The Twelve Days, Day 9 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
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Day 9

In a stroke of great luck, which is the best kind to be had, Napoleon was able to make good on his promise to take Illya dancing. Well, not them, together. He procured tickets to the Nutcracker, and probably the last ones available. Luckily for the two ballet loving agents, Napoleon had connections for a variety of desirable venues.

The men looked like they had just stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly as they took their seats in the balcony section. Two men attending a ballet performance did not go unnoticed by some of the surrounding patrons, including two young women who decided that the blond and the brunet were decidedly not together. It could have been Napoleon’s very obvious smile; the one that asks you if you like your eggs scrambled or poached, assuming that there will be breakfast in bed.

Illya, always the demure one, felt two pair of eyes on him through much of the performance. Whether it was the sensitivity of a spy or the caution of hunted prey, he didn’t bother to decipher.

“Those two young ladies have been watching us as carefully as they have the dancing. I’m beginning to think we should have charged them for their seats.”

Napoleon didn’t break his concentration from the stage. He enjoyed being admired by pretty girls, and was perfectly willing to admit the plumage of the peacock was there for a reason.

“Don’t let it bother you, Illya. Intermission is just a few leaps away, and then we’ll introduce ourselves.”

~~~~~:

By the time the curtain came down and the dancers had received a standing ovation, Napoleon was arranging for a late supper at 21. Ever the bon vivant, he was completely charmed by the sophisticated blonde who had shown a similar fascination with him. Illya, on the other hand, was adequately pleased with the elegant red haired beauty that had immediately taken his arm as they were leaving the theater.

How reasonable was it, really, to assume that two gentlemen, such as they were, could go to the ballet at the last possible opportunity, and meet two such attractive and attentive women?

The more Illya thought about it, the more highly unlikely it became. Thrush must have been watching them, even after the Nova Scotia incident, or perhaps because of it. Illya began to wonder if there was some other little bit of information that Mr. Waverly had failed to divulge. Certainly he and Napoleon had been targets before while not involved in a case involving Thrush, but coming on the heels of the strange affair up north it seemed likely that the women were somehow related to it.

As Napoleon entertained the women, Illya excused himself and went to the men’s room. When safely inside a stall he pulled out his communicator and opened a relay to headquarters. It wouldn’t take long to identify these two women, if they were in fact Thrush.

When Illya returned to the table, the blonde who was called Giselle, and the titian haired Eloise were laughing animatedly at one of Napoleon’s stories. The agent caught his friend’s eye and with a small inclination of his head signaled what they had both surmised already: the two lovelies were Thrush agents.

~~~~~:

It wasn’t pretty, but eventually the UNCLE men were able to maneuver the women into a compromising situation and spring their own trap. The Thrush birdies sang a sweet song about Central and kidnapping plots… such a lot of activity just before Christmas.

Napoleon was clucking his tongue over the disappointing end to their evening, but Illya was philosophical about it.

“It is not so bad, Napoleon. After all, we did catch them before they led us into their little scheme. And the ballet was well done. Thank you, by the way, for taking me. It is a treat to see a great work of art performed like that, especially a Russian masterpiece.”

Napoleon agreed. About the ballet. He was still disappointed that the women had turned out to be Thrush agents. He was quite smitten with Giselle. Illya and Eloise had made a very striking couple as well.

“Say what you will, the evening would have ended with some very romantic overtures, I’m sure, had we not been dealing with those two saboteurs. I’m glad we at least had the treat of watching those lovely ballet dancers, though. I think I’ll go home and dream about Sugar Plum fairies tonight.’

Napoleon looked at his partner, recognized a bit of wistfulness in the blue eyes.

“What is it, Illya? Did the Nutcracker make you homesick?”

Illya met Napoleon’s gaze, wondered about the tendency of the other man to be a bit of a mother hen.

“No, I am not homesick. I was thinking, though, about being in a company of artists such as that ballet company. It must be very rewarding to captivate people like that, so that they are … ocharovannyi…um, enchanted.”

Napoleon had to wonder what would make Illya wax romantic about ballet dancing. Probably his Russian soul couldn’t resist it.

“What is your favorite part, Illya? Or do you have one?”

The blond thought about it, because he didn’t, really. It wasn’t even his favorite genre of music.

“Well, not to be too obvious, but I do enjoy the Russian Dance. That’s actually Ukrainian, by the way. Not such a popular folk dance any longer, but it is from the Ukraine. What about you? Something with lots of dancing ladies, I imagine.”

Napoleon chuckled.

“Yes, well I do enjoy the Dance of the Snowflakes. Aside from the obvious, the idea of the snowflakes being like beautiful women, falling in random patterns that somehow turn into lovely, icy snowflakes… It is pretty romantic.”

The two agents were on their way out of headquarters, a typical end to one of their days. Go to work, take in the ballet, pick up some Thrush agents and end up back in HQ. After a good night’s sleep, they would come back and start over again.

At least there had been the ladies’ dancing.

~~~~~: