Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo were often told they were meant to be enemies, but neither man was accepting of being told what to think.
Napoleon had been hearing it from the moment the UNCLE grapevine had gotten wind that Section II's new Chief Enforcement Agent was about to get, not only a permanent partner, but a Russian permanent partner. It was all the Section II and III agents talked about until he and Section III head Slater Gray ordered a stop to it. Napoleon had stood at the head of the conference room and told his agents to stop second guessing The Old Man because he knew just what he was doing and Napoleon would form his own opinions about his new partner, thank you very much. Anyone who didn't cotton to the idea of a Russian in the New York office was welcome to transfer or quit.
It had taken some time, but Napoleon came to see that the seemingly cold, deceptively thin, short man with too – long hair and acerbic wit wasn't an emotionless automaton of an agent; he was a passionate man who truly believed in UNCLE's mission to better the world and did whatever he could to further that mission. He smiled as he stretched out his arms and legs and groaned in satisfaction. His smile broadened as a growl emanated from underneath the covers.
Illya popped his head from under the sheet and snapped, "Is there some reason why you have awakened me?" He ran a hand through his hair which caused the front of it to partially stand up and for some reason, reminded Napoleon of a chicken. The blond frowned in annoyance as his partner flopped back onto the bed and laughed. "What is so funny?"
"You look like a chicken."
"And you look like a cock! What is your point?"
Napoleon's eyes widened. "What the hell kind…Oh. You mean a rooster."
"Okay."
"This just illustrates what I was thinking about right before you woke up. The grapevine was betting that we wouldn't be able to stand each other."
Illya sat up now and looked interested. "Because I am Russian?"
"In the beginning, yes. People thought Americans and Russians would get along like oil and water. After you arrived, the gossip mill kicked into high gear. Everyone assumed we would become enemies because we're such opposites. Look at us! I flirt with every woman I see while you barely acknowledge their existence. I'm an extrovert and you're an introvert. I enjoy listening to American standards while you prefer jazz."
"I prefer sleeping at night while you prefer talking my head off?" Illya squinted at his wristwatch on the nightstand. He could barely make out the time in the pale moonlight filtering its way through the curtain window. "It is two – thirty in the morning. Our flight does not leave until early afternoon. I was hoping to sleep until ten."
"That's another thing: I like to get up early and you don't! You're a bit of a slob and I'm more of a neat freak. You don't smoke cigarettes and I do."
"I always seem to have cash in my pocket and you are always broke by Wednesday," Illya added. "All of that is true, but when we are out on an affair, like the one we just completed, we do seem to click, do we not? We seem to be in each other's head; I know what you will do even when our plans go awry."
"Me, too. I guess that's why we're so successful, Tovarisch. It must be true what they say: Opposites attract."
"If I agree, will you please shut up and let me go back to sleep?"
"Of course, Partner Mine. I'll be quiet, go back to sleep. See you in the morning," Napoleon said as he rolled over and pulled the covers over his shoulder."
"You mean later in the morning," the Russian corrected, "If you disturb me again, we might become enemies, after all."
"I love you, too. G'night."