Napoleon and Illya had returned to New York after helping Clara escape with her husband Stephan and the gypsy Emil to Italy. As they expected, Mr. Waverly had not been pleased about their delayed return though he grudgingly admitted that the paperwork Emil had brought out of Terbuf would be instrumental in toppling its corrupt government.
They had reported to HQ directly from JFK International and after being debriefed by the Old Man, they were dispatched to their office to write up the report of their self – assigned affair. Illya had noticed that Napoleon was quieter than usual, not even flirting with Glenna in reception. They had each written their drafts and Napoleon had tossed his onto Illya's desk. "As long as you're typing…"
"I live to serve," the Russian groused as he picked up Napoleon's work to stick under his. "Where are you going?"
"I need a drink."
Illya said nothing as he watched his partner gather up his things to leave. He had a feeling that he knew where the American was heading and he'd catch up with him shortly.
An hour later, the Russian finished typing the report, signed off on it and tossed it onto his partner's desk for his signature. Rolling down his sleeves, he buttoned the cuffs and grabbed his suit jacket. Exiting their office, he turned to head for the Masque Club exit. He checked his watch as he handed over his ID badge. Eleven – twenty PM, there should be a bit of a crowd there; quite a few Section IIs are in town. He was surprised when he stepped through the door to see Napoleon sitting at the bar across from the Section III who doubled as the bartender and no one else.
"Napoleon. Joe," he said as he approached the two men and took a seat beside his partner, "I expected to see more people here."
"There were more people here, but Smiley here made them all leave."
"Napoleon?"
The dark – haired man took another swig of his scotch and grimaced. "I came in and looked around and I might have given my patented CEA Look of Disapproval that encouraged everyone to head elsewhere, but I can't swear to that." He drained his glass and slid it over to the other side of the bar. "Set us up, Joe. One for me and one for my buddy. And leave the bottles."
Joe fetched a glass for Illya, an unopened bottle of Stoli vodka and the bottle of scotch he had been pouring for Napoleon. He placed everything if front of his only customers and turned to go to the farthest end of the bar, but not before mouthing the words "Good luck" to the blond.
They picked up their respective bottles and poured healthy drinks for themselves. Silently, they raised their glasses, clinked them together and then swallowed the liquids within. Illya sighed in satisfaction as the fiery liquid burned its way to his stomach where it exploded into a satisfying puddle, or so he imagined. He put his glass on the bar and said, "Turnaround is fair play. It's your turn."
"What are you talking about?" Napoleon retorted with a hint of annoyance.
"The moment you laid eyes on Clara, it was obvious to a blind man that you used to be madly in love with her and that if she had given you the time of day, you would be in love once again. We have been partners for months now and you have been insisting that I share whatever I am feeling with you; that we have no secrets. It is your turn now to prove that sharing is not just a one-way street. I know she meant a lot to you. Tell me about her and what you are feeling."
Napoleon refilled his drink and placed both his hands around the glass and stared at it as if it held the secrets of life. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "I met Clara about seven months before I joined UNCLE. I was back from Korea, I had gotten to the point where Brianna's death no longer haunted me* and I met Clara one day when I was with Aunt Amy. I don't know why exactly, but we hit it off immediately. I loved her, Illya, truly loved her, but when Mr. Waverly recruited me personally to join UNCLE, I couldn't say no. I guess I really did want to save the world. Anyway, we tried to make it work. I remember thinking: I'm twenty – six, fourteen years in the field isn't really that long."
"But she thought so."
"Yes, she did. She wanted marriage and a family. One morning, she woke up crying. We had made love the night before and she told me that afterwards, when I had fallen asleep holding her in my arms, the thought had occurred to her that maybe she might be pregnant. We had used protection, but she thought, 'What if I'm pregnant?' She told me that as happy as being pregnant would make her, she knew that I would be horrified because it would be the end of my career with the UNCLE. She told me she loved me, but she couldn't stay with someone who would be aghast if she became pregnant."
"Napoleon, I am sorry."
"Me, too. I couldn't even argue; she was right. She deserved a man who not only loved her, but wanted the things she wanted at the same time she wanted them. Someone who would have been thrilled to know she was having his baby." He downed his drink and poured another. "She deserved someone better," he stated gruffly.
Illya rubbed his partner's arm. "There is no one better than you."
Napoleon patted the hand on his arm. "Thanks, Partner. And you're right."
"About?"
"Sharing deepest darkest secrets is not a one – way street. Thanks for letting me bend your ear."
The Russian freshened both of their drinks. "I am your partner, Napoleon. Just like you have been telling me since the beginning of our partnership, I am here to listen to your tales. I have a feeling you have more to say about this and I am more than willing to listen."
Napoleon tilted his head toward the man at the end of the bar. "Joe wants to clear out."
Illya got off his stool and threw some bills on the bar. "That is what homes are for; we will go to your place and talk."
The CEA raised himself heavily from his spot and put on his coat. "My only demand is that you abide by the code. What is said between us…"
"Stays between us. I swear, Napoleon, that it will be so."
"Good, because I swear, if I don't talk this thing out, it might just kill me." He was drunker than he cared to admit, but Illya, sensing that, moved closer to steady him as he stood to put on his coat. "G'night, Joe," he mumbled as the blond steered him to the street exit.
Illya nodded at Joe as he led the way out. He knew that he was in for a night of recollections, regrets and roads not taken with his partner seated at the head of Pity Party table. He knew what it was like to think you had lost everything.
He flagged down a cab and allowed Napoleon to enter first. It is good Mr. Waverly gave us tomorrow off. I feel he has much to talk about and get off his chest. He had to admit that he felt the bond between himself and his partner strengthening and was grateful for the American's insistence that they open up to each other. Hopefully, there are no more Claras out in the world.
*ref. my tale "The Moon and Memories."
One for My Baby
It's quarter to three,
There's no one in the place 'cept you and me
So set 'em' up joe
I got a little story I think you oughtta know
We're drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
I know the routine
Put another nickel in that there machine
I'm feeling so bad
Won't you make the music easy and sad
I could tell you a lot
But you gotta to be true to your code
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
You'd never know it
But buddy I'm a kind of poet
And I've got a lot of things I want to say
And when I'm gloomy, won't you listen to me
Till it's all, all talked away
Well, that's how it goes
And joe I know you're gettin' anxious to close
So thanks for the cheer
I hope you didn't mind
My bending your ear
But this torch that I found
It's gotta be drowned
Or it soon might explode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road