Napoleon was parched; his canteen having been drained dry hours ago.
The desert satrap seemed abandoned... was it bad intel? Illya went to check long ago.
Solo became light headed, thinking he saw a beautiful woman walking towards him. He hoped she had water, as her beauty wasn’t enough for this thirsty man.
“Napoleon, why are you grinning?”
“Oh, it’s you. I thought it was a woman bringing me water.”
“I have water but it you want to be alone with your imagination I can do that,” Illya deadpanned.
“No...no no.” Solo held out his hand for the canteen.
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