The Twelve Days, Day 8 for the 12 Days of Christmas

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7

Day 8

It felt good to spend the day at headquarters. After the misadventures of Nova Scotia and the freezing, rushed trip down to Oklahoma, the placid grey walls of UNCLE New York were calming for Illya and Napoleon. Sometimes, it was very good to be home.

Now that each man had a good night’s rest and could focus, Napoleon decided to re-visit their challenge from a few days ago.

“So, are we still on target for a Christmas present throw down?”

Illya lifted his head from the report he was typing, a question mark easily readable in his expression.

“If we throw the presents, it is possible they could break, is it not?”

Napoleon had a ready smile for his slang challenged partner.

“I guess you’re unfamiliar with that term.’

Illya peered over the top of his glasses, indicating curiosity.

“A throw down is a challenge. Much like throwing the gauntlet. I’m sure you know about that.”

“Oh, yes. A throw down… hmmm…”

~~~~~:

Illya was sitting at his desk, his feet propped up and his tie loosened. He had his hands clasped behind his head, and the expression on his face was pensive. As was normal, a slight pout sat on the full lips, and a gleam of concentration intensified the color of the blue eyes. Had a secretary walked in on him in that state of decoration, she might have let a small sigh escape.

Napoleon, upon entering, merely smiled.

“What’s going on, partner?”

Illya changed his position in one smooth movement, settling his feet in front of him and leaning onto his hands as his elbows found his knees.

“Napoleon, I have been thinking about this throw down you mentioned. Is that what the gift giving is, a challenge?”

Oh no… that wasn’t what Napoleon wanted to convey for Christmas. Hopefully he hadn’t spoiled this for his Russian friend.

“Not at all, Illya. I guess I just got carried away. It isn’t about bigger or better or… well, anything like that. It’s about showing someone you care. You know that, though… right?”

Illya cocked one eyebrow, the purse of his lips betraying the concentration he was using to form an answer.

“Of course, Napoleon.’

It came out a little too slowly.

“I have not been the recipient of many gifts, I will admit. I suppose that part of my life has been a bit … lacking, perhaps.’

He looked at Napoleon now with the expression that often caused women to melt into their shoes. His blue eyes were almost childlike as they peered back at the American.

“I just wanted to be certain that this American way of giving gifts was not so different from what I know. For instance, if I were to visit your Aunt Amy, I might take her a box of chocolates or, most certainly, a bouquet of flowers…”

“Ah, yes a dozen yellow roses for my sweet Aunt.”

Illya shook his head. That little sharp shake of his that meant no way, no how.

“No, never an even number and certainly not yellow, at least not in my country. Even numbers are for funerals, and yellow…that would indicate jealousy, which is never a problem for me.”

“Never?”

Illya made a face and continued.

“Christmas, that is a different thing altogether. I will admit to being inexperienced when it comes to celebrating this particular holiday. And, by the way, perhaps you should not have been too certain of yourself the other day. You assumed it was a gift for you. Now, the only thing we know for certain is that you are planning on giving one to me.”

There is where he inserted the smile. It was completely smug, and entirely too mischievous for Napoleon’s tastes.

“Oh, and just to show you that I do know how to give gifts, I offer you these…well, perhaps only one or two.”

Illya reached around and pulled out the top drawer on his desk, reached in and then turned back to Napoleon with his fist closed around something. Napoleon was just a little wary, although he had to admit he was curious.

“What do you have?”

The smile was still there as the blond opened his hand to reveal three candies, crackling in their crisp wrappers.

“Milkmaids! I love caramels, Illya. Thank you. So, is that what you keep stashed in your desk? I should have known you had a treasure chest somewhere.”

“Yes, and I count my treasure… daily. See that you do not steal from me, my friend. Gifts you may have, but this drawer is mine.”

Napoleon had to laugh, and raised his hands at the sudden image of Illya as a pirate guarding a chest full of … Milkmaids. It was somehow very appropriate that this pirate would be merciless to those who tried to steal his stash of candy.

“Aye, captain. I’ll keep my grubby paws off your caramels.’

He sat down on the edge of the desk as he unwrapped one of the caramels, his mood suddenly thoughtful as he considered the real depth of their conversation. How easy it was to forget how other people grew up, in conditions that bore no resemblance to his own childhood and customs.

“Say Illya, about the gifts…’

“Napoleon, I was kidding you. Of course it was a gift for you. We are still, as we agreed, on.”

Napoleon did laugh now, and he wondered at the great piece of luck that had landed him a partner, a friend, like Illya Kuryakin.

“You know what Illya? You’re one sneaky Russian.”

Illya tossed him another Milkmaid.

~~~~~:

Comments

[svetlanacat4.livejournal.com]

"He looked at Napoleon now with the expression that often caused women to melt into their shoes" Oh yes, this expression... *is melting at the thought*

I really love the way you show their relationship!

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you, it's nice to have you along for this excursion. Congrats on being officially 'on vacation'.