “Damn.”
“What, what is it?”
“It’s from my parents.” He scrubbed at his face then he brought his hands down and picked up the letter.
Illya frowned. “And this is bad because?”
“Because I already know what it is,” he answered as he slit open the envelope and pulled a card out. He scanned the note then carefully reinserted it into the envelope. He sighed as he threw the envelope down again and slumped back against the couch. “It’s my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“That would mean,” Illya scrunched his brow as he figured it out, “that they had been married...fifteen years when you were born?”
“Yes, I was something of a surprise.”
“I would imagine, though I don’t understand why that would make their anniversary a problem.”
“I don’t get along with my family very well, except for Aunt Amy...and my mother, of course.” Napoleon suddenly got up and approached the small desk tucked into a corner of the room. He quickly flipped through the pages of the calendar then swore softly to himself.
Illya twisted around so he could see his friend. “What’s the matter?”
“Amy’s going to be out of town the weekend of the party.” Napoleon swore again and then walked back and plopped dejectedly on the couch. “Wonderful, just wonderful.”
“Amy is your father’s sister, is she not? Won’t she find some way to be there for something so important?”
“Normally she would, but she’s taking an old friend on a cruise. The woman only recently lost her husband. I don’t think she’d be up to going to an anniversary party.”
Illya nodded. “You’re probably right.”
Hey, wait a minute.” Napoleon brightened. “Maybe we’ll be out of town that weekend.”
“I’m not sure that’s something you should count on. But surely it can’t be that bad. After all, they are your family.”
Napoleon shook his head. “It’s worse.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just my folks and my sister, but my brother will be there, along with about a hundred other relatives that I’d rather not see.”
“I don’t understand.” When Illya saw the grimace that twisted Napoleon’s face, he immediately backed off. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Even though I don’t have a family, I understand that it’s a relationship fraught with pitfalls.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.” Napoleon gave him a fleeting smile. “And, no, it’s not that I want to keep anything from you, it’s that...well, it’s complicated. For one thing, my brother and I don’t get along at all. He’s twelve years older than I am so it’s not like we actually grew up together. I think he saw me as more of an annoyance than anything else. I idolized him as a kid, which probably didn’t help because I tried to follow him around as much as I could which irritated him no end. Then when I was older I think I resented the fact that he didn’t want anything to do with me.” He turned his face away and his voice became almost a whisper. “I think I hated him for awhile.”
“And you have never been able to work things out?”
Napoleon shrugged. “After awhile I didn’t see the point. And he certainly never did.”
“And your sister?”
“She’s okay.” Napoleon seemed to relax, leaning back and putting his stockinged feet up on the table. “We’ve never been what you’d call close but she’d try to run interference when things got really bad between me and Alex.”
Illya lifted his brow. “Alex, as in—”
“Yes, as in Alexander. And before you ask, my sister’s name is Victoria. My parents seemed to have had delusions of grandeur...at least as far as their offspring was concerned.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t very well miss your parents’ golden anniversary, can you?”
“No, I can’t. At least if Aunt Amy were going to be there I could stick with her. It looks like I’m on my own this time.”
“When is it, exactly?”
“Two weeks from this coming weekend.”
“Napoleon,” Illya hesitated, not sure how his suggestion would be taken, “what if I was to go with you?”
At first, Illya thought his friend was going to refuse out of hand. The look on Napoleon’s face was—Illya wasn’t sure what it was. He looked almost heartened, yet there was something else there, as if hope warred with...what?
Napoleon swallowed hard. “I’m almost desperate enough to take you up on it.”
“I can’t imagine it could be any worse than many of the situations we have found ourselves in. And have managed to get ourselves out of, I should add.”
He stared at Illya for several moments. “It would only be for a few days. And you’d only have to put up with a party on Saturday night and a private luncheon on Sunday. We’d be back Monday night at the latest.”
“Napoleon, I wouldn’t have offered if I thought I couldn’t handle it.”
