A Heads or Tails fic for jkkitty.
Title: No Rest for the Wicked
Genre: Man from UNCLE
Rating: PG
Prompt: With that, they both held each other as they drifted off to sleep.
Requester: Jkkitty
I hope that you have fun with this. It was a tough ending! My thanks to you and to Sparky for her beta.
“But what did we do to deserve this?” Napoleon sucked the paper cut on the tip of his finger, then made a face at the taste. Blood and dust weren’t the best combination. “And why is it that a paper cut can hurt more than a gunshot?” He regarded his finger and then rubbed his shoulder.
“Probably because there are over 3,000 nerve receptors in each fingertip.” Illya winced as a staple caught him. “What I want to know is why so few people can’t figure out how to use a stapler.” The gash the last one made hurt way more than his injured leg did.
“No idea.” Napoleon coughed as he pushed his current now-empty box aside and reached for another dust-caked one. “Where was he keeping this stuff?”
“Attic, I would guess.” Illya was moving slowly now. They had spent a good portion of his morning, hauling these boxes up from the parking garage to Napoleon’s apartment. The man had draped his dining room in plastic to protect the furniture. “You just had to get that woman in trouble.”
“I did not get her into trouble. That was THRUSH. I was just caught at the wrong moment rendering aid.”
“Is that what they are calling it this month?” Illya grunted as he shifted boxes. “I just can’t figure out what I did to deserve this and I can’t believe this falls under the heading of moderate exercise.”
“You’re my partner. Wouldn’t you be helping out of the kindness of your heart?”
“Are you kidding? I have a new Brubeck, a full bottle of vodka and a stack of Scientific Americans to read back at my place. This has never been my idea of a good time. I would have been quite happy to still be recuperating at home.”
“That would have been a first, although truth be known, I wouldn’t mind being on my couch with a nice martini and a golf tournament on the TV. Are we getting old?” He looked longing over at the very comfortable sofa, so close and yet so far away.
“Not old, sensible. The older we get, the longer it takes to heal. Let the younger agents pick up the slack.”
“Don’t let Mr. Waverly hear that. He’d pull us from the field faster than you could say Jack Robinson three times faster.”
“Why would I want--?”
“It’s just an expression, Illya.” Napoleon stacked the files carefully, so they wouldn’t topple. They already spent an hour trying to make heads of tails out of the stack that did tip over. There were still a few sheets that were orphaned and needed a folder to call their own.
“Hey, look at this.” Illya pushed a file close.
“What’s going on?”
“Psych profiles.” Illya put on his glasses for a better look.
“Of?”
“Section Two.”
“What’s something like that doing in here? If THRUSH got hold of it, we’d be sitting ducks.”
“Who’s Elias Preston? Or Conway Deems?”
“Who?” Napoleon scanned the sheet. “They’re agents from the early days. They’ve all left us.” Napoleon eased himself into a chair. “Are there any aspirin left?” He pushed that sheet aside and picked up another one.
“I’ll check.” Limping, Illya walked out, only to return a few minutes later with a glass of water and four aspirin. “Here you go.”
Napoleon glanced up quickly. “What about you?” He returned to the file.
“Already took mine. What’s so interesting?”
“These guys were us about two decades ago.” Napoleon spread the paperwork out so that Illya could see it. “They were at the top of their game.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know. Apparently one was killed and the other one committed suicide because of ‘deep-seated feelings of unrequited love and regrets at not having acted upon his love of his partner.’”
“So, not us…”
“What do you mean?”
“Napoleon, do you harbor, “deep-seated feelings of unrequited love and regrets’ at not having acted upon his love of partner,” in your life? Or was there someone else in bed with me last night?”
Napoleon smiled fondly at the memory. “I think it’s time for a break. What do you think?”
“Yes, please. I’m hurting in spots that I didn’t know could hurt.” Illya headed for the couch. “Tossed off trains, thrown out of cars and airplanes and I’m fine. Give me a day of sorting through old files and I’m done in.”
The two men sat on the couch close together. As they looked at each other, they moved closer together. In the next moment, they found themselves kissing deeply and then pulling back to cuddle.
"It took us long enough to figure this out, though."
“But we did and that’s what counts in the long run. Too bad we're in no shape to go further with it tonight."
"There be many other nights and, oh, so much better than a golf game.”
“And sorting files. What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Something takeout, later, but for right now…” With that, they both held each other as they drifted off to sleep.
