section7mfu | Paris, Gardens of Trocadéro...

Sorry... definitely late...

“So here we are... In Paris on Christmas day... Joyeux Noël, camarade!”

Napoleon's tone was undoubtedly cheerful – and his accent... Illya rolled his eyes... awful... - but it didn't fool his partner. Of course, once again, they had saved the world. Once again villains had been defeated, innocent people rescued. Of course they were in Paris, in the Gardens of the Trocadéro, on the 25th of December.

“Look, we have a Christmas tree...” Napoleon brushed gently the snowy branches.

Napoleon missed Christmas. He wouldn't admit it but he missed his aunt Amy's Christmas Eve feast. Family traditions didn't get well with Uncle agents' duties. Illya Kuryakin sighed. Family traditions didn't get well with wars, with politics, with the sake of...

“Illya?”

“Yes, a Christmas tree...” The Russian smiled.

One of those thoughtful smiles Napoleon knew so well. Of course, once again, they had saved the world. They had defeated villains, rescued innocent people... Once again they had missed out on normal life. Christmas time brought back memories, some unpleasant, some heartbreaking, some wonderful... though sad because lost, out of reach. Illya wouldn't admit it but he surely missed his family old traditions and - he sighed - the new one... aunt Amy's feast. . But traditions, old or new, didn't get well with Uncle agents' duties.

“Last year...” The Russian paused, “Do you remember? The old pocket watch?”

Napoleon raised an inquiring eyebrow. Yes, he remembered, but...

“It was wrapped in a page...”

“Yes, it was just an old letter...”

“No.” Illya bit his lips. “It was a page, torn from a diary... A journal...” He looked both puzzled and filled with wonder. “It's... strange.” He hesitated. “The man who wrote it... lived in New York in the end of the 19th century. He was a journalist and...” He paused again, savoring the moment. “ He attended the ceremony of dedication of the Statue of Liberty.” He peeped at his friend with obvious contentment.

Napoleon humored his know-all partner. “And?”

“He recounted that Frédéric Bartholdi... You know who...”

“Yes, I do. Go on.”

“Frédéric Bartholdi decided that he would use copper sheets beaten to shape by the repoussé method. You know about the repoussé method?”

Napoleon nodded shamelessly.

“But he had to cope with the structure within the statue. He worked first with Viollet le Duc who died a few months later.”

“And?”

Illya smiled. “It was a tricky situation but Bartholdi managed to get the services of...” He pointed at the Eiffel Tower, “Alexandre Gustave Eiffel!” He paused. “It's strange... Last year, this page, and now... Eiffel... An amazing coincidence...”

It was strange, indeed. Napoleon considered the Eiffel tower, its silhouette blurred in the morning frosty mist. An old pocket watch... a page torn from a journal and... “Ouch...”

A snowball had smashed into his neck. A laughing Russian was already forming another one.

“Joyeux Noël, Napoléon!”