The UnInnocent - Short Affair 24th August

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Prompt Word - Pillar
Prompt Colour - Yellow
Wordcount - 976

The UnInnocent

So far the only saving grace of this assignment was that the food was nice. And even that was less about him thinking of his stomach, and more of the certain petty delight he could take in watching the careful non-expression on Illya's face every time he was forced to serve Napoleon whatever new delicacy Sebastian Charleston had laid on. They all had to work according to their own talents, and Napoleon most definitely made a better party guest than a waiter.

Though that did force him to endure Charleston's company in closer range than he would like. He was trying hard to find any redeeming qualities that the man might possess - other than refusing to work with THRUSH - and it was an uphill struggle. Drinks before dinner had been accompanied by a round of racist jokes that he'd been obliged to laugh sycophantically at in order to keep his cover, and dinner itself had included an unpleasantly vivid anecdote about a sexual encounter with a young woman who was sitting barely three places away. He was far from being a prude, but some things were just unnecessary.

It didn't help that the wine was kept topped up all through the meal. Charleston's face was becoming progressively redder, and when he called for more drink his staff scurried to obey. "What's this?" he demanded belligerently, holding up a champagne flute filled with red wine. "Who poured this?"

"I did, sir," Illya murmured, stepping forwards at once. "An accident, I'm sorry."

Napoleon blinked, because drawing attention to themselves wasn't part of the plan, and it most definitely hadn't been Illya who had poured the wine. It had been the youngest waitress...who was currently standing in the background looking terrified and relieved. Ah.

"You're sorry," Charleston snorted. "Oh, that's alright then. You're sorry." Without warning he lunged to his feet and slapped Illya hard across the face. "That's what I think of your apologies."

Napoleon tensed, but as the other guests around the table tittered disinterestedly, he forced himself to give a vacuous smile.

Illya didn't react beyond keeping his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. Only Napoleon would know just how lucky Charleston was.

Of course, the lack of reaction just seemed to spur him on. "Look at him, standing there dumbly. Do you even know what you've done wrong, boy?" He snatched the glass from the table and threw it at Illya's feet. The flinch was a little overdone to Napoleon's critical eye, but it was better than a punch. "It's like talking to a statue. Clean that up."

"Certainly, sir," Illya said. "I will go fetch a broom."

"No," Charleston disagreed. "Use your hands." There was a certain eager cruelty in his voice that Napoleon despised.

There was a fraction of a second's hesitation before Illya knelt down and started to do exactly that. And though Charleston was watching hopefully, a man who regularly played around with explosives was certainly capable of picking up a broken wine glass without cutting himself.

"You're not American," Charleston said, staring down. "Where are you from?"

"Lithuania," Illya answered.

"Eastern Europe," Charleston said dismissively. "I thought so, from the cowering." He stepped forwards and stamped on Illya's hand, pressing it down into the broken glass until the red spread out. "You're yellow, aren't you boy? And if it wasn't for us generously letting you into our country, you'd be speaking Russian right now."

Probably. Or at least swearing bitterly in it. There was a swell of patriotic muttering around him, and he raised a glass and loudly proclaimed "God Bless America," which at least managed to pull Charleston's attention back to the joys of the table and drinking.

*

"You alright?" he asked in an undertone, leaning against a wall and watching as Charleston dragged two more girls up to dance on the table with him - or rather, watching for who else was watching.

"Yes," Illya said, carrying around a tray of champagne glasses in his left hand, his right hidden away inside his jacket, although Napoleon had caught sight of blood and hastily wrapped bandages. "But I would be grateful if you could remind me that we are sworn to defend all life from THRUSH. Somehow, I find myself forgetting this evening."

Napoleon kept his eyes on Charleston. "I'm working on that one myself," he admitted. "Just remember; better him being in charge of Lasenby Shipping than some THRUSH puppet."

They paused as Charleston ripped open the bodice of one of his guest's dresses, leaving her squealing and grabbing a tablecloth to cover up.

"Upstanding pillar of the community that he is," Napoleon added with a sigh. "Any sign of our assassin?"

"So far I believe every single member of the staff wishes him dead," Illya said. "However, I suspect that's just good taste."

Yes. He wondered if Mr Waverly would accept 'We really didn't want to' as a good excuse for not foiling an assassination?

*

Illya's takedown of the last assassin was swift, brutal, and coincidentally directly in front of Sebastian Charleston. Napoleon was almost certain that he managed to do it while maintaining eye contact with the man.

“Wh...what?” Charleston stuttered, his face sheet white.

“We had orders to make sure you stay alive,” Napoleon smiled pleasantly, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder as he walked around behind him, still holding his gun in his other hand. “But that's not always going to be the case. And we don't particularly care for your personal habits, or the way you treat your employees. We're going to be watching you from now on.”

“It's possible we will come back,” Illya added seriously. “You will never know.”

It was possible that they would, but more than likely that would be if THRUSH went after Charleston again. They didn't need to share that though.

He smiled at Illya. “Dinner?”

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Nothing worse than ticking off a Kuryakin, though Napoleon wasn't far behind. Nice chilling Illya moments.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Yeah, they were both thoroughly irritated. Probably a good thing they didn't need to keep up their parts too long.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

What an odious man. He is extremely lucky Illya is a professional, and knows how to do his job. Another excellent story from you.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, incredibly lucky, as he figures out at the end there. Thanks for commenting.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Thank you for a truly excellent fic. It's all so good I can't pick out one particular bit.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Glad you liked it.

[irisheitie.livejournal.com]

Good acting, uh, er, I mean. Good writing!! Good fic with both our gentlemen keeping their feelings in check. Though, I would be personally tempted to rub it in a bit more!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks! They are professionals, after all, whatever the temptation. :)

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Ouch poor Illya, Charleston is so lucky Illya does have control of his temper--this time!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes. Fortunately by the end he's getting an idea of just how lucky he is. Thanks for commenting!