"Smart Russian"~ for the Short Affair Challenge- June 22nd

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Challenge: The Short Affair

-Prompt Word #1 - Dowager

-Prompt Colour – White

Author: mrua7

Title: Smart Russian

Word Count: Approx. 700

“All right Mr. Solo, I want you to relax. Free your mind of any worries. Let them drift away one by one like white fluffy clouds.”

Napoleon lay on the sofa in Dr. Kennedy’s office within the Psych department at UNCLE headquarters; his fingers laced together as they rested upon his chest. His breathing was even, regular and appeared relaxed as requested, though he had a slight smirk on his face.

“When I say a word I want you to say the first thing that comes into your head. Not hard right?”

His smirk grew in size.

“Car.”

“Date,” Solo replied.

“Buttons.”

“Blouse,”

“Bed.”

“Intimacy,” he sighed

“Sex.”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Solo please take this seriously,” the woman said.

“I was being serious.”

“Gun.”

“Friend.”

“Friend.”

“Illya.”

“Father.”

Napoleon didn’t respond.

“Father.”

He huffed. “Sir.”

“Mother.”

“Saint.”

“Aunt.”

“Dowager.”

“UNCLE”

“Life.”

“THRUSH.”

“Lunacy.”

“Alexander Waverly.”

“Relentless.”

“Angelique La Chien.”

“Seductive.”

“Serena.”

“Deadly.”

“Cat.”

“Illya.”

“Food.”

“Illya,” with that answer Napoleon chuckled.

“Serenity.”

“Pursang.” Now he sighed deeply.

Dr. Kennedy removed her glasses, leaning forward while showing her interest.

Solo noticed she had attractive hazel eyes, though her hair was drawn back in a severe bun.

“What is Pursang, may I ask?” She rested one of the temple tips from her glasses on her pursed red lips.

“You know you look quite nice without your glasses, and if you let your hair down, well that would soften your appearance quite a bit.”

“Really, you think so?” Without realizing it, Dr. Kennedy touched her fingers to her hair.

“Absolutely. May I?” He sat up, reaching over and pulled a few hair pins. Napoleon ran his fingers through her golden- brown hair, getting it to drape down in ringlets to her shoulders. “There, that’s much better.”

“So you didn’t aswer my question.”

“Oh it’s my yacht. Thirty-footer...I’m taking her out on Long Island Sound tomorrow.”

“Oh I just love yachting.” It was her turn to sigh. “My father owned one, about thirty foot too as I recall. I just loved the feeling of freedom being out on the water, letting the wind propel us across the waves.”

“Well, then it’s a date, I’d say. You...me and a boat all to ourselves. We can make a day of it. I’ll bring lunch, and a magnum of Dom Pérignon. I’ll pick you up around seven tomorrow morning?”

“That would be wonderful...umm, I accept.”

“See you tomorrow then,” he smiled as he waved before he disappeared out the door before she realized their session wasn't over yet.

His partner, seated alone in the waiting room, looked up from the magazine he was perusing.

“That was fast. So did you pass?” Kuryakin snickered; rising from his chair, but then seeing the twinkle in his partner’s eyes, he realized the question was pointless.  “So when is the date?”

“Tomorrow. We’re going out on the Pursang for the day. I’d invite you but two’s company and three’s…”

“...an odd number. I get it.”

“If you’d let me finish; I was going to say … three’s a crowd.”

Illya shook his head. “Whatever. Now may we go get lunch? I am hungry.”

“Tovarisch, you’re always hungry. May I remind you; you’re buying.”

“I do not know why I make these bets with you...I always lose.” Illya handed over a ten dollar bill to his grinning partner.

The pneumatic doors opened silently, and side by side they exited the Psych Department to the sound of  Lisa Rogers voice suddenly coming over the public address system.

“Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin report immediately to Mr. Waverly’s office for assignment.” The announcement repeated several times until Solo reached a house phone to reply.

“On our way.”

Illya smirked, holding out his hand. “I think I win. So twenty dollars if you please?”

“What do you mean, ‘you win?” I got a date with her.”

“Ahhh, you arranged a date, but will not have said date within twenty-four hours since we have an assignment. You did not meet the agreed upon conditions of the bet.”

Napoleon pulled out his wallet, withdrawing another ten-spot and handing it to the wily Russian, as well as giving his original bill.

“That’s just a technicality. I will be going out with her, there’s no doubt of that.”

“That was not the bet. Now Mr. Waverly is waiting.”

“Smart Russian…”

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