Work Text:
The Butterfly
By YumYum
Illya Kuryakin rounded the last newel post of the stairway on his way to his apartment. He felt extremely fortunate to have had the opportunity to attend the scientific seminar in Geneva. It had been a wonderful chance to discuss intellectual scientific matters with his peers, but right now he wanted nothing more than to drop in his bed and sleep. Arriving at his door he paused for a minute to lean against it and was startled to hear sounds emanating from within.
Removing his gun from its holster, he cautiously opened his door and headed toward the kitchen. He stopped letting his gun hand fall to his side bewildered to find his partner, Napoleon Solo, stocking his refrigerator with food.
"Hi, you're back,"�Napoleon said. He did not even bother to turn around as he continued to transfer food from brown paper sacks to the refrigerator.
"Napoleon, why are you here?" Illya asked as he put away his gun wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
"Well, I thought that after that long trip you might appreciate a well stocked refrigerator,"�Napoleon declared turning his ever so charming smile on his partner as he pulled out a bottle of vodka from the last bag and inspected it before inserting it in the freezer. "How was the seminar?"�
"Very enjoyable, thank you,"�Illya replied suspiciously. Surely Napoleon didn't really care one way or another. Napoleon had still not answered his question so he tried again. "Napoleon, we have been partners for a very long time and you have never once felt called upon to stock my refrigerator. I will ask you again, why are you here?"�
Napoleon closed the freezer and glanced at his partner. Clearing his throat he carefully avoided his partner eyes he before replying hesitantly, "I just need a small favor."
"What kind of favor?"� Illya scowled as he asked distrustfully.
"Just a tiny little favor,"�Solo said as he indicated with his thumb and forefinger. "I just need you to cover for me for a day or two."�
Leaning against a wall, his arms crossed, Illya confronted the American. "Napoleon, I'm very tired and I do not have time for games. Why would you need me to cover for you?"�
"It's really nothing,"�Solo alleged as a slightly guilty look strayed across his face.
"I am going to bed. Please feel free to let yourself out,"�Illya said wearily as he pushed away from the wall and headed towards his bedroom. Entering through the doorway he couldn't help but notice that the box where he kept his record collection was peeking out from under the bed. It didn't take much to realize that the box was now empty. He considered the implications and asked with a casualness he didn't feel. "Napoleon, where are my records?"�
Napoleon leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom hands in his pockets. "They're safe enough."� He paused before continuing, "Now about this favor I need."�
"That's blackmail."� Illya turned, giving his partner a stern look.
"Call it what you will. Will you do it?"�
"First, tell me why,"�Illya demanded.
"It's nothing, really."�
"You've said that before. Now give."�
Napoleon sighed, reluctant to explain. Halfhearted he turned his back to his partner to undo his zipper and let down his pants revealing the cause for his request.
A shocked Illya moved closer to inspect a somewhat unique mark on the right cheek of Napoleon's derriere. "Napoleon, you have a butterfly on your butt!"�he blurted out incredulously as he looked up to see his partner's face watching him over his shoulder. "Why do you have a butterfly tattoo on your butt?"�
"It was not voluntary I assure you,"�Napoleon muttered as he pulled his pants back up.
Biting his lip to keep back his laughter Illya said, "I'm not going to ask how you got that or even who put it there. But I must insist upon knowing why they would ... and more important why you need me to cover for you."
"Look, I've got to get rid of this thing and it's going to take me a couple of days to do,"�Napoleon voiced desperately and he must have been or he wouldn't even have considered taking Illya's collection of jazz records. "Do you know how embarrassing this is?"�
"I can imagine," Illya replied dryly, his mouth twitching with amusement.
"It's not funny."� Napoleon was beginning to lose his cool; he couldn't help it if through no fault of his own he was stuck with a tattoo on his rear-end.
Illya gave the problem serious consideration before replying, "Napoleon, I'm not sure there is a way to remove tattoos. Maybe you could have something else put over it...like a dragon or something a bit more masculine? Why don't you just tell Mr. Waverly? Perhaps he'll have a suggestion."
"I had wanted to avoid that," Napoleon said with a sigh. He couldn't help but feel disgruntled as he headed for the door.
Illya rushed to the doorway to call after him. "Napoleon, what about my records?"
"You'll get them back the minute this tattoo is gone."� Napoleon's voice drifted back.
The next day at UNCLE headquarters Illya was in his office going over the paperwork that had piled up while he was away. He looked up as the door to his office swished open to let in a somewhat depressed Napoleon. "So, how did it go? Did he have an answer to your...er...problem?"�
"It didn't go. He was still laughing when I left,"�Napoleon complained as he glanced at the floor, avoiding his partner's eyes.
