"Illya?"
"Yes, Napoleon?" Only
mild irritation marked the words as Illya paused in his squirming.
"Do you ever make New Year's resolutions?"
A sigh. "Not as a
rule, why?"
"I do, just so I have something to look forward to
breaking."
"Is this another odd American tradition which I have yet to
encounter?"
"Hmm, that's possible..."
A rustle as Napoleon changed positions.
They were tied, back-to-back, and in a crate. There was enough room to move, barely, and
the cracks between the rough wooden boards allowed air to creep in. It was cold, not unusual for this time of the
year. New Year's Eve and somewhere
people were laughing and dancing, singing, drinking, and eating, for they were
not stuck inside a box, in some empty building in the middle of the cold December
night.
"The longer I remain in your country, the more mystified I
am by it." Illya had resumed trying to
undo the knots that held Napoleon's hands.
The cold made his fingers feel like sausages and he kept his eyes closed
as he concentrated upon his task.
"Like everything you do in the USSR makes sense."
"It does to me."
"Back at you then."
"Why do you not step on cracks?"
"Mom does enough, she doesn't deserve a broken back,"
Napoleon quipped and tried to shift closer to give Illya more access. His fingers were already numb. Of course, he'd been bound and in the crate
for a lot longer than his partner.
"That makes no sense."
Illya sighed. "I... I cannot do
this, Napoleon. I can no longer feel my
fingers."
"Illya, stuff it."
"I beg your pardon, I think you over-react."
"No, I mean your hands.
Can you get them down your pants, warm them up?"
There was movement and some grunting. "No, not at this angle."
"Um, Illya, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but
can you get them down mine?"
The shaking mystified Napoleon until he realized his partner
was laughing. "How the mighty have
fallen. The great Napoleon Solo is
asking me for such an act of flagrant --"
"Illya, I'm serious.
If one of us can't get these ropes undone, they are going to have two
UNCLE Popsicles in the morning. Your
hands are the warmer and more flexible of the two of us."
"All right, but know that I am doing this under protest and
I am not what you call an easy lay."
"Illya Nichovetch Kuryakin!
Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Not often enough, thank you."
Napoleon gasped and arched as a blast of ice hit his lower
back. "Shit, Illya, warn me before you
do that."
"You just told me -"
"I know what I just told you... it's just.... Your hands are
cold."
There was a chuckle then.
"Ah, yes, but my heart is very warm and if you don't mind my saying,
your... posterior... is very warm as well."
"Why, Mr. Kuryakin, are you saying my ass is hot?"
"Yes, and in the most masculine way possible."
Napoleon chuckled at that and shook his head in amazement. He was cold, hungry and exhausted. Here
he was facing possible death and he was laughing right in its face, all because
of his partner.
"So these resolutions?
What would they be, my friend?" Illya
pressed closer to Napoleon, determined to increase their body heat as much as
possible now. He purposefully kept his
hands still though to keep from making Napoleon any more uncomfortable than he
obviously was.
"Um, let's see, to die young and leave a good looking corpse
behind."
"Wait, these are ones you intend not to keep?" Illya winched at the pins and needles in his
fingers as they defrosted. He shifted
them to a new, warmer spot.
"Most assuredly."
"Then I will permit that one."
"How about you?"
"I do not... I resolve to become CEA."
"You? In a pig's
eye."
"Perhaps." Illya
sighed as his fingers began to move again to his will. "I think I can try again, Napoleon."
"Wait a bit more. Be
sure."
"Napoleon? Is this
some bizarre quirk to your nature previously unknown?"
"No, I'm not going to give you a second chance to stuff your
hands down my pants. I want you to be
sure your hands are good to go."
"Not a second chance - alas, there goes one of my
resolutions even before I was able to make it."
"What?"
"Nothing. It had been
two days since I've slept and I have said too much. I am ready."
The fingers were fairly dancing across the ropes now and,
within a breath, Napoleon swore he felt a knot shift... then again and suddenly
his hands were blissfully free. "I'm
good, Illya."
"So the standing rumor goes."
For the first time in two hours, Napoleon brought first one
arm and then the other forward. The ache
in his shoulders was a small price to pay for freedom. "Give me a minute and then scoot over as far
as you can. I'm going to try to get on
my back and get this lid off. Then you
and I are going to ring in the New Year and have us a long talk."
"Perhaps after a little sleep first? And something to eat?"
"Perhaps."
When their THRUSH captors returned three hours later, it was
to an empty crate and a bomb set to go off in less than fifteen minutes. Needless to say, they brought in the New
Year's with a substantial 'bang.'
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