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Diversities
of Gifts |
SUMMARY: Their first Christmas together.
Napoleon saw the present as soon as he came through the door.
It lay, wrapped in dark blue paper with golden stars on it, beneath his small
but very tastefully decorated Christmas tree. He considered it for a moment,
before picking it up and giving it a curious shake. It felt quite heavy but
made little noise. He smiled, then after grabbing a similarly wrapped gift
from the sideboard quickly exited his apartment.
He hadn't expected to be able to see Illya until at least four days after
Christmas, certain that the Russian's mission in Chile would keep him away
from New York until at least then. Seeing the gift left under the tree, ready
to be opened in the morning cheered him up immeasurably. He took the elevator
down two floors to Illya's flat and knocked at the door.
Frowning as there was no answer, he withdrew his key and unlocked the door
himself. The apartment looked decidedly unhomely, with boxes, still unpacked,
scattered amongst the few sticks of furniture. He stepped carefully over the
precariously high towers of books, scientific journals mixed with literary
classics, and made his way slowly to the bedroom.
The light that seeped in through past the ragged window blinds was just sufficient
for Napoleon to locate the small lamp that sat on the floor in the middle
of the room. Switching it on, filling the room with a soft orange glow, he
looked round at the sparse furnishings. A record turntable, lying in a haphazard
fashion as if tossed there, lay in one corner playing Billie Holiday low and
soft, her voice seeming to encompass all the sorrows of Christmas. And Illya
lay asleep in his small rumpled bed.
Napoleon paused to study his partner. Illya was still wearing his suit trousers
and white shirt, which lay open showing the small St. Christopher that lay
glinting around his neck. His face, whilst relaxed in sleep seemed drawn and
pinched, dark circles lying under his eyes, and his fair skin slightly reddened
from sunburn.
Placing the two presents down on the rough floorboards, Napoleon gently shook
Illya to wakefulness. "Illya, come on now sleepyhead, wake up."
Illya groaned softly, squinting up into Napoleon's face. "What time is it?"
"Just before twelve, now sit up so we can open our presents."
Illya frowned, wincing as he eased himself upright. "You realise I've had
less than half a hours sleep? And you want to open presents!" He shook his
head in seeming disbelief.
Napoleon looked at him with concern, noting how gingerly Illya sat, but stifled
the urge to ask how the mission had gone. "A Solo family tradition, we always
open out presents at midnight, then we break out the eggnog."
Illya rubbed his brow wearily, "I suppose the Kuryakin family tradition of
getting a good nights sleep means nothing?"
"Not this year, next Christmas we'll do it your way." Napoleon shoved Illya's
present into his hands, whilst toying with the wrapping on his own.
Illya looked down at the box he held with slight speculation. "I haven't had
a Christmas present since I was a child." He twisted the gift around, inspecting
it from each side. He smiled slightly as he looked up into Napoleon's expectant
face, then slowly began to unwrap it.
Napoleon felt a nervous flutter in his stomach as Illya pulled his present
from the box. He wasn't sure why but it was very important that Illya liked
his present. They'd only been partners for the last eight months but already
there was a certain rapport and trust between them that each found difficult
to define.
Very carefully, with an almost imperceptible tremor in his hand Illya pulled
a snowglobe from the box. Inside, with snow-like glitter floating delicately
about it, sat a brightly coloured model of St
Basil the Blessed's in Moscow.
"Do you like it?" Napoleon asked eagerly.
Illya didn't reply, just brought the globe up to his eye line and stared at
the exceptional detail. The colour and patterns on the domes were exact, and
as Illya turned it around he could help but gasp, "how did you manage...?"
Smiling widely, Napoleon replied, "it wasn't too hard, I thought it might
help if you ever got homesick." He reached out and squeezed Illya's arm lightly.
"It's beautiful, thank you." Illya took a deep breath, "you haven't opened
your present yet."
Napoleon grinned as he swiftly ripped away the paper. Inside were three small
separate gifts, each enclosed in soft tissue paper. He opened the first, uncovering
an address book, that was very little and very black, reading the inscription
on the first page Napoleon couldn't help but chuckle; `to help you keep track
of them all- Illya.'
"Thank you, I'm sure it will come in very handy!" He turned his attention
to the second which was considerably larger and heavier, and he smiled as
he found a very expensive bottle of scotch inside. "This must have cost a
fortune," Napoleon protested, forgetting how his snowglobe had to be handmade
and had cost him a good week's wages.
"I have a contact who's quite well in with the manufacturers," Illya explained.
"I met him at Cambridge."
"Well you'll have to give me his number, after this I probably won't want
to go back to my old stuff." He twisted the last parcel about curiously in
his hands, it was very small and very light, weighing barely more than the
tissue paper did itself. Looking up he saw how Illya's face seemed almost
anxious, his brow furrowed as he bit on his full lower lip.
Very carefully he loosened the wrappings, finding a small coin inside, attached
to a feather by various multicoloured strings. "Sorry, but what is it?" He
didn't want to hurt Illya's feelings, but was bemused as to what it exactly
was. "It's very pretty, but...?"
Illya smiled, not at all offended. "It's a charm, it brings good luck, and
protects the owner. The Gypsies have a very strong faith in these, or at least
the ones I knew did." He reached out and
touched the delicate charm, "if you ever have a particular wish you, you must
rub it, think the wish to yourself, and if it is in your best interest it
will come true."
"You believe in this?" Napoleon's tone was curious rather than sceptical.
Shrugging, Illya replied, "I'm not sure. The band I knew in Russia, helped
me to see many things which I cannot explain, but ultimately I am a scientist,"
he reached over, closing Napoleon's fist over the present. "I think that,
perhaps, in our profession we need all the luck we can get."
"The mission didn't go so well, did it?"
"Lets just open your bottle of scotch, and toast another season of goodwill."
"Well, it's not eggnog, but I'm sure my ancestors would approve." Snatching
a paper cup off the bedside table, Napoleon poured a good measure, then raising
the bottle himself he said, "merry Christmas."
Illya saluted with his cup, "god bless us everyone."
The End
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