Napoleon Solo was a social creature but there were limitations in life because of his line of work. He was often sent on an assignment with or without his Soviet partner sometimes having been given less than twenty-four hours notice. That made for a very haphazard dating schedule, but the ladies of the New York headquarters, and quite a few airline stewardesses seemed willing to accommodate him.
Still, periodically there was a special occasion and tonight was definitely one of those. He was crossing his fingers the call to arms wouldn't happen. Given it was December the chances of that happening were, thankfully, pretty low.
His usual adversaries, members of the organization T.H.R.U.S.H. seemed to honor an unspoken truce for the month. Their operations slowed to a to shut down for the holidays. Napoleon often joked that they must have families too; in truth he hoped that was true. He hoped there was some decency left in them to love their wives, their husbands and heaven forbid, their children.
The optimist in help held onto that belief even when others, including his partner tried to convince him otherwise. They had a brief discussion regarding that before Napoleon left for the day.
"T.H.R.U.S.H. Their ilk are nothing but a manifestation of pure evil," Illya snapped at him. "Trust me Napoleon I have known true evil first hand and I recognize it when I see it. Sometimes I think you operate in a fool's paridise."
Solo wouldn't be swayed. In his heart there was always a chance for redemption.
"Illya there's always hope. There has to be, otherwise we'd be out of a job."
Kuryakin paused for a moment to think. Being ever the fatalist it was hard for him to digest that, but at the same time he believed in the world becoming a better place someday. Napoleon was right in a broader sense he supposed. Yes, Illya admitted to himself, there was hope even in a hard hearted Russian that the enemies of peace and freedom would would learn the error of their ways.
"With that Illya, I bid you adieu for the evening as I have a dinner engagement at the 21 club." Solo walked out the door, not waiting for Illya's reply.
An hour later, Napoleon brushed off the sleeves of his tux and straightened his bow tie after giving his wool coat to Mitzi, the hat check girl at the 21 Club.
"Ahh, Mr. Solo, looking good as always," Louis, the maitre d' greeted him. Attired in a tuxedo as well; he was wearing a pair of white gloves and sprig of holly pinned to his lapel.
"Looking nicely festive sir," Napoleon smiled.
"It was the wife's idea. Your usual table will be ready shortly, in the meantime hors d'oeuvre are being served in the Bar Room."
"Thank you Louis. I'm expecting a guest if I could wait there for her to arrive before being seated."
"Yes sir Mr. Solo, I'll show her to you personally," the maitre d' said, knowing Napoleon's penchant for the ladies. "Dare I ask, someone we know or a new lady friend?"
Anyone else might think he was being forward, but Louis and Napoleon Solo had been long time acquaintances. Louis Hart was a man who could be relied upon to remain discreet.
"Actually my date for the evening's festivities is my Aunt Amy," he smiled.
"Oh Mrs. DuPree? We haven't seen her for some time."
"She's been travelling in Europe, but I convinced her to spend the holidays closer to home."
"It will indeed be a pleasure to see her again." Louis nodded his adieu, returning to his other duties.
A waiter appeared with a tray, carrying Napoleon's drink. There was no need to order, as the barman knew his preferences.
"Chivas Regal 18 Mr. Solo." He set the glass on the table in front of Solo as he sat down by the fireplace.
"Thanks Bob," Napoleon gratefully accepted it. He felt like a king here, though he knew every regular received the same treatment, especially at Christmas.
Waiting at his dinner table would be two gifts, scarves...silk scarves to be precise, decorated with a motif of the club insignia.
These scarves were not available for purchase; you had to be given one by the owners of the club. Each was numbered and the designs always had the club's signature jockey and iron railings incorporated into the pattern. Those were the most famous feature of 21, the line of painted cast iron lawn jockey statues adorning the balcony above the entrance.
Napoleon had a collection of these prized scarves, and reserved them as gifts for only the most special of lady
friends.
Napoleon kept looking at his watch, becoming a bit concerned that his Aunt hadn't arrived. Being the independent thing that she was; she insisted upon coming to the restaurant herself.
When he could no longer wait, Solo asked for a phone to be brought to the table. He dialed his Aunt's telephone number, but it only rang and rang.
Napoleon hung up, now calling the front desk of her exclusive apartment building.
"Ahh, Mr. Solo we're so relieved you called...there's been an accident, your aunt was taken to the hospital."
Napoleon felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. "Wwwhat happened?"
"A car, it jumped the curb. Both she and the doorman were hit. Actually the doorman jumped in front of her. He gave his life to save hers."
Napoleon got the name of the hospital; hanging up the phone in a daze before snapping his fingers, summoning the waiter.
He handed the man money for his drink, though it was too much."I...I have to go."
"Is everything all right Mr. Solo. You're as white as a ghost."
Napoleon didn't wait to answer and was out the door, loudly whistling for a cab himself and not waiting for the doorman there.
He arrived at Mt. Sinai hospital, and was ushered up to intensive care.
Amy had several broken bones, and was unconscious. Given her age, the doctors were concerned.
There Napoleon spent the night at her side, flashing his UNCLE ID when he was told visiting hours were over. It was the sort of vigil to which he was accustomed, but with Illya. Waiting for his beloved aunt to regain consciousness was tearing him up inside. The thought of losing her was unthinkable.
The next morning Amy Solo-DuPree opened her eyes, seeing her nephew at her bedside, unshaven and looking quite bedraggled.
"At least you could have shaved this morning dearest. A gentleman should always be presentable even under the most dire of circumstances."
That made him smile."You had me worried." He took her hand in his.
"Oh Napoleon, you know us Solo's; we're made of sterner stuff."
"I know, but we're not immortal."
"Oh really? I thought we were?" Her eyes twinkled at him as she teased.
"That's my girl," he breathed a sigh of relief, and said a silent prayer of thanks for this very unexpected Christmas gift.