Snapshots~"The lengths we go to...friendship"

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

originally posted on Fanfiction.net chapter 50 Snapshots

                                   

Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones and as they came nearer, the person walking began to slowly  whistle...it was the melody to “Mary Had a little Lamb.”

Illya Kuryakin was sitting at a bistro table set on the sidewalk in front of  “Les émigrants.” He’d been waiting for that signal....someone whistling and turned to see who was approaching.

It was Mark Slate, and as Illya stepped up from his chair his fellow agent bumped into him, making the handoff.”

“Pardonnez-moi, monsieur,” Mark said, continuing past, giving Illya little notice.  The Russian tossed some francs to the table, paying his bill and continued off in the opposite direction, heading down the street.

Drip, drop...rain began to fall, with Iilya pulling up the collar of his black trench coat, but it did little good as the few droplets turned into a downpour.

His feet splashed in rain water that has pooled into puddles on the sidewalk as he increased his pace to a trot, turning the corner quickly.

There was a woman wearing a bright yellow slicker, holding a yellow umbrella with red polka dots over her.  As Illya passed her, he made the handoff with a sigh, not to happy he was now soaked.   There’d be no time to head to the hotel to change, as he’d have to make the rendezvous point and just be a little damp. Such intrigue over something so little...

The woman in yellow walked in the opposite direction, holding tight to the wrapped package she’d slipped into a bag she was carrying.

Ten minutes later, Illya entered a small cafe, and removing his coat; he hung it up on a rack to dry as he spotted his partner sitting at a table by the fire, sipping a glass of wine.

“Napoleon, why all this secrecy? We could have just met at the hotel bar,”Illya said pulling up a chair behind him.  He noticed the shoulders of his partner’s jacket were just a little bit damp, and surmised the American had been out and about as he, Mark and April suspected he would be...no doubt following at least one of them.

The door to the cafe opened, and in walked Mark Slate, a moment later followed by the woman in the yellow slicker...April Dancer.

She came forward, approaching Napoleon and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Happy Anniversary darling.” She placed a slightly damp package on the table in front of him.

“For me?” He grinned, “You shouldn’t have.”

“Any man who’s made it as long with UNCLE and lived to tell the tale deserves a little recognition other than a certificate in his personnel file, mate,” Mark chimed in.

“You know darn well you were trying to find out if we bought you something Napoleon Solo. So we had a few ‘hand-offs,” just to keep you guessing. We knew you’d be following one if not all of us eventually.” April laughed softly as only she could.

Napoleon chuckled, agreeing with her. ”I must be slipping, you had me pegged pretty darn good.”  He lifted the package, testing it’s weight, and tore away the wrapping;  inside the box was a dark silk tie with a fleur de lis, a matching handkerchief. as well a silver tie bar, and cuff links also sporting a the French symbol

“Well do you like it goose?” April asked.

“I do very much, along with the efforts to hide it.  Now I’ll always have Paris with me, literally.”

They raised their glasses of wine, and offered a toast. “Vive le Napoléon!”

“Merci, merci mes amis. Un toast à de bons amis_To good friends!” Napoleon spoke in French; given their locale he thought it appropriate, but looked to his partner, waiting for that inevitable comment.

For once Illya only smiled and made no wise crack about his friend’s accent...