Annoying Russian - Short Affair - Nov 9th

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(This piece definitely needs expanding I think. I’ll have to add it to the pile.)


Prompts –Annoy/Grey
Word Count (approx.) - 545


Napoleon was aware that he was late but, given that he and Illya didn’t need to be at the airport for another two hours, he didn’t feel the need to rush. To be honest, the less time he spent around his new Russian partner the happier he was. There was no denying that the man was brilliant and efficient, but he was just so cold and aloof. It jarred against his own outgoing and gregarious personality. When you got right down to it, Illya Kuryakin was annoying.

The whole Soviet issue didn’t really concern Napoleon. Admittedly, it had initially been a problem, but he figured that if Waverly trusted the man not to be a Kremlin spy, then that was good enough for him. The problem was, the new partnership didn’t seem to gel. Napoleon needed to know that Kuryakin had his back, but there was something about the quiet and reserved blond which made him think he might not.

As he pulled up in front of Illya’s building, Napoleon couldn’t fail to notice him check his watch.

“You’re late,” Illya stated pointedly, as he got into the car.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Solo replied, equally as pointedly. “We’ve got more than enough time.”

Illya rolled his eyes. Of all the things which annoyed Napoleon about Kuryakin, and there were many, the eye roll was the worst. This partnership definitely wasn’t going to stay the course. All good teams had to have a closeness. It was necessary to be able to read the other’s body language and to anticipate their next move. Napoleon simply couldn’t see that closeness developing between the two of them. He vowed to himself that he would appeal to Mr Waverly as soon as they returned from the mission and have Illya reassigned.


……………………………………………………………………………..


Five years later

Illya was not a good colour. Nobody living should be that shade of grey, yet he was still clinging to life. Sitting by the injured agent’s bedside, Napoleon thought back to the events which had brought him to medical.

He knew he was to blame. If he hadn’t been flirting with the waitress, he would have seen the THRUSH gunman himself. Instead, Illya’s sixth sense had picked up on the man’s presence and, having no time to draw his own weapon, had thrown himself in front of Napoleon. If it hadn’t been for him, Napoleon would be dead. Not for the first time either. He suddenly laughed, causing the nurse give him a strange look. Completely unbidden, the memory of a day five years previously had come to mind.

Napoleon had tried every tactic he knew to get Illya taken off his hands, but Waverly would have none of it. The chief was apparently convinced they would make an effective team. As it turned out, the wily old fox had been right. The two men were not only the best team in U.N.C.L.E. history, but had formed an exceptionally strong friendship. Okay, so Illya still annoyed the hell out of him at times, but he always preferred to have him in the field with him than without.

“Come on you annoyingly stubborn Russian,” he coaxed, as he saw Illya’s eyelids flickering. “I need someone I really trust to have my back.”

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Short Stories for Tuesday, February 9, 2016

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