Genre: Man from UNCLE
Rating: PG
Prompt: With that, they both held each other as they drifted off to sleep.
Requester: Jkkitty
I hope that you have fun with this. It was a tough ending! My thanks to you and to Sparky for her beta.
“But what did we do to deserve this?” Napoleon sucked the paper cut on the tip of his finger, then made a face at the taste. Blood and dust weren’t the best combination. “And why is it that a paper cut can hurt more than a gunshot?” He regarded his finger and then rubbed his shoulder.
“Probably because there are over 3,000 nerve receptors in each fingertip.” Illya winced as a staple caught him. “What I want to know is why so few people can’t figure out how to use a stapler.” The gash the last one made hurt way more than his injured leg did.
“No idea.” Napoleon coughed as he pushed his current now-empty box aside and reached for another dust-caked one. “Where was he keeping this stuff?”
“Attic, I would guess.” Illya was moving slowly now. They had spent a good portion of his morning, hauling these boxes up from the parking garage to Napoleon’s apartment. The man had draped his dining room in plastic to protect the furniture. “You just had to get that woman in trouble.”
“I did not get her into trouble. That was THRUSH. I was just caught at the wrong moment rendering aid.”
“Is that what they are calling it this month?” Illya grunted as he shifted boxes. “I just can’t figure out what I did to deserve this and I can’t believe this falls under the heading of moderate exercise.”
“You’re my partner. Wouldn’t you be helping out of the kindness of your heart?”
“Are you kidding? I have a new Brubeck, a full bottle of vodka and a stack of Scientific Americans to read back at my place. This has never been my idea of a good time. I would have been quite happy to still be recuperating at home.”
“That would have been a first, although truth be known, I wouldn’t mind being on my couch with a nice martini and a golf tournament on the TV. Are we getting old?” He looked longing over at the very comfortable sofa, so close and yet so far away.
“Not old, sensible. The older we get, the longer it takes to heal. Let the younger agents pick up the slack.”
“Don’t let Mr. Waverly hear that. He’d pull us from the field faster than you could say Jack Robinson three times faster.”
“Why would I want--?”
“It’s just an expression, Illya.” Napoleon stacked the files carefully, so they wouldn’t topple. They already spent an hour trying to make heads of tails out of the stack that did tip over. There were still a few sheets that were orphaned and needed a folder to call their own.
“Hey, look at this.” Illya pushed a file close.
“What’s going on?”
“Psych profiles.” Illya put on his glasses for a better look.
“Of?”
“Section Two.”
“What’s something like that doing in here? If THRUSH got hold of it, we’d be sitting ducks.”
“Who’s Elias Preston? Or Conway Deems?”
“Who?” Napoleon scanned the sheet. “They’re agents from the early days. They’ve all left us.” Napoleon eased himself into a chair. “Are there any aspirin left?” He pushed that sheet aside and picked up another one.
“I’ll check.” Limping, Illya walked out, only to return a few minutes later with a glass of water and four aspirin. “Here you go.”
Napoleon glanced up quickly. “What about you?” He returned to the file.
“Already took mine. What’s so interesting?”
“These guys were us about two decades ago.” Napoleon spread the paperwork out so that Illya could see it. “They were at the top of their game.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know. Apparently one was killed and the other one committed suicide because of ‘deep-seated feelings of unrequited love and regrets at not having acted upon his love of his partner.’”
“So, not us…”
“What do you mean?”
“Napoleon, do you harbor, “deep-seated feelings of unrequited love and regrets’ at not having acted upon his love of partner,” in your life? Or was there someone else in bed with me last night?”
Napoleon smiled fondly at the memory. “I think it’s time for a break. What do you think?”
“Yes, please. I’m hurting in spots that I didn’t know could hurt.” Illya headed for the couch. “Tossed off trains, thrown out of cars and airplanes and I’m fine. Give me a day of sorting through old files and I’m done in.”
The two men sat on the couch close together. As they looked at each other, they moved closer together. In the next moment, they found themselves kissing deeply and then pulling back to cuddle.
"It took us long enough to figure this out, though."
“But we did and that’s what counts in the long run. Too bad we're in no shape to go further with it tonight."
"There be many other nights and, oh, so much better than a golf game.”
“And sorting files. What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Something takeout, later, but for right now…” With that, they both held each other as they drifted off to sleep.