MFU Fic: Maybe, Maybe Not (The Infinite Possibility Mashup)
Remix Challenge fic! Because I'm a total doof, I ended up writing a weird meta mashup of a dozen different fics. *facepalm*
Title: Maybe, Maybe Not (the Infinite Possibility Mashup)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: maybe Napoleon/Illya, maybe not
Word Count: ~900
Summary: There are thousands of ways it could happen.
Notes: This is a mashup of 12 different fics, because I'm nuts. There's a full list under this cut, in no particular order. Have fun picking them out! :D azdak's Divided Halves, edna_blackadder's Five Tags and Distasteful Affair, lothithil's Piano Forte, xparrot's Significant Effect and Sublimierung, leethet's Reasons and Anything (both gen and slash versions), elmey's Left Behind, theladyrose's Orbis Non Suffit, and periwinkle27's Holidays Old, Holidays New.
There are thousands of ways it could happen.
Maybe it happens after a mission. High on adrenaline and the sharp edge of being alive, they tumble into bed almost by accident, all their critical-thinking skills short-circuited by passion. It's so hot Napoleon is surprised the bed doesn't actually catch fire; it's so good it makes Illya doubt his sexual orientation. They make half-hearted promises not to do it again, but it's hard to keep promises that both parties want to break.
Or maybe it happens slowly, over days and weeks and months. Every night they fall asleep a little closer to each other; a shared bed, a head in a lap, through fumes of alcohol and of nearly losing each other, until at last it's the same bed, and they aren't doing much sleeping at all.
Or maybe it's a single small moment. Just a piano, jazz in a dark nightclub, the unexpected hypnotic power of dexterous fingers and total concentration, suddenly they're at the top of a roller-coaster and it's all downhill from there.
Maybe it's inevitable, inexorable. Maybe it has to happen eventually; it's only a matter of time before the right word, the right look, sends all the feelings tumbling out into the open.
Or maybe they would just keep sailing, neither willing to risk everything on such a gamble, idling as friends until a chance assignment on a distasteful blackmail affair forces the idea into their heads, forces their hands, until they can't stand to simply sail any longer.
Maybe that affair never happens and they just keep idling. Maybe they're both idiots, so fucking stupid, they fall in love and instead of opening their mouths they run, quitting UNCLE and fleeing to the opposite ends of the US, of life. Until fifteen years pass and they've finally, finally grown up enough to stop being so goddamn scared.
Maybe even that isn't enough. Maybe Napoleon ends up dying before anything can happen. It's only one of a hundred lost opportunities, one of the hundred small tragedies, not the least of which is that Illya will never see his partner again. Except for the whole time travel thing.
Or maybe it's Illya who dies, buried inside a burning hotel. Napoleon realizes he loves him while standing over a grave he didn't think to bring flowers to. Illya realizes while watching Napoleon on a secret video feed. When they see each other again it's a sweet fast slide from hugging to kissing to sex, bruises and burns forgotten.
Maybe it's a plane crash instead, and they're already fucking by then, occasional romps before missions to take edge off, after missions to come down from the high. But a plane goes down and Napoleon can't stop thinking that it wasn't just sex, it was never just sex, and he's almost cracked from the pain of being left behind when Illya finally catches up.
Or maybe it doesn't take anything quite so dramatic. Maybe it's just a quiet Christmas evening, warm companionship, a candy cane, and some of the dirtiest thoughts to ever cross Napoleon's already-pretty-dirty mind. But it turns out that's more than enough.
But then again, maybe it's not enough, maybe it never happens. Maybe they go on missions, get themselves into trouble and occasionally out again, never feeling a flicker beyond friendship. Maybe they do feel the flicker, maybe they dance around it, turning away from their desire to women or work, burying it so deep they can only hear it on the communicator, late at night, alone in their separate lives.
And maybe when Illya dies in that burning hotel, Napoleon visits his grave and still forgets flowers, but all he realizes is that he needs Illya, not that he loves him. And when they reunite in his apartment they still hug, but then they push apart, joking to try to lighten the mood, and they stay in the living room to talk instead of going to the bedroom to talk without words.
Maybe they're only partners, and everyone thinks they're something more. Or maybe they're more than partners, but everyone laughs off the possibility. Devilish smiles and innocent raised eyebrows, who knows whether they're laughing at a mistake or at the truth? Rumor has always followed them, why would it stop now?
Maybe Waverly hears more accurate rumors than most of the staff. Maybe he gets a letter from a friend he asked to watch out for them after a difficult affair. Maybe Napoleon or Illya tell him outright. Maybe it's April or Mark who let it slip. Maybe he just knows, because he's been doing this job for a long time and he isn't a fool.
Maybe Waverly finds out and fires them. The secretaries cry for a week; Napoleon and Illya spend the week in bed. Living well is the best revenge.
Or maybe he finds out and merely harrumphs at their vain attempt at discretion. Maybe he doesn't say anything at all. Maybe he gives them cryptic hints, a raised eyebrow at just the right moment, purely for the pleasure of seeing them flustered. But despite policy, he doesn't issue disciplinary warnings or break up the partnership. Even Waverly was young once, after all.
Or maybe they successfully keep their secret, spies to the bone, even in bed.
