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Napoleon saw a motion out of the corner of his eye and he spun to block the blow. Sadly for him, the icy lake under him didn't give his feet the right grip and his spin turned into an uncontrolled sprawl. Which did let him avoid the blow. That one.
The thug shifted his weight to change strategies and a cleated boot kicked Napoleon on his side. It was higher up, over the ribs and driving the air out of his lungs. With a gasp, he curled up and tried to roll away.
This time, the ice was his friend, letting him slide further away out of kicking range. Out of range of that thug.
Napoleon found the next two goons when he fetched up beside them. They grinned down at him, knowing they had the advantage. One of them clapped an iron bar in his hand menacingly.
Nothing was over until it was over. Napoleon didn't try and get up, just reached out for fistfuls of frozen lake shavings and threw it up in their faces.
The handful of ice wouldn't actually have hurt them, but it was instinct to cover when something flies at your face. Napoleon took advantage of the break and scrambled to his knees for a quick glance around.
The fight had driven them further out onto the frozen lake than Napoleon was comfortable with. He was dressed in a suit and smooth-soled shoes. They were in winter gear and had cleated boots. He had come out impulsively, following a lead. They had come out prepared to fight.
These were not good odds. Napoleon pulled out his gun.
It was knocked out of his hand before he could even get a shot off.
Really not good odds. Napoleon drew in a breath, his forearm clenched to his body. He tried to think quickly but there weren't a lot of options left. Just keep fighting until he couldn't.
Then the thug in front of him was bowled over by a huge body speeding across the ice.
Napoleon blinked. Then blinked again. Illya was on... ice skates?
The lake around them sent up sprays of ice as Illya braked a tight curve and propelled himself at the other goons. He slid between them and kicked out one leg while twirling in place on the other. Napoleon winced as they retreated with shouts of pain.
Then the first one reached out and grabbed Napoleon's gun. Napoleon lunged at him, but the damn ice had his normal coordination at total sixes and sevens.
Distracted, the thug didn't see Illya's return, this time with pipe in hand where he'd apparently scooped it up. Illya hopped over the debris on the lake surface and wacked hard with the pipe as he skated by. The gun fell out as the man toppled.
Napoleon managed to get the gun before it wandered again and holstered it. Things were probably safer all the way around if he didn't have the gun out anymore. Illya looked like he had everything under control. Napoleon settled back from his sprawl to sit more comfortably and try and regain some of his dignity. He watched the show with delight. Illya in motion was a thing to behold.
Within a very few minutes, there were three unconscious henchmen sprawled out on the lake and Illya was standing over Napoleon with a worried look on his face. "Cowboy?" He held a hand out.
"I'm okay, Peril," Napoleon said with a blatant disregard for how badly his ribs and arm hurt, not to mention the other various scrapes and cuts he'd taken in the fight. He ignored the hand, knowing how that would turn out if he tried. "Just can't stand on this darn ice."
It was Illya's turn to blink. He gave an assessing look over Napoleon's clothes. "Ah," he made a noise of comprehension. Turning, he skated to where the goons were laid out. He knelt with one knee down as if the ice was just another surface to him, and pulled the boots off the man closest to Napoleon's foot size. He tossed the boots over, then busied himself tying the bad guys up.
Napoleon grimaced at the odorous footwear, but as needs must. He took his shoes off and slipped the boots on. Cautiously he stood up. The metal clips on the bottom of the boots grabbed into the ice and held okay though it wasn't nearly as firm as standing on ground.
Near him, Illya was skating around like the lake bed was a second home surface. It wasn’t smooth like a formal ice rink, but Illya didn’t seem to have any issues. He adjusted to every bump with automatic grace, while still keeping all of his formidable strength and competence.
It was a chore to focus on anything but watching Illya. Napoleon was captivated. His partner could be graceful sometimes, it was true – he’d preformed gymnastics-like moves in the field when scaling buildings or scrambling through obstacles. But most of the time, he tended to lumber around like a bear just out of hibernation. Hunching over as if to compact his hugeness down to something Gaby’s size. Or barreling in to let his great strength win the day. This… was different. And quite enjoyable.
“Solo?” Illya was looking at him quizzedly. Napoleon suspected that wasn’t the first time he’d called.
