Chapter 3: Napoleon The Proud Father
Napoleon entered the flat early the next morning, using the spare key which April had given him.
April had been sleeping on her couch, she woke up when Napoleon entered. The blouse she'd been wearing the night before was completely open. The Russian was sleeping on her lap, while the blonde mop slightly obscured her bosom from view. Napoleon didn't think he'd ever been so jealous in his life. Worst of all, Illya seemed to be oblivious to it. He was still sleeping and he was sucking his thumb. Napoleon knew that were there positions were reversed he'd be taking more advantage of the situation.
"Hello April."
"Napoleon don't tell me we're needed in the office today? Can't you let him sleep longer? He had a terrible night," she stroked the pyjama clad back gently.
"What happened?"
"Oh he had terrible nightmares. I put him to bed in the spare room and shortly afterwards, the terrible nightmares started. I ended up holding him all night."
"I'm afraid you're both needed in the office today."
"Illya come on it's time to wake up," the Russian snuggled deeper into her chest. Napoleon reached across and gave him a shake.
"Illya time to get up and go to work."
"Mr Waverly said 'children do not go to work'," said the bleary eyed Russian.
"That's fine Illya, if you don't want to go to work I'll enrol you in the local school."
The Russian looked slightly annoyed and shuffled out of April's lap. He did not however make any move to get washed and dressed but instead lay back on the couch.
April picked the Russian up and took him into the bathroom. "You and er Illya are getting pretty close," Napoleon said when April returned.
"Oh come on Napoleon, he's a six year old child."
"No he isn't April and you know it."
"Alright I know it. But Illya was only here because you wanted your date. He hasn't said anything, but I think he was really hurt by you not wanting him yesterday."
When April went into the bathroom later, to bring the Russian his clothes, she decided to break the good news to him.
"It worked."
"It did?"
"Yes I made him feel very guilty and he's promised that you'll be staying in his apartment tonight. My performance was excellent, as was yours. The expression on his face when he saw you burying into my bosom."
"Who says I was acting?" With a smile, "I like your apartment April, but his is the more spacious one and most importantly, it's always well stocked with food and vodka. So given the choice, even though you are more pleasing on the eye, I'd rather stay with him."
Illya was working in the lab. By the looks he was getting the scientists were highly suspicious of him. Not that they thought he was a Thrush agent or anything merely that they thought he was going to start running around any minute and start playing games with the lab equipment.
Illya was meeting Napoleon for lunch. Napoleon was already sitting at a table eating, when the Russian entered the cafeteria. The Russian was waiting patiently in the queue, thinking it odd that he hadn't been served by then, before he realised that they hadn't seen him, since he couldn't see over the counter. Napoleon heard the small disturbance and stopped it before it could escalate into a minor riot.
Napoleon was walking with the Russian back to their office and as usual Illya had his nose buried in a file, letting his feet guide him. All of a sudden Napoleon heard a small thump, followed by a startled cry. He looked down at the Russian who was now sitting on the floor of the corridor rubbing his forehead.
"Why don't you watch where you're going?"
"I don't have to, my feet know the way."
"Perhaps your feet don't know the way as well as they think they do."
"Perhaps my feet used to be a lot bigger and take wider strides."
Illya of course realised his mistake. In following his feet, who told him that it was time to turn left, he'd walked into the corridor wall. The turn he expected to be there wasn't because he needed to take more steps than he usually did in order to reach it.
Napoleon picked him up and deposited him on his shoulders.
"Hey, put me down."
"No."
"If you don't put me down this instant I'm going to pee on your head."
"You wouldn't?"
"Do you want to risk it?"
"Okay I'll put you down if you watch where you're going. You're getting more bruised than you normally do on a case," he said as he settled him back on his feet.
"I doubt that."
When they reached Napoleon's apartment, both were feeling quite tired. Napoleon took Illya's new clothing into the guest bedroom.
"I'm going to call Mark, see if he's found anything yet and then I'm going to take a shower."
Illya waited for Napoleon to go into the bedroom, then headed out to the kitchen to get himself a bottle of vodka from the fridge, which he brought back into the living room and started filling his glass.
When Napoleon returned after a very long shower, Illya was nowhere to be seen.
"Illya?" He called. When he received no answer, he crept into the kitchen convinced that the Russian would be raiding his cupboards and fridge, stealing his most expensive foods, the things he saved for seducing his women. He wouldn't mind so much, but Illya didn't even savour the food, but merely wolfed it down because it was there.
No Illya.
He was beginning to get worried and called out again, "Illya?" This time he heard a soft giggling coming from beneath his dinning room table.
He squeezed under the table, finding his missing Russian, "what are we doing?"
"Shh," the Russian told him drunkenly, "we're hiding."
"Who we hiding from?"
"Napoleon."
"Why are we hiding from him?"
"Because I've stolen his best vodka."
"Doesn't he let you drink his vodka?"
"Yes, he normally lets me drink the cheap stuff, he saves the good stuff for special occasions and his se... sed... seduct... his dates."
"How much have you had, anyway?"
The Russian frowned and looked at his fingers. "This is my second glass," he announced finally.
"Really?" Napoleon said with surprise, then realised that the Russian was less than half his normal size and therefore it took less alcohol than usual to get him totally sloshed.
The Russian looked at him and then seemed to notice for the first time who he was talking to, "Napoleon? When did you get here? I haven't been stealing your vodka, you know."
"Of course not Illya, I suppose that's just water in your glass."
"Of course."
"And you usually get drunk on water, I suppose?"
"I am not drunk," his protest was rather unconvincing, considering the fact that he was slurring his words and swaying.
Napoleon dragged the Russian out from under his table, "I'm going to order some take out, if I get some food into you that should sober you up a bit." He was about to go to the telephone when he suddenly remembered that he shouldn't leave the Russian alone with the bottle of vodka. He swiftly grabbed the bottle from where the Russian had left it, under the table and put it on his top shelf. "Now the glass Illya, hand it over."
Illya looked down at the glass in his hand and how much vodka was left. He was unwilling to hand over a half full glass to Napoleon. He put the glass to his lips trying to finish the rest of it, before Napoleon could stop him. Unfortunately Napoleon had managed to deduce what he was planning and snatched the glass away from him before he'd had so much as a sip.
"Napoleon, give that back."
"No my drunk little friend, you've had far too much already." He went on, "look you just make yourself nice and comfy on the couch, and I'll go and order us some take out."
The food helped to sober the Russian a little, but not much. Napoleon found the odd times that Illya got himself sloshed somewhat amusing. He expected the Russian to have trouble with the chopsticks with him being so drunk but had surprised him by handling them better than Napoleon did. Of course, Napoleon thought to himself, I should have known that would be the case, nothing stands between the Russian and food. Even more surprising of course was after dinner, when they'd watched a bit of television, and Illya in an affectionate mood brought on by the drink, had curled up on his knee.
Later on, Napoleon decided that they would both need a shower. Considering the fact that Illya was too drunk to stand by himself, and Napoleon didn't want to go to all the trouble of running a bath for him, he decided that they'd better just shower together.
After Napoleon stripped them both down, and turned on the shower.
"Not very big are you?" Napoleon said teasingly, looking down at the Russian.
"I'm a child, what's your excuse?" Illya responded.
"I'll have you know that lots of women think that I'm very well endowed."
"Really? They can't have had much experience with men, then," Illya said dryly.
Napoleon pretended he was going to hit him.
After they were showered, Napoleon got them both dressed in their pyjamas and into his bed. He realised it was probably best, given how much alcohol the Russian had consumed and he wanted to keep an eye on him should any problems arise.
The Russian seemed to sleep peacefully enough and didn't choke during the night, which was his concern.
Illya awoke with a hangover.
"I er see you're awake. Take an aspirin, just the one though, that's the maximum for children."
Illya felt terrible and decided he needed to make someone pay for the way he was feeling. The question was, who should it be? Who was responsible for him still being a child, then he smiled slightly, as he remembered.
Mark Slate was just getting back to his apartment, when he heard the familiar beeping of his communicator. He sat down heavily on his couch. He was covered in mud, not to mention exhausted after overnight surveillance on an out of the way plant, which he believed to be the place where the scientists had set up shop. It hadn't panned out, it was another dead end.
"Slate here."
"Ah Mark, what have you found?"
"Er nothing, it turned out to be another dead end."
"I see and what are you doing now?"
"I'm sitting on my couch."
"I see, in other words you're doing nothing."
"Well I..." He was interrupted by a very angry Russian, who shouted at him and lectured him, until finally breaking off communications.
