Follow up to "The Meanest Thing"story
Not the only
(a follow-on from the Meanest Thing)
by Hazelayes
You're not the only oyster in the stew
Not the only tea leaf in the tea
However, I'm convinced
Completely, fully, firmly convinced
You're the only one for me
You're not the only wriggle in the broom
You're not the only apple on the tree
Viewin all the facts
Perfectly logical, positive facts
You're the only one for me
So well supplied
The birds sing high C
Kisses so unique
When I'm around
I'm susceptible and weak
I loves ya, I loves ya
So to speak
There's seven million people in New York
Fifty million Frenchmen in Paris
Not to mention such
As English, Irish, Italian and Dutch
But you're the only one for me
------------------
U.N.C.L.E headquarters, New York
"No."
"But Napoleon, you haven't heard my idea yet!"
"No, Sanders, the answer is no. And in my circles, you don't use a person's Christian name till they invite you to."
Napoleon's rebuff, given on the move down a busy corridor, was met with a sunny smile and crinkly grey eyes, "But everyone calls you Napoleon."
Napoleon stopped. "Except you. YOU call me Mr Solo. Or Sir."
The young agent's face fell as if he'd been slapped and Napoleon felt a pang of conscience, but it was momentary. He was not in a good mood so why should anyone else be? Bah, humbug! and he turned to continue on his way.
"Righto Chief"
Napoleon's shoulders hunched involuntarily but he didn't turn around till he got to the lift which would take him down to the Section 8 labs, deep underneath the U.N.C.L.E building. Sanders was nowhere to be seen as he looked back up the corridor, but several UNCLE personnel had oddly twisted faces as they passed him... and they wouldn't meet his eye. Were they laughing?
-----------------------
The door to the lab swung open and Napoleon's nose began itching almost immediately. He sneezed, then sneezed again and his eyes began to water painfully so he wasn't sure whose hands were pushing him back out of the door till he heard the voice, unmistakably Illya's low baritone. Even coming through a gas mask he'd know it.
"Get back! Gas leak!"
Napoleon squinted through the tears for a fraction of a second at a pair of concerned blue eyes looking at him through the window of the mask.
"Napoleon! Are you alright? Did you breathe any of it? "
He wobbled his head and patted Illya's arm, unable yet to see or stop sneezing, but he wanted to reassure his partner that he'd received only local interference.
The masked head bobbed once and Illya dove back into the lab. A couple of seconds later a red light above the door winked out and a green light came on instead.... just as four figures in full body suits came hurrying into view.
Napoleon squinted at them and dabbed at his face as they slowed and stopped, looking at the green light.
"Okay, they've got it, stand down," came a crackly voice from a headset microphone, and they turned, reluctantly it seemed, to go back wherever it was they came from.
Illya emerged and removed his mask. He was smiling and looking as if he was enjoying his morning.
"Was that..." and Napoleon waved his handkerchief vaguely towards the light, "any of your doing, by any chance?"
Illya grinned and Napoleon's hand rose of it's own volition. Almost smoothly he diverted the action to his own hair. No touching!
"Not this time. Someone else in too much hurry. But to what do we owe the presence?"
"Mm?"
"You. Here. Why?"
Napoleon raised a dark eyebrow, "So you speak pidgin too?"
"Fluently."
"I came to ask you to lunch."
Illya sighed and drove his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.
"I'm sorry, Napoleon, even if I hadn't got to sort out this new problem, I couldn't." Then a small smile tipped the corner of his mouth, "but perhaps you needn't be disappointed, stay here a minute."
And Napoleon watched as Illya went back into the lab, returning almost immediately leading a young woman by the arm. Napoleon knew her by sight, the way he knew all the beautiful women in UNCLE, but he had yet to be introduced. He smiled automatically and was rewarded with a smile that said "shy" and green eyes that said the opposite. His spine straightened a notch and his smile got more personal.
"This is Astrid Gelens, Napoleon, she has a doctorate in a branch of chemistry that you could only imagine - Astrid, this is my partner in the field, Napoleon Solo.
They nodded and smiled, neither of them at Illya, and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "I was going to show Astrid the wonders of the UNCLE cafeteria, I wonder...
"If I'd cover the assignment? I'd be delighted. If Ms... " Napoleon leaned in closer to read the name tag on her coat, "sorry, if Dr Gelens doesn't mind?"
Astrid caught her breath slightly as she was subjected to "the Solo factor" up close. Her pupils dilated as she took in the warm, clean, slightly spicy male smell and she responded to his sudden proximity with a low, soft laugh.
