"All right, I think that's everything," Napoleon said as he rose from Mr. Waverly's circular desk. One hand slicked across his hair, smoothing it into place while the other lodged jauntily in his pocket.
"Very good, Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly intoned, "you are dismissed. Please give the young lady my regards, won't you?"
Napoleon smiled, then tipped me a wink. "I'll be happy to pass that on, sir." With a slight inclination of his head, Napoleon swept us both with a warm smile and left.
"So, Mr. Kuryakin, let us discuss the situation in Vienna. We are relatively certain that Bernardo is behind this recent spate of abductions..."
She was breathless, waiting for me. Beautiful, taffy blond hair pulled off her face, her blue eyes filled with happiness at the sight of me. I took her arm and led her to the small table in my favorite café, glad the day was fine enough to sit outside. The things sunlight did to her hair...
We held hands and spoke of her rehabilitation. I ordered champagne and the simple gesture had her almost speechless with joy. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers as I stroked her cheek, our heads pressed intimately together. Life was an adventure to her now as U.N.C.L.E worked to overcome years of T.H.R.U.S.H. programming. They worked on her brain and I worked on her heart, helping her discover things she didn't know existed.
Things like Coney Island, the first place I took her after she was considered safe enough to unleash on the unsuspecting public. And fast, red convertibles. And making love on a deserted beach under a sliver of moon that still managed to give off enough light so that I could see it reflected in the tears in her eyes as I held her afterwards. All these things she discovered like a child and she shared that wonder with me.
Now, as we sat sipping champagne as the sun went down I saw her shiver so I slipped my suitcoat around her shoulders and she smiled her thanks. Conversation had wound down, very comfortably, and for a while we just watched the passersby.
She needed me.
Vienna did not go well.
I was delayed there two weeks beyond my initial assignment, two weeks of intense, grueling work that had some nasty moments along the way. But we eventually prevailed and although our main adversary managed to elude us we did get a defecting scientist safely across the border. Mr. Waverly lauded my efforts and at the same time conveyed his disappointment that Bernardo had escaped.
I was back in my office in New York, dutifully writing my report and diligently ignoring my latest journal from M.I.T. when Napoleon strolled in and leaned a hip against the doorframe.
"Welcome back," he said easily, a genuine smile of pleasure on his lips.
"Thank you," I grunted back and bit the end of my pen, not at all sure whether I should include the part about the nuns and the geese.
Napoleon moved further inside, hands in his pockets. "I hear you did a good job in Vienna."
I looked at him and pushed my glasses further up on my nose. "That would depend on how you define good. Yes, we saw Creighton safely delivered to Interpol. Bernardo, on the other hand..." I shrugged, needing to hide the dissatisfaction I felt behind indifference.
But Napoleon was not fooled. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Say, why don't you join Mara and me for dinner? There's a little place in Soho that has—"
I stood up and shook my head. "Thank you, no. I have plans." I gathered up my paperwork and began clearing off my desk, slipping the M.I.T. paper into my briefcase.
He looked disappointed at first, then he raised his chin, a knowing expression entering his eyes. "Ah, really. Well, we could make it a foursome." Smiling again, he waited for my reply, secure in his ability to persuade me.
I shook my head and picked up the briefcase, headed towards the door. He trailed after me as I turned off the light and entered the corridor.
"No, but again, thank you anyway." I managed a smile and looked him directly in the eyes. "Give Mara my best."
The restaurant was everything it was promised to be: exquisite food, soft candlelight, a well-trained and unobtrusive wait staff. Mara was ethereal in pale blue lace, hair piled in masses of curls on her head. Tonight she was excited about the possibility of heading up a new research project, a relatively benign one that didn't involve any higher security than say, your average nuclear reactor facility. She would be tightly supervised and made to feel useful at the same time.
I smiled as she went on, relieved that her intellect and education hadn't been destroyed with the drug. In fact, Medical was learning that the drugs' potency had a pretty selective effect but one they felt they could control. Mara took it all in stride, confiding to me in bed late one night that she found the whole thing pretty interesting, once she had gotten past the frightening part of losing so much of her memories.
We were waiting for the soufflé for two and I was sipping my coffee when my mind began to wander a bit. Mara was still speaking animatedly and I listened, but part of my attention was back at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. I had been briefed on Vienna before Illya had returned and I hadn't lied. He and the European team had done well, despite the fact the Bernardo escaped. From what the report said it sounded like there was more than a little danger involved along the way, so seeing my partner back at his desk this afternoon, safe and sound, had been nice. But there was something else—
"Napoleon!" Mara was laughing at me, her hand clutching mine across the table. "You are miles away! Have I bored you so completely?"
I smiled and raised her hand to my lips. "Never, darling. I apologize, my mind was back at the office."
"Ah," she said, sitting back as the waiter returned with dessert. "Illya was scheduled to come back today, was he not?" Her blue eyes were guileless, shining with interest. "How was he?"
"Grumpy," I replied, "as usual after a mission. But," here I frowned, idly playing with a spoon, "he looked tired. Or sad, I'm not sure—" I looked up and smiled. "Well, jet lag, probably. Catches up with you eventually. I invited him to come with us tonight but I think he had a date." I tasted the soufflé and rolled my eyes in appreciation.
Mara, however, had yet to touch her dessert. "You invited him to dinner? With us, tonight?" she asked carefully.
"Sure," I shrugged, delving in for another bite. "Never has any food at his place and even if he did, seventeen days in Vienna would have made anything he did have pretty inedible, don't you think?"
There wasn't an immediate answer so I looked up. Mara was watching me, a small smile on her lips. "Seventeen days, Napoleon?" she asked softly.
"Give or take," I responded, a little puzzled by her reaction. Actually, it was seventeen days and about six hours but I didn't feel the need to point that out. Mara nodded and then finally began to eat her dessert. For the first time the silence between us was strained but I'll be damned if I knew why.
"Gentlemen, I'm sending you to Cairo." I nodded; Napoleon grimaced.
"Ah, sir, there are camels in Cairo," he said with ill-concealed distaste. I smothered a smile as Mr. Waverly's considerable eyebrows drew together in a frown.
"Quite so, Mr. Solo. Is there a problem?" He looked at me first, so before Napoleon could answer I replied.
"They spit, sir, and the last time we were in Egypt one managed to ruin Napoleon's favorite suit." I at least attempted to make it sound like a disaster of some proportion, but Waverly swung his irritated gaze back to Napoleon, who managed to look sorry and outraged at the same time.
"Well, it wasn't so much the suit as the shoes. Hand-made Italian loafers," he offered as if that explained it, then subsided with a helpless look in my direction.
