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section7mfuShort Affair 9/19
Prompt: Happy Birthday, Illya Kuryakin!
Title: Bits and Birthdays
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~1000
This version is slightly abridged; I went slightly over the word limit in the original draft, which you can read on my personal journal or tumblr/AO3. Also, the reference to the cufflinks is from this previous short affair piece.
1961
For the birthday that Illya had spent in New York in 1960, his partner had given him a set of monogrammed silver cufflinks. Though Illya had been embarrassed at being given such an expensive gift, he had also been quite touched.
Illya had expected that, as it was the first year of their partnership and that Napoleon was merely trying to make him feel welcome. The Russian had assumed that subsequent birthdays would be treated with far less fanfare.
How wrong he was. Napoleon Solo never did anything understated.
It wasn’t enough that Napoleon got him a new tuxedo, but only Napoleon Solo would have brought mannequin and all into the apartment, causing Illya to draw his Special upon entering and thinking it to be an intruder at first glance—stopping moments from firing as he saw the mannequin holding up a garishly-colored sign—
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ILLYA KURYAKIN
It’s only after he picked his jaw up off the floor that it occurred to Illya to thank his cackling partner—and then give him a good chewing out for the practical joke.
1965
They were in the middle of a mission that year during the time Illya’s birthday rolled around. Over the last few years, Napoleon would treat Illya to a day and evening out on the town with whatever food the Russian desired before presenting him with his annual gift (the last three years had been a sports coat, a Rolex watch, and a gold-plated fountain pen). This year, the mission took precedence, and Napoleon was more than a little vexed.
“You needn’t worry, Napoleon,” Illya had been saying. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“It’s not the same, is it?”
“Napoleon, until you started insisting upon it, I never celebrated my birthdays. I only let you do these things because you seem to derive quite a bit of enjoyment from them.”
“And I do,” Napoleon said. “…Which is why I’m glad I thought ahead.”
He handed Illya a small box with a platinum-plated tie clasp within.
“…Thank you, Napoleon.”
“Sure. And we’ll get that day out on the town as soon as this affair is over.”
Illya knew it was pointless to argue; he’d just have to enjoy it. And he knew he would; all he needed was Napoleon’s company.
1970
Illya didn’t celebrate his birthday that year. He had been convinced that he was never going to celebrate his birthday ever again.
Napoleon had gone missing for over a week; he had been heading home from a successful mission on a ship that had been targeted by a THRUSH submarine attack. The ship had gone down, and with no word from Napoleon since the sinking, Illya’s hopes had shattered.
Illya had spent his birthday alone in the apartment, lost in his own thoughts and memories of his partner. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t prepared; the very nature of their work was such that one or both of them could have had their lives snuffed out in an instant. But that didn’t mean that it would have been easy on the one left behind.
Illya hadn’t paid attention to the time; he only noticed the sky outside as it darkened to night. He didn’t feel like moving from the couch; perhaps he would just fall asleep here…
He froze as he heard the key turn in the front door. He grabbed his Special—and nearly dropped his weapon in shock as Napoleon Solo staggered into the living room. His clothes were in pitiful shape, and he was visibly bruised all over—with a gash on his right temple. Despite that, he still seemed to look almost as flawless as always—especially when he managed a grin as he looked at Illya.
“It’s 11:58—I made it!” he declared, holding up a wrapped present. “Guess we’ll have to take another rain check on the day out on the town, though. Happy--”
He was cut off as Illya crossed the room with an expression in his eyes so unreadable that Napoleon wasn’t sure if he was coming in for a hug or to punch him in the face.
Fortunately, it was the former.
1980
Life after U.N.C.L.E. took a lot of getting used to, but Illya couldn’t deny—especially after the scare in 1970—that he was glad that he and Napoleon had both lived to retirement. But while their private eye business managed to bring them some work, there were still vexing lulls in the action.
But one thing hadn’t changed; Napoleon’s zeal to provide gifts for Illya whenever his birthday rolled around. And so, it was with some amount of amusement that Illya accepted the tiny box that Napoleon handed him that year. The blond arched an eyebrow as he found a set of keys.
“Happy Birthday, Illya,” Napoleon said, with a grin. “I know you’ve been bored lately with our clientele having slowed down, so I got you a new project to work on—a new ride. It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but you’ve got the time now to work on it…”
He silently indicated the window, and Illya slipped into his mother tongue as he caught sight of the old vintage Morgan parked outside. It was in need of repair and restoration, but, as Napoleon had hoped, it was a project that Illya would gladly spend time on.
“Napoleon…” he began, but he trailed off. Sentimental words didn’t come easy to him. “Spacibo.”
There was so much more in those two words than just gratitude for the car—it encompassed years of partnership, years of struggling and suffering and surviving together just to make the world a little bit better, years of mutual trust and love and concern, years of watching each other’s backs and saving each other’s lives…
And as Napoleon drew an arm around his shoulders, Illya knew that the message was received and understood—and returned.
It was one thing that had remained constant over the past twenty years.
Prompt: Happy Birthday, Illya Kuryakin!
