Work Text:
The Discarded Junk Affair
by Sandra Esparza
Napoleon Solo used his spare key to get into Illya Kuryakin's apartment. Having been a frequent guest, he knew the exact layout of his partner's home as if it was his own. He knew which dishes were stored in which cupboard; he knew where to find things in the larder; knew the Russian's quirky library system if he wanted to look up a fact or borrow a book; and until Illya could find the time to catalog his record collection, Solo knew they were kept in a box, safe and secure underneath his bed.
Regrettably, whenever his partner was in the hospital, Solo also knew where to find his friend's clothes and spare overnight bag. Hence, Napoleon was in the bedroom, packing the bag with clean socks, a fresh pair of underwear, and something loose and casual for Illya to slip on once he was discharged later that afternoon.
He was just getting ready to leave when he happened to glance inside an open shoe box on Illya's nightstand. He would never have dared to look through its contents---had he not recognized something which looked familiar to him. On closer inspection, he recognized a good deal of the contents.
Sitting at the top of the heap was a cocktail napkin on which he had drawn a rough sketch of a sailboat he wanted to buy. He remembered that at the time, he and Illya were having dinner at a restaurant near their apartment building.
Napoleon turned the napkin over, expecting to find an address or telephone number written on it, yet it was otherwise blank.
Underneath the napkin were the torn stubs of movie tickets for the latest James Bond film he had taken Illya to. Next was a brochure of the mountain cabin they had stayed at for a week of rest and relaxation. There were used tickets to the theatre, an outdated menu from their favorite diner, a desensitized #11 security badge which had a crack in it and had been slated for destruction. And at the very bottom, tied with a ribbon, was a cache of greeting cards he had given to his friend over the years.
Napoleon sat on the bed and tried to fathom why Illya would collect junk. Junk he had discarded.
"Junk *I* discarded..." he said aloud, a strange idea forming in his mind. An extraordinary idea. A *ridiculous* idea.
'Could it be my undemonstrative and phlegmatic partner has a crush on me...?'
"Nah!" he chided himself. There must be some other perfectly sensible reason why Illya was safekeeping worthless scraps of paper, documenting the time they spent together off duty.
Napoleon Solo, Chief Enforcement Agent of U.N.C.L.E. New York, decorated Korean War Veteran, and renowned master strategist, had to admit he was stumped. As well as intrigued!
Putting everything neatly back into the box, Napoleon shut off the light and headed for the front door, vowing to solve the conundrum.
'I'll set a trap,' he mused, activating the security alarm. 'The next time we're out together I'll scribble some nonsense on a napkin and see if he takes the bait. Then I'll confront him about it.'
Solo hoped he was right. He hoped the ill-tempered and haughty Russian *did* have a crush on him. It would open the door for him to confess what was in his own heart.
"There's no better time like the present!" he grinned. As he drove Illya home, he would suggest they stop off for an early dinner...
And that's all she wrote!