Taking a deep breath, Napoleon gave a nod. “Okay, if you think you can handle it, then, yes, I accept your offer.”
“Good.” Illya glanced at his watch. “But I think it was time we were on our way.”
They both stood. Illya walked around to get his jacket while Napoleon slipped on his shoes. At the door, Napoleon grabbed his own jacket and shrugged into it as they exited.
As they started down the hallway, Napoleon stopped and placed his hand on Illya’s arm.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to say...I just wanted to say thanks.”
Illya could only wonder how it was that Napoleon hadn’t yet realized that he would do this and so much more. “Any time, my friend.”
~~~~~
As Illya had forewarned, things did not go as Napoleon wished, and two weeks later they found themselves bound for Florida. By the time they landed in Miami it was almost two o’clock. They had a quick lunch at a nearby restaurant before renting a car and starting the almost four hour drive to Napoleon’s parents’ residence in Key West.
Illya couldn’t recall ever taking this particular road before. Leaving Miami in the convertible Napoleon had insisted on, they headed south along the coast. About thirty minutes later they drove onto the Overseas Highway.
Since Napoleon was driving, Illya took the opportunity to enjoy the view. Everglade savannas changed to open sea, changed to picturesque islands. Illya had always suspected his friend came from wealth; he had an idea that his suspicions were soon to be proved true.
He glanced over at his friend. Illya had been more than surprised when Napoleon had picked him up that morning not dressed in his regulation Brooks Brothers suit. Instead, he wore a pair of light tan chinos with a cotton shirt of pastel blue. But perhaps because one would expect the reverse, the casual wear seemed to add an extra elegance to his partner. He smiled to himself. Napoleon had such confidence in his looks, he could probably pull off dressing in rags.
After awhile, Illya began to notice that the closer they got to their destination the more nervous Napoleon became. Possibly no one else would have noticed but after three years of Napoleon watching, it would have been impossible for Illya to miss the signs; the focused intensity that usually only surfaced during a particularly hazardous mission, the lack of patter and the almost indiscernible tightening of his eyes.
“Did you tell your parents what time we’d be arriving?”
“I called them from the airport.” Napoleon sped up a bit as they finished passing though Big Pine Key and started the last stretch into Key West. “They knew we wouldn’t be getting there until almost seven, so they were going to go ahead and eat dinner without us. Sorry tovarisch, but all you’ll be getting tonight are leftovers.”
“I have a feeling I won’t mind at all,” Illya responded dryly. “What are your parents like, Napoleon?”
Napoleon bit his lip, not answering for several seconds. “My mother’s okay. Just an ordinary housewife...who actually does wear pearls during the day and wouldn’t be caught dead in slacks. My dad, I suppose the best word to describe him is distant. I don’t know, maybe all dads are that way. They’re too busy bringing home the bacon to have time to spend with their kids.”
“What does your father do?”
“Did, he’s retired. He worked in a bank.” Napoleon snorted. “Who am I kidding? He owned the bank.”
Illya’s brow shot up. Apparently, his friend was better off than he had imagined. “So why do you work for UNCLE?”
“What do you mean?”
“Obviously, you do not have to work. Why put yourself in danger, day after day, when you could easily find something far less dangerous to do?”
“Right, like work for my dad? No, thanks. Alex went that route and he’s not exactly the happiest person in the world. Besides, I enjoy what I do. I always have.” He glanced at Illya. “You’re one to talk. You could be safely buried away in academia, shielded in your ivory tower. I don’t see you putting in your resignation.”
Illya laughed. It was true. His degree had been a means to an end. It had never been a dream of his to teach or even do research. Like Napoleon, not for him a life behind a desk. “Fair enough. And getting back to your family, what about Victoria? What does she do with her time?”
