Fic Update
Title: The Tell-Tale Dream
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (but not yet)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
Part Five
There were definitely more comfortable seats in the building, but Napoleon’s brain was too overloaded to even consider shifting his body. In an effort to calm his mind, he reminded himself that one of the basic tenets of his job was to assimilate all the available facts before coming to a conclusion. A deep, cleansing breath and he was, once more, in control.
Suddenly, he had to move. He knew he should eat something, so he started toward the cafeteria; but just the thought of food made his stomach roil in protest. There was, no doubt, a full to overflowing in-box awaiting him on his desk, but the possibility of an encounter with his partner at the moment brought on an illogical, but undeniable, feeling of dread.
He wandered the chrome and gunmetal halls of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters for a while, hoping that the familiar surroundings would clear his head and steady his pulse; but the flirtatious oglings from the occasional women employees he passed, and the sincerely congenial greetings of fellow agents, acted on his shattered nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.
He needed time alone to try and unravel some of the things Jason was telling him; so he slipped into the nearest restroom, stepped inside a cubicle, and locked the door. He sat down on the toilet, arms folded protectively across his chest, in a desperate attempt to control the heaving tempest that was building there. He made a most valiant attempt to rationally consider all that Palmer had said, but his mind refused to cooperate.
The strangest thing of all was that, even though up to this point, Jason had only spoken in the abstract, Napoleon felt as though the earth was cracking in two beneath his feet.
As he sat, trying to make sense of it all, the Men’s room door opened and two very familiar voices entered.
“How can you go on like this?” Mark Slate was asking vehemently. “I think you should come clean.”
“I’ve thought seriously about it,” Illya answered, “but I’m not certain that the time is right. What if I lose the relationship we already have?”
So Illya was interested in someone. Good. He needed a girlfriend. They had always faux-flirted a little; but Illya had been making Napoleon uncomfortable lately, with coy remarks and strangely intense looks.
Napoleon heard two urinals flush, one after the other, and then the splash of water in the sinks. He rose to exit his sanctuary in order to join the conversation in support of Mark’s point of view; but before he could unlatch the door, the two men continued.
“I don’t know, mate,” Mark exclaimed, “I just don’t think I could settle for a friendship that may last fifteen years, when you could have ‘till death us do part’.”
Napoleon was stunned. Was Illya contemplating marriage? But…
“And then,” Illya rejoined, “there is my job to consider.”
‘Attaboy’, Napoleon silently congratulated his partner for keeping his feet on the ground.
“If Waverly were to get wind of it, we could both be out on our collective ears.” Illya’s voice was calm, but it contained an edge of plaintiveness.
That meant it was someone in U.N.C.L.E. In his head, Napoleon thumbed through the list of eligible women who worked at the New York headquarters, but couldn’t pick out one that Illya had shown special attention. In fact, he hadn’t noticed Illya paying attention to any of the women lately; but then, his partner was a master spy.
The water was turned off and the electric hand dryers hummed for several seconds. Napoleon smiled when the sound evoked an image of his partner, drying his still damp hands on his trousers, as two sets of footsteps moved toward the restroom door, stopping just inside.
“Look,” Mark sighed, “I know this is a very difficult situation for you. It would be bad enough for April and me, just being fellow agents; but your situation is even worse. Still, seriously consider telling him. I think he cares enough for you that, even if he doesn’t feel the same way, the two of you could remain friends and partners.”
Amidst the sounds of the two men’s departure, Napoleon’s knees forsook him; only the narrowness of the cubicle keeping him from falling to the floor when his backside missed the toilet altogether. Several mental replays of the conversation later, his original conclusion remained the same: he must have misunderstood.
Author: aneuhaus
Rating: NC/17 (but not yet)
Pairings: That would be telling!
Warnings: Slash
Part Five
There were definitely more comfortable seats in the building, but Napoleon’s brain was too overloaded to even consider shifting his body. In an effort to calm his mind, he reminded himself that one of the basic tenets of his job was to assimilate all the available facts before coming to a conclusion. A deep, cleansing breath and he was, once more, in control.
Suddenly, he had to move. He knew he should eat something, so he started toward the cafeteria; but just the thought of food made his stomach roil in protest. There was, no doubt, a full to overflowing in-box awaiting him on his desk, but the possibility of an encounter with his partner at the moment brought on an illogical, but undeniable, feeling of dread.
He wandered the chrome and gunmetal halls of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters for a while, hoping that the familiar surroundings would clear his head and steady his pulse; but the flirtatious oglings from the occasional women employees he passed, and the sincerely congenial greetings of fellow agents, acted on his shattered nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.
He needed time alone to try and unravel some of the things Jason was telling him; so he slipped into the nearest restroom, stepped inside a cubicle, and locked the door. He sat down on the toilet, arms folded protectively across his chest, in a desperate attempt to control the heaving tempest that was building there. He made a most valiant attempt to rationally consider all that Palmer had said, but his mind refused to cooperate.
The strangest thing of all was that, even though up to this point, Jason had only spoken in the abstract, Napoleon felt as though the earth was cracking in two beneath his feet.
As he sat, trying to make sense of it all, the Men’s room door opened and two very familiar voices entered.
“How can you go on like this?” Mark Slate was asking vehemently. “I think you should come clean.”
“I’ve thought seriously about it,” Illya answered, “but I’m not certain that the time is right. What if I lose the relationship we already have?”
So Illya was interested in someone. Good. He needed a girlfriend. They had always faux-flirted a little; but Illya had been making Napoleon uncomfortable lately, with coy remarks and strangely intense looks.
Napoleon heard two urinals flush, one after the other, and then the splash of water in the sinks. He rose to exit his sanctuary in order to join the conversation in support of Mark’s point of view; but before he could unlatch the door, the two men continued.
“I don’t know, mate,” Mark exclaimed, “I just don’t think I could settle for a friendship that may last fifteen years, when you could have ‘till death us do part’.”
Napoleon was stunned. Was Illya contemplating marriage? But…
“And then,” Illya rejoined, “there is my job to consider.”
‘Attaboy’, Napoleon silently congratulated his partner for keeping his feet on the ground.
“If Waverly were to get wind of it, we could both be out on our collective ears.” Illya’s voice was calm, but it contained an edge of plaintiveness.
That meant it was someone in U.N.C.L.E. In his head, Napoleon thumbed through the list of eligible women who worked at the New York headquarters, but couldn’t pick out one that Illya had shown special attention. In fact, he hadn’t noticed Illya paying attention to any of the women lately; but then, his partner was a master spy.
The water was turned off and the electric hand dryers hummed for several seconds. Napoleon smiled when the sound evoked an image of his partner, drying his still damp hands on his trousers, as two sets of footsteps moved toward the restroom door, stopping just inside.
“Look,” Mark sighed, “I know this is a very difficult situation for you. It would be bad enough for April and me, just being fellow agents; but your situation is even worse. Still, seriously consider telling him. I think he cares enough for you that, even if he doesn’t feel the same way, the two of you could remain friends and partners.”
Amidst the sounds of the two men’s departure, Napoleon’s knees forsook him; only the narrowness of the cubicle keeping him from falling to the floor when his backside missed the toilet altogether. Several mental replays of the conversation later, his original conclusion remained the same: he must have misunderstood.