He waved a hand at his partner and then slowly started making his way over the ice back towards the shore.
… … …
months later…
… … …
“The delicacy of the information means, of course, that you gents and lady will have to be extremely circumspect in contacting the civilian.” Waverly cleared his throat. His best team was not actually known for their ease of discretion. “U.N.C.L.E. does not get involved in government issues unless we are specifically invited by the government. This information is important to us, but we can not raise any red flags with obtaining it.
“We were specifically requested to send a multi-national team to hand it over, as a gesture of good faith in UNCLE’s primary operating foundation. Which means, of course, that you chaps are the team of choice.” Waverly eyed them with the fond exasperation of a benevolent task-masker. “But please, pick covers you can actually hold and not alert the travelling companions.”
Napoleon glanced around. Gaby and Illya looked slightly abashed but not cowed. He himself had his best innocent look on. “Who are we contacting, sir?”
Waverly sighed, not convinced, but moving forward. He pushed folders at them. “We don’t have their actual name. But he, or she, will be in Grenoble this week in a small group of competition skaters from Czechoslovakia. It’s a minor event, so they won’t be closely watched.”
The team glanced at each other. There apparently really was a need for discretion in the contact.
“Yes, sir,” Illya replied solemnly, pulling his folder towards him.
Napoleon got the information, but his mind was stuck on “competition skaters” and a certain flash-back.
The others started trading ideas of various roles they could use to unobtrusively approach the group. Napoleon listened for a bit, but Illya never once suggested the obvious.
“Or,” Napoleon finally put in himself, “Illya can be a skater on the ice during their practice time and talk to them during it.”
Waverly and Gaby looked up, interested, but Illya dismissed it. "Would be too obvious."
"More obvious than three of us trying to contrive small talk in their hotel lobby?"
"You skate, Kuryakin?" Waverly still looked interested.
"I am from Russia," Illya replied wryly. "I can skate if needed. It is not, however, a mission requirement."
"I've always wanted to learn how to skate," Gaby said wistfully.
All heads turned towards her. Gaby blinked at the attention, then she turned thoughtful as well.
"There we go," Napoleon said in satisfaction. He would get to watch Illya on ice after all.
"Might work," Illya said. "One skater on ice, suspicious. Two skaters in rink... one learning... more normal."
"Two learning," Waverly put in.
"Uh," Napoleon was alarmed. "I don't do so well on ice."
Illya snorted in amusement, then coughed to cover it up.
"Nonsense," Waverly said cheerfully. "What were you planning on doing while Mr. Kuryakin was teaching Miss Teller? Sit on the sidelines and watch?"
Well. Napoleon shrugged. "I would have found something."
"No, no. Much better this way," Illya said just as cheerfully as Waverly, with an extra evil glint in his eye. "Two people training, one teaching, is more believable."
Some days, Napoleon should just keep his mouth shut. On the other hand, it sounded like he would definitely get to watch Illya ice skating, so perhaps he should just count this as a win over all.
... ... ...
The rental skates were nothing Napoleon wanted to put on. "They're old and probably low quality," he whined at Illya.
Illya turned from helping Gaby pick out her skates and glared at Napoleon. "My teacher used to say – if can only skate with perfect condition, then can't skate at all."
Belligerently, he pushed the pair sitting on the counter at Napoleon until Napoleon was forced to take them or retreat. Not that taking them wasn't a form of retreat on its own. He was slightly reassured when the skates Illya got were just the same exact low quality as the rest.
"Be glad they have them in our size at all," Illya added, turning away with Gaby who was cooing excitedly at hers.
"Be reasonable, Leonardo," Gaby put in, reaching over to pat Napoleon's arm. "It's just for an hour."
"I wonder if they have disinfectant to spray inside," Napoleon muttered, holding the skates gingerly. He'd worn worse, and done much worse, for missions. But this was beyond reasonable.
Ignoring him, Illya started giving instructions on how to lace up the skates.
Napoleon thought that was probably over-doing it. They could all lace up shoes just fine, thank you. With a sigh, he sat down and put the skates on, tucking his shoes under the bench next to Illya's and Gaby's. They made an interesting trio of shoes, lined up together. Elegant, practical, and dainty while still practical. Gaby always made sure she could run in her shoes, no matter how high the heel or how strappy the sandal.
