"Never never change"~ for the Song-Story Challenge PART 2

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

                                         

Illya reappeared,waiting his turn.”If you are not too tired, may I have the next dance?”

"But of course," she replied in Russian.

“Very good,” Illya finally smiled. “You speak better Russian than Napoleon, but we will not tell him that. I do tease him unmercifully about his accents, especially his French.”

“That’s because, Illya dear, you’re not accustomed to the French-Canadian way of speaking. That’s where his mother’s side of the family hails from.”

“I never knew that. I must look into this French-Canadian dialect. Languages are so fascinating, many of them are related to...”

“Illya, the band is playing a waltz,” Amy Solo called him from his thoughts.

“Pardon me. A waltz, that is perfect, an elegant dance for an elegant lady,” he smiled, whisking her into a gentle turn.

“My nephew is beginning to rub off on you, Illya dear,” she paused as he finally let loose that crooked smile of his.

“There it is, and so boyishly handsome. You should smile more often. You are far too serious for your own good.”

Illya simply nodded, and finishing the dance, he he offered her his arm, escorting her back to where Napoleon waited.

“You’re not tired are you?”

“Napoleon Solo just because I’ve just turned seventy does not make me a doddering old lady, I could keep up with you any day,”  his aunt chastised him.

“Hmm, well I was going to ask if you were ready for dinner...and more dancing at the Plaza, but if you’re going to bite my head off...”

“Don’t be childish; you’re a tough secret agent dodging bullets and bad men all the time, and you can’t take a little comment by your favorite Aunt?” Amy laughed again.

“Well you got the ‘favorite’ part right,” Illya interjected.

“Très drôle,” Napoleon snickered.

Suddenly Illya and Amy broke out into laughter, a private joke, Solo assumed.

“To tell you the truth, my darlings,my feet could use a little rest my darlings.  Dinner and dancing again later on sounds like a lovely way to spend the rest of my birthday.”

Illya and Napoleon each offered her their arms, and after retrieving her wrap from the coat check, they hailed a taxi; heading out for more festivities.

“I must say,” she commented,” the best present of all has been to spend my birthday with the two of you. Napoleon you’re more like a son to me, and Illya you are as well.”

Both men blushed at that remark, not saying a word.

“Well now I know what it takes to make you two quiet...well maybe you Napoleon dearest. Our Illya is a bit on the less talkative side anyway.”

Illya let out a loud whistle and a wave of his hand to hail a cab, and one pulled up curbside immediately as it had been trolling for a fair.

The neon lights of Manhattan sparkled through the taxi window, twinkling their colors on Amy’s neatly coiffed silver-grey hair and reflecting on the silver trim of her jacket.

They headed down the busy avenue, towards the Plaza in anticipation of a wonderful evening yet to come.

“Yes it was a perfect birthday indeed,” she decided.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Napoleon leaned over, giving her another kiss on the cheek.

“Just happy, dear...very very happy.”

“Good, that makes me happy too.”

“Are you sure you’re not tired, you’re looking a bit pale.”

“Napoleon, please, I’m fine.”

.

Dinner at the Plaza and dancing continued until just past midnight, but Napoleon could see signs his Aunt was tiring. It was time to end the party.

Both he and Illya took Amy home to her penthouse, and she invited them up for a cup of tea, but both refused and insisted it was past their bedtime as well as hers.

“You know for spies, you really are terrible liars, “she laughed, giving each of them a kiss goodnight.

They waited until the deadbolt clicked closed on the door before leaving, knowing she was safe and sound.

.

As Amy turned, she felt as though she couldn’t catch her breath for a moment. She had to admit it, she was feeling tired, more so than usual or perhaps the word better describing it was ‘drained.’ She was an active woman, and this lack of energy befuddled her.

Walking into the foyer, she discovered to her surprise, a large vase of two dozen dark red roses, and plucked the card from it, reading it aloud.

“I hope this was a wonderful birthday for my bestest Aunt in the whole world. Never, never change. I love you!  Napoleon.”

She smiled, remembering that’s what he always called her when he was so very young.

That brought a tear to her eye, but out of nowhere, Amy felt a squeezing pain in her chest. She began having trouble breathing and became lightheaded. Leaning on the table, she tried to support herself, desperately wantibg to get to the telephone to call for help. She never made it and collapsed on the marble floor, pulling down the vase of flowers with her, still clutching Napoleon’s note in her hand.

She slipped into unconsciousness with the red roses scattered around her.

.

Napoleon’s telephone rang at four in the morning, thinking it was headquarters calling.  “Solo here,” he answered, trying not to sound groggy.

“Hello Mr. Solo, this is Doctor Felix Manheim of Mount Sinai hospital...”

That made him sit bolt upright in his bed, his thoughts jumping immediately out of habit to Illya...wait, his partner was home in bed, not on assignment.

“Yes Doctor?”

“There’s no good way to give this sort of news but straight out.  Your Aunt, Amy Solo, has passed away. You were listed as the next of kin.”

There was absolute silence.

“Mr. Solo, are you there?”

“Yes, sorry Doc. This comes as a shock. We were just out...”he looked at his wristwatch, “four hours ago, celebrating her seventieth birthday.”

“I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Solo. We will need you to come down to the hospital, when it’s possible, as there is paperwork to do.”

“I understand, yes. Thank you... ugh, Dr. Manheim, she didn’t suffer did she?”

“No Mr. Solo, she passed very quickly. It was a heart attack.”