"I'd be delighted, Mr Solo."
And Napoleon found himself drawing her slim but surprisingly rough hand through his arm before leading her away.
"Call me Napoleon, please." He purred, and the sibilant 's' ran down her spine like a spider. She was going to have fun, and she knew it.
"And you, please, call me Astrid."
Napoleon filed away the accent under Dutch, catalogued her age at late twenties, height 5' 6-7" and dress size 10 as he guided her into the lift by her elbow. (The hand in the small of the back would come later).
It was 3pm and Napoleon was in his and Illya's shared office, throwing paperclips into Illya's wastepaper bin from behind his own desk. He couldn't see the bin so he only knew when he'd scored by the metal 'ting' he heard when a clip hit the mark. 'Plips' meant he'd overshot and hit either the paperwork on Illya's desk or the floor beyond.
He'd scored 36 'tings' - and an uncounted number of 'plips' - by the time Illya returned. He shuffled through the door, his arms piled with heavy, bulky cardboard box files, and stopped. The floor didn't sound right. Didn't feel right.
"Napoleon?"
"Oh, yes, sorry Illya. If you move to the right and then come forward you should miss most of them."
Illya snorted and obeyed, saying nothing, but glaring plenty at his idle partner. He sat down behind the tower of boxes on his desk and began sweeping clips into his hand.
"How did you like Astrid?"
"I liked her very much, thank you for offering her to me."
The blond head appeared over the stack and Illya looked at Napoleon, a crease of worry dissecting the smooth forehead.
"I.. "
"Illya, it won't work. Don't think I haven't thought of it."
"But have you tried." Illya sounded almost plaintive.
"If I've got to try, then I'm doomed."
"You must give it a chance."
Napoleon stared balefully at Illya but said nothing.
"I mean..."
"I know what you mean Illya..." Napoleon said quietly, and there was a sadness in his tone that struck at Illya's heart. "Maybe it would be easier if you'd have reacted like a normal man and just beat my brains out. It's not too late you know."
Illya 's head dropped behind the boxes and there was a scrabbling sound which Napoleon took to be Illya gathering paperclips from the floor.
"I'll take that to be a 'no' then."
"A rain check only," came the growl from under the desk. "You may yet provoke me to violence, tovarisch."
--------------------------end of part 2
(a follow-on from the Meanest Thing)
by Hazelayes
You're not the only oyster in the stew
Not the only tea leaf in the tea
However, I'm convinced
Completely, fully, firmly convinced
You're the only one for me
You're not the only wriggle in the broom
You're not the only apple on the tree
Viewin all the facts
Perfectly logical, positive facts
You're the only one for me
So well supplied
The birds sing high C
Kisses so unique
When I'm around
I'm susceptible and weak
I loves ya, I loves ya
So to speak
There's seven million people in New York
Fifty million Frenchmen in Paris
Not to mention such
As English, Irish, Italian and Dutch
But you're the only one for me
------------------
U.N.C.L.E headquarters, New York
"No."
"But Napoleon, you haven't heard my idea yet!"
"No, Sanders, the answer is no. And in my circles, you don't use a person's Christian name till they invite you to."
Napoleon's rebuff, given on the move down a busy corridor, was met with a sunny smile and crinkly grey eyes, "But everyone calls you Napoleon."
Napoleon stopped. "Except you. YOU call me Mr Solo. Or Sir."
The young agent's face fell as if he'd been slapped and Napoleon felt a pang of conscience, but it was momentary. He was not in a good mood so why should anyone else be? Bah, humbug! and he turned to continue on his way.
"Righto Chief"
Napoleon's shoulders hunched involuntarily but he didn't turn around till he got to the lift which would take him down to the Section 8 labs, deep underneath the U.N.C.L.E building. Sanders was nowhere to be seen as he looked back up the corridor, but several UNCLE personnel had oddly twisted faces as they passed him... and they wouldn't meet his eye. Were they laughing?
-----------------------
The door to the lab swung open and Napoleon's nose began itching almost immediately. He sneezed, then sneezed again and his eyes began to water painfully so he wasn't sure whose hands were pushing him back out of the door till he heard the voice, unmistakably Illya's low baritone. Even coming through a gas mask he'd know it.
"Get back! Gas leak!"
Napoleon squinted through the tears for a fraction of a second at a pair of concerned blue eyes looking at him through the window of the mask.
"Napoleon! Are you alright? Did you breathe any of it? "
He wobbled his head and patted Illya's arm, unable yet to see or stop sneezing, but he wanted to reassure his partner that he'd received only local interference.
