Napoleon Solo just couldn't figure out his partner at times, he was the most grounded man he'd ever worked with, possessing a keen common sense, and though the Russian had an all too dry sense of humor, that tended to only show itself when Illya decided to annoy his captors with his witty barbs. All it did was tick them off, and worsen their treatment of him.
Illya, for a quiet often reserved man, just couldn't keep his mouth shut, and would egg them on. Why, Napoleon had no clue, and with the exception of pointed comment now and then, Kuryakin often seemed humorless.
And now Napoleon stared at the incongruous image of his somber partner dressed in a black white and red clown costume, a white conical hat atop his blond head, and his face completely covered in pancake makeup, and though the usual face painted on such a clown was a smile, Illya had chosen a frown.
"What the hell kind of clown get up is that? Where's the red nose and the rainbow wig, and the oversized shoes?"
"Since you decided I should be costumed thusly for this little affair, I opted to go for a European style performer. Traditionally, there are three basic types of clowns that appear in the circus: the whiteface, the auguste and the character. Each of these types of clown may wear a makeup that is either neat, slightly exaggerated or grotesque, that is wildly exaggerated."
Napoleon held his hand to his temple, feigning a headache and shaking his head as Illya continued his little lecture.
"There is no single, absolute definition of what constitutes each clown type, with international performers encompassing an extremely wide range of styles, from the classical to the innovative".
"Can't you ever give it a rest? I don't believe you're lecturing me on clowns," Napoleon sighed. Some of his partners dissertations could be interesting but this one wasn't.
"Hmm, I have asked you the same question many times over," Illya finally smiled.
That elicited a raised eyebrow and a stare from the American. "So what's wrong with a red-nosed Bozo the clown?"
"Nothing, but this is what suits my personality. That is the way of clown makeup."
"Well you look like you're going to be in a production of "Pagliacci" instead of being in a circus ring. You're supposed to make them laugh not cry."
"Close enough, as the image I was attempting to replicate was the Pierot clown," Illya smirked. "At least I did some research into my role, unlike you. Your's is one that might have suited me better than this." Illya gestured with a wave of his hand across his body." I am a far superior knife-thrower than you, and you are the one with the sense of humor."
"Hey, knife thrower was the only job not filled with the show that suited moi, and besides, I have to be center stage and looking good you know."
"Like that is something new for you?" I am surprised you did not get yourself the Ringmaster position."Illya jabbed.
"Very cute, but that's the job of the circus owners son. Couldn't cause problems with our host, could I?"
"Perish the thought," Illya mumbled.
"I am what I am," Napoleon smiled, straightening out his red satin matador's jacket. "Now get out there and wow the audience and be funny for once, and don't forget to keep an eye out for that courier."
"Like I would forget such a thing?" Illya groused as they headed towards the main tent. "And may I remind you not to ogle any of the pretty girls."
"No you may not, now just be a clown... get your common sense and your sense of humor in sync for once will you? You're still supposed to be entertaining the crowds."
"That's exactly right Mr. Solo," a voice spoke from behind the two agents,"and Illya will be."
It was B.A. Gigglet, the head clown for the circus, and when they'd first met, the man immediately offered an explanation for his name, he said it was 'Gig-lay', giving it more of a French pronunciation. He'd come from a long line of clowns, and kept with the family tradition and personally saw to Illya's training. B.A. was enthusiastic over the Russian's choice of costuming, assuring Solo that his partner had an eye for details and a true gift.
Napoleon wasn't quite ready to believe that, knowing his stoic friend.
There was a drumroll and a brass band crescendo from within the big top, giving Kuryakin his signal to make his entrance as 'Pasha the juggling clown.'
"How is this?" He smiled sardonically, charging through the curtains, as he did a series of cartwheels and backflips, landing him on bended knee with his arms outstretched in the middle of the main ring. The audience gave him a thunderous round of applause.
Illya climbed up to a tightrope, about ten feet from the floor and once at the platform he was tossed a set of brightly colored balls by B.A. and began to juggle them furiously, adding more and more until he had seven of them going at once as he began walking the the rope, flawlessly keeping his balance. That was the first pass, the return trip on the wire was on board a unicycle, still juggling.
