Illya walked into his apartment and undid his collar, even as he was locking the door. He had to give Napoleon credit. Even if the man didn't understand the intricacies of using a self-tanning lotion, he did have taste.
The play they'd seen tonight had been exceptional, even better since it was on Napoleon's dime, and the dinner was good, if a little fancy for his taste. Then there was Napoleon's date. Illya had expected one of his partner's little bits of fluff. Instead, the woman turned out to be a good conversationalist, harbored a love of science, a fact Illya was certain Napoleon was ignorant of, and best of all, was very European.
He'd walked her to her door, prepared to say a very proper good night and within ten minutes he was flat on his back enjoying a blow job the likes of which he hadn't experienced since his days as a student in Paris. When he finally got his breath back, it was only good manners to repay the favor. Then one thing led to another and Illya was feeling a bit drained, but more relaxed than he'd been in months.
He really should call and thank Napoleon, but he wasn't sure how his news would be met. Instead he went to the freezer, pulled out a bottle of vodka and poured himself a glassful.
Checking to make sure everything was the way it should be, Illya walked into his bedroom and winced. He'd totally forgotten about the mess Napoleon had made of his closet.
He took a long drink of vodka and settled on the floor. Carefully setting the glass aside, he lifted the garter belt and smiled at the memory. It had arrived, very primly wrapped in brown paper. Akron, Ohio, Mrs. Robert something… Then he remembered a cold evening in the desert, a parachute and a long night of rendering aid and comfort to his fellow traveler. The note, I thought perhaps you would like this, had made him suddenly feel very warm and his pants very constricting. Thank whatever powers looked after UNCLE agents that he'd been alone in the office he shared with Napoleon.Perhaps one day, he'd share the memories with his partner, but not just yet. He folded the garter belt and the stockings away.
Then he carefully stacked his magazines, his hand caressing the cover of the top one. Napoleon, used to the glut of commercial goods, couldn't understand the attraction catalogues held for Illya. There was so much, you could get almost anything through the mail these days. Illya was truly amazed at what was offered. In fact, he had an old Sears Roebuck catalog that even permitted the buyer to order a house – through the mail! Only in America.
Still he was thankful that he'd interrupted Napoleon when he had. He'd not found Illya's greatest secret and his greatest private joy. He'd been first introduced to them as a student in Paris and had immediately fallen in love. He liked the feel, the smell, the colors and the creativity to which they led. It was a complete package.
Knowing that the front door was securely locked, Illya took another drink and went into the furthest reaches of his closet, past the cardboard suitcase he kept his few memories from home in, past the stacks of shoe boxes with receipts, bits of paper that, according to the U.S. Government, were too important to throw out. In the very back, he found the familiar canister and pulled it out. He settled it between his knees and slowly twisted off the top.
The smell transported him back in time, to a simpler time when life was measured by classes and meals, not obligations and bodies. He emptied out the contents, just happy to watch them as they tumble across the rug, red, orange, purple, green.
Another drink of vodka emptied the glass and Illya sprawled out on his stomach, hands filed with familiar shapes, his mind with delightful thoughts.
Napoleon slowly opened the apartment door and peeked inside. "Illya?" He wasn't sure his partner had even made it home last night. Monique had a way about her and Napoleon was pretty damned sure she'd have had her way with his partner. He didn't blame Illya. Monique was not a woman any sane man could refuse.
He set the makeup kit down on the small hall table and saw that Illya's jacket was hung over the back of a chair. A near empty bottle of vodka stood on a kitchen counter and Napoleon smiled. If he wasn't passed out in the living room, then there was probably only one place left.
Quietly, for he was an UNCLE agent, Napoleon crept to Illya's bedroom, frowning when he saw the bed was empty. That was odd…
Then he saw Illya, asleep on the floor, curled in a near fetal ball. Around him was scattered something, but Napoleon had to kneel beside him and pick up a piece to identify it.
"So, that's your big dark secret, my friend. The one thing you didn't want me to discover," Napoleon murmured, smiling. He stood and retraced his steps back out into the living room. Picking up the kit, he headed for the front door. If Illya needed any makeup supplies in the next couple of weeks, he'd just have to get them from Section 8.
Illya would never know that Napoleon had come by and discovered what Illya hid from the world. And Napoleon would go to his grave without muttering a word of his discovery to anyone else. After all, the cherished bond between a man and his Tinker Toys needed to be honored…