"This isn't exactly where I planned to spend the holidays," Napoleon said. He was sipping one of those rummy-thingy-umbrella drinks, sans the rum, through a straw and made a face at the sweetness.

"Something wrong?"Illya asked. The Russian was resting on a chaise; his right ankle heavily bandaged as was his right hand.

"Too much coconut, and not enough alcohol."Napoleon put down the drink." I'd prefer some scotch." He waved his hand, beckoning a waiter who was there in an instant.

"Yes sir?"

"Napoleon," Illya used a cautionary tone.

"I know, I know….Waiter, this drink was too sweet, could I just have a plain iced tea with a slice of lemon instead?"

"Sugar sir?"

"No unsweetened."

"Right away and apologies the drink wasn't to your satisfaction. I guess the bartender is unaccustomed to making a virgin Pina Colada."

Not liking his comment Napoleon changed his mind. "You know what, cancel that ice tea, thanks."

Solo could see the smirk on the man's lips but said nothing until he left.

"See what kind of tip I give him." Napoleon pushed his crutches out of the way.

"You know we are forbidden to drink given the medications we are both taking. I for one would love to have alcohol, and it would not even have to be vodka," Illya huffed. He'd had enough bad experiences mixing booze and medicine to know better this time. They were on some serious prescriptions.

Strong painkillers as well as broad spectrum antibiotics and a few other things were the drugs du jour and they couldn't take a chance drinking, not if they didn't want to end up back in hospital.

"We have to make do I suppose,"Napoleon's attention was momentarily caught by a pretty bikini clad brunette who drifted by, but it didn't last long as her studmuffin boyfriend caught up with her.

"So you were saying something about the holiday?" Illya asked.

"I'm missing New York, the sounds, the sights...Rockefeller Center, ice skating. All those flickering Christmas lights, and yes even the cold."

"I understand,"Illya sat up with a grunt." I have become accustomed to those things as well. New York is a vibrant place especially this time of year."

"You don't miss...home?"

"New York is my home now, but there are things in Russia I do miss. Not Christmas though, it is not the same thanks to...well, I miss the food, hearing my own language spoken, and yes the snow. Like you, I did not expect to be on a sandy beach this time of year."

"Hey we were lucky to have gotten out of this last assignment alive. So I think Mr. Waverly giving us a few days to recuperate in a tropical setting isn't a bad present."

"I suppose," Illya mumbled. He swallowed the last of his alcohol free eggnog. "I am heading back to our cottage as I have had enough of these drinks. Why not have our dinner there? It will be much easier than trying to navigate with your crutches and my cane in the dining room.

"You know partner, that sounds like a good idea," Solo hiked himself up onto his crutches, babying his broken leg. "I thought our injuries would have elicited more sympathy and attention from the ladies here, but apparently it's all couples for the holidays."

"Napoleon, I think you will survive without a woman to tend to your needs until we do get back to the city. There are plenty of your adoring fans at headquarters who are bemoaning being deprived of your presence for Christmas and New Years."

"Hey you too Illya. I know you don't want to admit it, but there's plenty of ladies in headquarters who are pining for your attention."

Kuryakin blushed ever so slightly." Yes, perhaps."

The two agents hobbled along the pathway leading to the accommodations they were sharing. Waverly gave them time off, but accounting still wouldn't approve private rooms for each of them, in spite of the fact they had saved the world yet again. `

Napoleon stopped dead in his tracks, seeing a strand of bright Christmas lights running up the palm tree in front of their cottage. That made him smile.

"I asked the hotel staff to do it," Illya said. "I thought it would help.'

"Why thank you tovarisch, it does."

They stood there like two kids, staring at the lights as the sun set over the water.

Illya pulled a silver flask from his back pocket; it had been a gift given to him by his partner for his birthday. He took a small swig from it, figuring what the heck.

"Merry Christmas Napoleon, "he offered it to Solo.

"Merry Christmas," the American chuckled and took a sip. "Now can we go order our food, I'm starving.

"Hey," Illya chuckled,"that is my line."