“Thank you.” Napoleon, now in a daze, hung up the receiver.  He couldn’t believe it, Amy was gone.  She was his rock, so much a part of his life while he was growing up.  While his parents traveled the world, leaving his brother and sisters with a nanny, Napoleon chose to stay with Aunt Amy.  She taught him so much, even about the birds and the bees...

.

The funeral was over, and Amy Solo was laid to rest in Mount Calvary cemetery.  There was a private reading of the will, and much to Napoleon’s surprise, his Aunt left everything to him. All her money, antique furnishings, stocks, bonds, as well as her beautiful penthouse.

She included Illya in the will as well, leaving him her entire library of books, and record albums she’d collected from around the world.  The Russian was speechless and somehow embarrassed at having been included in the will, while the rest of the Solo family had not.

He questioned that to his partner as they stood outside the lawyers office.

“Napoleon it is not right that I have been given these things while your family receives nothing. I cannot accept your Aunt’s generosity.”

“Illya, she knew what she was doing when she had her will drawn up. As much as I love my family; they never approved of Amy and her lifestyle. She was a free spirit and traveled the world alone. They thought she should stay at home and listen to her arteries harden and ‘act her age,’ as they called it.  No, it’s right that you keep what she willed to you. I was her friend, confidant, and I loved her very much. I never judged her and accepted her just as she was.  I told her that night at Roseland, to never never change.”  He wiped a tear from his eye and gave a great sigh.

“She will never change, and will always be the same in your heart my friend. Let us change the subject...so now that you are a rich man, will you be leaving UNCLE?”

“No. I have a job to do. The only thing that will get me out of UNCLE is to be dead, and I don’t plan on that happening anytime soon.”

“I do not think Amy planned on that either, but death comes for us when it is ready.”

“Oh thank you for that cheerful thought,” Napoleon huffed, “ Come on, let’s find a bar and get drunk.  We need to toast to Amy Solo.”

"Da, soglasen_yes, I agree,"Illya nodded.

They found the nearest bar, hiding themselves in a dimly lit back booth; Napoleon ordering his scotch on the rocks and Illya, vodka...neat of course.

“Here’s to Amy Solo, the greatest woman there ever was in my life,” Solo raised his drink in toast.

“Yes to a wonderful woman,” Illya clicked his glass to Napoleon’s and the both of them downed their drinks.

They ordered another round, and another until they paid the barkeep to just to leave the bottles.

It was nearing two in the morning when ‘last call,’ was announced to the moans and groans of the patrons.

“Hey, a guy has gotta get some sleep, you know. I’ll be open at noon, so let’s go everybody," said the barkeep.

He headed back to the booth where the two UNCLE agents sat. “Come on fellas, I know yous is in mourning for this Amy dame. She must have been somethin’ else, the way I heard yous talk about her.

Napoleon was half cross-eyed when he looked at the man. ”Amy Solo was no ddd-dame, she was a lady. A really classy lady and you remember ththat pal."

“Yes, you bolvan, thaaat is what she was, a lady, bozhe moy...what a lady she was, “Illya chimed in, though he’d drunk as much as his partner, he wasn’t as nearly as inebriated.

“Come Napoleon, we must (hic) abandon this drinking establishment. I have scotch at home...we will go there.”

The two men rose from their booth, staggering out the door arm in arm, hailing a taxi that took them to their apartment building.  They managed to tackle the two flights of stairs up to Illya’s place and as if Kuryakin were as a sober as a judge, he entered the alarm code.

Napoleon made his way to the sofa while Illya headed to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of vodka from the freezer and the scotch from one of the cabinets.

“So what are you going to do with her cat, Bonaparte, my friend. I know you and he do not get along?”  There was no answer, and Illya peeked out the kitchen door seeing Napoleon curled up on the sofa, sound asleep.

Illya put down the bottles on the coffee table, went into his bedroom and came out with a blanket.  Once he removed Napoleon’s shoes, and his Special from its holster, he covered him.

"Spokoynoy nochi moy drug, a moshet u vas yest' privatnyye sny_good night my friend. May you have pleasant dreams."

Illya picked up his bottle of vodka and after opening it, he raised it in one last toast before taking a long swig.

“Rest in peace Amy Solo. I promise I will look out for him, and I hope it will be a long time before you are reunited.”

Comments

[carabele.livejournal.com]

A very sweet and loving story. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

When I heard the Sinatra song, to me, it just screamed Napolon. It's a classy sounding song and I could envison him dressed in a tux dancing to it with gorgeous woman....after that, my muse took it in a sad direction. Not at all the way I felt when I first heard the song...

Thanks for reading and commenting.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

*sniffle* Thanks for this fic.

Nice description, too.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Didn't plan for it to be sad, but that's just the way it unfolded as I wrote it. You know me with that "stream on conscienceness' writing.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Boy, you sure know how to plug up a story arc. Oh wait, I just did the same thing, and with the same character ;) We have two Amy's today, but definitely not the same Amy.
This is a nice tribute to Napoleon's bestest.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Hee hee hee, great minds think alike, but yes but being divergent at the same time. Hmmm plugging up a story arc, never quite heard it put that way. Cool beans!

Eventually Amy had to fade away; I was sorry to kill of his bestest Aunt, but it was inevitable and he needs to inherit that penthouse! The beauty of writing, is that we can time travel and tell stories in the past. So Amy will never be dead in true true sense. :D

Thanks for the great comment!