There are a thousand ways it would, could, may, might, possibly happen or possibly not. But one thing is for certain...
...someone is going to make a fortune in the office betting pool.
Title: Maybe, Maybe Not (the Infinite Possibility Mashup)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: maybe Napoleon/Illya, maybe not
Word Count: ~900
Summary: There are thousands of ways it could happen.
Notes: This is a mashup of 12 different fics, because I'm nuts. There's a full list under this cut, in no particular order. Have fun picking them out! :D azdak's Divided Halves, edna_blackadder's Five Tags and Distasteful Affair, lothithil's Piano Forte, xparrot's Significant Effect and Sublimierung, leethet's Reasons and Anything (both gen and slash versions), elmey's Left Behind, theladyrose's Orbis Non Suffit, and periwinkle27's Holidays Old, Holidays New.
There are thousands of ways it could happen.
Maybe it happens after a mission. High on adrenaline and the sharp edge of being alive, they tumble into bed almost by accident, all their critical-thinking skills short-circuited by passion. It's so hot Napoleon is surprised the bed doesn't actually catch fire; it's so good it makes Illya doubt his sexual orientation. They make half-hearted promises not to do it again, but it's hard to keep promises that both parties want to break.
Or maybe it happens slowly, over days and weeks and months. Every night they fall asleep a little closer to each other; a shared bed, a head in a lap, through fumes of alcohol and of nearly losing each other, until at last it's the same bed, and they aren't doing much sleeping at all.
Or maybe it's a single small moment. Just a piano, jazz in a dark nightclub, the unexpected hypnotic power of dexterous fingers and total concentration, suddenly they're at the top of a roller-coaster and it's all downhill from there.
Maybe it's inevitable, inexorable. Maybe it has to happen eventually; it's only a matter of time before the right word, the right look, sends all the feelings tumbling out into the open.
Or maybe they would just keep sailing, neither willing to risk everything on such a gamble, idling as friends until a chance assignment on a distasteful blackmail affair forces the idea into their heads, forces their hands, until they can't stand to simply sail any longer.
Maybe that affair never happens and they just keep idling. Maybe they're both idiots, so fucking stupid, they fall in love and instead of opening their mouths they run, quitting UNCLE and fleeing to the opposite ends of the US, of life. Until fifteen years pass and they've finally, finally grown up enough to stop being so goddamn scared.
Maybe even that isn't enough. Maybe Napoleon ends up dying before anything can happen. It's only one of a hundred lost opportunities, one of the hundred small tragedies, not the least of which is that Illya will never see his partner again. Except for the whole time travel thing.
Or maybe it's Illya who dies, buried inside a burning hotel. Napoleon realizes he loves him while standing over a grave he didn't think to bring flowers to. Illya realizes while watching Napoleon on a secret video feed. When they see each other again it's a sweet fast slide from hugging to kissing to sex, bruises and burns forgotten.
Maybe it's a plane crash instead, and they're already fucking by then, occasional romps before missions to take edge off, after missions to come down from the high. But a plane goes down and Napoleon can't stop thinking that it wasn't just sex, it was never just sex, and he's almost cracked from the pain of being left behind when Illya finally catches up.
Or maybe it doesn't take anything quite so dramatic. Maybe it's just a quiet Christmas evening, warm companionship, a candy cane, and some of the dirtiest thoughts to ever cross Napoleon's already-pretty-dirty mind. But it turns out that's more than enough.
But then again, maybe it's not enough, maybe it never happens. Maybe they go on missions, get themselves into trouble and occasionally out again, never feeling a flicker beyond friendship. Maybe they do feel the flicker, maybe they dance around it, turning away from their desire to women or work, burying it so deep they can only hear it on the communicator, late at night, alone in their separate lives.
And maybe when Illya dies in that burning hotel, Napoleon visits his grave and still forgets flowers, but all he realizes is that he needs Illya, not that he loves him. And when they reunite in his apartment they still hug, but then they push apart, joking to try to lighten the mood, and they stay in the living room to talk instead of going to the bedroom to talk without words.
Maybe they're only partners, and everyone thinks they're something more. Or maybe they're more than partners, but everyone laughs off the possibility. Devilish smiles and innocent raised eyebrows, who knows whether they're laughing at a mistake or at the truth? Rumor has always followed them, why would it stop now?
Maybe Waverly hears more accurate rumors than most of the staff. Maybe he gets a letter from a friend he asked to watch out for them after a difficult affair. Maybe Napoleon or Illya tell him outright. Maybe it's April or Mark who let it slip. Maybe he just knows, because he's been doing this job for a long time and he isn't a fool.
Maybe Waverly finds out and fires them. The secretaries cry for a week; Napoleon and Illya spend the week in bed. Living well is the best revenge.
Or maybe he finds out and merely harrumphs at their vain attempt at discretion. Maybe he doesn't say anything at all. Maybe he gives them cryptic hints, a raised eyebrow at just the right moment, purely for the pleasure of seeing them flustered. But despite policy, he doesn't issue disciplinary warnings or break up the partnership. Even Waverly was young once, after all.
Or maybe they successfully keep their secret, spies to the bone, even in bed.
There are a thousand ways it would, could, may, might, possibly happen or possibly not. But one thing is for certain...
...someone is going to make a fortune in the office betting pool.