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section7mfu“Happy thirty-fifth birthday, Tovarisch,” Napoleon enthused, upon entering the office he shared with his partner.
With great ceremony, he placed a small cupcake in front of Illya, and lit the tiny candle he’d put in it.
“Only five years until you retire from the field.”
“If I make it that far,” the Russian replied, blowing out the candle.
“You’ll make it,” Solo told him, with conviction. “I would be very surprised if you weren’t still kicking fifty years from now.”
“I’ll be eighty-five,” Illya mused, running a hand through his blond locks. “I wonder if I’ll still have my hair.”
With great ceremony, he placed a small cupcake in front of Illya, and lit the tiny candle he’d put in it.
“Only five years until you retire from the field.”
“If I make it that far,” the Russian replied, blowing out the candle.
“You’ll make it,” Solo told him, with conviction. “I would be very surprised if you weren’t still kicking fifty years from now.”
“I’ll be eighty-five,” Illya mused, running a hand through his blond locks. “I wonder if I’ll still have my hair.”
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