Chapter Text
Napoleon returned from the mail room with an arm full of letters and junk mail. After glancing at the Christmas coupons and catalogs that companies thought he would enjoy during the Christmas season, Napoleon sat down at his desk and sorted through what he had received.
A few were from lovely young women he had once spent Christmas with or recently taken out, asking if he’s like to join them again; some promising a wonderful time, while others promising delectable food. It would be quite a pity to say no to all of them. He wondered if he even had time away from the office this year. The past few years, Christmas had been a blur of affairs and curiously festive THRUSH attacks. Besides, even if he did find some free time this year, most of it would be spent at his partner’s side.
Illya had admitted to him when they were first partnered together that he usually spent his Christmases alone without a family to go back to. In fact, he even made sure Napoleon knew that although there were Soviets who kept what little religion they could grasp onto, all good Soviets were atheist. Moreover, his parents had passed away years ago, he was estranged from his older brother, and his eldest sister had her own family to care for. Illya was known to send her letters, but Napoleon knew so little beyond what Illya had let slip past his lips over the years, that he had no idea if she ever responded.
“Good morning, Napoleon,” Illya muttered through a bagel as he entered their shared office, a coffee in one hand and a stack of files in the other.
Napoleon smiled and watched as his partner sat down at his desk and set down the objects occupying his hands. The senior agent was pleased to know that Illya could be so casual around him to greet him with his mouth full of breakfast. Illya was a courteous and aloof individual and rarely let his guard down. It made Napoleon’s heart lighter to know that Illya felt comfortable enough around him to shed his defenses and give him a smile or two. “Morning, Partner mine,” Napoleon said and smiled. Although, the bagel had muffled most of the words Illya had said, the recognizable lilt of a greeting was enough to give Napoleon some idea. “Have any plans for the rest of the day? I’m thinking about going out to lunch later,”
Illya removed the bagel from his mouth, foregoing actually taking a bite until after he had answered Napoleon’s question. “I’m going to try to finish all of my paperwork before the end of next week. We finally get two weeks off and I’m not going to spend it doing paper work,”
“Oh, that’s right, we do have two weeks off this year, don’t we,” Napoleon affirmed. After their most recent affair, leaving the two men bruised and disoriented, Waverly finally decided that even his two best enforcement agents needed to rest. The fact that Napoleon had forgotten made it clear to him that Waverly’s generous two weeks were well deserved. Napoleon returned to the letters he had received and was quickly drawn to handwriting he recognized almost instantly. His mother’s penmanship hadn’t changed in years. His parents were most certainly asking him to come home again this year. Returning home wouldn’t be a terrible way to spend his first real vacation during Christmas, in years. However, he felt terribly about leaving Illya behind in his tiny apartment if he did decide to go.
Napoleon opened the letter and found the contents to be fairly intriguing. His mother recounted the past couple of months since they had spoken and gave Napoleon news on how his father’s heart was fairing and small updates on his sister’s whereabouts and what his nephews and newborn niece were up to. She eventually broke off from her pleasant ramblings to inquire once more if Napoleon would be so kind as to come home for Christmas.
One thing caught Napoleon’s attention. His mother had offered him an extra seat at the dinner table for Illya. She was very adamant about letting Napoleon know that they would very much welcome his Russian friend into their home. They desperately wanted to meet the young man that Napoleon talked so fondly of. Napoleon lips pulled wispily at the corners and he looked over toward the younger agent diligently working, hunched over his desk, bagel being devoured. Napoleon wasn’t fairly certain that Illya would be willing to follow him to a sleepy town in Michigan, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“What would you say if I asked you to come with me to my parents place?”
Illya briefly looked up from his paperwork and turned to look at him, “Why do you ask?”
“I wouldn't want to leave you alone on Christmas,” Napoleon admitted, “and my parents seem pretty adamant about me coming home for the holidays now that I have the time,”
Illya pressed his lips into a fine line and looked back down at his paperwork, “I wouldn’t want to intrude,”
“You wouldn't be,” Napoleon comforted, “In fact, my mother is leaving a seat at the table open for you,”
“You mean for whatever new lady friend you decide to bring home and you’re substituting me instead,”
“No,” Napoleon said truthfully, “I think I’ve talked about you enough that they want to meet you,”
“...They realize that I am Russian, correct?” Illya asked wearily. Illya had always been cautious around new people, especially the “all-American” families of his “all-American” co-workers. While Napoleon and the various men and women who worked alongside him at UNCLE had learned to trust him, although they still spread the occasional harsh rumor, their families wouldn’t be all that trusting of a Russian foreigner right away.
“Yes, I’ve told them and they still want to meet you,” Napoleon looked into Illya’s concerned eyes and smiled, “I promise, they don’t bite,”
After a small paused, Illya nodded, “Alright, I’ll go with you, but on one condition,”
Napoleon raised an eyebrow at Illya’s cryptic bargain, “And what may that be?”
Illya rooted through the in-box on his desk and pulled out a stack of papers that had been hidden under his already overflowing stack of paperwork. He held the papers out for Napoleon to take, “You must do your own paperwork,”
Napoleon chuckled, “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,”
“I always notice,” Illya returned to his paperwork, “In fact, I think that the typing pool is starting to notice that your handwriting is beginning to look suspiciously like mine,”
Napoleon smirked, took his paperwork from Illya, and set to work.