section7mfu | Sympathies - Short Affair Challenge

Short Affair Challenge - Sympathies
Prompt word - policy,
Prompt colour, purple
Word Count - 32 too many. Sorry.

Napoleon stared at the kid behind the desk. "What do you mean I can't go in?" he asked blankly. "There's got to be some mistake here, you said yourself we were expected."

"Um." The kid squirmed nervously. "I'm sorry, Mr Solo, there was an issue with your background check, and it's standard policy in these cases to conduct deeper checks. I'm going to need you to wait."

"My background check?" Napoleon repeated incredulously. "What do the FBI have against my background all of a sudden?"

If anything, the kid just looked more wretched. "Well, I mean, I don't run these checks, but it says here that you're an associate of known communists."

He blinked. "Communists? Where did that come from? Did it say who - "

Illya leaned over and held out his hand. " - Illya Nikovich Kuryakin," he said to Napoleon. "Since apparently we have never met."

Oh. Well, yes, alright that had been a stupid question. "I assumed that since you're already cleared they wouldn't count you," he said with as much dignity as he could.

"Apparently they do," Illya said. He looked at the kid. "I am the evil communist in question," he said dryly. "I take it that it is pointless to ask whether I passed your background check?"

The kid stared wide-eyed. At this point, Napoleon almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He sighed. "Look. Why don't you get your superior down here and we'll get this cleared up. Alright?"

"Alright," the kid agreed, nodding vigorously. "Do you want to just take a seat over there?" He pointed to the bench by the door hopefully.

"So how does it feel to be an enemy of the state?" Illya asked, sounding disturbingly upbeat.

Napoleon looked at him. "You know, I was in the Pentagon last week," he said. "I was playing bodyguard for a US senator two months ago. But apparently I'm not trustworthy enough for the FBI office in Anchorage. I guess Joseph McCarthy is alive and well and living in Alaska."

Illya considered that for a moment. "I'm not sure it counts as a witchhunt, when you are actually sharing a hotel room with a card-carrying member of the CPSU."

Possibly not. But he didn't feel like letting the facts get in the way of his annoyance. Also, "Please tell me you're not actually carrying your card?"

"I doubt it would make matters worse if I were," Illya said.

"I doubt it would make things better," Napoleon retorted. "Why doesn't this bother you more?"

"I've been in this situation before," Illya said with a shrug. "Why does it bother you so much?"

"Because we've got a job to do and neither of us have done anything wrong." he said. "And because they already know who we are and have our credentials. We already have all the information we need, meeting Kimmett at all was just a courtesy, to keep the locals in the loop, remember?"

"Ah," Illya nodded. "So it's a matter of principle?"

"Exactly," Napoleon agreed.

Illya smiled in a way that Napoleon found particularly irritating. "Then I wish I had brought popcorn."

Probably fortunately he was saved from having to reply to that by the advent of a man with an unnaturally purple face who approached them with a look of apoplectic aggravation. "Now, look here," he boomed before he'd even got within ten feet of them. "I'm a very busy man. How dare you summon me just because you're not happy with our security policies?"

"I think we've found our McCarthy impersonator," he murmured to Illya, before standing up with a careless smile. "Special Agent Kimmett, I presume?" he asked, not waiting for the answer. "Napoleon Solo, UNCLE, and this is my partner Illya Kuryakin."

"Yes, I know who you are," Kimmett snapped. "The commie and the commie sympathiser. Sending the two of you here was a calculated insult on your superior's part."

He raised an eyebrow at the description but carefully let it go. "No," he disagreed. "We're the top two agents in the New York office. Sending us was a sign of just how serious UNCLE is taking your request for assistance. Running a background check and then telling your assistant to leave us cooling our heels here in order to indulge your little power trip? That's a calculated insult."

"One that you are likely to regret," Illya added, apparently deciding that in the absence of popcorn he might as well join in. "Your director is anxious to foster stronger ties with our organisation. When we report that your actions forced us to investigate on our own with no assistance from the bureau, he is likely to be somewhat upset with you."

"I'd say that's an understatement," Napoleon murmured. He took a deep breath and smiled, open and conciliatory. “Look. Why don't we all take a step back and start over. You invite us up to your office, find some good old-fashioned American cookies for my partner, tell us what you know, and we'll tell you what we think THRUSH is doing here and we'll make sure to keep you up to date with our investigation. How does that sound?”

“I don't need your sort of help,” Kimmett said. “UNCLE needs to show more respect to the FBI. This is America, we're the law here, not you.”

Well, he'd tried at least. That would be something he could tell Mr Waverly if asked. “Alright, then,” he said. “We can be contacted at the Anchorage Grand, if you should happen to change your mind.”

“Either about the help or the cookies,” Illya said without a flicker of humour showing on his face. “I am partial to oatmeal raisin.”

Kimmett made a noise of disgust and turned away.

They shared a glance and a shrug and walked out.

“So now you're a communist sympathiser,” Illya said contemplatively.

“Uh huh?” Napoleon said, waiting for it.

“I just think I could use a little sympathy now and then, that's all,” Illya went on.

“You hate sympathy, remember?” Napoleon said easily. “Now come on. We've wasted enough time. Let's get to work.”

“Alright, but I was promised cookies.”