Doesn't Feel Much Like Christmas

“…and that was when it finally occurred to me that the transmitter had been hidden in the piano the whole time.”

Napoleon paused in his story, leaning away from the wall enough to glance at his companion, wanting to make sure his audience hadn’t drifted back to sleep again.

Apparently sensing this, Illya stirred slightly, forcing out a tired response, “Let me guess, you interrupted the concert right in the middle of it.”

Satisfied, Napoleon settled back against the rough wood wall again. “Well, I couldn’t exactly wait for her to finish the concert, could I? There were at least a dozen THRUSH agents that could realize my presence there at any moment.”

“A few minutes ago, there were only ten THRUSH agents,” Illya reminded him dryly. “And when the story started, there were five.”

Napoleon shrugged. “You have a concussion, how would you know?”

“I do not have a concussion. The bullet went through my side, not my head.”

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

Letting out an aggrieved huff, Illya reached over to snatch the bottle of bourbon from him.

Choosing to take that as a ‘yes’, Napoleon continued, “So, I slipped onto the stage with the backup musicians for the next song. I performed a fairly decent rendition of the Moonlight Sonata on a flute, and managed to very discreetly check the piano for the hidden transmitter.”

Illya scoffed. “Yes, I’m sure you were the very definition of discreet.”

“I was,” he protested. “Anyway, I ended up having to crawl under this massive grand piano in the middle of the next song and pried the transmitter off with the nail file Christina had left with me earlier. Which was a surprising bit of good luck because I never would have removed it in time otherwise. The day was saved, naturally, and I managed to slip off the stage while everyone was taking their bows.”

He paused, eyeing how much bourbon was now missing from the bottle. Prying it from his partner’s hands, he took a sip of his own before finishing his story. “The THRUSH agents saw me leaving the theater, unfortunately, and it took a good two hours to shake them off my tail. Made it back to the train station with no time to spare.”

Illya shot a disgruntled look at the stolen liquor. “That was it?” he asked. “That is what you count as a terrible Christmas?”

“Hey,” Napoleon shot back. “I ruined a perfectly good tux being chased by those THRUSH agents. The U.N.C.L.E. station I took the transmitter to was under repair, so on top of everything else, I ended up spending Christmas dinner in a supply room with three desk jockeys, eating canned fruit.”

“Poor you,” Illya said, not sounding as sympathetic as Napoleon believed his story had warranted. “I could certainly think of worse ways to spend the holiday.”

Well, Napoleon couldn’t exactly argue that. He simply hadn’t wanted to bring the mood down, but obviously he’d had worse Christmases than that. This one, for instance, he was pretty sure was going to top his list for many years to come. Spending the night in an old barn in a THRUSH occupied village while his partner — not to mention his best friend — bled out beside him… He had a feeling it would be hard to beat this one for bad holiday experiences.

The fact that they were still being tracked by enemy operatives made the idea of lighting a fire out of the question. Hence, the bourbon. They’d found the bottle in the car they’d stolen to get here and decided it would at the very least warm them up a little. Napoleon had also been hoping it would act as a decent pain killer for his partner, but it was hard to tell how successful it was — Illya wasn’t exactly being open about his health status.

“One of these years,” Napoleon said, downing another swallow from the bottle, “I’m going to spend the day at home, with real food and some Christmas albums. Maybe even make it to one of the Section II holiday parties.”

“April and Mark usually go,” Illya said. “According to their accounts, we aren’t missing much.”

“It’s the principal of the thing.”

“Fine.”

Illya snatched back the bottle and Napoleon didn’t have the heart to fight him on it. With the reassuring burn on the back of his throat already fading, he huddled closer to the wall and fought off a shiver. The one blanket they’d managed to procure had ended up with Illya, on the grounds that he was injured. Given the argument that had been necessary to get his friend to accept the offer in the first place, Napoleon didn’t dare let on just how frozen he was right now.

“Alright,” he said, because he was freezing and exhausted and really didn’t want to be thinking about how much blood had been left on the inside of that car, “I’ve got another one for you. Have I ever told you about the New Year’s Eve party I crashed at the Plaza?”

“Probably. Go ahead.”

Hoping that the slight slur in his friend’s words was due to the alcohol and not the blood loss, Napoleon tried to keep his own tone light. “This was before you joined U.N.C.L.E., so I was working with a different partner at the time. Marshall, a nice guy, but not the brightest. He was supposed to pick up a package at a bus depot and bring it to the rendezvous point—”

‘This is mobile command calling Solo. Do you read?’

Startled by the sudden voice, Napoleon scrambled for the communicator in his pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. “This is Solo. Did you get the coordinates I sent you?”

‘Yes,’ Waverly’s voice was a welcome sound over the little radio. ‘It’s a relief to hear from you. Apologies for the delay, but we had trouble getting a unit past the THRUSH defenses. How is Mr Kuryakin?’

Assuming the open use of names meant the channel must be secure, Napoleon answered as honestly as he was capable of admitting at the moment. “He’s awake, but would probably appreciate an air lift to the nearest medical facility.”

‘Well then, you’re in luck. We have a helicopter en route to your location. Be ready for extraction in forty minutes. Stay safe, gentlemen, and I’ll see you in a few days. Oh, and Merry Christmas.’

Napoleon sagged against the wall, tension easing from his body as the relief swept over him. “To you as well, Sir,” he said, reluctantly ending the transmission, and their only link to the outside with it.

Not having to force the optimism in his voice this time, he informed his partner, “Not much longer. They’ll be here in forty minutes.”

“Good,” Illya sighed, nodding tiredly. It would be a surprise if he managed to stay awake until their rescuers arrived. “And, once we’re back in New York, remind me to tell you about the Christmas when I had to smuggle two children and a porcupine out of Germany.”

Napoleon laughed. “You always have to one-up me, don’t you?”

Not that he minded, really. In fact, he decided he didn’t even mind this miserable Christmas night as long as his partner pulled through in one piece. They still had half a bottle to go and at least he wasn’t alone this year.