MFU: The Biggest Gamble
Jan. 19th, 2006 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wildernesstalesRating: G
Summary: For the muncle community Secret Santa 2005. An episode based slash ficlet.
Pairings: Illya/Napoleon
Archive: Please?
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... who are MGM and all the other wonderful people that created this wonderful world I so love to play in.
Warnings: Spoiler for The Thrush Roulette Affair.
Authors Note: This was actually an idea I’d had in the works from *ages* ago. But I never wrote it, the bunny just sat there looking forlorn… until now. To whomever requested this, I do hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas!
Oh, and Jo has crossed the fandom realms ;)
Feedback makes friends.
“You’d be amazed what some people are afraid of.” Partridge’s words echoed through my mind as I sat there. The room was dark and I was all alone, save for the thoughts flashing through my mind.
Fear.
Afraid.
What was it I was afraid of?
Then, all I could see was him. Running towards me, calling out my name. Over and over again. I could see him as clearly as if he were standing in front of me. Which it certainly felt like. The dark brown eyes that I loved looking deeply into. So deep and dark I could lose myself in them. The smooth hair, so elegantly styled that I longed to run my fingers through it. The cleft in his chin that I yearned to kiss. That silky voice calling my name over and over again. A quality that I hadn’t quite managed to pinpoint attracted me to it. I could listen to him talk for hours. Indeed, I had listened to him talk for hours. About which of the girls in the secretarial pool he had flirted with that day. I never told him that I didn’t want to hear about it because I loved the sound of his voice.
Yet that voice now was sending chills down my spine. Calling my name over and over again. I thought I could identify that quality in his voice now.
Disgust.
I could have sworn he was disgusted with me. Then it struck me. I now knew what it was I was afraid of. I now knew my greatest fear.
Napoleon Solo.
Well, more precisely, Napoleon Solo rejecting me once he found out how I felt. Three years I had hidden my feelings. Four years we had been partnered. Four years I had held my tongue and never told him, content I told myself, to be around him; to share his presence and his life. Four years and suddenly in the space of five minutes, I had discovered my greatest fear.
Losing Napoleon Solo.
You’d be amazed what some people are afraid of.
What happened after that realisation, I remember very little; mostly what Napoleon told me. We fought, I shot at him. I tried to strangle him, to batter him to death. Under orders from Dr. Iaeto and Partridge. Yet somehow, I view it more than just orders. I can see why the method worked briefly. Everyone else had died by the very thing they were afraid of. My fear was of losing his trust, of betraying him. To lose him through death would be better than to lose him through disgust.
I remember lying there, dazed and confused. Staring up into those deep brown eyes.
“Napoleon.” A brief smile. “I didn’t?” Flashes of memory; of fighting him, my hands all over his body. I don’t think he noticed the shiver, he just nodded.
“You did.”
“I did?” I’m glad I didn’t succeed. I still have him in my life. Maybe I should tell him. It’s best to confront your fears. I would tell him, I told myself. Then I smiled.
“Wow.”
It was after we got back to New York and after I’d written our report. After the debriefing; reporting that we only had the notes on the procedure, and some first-hand experience. After all that. It was when he leant over my desk, a sly smile on his face. I knew exactly what it was he was after. I wished I could pretend he wanted something else, but he didn’t.
“What do you want Napoleon?”
“I… uh… I was after a loan.” As always. I think it was in the first few weeks I had known him that he first asked me for that. I was working late, he was on his way out and short of money. He’d asked. I’d given. I’d give him anything, although I hadn’t realised it back then.
“Another date?” I asked, carefully putting down my pen.
“Yes. And it’s Jocelyn.” He said, tilting his head, speaking as though her name should mean something to me. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a handful of notes. I knew without even looking as I handed them to him he would smile, and those eyes would light up. They always did. “Thanks Illya.” I shook my head and he straightened up, putting my money in his own wallet as I took a deep breath.
“I love you.” I said as he walked away. He stopped at the doorway.
“What?”
‘Your last chance Kuryakin.’ Barnaby Partridge’s words taunted me yet again.
“I said, ‘I love you.’” I raised my head defiantly to look at him. But not into those eyes. I couldn’t bear to see the look of disgust in those deep brown eyes.
“I heard what you said Illya.” I blinked, suddenly unsure what to do. It was fine convincing myself to tell him how I felt, but I hadn’t actually worked out what to do after I had told him. Perhaps I thought I would flee in shame, or he would throw me out.
“You have a date to go on.” I reminded him sadly, lowering my eyes to stare at the letter I had been writing. That was why I didn’t see him turn and walk back over to my desk. I very nearly jumped as he rested his hand on my shoulder.
“You always were stubborn. You’d have rather killed me than told me.” He smiled at his own joke. I nodded, suddenly dumb. The glint was there in his eyes. The same glint he always got when he was telling me about his conquests. I never knew it at the time, he only told me years later: the glint was there because he was talking to me.
I felt my heart skip a beat.
“You mean?”
“I do.”
“You do. Wow.”
Sometimes, confronting your greatest fear can be scarier than the fear itself. I had confronted my fear and found the complete opposite of what I expected. There was no disgust, no rejection. Only love.
