MFU fic: The Sulfuric Acid Affair
For archive purposes:
TITLE: The Sulfuric Acid Affair
RATING: G, General
CHARACTERS: Napoleon, Illya, OFC
WORD COUNT: 5500
DISCLAIMER: MFU and characters belong to MGM.
NOTES: Written for kanders07 for the 2009 Down the Chimney fic exchange over at muncle. Prompts given were: School, chemistry and family. Many thanks to my wonderful beta periwinkle27.
***
Brooklyn, New York
December 1964
Prelude: Another fine mess…
A crackle of static rippled through Napoleon headset, causing his heart to clench with fear. He wrenched the earphones off and reached for his communicator.
A distinctive English accent permeated the van.
“Slate here.”
“How far out are you, Mark?”
“ETA five minutes, Napoleon.”
“That’s too long. I’ve just lost Illya’s transmission. I’m going in right now.”
To his credit, Mark didn’t try to persuade him otherwise. “Just be careful, Napoleon.”
“I will. Close channel F.” Napoleon screwed the pen shut and jumped out of the van, slamming the door shut. I’m coming Illya. Just hang on.
***
Napoleon bounded up the stairs three at a time, cursing the lack of an elevator and Gruber’s paranoia which caused him to set his lab at the topmost level of the fifteen story apartment building. He barely noticed his thighs burning as he mounted the last staircase and kicked open the door to the scientist’s suite.
He rolled and came up, his eyes and gun scanning the living area for hostiles. Nothing, except piles upon piles of scientific equipment scattered haphazardly about the place.
A moan in the next room caught his attention.
Cautiously, he tiptoed to the door and looked in. A kitchen. And Illya lay on the floor in a pool of blood, unable to defend himself against Gruber who was looming over him with a knife in one hand.
Without another thought, Napoleon shot the bastard, remembering that he’d forgotten to load the sleep darts when he rushed out of the car.
Oh well. No great loss.
As the chemist fell Napoleon ran forward to bundle Illya into his arms, noting the blood spatters on the otherwise pristine kitchen walls. Illya seemed to be bleeding everywhere. As he sought to contain the bleeding, Napoleon prayed that the chemist was not a very good anatomist. As he knew very well, one stroke in the right place…
“Napoleon?” The whispered word was barely audible.
“Illya!”
“Late-” Illya coughed and a trickle of blood ran out of the corner of his mouth. “As usual.”
“Not too late. This is another fine mess you’ve gotten into, partner.”
“The information. Microdot. Contacts. Like Mandy.”
Napoleon’s grin faded as Illya’s body jerked and went still. He searched desperately for a pulse. There. The carotid artery. It was weak but it was there. He breathed in relief.
“Hang on, Partner. Just hang on.”
Act I: I have a feeling you might be needing it.
“Mr Waverly will see you now.”
Napoleon stood and wearily rubbed his eyes. The moment the helicopter carrying Illya had arrived at HQ, he’d received a call summoning him to Waverly’s office. He’d stopped on his way up to shower and change - Waverly was a stickler for propriety and appearance. Straightening his tie, Napoleon entered the conference room and slumped into his chair.
“Mr Solo, thank you for coming so quickly.”
“I came as soon as I got your message, Sir.”
“And how is Mr Kuryakin?”
Napoleon pinched his nose. “I don’t know, Sir. The Doctors are still patching him up.”
“As it is, Mr Solo, we cannot afford to wait to put the next step of our plan into action.”
“But Sir, Illya-”
“We must leave Mr Kuryakin in the capable hands of specialists, Mr Solo.” Waverly’s tone softened. “There is nothing you and I can do for him. Meanwhile, Thrush waits for no one.”
Napoleon straightened in his chair. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“Before Mr Kuryakin was exposed he’d gathered all the required information pertaining to Gruber’s experiments...”
“Yes, Sir.” Napoleon resisted the urge to close his eyes against the image flashing through his mind. So much blood…
“…We have all of Mr Kuryakin’s papers for the exchange on Thursday prepared, but seeing that he won’t be able to make the exchange, you will have to fill in.”
“I’m sorry, Sir? Me?”
“Yes, you, Mr Solo.”
