![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mrua7.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfu2014-08-19 09:13 am
"Craving company"~ for the PicFic Challenge 8/19
It was early on a Friday night when Napoleon Solo heard a familiar knock at his door, it was the code that his Russian partner used to alert the senior agent to his presence.
Solo let him in, surprised to see him standing there in the hallway. Illya’s eyes looked a little red, as did his nose, his hair and the shoulders of his light colored sheepskin jacket were dark with wetness. His breath smelled of alcohol.
“You just come in out of the cold, no pun intended? Snow’s really coming down out there, huh?”
“No pun taken,” Illya said, stepping inside. “I am feeling out of sorts and have need of a bit of company. May I?”
Napoleon had a date at eight o’clock with Dolores from Communications, but he could cancel, it was dicey anyway because of the storm. She was the understanding type. It was not a romantic thing with her, mostly dinner and drinks and sometimes dancing as payback for favors she’d done for him. It was good to have your own personal mole...
He knew his partner looking for companionship meant something wasn’t right, as Illya was always one who managed well enough and often preferred being alone.
“Come on in. Are you hungry...what am I saying, you’re always hungry.”
“Not for food,” Illya answered as he headed to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of vodka that Napoleon always kept there for him.
Solo generally favored scotch but at times when they were out and about he had martinis, or other assorted mixed drinks but he knew the Russian loved his vodka.
“Nothing to eat? Are you sure about that?”
“No thank you, I am not hungry. I am craving... company. Really that is all.”
“Hmm, me thinks thou dost protest too much.”
Illya shook his head as he sat down on the sofa, pouring a large glass of the clear liquid for himself.
Napoleon retrieved a decanter from the sideboard, fixing himself a glass of scotch on the rocks before returning to the sofa to sit beside his friend.
“What’s with you?” He asked setting down his glass and, taking the Russian’s damp sheepskin coat from him.. “You were wandering outside weren’t you, the storm is pretty bad for doing that.”
“I am sure that was not hard to deduce, and yes, I was walking in the snow.”
Solo hung the jacket up in the bathroom, and returned with a towel for Illya’s hair.
“And was it a good walk or a bad walk?” He asked tentatively, knowing there were times that a snowfall could sometimes send the Russian into a state of melancholia.
“Bad,” Illya admitted.
“Why?”
He let out a long exhalation, downing his second glass of vodka.
“Today is my father’s birthday.”
“Ooooh, I understand. How old would he have been?”
“Sixty two, not old.”
“No not at all. What was he like?” Napoleon wasn’t expecting a response to his query as Illya was not one to talk about his background, but for some reason the Russians eyes lit up at the question and he began to open up just a little bit about his father.
“My papa, Nicholaí, was tall with auburn hair and very strong. He was excellent with a rifle and taught me to shoot when I was but six. A wise and good man who was always willing to help his neighbors. He was strict but loving.” Illya suddenly smiled.” When I was small, I used to sit in front of the fire with my family and listen to him play his … what you call here, a concertina.”
Napoleon smiled, hearing a sense of pride in his partner’s voice. “Guess that’s where you get your musical talent from, but not your blond hair.”
Illya shrugged. “ I think it, the music that is, came from my Babushka’s side of the family, the Rom, as it was she who taught my father to play; he was her only son...my hair I get from my mother. She had beautiful long blonde hair.”
“Wow, from your grandmother, that’s pretty nice. In my family all we were taught was to salute the Admiral, my grandfather, and say yes sir, no sir and to my other grandfather, the Ambassador, to say please and thank you. We were to be seen and not heard in the Solo household.” Napoleon spoke briefly, not wanting Illya to stop as it was the most his partner had ever let his guard down with him about a member of his family.
Illya smirked.” Perhaps that is why you have no musical talent, you were not exposed to it when you were young.”
“Hey no reason for sarcasm here.”
“Sorry, I apologize. I came here for company and I have insulted you.”
“No insult taken tovarisch.”
The two of them continued to drink and talk into the night. As Illya leaned back on the sofa Napoleon rose, stretching his arms, moving towards the curtains and looking out the window. The snow was coming down heavily now, with the street below empty of traffic, except for a few people trudging down the middle of it as the drifts on the sidewalk were too deep.
When he turned, he saw Illya had drifted off and went to a closet, getting an extra blanket and draped it carefully over his sleeping partner. Napoleon assumed the vodka saw to it that Illya would not wake to his touch.
“Spokoĭnoĭ nochi moĭ drug. Tvoĭ otets nablyudaet za vami_good night my friend, your father is watching over you, as am I. Dream of concertinas and warm fireplaces...”
One blue eye popped open. “I really need to work on your accent with you, but thank you for what you said...a kindness in any language.”
Napoleon shook his head, smiling at his friend. “Dobro pozhalovatʹ, priyatelʹ chum_you’re welcome, chum.”
“That was much better, “Illya said, ducking his head under the blanket.
* ref. “Beginnings” posted on Fanfiction.net under Mlaw http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6767104/1/Beginnings
no subject
no subject
Thanks for commenting!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject