section7mfu | It's All Subjective - Lifecycle: Humour

Two men walked in silence, as they headed away from their wrecked car in search of civilisation. One of the men, a tall, suave, dark haired American, looked as though he’d just stepped out of the society pages; not a auto-wreck. The other, a short, blond, Russian, could easily be mistaken for a crash fatality, but for the fact we was breathing and walking. Well, it would be more accurate to say, limping. The man was certain his ankle wasn’t broken, but it was exceedingly painful. There were bruises forming on his face and there was a cut on his left palm. He was also dripping from head to foot.

“Come on, partner mine. You have to admit it was a little amusing,”

Illya stopped, forcing Napoleon to stop also and turn round to face him. The CEA could barely keep the smirk from his face.

“Amusing?” Illya queried, in that low, quiet tone most people had come to dread. “You find this situation amusing?”

“No, not the situation,” Solo answered, with a grin. “Just the way you. . .”

“I would advise you to stop talking, my friend,” Illya stated, flatly. “I doubt very much if you’d find it so funny if it had been you, and you had ruined yet another of your precious suits.”

He began walking again, attempting to quicken the pace away from his infuriating partner. Unfortunately, Napoleon was uninjured, so easily kept in step.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame you know,” said the American after a few more silent minutes. “You’re the one who swerved into the edge of the river. It’s hardly my fault that your side ended up in the water.”

Once again, Illya stopped in his tracks.

“How am I to blame?” he yelled. He’d been trying to hold his frustration in, but it was no longer possible. “It wasn’t me who caused that . . . that . . . animal, to run into the road.”

“Bobcat,” supplied Napoleon, calmly.

“What?!”

“It was a bobcat.”

“Does it really matter, Napoleon?”

He was getting angry now. Ordinarily, Solo’s humour had the power to get them through tense situations, but not when Illya was wet and in pain, and his partner was entirely unscathed. No-one would have ever guessed they’d been in the same vehicle.

“If you’d seen the way you slipped on that rock when you got out of the car, you’d have laughed too,” Napoleon continued. “You’re usually a lot more graceful than that, so to see you flailing around like a hippo on ice tickled me.”

He never saw the fist coming.

Landing heavily on his backside, and in a puddle, Napoleon finally realised he’d pushed it too far. He’d been attempting to lighten his friend’s mood, by pointing out the funny side of it all, but Illya was having none of it. Admittedly, mocking the man’s dignity probably wasn’t the best way to go about it, but it had worked in the past.

“You do realise that you’ve just assaulted a superior agent,” he called out the Russian, who was hobbling away.

“A superior blockhead more like,” Kuryakin retorted.

He turned back to continue his opinion of the CEA’s supposed superiority, but the sight of Napoleon stopped the words before they even began. Illya really did try to keep his expression serious. However, one look at Solo and his soggy rear-end was enough to dispel the cloud hanging over him. Nothing on Earth could have held back the laugh which erupted from Illya. It went on for so long that Napoleon began to worry he would hyperventilate.

Finally, after Solo had got back to his feet, Illya managed to get a control of himself.

“Now that, I’m sure you’ll agree, given your earlier statements about me, was amusing.”

Napoleon said nothing. He simply offered his partner a sour look, before continuing their journey.