The masked head bobbed once and Illya dove back into the lab. A couple of seconds later a red light above the door winked out and a green light came on instead.... just as four figures in full body suits came hurrying into view.
Napoleon squinted at them and dabbed at his face as they slowed and stopped, looking at the green light.
"Okay, they've got it, stand down," came a crackly voice from a headset microphone, and they turned, reluctantly it seemed, to go back wherever it was they came from.
Illya emerged and removed his mask. He was smiling and looking as if he was enjoying his morning.
"Was that..." and Napoleon waved his handkerchief vaguely towards the light, "any of your doing, by any chance?"
Illya grinned and Napoleon's hand rose of it's own volition. Almost smoothly he diverted the action to his own hair. No touching!
"Not this time. Someone else in too much hurry. But to what do we owe the presence?"
"Mm?"
"You. Here. Why?"
Napoleon raised a dark eyebrow, "So you speak pidgin too?"
"Fluently."
"I came to ask you to lunch."
Illya sighed and drove his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.
"I'm sorry, Napoleon, even if I hadn't got to sort out this new problem, I couldn't." Then a small smile tipped the corner of his mouth, "but perhaps you needn't be disappointed, stay here a minute."
And Napoleon watched as Illya went back into the lab, returning almost immediately leading a young woman by the arm. Napoleon knew her by sight, the way he knew all the beautiful women in UNCLE, but he had yet to be introduced. He smiled automatically and was rewarded with a smile that said "shy" and green eyes that said the opposite. His spine straightened a notch and his smile got more personal.
"This is Astrid Gelens, Napoleon, she has a doctorate in a branch of chemistry that you could only imagine - Astrid, this is my partner in the field, Napoleon Solo.
They nodded and smiled, neither of them at Illya, and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "I was going to show Astrid the wonders of the UNCLE cafeteria, I wonder...
"If I'd cover the assignment? I'd be delighted. If Ms... " Napoleon leaned in closer to read the name tag on her coat, "sorry, if Dr Gelens doesn't mind?"
Astrid caught her breath slightly as she was subjected to "the Solo factor" up close. Her pupils dilated as she took in the warm, clean, slightly spicy male smell and she responded to his sudden proximity with a low, soft laugh.
"I'd be delighted, Mr Solo."
And Napoleon found himself drawing her slim but surprisingly rough hand through his arm before leading her away.
"Call me Napoleon, please." He purred, and the sibilant 's' ran down her spine like a spider. She was going to have fun, and she knew it.
"And you, please, call me Astrid."
Napoleon filed away the accent under Dutch, catalogued her age at late twenties, height 5' 6-7" and dress size 10 as he guided her into the lift by her elbow. (The hand in the small of the back would come later).
It was 3pm and Napoleon was in his and Illya's shared office, throwing paperclips into Illya's wastepaper bin from behind his own desk. He couldn't see the bin so he only knew when he'd scored by the metal 'ting' he heard when a clip hit the mark. 'Plips' meant he'd overshot and hit either the paperwork on Illya's desk or the floor beyond.
He'd scored 36 'tings' - and an uncounted number of 'plips' - by the time Illya returned. He shuffled through the door, his arms piled with heavy, bulky cardboard box files, and stopped. The floor didn't sound right. Didn't feel right.
"Napoleon?"
"Oh, yes, sorry Illya. If you move to the right and then come forward you should miss most of them."
Illya snorted and obeyed, saying nothing, but glaring plenty at his idle partner. He sat down behind the tower of boxes on his desk and began sweeping clips into his hand.
"How did you like Astrid?"
"I liked her very much, thank you for offering her to me."
The blond head appeared over the stack and Illya looked at Napoleon, a crease of worry dissecting the smooth forehead.
"I.. "
"Illya, it won't work. Don't think I haven't thought of it."
"But have you tried." Illya sounded almost plaintive.
"If I've got to try, then I'm doomed."
"You must give it a chance."
Napoleon stared balefully at Illya but said nothing.
"I mean..."
"I know what you mean Illya..." Napoleon said quietly, and there was a sadness in his tone that struck at Illya's heart. "Maybe it would be easier if you'd have reacted like a normal man and just beat my brains out. It's not too late you know."
Illya 's head dropped behind the boxes and there was a scrabbling sound which Napoleon took to be Illya gathering paperclips from the floor.
"I'll take that to be a 'no' then."
"A rain check only," came the growl from under the desk. "You may yet provoke me to violence, tovarisch."
--------------------------end of part 2