Authors note:

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I only have plot bunnies, not love-bunnies. Damn!

Non-Slash: Napoleon Solo /Illya Kuryakin ( Who else did you expect?)

Rated: G

Archive: Ravens Lair, File 40 (If they want.)

"Napoleon!" A pretty blonde secretary waved frantically as she hurried down the hall towards the two UNCLE agents agent.
"The box from the jewelers has arrived."

Illya looked up, halfway shocked. He did not recall that his new  partner had been flirting with this *particular* young lady. And  even if he had been? Napoleon Solo's attentions, at least in the  few months Illya had been paired with the man, had never  extended to giving the type of jewelry that should elicit that much  excitement.

"Thank you , Sophie dear." Napoleon kissed one hand while  ignoring the  small velvet-covered box in the other. "Do you think  you could wrap it up in time for office mail pickup? The address  in my file should be current."

"Sure, Napoleon." Illya watched with a certain resignation as  Sophie melted into quivering acquiescence under the power of
the senior agents smile.

Napoleon gave another squeeze as a reward for her  compliance, and then added a brief kiss to her cheek which had
her practically skipping down the hall to do his bidding.

Illya looked over his new American partner with an appraising  eye. That the man could seduce a nun or a corpse - and would if  duty required it - was entered merely as a useful talent in Illya's  mental catalog. But that the man would employ one innocent in  the pursuit of another? That  might hint at a slightly darker edge.  Not that  the past few months had revealed  the American to be  anything but honorable and dedicated, but...? Spies, by their  nature, were deceivers ever. Illya could approve of such an ability  in the abstract, but was also deeply cautions about any `internal'  applications. Playing to harshly with one's own support staff was  an invitation to betrayal. "You have her send gifts for still another  conquest?"

Napoleon seemed oblivious to Illya's speculations, answering  easily. "No, Fathers Day. You've heard of it?" Napoleon's
question was obviously rhetorical, tossed off as he hurried down  to his office.

"It is not a Russian holiday, but yes," Illya nodded. "The  reminders have been rather inescapable."

Inescapable, Napoleon thought to himself. That was the word,  all right. He pushed the door open and gave Illya his most
fraternal grin. "Another one of our materialistic American holidays  for you to criticize."

"Just because I said that Saint Patrick would likely have  disapproved of public drunkenness?" The young Russian
replied blandly ."I do not see why you considered that  hostile."  Ignoring his American partners barely suppressed snort, Illya
continued. " So.. what is the proper food for this festival?"

"Scotch", Napoleon replied, pulling back his chair " For me at  least. You can stay with vodka." At Illya's surprised expression,
Napoleon halted, then explained. "This is a gift-and-card holiday,  not a dinner sort or the parade sort."

"Interesting." Illya thought back carefully. He might be new to the  New York office and it's American customs, but? " Last month?",  he questioned. "For Mother's Day I clearly recall Agent Scott  requesting the day off in order to take his mother out for brunch."

"Well, that's Mother's day." Napoleon fumbled through the top  drawer for a pen.  "For Father's Day you send gifts."

"So the package was for your Father?"

Napoleon busied himself unloading his briefcase on to his  desk.

"If I might ask? Illya's curiosity warred briefly with caution, and on  this occasion curiosity won. "What did you select?"

"Tie tack" Napoleon did not look up from separating the files into  urgent and delayable piles. - "No", he corrected. "Cufflinks."

"You do not remember?"

"Of course I know what I bought." Napoleon waved off the   question as he opened the first file. Which was true, he added
mentally. Odd years were tie tacks, even years were cufflinks.  This was 1964, so...?  Picking up his pen, Napoleon
industriously applied himself to correcting the typed transcript of  their most recent debriefing.

Illya did likewise. That ended the conversation, but in the quiet of  the office Napoleon thought he heard Illya murmur "It is a
fortunate  man who has a father." At least, he thought that's what  the Russian words meant.

As he finished his notes and pulled out the next file Napoleon  thought to himself. `I wish I did.'

*FINIS*

NOTE: Actually, the saying is "It is a wise man who knows his  father" - but in these early days? While Napoleon's Russian is fluent enough, it is not yet colloquial.