"Well you have to admit it is funny," Illya remarked.
"I don't particularly think so." Napoleon grunted at his partner through gritted teeth.
"After all, Napoleon, it's not as if anyone will really notice ..."� Illya's voice began to fade as he realized that with Napoleon's penchant for bedding women, a butterfly tattoo might indeed be noticed.
"Ah huh."� Napoleon nodded, relieved that now Illya had some idea as to the problems one little tattoo could cause.
"I may have an idea." Illya rather reluctantly offered while idly tapping his lips with a finger.
"Anything. I'll do anything,"�Napoleon desperately pleaded as he leaned over Illya's desk.
"You'll need to check into medical," Illya warned him.
"Is that really necessary?"� Napoleon straightened up, his face suddenly pale. "The fewer people that know about this the happier I'll be."�
"Okay."� Illya sighed. "I suppose I could...do it."�
"Wonderful!"� Napoleon felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. "When?"�
"Don't you even want to know what I'm going to do?"
"I don't care what you do as long as it gets this tattoo off my butt," Napoleon said as he turned to leave the office.
"Okay then, I will see you at your place...around 8 o'clock?"�
Napoleon nodded his agree. As he exited through the door, Illya rose halfway out of his chair to lean over his desk and called after him, "And don't forget my records."
At precisely 8 o'clock Solo opened the door to his apartment to let in his partner and the medical bag he was carrying.
He gave a questioning look at the bag as Illya said with enthusiasm, "Okay, let's operate."
"I've been thinking this thing over,"� Napoleon said apprehensively. "Exactly what is it you plan to do?"�
"It's really quite simple, my friend. It's basically the same principle that THRUSH uses to remove finger prints,"�Illya explained as he opened his bag.
"Isn't that painful?"�
"Yes, but not to worry. I liberated a local anesthetic from the medical section."� Illya removed a syringe from his bag before looking around the room. "We'll need a flat survice...possibly a table."�
"Won't my bed do?"�
"I suppose." Illya shrugged with a wave of his hand he continued, "After you."
A reluctant Napoleon entered his bedroom and took off his robe before he pushed down his pajama bottoms to reveal the tattoo and stretched out across the bed.
Illya sat on the bed next to his partner and checked the syringe. He flicked it than jabbed it into the offending check saying, "This might hurt."
"Ouch. Might?"� Napoleon jumped slightly and turned a disagreeable face to his partner.
Illya didn't even notice as he pulled out a variety of instruments and laid them out on the bedside table.
"Is all that really necessary?"�Napoleon asked nervously.
"You never know,"�Illya offered as he turned to examine the tattoo more closely. "The detail is amazing," he muttered. "It's almost a shame to destroy it."
"What are you doing now?" Napoleon looked over his shoulder to ask. He was trying to relax though it wasn't easy.
"I'm waiting for the local to take affect. Why don't you just take a nap?" Illya suggested as he pulled a book from his bag and leaned against the headboard to wait for the medication to begin working.
Fifteen minutes later Napoleon apparently had taken Illya's suggestion and was out like a light. Illya checked his watch and pulled out a pin, pricking the area in question and noticing that he got no reaction from the sleeping American. With a smile he picked up the scalpel and carefully cut through the first layer of skin surrounding the butterfly. When he was finished he removed a paper with a sticky backing from his bag and covered the image carefully, pressing it into place to make sure it adhered. With a quick movement he jerked the paper up, taking off the layer of skin with it.
Napoleon jumped at the feeling of half his skin being peeled off. "Arghh."
"Sorry," Illya said as he pushed him back down on the bed while he used a gauze pad to cover the area and help stop what bleeding there was. Taping it in place he gave it a final pat.
"Are you quite finished, you sadistic Russian?"
"Yes. In a few weeks you shouldn't even be able to tell it was ever there," the Russian said absently as he looked closer at the image that he had pulled away. Removing a magnifying glass from his bag, he examined the butterfly closer.
"Napoleon, did you know that this isn't a just a butterfly. It's some sort of document," Illya exclaimed in surprise.
"What? You're kidding." Napoleon pulled up his pajama bottom before he turned over carefully.
"No, I'm not. It says." He brought the magnifying glass closer. "This butt is the property of Serena...! Really, Napoleon." He shook his head in exasperation. Putting everything away the wily Russian turned to his partner to sternly demand. "Now what have you done with my records?"�
The End.