"Ham," Napoleon muttered waiting to make his entrance, though he was amazed Illya had managed to get his act together, as if he'd flicked on a switch. After his juggling act, the Russian dismounted the wire, and moved out of the ring among the audience, chasing another clown who had begun harassing him while doing his routine; all part of the act this time, and Illya grabbed a nearby bucket of water, tossing it at his rival clown, only to have confetti shower down over the audience.
The UNCLE agent did it with ease, as if had been performing as a circus clown all his life.
He returned to the center ring joined by several more clowns, proceeding into another juggling act with bowling pins, along with more spectacular tumbling.
"See I told you he was a natural," B.A. repeated to Napoleon.
Solo waited for his turn in the ring after the next act was announced and the artists strutted past him, entering to a fanfare given by the band.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages. May I call your attention to the center ring. I present to you a group of death defying daredevils, best known for performing high wire acts without a safety net. I give you the famous "Flying Wallendas!"
The American continued to watch his partner dance among the crowds again, as he stepped from out of the spotlight.
Illya performed little tricks, producing feathered bouquets out of thin air, presenting them to the ladies, tickling children, making them burst into laughter; all the while his eyes were darting in every direction, on the lookout for the courier.
Napoleon smiled, thinking perhaps Illya had a more light-hearted sense of humor hidden under that cool exterior of his after all, and it was nice for once to see it make an appearance. Or was it just an act? That was a question he'd try to get an answer to later on.
There was a sudden outburst from the crowd, but not one of cheers for the trapeze act, and Solo watched as his partner dove into the stands, wrestling a man with a gun in his hand.
Napoleon acted on pure instinct, charging out and throwing his knives one after another, pinning the man to the one of the wooden bleachers as Illya delivered a knockout punch before he tripped backwards over a small child.
Solo reached the stands as his partner was just getting to his feet, and watched as the Russian comforted the crying child, bouncing her and making quakings sounds, turning the tears turn to laughter as he handed the little girl over to her terrified mother.
"You all right pal? What happened?" Napoleon asked.
"Our so-called courier was actually an assassin, he was aiming up at one of the trapeze artists, I barely had time to knock him over."
"Good job tovarisch," Napoleon smiled, spotting the local police as they approached them. He flashed his ID, turning over custody of the would-be assassin to them.
"Not bad knife throwing if I do say so myself," Napoleon nodded with a sense of pride as they left the circus tent.
"Hmm, yes your use of the knives counters the old adage...'Never bring a knife to a gunfight,' I might amend it by adding, 'bring several.'
"Why Illya Kuryakin, I believe you just made a joke," Napoleon grinned. "There's hope for you after all."
"I was not joking, I was serious," the Russian protested dispassionately. The image was all the more incongruous as he was still wearing his clown face, though he planned to remove it before going with his partner to question the trapeze artists. They needed find out why one of them was the target of an assassin.
Napoleon contacted headquarters, reported the outcome of the affair.
"Well done gentlemen, however there will be no need to question any of the Wallendas, you see, one of their safetymen was the courier."
"Really?" Napoleon asked," And why may I ask, with all due respect, were we not told this?"
"We did not know Mr. Solo as his identity was only just revealed to us. He was to have made contact with you as you recall. And now since you know who he is, please meet with him, get the information and return to headquarters for debrief."
"Yes, sir understood. Solo out."
Napoleon turned to see his partner, who doing some magic tricks with a coin for some children who'd gathered around him.
"Ahem, excuse me Mr. Personality, but it's time to meet and greet our courier."
"That is Pasha, if you do not mind." Illya gave his final bow to the children as they applauded him.
"You know, you took to this way too fast. Tovarisch, you not telling me something, like your family being circus people maybe?"
"No not circus people, but part gypsy. Rom always have had a bit of the theatrical in their blood."
Napoleon shook his head, "Any other talents you'd like to share with me, since you're being just a little forthcoming?"
"No." Illya smiled mischievously.
"Tsk. What else is new?" Napoleon muttered to himself.
.
Thanks to Avirra for the inspiration for the name B.A. Gigglet.