Early Thursday morning found Napoleon in the kitchen prepping his dinner. He had gone shopping the night before while Illya stayed home with Leona Nicole. They had arrived Wednesday morning on the redeye and picked her up from the Greers' on their way to Headquarters. They had been in Houston, Texas overseeing the interrogation of a mid – level THRUSH captured by that field office. After he had spilled his guts about THRUSH's activities in Texas, he was shipped off to Tartarus for imprisonment and the two agents headed straight to Houston International to fly back to New York.

Originally, they had thought that they wouldn't get back before Friday night, so it had been their intention to have Leona spend Thanksgiving with her Aunt Rosie and Uncle Lamont; but on the flight home, they decided they were missing their little girl too much and as soon as they entered the terminal, Napoleon called to say they would be there before seven AM to retrieve her.

Looking decidedly un – CEA – like, the brunet took another sip of his coffee as he perused what he had done so far. Let's see; dressing's done, giblets and neck in the pot making stock for gravy, potatoes are mashed, pumpkin pie's in the oven, turkey's seasoned and in the fridge, cranberry sauce is cooling…He was so busy taking a mental inventory, he did not hear Illya enter, daughter in arms, and take a seat at the table.

"Bozhe moy, Napoleon! I was awakened by mouthwatering smells coming out of here!"

Startled, he turned around to see his partner and four year old staring wide – eyed at the stove and the countertop. "Good morning, Happy Thanksgiving!" he exclaimed as he bent down to kiss the little girl. "Yeah, I wanted to get as much done this morning as I could so that I could relax while the turkey is roasting. You guys ready for cereal and milk?" The looks of disappointment on their faces caused him to laugh out loud. "What? Did you think I'd be doing all this and fixing a hot breakfast, too?"

Leona squirmed around so that she was sitting facing forward on Papa's lap. "Yes," she replied innocently.

"My sweet, let me tell you about the Solo Family Thanksgiving Tradition."

"What's a tradition, Daddy?"

"Something that is always done and on this day, we eat all day."

That caused the Russian to perk up and take notice. "I like the sound of that," he stated enthusiastically, "So what is there to eat besides cereal and milk?"

"Oh, lots, but we start with that and then, throughout the morning and early afternoon, we munch on fruit, nuts, and celery stuffed with cream cheese or peanut butter. Oh, and since I'm the cook, I get to fry up the liver for my breakfast."

The little girl screwed up her face. "Yuck! I don't like liver."

Daddy smiled. "I know.* Another part of the tradition is we watch Laurel and Hardy's 'March of the Wooden Soldiers.' I think you'll like that, Leona. We'll eat dinner earlier than usual, too. Three o'clock. After that, we'll go into the living room again to watch football and, of course, snack on leftovers whenever we feel hungry. This is the perfect holiday for someone with a bottomless pit for a tummy, like your Papa."

Illya scowled as Leona giggled at the jibe Napoleon had made. "I would retort, but everything smells so good, I forgive you."

"Do I get to stay up late, like the Fourth of July?"

"No, you go to bed the regular time. You might even fall asleep earlier than usual because you'll be so full."

Leona shook her head so fiercely her braids whipped around her. "I don't think so, Daddy."

Hours later, Napoleon and Illya were sprawled on either end of the couch, drinks in hand, resting their stomachs. Leona had indeed fallen asleep early after a second helping of pie and ice cream.

Illya raised his glass in salute and opined, "That was an amazing meal, Napoleon. I truly cannot eat another bite tonight. Everything was," he seemed to search for the perfect word, "scrumptious. I have never had homemade cranberry sauce before."

Napoleon shrugged. The scotch and the tryptophan were combining to make him boneless and content. "Thanks. Cranberry sauce is so easy to make that it really makes no sense to buy the canned variety this time of year. The rest of the year fresh cranberries are hard to come by." He glanced at his watch. "I think I'm going to turn in; Mr. Waverly asked me to cover for him tomorrow so I'm going in early."

"I am fortunate that I had requested tomorrow off; Leona and I will, what is the phrase? Oh, yes: Hang out."

"We can all 'hang out' Saturday and Sunday. I'm not asking anyone out this weekend. I just want to spend time with Leona and relax." He rolled off the couch and stood. "There's one more Solo Family Thanksgiving Tradition I forgot to mention earlier."

"What is it?"

"Whoever cooks is exempt from doing the dishes. Have fun, Tovarisch. Good night."

The Russian downed the last of his vodka and shook his head. The sooner I get started, the sooner I can go to bed. "Good night."

*ref. my Sugar & Spies tale "Snack Time"