Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Category: slash

Rating: G

Word Count: 939

Summary: Just a moment in a mission.

Table/Prompt: Inspired by Music Table Prompt: were all the world mine ~Carmina Burana and the LJ group Network_Command’s Seven Deadly Sins: Gluttony

 

“Your contact said that he’d be here tonight for sure?”

“Yes.” Patient. He had to stay patient. It was important to be patient because if he wasn’t he would do something entirely foolish like slap the piss out of his partner, which would likely blow their cover and then they’d have to start this affair all over again with a new pair of agents and there wasn’t time for it. He took a deep breath and looked over the menu at the man across the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dark eyes full of startled alarm flashed up over the menu and then shuttered. Napoleon looked back at his own menu, stopping short of actually raising it up as a shield. “No.” There was a moment of silence and then he added, “Thank you all the same.”

Illya tried very hard not to sigh. When he was certain that the waitress had forgotten where their table was, she finally showed up, flustered and harried.

“So sorry! There was, in the kitchen, well, you don’t care, I’m sorry. What can I get you?” she was breathless and Illya was certain it was not the charming smile Napoleon flashed that caused her difficulty breathing.

After they placed their order and the waitress had taken away the menus, the pair was quiet.

Illya wondered how long Napoleon would last in the silence.

Dinner arrived. Through the appetizer of mysterious origin, ‘compliments of the restaurant, sir, we’re so sorry about the delay’ something fried and rich and dipped in the various sauces provided it was quite delicious, Napoleon remained quiet. Salads arrived, crisp greens tossed with tomato and slivers of black olives and just the right amount of light dressing, very satisfying. Their main course was right on time, tender steak grilled and perfectly warm and pink in the center and seasoned with pepper and garlic. Illya forgot entirely about waiting out Napoleon’s mood and dug in with vigor.

He didn’t think he could eat one more bite and then the waitress arrived back at the table with dessert.

“We didn’t…”

“No sir, the owner wanted to apologize for the difficulty earlier. This is a specialize of the house, we hope you will like it.”

The dessert was something fluffy and light, creamy like a custard but more insubstantial and topped with huge fat blackberries in their own juice, the sweetly tart berries a perfect foil for the smooth vanilla cloud they rested upon.

“He’s not going to show.”

“He is.”

“You’ll give yourself indigestion if you don’t stop this.”

Napoleon only gave his partner a sour look.

“Eat your dessert. And when you call for the check be sure to look over your left shoulder, the target has been acquired.” Illya continued to spoon his own dessert up in the smallest bites he could manage, not only to fill the time until they confronted their quarry, but to delay finishing the delicious treat.

They lingered over coffee and brandy while their bill was settled. The waitress returned with the change and Napoleon again brought out his best smile and she returned it, chatting easily with him while Illya excused himself to get into position.

Despite his earlier distraction, Napoleon was all business when they approached the table. The man sitting there was regaling his dinner companion with his future plans. “When I have everything in place, you see, when all of this is mine, there can be no way that I will be denied…”

“I am so sorry to interrupt,” Napoleon didn’t sound a bit apologetic, “We will have to ask you to come with us.”

The man seated at the table opened his mouth to protest, then saw the credentials that Illya flashed, as well as the gun still in the holster under his coat. He closed his mouth and a look flashed in his eyes, like that of a starving man who realizes that the buffet before him is a mirage. His bushy mustache covered his frown and he laid a ham sized paw over the forearm of his companion, “I am sorry my dear, perhaps we can finish our discussion later.”

“Of course, Harry,” her voice was breathy and high pitched, Illya saw Napoleon wince at her tone.

“It may be a few years, Harry,” Napoleon reminded the man, “you know that you’ll be going up the river for quite some time.”

As they led the man away and folded him into the transport to take him in for processing into a holding cell, Harry kept muttering. He looked up at them as they cuffed him to the seat. “It should all be mine, you know, every last brick and stick, every last bit. All of this is mine.”

“Not when you go killing people and dealing with the likes of THRUSH, all you get for that is a cell and a cot and sunshine piped in if you’re lucky, Harry.” Napoleon tested the cuffs to be sure they were secure.

“Enough is as good as a feast,” Illya added.

“Never enough!”

The security officers buttoned up the van and drove away, leaving Illya and Napoleon to find their own way back to headquarters.

“Did he really think he would be able to own the entire island?”

“I suppose he must have, partner.”

“And eventually the world I suppose.” Illya let the sigh he had been keeping back all night finally escape. He shook his head.

“I suppose he had no idea that the property taxes on a whole planet would ruin his profit margin.”

Illya rolled his eyes and pulled his partner toward their car.