section7mfu | More Alike Than Different - Pic fic Tuesday

When April Dancer and Illya Kuryakin entered the Turkish café, there were three veiled girls dancing their way around the room. The three were dressed in near identical costumes comprising of diaphanous harem pants, fringed bra, sequined yashmak and a jewel in their navels. Above the veil, each had heavy kohl around the eyes, which accentuated their sultriness. The only real difference was the colour of each woman’s costume; with one being in red, another in blue, and the third in green.

The two agents found themselves a free table and were instantly attended by a waiter. They ordered coffee and turned their attention to the dancers. Their contact was the woman in blue.

“Do you have the copy?” April asked.

Illya nodded, and opened his hand to show her.

“Not that I’m complaining about your company, Illya, but I would have thought Napoleon would jump at the chance of watching these dancers.”

Illya smiled a little and agreed.

“Mr Waverly was well aware of that fact, which is why I was chosen to be your ‘husband’ for this mission,” he told her. “He thought that I would be more able to act like a married man.”

“I don’t understand,” April replied. “Married men aren’t immune to the charms of beautiful women. They often get caught looking at other women by their wives.”

“There is a world of difference between having a sly look and sitting with your tongue hanging out.”

“Oh, Illya,” April giggled. “He isn’t as bad as all that.”

“Maybe not,” the Russian conceded. “But he can be a little too obvious at times.”

April considered what Illya had said. Napoleon was an exceptional agent, but his libido had gotten himself into trouble on more than one occasion. The CEA’s partner probably was a better choice. Of course, she wasn’t naïve. Illya may not be led by his libido as much as Napoleon, but neither was he a monk.

The waiter returned with their coffees, and the pair were careful to position the cups so the handles pointed into the room. It was the signal to alert their contact of their presence. The woman made eye contact with them and offered a barely perceptible nod. Not wishing to make anything obvious, the dancer took her time making her way towards them. It only took a few minutes, but for Illya time seemed to slow.

She was absolutely mesmerising. Her eyes were almost a match for his in colour and the dark make-up did its job of intensifying that colour. April could barely suppress a smile as she watched her ‘husband’s’ reaction to the woman’s swaying hips.

Eventually, the dancer reached the agent’s table where the jewel in her navel came unstuck and rolled under the table. It came to rest by Illya’s feet. He immediately reached down and surreptitiously swapped it for the one in his hand. The handover had been made, and U.N.C.L.E. was now in possession of a microdot containing the locations of several Turkish satrapies.

Illya handed the replacement jewel to the dancer, who thanked him and moved away. He watched intently as she placed the jewel into her navel. Suddenly seeming to remember himself, Illya tore his eyes away and turned to April. She was grinning at him.

“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked. The mission was a success so far, but it didn’t warrant such a reaction.

“I was just thinking,” April replied. “You and Napoleon are sometimes quite alike.”

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