“But Sir, I- I know nothing about acid rain. They’ll see right through me. Surely it would be better if another agent with a scientific background - Moorly perhaps…”
“It can’t be helped, Mr Solo. You’re the only one besides Mr Kuryakin who’s been on this affair from the start and know all the details intimately. It would take far too long to bring another agent up to speed.”
It made sense - damn the man. Napoleon nodded. “Yes Sir. I will do it.”
Waverly smiled and pressed a button on his desk. “Good, I shall have Mr Kuryakin’s assistant explain all the details. I have every confidence in your ability to fool Thrush into making the exchange.”
“Thank you Sir.” He stood up to leave, almost tripping over Illya’s empty chair. Illya. He swallowed.
“Oh and Mr Solo…”
Napoleon twisted around to stare into his superior’s calming grey eyes.
“Good luck.”
***
Illya’s lab assistant Nadia was a tall, slim, red-haired beauty with luminous green eyes and shapely legs. Those very legs were now the object of Napoleon’s attention as she made her way from the filing cabinets and dumped a pile of papers on Illya’s desk.
“The details of the machinery, Napoleon. In here are Illya’s notes and this…” She thrust a heavy textbook in Napoleon’s hands.
“And what’s this for, Nadia?”
“College chemistry textbook. From what Illya has told me, I have a feeling you may be needing it.”
Napoleon smiled.
Nadia sat back in her chair. “How is Illya, anyway?”
“Still out of it, I’m afraid. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the Doctors say he’s going to be fine.”
She sighed in relief. “Thank heavens. I’m very sorry you got saddled with this.”
Napoleon hefted the book in his hand. “You and me both, Nadia.”
“Is there anyway I can make you feel better about it?”
“Well…” Napoleon looked her up and down. “How about a promise to have dinner with me after this affair is finished? You can choose the restaurant.”
“I suppose I could do that.”
“Good.” He winked. “Well I’ll be seeing you then.”
He grimaced as she dumped the papers in his arms.
***
“Where were you?”
Napoleon’s heart twinged with guilt. “I heard you just woke up. How are you?”
“Fine. Hungry. Where did you go?”
“A little grumpy today, Tovarisch?”
“I hear Mr Waverly wants you to take my place Thursday night.”
“Forgive me for seeing less than enthusiastic, then. I haven’t done any chemistry since college. Fifteen years.”
Illya frowned. “Surely you must retain some basic knowledge.”
“Sure. NaCl is table salt.” He sat down with a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Surely you could’ve written less notes - it’s going to take me ages to read through it all and understand it.”
“So that’s where you were.”
Napoleon chuckled at the glare Illya sent in his direction. “Nadia was most accommodating - Ow! What was that for?”
“Nothing,” grinned Illya smugly.
“You know, you’re lucky you’re an invalid - or else…”
“Or else what?”
“Testy today, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had doctors and nurses all fussing over me since I woke up. I have been given nothing to eat or drink except a glass of water.”
Napoleon sighed. Great.
“How much do you remember?”
“What?”
“Napoleon, pay attention! I may not be able to make the exchange, but I don’t want my ignorant American partner to foul up months of work because he can’t tell the difference between oxidation and reduction.”
“You’re going to-”
“Of course I’m going to help you. And it might alleviate the hunger somewhat. Here, pass me that paper and let’s start from the beginning.”
Napoleon did as he was instructed. “You know, you remind me of my chemistry teacher. Jessica Roberts. Always snappy and impatient.”
“Not unusual when dealing with you, Napoleon.”
“Very pretty too. Blonde. Blue eyes. I wonder what became of her.”
“Only you would think about girls at this time. Now, can you concentrate, Napoleon? We will start with the structure of an atom. It is comprised of three subatomic particles: the proton, neutron and electron… protons and neutrons in the nucleus, electrons in quantised regions surrounding the nucleus - like this…”
Napoleon leaned forward and loosened his tie. It was going to be a long morning.
Act II: You’ve never liked science of any kind, period.
Fifteen years ago…
“Napoleon Solo - what kind of name is that?”
The class erupted in laughter as Napoleon raised his hand and lazily got to his feet.
“That’s me, Miss Roberts. Does it bother you? I know it bothers George there - he’s English.” The class howled with laughter again.
