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section7mfuIt had been a while since Illya Kuryakin’s every move was watched as he’d walked through the corridors of U.N.C.L.E. New York. He had gotten used to it at the time but now, as he made his way out of the building, Illya felt distinctly uncomfortable. Every eye was on him as he passed through, and every mouth was left hanging open when they saw him. However, no-one said anything until Napoleon set eyes on him.
“Are you going to a costume party?” he asked.
Illya looked down at the brightly patterned shirt he was wearing. A voice at the back of his mind told him he could have waited until he’d been clear of the building before changing into it; but that thought had come far too late.
“I am attending Jeff’s bachelor party,” he replied, fixing Solo with a glare which dared him to mock.
“Jeff?”
“He is a lab technician in R&D,” Illya explained. “His wish was to visit the Jazz Fest at the New Orleans Mardi Gras. Unfortunately, the department would have had to close down if everyone went to Louisiana, and that was entirely unfeasible.”
“That doesn’t explain that garment,” Napoleon said, pointing at the shirt. “It isn’t exactly your usual style.”
“I have arranged for one of the jazz clubs I frequent to host the party, and requested a New Orleans style Jazz Fest evening,” Illya told him.” Jeff insisted that we do it, as he says, properly.”
“You’re a good man, Illya Kuryakin,” Napoleon commented, with genuine admiration.
“Please do not say that to loudly, my friend,” the Russian said, with absolute seriousness. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
Napoleon laughed, causing Illya to grin.
“I’m afraid that shirt has already ruined that Ice Prince reputation of yours, Tovarisch,” Solo stated.
“I will just have to do some extra snarling for a while,” chuckled Kuryakin. “Enjoy your evening, Napoleon.”
As Illya headed out, Napoleon smiled with something akin to, but not exactly like, paternal pride. It didn’t seem so long ago that his partner was hated and distrusted by many at HQ. These days he had a close network of colleagues, a lot of whom he counted as friends.
.
“Are you going to a costume party?” he asked.
Illya looked down at the brightly patterned shirt he was wearing. A voice at the back of his mind told him he could have waited until he’d been clear of the building before changing into it; but that thought had come far too late.
“I am attending Jeff’s bachelor party,” he replied, fixing Solo with a glare which dared him to mock.
“Jeff?”
“He is a lab technician in R&D,” Illya explained. “His wish was to visit the Jazz Fest at the New Orleans Mardi Gras. Unfortunately, the department would have had to close down if everyone went to Louisiana, and that was entirely unfeasible.”
“That doesn’t explain that garment,” Napoleon said, pointing at the shirt. “It isn’t exactly your usual style.”
“I have arranged for one of the jazz clubs I frequent to host the party, and requested a New Orleans style Jazz Fest evening,” Illya told him.” Jeff insisted that we do it, as he says, properly.”
“You’re a good man, Illya Kuryakin,” Napoleon commented, with genuine admiration.
“Please do not say that to loudly, my friend,” the Russian said, with absolute seriousness. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
Napoleon laughed, causing Illya to grin.
“I’m afraid that shirt has already ruined that Ice Prince reputation of yours, Tovarisch,” Solo stated.
“I will just have to do some extra snarling for a while,” chuckled Kuryakin. “Enjoy your evening, Napoleon.”
As Illya headed out, Napoleon smiled with something akin to, but not exactly like, paternal pride. It didn’t seem so long ago that his partner was hated and distrusted by many at HQ. These days he had a close network of colleagues, a lot of whom he counted as friends.
.
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Date: 2019-03-15 08:24 pm (UTC)