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section7mfuA lengthy assignment in New Orleans was drawing to a close but, instead of being happy at returning home, Illya found himself feeling somewhat melancholy. It was their last evening in the city and, rather than seeking out some female company, Napoleon suggested that his partner join him for dinner.
“That is how rumours get started,” Illya quipped.
It wasn’t the first time he’d made that joke, but there was a strange tone to it this time. Solo knew there was something bothering him, which was why he had suggested dinner in the first place.
“Are you up for it? I’m paying.”
Illya perked up a little.
“In that case, I accept,” he said. “That will be one less you me.”
An hour later the agents were tucking into some of the finest Cajun cuisine which New Orleans had to offer, and Illya seemed much more content.
“You’re going to miss this, aren’t you?” Napoleon asked. “That’s why you’ve been grumpy all day.”
“I must admit that the food here is quite delicious,” Illya replied, with a mouthful of crawfish. “Although, I am sure there will be somewhere in New York where I can find something similar.”
.......................................................................................
The following morning, while Illya finished packing, Napoleon said he had to do something before they left. He asked his partner to finish up his packing too and promptly disappeared. The Russian, who had already been on the precipice of a bad mood, completely tipped over the edge. He did as he was asked, and filled Napoleon’s suitcase. However, instead of carefully placing the hand-finished shirts within, he threw them in any old how. He finished the packing for both of them, just as Solo returned.
“Got you a gift,” Napoleon announced, handing a large box over.
Illya opened it and found it filled with Zatarain’s seasonings and spices. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
“When you went to the bathroom in the restaurant last night, I asked how they prepared the crawfish,” Napoleon explained. “They told me that they swore by Zatarain’s. I figured, with that lot, you could prepare Cajun food for yourself, with the flavourings you’ve fallen in love with.”
“I do not know what to say, my friend,” Illya replied, with genuine gratitude.
“There’s no need to say anything,” Solo told him. “Just make sure to invite me over for a meal at least once. You ready to go?”
A deep sense of guilt settled in Illya’s chest as Napoleon picked up his suitcase but, looking at the gift he’d just received, he decided to get safely home before the inevitable storm.
.
“That is how rumours get started,” Illya quipped.
It wasn’t the first time he’d made that joke, but there was a strange tone to it this time. Solo knew there was something bothering him, which was why he had suggested dinner in the first place.
“Are you up for it? I’m paying.”
Illya perked up a little.
“In that case, I accept,” he said. “That will be one less you me.”
An hour later the agents were tucking into some of the finest Cajun cuisine which New Orleans had to offer, and Illya seemed much more content.
“You’re going to miss this, aren’t you?” Napoleon asked. “That’s why you’ve been grumpy all day.”
“I must admit that the food here is quite delicious,” Illya replied, with a mouthful of crawfish. “Although, I am sure there will be somewhere in New York where I can find something similar.”
.......................................................................................
The following morning, while Illya finished packing, Napoleon said he had to do something before they left. He asked his partner to finish up his packing too and promptly disappeared. The Russian, who had already been on the precipice of a bad mood, completely tipped over the edge. He did as he was asked, and filled Napoleon’s suitcase. However, instead of carefully placing the hand-finished shirts within, he threw them in any old how. He finished the packing for both of them, just as Solo returned.
“Got you a gift,” Napoleon announced, handing a large box over.
Illya opened it and found it filled with Zatarain’s seasonings and spices. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
“When you went to the bathroom in the restaurant last night, I asked how they prepared the crawfish,” Napoleon explained. “They told me that they swore by Zatarain’s. I figured, with that lot, you could prepare Cajun food for yourself, with the flavourings you’ve fallen in love with.”
“I do not know what to say, my friend,” Illya replied, with genuine gratitude.
“There’s no need to say anything,” Solo told him. “Just make sure to invite me over for a meal at least once. You ready to go?”
A deep sense of guilt settled in Illya’s chest as Napoleon picked up his suitcase but, looking at the gift he’d just received, he decided to get safely home before the inevitable storm.
.
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