I gambled and I won. We both did.
Summary: For the muncle community Secret Santa 2005. An episode based slash ficlet.
Pairings: Illya/Napoleon
Archive: Please?
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... who are MGM and all the other wonderful people that created this wonderful world I so love to play in.
Warnings: Spoiler for The Thrush Roulette Affair.
Authors Note: This was actually an idea I’d had in the works from *ages* ago. But I never wrote it, the bunny just sat there looking forlorn… until now. To whomever requested this, I do hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas!
Oh, and Jo has crossed the fandom realms ;)
Feedback makes friends.
“You’d be amazed what some people are afraid of.” Partridge’s words echoed through my mind as I sat there. The room was dark and I was all alone, save for the thoughts flashing through my mind.
Fear.
Afraid.
What was it I was afraid of?
Then, all I could see was him. Running towards me, calling out my name. Over and over again. I could see him as clearly as if he were standing in front of me. Which it certainly felt like. The dark brown eyes that I loved looking deeply into. So deep and dark I could lose myself in them. The smooth hair, so elegantly styled that I longed to run my fingers through it. The cleft in his chin that I yearned to kiss. That silky voice calling my name over and over again. A quality that I hadn’t quite managed to pinpoint attracted me to it. I could listen to him talk for hours. Indeed, I had listened to him talk for hours. About which of the girls in the secretarial pool he had flirted with that day. I never told him that I didn’t want to hear about it because I loved the sound of his voice.
Yet that voice now was sending chills down my spine. Calling my name over and over again. I thought I could identify that quality in his voice now.
Disgust.
I could have sworn he was disgusted with me. Then it struck me. I now knew what it was I was afraid of. I now knew my greatest fear.
Napoleon Solo.
Well, more precisely, Napoleon Solo rejecting me once he found out how I felt. Three years I had hidden my feelings. Four years we had been partnered. Four years I had held my tongue and never told him, content I told myself, to be around him; to share his presence and his life. Four years and suddenly in the space of five minutes, I had discovered my greatest fear.
Losing Napoleon Solo.
You’d be amazed what some people are afraid of.
What happened after that realisation, I remember very little; mostly what Napoleon told me. We fought, I shot at him. I tried to strangle him, to batter him to death. Under orders from Dr. Iaeto and Partridge. Yet somehow, I view it more than just orders. I can see why the method worked briefly. Everyone else had died by the very thing they were afraid of. My fear was of losing his trust, of betraying him. To lose him through death would be better than to lose him through disgust.
I remember lying there, dazed and confused. Staring up into those deep brown eyes.
“Napoleon.” A brief smile. “I didn’t?” Flashes of memory; of fighting him, my hands all over his body. I don’t think he noticed the shiver, he just nodded.
“You did.”
“I did?” I’m glad I didn’t succeed. I still have him in my life. Maybe I should tell him. It’s best to confront your fears. I would tell him, I told myself. Then I smiled.
“Wow.”
It was after we got back to New York and after I’d written our report. After the debriefing; reporting that we only had the notes on the procedure, and some first-hand experience. After all that. It was when he leant over my desk, a sly smile on his face. I knew exactly what it was he was after. I wished I could pretend he wanted something else, but he didn’t.
“What do you want Napoleon?”
“I… uh… I was after a loan.” As always. I think it was in the first few weeks I had known him that he first asked me for that. I was working late, he was on his way out and short of money. He’d asked. I’d given. I’d give him anything, although I hadn’t realised it back then.
“Another date?” I asked, carefully putting down my pen.
“Yes. And it’s Jocelyn.” He said, tilting his head, speaking as though her name should mean something to me. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a handful of notes. I knew without even looking as I handed them to him he would smile, and those eyes would light up. They always did. “Thanks Illya.” I shook my head and he straightened up, putting my money in his own wallet as I took a deep breath.
“I love you.” I said as he walked away. He stopped at the doorway.
“What?”
‘Your last chance Kuryakin.’ Barnaby Partridge’s words taunted me yet again.
“I said, ‘I love you.’” I raised my head defiantly to look at him. But not into those eyes. I couldn’t bear to see the look of disgust in those deep brown eyes.
“I heard what you said Illya.” I blinked, suddenly unsure what to do. It was fine convincing myself to tell him how I felt, but I hadn’t actually worked out what to do after I had told him. Perhaps I thought I would flee in shame, or he would throw me out.
“You have a date to go on.” I reminded him sadly, lowering my eyes to stare at the letter I had been writing. That was why I didn’t see him turn and walk back over to my desk. I very nearly jumped as he rested his hand on my shoulder.
“You always were stubborn. You’d have rather killed me than told me.” He smiled at his own joke. I nodded, suddenly dumb. The glint was there in his eyes. The same glint he always got when he was telling me about his conquests. I never knew it at the time, he only told me years later: the glint was there because he was talking to me.
I felt my heart skip a beat.
“You mean?”
“I do.”
“You do. Wow.”
Sometimes, confronting your greatest fear can be scarier than the fear itself. I had confronted my fear and found the complete opposite of what I expected. There was no disgust, no rejection. Only love.
I gambled and I won. We both did.