His new chemistry teacher looked as if she’d swallowed a fish. She was very pretty. So, schoolyard gossip was correct, after all. Napoleon had a feeling he was not going to regret enrolling in this class. He smirked.
“Mister Solo,” she said icily. “Need I remind you of the punishment for talking back?”
Napoleon pretended to flinch.
“Good. I have no issue with whatever name you choose to use, as long as you can distinguish between a condensation reaction and a substitution reaction before the semester is out. Is that understood?”
Napoleon stood silently, wondering if a response would get him into deeper waters than he already was. Miss Roberts glared.
“Yes, Miss Roberts. Understood.”
“Good. Now, let’s see how much of the basics you know. Solo, you can hand out the tests.”
“Miss Roberts,” a girl in the back row called. “What is it on?”
“Atomic structure, the periodic table and basic chemical equations. Solo! Did you hear me?”
***
“Napoleon? Did you hear me?”
Napoleon blinked. “Of course. Number of outer shell electrons is responsible for chemical reactions.”
“Good. Now, there are two basic types of chemical bonds.”
“Ionic and covalent.”
“Which is stronger?”
“Covalent.”
“Why?”
“Because the electrons are shared, so the atoms attract more strongly.”
“Good. Well, Napoleon, a good start, but we’re going to have to cover a whole lot more before you’re ready to impress our feathered friends.”
Napoleon shrugged and stretched in his chair. Normally he had no problems with processing and memorizing a lot of information - it was a requirement that came with the job, of course. But he’d always left the technical and scientific details to Illya. He was the one with the doctorate, after all.
“I still have two more days. Plenty of time.”
Illya rolled his eyes. “We’ve barely scratched the surface Napoleon. Chemistry - like Physics - is about understanding, not memorizing a whole heap of facts.”
“Well aren’t I lucky to have you around then?”
“I still don’t see why I can’t leave. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?” Napoleon sighed and reached out to clasp his friend’s hands. “Illya, yesterday you were almost hacked to pieces with a knife. A kitchen knife! I still haven’t gotten around to washing your blood off my clothes yet. Please don’t say you’re fine.”
“I’m a little sore,” admitted Illya. “But I cannot spend another night here Napoleon, you know how it is.”
Napoleon scratched his head. “If I talk to Doctor Reynolds, mention that you’re helping me on an affair, I can probably get you released if you stay at my place where I can look after you.”
“I don’t need…”
“Oh yes you do, partner. You can sleep in the spare bedroom. I’ll even cook proper food for you - provided the doctors give you permission to eat. Deal?”
Illya sighed. “Very well - but the moment you make the exchange, I’m going home.”
Napoleon grinned. Stubborn Illya. “You know, I should be insulted.”
“That was not my intention, Napoleon.”
“I know.” He ruffled Illya’s hair. “Now, shall we continue? I’m afraid I’ve always struggled with reaction equations.”
“You’ve never liked science of any sort Napoleon, period.”
“Touché.”
***
“Napoleon! Napoleon!”
The girl gasped as he leapt up from the bed. “I thought you said they won’t be home until 10!”
“They must’ve skipped the movie. Tracy, I am so very sorry. Here, your shoes. You can climb down the tree. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Maybe. Give me a kiss before I go, Napoleon.”
Napoleon heard footsteps coming up the stairs and gave her a quick peck on the cheeks. “Love you. Be careful on your way home!”
“Love you too.”
Napoleon helped her out and slammed the window shut. Just in time. As he spun around to face the door, his parents walked into the room.
“A little cold, son?”
“Yeah, Pop. A little chilly.”
His father raised an eyebrow. “Really? It seems quite warm in here.”
Napoleon blushed. “How was the interview?”
“We need to talk son. How about downstairs?”
Uh oh, Napoleon thought. “Ummm, would here be fine?”
“Sure.” His father sat on the coach and his mother on the bed.
“So umm… what’s this about?”
“We were at your parent-teacher conference.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Your teachers generally agreed that you were a good student - a little rowdy at times but your grades are mostly good and your behaviour in class is, I quote, ‘to be commended given the circumstances.’” Napoleon blushed. He knew exactly what ‘circumstances’ his teachers were talking about.