They’d reached Key West and Napoleon made a turn into a residential area. “Not much. I love my sister dearly, but she’s really pretty useless. She got married, pregnant and divorced all in the span of two years. Now she spends her time jet-setting around the world, having one shallow relationship after another, and spending money like there’s no tomorrow. And before you say it, yes, I realize that could describe me, too, but somehow,” he frowned, “somehow, it doesn’t seem the same.”
“No, it’s not. Your jet-setting is hardly for your entertainment, and while you do seem to, how shall I put it, have a full social life, I’ve never had the impression that it was because you couldn’t settle down, only that you haven’t again found the person you’d like to settle down with. The money part, though, that’s the same,” Illya added.
“Oh, ha ha.”
“You say she has a child?”
“A son, David. He’s twenty now and in his third year at Princeton. He’s nothing like my sister...or her ex.”
Illya mulled over all he’d been told. He’d been given bits and pieces of Napoleon’s history over the three years of their partnership; he’d known that his friend had been married and widowed, and he’d met Napoleon’s Aunt Amy on several occasions. He’d even heard him mention a cousin or two, though now that he thought about it never anything about his siblings. But since that day two weeks before, he’d learned so much more. It was a lot to take in.
“Okay, here we are.” Napoleon pulled over and stopped the car.
Illya slowly exited the car, his focus caught and held by the house in front of them. It was a two, no, make that three-story white colonial structure, though the third story was probably the attic. Porches swung around three sides on the first and second floor, their white railing and posts matching the picket fence that surrounded the front yard. Black shutters hung from the sides of the windows and doors on both floors. Towards the back, the house flared out on the ground floor in each direction. Not quite a mansion, it nevertheless spoke of wealth.
“This is where you grew up?”
Napoleon gazed at the house. “Here and in upstate New York. My parents didn’t buy this until I was almost in high school. Come on,” he walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk. “Let’s get this over with.”
Illya walked over and grabbed his valise, Napoleon already having pulled his own out. His friend slammed the trunk closed, took a deep breath and led Illya up to the house.
~~~~~
The door opened while they were still making their way up the porch stairs and an older woman, well into her sixties, stepped out. The difference in years did nothing to erase the unmistakable fact that this was Napoleon’s mother; the same expressive eyes looked out from a face with the same features, though somewhat softened. She spread her arms.
Illya looked at his partner. Napoleon grinned, then dropped his bag at his feet and took the three steps that brought him across the porch and into the woman’s arms.
“Oh, Napoleon, I’m so glad you’ve come.” The woman held onto Napoleon as if she was afraid he’d disappear.
“I told you I would.” Napoleon pulled back, though stayed in the woman’s embrace. He turned toward Illya. “Mother, this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. Illya,” he smiled down at the woman who barely came to his shoulders, “this is my mother.”
“I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Solo.” Illya extended his hand which was taken in a gentle but firm handshake. “And I appreciate you allowing me to join into your family celebration.”
“Any friend of Napoleon’s will always be welcome. And where are my manners? Come in, both of you.” She finally released her son and held the door open for them while they brought their luggage in. “Leave it here for now.” She looked toward Napoleon. “Your father and sister are out on the deck having after dinner drinks. You can relax and tell us all about your drive.”
“Alex isn’t coming?” Napoleon asked as they made their way through the house.
“Of course he is. He called earlier, their flight was delayed so he and Sarah probably won’t get here until late tonight or early tomorrow morning,” Napoleon’s mother responded as she led them outside and onto a very large deck.
It ran the width of the house and off to one side Illya could see the silhouettes of two people against a fire that danced in the fire pit behind them. Their voices were barely audible over the rush of waves from the ocean not fifty feet away. As they drew nearer to them, the larger of the two turned and then stood up.
“It looks like your mother was right after all. You actually made it this time.” The man approached and gave Napoleon a quick hug. “Glad to see you, son.”
“Same here, Dad.” Napoleon waved at the woman, who had turned around but had not vacated the lounger in which she sat. “Hello, Victoria.”
