Birthday Wishes
Nov. 13th, 2006 07:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
przedHappy Birthday to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
st_crispins. Sounds like you'll be busy, but hope it's a good day anyway.
And in celebration, here's a wee U.N.C.L.E. ficlet. (Gen, of course.)
He entered the dark confines of the club, a sleek shark in a tank full of oblivious guppies. But the guppies weren't his prey; they were his responsibility. He was a predator who hunted his own kind.
He paused at the entrance to the club, the music from the band pulsing around him. He shot his cuffs and straightened his tie while he searched the teeming crowd for his target.
There she was, waiting at the appointed table, impeccably coiffed as always. And as always, as dangerous as he was himself.
"Napoleon," she said with clear enthusiasm as he approached. "How lovely to see you."
"Angelique," he said mildly, kissing the offered hand with care, remembering the time those scarlet talons had been tipped in poison. Only enough to sicken, not kill, but the lesson, once learned, wasn't forgotten. "Beautiful as always."
They settled down to business, trading information, false and true, each manoeuvring to gain advantage over the other. And both of them recognizing the thrum of attraction running between them, both playing the game of 'will we, won't we' with the same dedication they applied to their jobs.
Their transaction finalized, they ordered another round of drinks, flirted, feinted and finally both fell into retreat. Tonight, Napoleon thought regretfully, would be a 'won't we' night.
"Au revoir," Angelique said as she took her leave.
"&Àgrave; bientôt," Napoleon returned, blowing her a kiss as she headed for the exit.
He drained the last of his cocktail as he watched the crowd swirl on the dance floor.
"Well?" And that was his partner, temporarily brunet for the evening and dressed in the white shirt and black bowtie worn by the club's waiters, sitting down in the seat vacated by Angelique. "Was it worth it?"
"I think Waverly will be pleased." And the old man should be, with a nearly complete list of new Thrush operatives at work in the city.
"What did you give up in return?" Illya's long-held distrust of Angelique was clear in his voice.
"The times for the New Jersey courier runs."
"We haven't done New Jersey courier runs in three months."
"Exactly," Napoleon said, grinning.
"I hope her information is of better quality than yours," Illya said with a sigh.
"Oh ye of little faith."
"Someday you'll go too far with that woman."
"That's why I have you guarding my back."
Illya acknowledged the comment with a sceptical 'hmmph.'
"If you're through playing one of the peons, we should get back to HQ. If we finish our report, we might even get some sleep before the sun rises.
"If I finish our report, you mean," Illya grumbled.
"It's your turn."
"It's always my turn."
"From each according to his ability," Napoleon said with a smirk.
"Only you would quote Marx as a means of avoiding work."
"Come on, tovarishch." Napoleon stood and then put a hand under Illya's elbow and hauled him to his feet. "I'll dictate and you can type."
"If you insist." Illya pulled at his bowtie and stuffed it carelessly in his pocket. "But I'm only agreeing because it's your birthday tomorrow."
"Today," Napoleon said, looking at his watch. "I've been thirty-seven for over an hour."
"I'm only glad that Angelique didn't give you a nasty birthday present this year."
"Oh, I don't know. Some of her presents can be very, ah, nice."
"You are incorrigible."
"You make that sound like a bad thing."
"Hopelessly incorrigible."
Napoleon only smiled in response.
They claimed their coats at the coat check and emerged onto the streets. The road glistened with rain from earlier in the evening, but the sky had cleared and the moon shone brightly overhead. The air was fresh and held just a hint of the snow that New York had so far been spared.
"Come on," Napoleon said as they reached the car and Illya took the wheel. "I'll make the coffee now and you can supply the vodka later."
It was a good night. A good night to celebrate another year survived. A year when he'd succeeded more than failed, a year doing a job he cared about with a partner he trusted absolutely.
He couldn't ask for more than that.
st_crispins. Sounds like you'll be busy, but hope it's a good day anyway.And in celebration, here's a wee U.N.C.L.E. ficlet. (Gen, of course.)
He entered the dark confines of the club, a sleek shark in a tank full of oblivious guppies. But the guppies weren't his prey; they were his responsibility. He was a predator who hunted his own kind.