“But?”
“But chemistry.” This time it was his mother who spoke, her words articulated carefully and slowly. “Miss Roberts tells me that your chemistry results have been less than impressive, that you’ve come close to failing on several occasions.”
“Uh… yeah, so?”
“Is that all you can say, son?” demanded his father. “Yeah so? I thought you were planning on applying for a scholarship next year?”
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.
“And you need at least a B+ average in all your subjects to apply for a scholarship of any kind.”
Napoleon shrugged again.
“Don’t play obtuse, son! You know your chemistry results are dragging your grades down.”
“Yeah Pop, I know.”
“And?”
“I’m giving it my best shot, Pop.”
“Your best shot? Why…”
“What your father and I don’t understand, son,” interrupted his mother, “is your insistence on choosing chemistry in the first place. Science has never been your strong point.”
“I just thought it would be interesting, that’s all.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but Napoleon could hardly tell his parents the truth, could he?
His father sighed. “Well you’d better be thinking again about your decision, Napoleon. If you’re really serious about that scholarship, you need to either pick up your game and get straight As for the rest of the year, or drop the subject entirely. Do you understand?”
Napoleon nodded.
“Very well. We’ll give you two days to think about it. Feel free to talk it over with us Napoleon, we’re here for you.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Act III: And how old were you?
Napoleon woke up on Wednesday morning with a killer headache and sore throat. For a moment, he wondered how much alcohol he’d consumed the night before to give him such a terrific hangover. Then he remembered the punishing chemistry lesson Illya had put him through and groaned. They seemed to have revived a portion of his past that he thought he’d locked away for good.
“I could kill Mr Waverly,” he muttered as he fumbled for his clothes in the darkness. Thrush torture was nothing compared to this. He threw on his robe and went to check on Illya.
His friend laid spread-eagled on the mattress, looking so vulnerable with all those bandages covering him. The sight was enough to make him feel guilty. Guilty for being such a difficult student. Guilty for demanding more hours of study when Illya was tired and hurting from his injuries. It was significant that his partner hadn’t offered much resistance when Napoleon forced the painkillers on him last night.
He softly closed the door and headed into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. The results of last night’s session were scattered all over the dining table. Pages and pages of redox equations, molecular structures and stoichiometric calculations Illya made him practice until he finally snapped and threw his pencil at the television, narrowly missing his partner’s eye.
And he’s normally the grumpy one. Napoleon shook his head and checked the refrigerator for eggs. Oh well, nothing like a big plate of food as a peace offering.
Soon the kitchen was filled with the aroma of sizzling sausages, bacon and eggs, Napoleon cut a few tomatoes and popped them in the pan before slicing some Turkish bread.
“Mmmm, that smells nice.”
Napoleon turned to see Illya leaning against the doorframe, golden hair framing a pair of tired-looking eyes.
“It’ll be ready soon.” Napoleon resisted the urge to help Illya and instead nodded at the sofa. “Sit. There’s no space on the dining table for plates.”
He heard a low chuckle. “We did make a mess, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.” The tomatoes were ready and he popped the food on two plates. “Here, the larger plate is yours. I’m going to get the coffee.”
“Thanks. Napoleon -”
“Yes?”
“It - it was good idea I think. Coming to your place. Thank you.”
Napoleon turned and smiled. “It was just simply to spare me having to drive to your place for chemistry lessons.”
Illya laughed. “Lazy American.”
They quickly went over yesterday’s material as they ate their food. Napoleon was surprised at how much he’d managed to remember. “So, what are we covering today?”
“I’m going to get you up to speed on the sulfur cycle and the industrial production and applications of sulfuric acid. Then we’ll go over the mechanisms of the machine and some of the questions you may be expected to answer.”
“Did you have to make everything so complicated?”
“I didn’t know I was going to be at the mercy of a crazed scientist who probably watched too many Hammer movies. Why on earth is it always me they want to mutilate?”
“Part of your charm in annoying people, partner mine.”