“Napoleon.” Her gaze slid over to Illya. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, yes, Dad, Victoria, this is Illya Kuryakin, a coworker. Illya, my dad and sister, Victoria.”
“Mr. Solo.” Illya shook Napoleon’s father’s hand, though only bowed his head slightly in the direction of the sister. “Victoria.”
“Come, you two,” Napoleon’s father motioned them to take two of the vacant loungers. Mrs. Solo had taken the one next to her husband’s, so Napoleon took the one next to her, leaving Illya with Victoria on his left.
“Let me get you both a drink.” Napoleon’s father made for the bar built against the house. “Scotch all right for you, Napoleon?” At Napoleon’s nod, he looked at Illya. “And you, Mr. Kuryakin?”
“Vodka, if you have it, and, please, ‘Illya’ will do.”
“All right, Illya it is and one vodka coming right up.”
“It would impossible to imagine you’re anything but Russian,” Victoria commented.
“Ukrainian to be precise. I was born in Kiev.”
“Have you two worked together long?” Mr. Solo asked as he handed Illya his drink then went around to take his own seat.
Illya looked pointedly at Napoleon. Coworkers? He didn’t have a clue as to how to respond to these people’s questions.
“Ah, it’s been about three years,” Napoleon finally answered. And from that point on Illya let him take the lead, answering their questions as vaguely as he could only when called on and depending on Napoleon to come up with a halfway believable response the rest of the time. Mostly, he just sat back and studied the interaction between the four Solos.
Napoleon’s father was taller than his son by at least three inches but he carried himself with the same easy grace. Illya could see no other resemblance; it wasn’t immediately apparent, as it had been with his mother, that they were related. While Illya had always thought his partner an attractive man, his father was the sort that turned heads. In his youth, he had probably been beautiful.
Where Illya found a true resemblance was between Mr. Solo and his daughter. Victoria was striking, though not in the conventional sense, her looks a composite of both parents. No, it was more in their bearing. While Victoria lacked the stunning looks of the father, both were tall aristocrats who bore themselves with the unmistakable air of those who knew their place in the world and never doubted that they were deserving of that position.
The differences in attitude made for a sometimes awkward conversation, especially between Napoleon and his father. It was apparent that, while the two did love each other, there was a world of difference in their outlooks and expectations. He caught his partner more than once deferring to his father in order to avoid arguing with him. Luckily it was late enough that after only an hour or so they used the desire for sustenance and need for sleep as pretext and excused themselves.
“Am I in my old room?” Napoleon asked his mother as they stood to leave.
“Of course. But I’m afraid the two of you are going to have to double up. We’re in the process of redecorating part of the house and with Alex and Victoria also here, there aren’t enough rooms to go around. That won’t be a problem, will it?” She looked from one to the other.
“No, Mother, it’s fine.” Napoleon put his hand on Illya’s shoulder and pulled him around toward the house. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour before bed.”
“Have a good night, Mr. and Mrs. Solo, Victoria,” Illya called out as he was hustled into the house. Once inside he added, “the only way I’m going along with this is if part of the tour is through the kitchen.”
Napoleon laughed. “That was going to be our first stop.”
The kitchen was a pleasant surprise. Illya had been expecting something more modern, something along the lines of an olive and gold monstrosity with lots of Formica that was so much in vogue right now. This one, while large, had been allowed to retain the charm of its original construction. The appliances were from a bygone era, when function mattered more than form and the large, wooden farm table invited one to sit and stay awhile. The bump-out which included a breakfast nook only added to the room’s cheeriness.
“Take a seat, I’ll throw something together.” Napoleon walked over and opened the refrigerator door.
Illya did, well prepared to allow Napoleon his space. He’d always enjoyed watching his friend in the kitchen. Napoleon was quick and efficient when he cooked, with a graceful élan that complimented how good the food always ended up tasting.
“Napoleon, why did you call me your ‘partner’ to your mother but your ‘coworker’ to your father and sister? Don’t they know what you do for a living?”
