Pairing: the turtleneck man/Mr. $400 suits
Rating: PG; slash
Status: two parts
Archive: no
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; no infringement intended.
"I am fine, Napoleon. At the prices this restaurant charges, it would appear that capitalism is alive and well."
Eying the large tip that Solo left, Kuryakin arched his left eyebrow. "Really, Polya, the service was barely adequate. How can you leave so much?"
Napoleon Solo smiled affectionately at the frugality of his Russian-born friend. "Illyusha, the man may have a wife and children that he has to support."
"That is true, but you do not have to support them all on your own."
Napoleon smiled and gave a delighted laugh. His partner never ceased to delight and amaze him. Solo's family had been blessed with wealth and position, but Solo knew that Illya's early years, under the Soviet system, had been less fortunate.
Kuryakin led the way out of the restaurant. Ever aware of details, he could not fail to notice the more-than-generous tips given to one-and-all as Emperor Napoleon, the Womanizer, departed this cuisine domain.
Although Solo was a wealthy man, he had chosen to avoid owning a car in the heart of New York City. His penthouse spoke of laid-back elegance and his "$400 suits certainly labelled him as a man of means as well as taste. He never, however, flaunted his wealth and certainly deserved his promotion to Chief Enforcement Agent for UNCLE.
He appreciated his promotion at the young age of 32, but the moment he treasured most in his life was the exact second that he realized that he had become Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin's friend as well as partner.
Solo had always made acquaintances very easily but never delved deeper into the concept of true friendship. Perhaps, it was the nature of his job, but he never felt the need for a "true-blue" friend. Why should he, when he had found that "thousandth man" - one, Illya Kuryakin?
It had not been easy to become Illya's friend because the Ice Prince
had built up layer upon layer of frozen insulation around himself. That
this insulation was indeed effective againt pain was of no doubt, but it
did make for a lonely life.
Solo's life had started in a vastly different way, but now Solo's world
seemed to revolve around the often sharp-tongued, and quick wits of the
beautiful blond. Although Solo had worked with his friend for several years,
the knowledge that he loved the slender blond was of short duration.
Solo knew that Kuryakin's adolescent years had been a nightmare of constant
struggle for survival. Solo had to admit to himself that this knowledge
was one reason why he liked to "spoil" his friend by going to concerts,attending
ballets, eating at expensive restaurants etc.
Solo never hesitated to pick up the check when he was with his friend.
He had also never hesitated to eat the Russian deli food that Illya would
sometimes provide or the fast food that his friend seemed to be addicted
to. Solo prided himself on his attitude towards his partner. That air of
superiority would soon come crashing down.
The next morning both men were stuck in their office completing the pile of forms that had built up during their recent overseas assignment. As usual, Solo was trying to think of a way to con his partner into completing the greater portion of Mt. Everest when Kuryakin broke the silence with a question.
"Napoleon, how much money do you throw away in a month?"
Raising both eyebrows in surprise, Solo smirked and inanely said, "Well, as soon as I get my check, I rush to the bank -cash it and then load all the bills into buckets and out it goes." Expecting laughter from his friend, Solo only received an icy glare.
"Please do not make fun with me. I know you possess money, but I believe we are partners and you do not permit me to share the expenses."
Realizing that his friend was deadly serious, Solo knew that he had to tread carefully. "Of course, we are partners, and, of course, we share. We order in Chinese and you pay. We order in pizza and you pay. I could go on and on. How many times have you paid for the Russian deli food that we're always getting?"
Instead of lessening the tension, these remarks seemed to arch the back of his beautiful friend. "Napoleon, I am not talking about the amount of times that you or I pay for our meals."
"Oh, then . . . then what are you talking about?"
"When we go to a movie, I pay. When we go to a ballet and get front-row seats, you pay. When we go to Stan's Chili Dogs All-The-Time, I pay. When we go to Lutece, you pay. When we go to a baseball game, I pay. When we go . . . "
"Okay, okay, You don't have to do the whole list, but what's your point. We both pay."
Solo looked at the beloved face and could see the sadness there. "Illyusha, why are you mad at me?"
"My friend, I am not mad, but you treat me like a poor relative who needs to be given a, I believe it is called a C.A.R.E. package."
Suddenly, Solo realized that his attempts to "spoil" his friend had backfired. The fierce pride of the Russian had misinterpreted Solo's gestures and his attempts to enrich the life of his friend had injured their fragile relationship.
"I'm sorry, tovarish. I just wanted you to experience some of the luxuries that America offers. You know I have money, I enjoy being with you and spending some money on things you enjoy. Is that so wrong?"
Illya's glacial features eased slightly. "Of course not. Sometimes my stubborness and pride get in the way. I believe you Americans say, 'I am twisting my nose to spite myself."
Solo smiled slightly. "Well, something like that my friend. You certainly have been working on your American slang. How about if I promise to let you pay your fair share, you promise to let me treat you to a little luxury once in a while?" Illya smiled his beautiful smile that was reserved for Solo alone and replied, "Da."