Illya bared his teeth and polished off his last sausage. “I’ll get you for that Napoleon. Now, bring me that textbook - we’ll start with the oxidation of iron sulfides. As you know, there are two main oxidation states of iron, +2 and +3…”
***
Napoleon could barely open his eyes the morning after the parent-teacher conference. He’d spent a sleepless evening turning over the conversation with his parents in his mind, trying to reach a decision. As a result, he barged into the classroom five minutes late, an apology dying on his lips when he realized that a completely different teacher stood at the front of the class.
“Where’s Miss Roberts?” He blurted out.
“Solo, is it?”
Napoleon nodded.
“You are five minutes late.”
“I know sir. I - I have no excuse.”
“Tardiness is unacceptable in any situation, Solo. Best if you remember it. And in answer to your question, if you’d been here on time, you would’ve heard me say that Miss Roberts has called in sick so I shall be taking her classes for the rest of the week. Now you better go to your seat. We shall continue with the chemistry of carbohydrates - if you’ll please turn to page sixty-five and copy down the following notes…”
Napoleon walked slowly to his seat, ignoring his classmates’ whispering and Tracy’s frantic attempts to catch his attention. His head whirled as a plan began to form in his mind.
Later that afternoon found Napoleon on the doorstep of Jessica Roberts’ house. He’d gone to the florist after school ended and brought a bouquet of flowers - something he knew his mother would like if she were sick. He pressed the doorbell and waited nervously.
After a few minutes, Napoleon heard the sound of feet padding to the door and Miss Roberts’ voice called out: “Who is it?”
“Solo. Napoleon Solo.”
The door opened slowly and Miss Roberts’ head peaked out. “Napoleon Solo - what on earth are you doing here?”
Napoleon tried not to blush as his teacher opened the door wider to let him in. “I heard you were sick, Miss Roberts, so I brought you some flowers. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“No matter, no matter. Thank you, Solo, I appreciate your concern.” She took the flowers and led him into her kitchen. Napoleon couldn’t help noticing how pale her face was and how her dishevelled hair clung to the sides of her head. The living room was cluttered and messy - the sofa looked as if it’d recently been slept in. He tried not to stare as she looked for a vase to put the flowers in.
“Sit down, Solo, and help yourself to those cookies on the table.”
Napoleon sat. Miss Roberts poured herself a mug of water and joined Napoleon.
“So how was school today, Solo?”
“It was fine, Miss Roberts, but not the same without you.”
He saw her head jerk up with a start. “I didn’t think you cared very much about Chemistry, Solo.”
He shrugged.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Napoleon stared at his fingers, not meeting Miss Roberts’ eyes. “The thing is, Miss Roberts, I’ve decided…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve decided not to apply for a scholarship.”
***
Illya stabbed the paper in front of him. “Vanadium oxide, Napoleon! Remember it. Vanadium oxide.”
Napoleon rolled his eyes. “Vanadium oxide.”
“It’s the catalyst used to convert sulfur dioxide to sulfur trioxide. Gruber’s new method changes the intermolecular bonds of Vanadium slightly and that leads to not only in an increase in the rate of conversion but the percentage of molecules converted at that step.”
“And Thrush wants it. To unleash acidic rain on all the major cities. You know Illya, I seriously don’t know why they bother at all. Surely there must be less complicated ways of taking over the world. Just once, just once I would like to foil a normal plot in a normal way”
“It wouldn’t be Thrush if they resorted to less extravagant methods. Besides, we’re hardly your normal covert agent organisation, are we?”
“I hate it when you’re so practical.”
“Besides, Napoleon, you’ve got to admit that acidic rain isn’t as ludicrous as some of their other schemes.”
“Don’t remind me. Would you like another bowl of ice cream?”
“One can never have too much ice cream Napoleon.”
“I take that as a ‘no’ then,” grinned Napoleon and ducked as a book flew across the room. He opened the fridge and decided he might as well bring out the whole tub - Illya’s appetite always seemed to increase after traumatic injuries - not that he would admit the injuries to be traumatic…
“You know, Illya,” he said as he returned to the couch. “I cannot believe you have never dated Nadia. She is gorgeous - and don’t say she isn’t your type either.”
“Not everyone dates every pretty woman that crosses their path. If you want to know, Nadia and I happen to be good friends. Nothing more.”
“Really.”
“Really. Can we go back to these plans, please?”
