Title: Ameliorate.

Summary: After months of working together, Napoleon thinks he has found the best way to deal with his partner's episodes. Illya begs to differ.

Warnings: Brief mention of past violence and both of them being idiots.

Notes: None.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. or any of its characters.

...

Ameliorate: (verb) to make a bad or unpleasant situation better.

The party was nice enough. It wasn't the most glamorous or memorable event Napoleon had had the pleasure to attend (even while under the CIA's command) but it was also very, very far from the worse.

And he even got the pleasure of seeing both of his partners in expensive, lovely evening wear, so that was also a big plus in his book.

He was currently busy chatting up their mark's assistant, a glass of fairly decent wine in his hand. The woman was young, pretty, and not too shallow, so it wasn't a particularly dreadful task. He had been put in far worse positions in that regard as well in the past.

Napoleon kept an eye on his partners even as he fulfilled his part, just like always, so he didn't miss the tense set of Illya's shoulders, quickly followed by the Russian's pale long fingers taping his leg.

Uh-oh.

They were strangers for this particular mission, but the cogs started turning in Napoleon's head as he continued watching the scene.

And then, before Napoleon had to intervene to stop the confrontation from happening entirely or even stop Peril from beating some poor soul to a pulp, Illya just stormed out with a murderous expression on his face and fists clenched. The Russian giant barely avoided colliding with a couple of people on his way out, all while ignoring the heads that turned in his wake.

Even with that little commotion, Napoleon still counted it as a win. It always was when Peril managed to grasp a tiny bit of self-control.

He barely held back a sigh. Alright, then. Time to do his part now.

Napoleon counted to ten in his head and then put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder, effectively shutting her up. He offered her a regretful look as he made his excuses, and kissed her hand before walking away.

He made quick eye contact with Gaby before discreetly following Illya. He made a more dignified exit, naturally.

It didn't take him long to find the wayward Russian. No matter how out of control Peril may be, he would never go too far when they were in the middle of a mission. Napoleon took a moment to ensure no one else was around before squaring his shoulders as he approached.

"Nice exit, Peril," Napoleon called, his voice just loud enough for the Russian to hear him. "Only half of the guests noticed."

"Stop."

The word gave Napoleon pause for half a second. He wasn't sure if Illya was telling him to stop talking or stop walking, but he did neither. "You're lucky Gaby was keeping the mark and his entourage busy. That's the only reason they didn't notice her cousin storming out of there like a deranged man."

Illya turned to glare at him, his hands still shaking at his sides. "I know what you're doing. Stop."

"You do, don't you?" Napoleon met Peril's glare unflinchingly. "So why don't you enlighten me so both of us know what is it that I am doing exactly."

"You want me to hit you."

Napoleon kept the surprise out of his face, his lips stretching into a playful smile in a blink. "Now, why would I want that?"

"You always do this," Illya accused, the scowl never leaving his face. "You know that I am angry, and you come and bother me until I am angry at you instead."

Of course, Peril noticed. He wasn't the KGB's best for nothing. It would have been nice of him to realize that before throwing a few punches in on previous occasions, but still. Props to him for finally noticing.

"That doesn't sound like something I would do, does it?"

"Stop. I will not hurt you."

"Better me than anyone in there," Napoleon said with a nod in the ballroom's direction. "We don't want a repetition of what happened in Italy, do we?"

"They had soft bones," Illya said quietly.

It didn't sound like a justification this time, and Napoleon wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Look, Peril. You obviously need to blow off some steam before going back there, so why not use someone who wouldn't compromise the mission to do it?"

"I do not want to hurt you," Illya admitted without meeting his eyes.

"You don't?" Napoleon asked, too surprised to keep the question only in his head. He knew Peril had learned to tolerate him, and maybe even like him, but he hadn't expected an admission like that.

"No."

"Oh. That's good." The graceless response almost made Napoleon roll his eyes at himself. He could do better than that. "Well, since you're so reluctant to lay a finger on me, we'll have to think of another way to deal with your little episodes. Got any ideas?"

Illya stared at him with an unreadable expression.

The American blinked, realizing for the first time that Peril no longer looked ready to snap. Mission accomplished, it seemed. Gaby was going to be proud. She was quicker than Peril to realize what he was doing and had been less than impressed with Napoleon's chosen method to soothe the Red Peril.

That little moment of distraction was enough for the Russian to close the distance between them, taking him by surprise once again. Napoleon had to stop himself from taking an intuitive step back as he looked up at the taller man. They were standing a little bit too close for comfort now.

"Changed your mind, Peril?"

Napoleon saw the Russian move, but he didn't have time to react before Peril's lips were on his.

It was a very nice kiss, the American pondered once he could put two thoughts together. It wasn't the best kiss he had ever had the pleasure of enjoying - that honor still belonged to the gorgeous French girl he had met briefly at the end of the war - but it was a pretty damn good kiss. It was hard, and eager, and just a little bit rough.

Napoleon had no idea how long it lasted, but there was a little ache in his lungs when Illya finally broke the kiss, his face flushed and eyes averted. A moment later, he found himself missing not only the Russian's lips, but also the heat that emanated from his body as the large man took a step back.

Napoleon wet his lips with his tongue, content to see the little gesture brought the Russian's gaze back to him.

"Was that your suggestion, Peril?" He asked, still a little breathless. "Because I must say I like this method better than the other one."

Illya's only response was a half-hearted glare, which Napoleon answered with a dazzling smile. Peril wasn't even trying anymore.

The Russian cleared his throat as he flicked his dark eyes away. "We should go back."

"We should," he agreed easily, the smile never leaving his face.

Napoleon made no attempt to move, and neither did Illya. They were too busy staring at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.

What finally made Napoleon move was the thought of what Gaby would do to them for leaving her alone in there for anything less than an emergency. And he had no doubt she would know this didn't qualify as an emergency.

Napoleon took a step forward, bringing their bodies close together one more time. He didn't bother to hold back the smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he felt Illya trembling for an entirely different reason now.

"We should do this again, Peril," he suggested brightly. "We need plenty of practice in private, don't you think?"

Napoleon didn't give the Russian time to answer. He simply planted a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth before turning to walk away without another word.

He found himself eagerly waiting for Peril's next episode.

...

A/N: This idea popped up in my head the last time I tried to work on the 5+1 fic I've mentioned before. It pretty much came together in my head, so I had to put on hold the other fic and write this down. No regrets! I hope you enjoyed this silly little fic, and I would love to read your thoughts.

This is unbetaed and I'm not a native speaker, so please feel free to point out any mistakes you may find.