section7mfu | " A proper Englishman" ~ for the Song Story challenge

Illya Kuryakin sat at his desk drinking his tea in a bone china tea cup that was beautifully emblazoned with a deep pink rose blossom. Normally it would have been in a standard mug supplied by the Commissary, but today was different for a number of reasons.

In front of him was a small plate of cakes, one of which he was nibbling on as Napoleon walked into the room.

“My, looking quite British today aren't we?” He noted.

Illya tilted his head, contemplating his partner’s remark with all seriousness.

“What makes you say that?”

“Tea and crumpets old chap?” Solo smiled.

“Oh it is that to which you are referring...they are not crumpets, but treacle tarts. You forget I spent a good many years stationed in London, first while I completed my Doctorate at Cambridge and then with U.N.C.L.E. under the tutelage of Harry Beldon...so I might have picked up a few habits.

“Hopefully none of Harry’s.”

“Perish the thought. Given his hedonistic tendencies; it amazes me he has been able to function, much less survive with the Command for so long.”

“Agreed, but I've never seen you drink tea in a fancy porcelain cup before...a rather pretty one I might add. What gives?”

“The teacup and saucer I borrowed from Lisa Rogers and I suppose it is Mr. Waverly’s fault.”

“How so?”

“I was his bodyguard this afternoon as the old fellow suddenly felt like stretching his legs. You should have seen him Napoleon, strolling along Fifth Avenue with a walking stick in hand, and a bowler hat on his head...looking the very proper English gentleman.”

“Why wasn’t I notified? That was a pretty dangerous thing to do…” Napoleon demanded.

“You were not in headquarters and were off on a minor assignment in Albany as I recall.”

“All the more reason you should have been here in my stead, just in case something happened to the Old Man.”

“Mr. Waverly insisted I accompany him, and do you think I would do so without him having extra security?” Illya pursed his lips, with his visage showing mild annoyance.

“Well no, but…”

“We walked down to that new British tea room three blocks from here; the decor of which was very reminiscent of England, I must say,”Illya hesitated. “Napoleon Mr. Waverly seemed rather wistful once we stepped inside...no, melancholy is a more apt description. I think he was a little homesick if you ask me. Since he knew I had spent so much time living in England before I came here to New York, I suppose I could commiserate with him about it, having shared a common experience..”

Solo’s brows raised in surprise. “ You took an awful risk for a spot of tea and conversation.”

“Ah remember, we go where we are told and do as we are told. Who was I to argue with Alexander Waverly over a small indulgence. As I said the security detail for this unscheduled jaunt was more than adequate. I had an armored sedan follow us the entire route for a quick getaway should any trouble have arisen.”

“So what did you talk about?”

“At first...nothing. It was about having afternoon tea; something you are not familiar with I am sure. It started very traditionally with finger-sized egg and mustard cress sandwiches, followed by scones with jam and clotted cream, and finally a selection of cakes served on atiered cake stand. The tea was served from a heavy, ornate silver teapot into delicate bone china cups.”

“Sounds a little bourgeois if you ask me?” Napoleon grinned.

“It is English afternoon tea and quite traditional.” Illya answered almost defensively.

“Okay what did you two finally talk about?”

“At first the usual landmarks, Piccadilly Circus, the tower bridge and so forth. Then he began to speak about his youth...did you know he was subject to being bullied, as apparently Mr. Waverly had been a small and sickly child? He segued to the war years, the blitz and his time with MI6. He then began to wax poetic, saying to me, “If manners maketh man" he is the hero of the day...it takes a true man to suffer ignorance and smile; be yourself no matter what they say.”

“Could he have been referring to your recent unpleasant experience with that Section III agent, that fellow Kirk...the one we ended up deprogramming and weeding out of the organization for his bad attitude towards foreigners.

“It is possible that was what Waverly might have been alluding to, but I think it was his past coming to mind...and he was giving me a word or two of advice based upon it.”

“Modesty, propriety yes, tenderness, sobriety are rare in this world,” he said.”A candle is brighter than the sun and it takes more than combat gear to make a man; it takes more than a license for a gun. It is courage young man, that is what is needed to confront your enemies, avoid them when you can.”

“Sounds like good advice if you ask me, though a little cryptic,” Napoleon said. “Are you sure he wasn’t coming down with something?”

“No he was fine. I think it is lonely at the top for him and since so many of his contemporaries have passed away; he is left with few he can talk to so I imagine I was as good as anyone to fill the role when the need arose.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself chum. Mr. Waverly would have to have trusted you quite a bitI to let down some of his guards like that. Though he’s a cunning old fox, he does things for a reason.”

“He said something rather odd to me as we left the shop to come back here…A gentleman will walk but never run. He also bought me a packet of tea and these treacle tarts with a thank you for indulging him.”

“Oh so that’s why you were sipping tea and munching on your crumpets then?”

“I told you, they are not crumpets Napoleon and no not exactly.” Illya drained the last mouthful of tea from his cup.

“Aw come on, now you’re being a cryptic over a lousy cup of tea aren’t you? Sounds like the Old Man rubbed off on you...whatever was eating at him.”

The Russian sighed. “After sitting with Mr. Waverly I must admit I too was missing London.”

“But you’re not an Englishman tovarisch...even though you do have a bit of a British accent I suppose,” Solo jibed.

“I honed my English usage while I was in London but I have most certainly not forgotten my native tongue or being able to sound Russian. I have perfected my accents with every language I have learned...unlike you.”

“Oh you’re going to start that again...Monsieur?” Napoleon began singing ‘La Marseillaise’ in his usual off-key voice.

Illya moaned, covering his ears...