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section7mfu2015-03-30 02:05 pm
Keeping Up for Short_Affair
Words: 620
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“Mr. Kuryakin seems best fitted for the role, don’t you agree Mr. Solo?”
Actually, Mr. Solo wasn’t convinced. However, as it was Mr. Waverly’s decision he thought it wise to not butt heads on the role playing that he and Illya were being assigned.
“Yes, by all means. I’m sure that his portrayal of Reginald Danbury will be, um... very convincing.”
Illya thought he detected something in his partner’s statement, while Waverly’s eyebrows indicated a similar recognition. What was it? Certainly not jealousy. No, Mr. Solo wouldn’t be jealous of an affect of genius. It was, after all, only a portrayal, not a presumption of such.
“Very well then, you have the files necessary to go forward with this assignment. I trust there is nothing else to ...’ Alexander Waverly looked up, watched as each man shook his head.
“Very well then, that is all.” With that the Old Man turned his chair to face the wall of lights that were summoning the attention of the man who helmed UNCLE Northwest and beyond.
Napoleon led the way out of their boss’ office, his stride indicating that he didn’t much care whether Illya caught up with him.
“Napoleon, wait up a minute.” Illya reached out and caught Napoleon’s elbow, exerting a bit of pressure in order to make his effort recognizable.
“Is there something wrong? I get the impression that you are somehow, umm... how to say it? Do you disapprove of how this assignment has been constructed?”
Illya Kuryakin had been partnered with the New York CEA for a little over a year now, and in almost every way their partnership seemed akin to eating from the proverbial silver spoon. They communicated well, acted instinctively with each other as though reading each other’s minds. This assignment seemed different.
Napoleon tried to act nonchalant, as though he hadn’t gotten a sour feeling from being designated as somehow less than the Russian. He was an intelligent man, a master at constructing scenarios and strategies. He shouldn’t be affected by this, but it bothered him.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I guess I just ... well, it’s taking a little getting used to this ...”
The stammering did not help Illya decipher the problem. He spoke English like a native, but obtuse avoidances of the subject at hand left him clueless.
“Napoleon, is it the parts we are playing? I certainly am not claiming to be, on any level, a genius. It is merely the roles we have been given, not an actual reflection of ...”
Illya stopped and looked at his friend, saw the amusement mixed with what he thought might be embarrassment.
“I am not a genius. My degrees are the result of hard work, and my ability to assimilate and speak various languages... a gift, if you will allow for that designation.”
Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.
“What about the eidetic memory, and how you seem to have an anecdote or explanation for just about everything?”
Now Illya shrugged his shoulders, he couldn’t help being who he was; his capabilities were merely what fell to him. Napoleon suddenly felt foolish, and a little sorry for having put Illya in a position to defend himself. What was wrong with him? He had never felt inadequate about his ability to succeed at anything.
“I’m sorry Illya. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You might be a genius, but more than that you’re a terrific actor. I have a feeling you could play a dope as well, but it wouldn’t mean you are one.”
Illya was glad for Napoleon’s recovery, confident they would continue to operate with the same equilibrium and efficiency as always.
He did wonder, however, what a dope was and how difficult it might be to portray one.
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