The prompt: 'What if' Angelique were a double-agent?
Napoleon Solo gazed at the woman in bed beside him; it was none other than Angelique La Chien, his sometime lover and full time T.H.R.U.S.H. operative.
She was beautiful, smart and deadly and there were times he wondered how the two of them had gotten into this habit of meeting up for a night...or in this case, a weekend of carnal indulgence.
There was instant attraction between them when they first met years agao, and before they knew it they were locked in not a fierce battle of wits, but in possibly one of the greatest kisses Solo had ever experienced.
Once they had segued to a hotel suite, he remembered as she did a slow strip-tease for him, revealing that alabaster white skin, those luscious breasts, and that perfect spot… just waiting for him to slip inside.
As much as he was attracted to this woman, sleeping with the enemy came with risks. He knew that, as did she.
There was always the chance she could be ordered by the Hierarchy to kill him, though he doubted that would happen. Nor did he expect Alexander Waverly to order him to eliminate Angelique.
Both their organizations were well aware of the nocturnal shenanigans going on between their two agents, but it seemed to be tolerated; for what purpose...it wasn't clear at least to Napoleon.
Periodically he and Angelique would let information slip to each other during their pillow talk. It was always false information, with just a tinge of legitimacy...usually something that was old news. It kept the masters happy, they supposed.
Both Napoleon and Angelique would plant bugs on each other as a parting gift after their amorous rendezvous. It did little good as they'd both find the listening devices not long afterwards.
Angelique continually professed her hatred of Solo's partner ad nauseum, though Napoleon would ignore it when she called Illya 'that insipid Russian.' He took note that it seemed not to bother the man, though sometimes he wondered why it didn't.
There were times he would quote Shakespeare to himself, thinking 'the lady doth protest too much' when it came to his Soviet partner.
Given Kuryakin was always in the vicinity, keeping his eye on his partner's back when Napoleon had made his assignations with the T.H.R.U.S.H. femme fatale; it made sense Angelique would complain.
Though he was assured everything was fine by his American partner, Illya thought otherwise and deemed it the prudent thing to do. He simply did not trust a Thrushie, especially someone named 'the dog,' which was the translation of Angelique's surname.
Whether it was hanging out on a street corner to make sure Solo left safely, or eavesdropped from a room nextdoor. The Russian dispassionately bugged their hotel suite, and though it necessitated he listen in on Napoleon and Angelique's ummm, horizontal mambo, he didn't care.
He would listen in on their discussion, checking to see if anything of use might be said in the throes of passion. There never was; the other things, the sounds of their lovemaking he simply ignored.
Napoleon knew when his partner was monitoring them, and it didn't seem to bother him in the least that Illya would be privy to a most personal and private interlude with a woman, though after all it wasn't just any woman.
Angelique no doubt suspected as much, and Napoleon had a feeling she thought of it as a turn on. Though she despised Kuryakin, perhaps the idea of the Russian listening in was her way of rubbing Illya's nose in it...the fact that she had his friend and partner in a most intimate way.
There were rumours about the two men, though she knew them not to be true, but it was for a reason that Solo had no idea.
Napoleon continued watching Angelique as she slept, she looked so peaceful and dare he say...innocent?
He wasn't sure how, but she seemed to know Illya wasn't around, and not listening in on their love making. She was different... more gentle, tender and less like the tigress to whom he'd grown accustomed.
That made him suspicious. How could she have known Illya wasn't around? T.H.R.U.S.H. was good, but not that good, not even Angelique.
Still naked, he slipped from beneath the silken sheets. Silhouetted in the moonlight shining through the sheer curtains, he searched through her purse; strangely something he'd never done before. These many years there'd been a silent truce between them not to invade each other's privacy.
She knew where he lived, worked and she even knew of Solo's family cabin in the Catskills and he was always aware of when she was in town and where she was staying. Angelique was a migratory creature, and didn't have any permanent roots.
Once she showed up at the cabin, paying him a surprise visit, and he scolded her...shooing her away with the promise of oysters and champagne in one of the finer hotels in the city another time. * It was the last time she tried something like that.
But now his intuition was making his skin tingle. Something was definitely up here and it wasn't Napoleon's...well, it wasn't him.
As he rifled through her clutch bag he found nothing at first, that was until he spotted a slip of paper tucked inside a pack of cigarettes...Turkish blend, the kind Illya smoked. He thought that odd as he'd never seen Angelique with that brand.
He removed the tightly folded piece of paper and when he read it, Napoleon discovered a most unexpected message written in Cyrillic.
"I am away and your rendezvous with Napoleon this time is free of my presence, a gift to you. Inform KGB that that I am not their operative and never will be. Their continued entreaties through you are not appreciated, though I understand you are merely the messenger. I belong to UNCLE. You however, may regret having two masters. Remember, you owe me."
It was initialled 'IK.'
"What the hell?" Napoleon's head turned sharply as he glared back at Angelique. "She was working for the Soviet government as a double agent? Did that mean ...what did that mean? She always had a confrontational relationship, if you could call it a relationship, with Illya, but Kuryakin knowing she was KGB and never said anything. That wasn't good.
Solo questioned if Angelique were merely sleeping with him in order to contact Illya.
Was she truly attracted to him as he was to her? Still she was the enemy, and that added a hell of a lot of excitement to the sex. Could that have blinded him to her duplicity?
"Wait?" Napoleon's mind jumped to the next possibility.
"Did Waverly know of this and was allowing the 'sleeping with the enemy thing' to go on in hopes of gleaning not only T.H.R.U.S.H. intel but KGB information as well?"
The Old Man didn't miss a trick, so why wouldn't he know about this one?
Napoleon carefully returned the note to its hiding place as well as the rest of the contents of Angelique's bag and once done he slowly slipped into bed again beside the platinum blonde.
She rolled over onto her back, still asleep while exposing those magnificent bosoms of hers.
He sighed as his thoughts went to their previous love-making session and he figured what the heck.
No harm, no foul.
Napoleon reached out, fondling one of her breasts as he began nibbling on her neck.
Angelique woke instantly, and reached down to him with her hand below the sheets. "Oh darling, you are incorrigible," she whispered.
"Guilty as charged," he said before kissing her on the lips.
As they made love, Napoleon reminded himself to definitely have that little talk with his partner...just for his own edification.
*ref to "Baby it's cold outside"