The Espresso and Duct Tape Affair
"I wonder if anybody realizes that with enough of this stuff I could take over the world?"
"What are you talking about, Tovarisch?"
"This stuff is wonderful!"
Now Napoleon was becoming concerned. Illya hadn't seemed himself since they had returned from their last mission. The staff in Medical had assured him that the head injury was minimal, and that the effects of the concussion would likely fade quickly, but if anything, Illya seemed more manic than he had when Napoleon had seen him the previous Friday evening.
Napoleon realized the seriousness of the situation when he stepped into Illya's favorite domain, the main lab. Ribbons of duct tape covered almost every surface of the lab. Only the most delicate of the equipment had been spared the pliable substance's treatment. Every wall, counter and cupboard was plastered with the stuff. Somehow, and Napoleon shuddered to consider how his partner had managed the stunt, Illya had even covered the ceiling in layers of duct tape.
Momentarily mystified, Napoleon tried to figure out what had caused this sticky silver obsession. Suddenly, he spied the culprit. There were several duct tape bedecked coffee cups sitting on a counter. Napoleon picked up one of the coffee cups and sniffed it suspiciously. Oh dear Lord, he thought, not just coffee! Espresso! No wonder! Basically, jet fuel! And I'll bet… He turned around and checked the far corner of the lab… There it sat. Illya had an espresso-maker set up in the lab, and he was always experimenting with exotic blends. His latest triumph had been something Turkish. Napoleon sighed. Yay.
A large carton a quarter-filled with large rolls of duct tape was centered in the middle of the room. On the side of the box, a label innocently proclaimed the box had been intended for Maintenance. Apparently, either it had been mis-delivered, or possibly hijacked by his highly caffeinated, concussed partner.
Upon further inspection, the "how" of the—what? Stunt? Incident? Whatever… Anyway, it became clear how Illya had gotten away with it. Napoleon had forgotten about Illya's "backdoors" into all the security in the building. Illya had simply bypassed and looped security in the lab. Frightening thought, that…Waverly was going to be furious once he recovered from his shock over the lab itself. Of course, the fact that in his "out there" state, Illya had then proceeded to duct tape the security cameras quite securely, Waverly might not realize what Illya had even done.
During Napoleon's assessment, Illya had been happily humming to himself, merrily duct taping a large bookcase full of files at the other end of the room. He was also swigging down yet another cup of espresso. Apparently, this was how he had spent his entire weekend.
Napoleon wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or run, especially when he turned toward the open lab door and realized a small crowd of amused agents had gathered, staring at the eccentric Russian agent's handiwork.
Napoleon might have been able to salvage the situation if Illya hadn't chosen that moment to burst loudly into song…a rather dirty drinking song taught to him by Mark Slate…perfect cockney accent and all; and if Mr. Waverly, attracted by the commotion, hadn't chosen that exact moment to drop by Illya's lab. Napoleon had never before seen The Old Man's eyebrows disappear completely like that…
~The End~