A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Fifty-Three: Love Minus Zero
Rated: PG-13
****
The house is empty when we get back. I would say untouched. That is not David's opinion. He checks through the ground floor, clucking occasionally, while Mark heads for the bar. Mark pours automatically. Scotch for Napasha, vodka for me, and this time gin for himself.
"God. They trashed the place!" The cry echoes from the kitchen. From David's pained expression, I assume that he is referring to the two frozen pizza boxes left in the trash and a few apparently clean dishes sitting on the kitchen counter. That is the only evidence I can see. Well, that and a pile of wrapped boxes sitting in the living room.
"What are those?" Napoleon asks, taking a sip of his drink.
After a quick look at the 'cleared' tag left by the clean-up crew I rip the paper off the top box. Interesting. Fruit and sausage from somewhere called Bristol Farms. "Lunch."
"Illya!" Mark reaches for the card still taped to the paper. "With thanks, Treasury Department - Secret Service - Berkeley Office." He reads, then adds, "I guess they must have a gift delivery account."
Returning from the kitchen, David pulls another package and reads the back. "Processed cheese food." His lips twist. " You don't want to eat this."
"I want to eat something." I hold out my hand for the despised cheese. " I am hungry. We had only pastries for breakfast, along with that weak American coffee. And now it is almost time for dinner." Not that a cold snack is much of a dinner, but it is *food*. I reach in again and pull out a pack of flavored nuts. "A pity the buffet was ruined. The stuffed salmon looked excellent."
Napoleon shakes his head. "Only you would notice such a thing during a fire fight."
"Well, apparently not everything was ruined." Mark slips the card from the next box. "Mr. Van Ort sent you a case of the champagne. Leftovers, he says. Seems after all the excitement most of the run was on the stronger stuff. " Mark hold up the card and reads in a sarcastic voice. "I hope this unfortunate event has not discouraged your interest in our project. Looking forward to working with you. Jonathan Van Ort. Global-Sat Telecommunications."
"What tha.." Napoleon reaches for the card. "He can't possibly think..."
Mark shrugs. "Well, you did shake on it."
"But...."
"And from Van Ort's point of view, you've already proved out. I mean, Babeyev is alive. The State Department is grateful. Avian Solutions wont be stealing a Global-Sat contract anytime soon. Win-win all around."
"Somehow," Napasha drops onto the sofa, "Making the world safe for cable television was not what I envisioned as the purpose of my life."
"So?" Mark shrugs. "If you don't want Global-Sat? Blow them off. After this you can write your own ticket all over this town."
David opens a third package. "This one is Scotch." He hands Napoleon the card. "From Avian."
"What!!" Napoleon reads aloud. "Sorry for any misunderstanding. I hope we can set up another appointment. Joe Bierbaum." Napoleon flips the card on to the coffee table. "He's got to be severely deluded."
"Not really." Mark picks up the card. "If Frederick Trask goes down, they'll need good management to hold their field offices together. You could do it. And if Bierbaum brings you in his chances of keeping his own job goes way up."
"But T.H.R.U.S.H.!"
"Not anymore. You heard Smith. They're straight now. Well, semi-straight." Mark swallows about half his glass. "A lot of people in this town wouldn't hold the company's past against them."
"When they tried to kill Illya?" Napasha comes nearly off the couch. "And myself?"
"OK. Forget Avian." Mark eases into a seat by the fireplace. "What's in the last box?"
David slips out the card. " With thanks from Vice-President Babeyev." He pulls open the box. " The man sent a case of Azerbaijani vodka."
"I thought the pious could not touch grape or grain." Mark smiles at the contradiction.
"Might not count," David retorts as he pulls out a bottle and squints at the rather blurry label. "I wouldn't guarantee this stuff to be from anything organic."
I pick up another bottle, crack the label, and sniff. It smells like paint thinner. Poor quality paint thinner. Watered down poor quality paint thinner. Retightening the cap, I drop the bottle back among its companions. " You are right," I tell David. Looking at the other box, I add, "But the champagne looks good."
He picks up a curved bottle. "Think this will go with Chinese?"
"Take out!" Mark clutches theatrically at his chest. "David!"
"Your spy friends made a mess of my kitchen," David answers, reaching for the phone. "Unless you want to wait until I clean it...we're ordering Chinese."
While Mark and David go off to look through the menu, I take my place on the couch beside Napoleon.
"Illya." He leans forward so I can wrap one arm around his shoulders. "Do you...?"
I rest my head against him. "Why are you unhappy, my Napasha?"
"Today..." Again he stops with the thought unfinished.
"You were perfect." I tighten my arm and pull him just a bit closer. "Even if it was not T.H.R.U.S.H., we still..." At the name he tenses, but I rub his arm until he relaxes again. "Napasha, the mission was a success."
"Yes, but..."
"What, my Napasha." I lean back a bit, letting him rest against my chest.
"Like I said. I don't *want* to fight for...I don't know...someone's telephone contract." His eyes meet mine, and the bright fire there just hours ago is somehow dimmed. He pauses, then adds, "That's not... what I thought I was here for."
Oh, my heart. My Emperor. This is so far from his nature. "Perhaps Marie?" I offer.
"She's the same thing."He shakes his head, rubbing his cheek against my shoulder. "Only with high explosives."
"So? What do we do?" And I mean it. Any path to get back my Napasha.
"I don't know. But..." His hand reaches for mine. "If we can't find peace?" Our palms touch. "Can we at least find something worth fighting for?"
What can I answer to that? Only.. "A cause?"I take a breath, and my fingers tighten on his. "My cause is gone but...if you can find one...I will fight for yours."
END CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE