Not So Sweet - HODOWE challenge - Sweetest Day

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

"Sweets for sweetest day, mister?" the pretty blonde standing outside headquarters smiled at Napoleon innocently, holding out a tray of little boxes of chocolates, wrapped in silver foil and topped off with a delicate pink ribbon.

"Sweetest day, huh?" he asked as he took one, giving her an admiring look.

"Yes," she nodded vigorously. "We're giving out free samples for a new chocolatier's that's opening just down the block - Kimbles. He makes the best chocolates. The pineapple cream is amazing, I can't stop eating them."

"I can see that," he agreed, with an eye on her upper lip. "You know you've got a little...there."

"Oh! Thank you," she blushed. "I'm going to get in trouble, I've got another three blocks to cover before eleven. See you later."

He certainly hoped so. Contemplatively weighing the chocolates in his hand, he made his way inside. He'd half thought of giving them to Brenda at the desk, but by the looks of things, four other people had got there first and, by the expression on her face, it hadn't brightened her day one bit.

"Here," she snapped, thrusting his badge out at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she huffed. "I'm just fed up with this 'sweetest day' nonsense."

Ah. Wisely, he took his leave and waited until he was well out of sight before popping a piece of candy in his mouth. The girl had been right; the pineapple creams were delicious.

*

By the time he got to his office his good mood had all-but-evaporated, not least because he'd had to walk right through the middle of Carl and Mary Lou having a blazing row, right out in the corridor. They'd been dating for a while now, and they'd seemed so happy last week. He'd half been expecting Carl to ask for a transfer away from Section II. Just went to show...something.

He sighed, irritated to realise that there was no sign of Illya. They had a meeting in twenty minutes. As if he didn't have better things to do with his time than chase down his missing partner. Viciously he kicked the waste paper basket, but it didn't provide more than a fleeting second of satisfaction.

After hunting through the commissary, he eventually found Illya in his lab, apparently dissecting a piece of candy, like he didn't have a care in the world. How childish; his lip curled and, all patience evaporated, he let the door slam shut behind him. "What are you doing?" he demanded coldly.

Illya blinked up at him. "Someone was giving these away outside. I found it mildly suspicious and so thought I would check it out."

"Suspicious?" he repeated, exasperated. "It's for sweetest day. One of those holidays invented to make the retailers as much money as possible. I would have thought you would have already known all about it so you could properly rail against our decadent capitalist ways."

"Are you feeling alright, my friend?" Illya asked slowly.

Napoleon ignored him, solely focused on the taste of anger in his mouth. Illya was too calm, and it was infuriating. Deliberately so, he was sure. "It's free food, comrade, I would have thought that would be right up your alley. Why do you always have to be so suspicious?"

And now, even worse, Illya wasn't even listening to him, his eyes fixed on Napoleon's pocket where a piece of the pink ribbon from the candy was barely visible. "You took a sample? And now.... Napoleon, I need to test that wrapper."

"Paranoid soviet bastard," Napoleon snarled, just for the pleasure of seeing Illya's face go still. "What did I ever do to get stuck with you? Oh, that's right, I drew the short straw because no one else wants to work with you. The dour, shortass communist with no imagination and stupid hair - "

" - Napoleon," Illya cut in sharply, holding his hands up placatingly. "You are not yourself. I would suggest you stop talking now and sit down until -"

Not willing to listen to him talk a second longer, Napoleon punched him right in the face, as hard as he could, and somehow even the way his wretched partner stumbled back, and the split-second look of shock and hurt was enough to induce even more anger, and he threw himself into the fight wholeheartedly, punching and kicking, and ignoring all of Illya's attempts to talk to him.

"Napoleon, there was something in the candy.....this is drug induced....you need to concentrate. Try and think past it...fight it."

They knocked back against a bench covered in glass pipes and beakers, which smashed all around them, and he took advantage of the moment to snatch up a long piece of sharp glass and slash out with it, unfortunately only getting Illya's arm - for the moment anyway.

