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section7mfuDisclaimer - I'm not entirely sure that this fits the brief of the challenge.
...................
Napoleon glanced at his watch and thought about how the evening should have gone. He would have been ordering dessert around now but, instead, he’d had to postpone his date. The whole evening had been planned to perfection, and the lady he’d picked to join him had been ecstatic at getting a Valentine’s date with him.
The women of U.N.C.L.E. were under no delusion about dating Napoleon Solo. To be his date was a guarantee of good food, great conversation, and plenty of dancing. If you wanted more, he was happy to oblige, if you didn’t, he behaved like the gentleman he was. Solo was a classic fly-by-night but, for the few hours you were with him, you were the most important woman on Earth. For all they were modern, emancipated women, the chance to spend an evening with him was one to be jumped at. The chance to be Napoleon Solo’s Valentine’s date was the prize they all wanted. You didn’t get love from him, but you did get attention.
The restaurant had been booked two months ago, long before Napoleon knew whether he’d even be free that evening, let alone who his date would be. He’d arranged for a dozen red roses to be presented to the lady upon arrival and had requested the best champagne to be put on ice. All of that preparation had come to nothing, but Napoleon didn’t begrudge it at all. Given the choice between a sumptuous dinner with a beautiful woman, and sitting by his injured partner’s bedside, Illya would win out every time.
“Why are you still here?” the wounded man gasped, pulling Napoleon from his thoughts, “I thought you had a date with Belinda.”
“Melinda,” Solo corrected. “And I’m here because I’m always here when you’re hurt. The same as you are when the situation is reversed. How do you feel?”
“Like I was hit by a car,” Illya replied, smiling at his attempt at humour.
He had indeed been hit by a car that morning. The agent had been chasing a Thrush courier, through the busy streets of the city, on foot. With his eyes on the quarry, the normally observant Kuryakin had darted across the street without looking.
“I am hurting,” he clarified, “But you know I will be fine. You did not need to postpone your date.”
“Melinda didn’t mind,” Napoleon assured him. “Plus, I had to postpone before I knew you were going to be fine.”
“But, isn’t Valentine’s Day a high holiday in the Solo calendar?” Illya asked. “Surely your powers of seduction are at their maximum on this day. I thought the woman picked for this particular day was always a special one.”
“They’re all special,” the American replied. “As for it being Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t really mean anything to me personally. If the day should come that I meet ‘the one’ then it may take on meaning.”
“Do you think you ever will meet the woman who could get the great Napoleon Solo to settle down?”
“Never say never, Tovarisch. Though, in our line of work it doesn’t pay to think about ‘happy ever after’.”
“This is true,” Illya agreed. “Although . . .”
“Although what?” Solo prompted, after a few seconds of silence.
“I would like to marry one day,” the Russian said, eventually.
“Is this the pain relief talking?” Napoleon asked in mock shock.
Illya shot him an icy look before a soft, half-smile appeared on his lips.
“It may be the pain relief, but I truly do dream of a day when I have a wife and children. Family is everything to a Russian and, as I am the last of my line, it would be heartening to know that my name will live on. But of course, a dream is all it is. As you say, it does not pay to imagine ‘happy ever after’.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………….
TEN YEARS LATER
“Ready, Tovarisch?”
“Da,” the other man replied, as he and Napoleon stood.
They both turned as the bride entered and a broad smile spread across Illya’s face. As the love of his life walked towards him, he thought back to a conversation a decade earlier.
“Maybe happy ever after is possible after all,” he said to his friend.
“No arguments there,” Napoleon replied, as he looked over to his own wife.
.
...................
Napoleon glanced at his watch and thought about how the evening should have gone. He would have been ordering dessert around now but, instead, he’d had to postpone his date. The whole evening had been planned to perfection, and the lady he’d picked to join him had been ecstatic at getting a Valentine’s date with him.