Napoleon, precariously balancing a platter of meat, a loaf of bread and several jars of condiments, came over and clumsily deposited everything on the table. He pulled a knife out of the rack on the counter and started on the sandwiches. “My parents do, though I think my dad tries not to think about it. It’s Victoria I haven’t told and have no plans to. The woman can’t keep a secret to save her life...or mine, as the case may be.”
“Does your brother know?”
“Alex? Are you kidding?” Napoleon snorted derisively. “He probably wouldn’t believe me even if I told him. Alex sees me the way he’s always seen me, as the little brother he didn’t want and certainly didn’t want around.”
Illya’s image of Napoleon’s golden childhood, a silver spoon stuck firmly in his mouth, was slowly crumbling.
“So what should I say we do?”
Napoleon shrugged. “I usually say I work in tourism. We certainly travel around enough to qualify.”
“That’s certainly true. Spasibo,” Illya added as he took the sandwich Napoleon handed him. “Very well, we can be two intrepid travel agents who put their lives on the line for their customers.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Napoleon returned everything to the refrigerator then joined Illya at the table. They made short work of their meal, even Napoleon eating more than talking. After they finished they cleaned up and headed upstairs, their tour put off for another time.
At the top of the landing Illya was surprised when Napoleon continued climbing, taking the second flight to the upper floor.
“The attic, Napoleon? Your room was in the attic?”
“It is an actual room, you know.” Napoleon chuckled at the look Illya gave him. “Hey, I was twelve years old. Having a room at the top of the house was considered cool. Besides, no one else wanted it.”
“Oh, great. I’m going to be spending the next two days in a crawl space.”
Napoleon gave a full-blown laugh. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Anyway, it turned out to have something a lot of the other bedrooms don’t...its own bathroom.”
Illya perked up at that, though continued complaining about all the stairs he would forced to take as he followed his friend to the room.
~~~~~
Illya shifted onto his back and opened his eyes. Light filtered in through the front window, the tree right outside fortunately blocking most of the morning sun. It occurred to him that he’d found the reason for Napoleon’s penchant for room-darkening drapes; twenty years before the tree may not have been doing its job quite so well.
He looked toward his partner. Napoleon was buried beneath the covers with only the top of his head peeking out. He was turned away but the regular and deep rise and fall of the blankets told Illya that his friend was still asleep.
The night before, Illya had been surprised at how little the room must have changed from when Napoleon had last occupied it; it was more a boy’s room than a man’s. Now, as he let his gaze wander drowsily about, he wondered how much he could glean of his partner from it. They’d been busy unpacking the night before and had then almost immediately gone to bed. Illya hoped that sometime during their stay he’d have the opportunity to study the room more thoroughly.
His stomach gave a loud growl. He looked over at the clock and realized that it had been almost ten hours since he’d last ate. Carefully climbing out from under the covers, he quietly gathered his clothes and entered the bathroom, making sure the door made no noise as he closed it. Twenty minutes later he was dressed and ready to go.
As Napoleon still slept, Illya decided to take his partner at his word, that the kitchen was open twenty-four seven and that Illya was more than welcome to make use of it whenever he wanted. He silently let himself out of the room and headed downstairs.
The second floor was quiet, the rest of the family still obviously asleep, yet as he approached the kitchen area Illya saw that a light was already on; a cook, perhaps? Given the family’s wealth, he wouldn’t be at all surprised. But when he entered the room what he found was a man sitting at the breakfast nook. Tall, exceedingly good looking, almost a carbon copy of Napoleon’s father. He had a cup of coffee in his hands and was staring out the window but turned at Illya’s approach.
“Good morning,” the man greeted while watching Illya rather guardedly at the same time. Still in his pajamas, the man’s robe was untied and he’d apparently not expected anyone else up this early.
“Good morning.” Illya made a beeline for the coffee pot sitting in the corner. “I hope I’m not disturbing you but Napoleon mentioned that the kitchen was always open.”