"Enough," Illya said, vaulting back over the bench. "Sorry," he said regretfully as Napoleon made to follow, and the last thing Napoleon saw before he passed out was his partner drawing his gun and firing.

*

He woke in medical, in restraints. The memories came flooding back almost immediately and he groaned and closed his eyes, hoping that maybe he could just wish the world away.

"Ah, you are awake," Illya said brightly - and inevitably - from the chair beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"

“Not angry,” he offered, rolling his head around to look, and wincing to see the bruises across Illya's face and the bandage around his arm. “It was the candy?”

Illya nodded. “A derivative of phencyclidine, causing aggression. It was being handed out by a girl on the street – a pretty one, no doubt, as you fell for it.”

He jerked around, remembering. “She said she was going to hand them out all over the neighbourhood!”

“It's okay,” Illya said reassuringly. “Only people going into our building were targeted. And in our highly professional and secretive organisation, almost a hundred people happily took candy from strangers.”

Wonderful. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“Fortunately, no,” Illya said, and Napoleon breathed easier. “It seems that it was primarily the support staff who took the candy. You were the only one who went for a weapon. Well, except for Brenda. She grabbed a fire extinguisher and went after four members of Section III who will be putting in expense claims for some extremely foamy suits.”

Suddenly he was glad he hadn't tried to pass the time with her. “What does Mr Waverly say?” he asked and some of that was apprehension and some of it was not quite being ready to confront the rest of reality.

“Ah....” Illya said slowly.

“Ah?” he repeated, frowning.

“He took a piece of candy that Sophie offered him,” Illya explained.

Napoleon's imagination ground to a screeching halt. “I'm glad I was unconscious for that,” he said fervently.

“I envy you.”

They lapsed into silence for a couple of moments before Napoleon took a deep breath. “Illya...I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean anything I said.”

“Mmmm.” Illya said, his face betraying nothing.

“It was the drug,” he tried. “All those things I said...that's not how I think of you.”

“Oh, I know that,” Illya said. “The drug did not push you into revealing deep truths, you were simply trying to hurt me.”

And that was bad enough. “I'm sorry.”

“Look at it this way, “Illya said with a sigh, leaning forwards. “It would have been worse had you targeted anyone other than me.”

“Well, certainly, if I have to go into a murderous rage with anyone, I'm glad it was you,” he said lightly, and that was true. Because when he imagined feeling that kind of anger with someone else, when he imagined lashing out at them as he had at Illya, his blood ran cold. An odd sign of friendship, perhaps, but at least he knew that Illya could cope with it....and forgive.

“It was not your fault,” Illya told him. “It's not a problem, I will get over it.”

“Thanks,” he said, and he knew the guilt would be eating away at him for a while.

And speaking of eating....as he watched, Illya picked up a box of candies and popped one in his mouth.

Napoleon stared. “Uh.....tovarisch?”

“Do not worry,” Illya said serenely. “These were handmade by Lucy and delivered to you for sweetest day.”

“To me?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Illya nodded, mouth full. “Yes,” he said. “But in the circumstances, and considering the meaning of the holiday, I assumed you would be intending to share.”

“Just to remind you, sharing is the one where something is offered,” he said. “Stealing is the one where it's just taken.”

“Hmmm.” Illya pursed his lips. “As you can imagine, a dour communist with no imagination and stupid hair does not properly appreciate the distinction.”

“I thought you had forgiven me?” he pointed out.

“Just because I have forgiven you does not mean I cannot hold a grudge,” Illya said.

He stared. “And just to remind you, that's not what forgiveness means...are you going to let me out of here, hmmm?” He rattled the restraints meaningfully.

“No,” Illya said calmly, eating another candy.

“Illya....Illya...”

Comments

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you. Yeah, I try to spread out the funny lines between them, but I think there's something about imagining DM's tone of voice that makes him easier to write for.