Mr. Waverly let out a sigh heavy with annoyance then proceeded to brief us on our mission. Two hours later we were sent on our way, off to pack and then to the airport.
The door to Waverly's office slid closed behind us as we moved down the corridor, discussing the upcoming mission and agreeing to share a cab to JFK. We reached the elevator just as it opened and Mara stepped out, a smile lighting her face when she saw Napoleon.
"Hello, darling!" she cried, and threw her arms around Napoleon's neck. He caught her to him, taking a step back for balance. I moved quickly out of the way as she kicked one of her legs behind her in her zeal.
"I'll see you at four, Napoleon," I said and moved into the elevator, then stopped when Napoleon spoke.
"Hold it, Illya, I'll be right there." He gently dislodged Mara's arms from his neck, smiling down at her. "What are you doing here? When were you granted clearance for this level?" He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, glancing at me as I blocked the elevator doors when they tried to close.
"Mr. Waverly asked to see me," she said, pulling at her lapel to show Napoleon the temporary badge that had allowed her to pass unrestricted to this floor. "I shouldn't be long. Wait for me?" Her hand settled on his arm and he removed it, retaining it to swing between them.
"Sorry, love," he said regretfully, eyes meeting mine again. "Duty calls and Illya and I are on our way to the airport."
"Yes," I said, drawing their attention to me. "And this elevator is quite insistent on leaving so if you don't mind?" I gestured towards the open car, not bothering to hide my impatience. Napoleon gave Mara's hand a squeeze and her cheek a quick peck, then joined me as I moved into the elevator.
"I'll call you as soon as I get back," he told her as the doors began closing. She gave him a little wave but as the doors shut, her eyes were on me.
"Ahh, home sweet home." I closed my eyes as the cab pulled up at my apartment. We were just back from Cairo and a completely successful operation. My wardrobe, and the safety of the world, were intact.
Beside me in the cab Illya roused himself from the semi-stupor he had fallen into on the way in from the airport. He looked around sleepily and uncrossed his arms, leaning past me to squint at the apartment building.
"Your home," he said as he sat back. "Mine is still at least half an hour away in cross town traffic."
"Hey," I said, getting a great idea, "why don't you just come up with me? We'll call for Chinese and if you want you can sleep on the couch." I saw him waver; we were both tired and that trip across town could easily turn into an hour.
I nudged him with my elbow. "Come on, don't be stubborn. You won't have any food there and I don't know about you but I'm starved."
Blue eyes regarded me silently before a tiny grin finally appeared. "Very well. But I must insist on Moo Goo Gai Pan."
I faked a grimace at the old joke as we gathered our things and got out, but inside I was pleased. Sure, we had just spent the last three days together but that was work. Now, I looked forward to just some quiet time with my partner. I'm not sure when that had become so important, but I was too tired to analyze it.
All the way up the elevator to my apartment we argued amiably about dinner. I wanted sweet and sour pork, he wanted squid.
"But the sauce, Napoleon," he was complaining as we reached my door, "it's pink. Bright, artificially colored pink."
"No, it's more orange—" I maintained as I unlocked the door and pushed it open. In the next second my gun was in my hand and I was on one knee, Illya taking the high side, gun drawn as well. There was no mistaking the sounds of an intruder coming from my bedroom.
We both froze as Mara came out and stopped in her tracks when she saw us, emitting a little shriek. She was wearing my silk robe with a towel around her head, carrying a glass of wine. One hand went to her mouth as she stared at us.
I holstered my gun and stepped over to her. "Sorry about that, sweetheart," I murmured, rubbing her arm soothingly. She mustered a smile and I kissed her on the cheek. "This is a surprise," I continued, careful to keep to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
She pulled the towel off her head, letting her damp blond hair fall to her shoulders. "You did give me a key, Napoleon," she answered, stepping away and setting the wine glass down before turning back to me. "I hope this was all right," she said as she invitingly closer.
"Sure," I replied, caressing her chin fondly. "Illya and I were just going to order some Chinese. How do you feel about squid?" I turned back to the front door, ready to share the jest.
But Illya—luggage, gun and all—was gone.
"Negative."
I sighed and stared at the results of my latest experiment. It would seem I had erred in my theories, something I wasn't accustomed to. Somewhere I had made a false supposition that had led me to this point. Which was exactly nowhere. Now, deep in the bowels of the U.N.C.L.E laboratories, I was forced to admit my heart had not been in the job.
Inexcusable.
Gathering up my findings I decided to go over them in the questionable comfort of my office. A quick glance at my watch startled me; it was almost one in the morning. I gave a mental shrug and turned towards the door.
Napoleon was standing at the threshold, watching me without expression.
"Napoleon?" I stammered, thoroughly caught off guard. "What are you doing here?"
He wiggled his eyebrows and stepped inside, making a show of looking around the darkened lab.
"I could ask you the same question, couldn't I?" His voice was hushed, sounding almost conspiratorial.
I slipped my glasses off and tucked them into the breast pocket of my lab coat. "For you, it is unusual to be in the Research Department in the middle of the night." I shrugged. "For me, it is more common." I turned away and reached for my papers, then decided against it. A strange silence grew between us, so I slid my lab coat off and hung it on the hook beside the door. Napoleon watched me silently, hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He was immaculately dressed as always, not in a suit and tie but a dark brown sweater over black chinos.
"I was just finishing for the night," I said, coming to stand next to him. He made no move to go, blocking my exit.
"You took off rather precipitously yesterday," he said calmly, giving me a considering look.
I nodded. "No need to thank me, you know. I'm not that obtuse." I took a step towards the door, hoping that would get him moving.
But he was shaking his head. "You didn't have to. Mara left not long after."
That shocked me and no doubt it showed in my face. I had tried for hours afterwards to erase the scene from my memory but to no avail. Mara was a beautiful woman with seduction on her mind and Napoleon was ever the willing victim.
He must have sensed my thoughts because he laughed ruefully and glanced at his toes. "Well," he continued somewhat enigmatically, "it was just poor timing all the way around. Say, you want to get some coffee?"
He looked so ridiculously hopeful I had no recourse but to agree. Ignoring the telltale lifting of my spirits we left the lab together. It wasn't until much later that I realized he had never told me what he was doing there in the first place.
"Of course I understand," Mara said and I mustered a smile, trying to stifle the sharp jab of irritation. She was so—accommodating—and I should be grateful, not bothered by it.
But lately, that wasn't the only thing that troubled me about Mara. Even as we stood there in my office talking, I wondered at it. After all, I had read the report of exactly why Mara had been chosen to jar me out of my amnesia and it made perfect sense. Falling in love with her was like falling off a log, right?