“Ah, you’re Leon’s friend.”
Illya was surprised at the use of ‘Leon’; he’d never heard his friend called that before. He’d also caught the slight emphasis on the word ‘friend.’ “Yes, we work together,” he responded as he poured himself a cup of coffee and then went to join the man at the table. “Illya Kuryakin,” he stated as he sat down. “And I’m assuming you are Alex.”
“That’s right. My wife and I got in a couple of hours ago.”
“Will your wife be joining us?”
“Eventually. Unlike me, she doesn’t have a problem with insomnia. Actually, I doubt anyone else will be up for a couple of hours at least.” Alex eyed him curiously. “‘Kuryakin.’ What kind of name is that?”
Here it comes. “I am Russian but I have been in this country for many years.”
To Illya’s surprise, Alex grinned. “I’m surprised Leon had anything to do with you, what with him being in Korea and all.”
“Napoleon is not one to judge a person strictly on where they come from. I would have thought you would know that, being his brother.”
“Leon and I have never been what you’d call close. I left home when he was still a kid. God, he was a brat. I haven’t seen anything since that would make me think he’s changed.” Alex’s hand tightened around his coffee cup. “He’s always gotten whatever he wanted.”
Illya fought a scowl. He wasn’t used to people talking about his partner in this way. He didn’t like it; he didn’t like it at all. He wanted to call the man on it, make him realize how very wrong he was about Napoleon. But this was Alex’s home, or had been, so instead Illya got up and walked over to prepare himself something to eat. Alex, seemingly once again lost in his own thoughts, didn’t appear to notice.
At the refrigerator, Illya pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread. He stood pondering a couple of seconds before adding the package of bacon. He took down two pans from the rack above the stove and started cooking the bacon in one.
He worked in silence. From time to time he’d throw a look Alex’s way, but the man had retreated into his own little world. As far as Illya was concerned, he could stay there. When the bacon was almost ready, he began heating the second pan for his eggs.
“You can fix me a couple of those, too.”
Illya looked up. Napoleon stood in the doorway, a teasing smile on his face. He started into the room but abruptly stopped when he noticed his brother. His lips tightened but he said nothing, just continued over to Illya’s side. “You do the eggs, I’ll make the toast. How does that sound?”
Illya nodded, reaching over to pull out two more eggs and handing Napoleon the bread. Napoleon took it over to where the toaster sat and pulled out a couple of slices. Illya saw him glance over at Alex a couple of times as he placed the bread in the slots. He pushed the handle down and then, almost hesitantly, walked over to his brother.
“Hello, Alex.”
Alex slowly turned his head to look at his brother. “Hello, Leon. What a surprise, you actually decided to show up for once. What’s the matter, the travel business slowing down?”
Even from across the room, Illya could see his partner’s features tighten. He continued at his task, all the while keeping one eye on his friend.
“The travel business is just fine. I take it the banking business is doing well.”
“I don’t have any complaints. You shouldn’t either, considering the money I’m making for all of you.”
Napoleon lowered his head for a moment, as if trying to rein in his anger. “I’m sure everyone in the family appreciates the job you’re doing.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet they do. Keeps you rolling in dough, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine you make much as a travel agent.”
Napoleon ignored the jab. “How’s Sarah?”
“My wife? She’s just fine. Too bad the same can’t be said for yours.”
Illya raced across the room. He’d seen that look so rarely, yet he knew that Alex was in imminent danger of losing his life. He grabbed Napoleon’s arm. “You need to butter the toast. Come on, your breakfast is almost ready,” he added as he tried to pull his friend away.
At first, Napoleon only stood and glared at his brother. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and allowed Illya to maneuver him across the room.
They took their meal at the kitchen table, rather than at the breakfast nook. A minute or so later, Alex left the room. And while they both ate everything on their plates, Illya was sure Napoleon had tasted none of it.
~~~~~
On to Part 2
