A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Forty-Eight: I Only Want to Dance With You.
Rated: R
****
The restaurant Mark suggested is not large, and from the outside not particularly well marked, but it clearly is doing business. The parking lot is full, and Napoleon slips the valet a hundred to keep our car near the door. Partially a provision against a rapid departure, but partially just Napasha being..... himself.
As we step through the door, a grey-haired man in a tuxedo greets us and checks our reservations. Made under another name, of course. Wednesday night, and David insists we were lucky to get them. Looking at the crowded lounge, I begin to believe him.
The dining room is......conventional, I suppose. White linen, dark wood, dim lighting supplemented by shielded candles. All the usual apurtances of wealth and style. Napoleon will be in his glory here.
A small band fills a low platform in one corner. In their midst a remarkably convincing 'lady' stands crooning unknown but familiar sounding love songs. Long red hair flames above a deep blue dress beaded thickly enough to shine under the spotlights. Wide green eyes and high cheekbones. Only the poster in the lobby convinces me that 'she' is in fact a 'he'.
David waits until we are seated to ask, "Do you always go out to dinner before...?"
"U.N.C.L.E. custom," Napoleon smiles.
"Solo custom," I correct.
"No." Napasha closes the menu. "I didn't introduce it. I only introduced it to you."
"Because none of the rest of us had the balls to blow off our expense account with the Ice Prince watching." Mark likewise drops his menu on the table. "And sod it, half the crew suspected you were eyes for the Old Lion."
"Waverly?" David blinked a bit at the reference. "Why would Waverly want to spy on his own people?"
"Because he was a spymaster," Mark answers. "That's what they *do*."
"I never know if you are paranoid, or if the world is really that weird."
Mark chuckles. "Go with paranoid, luv. The sense of control will make you feel better."
"You..." David mock-glares at his partner, "*are* that weird."
Mark just smiles smugly. "Then I'm lucky you have exotic tastes."
"True enough..." David looks around the splendid room, then rises." Well, if we're going to trash the plastic on this event, at least we should dance."
"Right you are." Mark stands, nods to us, then takes David's hand. "If you'll excuse us?" They move off onto the small dance floor tucked in front of the band at one end of the dining room.
"When *did* we first do this?" Napasha strokes my hand. "Together."
"Paris." I close my eyes at the memory. "Just before the Reign in Spain Affair . You insisted we *live*, before..."
"Oh, yes, I remember." Napasha's eyes darken with memory. "You sulked all the way through the chateaubriand; then ate both our desserts."
"You were not going to finish yours." I turn my palm to meet his. "It would have been wasteful to just leave it."
Napasha's fingers close around mine. "That's my good bolshevik. I think I fell in love with you a little that night."
"Only a little?" I try to sound offended.
"A little? A lot?" Napasha dismisses the question. "How do you measure ? But... that's when I knew you *were* my partner."
Interesting. "Not.....Hong Kong?"
"No." Napasha's fingers tighten just a bit. Not painful, just firm. "You know me too well to think I've ever confused love and sex. That was just... the natural result of something that already was."
"Perhaps for you." I stroke his wrist, just below the sharp white cuff. "For me? It was a revelation."
"Ah, but, Illya." He has a wolf's smile. "That is where I had the advantage. To me, you were always a revelation. I'd become accustomed to the shock."
Mark and David return, so we say nothing more. At least nothing to that point. Light chat about the band, which Mark finds admirable, and the food, which David assures us will be impressive. I take another look at the menu. Given the menu prices it should impress. And it will. Napoleon would have nothing less then the best.
"Wine list?" A young man in a well-pressed tuxedo holds out a red-covered folder.
"Certainly." Napasha glances at the bottom. "I think the Chateau Del Lago merlot. The 1984.
The waiter hurries away, clearly impressed.
David shakes his head. "Gunmen after you and you're going to drink?"
Mark pats his hand. "Half a glass at most."
"Then why...?" David's eye catches the hand-written list as the waiter returns swiftly with our bottle. "Mark! That is a four hundred dollar bottle of wine!"
"Don't worry, David." Mark watches as the young man carefully pours the blood-red fluid into the fragile stems. "If we catch the birds tomorrow April will cover it."
"And if you don't?"
Mark holds out his glass. "Then it's a very good wine. Should we toast Thursday?" he asks.
"Yes." I nod, raising my glass to the light. "I suppose we should."
***************
We are finished with our dinners, sitting back sipping our wine and listening to the singer, when a nice-looking blond man in casually expensive clothes eases up to our table.
"Excuse me?" he asks politely, looking at Napasha.
"Yes?"
He steps back a bit, allowing Napoleon room to rise if he wishes. "I don't know if you are all together, but....if you're not?" He looks at Napoleon hopefully. "Would you care to dance?"
"No thank you." Napasha's voice is polite, but firm. "I have a partner."
At which the man smiles, shrugs, and excuses himself. Which spares me the necessity of a warning glare. I consider a moment, then send one after his departing back anyway. Just in case.
Napasha notices the look and lifts his hand towards me. "Do you want to?"
"I'm sorry, Napasha, but..."
"No, I'm sorry." The hand drops back to the table. "I never want to push you."
"No." I touch his arm, hoping he will understand. "It's not that..it's that... I am not a very good dancer. And this music is not familiar."
'No problem." Napoleon pulls out his wallet and flags a waiter. Within seconds he is asking the man, "You think the band could manage a waltz?"
That brings no answer, but as soon as the waiter reaches the bandstand the chanteuse finishes the current medley and begins crooning something about a 'Lady in Red'. Unfamiliar words, but a very familiar three-four time.
Napasha stands and holds out his hand. "Just follow my lead."
I smile a bit as we move to the dance floor, and as he draws me into his arms I whisper, "That...is familiar."
We have never danced together before, and it takes a moment to adjust to moving backwards, but....I feel strangely natural in his arms. We have practiced together, clasped in ten thousand different judo holds, loved together, grappled in endless foreign beds, but this is ....different. The perfect place to spend a night on earth.
His lips brush near my ear. Almost touching. Not a kiss, but the memory of one. Or perhaps the promise of kisses to come. Not of tomorrows themselves. Such things are uncertain. But at least of tomorrow's intent.
I lean in, bringing my cheek almost to his. That is my answer. The future is...unknown, unclaimable. So be it. Whatever future I have, I will offer to him.
When we return to the table, Mark is standing. "Sorry chaps." He drops a short stack of large bills on the table. "Bird spotted on the wing. Time to go in."
END CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT