Work Text:
CALIFORNIA OR BUST
by Jatona P. Walker
Somewhere in Manhattan
February 13, 2009
Office of VANYA
Time: 7pm EST
“I demand to see Vanya now!!”
Percy Anderson sighed. What did the bitch want now?? “Vanya is very busy at the moment. May I help you, Madame Van Kirk?”
Samantha Marian Russell Van Kirk pulled her ample frame to its’ full height. “If I do not see him within the next five minutes, I shall take my business elsewhere. I and my numerous friends”, she threatened.
Before Anderson could reply, the office door opened and Illya Kuryakin - aka: Vanya - stood framed in the doorway. Piercing blue eyes took in the situation, finally coming to rest on the older woman. “What is the problem, Madame Van Kirk?”, he inquired.
Madame Van Kirk sniffed and turned to face the newcomer. “Well, well, you finally decided to grace us with your presence?,” she retorted, arrogantly.
Illya did not take the bait. In his former profession he had handled far more dangerous adversaries - including those who felt that anything could be bought - for a price. “I repeat, what is the problem?”
The challenge in the tone was not lost on Samantha Van Kirk. How dare this upstart!!?? “First of all, you will not use that tone with me,” she replied. “Second, I want the fashion show on the 1st”, she added.
Illya approached the woman and met her gaze. His gaze was glacier. “May I ask the reason?”
“Because I wish it. That should be enough.”
Illya shook his head. “Forgive me, but that is not enough.”
“I see. This can only mean nothing is prepared.”
“On the contrary, everything has been ready for over a month, Madame Van Kirk. You were notified of this.”
"True. So, if all is ready, what is the problem with changing the date....”
“And what of your guests?”, Illya asked, continuing as if the woman had not spoken. “How will you inform them of the change?”
Van Kirk’s patience was growing thin. “Who are you to question me!?,” she hissed. “I want it on the 1st or I cancel my entire order and demand a full refund.”
Illya smiled, but it held more malice than politeness. “If you decide on a refund, Madame, it will be minus what monies have already been spent on this affair.”
The younger woman of a mere thrty years regarded the older man with cold green eyes. “Will you do this or do I withdraw my business and you loose your reputation? Word of mouth travels fast in my circles.”
Illya moved closer. “A threat?”
“Your words not mine.”
Illya caught the hint of triumph in her voice. For all his bravado he knew this particular client, despite her younger years, was not above carrying out her threats and make it legal. All that he had worked so hard to build over the last twenty-five years would not be worth the risk. “Very well. I leave you the responsibility of notifying your guests.”
Van Kirk nodded. She always got what she wanted. “So be it. Monday at 11am - the fashion show and luncheon at Noon.”
With that Samantha Marian Russell Van Kirk swept from the building.
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Anderson stood by his employer, his heart filled with sympathy. On this date last year, this same client ruined Vanya’s Annual Valentine’s Day Party, and personal anniversary, by changing the date. Bitch! “You’d better phone Napoleon”, he prompted.
Illya nodded and entered his office, and closed the door “Yes. I’d better”, he said to the empty room.
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Somewhere in Los Angeles
February 13, 2009
8pm PST
Napoleon Solo, Owner and CEO of Solo.com, smiled when his jacket pocket twiddled. Taking out the pen-like device, he pressed the small red button. “Solo here.”, he acknowledged, more from habit.
“Hello, Napoleon!”
The formal response put Solo on instant alert. “Hello, Illya”, he replied, in kind. “What’s wrong?”
“Madame Van Kirk.”
Napoleon sighed. He knew the name well. Both she, and her husband - Colonel Archibald Van Kirk, were two of Vanya’s most elite customers. The first time he had met the couple; it was Vanya’s Grand Opening. The Colonel was the ultimate gentleman. Oh, not overtly so, but the breeding was evident. Napoleon had liked him immediately.
Madame Van Kirk, however, reminded him of a certain late THRUSH femme fatale from his days with UNCLE.
She had instantly ignored Illya and tried to latch herself onto him. When she had gotten too personal, he had firmly reminded her he was spoken for.
It had not taken her long to figure it out as she watched them during the evening. He could tell by the coldness in her voice as they made their farewells that revenge was forthcoming.
It came this same weekend last year. She made certain she made all the arrangements well in advance, but the date was set on
purpose.
Later, Napoleon had found that the only way she got away with it was the absence of the Colonel.
Ever attuned to his lover’s moods, Solo heard the disappointment and understood it. The date of the show just happened to coincide with their anniversary - forty-three wondrous, besotted, glorious, incredible - and any other adjectives that happened to be appropriate - years as first partners, then friends, then that unforgettable night.....
“Earth to Napoleon!”
Napoleon sighed. “Sorry, love; just remembering. Listen to me. Don’t worry. I’ve just been called to meet with a potentially huge account that evening. After the show, fly out and I’ll pick you up. Remember, love, I’m three hours behind you.”
Before the Russian could answer, a deep, resonant voice interrupted the conversation. “I need to speak with Vanya, please!”, it demanded.
"Illya!? What’s going on?”
“It’s Colonel Van Kirk, Napoleon, with Madame Van Kirk in tow. I’ll call you back.”
“Right. I love you.”
“Ditto. ‘Bye.”
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Illya hung up the phone and motioned Colonel Van Kirk into his office. “This is an unexpected honor, Colonel, Madame; how may I be of assistance?”, he asked, with sincere politeness. He noticed that Madame Van Kirk was not pleased with the visit. He felt no sympathy.
“My wife has something to say to you, may dear boy, “ Van Kirk replied.
Illya noticed Van Kirk has tightened his grip on his wife’s arm. So much so that the lady grimaced and remained silent.
“Samantha”, Van Kirk prompted, “I will not repeat myself.”
“I will not apologize to someone who I pay....!”, she began, her head held high.
“Oh, no..no.., m’dear. I pay,” he gently corrected her. “Therefore, I will give you a choice. I turn over full responsibility of your bill for you if you do not apologize; or.....”
Three pairs of eyes regarded Madam Van Kirk as a war of emotions ranging from utter embarrassment to fury played across the elegant features.
“You have five minutes and keep any contempt out of your voice,” Van Kirk added.
Samantha Marian Russell Van Kirk growled deep in her threat. She did not handle defeat well; yet, she knew her husband held the purse strings. “Very well. I apology, Mr. Kuryakin....”
“And?”
“And I would like to keep the original arrangements we discussed, “ she finished.
“Excellent, m’dear. Will you accept that, dear boy?”
Illya smiled, a genuine smiled. He liked the Colonel . In many ways he reminded Illya of his late superior, Alexander Waverly.
Waverly had been a strict head of UNCLE, North America; but had, nine times out of ten dealt fairly with his agents - both male and female. Waverly’s main pet peeve was prejudices of any kind.
“Accepted, Colonel; and thank you,” he replied, sincerely.
Van Kirk cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I guarantee, it will not happen again. Right, Samantha?”
“Yes,” came the reluctant reply.
“Let us try again. I have your word this will not happen with any of the people with whom we deal.”
“Yes, my husband, you have my word.”
Illya smiled inwardly at the lack of reluctance. Van Kirk may allow some leeway but he still maintained some old-fashioned ideals - one of them being common courtesy and breeding.
“Very good.” With that Van Kirk took out his wallet, withdrew a check, and handed it to the startled Russian. “A little something extra for your troubles and have a great anniversary!”, he declared.
Before Illya could bring himself to thank them, the Van Kirk’s were gone.
“The jet is ready and your luggage is aboard”, came Anderson’s voice from behind.
Illya turned and embraced his business partner, and friend. Anderson had stood beside him since Vanya’s conception; not to mention the fact that, Anderson and Napoleon had put up most of the capitol to get everything rolling. Neither had ever asked for payback on the loans. As the company grew, however, Illya had insisted they purchased stock. “The usual envelopes are on my desk and I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Anderson returned the embrace. “You’re welcome and, by the time you return, I’ll have a son!”
Illya giggled. “We’ll be waiting for the call.”
With that he left. He was in the air an hour later.
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Somewhere in Los Angeles
February 13, 2009
11pm PST
Napoleon was very pleased with himself as he watched his client sigh the final contract. This had been a tough sale, but they had prevailed. This client was, definitely, destined to make his fortune in the computer business. Perhaps his company would reap some of those benefits.
"There you are, Napoleon”, the gentleman said as he handed over the finished contract.
Napoleon took it and noticed the two checks attached. One was made out ot him; the other to Solo.com. He looked, inquiringly, at his client.
The man smiled at the confusion on the still handsome features. “I know I have worked both you, and your people, overtime to get this done. This is my appreciation for having exceeded my expectations.”
Napoleon smiled. “You are most welcome, sir, and thank you.”
“Good night and have a great long weekend.”
They rose, shook hands, and left the office together.
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Napoleon’s Townhouse
Midnight
February 14, 2009
Illya punched is code into the alarm system on Napoleon’s penthouse and, by habit, exercised caution when he entered.
“I have a gun pointed at your spine”, came a familiar voice from behind with door. “I do know how to use it.”
“Can we make love, not war, ‘Pasha?”, Illya replied, making certain his lover heard the desire in his voice.
In response powerful arms enveloping him in a crushing embrace; hungry lips devoured his. Eagerly he gave back measure for measure until air finally forced them apart.
“Hi!”, Napoleon whispered, still embracing his lover.
“Hi!”, Illya whispered back.
“I thought you were tied up?”
Illya laughed. “Open the wine I know you keep chilled and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Reluctantly, Napoleon released this man who , since the beginning, had owned his heart and soul, and went into the living room. He had just finished fluffing the pillows on the cough when a soft voice from behind warned him not to make any sudden moves.
Obeying, he turned, slowly, and looked into blue eyes that still, after all these years, held him captive. He had always speculated that if Illya had worked for THRUSH, those eyes, would have been a deadly effective weapon.
Taking the frosted glasses from his lovers hands, he seated himself on the cough and patted the space beside him.
Illya smiled. This is how it had begun and he treasured reliving that night when Napoleon had given him the greatest gift - himself.
With that in mind, he headed towards the master bedroom. He didn’t have to look back to know Napoleon was following with the wine.
******HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!******