New York City; 1961
1960's London was one thing, Eva mused as she gazed lovingly at the wondrous city and country she had left all those years ago, but 1960's New York was definitely where they were meant to be; one look at the love-struck grin on her husband's face told her they'd made the right choice.
The vaguely worded letter from the CIA had been sat on their welcome mat for months and tearing into the envelope as they collapsed onto the sofa mere hours after touching down from another far-flung mission, the urgent words had prompted a crease between Napoleon's brows that hadn't shifted until they'd managed to get a call through to the Virginia based offices.
Being re-called to one's home nation at the drop of a hat was expected when you pledged your allegiance to a specific flag but it had been surprising with just how much time they'd allocated their thief-turned-Agent to pack up his life and return to the States. Even more surprising had been their insistence that he bring his wife.
She'd never seen Waverly's eyebrows rise so far when she showed him the letter.
Things were better between them now, in the 14 months since she'd wed Napoleon, the pair had more successful missions under their belt than any agency thought possible; but they'd proved themselves. Long haul flights and all-nighters all added up to a 100% success record and all without causing too big an international incident.
The MI5 boss had slowly come around to Napoleon, despite never meeting the man ("covers must be maintained Eva; an American spy knowing who exactly I am is asking too much of the agency") and upon their return from Paris, a small potted plant sat next to an embossed photo album containing photographs of their wedding that they could only have dreamt of; she's yet to ask how he managed to clear the use of high level security clearance gadgets for their wedding and to be honest…she didn't want to know; the simple fact that he, the man that had taught her so much, had been there was enough.
And so, with the promise of making contact once they were settled, he had waved her off to another continent.
Truth be told, Napoleon was glad be back in semi-sunshine after the almost constant dreariness of London. Don't mistake him; the capital was absolutely beautiful and the rainy days had provided many an excuse to wander around galleries and museums but it was the days when the grass was crisp and the air dry that he remembered with most fondness.
But this, he noted as the cab driver unloaded their bags, this was home. Not only were they back in America, but they were in the unofficial second capital; NYC.
He watched with glee as Eva frowned up at the looming Brownstone in front of them and knew she was waiting for him to speak first. He remained silent though and with a nod to the driver; their two small bags that contained only the things they could not live without, were whisked up and into the building; deposited in the foyer before the driver sped away.
"Napoleon…" He let his grin bloom as she turned to him.
"Yes dear?" She scowled at the tone he was using.
"Why are we in the suburbs when the CIA themselves sent us the address of an apartment block?"
"Well…" He trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets and relishing in the sun's rays warming his face. "…it was such a dreary part of town." He drawled, his smile growing at his wife's huff. "And we deserve so much better."
"We've been here…" She checked her watch. "…two hours, Napoleon." She frowned at him. "Two hours and you've already irritated them."
He simply shrugged, removing his hands from his pockets and taking her hand.
"I'm tired of apartments." He told her. "The people are lovely and a view from a high floor is an obvious plus-"
"But?"
"But I want a home, Eves." He told her, squeezing her hand and nodding up to the building. "I want stairs and a loft…my own front door…" He trailed off again. "And I want it with my wife."
He watched as her eyes moved from window to window before finally settling back on him.
"It's ours?"
"All bought and paid for." He told her proudly, choosing not to add the exact source of the money until she'd fully come to love the place.
"Our own home." She mused and he felt himself fall for her all over again as she turned to him fully and grinned. "I love it."
"I love you." He told her earnestly and watched her blush slightly. "Which means that we're going to do this right this time." She frowned at his words but soon laughter was bubbling out of her as he scooped her into his arms and her own looped around his neck.
"You're going to carry me over the threshold?" She laughed.
"I would have in London but were both incredibly drunk and lived on the fourth floor; we barely made it up the stairs anyway." He reminded her as she nestled further into his hold, legs swinging from their draped position over his left arm.
"Then lead on." She nodded to the doorway and after pressing a kiss to his beloved wife's cheek, bounded as fast as he could up the stone steps before dramatically stepping over their threshold, setting her down, shutting the door and promptly pressing her back against it; ready to continue with the re-enactment of their wedding night.
A month later and Eva was impressed by how much they'd achieved; they had made the empty house a home; complete with comfortable sofas and bursting bookshelves and a fully modernised kitchen.
Everything that had been deemed 'unimportant' had been shut away in an unused bedroom and they had been living here in bliss while they awaited word from Langley.
A part of her did miss their old London flat; the small space had been cosy and being only a few steps from everything had been…convenient. The views though, well they were mostly the same and often, if she shut her eyes tight and just listened; she could mistake the sounds from the open windows as those of London.
The house still floored her every time she stepped inside; the sleek floors and high ceilings often had her pinching herself and the fact that there even was a spare room housing nothing but boxes was amazing.
Growing up, she'd lived in a small but comfortable house with her parents, but after losing her father and her mother growing ever distant…space had never been something she'd considered; she was happy to lock herself away in her bedroom and just relax there in that small room.
But here, here they had more than enough space and sometimes she just wanted to shut them away in one room and just be together.
The fact that they now owned so much space was the topic that seemed to be constantly on Napoleon's lips. First, he had boasted about it; clearly proud to have come so far in life but now, now he was being covertly pushy about a certain topic…one that she had tuned out of a long time ago.
