"Illya, what is this?"
"I would think the answer is obvious: It is duct tape."
"I see that it's duct tape! What I mean is: Why is it the only thing in your tool box?"
"What? Napoleon, look underneath and on the floor!"
"Partner Mine, I can already tell you there are no tools on the floor."
"Not tools, blockhead. Look for a bottle of Gorilla Glue!"
Napoleon stared at Illya like he had gone mad. "Gorilla Glue? That's all you have for repairs: Gorilla Glue and duct tape?"
The Russian laughed, "Moy droog, I can fix anything with duct tape and glue. Look around my apartment. Oh, there it is. I have fixed furniture, books, records, and dishes using just those two things."
"And it shows," Napoleon sniffed.
"Only in America is one laughed at for keeping things working. Are you so used to throwing things away? Am I to believe that you are all so materialistic?"
Napoleon felt a little embarrassed by what Illya said. They had been partnered eight months earlier by Mr. Waverly and, so far, it was proving to be a good and successful match. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made fun of you. It's just that, ah, I don't ever see you spending money on yourself." He shrugged lamely. "I apologize."
Illya shook his head.
Stunned, Napoleon exclaimed, "You don't accept my apology?"
Illya grinned, "Of course I do. I am just not used to getting apologies from my superiors."
"I'm not just your superior, I'm your partner. What have I told you that means?"
"That means that for the most part, we are equals and can speak to each other as such. I called you a blockhead. Did you not notice?"
"I noticed, smart – alecky Russian, I noticed. But seriously, I didn't mean to come off sounding like such a snob. Are we good?"
The blond smiled his rare, true smile. "Good as new. And we did not even need the duct tape or the glue."