Now she stood before me, long white lab coat hiding her figure, hair pulled back and black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose—and it bothered me. She didn't look right, somehow.
I brought my attention back to her as she stepped forward and straightened my bow tie. "You look quite devastatingly handsome, Napoleon," she murmured, leaning forward and placing her lips on my cheek. I grasped her elbows and looked past her shoulder to see Illya watching us from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
My God, he was good looking. As Mara continued to nuzzle my cheek I stared at him, taking in the lean, elegant figure set off so well by the tuxedo. He had yet to knot the tie, leaving it to lie over the folds of his shirt. No doubt he had come to me for help—he never could get the tie right.
Then I noticed his eyes, inscrutable and brilliantly blue against his pale skin, sharply contrasting with the black material. His gaze locked with mine and his hands dropped to his sides, fluttering slightly as if he was about to apologize. All of a sudden I knew that I didn't want him to go.
I gently pushed Mara away and dropped a kiss on her nose. Smiling up at me she leaned forward again, eyes closing in anticipation of a deeper kiss but I held her back until her eyes reopened.
"Time to go," I said quietly, releasing her. She stepped back and nodded, pouting playfully. Then she turned and saw Illya. They shared a glance and then Mara turned to me, laying a hand on my arm. "Call me later?"
Illya started moving down the hallway and before I hastened to catch up I tapped her cheek. "I'll try," I promised. "It may be late—these embassy things can get a little complicated." I felt a little guilty, leaving her standing there but Illya had already turned the corner so I went into a little jog to catch up. He was waiting at the elevator by the time I reached his side. He didn't spare me a glance as we waited silently.
Once we were inside the elevator, he turned to me wordlessly, hands deep in his pockets. With a self-deprecating little smile he leaned forward and raised his chin, offering me his still unknotted tie. Damn if my hands didn't shake as I reached for the ends; I had done this countless times before without this strange rolling sensation going off deep in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't helping that his eyes were on my face, roaming over me in an almost contemplative way. Swallowing, I made quick work of the tie and backed away, giving a little self-conscious chuckle as I straightened my jacket.
"You've really got to learn to do that yourself," I said teasingly, more to have something to say than anything else.
"Yes, I suppose I should," he responded but his voice devoid of any humor. "No telling when you won't be available." He gave me a sidelong glance. "To tie my tie, I mean."
The elevator door opened on the parking level and he stepped out, leaving me staring at his retreating back, wondering how this tight band of pain had suddenly found its way around my chest. As the doors began to close I pushed through and followed him.
The embassy party went well; the assassination attempt was never made and another U.N.C.L.E. team apprehended the instigators of this particular plot. But the affair went well into the early morning and by the time we were released from duty it was almost dawn. The two of us waited for the valet to bring my car around, not talking, not needing to. The silence was comfortable, not cumbersome like it was with Mara...
Mara. My beautiful Mara. I sincerely hoped she was in her own U.N.C.L.E.-secured apartment and not curled up in my bed. Not that she wasn't a welcome sight there, of course. But the truth was I was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home, take a shower and be alone. After dropping Illya off I went straight to my apartment, reveling in the chance to have the place to myself.
But then, perversely, I started to feel lonely. Staring out my window, watching the sun come up with a glass of orange juice in my hand, I wondered at myself. I had just spent the last ten hours in a roomful of overdressed, overfed diplomats and the silence of my own home should have been a balm. Instead, I felt like I was missing something, something important.
I glanced at my phone, wondering if maybe Mara was up by now, getting ready for work. But I discarded that idea immediately. It was six o'clock in the morning and I didn't want to be charming or solicitous or even good company. I just wanted...
I'd dialed the number before I had even noticed the phone was in my hand.
"Yes?" he answered and I smiled. He sounded wide-awake and mildly bored.
"Buy you breakfast?" I said with amusement and more than a little hope.
There was a slight pause and I held my breath.
"I'll want eggs Benedict," he said warningly. I let out the breath in a relieved whoosh that I turned into a chuckle.
"Fine. Chaucer's in half an hour?"
"What about sleep?" I clearly heard the amusement in his voice now and I smiled in response.
"That's what the couch in your office is for," I replied in a confiding whisper and was answered by a soft, derisive snort.
"Had it escaped your notice that you are the only U.N.C.L.E. agent that has a couch in his office?"
"R.H.I.P., I guess," I chuckled. "Thirty minutes, my friend."
I hung up and headed for the door, leaving the bow tie behind but grabbing the tuxedo jacket as I went. As I locked the door behind me I thought idly that it would be nice if Illya was still wearing his tux, too.
I saw her before she saw me. She was sitting in a corner of the outdoor café, watching the people go by so I took a moment to observe her. Napoleon's excellent taste in clothes had been put to good use, judging by the smart ensemble she was wearing. She also sported fashionably dark sunglasses that gave her an air of mystery.
Sighing, I began making my way to her table. When she had called me earlier and asked me to meet I at first declined. We had nothing to say to each other. But we did have something in common and once she pointed that out I could hardly say no. I was not, however, looking forward to this conversation.
She watched me sit down and raised a hand to her coiffure, patting it nervously. I waved off the waiter, noticing she still had most of a martini sitting in front of her. I wanted nothing—except for this to be over.
"You came," she said unnecessarily, removing the glasses.
I nodded. I felt no compunction to make this easier for her.
She took a deep breath. "Thank you. I'm sorry if this is awkward..." She trailed off and I nodded again. "I have this opportunity, you see, that I would like to take." Pausing, she took a sip of the martini.
I waited silently as she considered her next words. They were as unpleasant as I had imagined.
"I've been offered a position with U.N.C.L.E. in London, working in their biosciences department. I am planning on taking the assignment—and I'm going to ask Napoleon to go with me."
I carefully kept all emotion from my face despite the sudden sickening feeling growing inside me. Then something she said caught my attention. "Going to? You haven't asked him yet?"
She shook her head, twisting the stem of her glass between long, manicured fingers. "No. I wanted to speak with you first." For the first time she looked me directly in the eyes. "I want you to let him go."
I looked away. I did not want her to observe any weakness. When I looked back she was still watching me and I realized she was very, very afraid.
"Mara," I began softly, "this is not my decision to make, nor is it yours. It is Napoleon's. If he wishes to go with you, he will go. I wouldn't be able to change his mind."
She stared at me, disbelief easily read in her eyes. "Don't patronize me. I'm not a fool."
"Of course not. Napoleon would never fall in love with a fool."
