Fandom: Man From UNCLE
Author: Kei
Pairing: N/I
Rating: K+
Note: I don't own 'em, but I wish I did. And a Happy Thanksgiving to my American MFU cousins!
The Giblets and Gravy Affair by Kei
Illya Kuryakin was an enigma; amongst his former comrades at the SVU, and amongst his fellow agents at UNCLE. Especially UNCLE. "Ice-
Prince", "Ice-water for blood" -that was what they called him. But never to his face, of course. That would have been dangerous. Deadly dangerous.
Suffice it to say that no-one really knew what lay beyond that frosty blond veneer - if anything. Well, that wasn't quite correct -one agent knew the real Illya Kuryakin. That was his partner - Napoleon Solo. Only Napoleon was privy to the Russian's private thoughts (if he cared to share them). Only Napoleon knew that a tender heart beat beneath the frozen mask...and only Napoleon had ever been witness to the expression of that sensitive self. The events were rare, but today was one of those days.
It had been a simple mission. Nothing new. The fact was that Illya was a trained killer - why this mission should have affected him so, Napoleon had no idea. The victim's name? Tom -as far as they knew. Just Tom. Napoleon had suggested that he should help Illya complete the mission; to make it quicker, easier, but no. The Russian had been adamant. He had promised to "take care" of Tom and therefore, he would take care of Tom. Napoleon had uneasily acquiesced and stayed away, out of sight.
It had been a bad decision.
The mission had gone balls up from the start.
By the time Napoleon had gotten back at the appointed time, he had returned to a scene of devastation. A haze of smoke, from a fire only recently put out, still choked the air. Illya was all right, to Napoleon's profound relief, and Tom, of course, was quite dead...a blackened barely recognizable Tom. And did he say that Illya was "all right"? Not really. No. Not really. The Russian's soot-stained face was streaked with...tears?
"'Lush?" Napoleon whispered gently. "What happened?"
"I...I..." Illya's pouty lower lip began to tremble, his pale eyes glistening. "I-I failed! I...RUINED IT!"
Napoleon held the shaking smaller man. "Don't say that! Everyone makes mistakes!"
"My job," Illya sniffled, "and I failed!"
Oh dear...Napoleon sighed softly -this was a bad situation all right. A light of inspiration sparkled in Solo's head. But maybe...just maybe he could salvage it. Swallowing his dismay, Napoleon stood over poor old Tom and worked a piece of the almost impossibly burned meat from the body. He popped it into his mouth and chewed with false delight. A tentative twitch of a hopeful smile appeared on Illya's lips.
"Delicious!" Napoleon enthused, even as he wondered where he had put his antacids. "Just how I like my turkey!"
Happy Thanksgiving!