Napoleon walked into the bar on Stephen's Street Lower beside the Mercer Hospital looking for his partner. They were in Dublin after having completed their latest mission. Everytime I think things are simple, they turn complicated. THRUSH had kidnapped the family of a wealthy businessman to force him to use his considerable influence with the government to award contracts to two of its cover companies to help the local satrap launder its funds.
The kidnappers had separated the mother from her two children and their nanny, so Napoleon had tracked her down while Illya went after the children. There had been a shootout and while the Russian had succeeded in securing the children's freedom without them physically unharmed, the nanny had been severely wounded in front of them. He had managed to get the traumatized boy and girl and the woman to the hospital where Napoleon and the mother caught up with him. While she comforted the frightened youngsters, Illya quickly informed the CEA about what had transpired.
Napoleon could tell his partner was upset by the innocent's injuries and after discreetly using his communicator to apprise Mr. Waverly of the mission outcome, he went to find out what he could about the young woman's condition. When he returned, the grateful businessman was hugging his family and told him the man who saved them had left.
As he took the elevator to the ground floor and headed for the exit, he remembered seeing a pub next door called Bartley Dunne's and knew for certain that he would find Illya there. Sure enough, he noted the blond mop of his partner's hair at the very end of the wooden bar. Just as he began to head that way, a man with plucked eyebrows and what appeared to be eyeliner blocked his path. "Hey, Ducks, I 'aven't seen you here before. Why don't you and I grab a booth and get better acquainted? You can buy a lady a drink, can't you?"
Realizing what kind of bar Illya had found to drink in, Napoleon smiled and shook his head. "That's not a bad idea, but I already see the man I want over there," he replied as he used his chin to point to the Russian.
"Oh Sweetie, you don't want her," the man retorted with a toss of his brunet hair which was actually a bit longer than the blond's, "She's been doing her best Greta Garbo since she came in here!" At Napoleon's raised eyebrows and look of confusion, he explained, "You know: I vant to be left alone!"
Napoleon winked at the younger man. "Now, do I look like the kind of man who doesn't get what he wants? He'll talk to me."
As he started to walk by, the man said, "Oh Honey, I love a confident man! Listen, if he blows you off, and not in a good way, my name is Eamon and I will be sitting right over there."
"I'll keep that in mind." Napoleon moved farther down the bar and pulled a stool alongside Illya who had a half full bottle of Stolichnaya vodka at his side. Motioning the barkeep for a glass, Napoleon reached over and helped himself to a drink. "It will help you to know," he said before swallowing the shot, "that the nanny, Miss Brighton, is expected to survive with very little permanent damage, if any." The alcohol hit his stomach with a slight punch. "How you can consume large quantities of this paint remover and still have your stomach lining never ceases to amaze me."
The Russian shrugged. "It is a gift." Taking another shot he added, "I am glad she will recover, but I wish I could have spared the children the sight of all that blood."
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Hey, do you realize this is apparently a bar for homosexuals? I was hit on before I got three steps inside."
"So was I, but I made it clear, quite firmly, that I am not in the mood to…make new friends."
"I see. Well, Partner Mine, Mr. Waverly told me that we are booked on a flight to New York that's departing," he checked his watch, "in less than three hours. We need to go get packed and head to the airport." He put his arm around Illya's shoulders and leaned in to whisper into his ear, "So, 'Lover,' you and I are going to walk very cozily to the door."
The smaller man snorted and poured one last shot. "And why would I do that, pray tell?" he asked before downing it and putting the glass down.
Napoleon knew his reflection in the mirror behind the bar could be seen from several vantage points and he had the feeling his companion had attracted the attention of quite a few of the bar's patrons. He smiled seductively for the benefit of those curious eyes and said, "To prove you are not an Ice Prince and I get what I want."
"In that case, pay for my bottle. I am taking it with me." Illya stood up and put his coat on, slipped the bottle into an inside pocket and buttoned his coat. He stepped back to give Napoleon room to dismount from the barstool and allowed him to place his hand on the small of his back to guide him forward.
As they passed by Eamon, Napoleon suddenly wrapped both arms around Illya and nuzzled his neck, causing Illya to smile quickly before regaining his composure.
"Well, all right!" he said approvingly, "You got through to Greta Garbo! You never did tell me your name, Sweetie."
Napoleon grinned wickedly as he put both hands on Illya's shoulders to move him toward the door. "You can just call me Marlene Dietrich."
Author's Notes: Bartley Dunne's is considered to be one of the first gay bars in Dublin. It was torn down in 1990. Eamon is the name of actor Colin Farrell's gay brother.