She started to say something, then stopped. I waited quietly, wondering at her reluctance. Finally she spoke again, her voice quavering slightly.
"No, he wouldn't." She smiled sadly. "But that is not the point. He loves London, we both know that. And as often as the two of you travel, you'll see each other frequently. U.N.C.L.E. London is as vital an office as New York, he won't be bored—"
"Mara." I abruptly broke into her litany. "Why are you trying to convince me? This is a conversation you should be having with him."
She leaned forward, clasping her hands tightly together. "I told you, I need you to let him go. But he—cares—about you and I don't want him to feel he has to choose—"
"Stop." I laid my hand across her knotted fingers. "Mara, if Napoleon loves you, it will work out." I withdrew, watching her.
She gave a brittle laugh, one entirely devoid of humor. "'If' he loves me. How could he not? Statistics do not lie. He must, he has no choice."
"Perhaps," I said noncommittally. "But no one ever ran a computer program for you, did they? No one ever found out if Napoleon Solo was your perfect match, did they?"
To my horror tears filled her eyes. "No," she whispered, pulling out a scrap of linen from her pocketbook and dabbing her eyes with it. Her distress was real so I waited while she composed herself. After a moment she breathed deeply and continued. "As you say, no one ever checked my profile. I was not made for love, I was made for T.H.R.U.S.H."
A reader of Brontë, I noted silently and not unkindly. "But now that you know what it's like it's very hard to give up, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Even knowing that I am only a substitute."
I shifted in my seat, becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Mara, I—"
"Don't deny it. We've both known since the first time we really saw each other. I used to think I had an obvious advantage but now I realize I was wrong." She leaned forward, suddenly intense. "I need him, Illya. You don't. Please—let him go."
I didn't know what to say, but I did know that whatever feelings I harbored for Napoleon were not for display. I rose from my chair. "Mara, Napoleon will do as he pleases."
She looked up at me, a weary sadness clouding her eyes. "That is what I am afraid of."
"Washington? Why? When?"
Mr. Waverly looked up from his desk and scowled at me, having obviously moved on in the conversation whereas I had gotten stuck on this pertinent information. "Why, Bernardo, of course. Seems he was spotted in Virginia. The U.N.C.L.E. team there has requested Mr. Kuryakin's assistance, having dealt with Bernardo in Europe. Mr. Kuryakin left before dawn this morning, I believe."
I nodded, feeling disproportionately put out. Illya was my partner, not some junior agent at the beck and call of the D.C. office. I needed him. We had work to do. Why hadn't I been informed? Well, logically, I just had been, but I hated knowing things after the fact.
After we finished going over the daily review of current ops Waverly had a conference so I was left to my own devices until I conducted my own meeting with senior staff. I usually had Illya at these, backing me up and contributing as needed. The thought that he wouldn't be there further annoyed me so I decided a cup of coffee sounded good. I had just gotten settled in back at my office when my phone buzzed.
"Solo here."
"Napoleon, it's Mara. I need to see you. Are you busy?"
I looked around and sighed. "No, come on up. Don't forget to stop and exchange your badge."
"I won't. I will be there in a few minutes."
I hung up and then called the desk to arrange for the security clearance. Mara would never achieve the level of security needed to roam these halls on her own. At first I had found that bothersome but now it was simply routine.
A few minutes later she knocked and opened the door. I stood up with a smile and came around my desk, kissing her cheek before enfolding her in my arms. She was wearing the perfume we had picked out together at Bergdorf's, an oriental blend that lingered in my sheets for days. We pulled back and I let her go, moving to lean against the front of my desk. I thought I saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes but it was quickly replaced by excitement.
"Darling, I've been offered a permanent position!" She clapped her hands once and I straightened, pulling her into a tight hug and swinging her around the room.
"Congratulations!" I laughed as I set her down on her long legs. She clung to me for a moment, her face close to mine, her eyes on my lips. I kissed her lightly and then sat on my desk, her hands in mine.
"Tell me all about," I encouraged, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes.
"Well, it is with the new biosciences department. They need me to—"
I interrupted her, confused. "Biosciences? I thought that was only in London. I didn't know they were starting one in New York as well."
To my surprise a flush bloomed in her cheeks. "They're not, Napoleon. I am speaking about the one in London."
"London," I muttered, still not quite understanding. "You're moving to London?"
She pulled our joined hands up to her warm cheeks and smiled radiantly. "If we want to, yes! Oh, Napoleon it will be so wonderful! I'm sure the London office will be thrilled to have you—"
I gave her hands a squeeze and then pulled mine gently from her grasp. "Mara, what are you talking about? I'm not going to London." Smiling, I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Oh, not right away, of course! I know you have responsibilities here but once I get settled in you can join me!" Her voice had taken on an edge that grated on my nerves a little. It dawned on me that she was convinced this was going to happen.
"Sweetheart," I said carefully, "you must know I can't move to London. My work, my life—they're all here."
The animation drained from her face. "But I won't be, Napoleon. Doesn't that mean anything?"
I stood up quickly and rested my hands on her upper arms, that perfume drifting around us. "Of course it does!" I gathered her into my arms, drawing her head to my shoulder. "It will make my visits to London that much more special, knowing you're there."
She stiffened and pulled back. When her eyes met mine they were bright with anger. "Your visits, Napoleon? Your visits?" She disentangled her arms and stepped back. "I don't want you to visit, Napoleon! I want us to have a life together! Isn't that what you want?" Her voice turned pleading and it tore at my conscience. "Don't you love me?"
As I looked at her, dumbfounded by this turn of events, a few things became startlingly clear. First was that my primary response to her news, I was ashamed to admit, was one of relief. Mara was beautiful, intelligent and responsive. All the things those damn T.H.R.U.S.H. computers had said I would be attracted to. And I had been, certainly. But at her words I realized there was a missing element, that the one thing she wanted I could not give. Hard on that thought was the question why, which was quickly followed by the obvious answer. I couldn't give her my heart—it was no longer mine to give. It hadn't been for a long time—and I'd been a fool to try and fake it with Mara. She deserved better. We all did.
At that revelation I almost smiled. I'm not stupid; I had noticed the similarities between them even though they thought that I hadn't. But Mara had been willingly in my arms almost from the beginning, despite our rather rocky start. Then, as time went on, I think I had started to realize that a substitute wasn't the answer either. But by then Mara had become firmly entrenched in my life and now, looking back, I could see that I had started to chafe under the pretense of loving her.
Now she stood before me, barely daring to breathe as she waited for my reply. I wanted to let her down as gently as I could and for the first time in my
life I had no idea how to do it. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, when my phone rang.
