The sudden stop jarred the elevator, and Napoleon pitched forward,
throwing his arms out to catch himself against the wall.

Except that the wall was softer than he'd remembered it, and emitted
an 'oof' sound when he landed.

"Oh... sorry."

"It's not your fault." 

"I'm going to try and get an estimate as to how long this'll take to
straighten out." He offered, pulling the communicator from his pocket.
All that resulted was static.

With a sigh, he replaced the cap. 

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, sorry."

"Again, it is through no fault of your own." The Russian shrugged. At
least, he assumed that the Russian shrugged. There was a rustling of
fabric, and a sense of movement.

Napoleon decided to wait the situation out as comfortably as possible,
and lowered himself to the car's floor, crossing his legs. His thigh
hit something, and he reached out to feel for what that something was.

"My knee." His companion informed him.

"Oh. I'm-- I'm really so--"

"Sorry, I know." He said dryly. "Just to be certain, you are there,
and I am here?"

"Sounds about right. So... two weeks?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid we're not making the best possible impression on you."

There was a soft sound, little more than the exhalation of a breath,
that Napoleon thought might have been a laugh.

"So... um..." Napoleon felt like slapping his forehead. Of all the
times to be at a total lack for conversation, it had to happen stuck
in an elevator. "How's it going?"

"How it is...?"

"Going. You know, how's it going? Ah... Zdravctvujtye?"

"You speak Russian?"

"Badly." He admitted. "Well, okay, not so badly for an American, but
pretty lousy compared to my other languages. Mostly just that I'm
rusty, I guess. I mean, I don't use it often, and, you know."

"Well... if you liked, I could--" Illya was glad they were stuck in
the dark. He was blushing, and he did not want this man to know it.
"If it isn't presumptious of me to offer, I could... help you?"

"No, it's not presumtious at all." Napoleon smiled, relaxing. His
thigh rested back against the blond's knee. "Some time we can talk
over lunch?"

"Yes, that would be all right."

"You still haven't answered me, you know. How are you?"

"All things considered?" Illya grinned. "I suppose I might-- I might
begin to like New York. Well, some facets of New York."

"Good." Napoleon nodded, feeling oddly warm. "I mean, after all, we
want you to feel at home here."

Illya decided not to spoil the gesture of goodwill by asking who
exactly this 'we' was. After all, one person was trying to make him
feel welcome, and-- despite his initial misgivings-- it was beginning
to work.

Suddenly, the car jerked to life again, sending both men sprawling
under flickering lights.

"Woah!" Napoleon disentangled his limbs from Illya's. "I'm--"

"Sorry, I know, I know." He picked himself up. "Don't be."

"Well, can I be mildly embarrassed at my uncharacteristic clumsiness?"

"Go right ahead. I'm doing the same thing myself."

The elevator began to come to a stop, though this time it was the
scheduled one. Napoleon grinned over at Illya. 

"If it would make you feel better, I won't go telling anyone I got to
first base." He joked.

"Base?"

"I'll explain it to you later."

---

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