The women of U.N.C.L.E. were under no delusion about dating Napoleon Solo. To be his date was a guarantee of good food, great conversation, and plenty of dancing. If you wanted more, he was happy to oblige, if you didn’t, he behaved like the gentleman he was. Solo was a classic fly-by-night but, for the few hours you were with him, you were the most important woman on Earth. For all they were modern, emancipated women, the chance to spend an evening with him was one to be jumped at. The chance to be Napoleon Solo’s Valentine’s date was the prize they all wanted. You didn’t get love from him, but you did get attention.
The restaurant had been booked two months ago, long before Napoleon knew whether he’d even be free that evening, let alone who his date would be. He’d arranged for a dozen red roses to be presented to the lady upon arrival and had requested the best champagne to be put on ice. All of that preparation had come to nothing, but Napoleon didn’t begrudge it at all. Given the choice between a sumptuous dinner with a beautiful woman, and sitting by his injured partner’s bedside, Illya would win out every time.
“Why are you still here?” the wounded man gasped, pulling Napoleon from his thoughts, “I thought you had a date with Belinda.”
“Melinda,” Solo corrected. “And I’m here because I’m always here when you’re hurt. The same as you are when the situation is reversed. How do you feel?”
“Like I was hit by a car,” Illya replied, smiling at his attempt at humour.
He had indeed been hit by a car that morning. The agent had been chasing a Thrush courier, through the busy streets of the city, on foot. With his eyes on the quarry, the normally observant Kuryakin had darted across the street without looking.
“I am hurting,” he clarified, “But you know I will be fine. You did not need to postpone your date.”
“Melinda didn’t mind,” Napoleon assured him. “Plus, I had to postpone before I knew you were going to be fine.”
“But, isn’t Valentine’s Day a high holiday in the Solo calendar?” Illya asked. “Surely your powers of seduction are at their maximum on this day. I thought the woman picked for this particular day was always a special one.”
“They’re all special,” the American replied. “As for it being Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t really mean anything to me personally. If the day should come that I meet ‘the one’ then it may take on meaning.”
“Do you think you ever will meet the woman who could get the great Napoleon Solo to settle down?”
“Never say never, Tovarisch. Though, in our line of work it doesn’t pay to think about ‘happy ever after’.”
“This is true,” Illya agreed. “Although . . .”
“Although what?” Solo prompted, after a few seconds of silence.
“I would like to marry one day,” the Russian said, eventually.
“Is this the pain relief talking?” Napoleon asked in mock shock.
Illya shot him an icy look before a soft, half-smile appeared on his lips.
“It may be the pain relief, but I truly do dream of a day when I have a wife and children. Family is everything to a Russian and, as I am the last of my line, it would be heartening to know that my name will live on. But of course, a dream is all it is. As you say, it does not pay to imagine ‘happy ever after’.”
……………………………………………………………………………………………….
TEN YEARS LATER
“Ready, Tovarisch?”
“Da,” the other man replied, as he and Napoleon stood.
They both turned as the bride entered and a broad smile spread across Illya’s face. As the love of his life walked towards him, he thought back to a conversation a decade earlier.
“Maybe happy ever after is possible after all,” he said to his friend.
“No arguments there,” Napoleon replied, as he looked over to his own wife.
.
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no subject
Date: 2017-02-12 11:31 pm (UTC)"To be his date was a guarantee of good food, great conversation, and plenty of dancing. If you wanted more, he was happy to oblige, if you didn’t, he behaved like the gentleman he was. Solo was a classic fly-by-night but, for the few hours you were with him, you were the most important woman on Earth. "
If there were ever a more perfect description of Napoleon and how he treats women, this is it.
Well done cuz! (Am glad someone else posted for this challenge)
no subject
Date: 2017-02-12 11:48 pm (UTC)I'm not one for all the lovey-dovey saccharine sweet stuff so I wadn't sure if this would fit.
There's no denying that Napoleon is a serial womaniser, but I've alwsys believed that he respected the women hd dated. I like to think that he gets his enjoyment by giving a woman what she wants.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-12 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 08:01 pm (UTC)I don't really do the mushy side of Valentine's.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 10:10 pm (UTC)I told you it was something different.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-13 10:10 pm (UTC)