I looked at her with an apology on my lips but Mara simply closed her eyes in frustration and turned away as I reached down and grabbed the receiver.
"Solo here."
"Mr. Solo, Waverly here. I need you to fly to Washington immediately." His voice was crisp and business-like but after so many years of association with the old man I recognized the stress behind the words. My heart constricted as his words sank in.
"Washington, sir? That's where Illya went," I added redundantly. It was the foremost thought in my mind.
"Quite so, Mr. Solo, but there has been a problem and you are needed there at once."
I swallowed. "Yes, of course. Sir? Have you heard from him?"
There was a pause. "No. Return to my office for a complete briefing while Transportation makes the arrangements."
I hung up the phone and stepped behind my desk to pull out my shoulder holster from the bottom drawer. Slipping it on I brushed past Mara and partially closed the door to grab my suit coat from its hanger. Mara didn't move and I as I put the jacket on I took a step towards her.
"Mara, I—"
"It's him, isn't it?" she broke in, her voice low and sad.
I wasn't sure exactly what she was referring to, but then I realized it didn't matter. The mission or the current mess we found ourselves in—the answer was the same.
"Yes, it's him." I cupped her cheek in my hand, a brief caress. Her hand came up to cover mine, eyes pleading with me. "I'm sorry. It always will be."
She nodded and attempted a tremulous smile. Leaning forward, I placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Then with a final touch of my fingertip to her nose I turned and left.
Illya needed me. Furthermore, I needed him.
As my partner, my friend—and my lover.
By the time Napoleon showed up all the excitement was long over. I'd like to say that everyone overreacted to my brief disappearance but given Bernardo's reputation with knives and my penchant for bruising easily I can overlook the sentimental lapse.
As it was, I'm sure I didn't look all that well when I returned to the Washington row house that served as the local U.N.C.L.E. office. My jacket, or what was left of it, had long been discarded, while my once white shirt would be relegated to the rag bin as soon as I found a replacement. Several scrapes and cuts received from chasing Bernardo through the countryside had bled to various degrees, causing the young lady stationed at the entrance to wrinkle her nose in distaste.
When I arrived I had no idea Napoleon had been summoned. After I had apprehended Bernardo he had needed some minor medical attention so he'd been taken to the hospital. From there he was scheduled to be flown back to Vienna. I had needed to borrow another field agent's communicator—mine being permanently out of order from deflecting one of Bernardo's little toys—to report the success of the operation. My job was finished by the time I returned to the local bureau.
Well, except for the blasted paperwork. After receiving my badge I immediately headed towards the locker room, intent on a shower and a change of clothes, the latter provided from the U.N.C.L.E. storeroom. No doubt they would be ill-fitting and of inferior quality, but I was not in a position to complain.
Thirty minutes later I felt infinitely better. The clothes, a pair of slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, fit surprisingly well, as if I had ordered them personally. Someone had also thoughtfully provided me with coffee and a cup of soup. They were waiting for me in the small office I was assigned for my reports and I consumed them with absent-minded relish.
I was just starting on the requisition form when the door opened. I looked up and there was Napoleon, hands in pockets, smiling at me.
"Hi there," he said mildly as he shut the door and walked further inside. Without hesitation he came around the desk and promptly sat on it, right next to my pile of reports. I had to lean back in my chair to meet his eyes. "I'm not very happy with you, you know."
Tapping my pen on the desk, I hid a smile. "Oh, really? Why this time, may I ask?"
He shrugged. "Going off without me, having all the fun, getting all the glory."
I rolled my eyes. "There is no glory in chasing a weasely little man through horse pastures and farm fields. If that is the kind of glory you seek, you are welcome to it."
He gave a little laugh and shook his head, his gaze falling on the requisition form. "What's this?" he said playfully, turning it so that he could read it better. "Another communicator? What happened to it this time?"
I shrugged. "Came in quite handy, actually. Before we took off on our little pastoral jaunt Bernardo wanted to share his knife-throwing hobby with me. Here, a souvenir from Virginia." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the broken communicator. It had been folded practically in half by the impact of the knife. I tried to hand it to Napoleon but he was looking at it in horror.
"My God, Illya, don't tell me this was in your breast pocket." His voice was low, all humor gone.
"All right, I won't tell you," I said guardedly, disturbed by the haunted look in his eyes as he stared at me. I wanted to erase that look so I continued jokingly, "I also won't tell you about the cow that took exception to my—"
"Don't," he whispered and stood up, reaching down and drawing me to my feet as well. His hands locked around my arms and he gave me a little shake. "Don't make jokes about it."
I swallowed and licked suddenly dry lips. "Napoleon," I said quietly, "we always laugh about these things." He was so close I could I feel his warm breath on my cheek. Dark eyes that I had loved for so long were looking back at me with such tenderness, such caring, that my own breath caught in my throat with a little gasp. "Napoleon—"
"It's never been funny, you know," he murmured, eyes on my mouth. "Never." I watched, my heart pounding with sweet anticipation, as his head lowered. Emotions almost too exquisite to handle welled inside me as his lips found mine in a gentle caress, his soft mouth moving against mine with infinite care. Dropping the communicator to the floor, my hands rose to clasp his waist. I leaned towards him with a small moan, wanting to deepen the kiss, wanting more, wanting everything...
Then suddenly he released me and moved away. I swayed a little bit and took a deep breath, needing to rest my hands on the desk as he stepped towards the small window behind us. Closing my eyes, I bitterly realized that I had just betrayed myself utterly.
I heard him clear his throat and I forced myself to turn around and face him. He looked as though he was already back to his old self, leaning against the window frame, arms crossed over his chest. Only the quick rise and fall of his chest gave an indication that all was not normal.
"So how soon do you think you can be done here?" he asked casually, as if nothing earth-shattering had just taken place.
I shrugged, confused but willing to play along—for the sake of my own sanity. "Paperwork is the same all over the world, isn't it? I'll need at least another hour and then I've a conference call with U.N.C.L.E. Vienna. I was hoping to catch a late flight back to New York tonight."
He nodded. "Sounds good. Listen, I think I'm going to head back to HQ now. Oh, by the way," he said as he straightened and moved towards me again, a small smile coming to his face. "I've got tickets to the symphony tomorrow night. Tchaikovsky, I think. Isn't he one of your favorites?"
I nodded and looked away, not wanting him to see the misery and bewilderment I couldn't hide. "Yes, he is. I'm sure Mara will enjoy it immensely." I reached down and idly shuffled the papers on the desk, trying not to let my body react as he stepped closer.