Title: Bits and Birthdays
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~1000
This version is slightly abridged; I went slightly over the word limit in the original draft, which you can read on my personal journal or tumblr/AO3. Also, the reference to the cufflinks is from this previous short affair piece.
For the birthday that Illya had spent in New York in 1960, his partner had given him a set of monogrammed silver cufflinks. Though Illya had been embarrassed at being given such an expensive gift, he had also been quite touched.
Illya had expected that, as it was the first year of their partnership and that Napoleon was merely trying to make him feel welcome. The Russian had assumed that subsequent birthdays would be treated with far less fanfare.
How wrong he was. Napoleon Solo never did anything understated.
It wasn’t enough that Napoleon got him a new tuxedo, but only Napoleon Solo would have brought mannequin and all into the apartment, causing Illya to draw his Special upon entering and thinking it to be an intruder at first glance—stopping moments from firing as he saw the mannequin holding up a garishly-colored sign—
It’s only after he picked his jaw up off the floor that it occurred to Illya to thank his cackling partner—and then give him a good chewing out for the practical joke.
They were in the middle of a mission that year during the time Illya’s birthday rolled around. Over the last few years, Napoleon would treat Illya to a day and evening out on the town with whatever food the Russian desired before presenting him with his annual gift (the last three years had been a sports coat, a Rolex watch, and a gold-plated fountain pen). This year, the mission took precedence, and Napoleon was more than a little vexed.
“You needn’t worry, Napoleon,” Illya had been saying. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“It’s not the same, is it?”
“Napoleon, until you started insisting upon it, I never celebrated my birthdays. I only let you do these things because you seem to derive quite a bit of enjoyment from them.”
“And I do,” Napoleon said. “…Which is why I’m glad I thought ahead.”
He handed Illya a small box with a platinum-plated tie clasp within.
“…Thank you, Napoleon.”
“Sure. And we’ll get that day out on the town as soon as this affair is over.”
Illya knew it was pointless to argue; he’d just have to enjoy it. And he knew he would; all he needed was Napoleon’s company.
Illya didn’t celebrate his birthday that year. He had been convinced that he was never going to celebrate his birthday ever again.
Napoleon had gone missing for over a week; he had been heading home from a successful mission on a ship that had been targeted by a THRUSH submarine attack. The ship had gone down, and with no word from Napoleon since the sinking, Illya’s hopes had shattered.
Illya had spent his birthday alone in the apartment, lost in his own thoughts and memories of his partner. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t prepared; the very nature of their work was such that one or both of them could have had their lives snuffed out in an instant. But that didn’t mean that it would have been easy on the one left behind.
Illya hadn’t paid attention to the time; he only noticed the sky outside as it darkened to night. He didn’t feel like moving from the couch; perhaps he would just fall asleep here…
He froze as he heard the key turn in the front door. He grabbed his Special—and nearly dropped his weapon in shock as Napoleon Solo staggered into the living room. His clothes were in pitiful shape, and he was visibly bruised all over—with a gash on his right temple. Despite that, he still seemed to look almost as flawless as always—especially when he managed a grin as he looked at Illya.
“It’s 11:58—I made it!” he declared, holding up a wrapped present. “Guess we’ll have to take another rain check on the day out on the town, though. Happy--”
He was cut off as Illya crossed the room with an expression in his eyes so unreadable that Napoleon wasn’t sure if he was coming in for a hug or to punch him in the face.
Fortunately, it was the former.
Life after U.N.C.L.E. took a lot of getting used to, but Illya couldn’t deny—especially after the scare in 1970—that he was glad that he and Napoleon had both lived to retirement. But while their private eye business managed to bring them some work, there were still vexing lulls in the action.
But one thing hadn’t changed; Napoleon’s zeal to provide gifts for Illya whenever his birthday rolled around. And so, it was with some amount of amusement that Illya accepted the tiny box that Napoleon handed him that year. The blond arched an eyebrow as he found a set of keys.
“Happy Birthday, Illya,” Napoleon said, with a grin. “I know you’ve been bored lately with our clientele having slowed down, so I got you a new project to work on—a new ride. It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but you’ve got the time now to work on it…”
He silently indicated the window, and Illya slipped into his mother tongue as he caught sight of the old vintage Morgan parked outside. It was in need of repair and restoration, but, as Napoleon had hoped, it was a project that Illya would gladly spend time on.
“Napoleon…” he began, but he trailed off. Sentimental words didn’t come easy to him. “Spacibo.”
There was so much more in those two words than just gratitude for the car—it encompassed years of partnership, years of struggling and suffering and surviving together just to make the world a little bit better, years of mutual trust and love and concern, years of watching each other’s backs and saving each other’s lives…
And as Napoleon drew an arm around his shoulders, Illya knew that the message was received and understood—and returned.
It was one thing that had remained constant over the past twenty years.
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Date: 2016-09-19 06:23 pm (UTC)I love the idea of their running a pi firm.
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Date: 2016-09-19 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-19 09:09 pm (UTC)Thanks! I just can't accept the whole 15 Years Later thing; they wouldn't just break contact like that. So I rejected that reality and substituted my own.
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Date: 2016-09-19 09:10 pm (UTC)And yes!