"Eves?" She turned her head to him and watched him sigh from his braced position at the breakfast bar. "Eves, you've got to at least talk about this." She mirrored his sigh as she pushed off the counter facing the window currently bathing their kitchen in light and faced him.
"Talk about what?"
"You know what!" He bit out, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"No, Napoleon, I don't." She told him, crossing her arms defensively as they squared off. "I don't know because you only talk around the subject without ever actually saying anything."
"You know what I mean, Eves…I just don't-"
"Don't know how to word it?" She finished for him. "Maybe try something more specific than constantly mentioning how many bedrooms we have or how safe the sidewalk seems to be." She watched him expectantly.
"Eves…"
"Just say it." She bit out each syllable and a silence fell over them as he pushed off the bar and stared at her.
"Kids."
In retrospect, running from the house, down the pavement and skidding into a park…had probably not been the best way to respond to that one word.
In fact, Eva told herself as she sat in a quiet corner of the lusciously green space, it probably wasn't a good way to respond to anything.
Usually, they solved any marital problems rationally; she refused to sleep with him and he stalked around for a few days before one of them almost gets shot on mission and then…well then they have I'm-so-angry-but-I-love-you-and-you-almost-died sex, and then they're friends again; the cause of their obviously pointless argument forgotten.
But this, this wasn't something they could get past. She honestly wasn't sure how she felt about the whole…children…thing.
She loved children. She reminded herself as in her peripheral vison she caught sight of a young group of kids playing together. They were adorable and she never wanted to put them down but at the first sight of a tear or the subtle paling of the cheek that signalled vomit and they were back in their parents' arms and she was safe.
Safe.
That's the one thing she kept coming back to. She'd been here an hour and it was the word that she couldn't shake.
They were spies for Christ's sake.
This time last month they were uprooting their entire lives to a new continent because Napoleon had been recalled. The month before they were being shot at while trying to organise said move.
Their lives were filled with danger and uncertainty and every time they entered a fight there was good chance only one of them was going to be coming home.
Adding a third, very needy person to their world was just asking for trouble. She'd had to stem laughter when, twenty minutes ago, she'd first pictured herself in her jumpsuit, gun in hand and a baby on her hip drooling uncontrollably.
It just wasn't practical.
And yet, there was a part of her that did want exactly that. Some nights she woke in cold sweats from dreams where Napoleon walked out of the door and didn't come back leaving her with a house full of children to raise by herself.
Because dammit, she wanted it. A perfect child with his eyes and her hair or her eyes and his hair; she didn't care…they'd be perfect no matter what. She wanted to produce something that was half her and half him and undeniably theirs; tying them together forever in a way that nothing else can.
And then the night terrors come and she's alone; either bleeding out and abandoning her family or losing him. And life without him, now she'd lived it at his side, was unthinkable. Napoleon Solo had changed her from the very moment he handed her a pen in a stuffy meeting room.
The bench squeaked as a body lowered itself onto its ancient wooden slats and she refused to look around, to acknowledge the body that she'd already identified by scent alone.
"Ev-"
"Can you really see us juggling international espionage with hourly feeds and nappy changes?" She asked, still facing the park before them.
"Nappy changes?"
"Diapers, Napoleon." She told him, irately turning to face him. "You know; those things that babies wear?" She sighed as he remained silent; hands tucked neatly into the pockets of the trench coat she still associated with rainy days and rumbling buses. "It just isn't feasible; not with our jobs."
"You-"
"If the next thing out of your mouth is a suggestion for me to give up work; I'd stop now." He closed his mouth and she fell against the back of the bench, slumping slightly and beginning to envy his coat as the crisp air pricked at her bare arms. "My job is as important to me as yours is to you."
"I know."
"And we've only be married a year."
"I know."
"And-"
"I know, Eves." He captured her hands with his and she felt her skin lap at their warmth. "I know and I understand." She relaxed slightly. "I'm not looking to knock you up tomorrow." She forced a laugh at his lovely way of phrasing it. "I just…need to know if it's something you want."
"I want it Napoleon." She told him, eyes downcast and voice barely above a whisper. "I want it so much."
"Then discussion over." He reached out and lifted her chin to force eye contact. "It's not something for tomorrow, or next week or even next year…but at some point, the CIA and MI5 are probably going to retire us and…I'm just looking for something to look forward to."
She was silent as she took it all in. Visions of the drooling hindrance baby began to vanish and instead she saw them slightly older with Napoleon dutifully sitting through tea parties while she searched for a school that would teach their son Rugby not Soccer. She saw it and she held onto it; tucking it away in a mental file marked 'later'.
Retirement plans were common talk amongst spies; most involved beaches and women, but then again, most spies were single men. Having something different, and knowing that Napoleon wanted it too…
She was pulling him into a kiss within seconds and melted as his hands wrapped around the waist and pulled her along the bench until they were side-by-side and utterly oblivious to the world around them.
"Besides…" he began, pulling away from her slightly and shrugging out of his coat. "…I'm far too young and lively to be a father." She laughed at the unspoken promise in his eyes as he placed the coat around her shoulders: nothing until we're ready.
A.N. So we seem to be coming close to the end of this little story; I've got the next chapter ready to go and then only one more and we'll be back in Movie-verse!
Reviews are not just welcome but encouraged, remember; love = faster updates. 3