"Oh, Mara won't be going. She'll be too busy packing, I believe."
Well, there it was. I swallowed, refusing to meet his eyes even as he laid a warm hand on my shoulder. "Packing?" I replied, trying and not succeeding to sound offhand, my gaze still fixed on the desk.
"Yes, she's been offered a job in London, in their new biosciences department. It's a good move for her." The hand on my shoulder tightened slightly, exerting enough pressure to bring me around to face him.
When I met his eyes they held a look of such warmth that I relaxed a bit. Whatever the future held for us, Napoleon would always be my friend. That truth allowed my next words, painful as they were.
"A good move for her, certainly," I said, then plunged forward. "And you? Is it a good move for you, Napoleon?"
His hand slid up over the dark wool of my sweater, coming to rest at the base of my neck, the tips of his fingers threaded through my hair. It was an intimate, lovely touch and as I gazed at him I realized it was also the answer to my question.
"No, Illya," he said firmly, his eyes shining, "it is definitely not a good move for me. I have many good moves, as you'll soon find out—ah, but that is not one of them. Now, listen," he said, removing his hand and moving towards the door, "I'll pick you up at six so we can grab a bite beforehand." Reaching for the knob he stopped and snapped his fingers, looking back at me. "It's black tie, you know. Some fundraising gala, not your usual concert for the unwashed public."
"You're such a snob, Napoleon," I said chidingly, but finding myself smiling all the same. He answered with a smile of his own and a small salute, then he was gone. I heard him whistling as he walked down the corridor and my smile widened.
Bending down I retrieved the broken communicator from under the desk. Tossing it from hand to hand, I replayed the last few moments over in my mind, looking at the situation analytically from all angles. Each time, I reached the same joyous conclusion.
Napoleon needed me...
...Napoleon loved me.
"It's going to rain," Illya said with fake annoyance as he gazed up into the night sky outside of the restaurant. "And we're already going to be late."
I shrugged and glanced down the street, trying to see if my car was coming. "Maybe," I countered, turning to him with a smile. "Don't worry about it."
He returned my smile and I felt my breath quicken at the sight of him. All around us, people were strolling the sidewalks of Manhattan, laughing and talking; the streets were clogged with traffic as the nightlife of New York ebbed and flowed around us. But for me, all I saw was him. His severely cut tuxedo and perfectly knotted bow tie—wait a minute.
"Um, Illya?"
"Yes, Napoleon?"
"Your bow tie. It's, ah, tied."
"Very good, Napoleon. We may make a spy of you yet."
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. Sort of.
"You've never been able to knot that tie before. I didn't do it for you. Who did it for you this time and should I be jealous?"
I watched with delight as a wash of pink colored his cheeks even as he met my eyes squarely.
"I've always been able to tie my own bow tie, Napoleon," he said patiently, like he was explaining something to a child, but there was no mistaking the gleam in his eye.
Then I got it.
"Oh, ho," I whispered, raising my eyebrows. "Seems like I'm not the only one who's been keeping a secret."
Illya shook his head with false regret, then smiled at me. We stood there, grinning at each other like idiots until the valet brought my car around. Once we were all settled inside I moved into traffic, headed for the tunnel. Illya was silent at my side until we reached the turnoff.
"Napoleon, even you know the way to the theatre. This is not it."
"Very good, Illya, we may make a navigator of you yet. Sorry to say, but I gave my tickets to George. He had a date tonight."
"So did I," Illya answered grumpily. "Or at least I thought I did."
I chuckled, not at all insulted. "Well, you still do, just not on the island of Manhattan. But here," I reached down and turned on the radio. "They're broadcasting live so we can listen on the way."
"On the way to where?" he asked suspiciously, but I knew it was all for show.
I waggled a finger at him. "Ah, ah, ah, that's for me to know, partner."
He grumbled happily beside me, stretching out and getting comfortable. The music from the concert played softly in the background as we drove out of the city and into more rural areas.
After a while Illya reached up with his left hand and pulled the end of his tie loose.
"Hey!" I said with a quick swat to his arm. "Don't start without me! Here, give me your hand."
"What?"
"Your hand, give it to me."
My eyes remained on the road but I could feel the uncertainty coming out of his eyes as he gazed at me. I held my hand out, palm up, waiting, until he finally rested his fingers there. I immediately closed my hand around his and brought it to my lips for a quick caress before resting our joined hands on the seat between us.
"There," I said with unfeigned satisfaction. "That's better."
He gave my hand a squeeze in response, his gaze firmly fixed on the passing countryside outside his window.
Forty-five minutes later we pulled off on a small, paved lane that led up to house set back in the woods. The lights were turned on, giving it an inviting feel as I parked next to the steps that led up to a small porch.
We both got out and Illya moved to the bottom step while I walked around to the trunk and opened it.
"Here, give me a hand with this," I said, pulling out a small overnight bag and tossing it to him. He caught it by the handle, looking at me questioningly. I ignored him as I grabbed the other bag and shut the trunk. He waited for me at the foot of the steps and when I went to go up he stopped me with a forearm across my chest.
"Napoleon," he said quietly as he dropped his arm, and I caught the serious note right away.
"Yes," I answered just as softly.
"Are you sure?" There wasn't exactly hesitation in his question, more like a need for information. But I wasn't fooled; I knew every nuance in that voice.
With my free hand I reached up and rubbed my thumb over a high cheekbone. Looking at him with every ounce of love I felt for him clearly showing in my eyes, I answered. "My love," I replied gently, using the endearment deliberately and truthfully, "have you ever known me not to be?"
He was magnificent.
And for the first time in a long time, I underestimated him.
I had taken the bag from his hand and left him to roam around the common rooms while I got our things squared away in the bedroom. Feeling pretty pleased with myself for engineering this entire scenario, I quickly unpacked and set things to rights, anticipating the evening of my dreams. A quick flick of my wrist and the tie was gone, tossed on a slipper chair and quickly followed by my tuxedo jacket. Walking out of the bedroom, I was on my second shirt button and wondering what had happened to all the lights when he made his move.
Before I knew what was happening I was carefully pinned to the nearest wall, hands like steel latching onto my upper arms and immobilizing me. Professional instinct made me want to struggle initially, but a deeper, more basic instinct allowed me to be manhandled. Only he could get away with it and he knew it.
Relaxing, I met the fierce blue eyes set in a face so focused that my heart, already pounding from the unexpected attack, sped up even more. This was an Illya I had known only in my fantasies and the quickly rising heat between us made me realize that the slow, steady seduction I had planned was out the proverbial window—and I couldn't be happier.
Not surprisingly, he read my mind. "Not what you had intended, is it, Napoleon?" he whispered with a wicked little grin, slowly bringing all his weight to bear against me. I bucked against him a bit, just for effect, my eyes fixed on his sensitive mouth.
"Yeah," I answered, wrapping my arms around his waist, "guess I'll save the sonnet reading and bower climbing for later, hunh?"
"Much later," he growled and then his lips were on mine.
Our previous kiss had in no way prepared me for the sheer sensuality of Illya's mouth. My eyes closed at the first touch, his lips warm and tenderly demanding as they moved across mine. Concentrating on the feeling of his tongue brushing against my lips, I didn't notice at first that he had released my arms to slide his hands up to my face, cupping it on either side. He backed off just enough so we could take a quick breath, then he gently angled my head so that when our mouths met again they opened naturally to each other.
The first touch of our tongues drew moans from both of us and I tightened my arms, drunk on the feel of him through the crisp shirt. My mind registered in passing that he had removed his jacket and tie but coherent thought was becoming more difficult by the minute.
I don't know how long we stood there, holding tight as our mouths learned each other with the true hunger of the long deprived, but soon it wasn't enough. My perfectly tailored trousers didn't leave a lot of room for error and, after a few minutes of the most erotic necking in my entire life, they were making that fact abundantly clear. When we broke apart again, I rested my forehead on his and let out a shaky little laugh. He made a vague sound of protest so I gently pried one of his hands away from my neck and guided it down the length of my chest, drawing in a ragged breath as he let me direct the caress to my swollen groin. Once there he took over, pulling back slightly to watch my eyes as he stroked me through the fabric, running his tongue over reddened lips when I moaned deep in my chest.
"Ah," he murmured unsteadily and I was pleased to see that his own iron control was rapidly slipping away, "it would seem my mission here is complete." He straightened and brushed a hand through his hair, then balanced me as I pushed away from the wall.
"Your mission," I replied, sliding a hand around his neck and pulling him in for a quick, fierce kiss, "hasn't even started yet." I released him only long enough to step behind him and give him a quick push towards the softly lit bedroom, following close on his heels.
Undressing each other was pretty much of a blur; the gradual removal of clothing I had envisioned also tabled for another time. In all truthfulness this seduction had started years ago and hopefully we had many years ahead of us to indulge in all sorts of fantasies, but right now other needs took precedence. One part of me took notice of everything about him as it was revealed to me but just the sight of him, naked and proudly aroused as he stood just out of my reach, wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.
I had already pulled down the duvet but the room was comfortably warm and I had no intention of making love to him under the covers. Stepping around him, I knelt on the bed and held out my hands, pulling him forward gently until he mirrored my position, just enough space between us so that our bodies didn't touch except for our entwined fingers.
His eyes were huge as they watched me, and just as I had given control over to him in the living room he now gave it over to me. That thought made me catch my breath—there was no hesitation as he gazed at me, his beautiful chest rising and falling rapidly as he waited for my next move.
I released him and laid a palm across his jaw. He leaned into the touch, knowing what I asked without words. His answer was just as silent but no less true. He nodded and brushed his lips over my wrist and that was the beginning of the end.
Dropping my hands to his slim waist I pulled him against me so that our erections met for the first time, both of them already glistening and swollen. I caught the cry rising from his throat in my mouth as I claimed his lips and I quickly decided I liked it, so I slid my hands around to the creamy flesh of his buttocks and squeezed, eliciting the same needy groan. I didn't have time to be encouraged by his response because I was too busy exploring his neck with my mouth, finding unimaginable sweetness there. His own mouth suddenly got busy and I almost came there on my knees when he pushed me back far enough for his mouth to reach my nipples, his hands splayed against my back for balance.
A horizontal venue now seemed like a good idea, so I pushed back and twisted us both so he landed beneath me, his superb reflexes making us fit perfectly together. I ended up between his parted legs, arms extended so that I was suspended over him and looking down at his face, so beautifully flushed and unguarded.
Then I started to touch him. With my eyes and fingers I explored his skin, not flawless due to scars and the more recent run-in with the Virginia countryside, but yielding and warm over firm muscles. I was instantly, hopelessly addicted to the feel of him. The inside of his arm, the juncture of torso and hip, the tops of his thighs—all were mapped with my loving hands.
And every inch of him that I stroked with my fingers was recaptured by my lips until he was writhing beneath me, beyond vocalization by the time I took him in my mouth. Intoxicated by the feel of him I set up a devastating tempo, driving him higher until he froze, my hands grasping his hips and holding him down when he came with a hoarse shout, emptying himself down my welcoming throat. With a strangled groan he collapsed, eyes shut, hands now fisted in the blanket. As he recovered I started a line of kisses, beginning with the sodden curls at his groin, over the already well loved hips, across his chest until I reached his mouth.
"Still with me?" I muttered against his lips, leaving hurried little kisses that he returned, weakly at first, then with more enthusiasm as his arms came around my neck. I pulled back and brushed the hair off his damp forehead.
And a good thing, too. My own need was acute and he knew it, feeling me pressing against his abdomen as I made love to his mouth, sliding my hands under his hips one more time.
"Turn for me, love," I panted, giving him an encouraging nudge. But to my surprise he resisted, raising his hands to frame my face.
"No."
Oh God, he wants me to stop. But before the word had a chance to destroy me, he pulled me close until his lips brushed my ear.
"See me, Napoleon," he whispered raggedly, "I want you to see me. Do you understand?" He let me move away but only far enough so that his mouth could take mine with the strength born of his ownership of me, even as one hand reached to the bedside table for the small bottle I had placed there earlier. Still kissing me, he pressed the vial into my palm, closing my fingers around it.
Breaking away I stared down at him, rendered breathless by the pain behind his words. "You are all I've ever seen," I answered softly, bending down to kiss him, "and all I've ever wanted."
Then I started loving him in earnest, making sure to rekindle his desire as I prepared him with my mouth and fingers. He was unfailingly generous in his responses as he squirmed beneath me, caressing me where he could and encouraging me with love words murmured in Russian.
When I finally entered him the moment was so much more than I had ever imagined—it was homecoming, a safe harbor, a wrong made forever right. He grunted at first as his body adjusted to me, but soon the pleasure enveloped us both and he began jerking his hips in an effort to increase the stimulation. I stilled him with my hands, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Let me, love, let me," I soothed. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and gave me such a beautiful smile that my breath caught, unaccustomed tears momentarily dimming the sight of him.
