Something was amiss...
Illya had not heard from Napoleon at all for several days. Granted they had time off and had gone their separate ways, as the two of them were not joined at the hip and did enjoy time to themselves. Yet not to hear from him just once was not like the American...
The partners did have very different ideas of what constituted leisure activities and Illya having been invited to go with his partner to some tropical paradise, where gorgeous women abounded, declined the honor.
The Russian had chosen a destination with a cooler climate much more to his liking. He planned to do some sightseeing, and the only date he had was with a good book, and some nice dinners planned all to himself, with no comments about him being a dull boy, or his eating habits being the brunt of an ongoing joke.
Illya was indulging himself in western decadence, and was going to enjoy every minute of it, alone.
Feminine companionship, unlike his partner, was not his ultimate goal, but that wasn't to say he'd not be open to it if the opportunity presented itself. He wasn't a monk after all, though Napoleon seemed to think he was at times and was constantly trying to set him up with dates.
Their tastes in women differed as much as their choices in vacation spots...
Solo was his best friend, a brother for all intents and purposes, but everyone needed to get away from their family once in a while. Illya surprised himself, never thinking he'd feel that way, having lost his real family during the Great Patriotic war. He had to admit though, it was good not to have Napoleon around as there was no banter, witty repartee, sniping, practical jokes, and no testosterone based competition between the two of them.
Illya sighed, suddenly realizing he missed the American, and that's when he decided to contact Napoleon via communicator; his worries about his partner would be assuaged once he heard his voice.
In spite of his misgivings, Illya tried to convince himself that Napoleon was having quite the time, no doubt, with a fair number of women, though he knew it was not all about sex for his partner.
With Napoleon it was part of a whole process of getting a woman into bed with him. Proper steps had to be taken; there had to be the hand kissing, the wooing, wining, dining and dancing. It was all part of the Solo style, and perhaps one of several reasons why women flocked to the American, his charisma, devilishly handsome good looks, and his purported sexual prowess in bed not withstanding. Napoleon was a class act no matter what the circumstance, and was always the gentleman when it came to women, even with the likes of Angelique La Chien.
The thought of that woman, however, made Illya's skin crawl.
Granted if a woman practically threw herself at Napoleon, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth; though he preferred taking a leisurely journey to his ultimate destination with her and that included the beautiful THRUSH agent, thought going to bed with her was often the prelude to information sharing...sometimes.
Napoleon enjoyed the thrill, a flirtation with danger of sorts when it came to sleeping with Angelique, and he readily admitted it...
.
Illya tried contacting his partner on channel F but there was no answer. Fine...Napoleon was having a good time that's what Illya told himself in spite of his worries, yet still he tried again and again, but there was nothing.
Yes, something was amiss, he was sure of it now.
There wasn't a thing that Kuryakin could do about it at the moment; they were both off duty and if he tried contacting headquarters, they would probably act as though he had two heads. His worrying about Solo while he was away on vacation would again stir up those ridiculous rumors about the two of them No, better to take a 'wait and see' attitude and keep his fingers crossed, even though his instincts, his sensory 'gifts' told him otherwise.
Illya reminded himself repeatedly like a mantra, "It is only a vacation. He is having a good time...It is only a vacation. He is having a good time."
His communicator chirped loudly the next morning as the Russian was on board a small tour boat in the Bering Straits not far off the coast of Alaska. This and been one his old territories from when he served in the Russian navy on board the submarine the Moskva, and what seemed like so long ago.
He was taking an opportunity to enjoy something he never really had the time to do while serving on board the sub, and that was whale watching.
He ducked out of sight, opening his communicator, speaking softly to avoid drawing any attention to himself. The whales were serving as a good distraction to the other passengers...
"Kuryakin here."
"Hey tovarisch how's it going?"
"Napoleon please tell me you are all right? There was obvious air of excitement, yet a tone of relief in his voice.
"I am, sort of..."
Solo's hesitation led Illya to immediately jump to conclusions.
"I knew it! My instincts told me there was something wrong with you. Let me guess,THRUSH?"
Napoleon laughed. "No not at all, but nice to know you were worrying about me. Hmm, where do I begin? I was sitting poolside surrounded by a bevy of bikini-clad beauties, all waiting to see who would be my choice to take out on the town that evening and,"he cleared his throat. " I think you know the rest..."
"This is not going to be a recounting of one of your night maneuvers is it?"
"Excuse me, I was getting to the point and no, not anything to do with the bedroom."
"I apologize, please continue," the Russian mumbled, rolling his eyes.
"And stop rolling your eyes Illya..."
"I was not."
"Hmm, yeah, right. Now if I may continue...so out of the blue a coconut comes flying down from of one of palm trees and hits me square on the head, and it really hurt...a pistol whipping wouldn't hold a candle to it. Anyway, I recall standing up, but nothing after that until I woke up in a hospital bed. I've been out cold with a severe concussion for two days and have a broken leg to boot, apparently I lost consciousness and fell, and fractured my shin bone.."
There was a sudden flurry of feminine giggles in the background as Napoleon, surrounded by his female friends, as they voiced their displeasure at being ignored by him; though they were waiting on him hand and foot, seeing to his every need.
One was massaging his shoulders, another was giving him a manicure and a third was holding some sort of pineapple drink for him with a straw.
"Oh," Illya replied calmly, hearing their coos and whines; he reached a conclusion. "Then you are not in trouble after all, that is a relief...well bad trouble that is," he smiled to himself.
"Napoleon, come on it's time for your sponge bath, " Illya heard one of the women call out in a sing-song voice.
"Thanks for worrying about me chum, ahhh, I gotta go," he said hurriedly." Solo out."
Illya was relieved his partner was relatively unscathed, and returned to his whale watching, but now having a feeling of resignation, or was it guilt.
He was regretting he hadn't taken Napoleon up on his offer after all, thinking if he had been there, then perhaps his partner would not have been struck with the coconut and had his accident.
His thinking was along the lines of the theory of the butterfly effect- that a single occurrence, no matter how small, could change the course of the universe forever. It was a theory in which everything mattered. Even the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a hurricane on the other side of the world.
If you change even the smallest of life's details, you completely changed its outcome, like a finger touching a water's surface, sending out a rippling effect...
Though chaos theory could be used as an excuse for inactivity, or vice versa; the Russian firmly believed that his presence, like the butterfly, could have changed the course of events for his partner, even if it was to have merely prevented a coconut from hitting the American's very hard head...
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