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section7mfuShort Affair 7/25
Prompt: Ribbon
Color: Silver
Title: Token of Appreciation
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~590
Birthdays had never been a cause for Illya to celebrate things—not since the war, anyway; he just barely remembered his childhood birthdays before the war, after they had moved from his father’s native Russia to his mother’s native Ukraine, and how his mother, father, and mother’s mother managed to scrape together the money for sweets and larger meals than what they usually ate. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Illya.
Then the war broke out, and everything changed; the last Illya had ever seen of his family was when the Germans had surrounded Kiev in 1941, and his mother had screamed at him to run for his life and find somewhere safe to hide. He had been just a child then, scared and frightened—and from that day on, alone; he had found out later that his family had been among the civilian casualties, and he was now the last of the Kuryakin bloodline.
Birthdays meant nothing to him after that; there was no one to celebrate with—and Illya saw no need to broadcast his date of birth, either. And so, it had been a surprise to him when, on his birthday in 1960, after eight months at U.N.C.L.E. New York, he walked into the office he shared with his partner Napoleon and saw a small box with a tiny ribbon wrapped around it lying on his desk.
Illya looked around for Napoleon, but he was nowhere in sight. The Russian shrugged and gently pulled the ribbon off of the box and opened it.
His jaw dropped to see a pair of sterling silver cufflinks, each with “I.N.K.” engraved on them.
“Oh, you found them!” Napoleon said from behind him, as he entered the office. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Here’s a card, too!”
“Napoleon…!” Illya exclaimed. “I don’t understand…!”
“It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Napoleon asked, tilting his head slightly. “I thought I saw the date in your file.”
“It is, but…” Illya held up the cufflinks. “These… These were not necessary, Napoleon. I cannot accept these; they are far too expensive!”
“…They’re engraved, Illya; I can’t exactly return them. Look, just take them; I got them for you. I mean, come on; you’ve gotten birthday presents before, right?”
Illya didn’t reply; he looked away in embarrassment, and the smile faded from Napoleon’s face as the realization sunk in.
“…You haven’t,” he said, his heart sinking slightly as he realized he had embarrassed his partner—which was the last thing he had wanted to do. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry you don’t like the cufflinks. Maybe I can try to see if they’ll take them back--”
“Nyet!” Illya said. “It isn’t that I do not like them! They are very lovely, Napoleon, and I thank you for them! But I just… cannot understand why you would spend so much money on me on something that isn’t a necessity!”
“Because I wanted to!” Napoleon said. He silently reminded himself of Illya’s Spartan apartment—how the Russian had only the bare necessities, while he, Napoleon, had as many frills as he could afford in his apartment next door. “You really do like them, then?”
“Da,” Illya said, with a smile. “I… I only hope I can return the favor someday…”
“You don’t have to, Illya; it’s a gift, not a loan,” Napoleon said, with a smile. “Come on; let’s see how they look on you…”
And Illya smiled back as he tried them on. They did look nice—and money aside, the sentiment behind them made them twice as valuable to him.
Prompt: Ribbon
Color: Silver
Title: Token of Appreciation
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~590
Birthdays had never been a cause for Illya to celebrate things—not since the war, anyway; he just barely remembered his childhood birthdays before the war, after they had moved from his father’s native Russia to his mother’s native Ukraine, and how his mother, father, and mother’s mother managed to scrape together the money for sweets and larger meals than what they usually ate. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Illya.
Then the war broke out, and everything changed; the last Illya had ever seen of his family was when the Germans had surrounded Kiev in 1941, and his mother had screamed at him to run for his life and find somewhere safe to hide. He had been just a child then, scared and frightened—and from that day on, alone; he had found out later that his family had been among the civilian casualties, and he was now the last of the Kuryakin bloodline.
Birthdays meant nothing to him after that; there was no one to celebrate with—and Illya saw no need to broadcast his date of birth, either. And so, it had been a surprise to him when, on his birthday in 1960, after eight months at U.N.C.L.E. New York, he walked into the office he shared with his partner Napoleon and saw a small box with a tiny ribbon wrapped around it lying on his desk.
Illya looked around for Napoleon, but he was nowhere in sight. The Russian shrugged and gently pulled the ribbon off of the box and opened it.
His jaw dropped to see a pair of sterling silver cufflinks, each with “I.N.K.” engraved on them.
“Oh, you found them!” Napoleon said from behind him, as he entered the office. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Here’s a card, too!”
“Napoleon…!” Illya exclaimed. “I don’t understand…!”
“It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Napoleon asked, tilting his head slightly. “I thought I saw the date in your file.”
“It is, but…” Illya held up the cufflinks. “These… These were not necessary, Napoleon. I cannot accept these; they are far too expensive!”
“…They’re engraved, Illya; I can’t exactly return them. Look, just take them; I got them for you. I mean, come on; you’ve gotten birthday presents before, right?”
Illya didn’t reply; he looked away in embarrassment, and the smile faded from Napoleon’s face as the realization sunk in.
“…You haven’t,” he said, his heart sinking slightly as he realized he had embarrassed his partner—which was the last thing he had wanted to do. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry you don’t like the cufflinks. Maybe I can try to see if they’ll take them back--”
“Nyet!” Illya said. “It isn’t that I do not like them! They are very lovely, Napoleon, and I thank you for them! But I just… cannot understand why you would spend so much money on me on something that isn’t a necessity!”
“Because I wanted to!” Napoleon said. He silently reminded himself of Illya’s Spartan apartment—how the Russian had only the bare necessities, while he, Napoleon, had as many frills as he could afford in his apartment next door. “You really do like them, then?”
“Da,” Illya said, with a smile. “I… I only hope I can return the favor someday…”
“You don’t have to, Illya; it’s a gift, not a loan,” Napoleon said, with a smile. “Come on; let’s see how they look on you…”
And Illya smiled back as he tried them on. They did look nice—and money aside, the sentiment behind them made them twice as valuable to him.
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