It didn't last long—it couldn't and I didn't want it to. We moved together so perfectly, anticipating each other's desires so completely that I felt his oncoming release even as I tried to control my own. His erection was caught between us and as I increased the tempo of my thrusts I grasped it in one slick hand, pumping it in time to the rhythm of my hips. Faster and faster I went, my eyes fixed greedily on his face as it revealed everything to me. Finally, I thrust hard and he came, back arching and arms flung over his head to clutch the headboard. The sight of him wantonly spread beneath me, his strong muscles contracting around me and the sound of his guttural cry as he pulsed over and over were my undoing. With a shout of my own I came, shooting deeply inside him as I buried my face in his neck and nearly blacked out.
When the world reassembled itself I was still lying on top of him, just a little off center. His arms had come down around me and were holding me close, my head pillowed on his chest as his fingers stroked through my hair. With a sigh I pushed myself up and away, watching his face for any sign of discomfort as we separated. There was a small wince followed by a reassuring smile as we resettled, me falling back against the bed and pulling him with me until our positions were reversed and he was secure in my arms.
We lay like that for a while, idly caressing, until he disentangled himself and rose, heading for the bathroom. I pulled the duvet up and yanked the far edge over me so that when he returned I could enfold him in it. I waited impatiently, jealous of this precious time and knowing that there was still so much unsaid, at least for my part.
When he returned he had a warm, damp cloth. As he sat down on the bed I reached for it and he drew it back playfully, pulling the duvet down to expose my chest. I watched in fascination as he proceeded to clean me, every swipe of the cloth a caress against my heated skin. When he finished he threw the towel over his shoulder with a flourish and climbed in, dragging the duvet over us as he wriggled around to get comfortable.
We ended up with his head nestled on my chest, one of his arms wrapped around my middle and his knee thrust between my thighs. I inhaled deeply, contentedly breathing in the scent of him and comparing it to the spicy smell of Mara's perfume. Funny—I helped her pick it out and it was about as far away from Illya's natural scent as it could be. As I curled my arms around him, I thought about that, finally smiling to myself as the answer came to me. For whatever Mara had been to me, she had never been Illya. Even subconsciously, I knew it, long before I admitted to myself that I was in love with him.
And that's what it was, in all truth. His warm, moist breath flowed across my ribs but I knew he wasn't asleep. I took a deep breath, the movement unsettling him enough that he raised his head and blinked at me. There was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes and I realized he thought my sigh was one of regret. Best nip that in the bud immediately.
I shifted down so our heads were closer and kissed him slowly, languorously, taking my time to explore his exquisite mouth and happy to let him return the favor. When we finished we were both properly breathless and smiling.
"Nice, Napoleon," he murmured, pressing a kiss over my heart. I lifted his chin with two fingers, making him meet my gaze.
"I love you," I said quietly, without a smile, knowing he would see the truth in my eyes. His smile faded as well as he regarded me very seriously, his hand coming up to caress my cheek.
"I know," he mouthed silently, a small frown gathering between his eyes. "And I love you, Napoleon. I had no idea how much until..." he stopped and looked away, shuttering his eyes.
I gave him a little shake. "Until when, Illya? Tell me..."
"Mara," he replied simply. I nodded, understanding his reluctance to bring her into the conversation.
I shifted him a little closer. "I never thought I'd be saying this, but it looks like I have a real reason to thank T.H.R.U.S.H."
One blond eyebrow quirked. "Don't let Mr. Waverly hear you say that."
I smiled. "Ah, no, even I know better than that." I pressed a kiss to his forehead and eased his head back to my chest. "Still mad at me for giving my concert tickets to George?"
A soft huff of laughter greeted that suggestion. "Yes, very." His head popped up again, eyes sparkling. "I'll expect you to make amends."
"Really," I said conversationally, one hand reaching for him, the other tossing the duvet over our heads. My searching fingers elicited a very interesting little moan.
"Well, this looks like a good place to start."
"Very well, gentlemen, I believe we're finished here. You'll be expected at the Winnipeg conference by Thursday." Mr. Waverly swept us with a dismissive glance and we rose from the table, both of us reaching for the report at the same time. With a slight bow I backed away, leaving a smiling Napoleon to gather the papers. As we reached the door, Mr. Waverly spoke again.
"Ah, Mr. Solo," he said, and we paused, sharing a glance before turning to face him.
"Yes, sir?"
"The young lady—you saw her on her way today, I believe?"
Napoleon tucked his hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet. "Ah, yes, the young lady. She was on the one o'clock flight to London."
Mr. Waverly smiled slightly, leaning back in his chair. "No doubt you'll be requesting more missions overseas, Mr. Solo?"
Napoleon returned the smile as I crossed my arms impatiently. He gave me a mischievous sidelong glance as he replied. "Well, no sir. I'm afraid that relationship is now strictly professional."
I watched as Mr. Waverly assimilated this turn of events, his brow furrowing with the implications. He had been as aware of Mara's unique qualities as anyone. "Really, Mr. Solo? I find that rather disconcerting under the circumstances. Are you sure?" he added doubtfully.
Napoleon's smile widened; he was enjoying this, I thought with resignation. "Yes, quite sure, sir. It would seem that T.H.R.U.S.H., while an impressive adversary, just isn't very good at playing Cupid." Then he had the temerity to wink at our superior. Mr. Waverly, no doubt used to Napoleon's flippant tendencies, merely lowered his head with a derisive snort and we took our opportunity to leave.
As we walked towards the elevators Napoleon nudged me with his elbow. "Remind me to tell you later that you're a bad influence."
I raised my eyebrows, affronted. "What have I done?"
We reached the elevator as Napoleon shrugged. "You heard me out and out lie to Mr. Waverly. I can't help but think it's all your fault, somehow." The elevator opened and we stepped inside, pressing separate buttons.
I nodded and hid a smile, seeing the merits of his argument. "Very well. I concede your point and consider myself duly chastened."
Napoleon wiggled a finger in my direction. "Not so fast. I made good on the concert tickets—"
"Yes, you did," I murmured, annoyed at the heat rising in my cheeks.
"—so I'll expect the same consideration in return." We had reached Napoleon's floor but before the door opened he made a pretense of adjusting my lapels, sliding his fingers under the material to caress me through the cloth. "We don't have to leave for two days, you know. Plenty of time for you to make it up to me. Starting tonight, at your place."
The door opened and he withdrew. "Very well, if you insist," I responded with mock annoyance. "I guess it's better than doing laundry." Napoleon laughed but it was only after the elevator door closed behind him that I let myself smile in return. I gave a thought to poor Mara, somewhere over the Atlantic, and silently wished her well.
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