The Man from Yesterday
A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Twenty-Six : Once I Had A Secret Love
Rated: PG-13
*******
The second floor apartment is almost familiar. Same layout as Napoleon's, only flipped to the right. Bland Danish furniture. Oversized television with what the magazines identified as a movie player. I assume any movies would be in the drawers below.
"So." I comment. "Your place." I take my case and head to what should match his guest room.
He heads to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle. "I can see why this is not your apartment. There is food in the kitchen."
I glance over. Vodka and Scotch? This offer is seeming less casual by the second. But I answer "Not yours either if the vodka is cold."
Stepping down the short hall, I open the left hand door. That should be the guest bedroom. No. It is an office or library. Desk, chairs, books - but no bed. No couch to conceal a bed. Strange. I open the other door. One bed. King size, but still only one. As my eyes search the walls I call out "I think perhaps we should go out to eat tonight."
Napoleon catches my tone and comes over. He looks at the bedroom, then at the other room which is *not*. Then at the myriad pictures and moldings which might conceal a camera. Then at me. "I'll take the couch," he says, straightening his tie.
******
We say nothing more on the subject until we are seated at Mama Mia's behind large plates of spaghetti. Good food, and the restaurant is only three doors down. No one on the staff appears to remember us, but the food is still excellent. As is the wine.
The restaurant is busy. Young couples, families with children, larger groups starting off on an evening's entertainment. I check for 'company'. This close to April's building it is more than possible that some of our cheerful fellow diners are brotherhood, but stripped of their black suits there is no way to be certain.
Napoleon raises his glass, but does not offer the toast. He only drinks. After a long moment, he mutters "I just cannot believe that our April would try to trap us like that."
"What I do not understand is why?" I add. "What could she gain? Our removal? We could have been killed in the hospital, and who would have known?"
Napoleon puts down his fork. "What did she say to you?"
"She wanted to talk about missiles in the Ukraine. You?"
"Public relations."
That is such an incredible idea, I think this time my face must move.
"Exactly." Napoleon says. "Not Section One, is it?"
I take a deep drink. "No."
We eat in silence. Not until we are finishing our cannoli does Napoleon speak again. "That's it then. We are what.. ex-spies?"
Evidently, but...I shrug. "At least we are living ex-spies."
"True." He raises his glass towards me. "So. What do you want to do?"
I raise mine. "Go back to school, I suppose. Get a job. I do not have family money." When he says nothing I add. " Well, what else is there? I do not want to count boxes for April, and I don't understand a word of the new physics." Still no answer, so I ask. "You?"
He gives me a very strange look "Sail, I guess. Golf. Sell insurance. I just never thought it would end like this."
"End..." My breathing stops. "Napasha! This is not the end!" I look at his frozen face. "Is it?"
"Isn't it? What do we have left?" He finishes the glass and refills it. "You'll manage. Hell, you'll be brilliant. You always are. Go back to Cambridge and the KGB will rush to recruit you all over again. But me? April'd find me a desk somewhere just to avoid the embarrassment, and I'd be a fat old has-been rotting away in a basement who nobody needs and nobody cares about, and..."
"No!" I interrupt. "Napasha! Is it not enough that I care?"
"How long will you care, now that I have nothing to offer you?"
This time it is vision that stops. The world turns red. Just for a second, but..."Napoleon Anthony Solo?" The name comes in my winter voice. "You will apologize. Immediately. And if you ever again insult me in that manner, I assure you that I will break at least three of your bones."
"Illyusha."
"Do you doubt me?"
"No."
"Good." I sit back. "I am waiting."
He takes a deep swallow of his wine, then starts. "I'm sorry, Illya. I did not mean ... I just feel so lost. So... inadequate. But I did not mean to insult you."
"But you did."
"Yes. And I am sorry. Truly."
"Very well. I will believe you." I reach for the bill. "Lets go back to the apartment. We will consider our future careers in the morning."
When we get to the living room I look at the couch. It looks rather hard. Also short. Too short. "Give me the quilt." I tell Napoleon. "You take the bed. And Napoleon? Sleep on the left. You will want them to get your good side."
***********************************
It was a hard night, after a long trip, and I am still trying to sleep when Napoleon bounds into the room and throws open the drapes.