“You are impossible, Illya. Only you would work with one of the hottest women in the office and just be ‘good friends’.”
Illya closed the chemistry textbook with a snap. “If you insist on talking about girls, Napoleon, tell me about that chemistry teacher of yours. Jessica Roberts?”
“She was my teacher for one semester. I liked her.”
“You mean you had a crush on her.”
“I think half the school had a crush on her.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not! Scout’s honour!”
Illya rolled his eyes. “And how old were you Napoleon?”
“Sixteen. Seventeen. I’m not sure.”
“Figures,” Illya muttered.
“She was quite a personality, I tell you. Had a bit of a temper in the classroom, but she was quite the sentimental little soul.”
“And you know that how? Actually no, forget that question. I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Hey, it was quite innocent, I swear. She was sick. I brought her flowers and we had a long talk, that was all.”
Across the table, Illya raised his eyebrows. Napoleon hesitated for a second. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to tell Illya about what they discussed. No, it was just an inbuilt reluctance to talk about that early period of his life because of all the barriers he had created to keep those memories at the back of his mind. Memories of those last years at college, of Tracy and all they shared before… Painful memories that this affair had managed to bring back to the forefront of his mind.
And Illya was offering him the option to discuss it, get it out into the open. No, as much as it pained him to keep things from his partner and best friend, it would hurt even further if those old wounds were reopened. And, as churlish as it may sound, it wasn’t as if Illya had told him everything about his childhood.
“We talked about me dropping chemistry.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to. She persuaded me to do so.”
Act IV: I hesitate to guess how much of it you actually understand…
A hollow silence filled the room after Napoleon’s words. He winced inwardly and wondered what possessed him to be so honest with his teacher.
Finally, after a few awkward minutes, Miss Roberts finally spoke. “Well- I’m surprised. Astounded, even! Why ever not? Napoleon, you’ve got so much potential and I know that if you applied yourself and worked hard, you will get it for sure.”
“Yes, Miss Roberts. I know.” He took a deep breath and prayed she would let him finish explaining. “You see, Miss Roberts, this may seem like a sudden decision to you but I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I’ve decided that as soon as I graduate, I will enlist. Join the army. I want to… I want to serve my country.”
Silence. He searched her face for a reaction and found none. “I - I believe that there is much wrong in the world that needs righting, Miss Roberts and I want to do it. I want to fix it.”
Miss Roberts sighed. “Napoleon, it’s very well and very noble of you to aspire to such, ideals. But with your abilities and intelligence, do you not think that there are better ways to serve your country. If you drop chemistry…”
“I am not dropping chemistry, Miss Roberts.”
“But why, Napoleon? It’s the only subject that’s holding you back, preventing you from getting a scholarship from Harvard, or Yale or…”
“I can’t tell you why, Miss Roberts. But I do know that I don’t want to go to Harvard or Yale or any of those posh Ivy League schools. I want to fight.”
Miss Roberts shook her head so vigorously that blonde strands slipped out of the pins holding them in place. Napoleon suddenly found a stain on the carpet very interesting. “Napoleon - listen to me. Look at me.”
Napoleon raised his eyes to meet hers.
“I don’t think there is anything more honourable than wanting to fight for your country, but consider, consider what would happen if you were wounded or maimed and cannot fight anymore. What would you do them? It is very difficult for a person with little or no qualifications to support themselves. What will happen when you are married? How will you support your family then?”
Napoleon wanted to close his ears. Not listen to her words that made sense. Terrible sense. And Tracy. He’d forgotten about Tracy. What would she do if he went away? Would she wait for him or would she go and marry somehow wealthy. That nerd Chambers. Or maybe Mathias. No! There had to be a way around it. He blindly rose to leave, only to find Miss Roberts’ hands pulling him down beside her. So close that their hips touched.
“Listen, my boy. There’s a way around this. You can drop chemistry-“ she held up her hand. “Drop chemistry and go to university. Get a degree. And then join the army when you’re ready. You are an intelligent young man, Napoleon Solo. Don’t let that mind of yours go to waste.”
Napoleon shook his head.
“Please, Napoleon.”
She was pleading, for him?
“Think about it boy. I can’t force you into a decision that must solely be your own. Please, think about it?”
