Ashleigh Anpilova


Napoleon asks Illya a question.

A pre-slash story.

Written: August 2009. Word count: 500.




He stands in his dark apartment, a glass of Russian vodka in one hand, the other resting against the window, listening to the thunder as it vibrates around, watching the lightning splitting the sky, and seeing the rain pouring down.


Except he does not hear the thunder or see the lightening or the rain; just as he does not taste the vodka or feel the cold from the window begin to seep into his hand. He sees, feels, hears and tastes nothing, because his mind is spinning.


His mind is going over and over what Napoleon said to him an hour ago. Was it really so short a time? Was it really that long ago? Had Napoleon really said what he had heard?


Part of him is almost convinced he had a verbal hallucination. He struggles to believe Napoleon had said what he had said. And yet, he knows he did hear it. He knows Napoleon did tell him he loved him; did tell him he was in love with him; did ask him if he wished to move from friends to lovers.


It is what he has wanted since the moment he set eyes on Napoleon. It is what he has dreamed about, thought about, even on a rare occasion dared to fantasize about. And yet he had not answered Napoleon. He had not replied. He had not told him how he felt. He had not answered his question.


He had wanted to. He had wanted to so badly. But he had not done so. He had left Napoleon's question unanswered. There was only one answer he could give, only one answer he wanted to give, but he had not done so.


Instead he had escaped to his apartment and the vodka bottle. He had walked away from the man he loved to stand in the dark listening to thunder he could not hear, watching lightning and rain he could not see, drinking vodka he could not taste. And for what reason?


Because he could not let Napoleon take him as a lover, only to discard him a short time later, and he could not bring himself to ask Napoleon if what he had suggested was more than a 'fling'.


He shakes his head. He, Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, who could kill, maim, keep cool and calm while detonating bombs, face certain death, survive truth serums, and beatings, and not be afraid, could not ask his partner a simple question?


Suddenly he pushes away from the window leaving the thunder, lightning and rain behind him, drains the glass of cold vodka, pours another one, drains that - this time tasting the clear liquid - and strides towards the door.


He takes the stairs up the four flights and walks along the corridor until he reaches Napoleon's door. He knocks and waits.


When Napoleon opens the door, Illya speaks, not giving his partner a chance to. "I have come to answer your question, Napoleon. But first there is something I must ask you."



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