"Good morning Illya!"
I roll over and pull the quilt over my head.
"Time to rise and shine."
"Napoleon," I growl, "Is it not too early for such... cheer?"
"Not at all. Dress up and pack up. We are on the road."
I pull down the quilt and blink at the light. "I don't suppose you would reveal the cause of your...enthusiasm."
"Not yet," he answers, plucking my glasses of the nightstand and holding them out to me. "It's a surprise."
Very well, I do not know what has affected him so, but when Napasha is in one of his moods? I have long since learned it is wisest to cooperate. I shower and dress quickly while he packs up our bags. By the time I am ready, he has the car waiting out front.
"I don't suppose you could tell me where we are going?" I ask.
"Many places. But first of all...breakfast."
He drives to Central Park, pulling up by the Tavern on the Green. "Come on, Illya" He flips the keys to the valet. "Time is wasting."
Apparently we have reservations. Beyond the reservations I constantly have when Napoleon gets ... creative. At least, the lady at the podium smiles at his name. "Would you gentlemen like a menu."
"No need," he replies. "Stuffed French Toast and Pink Grapefruit Mimosas."
I look at him.
He smiles back. "That's what they're famous for. Why else would we come here?"
The lady shows us to a prime outside table and bustles off.
"Very well, Napoleon," I say, looking around at the assembly of vacationers. "Exactly what is all this in honor of?"
"It's a birthday party, tovarishch. A celebration of our new lives." A pause, then, "I have been thinking."
"Obviously."
He ignores that. "Perhaps you should go back to school. Perhaps in Berkeley."
"Berkeley?" Where is that from? "Why Berkeley?"
"I confess," he laughs. "I called Mark Slate this morning. Got his home number from directory service. Once he forgave me for pulling him out of bed, it was... interesting. No, unbelievable."
"So April Dancer told the truth. Mark is teaching in California."
"Full Professor, U. C. Berkeley. He's invited us out to stay with him."
Mark was a good comrade, but.. "Should we go?"
"Absolutely. You said I could flirt with you in California."
A young man hurries over with our drinks. Tall and bubbling, and garnished with sliced strawberries. Napoleon raises his toward me. "Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. I give you Saturday - and Sunday."
*******************************
This time we get to the airport early. Which is all to the good, as checking in with firearms has become seriously complicated. Still, after a review of our papers we are eventually permitted to carry them on board. After a call to April, we are even allowed to keep them loaded. I look at our tickets. "Only two seats?"
"No more expense account." Napoleon smiles at the joke. "Besides, we have the entire row."
True. It is not a large plane, but the seats are very comfortable. I check the layout in the seat pocket as the stewardess goes into her usual lecture. "How long does it take to fly to California?"
"Eager?" Napoleon asks.
"I cannot quite believe that.." I do not finish the sentence. Some words are impossible.
"I told you what Mark told me." Napoleon answers as he makes a show of checking his seat belt, then mine. "Soon enough, we can see for ourselves."
"True, but it seems...inconceivable."
His hand covers mine. "We were inconceivable once."
"I remember, but... are you absolutely certain that he said..?"
Napoleon draws back his hand. "Your choice."
"Well." I unfold the flight blanket and carefully spread it over both our laps. "I suppose we .... might." I stretch my left hand out carefully until it brushes against his right. The dividing center arm conceals our movements. " But only until someone comes."
His strong fingers curl around mine. Our palms match. The sensation is very warm, very... intimate. It is very strange to risk such a thing in public. Strange, even frightening, but...I am glad.
He pulls me closer, brushing the back of my hand against his thigh. The wool of his pants is very fine, but still... it tickles. Just a bit. Just at the top, where my cuff catches against the twill. I had never imagined that skin would be so sensitive.
After a moment his thumb brushes my wrist. Very slowly. Very gently. My eyes close. For now there is only him. Only my Napasha. Only that sense of... connection. I grip him harder, not believing what we have. What I dream we *can* have. Perhaps, I pray to gods I cannot name, what we *will* have.
"Gentlemen?" I start up and snatch my hand back to my lap. Did she see? Is she...? Will she...? "I'm sorry to trouble you but I have to ask..." I freeze. "Would you care for the chicken or the beef?"
END CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX