Rating and notes: 15 (plot inspired by The Jingle Bells Affair and The Birds and the Bees Affair). This is going to be the prelude to a longer story.

Pairing: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo

Summary: Napoleon sees the signs... and misreads them, but that's for the best.

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with other people's toys. May I be forgiven in my next incarnation! Flamers and thieves will be adopted by my blood relatives (if you don't believe it's a threat... too bad for you!).

Editor: Mikee. The remaining mistakes are all mine, and I apologize for those.

.

The Mistletoe Affair

.

Napoleon Solo had always loved the Christmas season - perhaps because he knew that he'd have presents for Christmas and that he'd get birthday presents just a few days later. As he got older, his relatives sent him only one card or one present for both, but his mother still insisted on sending him two presents.

This year, his sister Gloria and her three daughters had insisted on decorating the apartment he'd inherited from their aunt Amy. He left one morning, and his apartment was the quiet place it usually was, and when he came home to 221 5th Ave, New York, NY, the concierge, who'd opened the door of his apartment to his sister, was smiling oddly. The reason for the concierge's smile was that his nieces had transformed his apartment into a place that would have been suitable for Santa Claus himself. Since his sister had sworn to clear his place after the Christmas season, he hadn't protested too much - and, truth be told, it reminded him of his childhood, and he liked it.

Gloria had told him that the mistletoe that was hanging from the chandelier in the dining-room was her youngest daughter's idea. Napoleon had pointed out that he certainly wouldn't use it, but it was entirely too cute; right then, his sister had launched herself into a tirade the aim of which was to convince her brother that he'd find another wife someday, and Napoleon, to put an end to that conversation, had pretended that Mr. Waverly was calling him. Over twelve years after his wife's death, he was still mourning her - and his relatives didn't understand him.

Today, Napoleon wasn't working, and he was planning to do nothing and just enjoy a quiet day. It wasn't Christmas Day per se, but it was the closest he'd had in his line of work in years.

A bit of red ribbon caught his eyes. His Sergey Prutkin Coexistence Award medal was pinned on the sock hanging from the mantel of the fireplace.

Napoleon was grateful that Chairman Koz was back in his own country. Georgi Koz wasn't an unpleasant man, but baby-sitting him was a full-time job - even top executives from THRUSH didn't require as much energy!

Napoleon walked to the sock and caressed the red ribbon. He had to admit that it was nice to get a bit of recognition. Of course, Mr. Waverly was quite satisfied with his work, but a tiny chocolate medal now and then was pleasant.

Napoleon realized that he'd never asked his partner if it bothered him that he'd been given the Elena Prutkin Coexistence Award. Surely, Chairman Koz had meant to acknowledge their extraordinary team-work, but perhaps Illya was hurt to be compared to the lady in their association. True, he was smaller and more slender - and he looked more in his element in a lab, but Illya Kuryakin was one tough guy.

Now, Napoleon regretted his silly display of machismo when Koz had pinned the medal onto Illya's lapel, and he'd smiled like the silly rooster he was sometimes.

Napoleon had bought his friend a present for Christmas, and he hadn't had time to give it to him. He decided to get dressed and go see his friend downstairs on the third floor.

Napoleon took the stairs, and as he went down the eight stories that separated them, he reflected that he hadn't been such a good friend lately. Perhaps the Christmas decorations and the small tree in his place made him strangely sappy, but Illya was all alone in a foreign country, thousands of miles from his roots, and he hadn't been there for his friend. Napoleon Solo felt as if he were the worst friend on earth.

Napoleon's apartment was overlooking 5th Avenue, but Illya's was on E 26th Street - Napoleon was far from the street noise, but Illya had a view on Madison Square Park. Napoleon was already living in their building when Illya moved in; he'd never asked exactly why Illya had picked the apartment on the third floor, and he'd assumed that it was for the view, which was a valid reason to make such a choice. However, Napoleon was happy to live higher - and he quite enjoyed his balcony (that was a great accessory to perfect his tan and observe charming ladies).

Napoleon and Illya had the keys to each other's places, and Napoleon let himself in when his knock got no answer. Illya might still be asleep or in the shower.

Napoleon's instincts were instantly on alert when he got in. The apartment was freezing cold, and Illya avoided the cold as much as possible.

"Illya!" Napoleon called urgently.

There was no answer.

Napoleon ran from room to room. All the windows were open, the heaters turned off, and there was no Illya; however, there was not a single sign of struggle.

"Where's that stubborn Russian?" Napoleon muttered.

He walked to one of the windows overlooking the park and saw Illya jogging around the water fountain. Napoleon sighed with relief, and then he whistled that tune that Illya had made their secret code. The sound carried easily in the quiet morning and the frosted air, and Illya turned around. When he saw his friend, he waved and signaled Napoleon to close the windows.

Illya jogged quietly back to their building.

Napoleon closed the windows, turned the heaters back on, and looked around. The place was really cold and not only because of the winter - there were Illya's books and records everywhere, but there was something that was missing.

Napoleon decided that he'd drag his friend back to his apartment; he'd lure him with the brightly wrapped present and the promise of a copious breakfast in a warm place. It'd take Illya's place at least twenty minutes to regain a non-Siberian temperature, and Illya would follow him.

Someone had to take care of that stubborn blond.

Napoleon blinked at the thought. Of course, he cared deeply for his teammate and friend, but now he was turning into his mother; he was trying to mother-hen Illya! He really had to put their medals out of his head, or Illya would end up shooting him with a real bullet someplace painful.

Napoleon was trying to forget the medal, but then he saw it on the tea table. He walked to it and saw Illya's wedding ring next to it - that was another thing that he'd never asked his friend: for whom he was wearing it. Napoleon reflected that in such a cold weather, Illya might have been afraid to lose it as he was jogging, or maybe he'd lost weight again. The instant he decided to check if Illya was bonier than usual, he knew that he was metamorphosing into his mother.

Medal and ring were placed on an invitation. A name caught Napoleon's eye: Tavia.

Napoleon felt bad for spying on his friend, but that was in his nature. He noted the exact position of the two objects on the invitation, and then he picked up the piece of paper. It was an invitation to Tavia Sandor's wedding to a Mr. Rory McCallum in February.

"My poor Illya!" Napoleon said as he put everything back in their original places.

Illya had risked his life - and the life of many - to rescue Tavia, and the ungrateful kitten was marrying another man!

Napoleon felt terrible for his friend; at least, he'd known the delight that a marriage could be for a year before his beloved wife was killed, but Illya was always all alone. That was unfair.

Napoleon left Illya's apartment and met his friend as he exited the elevator.

Napoleon pushed him back inside gently and said, "Your place is as cold as Minsk, I'm taking you home."

"But I've got books to read!" Illya protested.

"I have breakfast," Napoleon declared.

"Then I guess that my reading can wait," the Russian glutton conceded.

"Besides, your place is still too cold," Napoleon insisted.

"As much as it pains me, you must open the windows to clean the air, Napoleon," Illya stated.

Napoleon shrugged and added, "And your place is as cheerful as THRUSH Central for Christmas."

"Christmas comes in January for me, Napoleon," Illya reminded him.

"Right! I'd forgotten. When is it again?" he asked.

"Right on your birthday," Illya said with a small smile.

Illya saw realization slowly dawn on his friend's face.

"So that's why you give me such a big present! I get a birthday present and a Russian Christmas present!" Napoleon exclaimed.

Illya smiled, and the smile reached his eyes. Most of the times, he schooled his features to protect his heart, but around Napoleon, he could be more himself - not entirely, not on the one important topic for Illya, but he'd learned to live with that. Napoleon looked so much like a little boy that Illya allowed himself to save that image for later use; he'd use the extra fluff to help him recover from the next bout of nastiness THRUSH would throw at him.

"You're not greedy enough, Illya," Napoleon teased his friend.

"What do you mean?" Illya wondered.

"You should celebrate both," Napoleon declared.

They got out of the elevator on Napoleon's floor.

"Does that mean that I'll get another Christmas present from you in January?" Illya teased his friend in return.

"Hey! One should receive presents on one's birthday, not give them!" Napoleon protested.

"Except if you're a hobbit," Illya deadpanned.

The look on Napoleon's face was so funny that Illya started laughing heartily. Napoleon was happy to be able to bring that into his friend's life; he remembered the Tavia debacle and said, "You'll have another present, I promise."

Illya saw something odd pass in Napoleon's eyes, but he couldn't identify the feeling.

"All right, don't laugh at my nieces' efforts to brighten Christmas for their old bear of an uncle," Napoleon said as he opened the door.

"'Bozhe moi!" Illya exclaimed. "Did they rob the North Pole?"

"Spasiba, Illya. I'll tell my dear nieces that you didn't appreciate their hard work to bring a little bit of Christmas into my poor, solitary life," Napoleon said as he locked his door behind them.

"Cut down your Italian side, my friend. Pseudo-drama doesn't work on me. I am immune to your theatricality," Illya declared.

"Brat!" Napoleon said. He gave Illya his present and said, "Go make yourself comfortable somewhere near the tree. I'll have breakfast ready in a minute."

Illya nodded and went to sit down on the floor near the comfortable sofa, just in front of the low table and... right under the chandelier-cum-mistletoe.

"I'll see if I can't make you succumb to my charm," Napoleon said from the kitchen.

"Too late, been there..." Illya murmured.

"What?!" Napoleon inquired.

"You can always try!" Illya answered.

He opened his gift; it was a beautiful set of Japanese chess.

"It's a gorgeous shogi set, Napoleon! Thank you!" Illya said. "After breakfast, I'll bring you my gift. I should have brought it to you before."

"It's okay, Illya," Napoleon said.

And again, Illya saw something in Napoleon's eyes that was too brief to be identified.

"I'll have to teach Mr. Waverly to play this kind of chess," Illya murmured pensively.

"Or you could teach me," Napoleon said.

Illya looked at his friend, who was serving breakfast on the low table, and he asked, "Spill, Napoleon, what's so wrong that you'd learn to play Japanese chess with me just to be nice?"

Napoleon shrugged and tried to get away by saying, "I feel as if I've been a bad friend recently."

"Fiddlesticks! You're a good friend. Now, tell me what's really on your mind," Illya said.

Napoleon went to sit down next to Illya.

"When I was in your apartment I saw the invitation," Napoleon admitted.

It took Illya two seconds to understand which invitation his friend was referring to.

"Oh! If you want to come with me to flirt with the pretty bridesmaids, it's all right. There's no need to bribe me with a delicious breakfast," Illya said joyfully.

"But... I thought... I thought you liked the girl," Napoleon mumbled somewhat lamely.

Illya looked deeply moved by Napoleon's concern. "Napoleon, we're both orphans. We... We clicked, but as sister and brother. That's why I had to save her, and in two months, I'll be the one giving her away," Illya explained.

Napoleon's mouth formed a perfect, silent 'oh' that made Illya smile.

"You were worried that my heart was broken. Thank you," Illya said softly. "My invitation stands still. The bridegroom is Scottish, and Lagavulin should be aplenty."

"You'd like me to go with you, really?" Napoleon asked.

Illya smiled as the little boy in Napoleon was back. He nodded fervently as he chewed his eggs with delight.

Napoleon flinched imperceptibly, but Illya saw it.

"What is it? I can convince Mr. Waverly to let us go if need be," Illya said.

"It's not that. You said you're an orphan," Napoleon said.

"Father died in the war, and I lost Mother the first month I was in the Navy," Illya said.

"I'm sorry," Napoleon said barely above a whisper. "I didn't know."

"I don't like to provide information gratuitously, but I answer questions," Illya said.

Illya saw the glimmer of interest in his friend's eyes. Right then, Illya's instincts told him that this breakfast would be memorable, for better or for worse.

He spotted Napoleon's award and pointed at it as he said, "Strange location for a medal."

Napoleon looked embarrassed again.

"What is it this time?" Illya inquired with a sigh.

"I'm sorry Koz gave me the Sergey medal. We can trade if you want. No one but us would have to know," Napoleon said.

Illya laughed heartily, and that wasn't the reaction Napoleon had expected.

Illya calmed down and explained, "I'm the one who should be sorry that you got stuck with the Sergey award. Your knowledge of the history of the Balkans is still imperfect, I see. Sergey and Elena were both extraordinary, but, well, I'm sorry Napoleon, but Elena was the Alpha in their couple."

Napoleon blinked.

"I'm sorry, my friend," Illya said with a small smile.

"No, you're not!" Napoleon protested.

Illya winked.

They ate a few bites in silence, and Napoleon finally said, "If that's what it means, I'm glad you have the Elena medal."

"Thank you," Illya answered, deeply moved.

A few more bites later, Illya added, "You were really worried for me."

Napoleon nodded and hoped that his friend would leave it at that, but they were spies.

"There's something else," Illya said.

"You left your wedding ring at your place. Did you lose your wife, too?" Napoleon asked.

"Ouch," Illya said.

"You don't have to tell me," Napoleon said immediately.

"Oh, I don't mind telling you, but I'll demand perfect honesty from you, Napoleon. And keep in mind that I know when you lie," Illya said.

Napoleon nodded solemnly. He thought that he was about to discover some tragedy, but what Illya had to reveal was much different.

"I love Tavia like a sister, and I've had a few affairs with the fair sex, but ladies don't interest me much. I've discovered that a wedding ring and a lack of interest in their petticoats keeps the ladies off my back. Most of them are too complicated," Illya explained.

"Your ring is a sham!" Napoleon exclaimed.

"Of course, it is," Illya said.

This time, it was Napoleon's turn to spot something in his friend and not identify it.

"Don't you want a family of your own?" Napoleon asked, the longing loud and clear in his voice.

"If I live long enough to retire, I might adopt an orphan," Illya said.

"But don't you want a wife?" Napoleon asked.

"It'd be nice to have someone in my life, but it's difficult," Illya said.

'Time to see if my best friend and biggest crush ever is deaf and stupid,' Illya thought.

"But..." Napoleon began to say. He stopped and analyzed Illya's statement. "Someone?" he asked. "As in... another man?" he squeaked.

"Quizas," Illya teased Napoleon.

"But how can you prefer a man to a woman?!" Napoleon inquired.

"Do you really want to know?" Illya asked. When his friend nodded, he said, "There's no complication, I speak the same language, and the sex is much better."

"Can't be!" Napoleon exclaimed, blushing.

Illya laughed heartily. He laughed so much that he noticed the mistletoe right above them.

"Want to kill two birds with one stone?" Illya asked.

"What?" Napoleon asked back.

Illya pointed one finger toward the chandelier and said, "We can sacrifice to tradition, and I can prove to you that I kiss better than any woman you've ever known."

Napoleon blinked, but he didn't protest when Illya's lips descended on his.

Illya was slow, warm, tender, passionate and arousing.

"Dear God, I've been wanting to do that for months," Illya said as he freed his friend's lips and looked at him with love.

Illya panicked when he saw tears in Napoleon's eyes.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Illya said, paling terribly.

"Hold me, Illya, please," Napoleon begged unashamedly.

Illya obeyed instantly and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. You were right, and I didn't know it was possible. You're even better than..." Napoleon's voice trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to mention his late wife.

"Shush, mon ange, if you're not against the idea, we'll explore this - us - one step at a time," Illya said.

Napoleon crushed his best friend, teammate - and maybe more - against him and nodded timidly. He didn't know it was possible for two men to feel such love, but they'd just clicked.

"Perhaps Koz saw something between us," Illya said against Napoleon's neck.

"Illya, do you really think that we could have eighty-seven years together?" Napoleon inquired.

The only answer that he got was a smile even more enigmatic than Mona Lisa's.

Finis