Before anymore could be said the two men were called to Alexander Waverly's office. The result was that the rest of the day was spent handling a relatively minor disturbance at the UN, after which the agents departed to their respective apartments.
The next morning, Solo entered his office at UNCLE headquarters, expecting to see the blond hard at work on the remaining pile of reports. In fact, Solo had deliberately arrived somewhat late, hoping that Illya would take the hint. Not seeing his partner, he immediately called Gwen to see if Number Two of Section Two had picked up his badge.
Consternation and concern filled Solo when he was informed that Mr. Kuryakin had not yet picked up his badge or had even been seen. "Well, I guess there's nothing for it, but to start on these myself, but if that shaggy blond isn't here in a half-hour, the search parties will be sent out."
Exactly 29 minutes later the familiar and LOUD voice of one, Illya Kuryakin could be heard comng down the corridor towards their shared office.
"TARAKANI! TARAKANI! TARAKANI!"
Napoleon Solo spoke reasonably fluent Russian, but this oft-repeated word escaped his mind at the moment. Within seconds the disheveled blond rushed in looking like a truck had been used to press his suit.
"Uh, Good Morning, Illya." Solo knew that he was dangerously close to a Russian volcano that was ready to erupt at the wrong word.
"IT IS NOT A GOOD MORNING as I would think you would have the sense to realize. The tarakani have taken over my apartment. I could find no clean clothes which were not infested, and you sit there in another one of your $400 suits and have the nerve to say GOOD MORNING."
Knowing that he was standing (really sitting) on the hot seat, Solo's brilliant mind went completely blank, and he could only query, "Tarakani?"
"Yes, how do you say - les cancrelats, le blatte, die Schaben, las cucarachas."
"Ohhhhhh, cockroaches!"
"Really, Napoleon, you must work on your Russian vocabulary."
***Well, I see that he hasn't lost that biting sense of humor even when under attack.***
"You've had an infestation.?"
"Not just an infestation. They are all over the place. They are in everything. They are copulating in my shoes and multiplying faster than a man with an abacus."
"Why don't you speak to UNCLE housing - doesn't UNCLE rent that flea trap - sorry, cockroach trap for you?"
"I will purchase some of those cans of insect spray and liquidate them."
Solo did not like the look of gleam in his partner's eyes when he said the word, liquidate. "We have a meeting with Mr. Waverly right now. I'll speak to him."
"No, Napoleon, I would not wish to bother Mr.Waverly about such a trivial matter." Alexander Waverly, however, did not think it was a trivial matter at all.
"This is appalling. UNCLE pays good money to lease this building for its agents and now I am told that it is uninhabitable due to an infestation of tarakani. Don't worry, Mr. Kuryakin, we will deal with this immediately. We will find you somewhere else to stay."
"The apartment 3 floors below mine will be vacant soon," Solo replied.
"Excellent, that will do nicely. Then you and Mr. Kuryakin can travel to work together." Solo grinned a smirky grin, but said nothing more.
Kuryakin felt like he had been thrown in one of those huge dryers at his local laundromat. Yesterday, he had a home. Today, he was being fumigated, had no home, and was being rushed to a new home - and all in a few days.
Once again, his Ice Prince veneer stood him in good stead. Neither Solo or Waverly discerned how shaken the young man was. All of his time in America had been spent in that apartment. Even the cockroaches had seemed somewhat like old friends. He was definitely feeling lost in the face of these rapidly changing events.
Arriving back at their office, Solo decided that his friend was too quiet. "What's the matter, Illya? Surely, you don't want to stay with those cockroaches?"
"Uh, no . . .no, of course not. I . . .just do not know where I am to stay until the new apartment becomes available."
"Oh, that's no problem. You can stay with me at the penthouse."
Suddenly the air in the office rivaled the vast Siberian wastelands. Solo shivered as the glacial features of the Russian's face turned towards him.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"I do not believe I understood your invitation? You are asking me to come live with you?"
"Well, that's about the size of it, yes. Is that okay?"
"What would I have to do in order to be allowed to stay with you?"
"I don't understand what you mean. You could do anything you wanted to do while you were there."
"And, if I did not wish to comply, what then?"
Not really sure that Illya was being serious, Solo tried to introduce a little authority and common sense into the discussion. "Illya, as CEA and your partner, I insist that you leave that rat trap and live with me."
"I will not be a RENTBOY, " roared the Russian. Stunned, Solo
could not find his tongue for a few seconds. "Illya,
where did you learn such a word? I meant nothing of. . . . "
The rest of the words were lost in the icy words of the blond. "You have tried to seduce me from the beginning with rich foods, extravagant gifts, and your supposed friendship. Now you come out of the kitchen and display your desires for me. I will not warm your bed just to have a roof over my head."
Even though Solo was appalled at the turn this conversation had taken, he was amused by the seemingly erratic use of American slang that the Russian displayed.
"No, Illya, I didn't mean . . ."
Unfortunately, Napoleon Solo was talking to an empty office door through which an irate, but beautiful blond Russian had just rushed.
**Boy, Solo, you really blew that. How can trying to do a good deed
turn into such a disaster?**
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