Napoleon swallowed and hesitantly nodded his assent.
***
“Well Napoleon,” said Illya as he swallowed his third vodka of the night. “It seems that you’ve got everything committed to memory though I hesitate to guess how much of it you actually understand.”
“Enough to fool them anyway, I hope.”
“Yes.” He winced as he shifted his position on the couch. “No, don’t ask, Napoleon. I am fine, thank you.”
“Of course you are. And I wasn’t about to ask.”
“Good.”
“I was about to order you to bed.”
“Don’t be such a grandmother, Napoleon.”
“You need to turn in early. We both need to. We have to be in early tomorrow to plan the op.”
Illya muttered something indiscernible as he slowly stood up, ignoring the cane Napoleon had purposely placed there. “Well goodnight then, Napoleon. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Now who’s being a grandmother?”
His partner’s chuckles faded as he entered the spare room. Napoleon stared at the door with an ache in his heart. He’s still pissed that he can’t finish the affair himself. And he knows I’m keeping things from him just as he keeps things from me. We dance around the issue as if it was a Mayfair pole. And the more we do it, the deeper the issue is covered. I love him as a brother and friend, but dare I tell him what I myself do not dare to face?
Napoleon shook his head and went to his own room to change. His memories would have to be put on hold for a while. He had a mission to complete.
***
“Well gentlemen, that affair seemed to have concluded extremely well. You are to be commended, Mr Solo, for filling in on such short notice, and you too, Mr Kuryakin, for giving Mr Solo a helping hand.”
“Thank you sir.”
“I suppose the problem has been removed by his own side?”
“Yes, Mr Solo. It seemed you really did convince him of your knowledge and in his desperate attempt to please the Council the virus we incorporated into the model wiped out a large portion the data stored on the Ultimate Computer. Thrush, as you know, doesn’t take failures of this magnitude lightly.”
Illya winced.
“Indeed, Mr Kuryakin. Our reports indicate that his last days were not very comfortable. Anyhow, it certainly tipped the odds in our favour once more. Take the weekend off.”
“I’m sorry Sir?”
“Mr Solo, last time I heard, you were struggling with your chemistry, not your hearing.” Illya snickered. “Both you and Mr Kuryakin can take the weekend off. Now I have another team to debrief. Shoo before I change my mind.”
“He certainly is in a good mood today, isn’t he?” noted Illya as they meandered down UNCLE’s corridors.
“He’s just happy about the outcome, that’s all. And for once he did not complain about my expense account.”
“I should’ve been paid for putting up with you this past week.”
“An occupation hazard, Tovarisch. So, what are you going to do?”
“Go to the gym and then to home and bed.”
“I meant during the weekend.”
“The same. Why?”
“No reason, just wondering.”
Illya raised an eyebrow. “And are you taking Nadia out?”
Napoleon snickered. “I’ve already done so. No, I’m going to see another lady. Got a few matters to take care of.”
Illya sighed and rolled his eyes.
Epilogue
The crisp winter air punctured his lungs as he stepped out of the car and walked up the driveway to the lovely country cottage nested within a grove of pine trees. It was a beautiful day to be out.
He hesitated for a moment on the porch. Would she recognize him after all these years? Would she even care? He had no wish to barge uninvited into someone’s life. But the daughter had been assuring on the phone, even promising not to mention his call so that he could surprise her. His fingers clenched around the slip of paper on which he had written the address obtained for him by Section Four.
The doorbell seemed unusually shrill and Napoleon could hear it echoing in the cottage. The door opened and a pretty brown-haired girl opened the door. “Mr Solo, I presume?”
“Yes. Call me Napoleon. You’re Caitlin?”
“Yes. It’s great to meet you, Mr Solo. Would you come in? Mother is in the reading room. She loves it there.”
“Thanks for letting me visit, Caitlin.”
“It’s great that you are here. We don’t get many visitors nowadays. Not since my father died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. Ah here we are. Mother! There is someone here to see you.”
The figure sitting beside the window turned and blue eyes locked into brown. A soft gasp as the white haired woman dropped the book she was reading. Napoleon smiled. “Hello Jessica. It’s nice to see you again.”