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alynwa.livejournal.comI have to think of a title for this WIP so I can post it on fanfiction and AO3. Suggestions are most welcome!
Neither man was particularly hungry, despite not having eaten since landing in New York. Illya managed a couple of bites before putting his ham and cheese hero back on the plate. The men were sitting at Napoleon’s kitchen table. “Napoleon,” he finally said, “I do not think you are stupid.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Napoleon said as he finally looked the smaller man full in the face. “Just because you have a PhD in Quantum Physics and I don’t doesn’t mean I don’t know Latin. I went to Catholic school for Pete’s sake! The nuns shoved Latin down my throat!”
“Is that it? Is that why you became so angry?”
“Yes! No! I mean, you always seem to make snide remarks about my intelligence. When we were first partnered five years ago and you would make comments, I took it in stride because I thought you were joking, but now I’m not so sure.”
Illya shook his head in amazement. “Napoleon. Polya…”
“’Polya?’ What does that mean? Some Russian slang word for idiot?”
For the first time in what felt like a long time, Illya smiled. “No, it does not mean idiot. Russians are not big, as you Americans say, on nicknames, but we have them. They are only used by family and close friends; it is insulting for anyone else to call you by that name. Polya is the diminutive I made of your name. I think now is a good time to say it aloud so that you can know how highly I think of you.”
“Napoleon, I may have a PhD in Quantum Physics, but you have a PhD in Communications and Sociology, so the day I met you I knew you are not stupid. You are intelligent in a way that I am not: I understand complex formulas and chemical reactions. You understand people. That is what makes you a master strategist. You know how people will react and can plan accordingly. One cannot do that and be stupid.”
“I trust you with my life, Napoleon. Every day. Every mission. Why on Earth would I do that if I thought you were stupid? You know I am joking when I insult you! What man does not tease his brother? If I sounded like I was being condescending when we were in that cell, I apologize profoundly. Forgive me.”
Napoleon got up and went to the fridge, pulled out two beers and handed one to Illya. “I accept your apology and I have a confession to make. Let’s go into the living room.” He walked out of the kitchen without waiting to see if his partner would follow. When he stepped into his sunken living room, he settled into his recliner while Illya sat on the couch.
He tapped on his beer bottle for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts. “I did get angry when you started to translate that phrase, but the reason I got angry is, well, you hurt my feelings.” He held up his hand when his partner’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. “Let me finish. I don’t know why exactly that particular thing hurt my feelings, but in that moment, it did. My first flare of anger was at you, but that was quickly followed by anger at myself.”
“Why?”
“Why? We were captured and being held in a cell awaiting execution by firing squad and I was angry because you hurt my feelings? I knew it was ridiculous to feel that way and I couldn’t admit it at the time, so I just got…angry. I don’t know what I would have said if the Strike Team didn’t arrive when it did. Probably something hurtful. Getting rescued gave me time to realize I was behaving like a jerk, but I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.” He drained the last of his beer and set it on the coffee table. “I really do know that you respect me. I was being…insecure, I guess.”
“Listen to me, Polya; you are the most intelligent person I know, even smarter than the Old Man himself. One of the smartest decisions you’ve ever made was making ours the kind of partnership where we can be honest about our feelings. I cherish that, I never want to lose that.”
“Neither do I, Illya.” Napoleon smiled at the compliment Illya paid him. “I want to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a nickname that I can call you?”
“Da. My family called me Illyusha. You may call me that, if you wish. I only ask that you not call me that in public and I will not call you Polya in public.”
Napoleon’s smile broadened. “So, these are our pet names for each other?”
“I do not know what that means, Napoleon.”
“A pet name is something you call someone that no one else does. It usually has a romantic connotation, but I think the term fits here.”
“I guess so. I want to tell you something, Polya.”
“Yes, Illyusha?”
“If you ever voice a doubt about how I feel about you or your intelligence again, I will treat you like the brother you are to me and try my best to beat you senseless. Do you understand me?”
“I do understand. Let’s shake on it.” Napoleon stood and pulled the smaller man up into a hug and then pulled back enough to shake Illya’s hand. “Are we good? Because I’m suddenly starving.”
Illya laughed. “Yes, moy brat, we are good. Let us go eat those sandwiches.”
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