He paused at the entrance to the club, the music from the band pulsing around him. He shot his cuffs and straightened his tie while he searched the teeming crowd for his target.
There she was, waiting at the appointed table, impeccably coiffed as always. And as always, as dangerous as he was himself.
"Napoleon," she said with clear enthusiasm as he approached. "How lovely to see you."
"Angelique," he said mildly, kissing the offered hand with care, remembering the time those scarlet talons had been tipped in poison. Only enough to sicken, not kill, but the lesson, once learned, wasn't forgotten. "Beautiful as always."
They settled down to business, trading information, false and true, each manoeuvring to gain advantage over the other. And both of them recognizing the thrum of attraction running between them, both playing the game of 'will we, won't we' with the same dedication they applied to their jobs.
Their transaction finalized, they ordered another round of drinks, flirted, feinted and finally both fell into retreat. Tonight, Napoleon thought regretfully, would be a 'won't we' night.
"Au revoir," Angelique said as she took her leave.
"&Àgrave; bientôt," Napoleon returned, blowing her a kiss as she headed for the exit.
He drained the last of his cocktail as he watched the crowd swirl on the dance floor.
"Well?" And that was his partner, temporarily brunet for the evening and dressed in the white shirt and black bowtie worn by the club's waiters, sitting down in the seat vacated by Angelique. "Was it worth it?"
"I think Waverly will be pleased." And the old man should be, with a nearly complete list of new Thrush operatives at work in the city.
"What did you give up in return?" Illya's long-held distrust of Angelique was clear in his voice.
"The times for the New Jersey courier runs."
"We haven't done New Jersey courier runs in three months."
"Exactly," Napoleon said, grinning.
"I hope her information is of better quality than yours," Illya said with a sigh.
"Oh ye of little faith."
"Someday you'll go too far with that woman."
"That's why I have you guarding my back."
Illya acknowledged the comment with a sceptical 'hmmph.'
"If you're through playing one of the peons, we should get back to HQ. If we finish our report, we might even get some sleep before the sun rises.
"If I finish our report, you mean," Illya grumbled.
"It's your turn."
"It's always my turn."
"From each according to his ability," Napoleon said with a smirk.
"Only you would quote Marx as a means of avoiding work."
"Come on, tovarishch." Napoleon stood and then put a hand under Illya's elbow and hauled him to his feet. "I'll dictate and you can type."
"If you insist." Illya pulled at his bowtie and stuffed it carelessly in his pocket. "But I'm only agreeing because it's your birthday tomorrow."
"Today," Napoleon said, looking at his watch. "I've been thirty-seven for over an hour."
"I'm only glad that Angelique didn't give you a nasty birthday present this year."
"Oh, I don't know. Some of her presents can be very, ah, nice."
"You are incorrigible."
"You make that sound like a bad thing."
"Hopelessly incorrigible."
Napoleon only smiled in response.
They claimed their coats at the coat check and emerged onto the streets. The road glistened with rain from earlier in the evening, but the sky had cleared and the moon shone brightly overhead. The air was fresh and held just a hint of the snow that New York had so far been spared.
"Come on," Napoleon said as they reached the car and Illya took the wheel. "I'll make the coffee now and you can supply the vodka later."
It was a good night. A good night to celebrate another year survived. A year when he'd succeeded more than failed, a year doing a job he cared about with a partner he trusted absolutely.
He couldn't ask for more than that.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-13 12:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-13 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-13 11:27 pm (UTC)New Jersey courier runs ---snort. Guess I better be more careful on the Turnpike!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-14 05:17 am (UTC)As for the Jersey courier runs, I had to include a shout out to your home state. (If you see any UNCLE agents on the Turnpike you'll let us know, right?)
no subject
Date: 2006-11-14 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-14 05:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 12:12 am (UTC)I loved that line. I really enjoy stories with good acerbic Illya lines.
The NJ courier times might be useless even if they were still running. The highways there are so crowded and confused, that things are always running off-schedule. (Grin)
no subject
Date: 2006-11-18 03:12 am (UTC)And I don't doubt that a NJ courier run would be useless these days. It's about the same here in Toronto. *g*