Gaby had hers on first, and stood up, balancing on the wooden flats covering the skates. "This isn't so bad."
Illya beamed happily at her. Napoleon couldn't help but smile too. He had no objections at all to seeing Gaby happy and Illya teaching her how to skate. It was his own performance he was worried about – he didn't like to do things where he didn't think he could succeed immediately, and where other people could see him. Where Illya would see him.
He graciously let them get on the ice ahead of him. Illya rolled his eyes but escorted Gaby out. A glance back said he wouldn't be forgotten and would be retrieved later.
That was okay. Napoleon wasn't going to run off; not when the mission depended on it. In the meantime, though, he folded his arms over the rail and watched.
As soon as Illya stepped on the ice, his grace returned. There was just something about the way he had to balance, the way his weight shifted to compensate, the way he glided...
"This is a little like ballet," Gaby commented as she wobbled but stayed upright with only a single hand on the rail.
Both of the men looked at her in surprise. Well, Illya had always been looking at her since she stepped out, but his expression was now tinged with the same puzzlement that Napoleon was sure was on his own. They thought they'd already heard most everything about her childhood.
Gaby looked up and sighed. "It was when I was young," she explained, putting a foot out and tentatively sliding a little. "I went through a few different foster homes initially."
Right. Napoleon had to admit, he might only have ever seen her real dad after he was dead, but he wasn't losing any sleep over it. Udo Teller was a piece of work, having made his bargain with the Americans and leaving his daughter behind. No matter how the German scientist might have explained it, it wasn't right. Enough of Napoleon's work with the CIA had been in other retrievals of people from behind the Iron Curtain for him to know how that generally worked out. And Gaby had been left there, for all those years.
"You have good spatial memory," was Illya's only comment. Acknowledging the ballet and bringing it to the present. "Your body knows where it is."
Gently, Illya coached her through the basics, leading Gaby out onto the ice and holding hands with her as she tentatively, then more confidently glided over the surface. As her confidence grew, Illya switched to skating backwards, holding both her hands and leading her forwards.
After a few minutes of watching them lap the rink like that, Napoleon let his gaze wander around the rest of the arena. They'd come out before their targets normally did, to establish themselves as separate and not there specifically for them. There were other people here too, families and children mostly. Not as many on a weekday as there would be on a weekend, but it was after school hours, nearly closing time for the arena. The rink didn't normally shut down so early, but with the competition coming up, they were reserving the evening hours for practice. The targets, though, had a habit of coming out a little early and mingling with the public for awhile first. Napoleon suspected this was the agent, giving that buffer of potential meeting if the other side could carry it off.
"Okay, Leo – your turn."
Looking up, Napoleon saw Illya holding his hand patiently out to him. The nickname grated slightly on his ears, recollecting some of his youth. But unlike Illya and Gaby, his real name was too unusual, too recognizable. It was best when doing spy work to make sure nothing broke your cover, and automatic responses to a name were one of the easiest to mess up under an assumed name. It wasn't like the bad guys could instantly send information everywhere. So Illya and Gaby got to keep their names and Napoleon worked with names he'd practiced often enough to respond to.
Illya gave a little waggle of his hand, enticing Napoleon nearer.
"On your head be it," Napoleon sighed. He took off the wooden covers and cautiously walked out, holding on for dear life to the railing as he did so.
"Just so, Cowboy," Illya's reply was affectionate. He patiently went through the same spiel he'd given Gaby, holding Napoleon's arm that wasn't gripping the railing.
He fell three times in the first minute just trying to get his balance.
"It's not so bad, Leonardo," Gaby said, skating on her own near them, carefully staying close to the rail. Her hands were outstretched for balance, but otherwise was doing very well.
Napoleon envied her the ease. He wasn't nearly so secure on the wobbly skates; his grip on the rail and Illya the only things holding him up. Though, it was very nice to have Illya's hands on him. Particularly when Illya moved closer in, looped an arm around his back, and propped Napoleon up against his side.
"Easy, Cowboy," Illya rumbled deep, reassuring and true.
This wasn't so bad. Held like this, Napoleon could move out next to Illya, be secure and feel the odd sensations of sliding across the ice. He kept wanting to pick up his feet and put them down, but he kept his attention on Illya and didn't try to do anything other than move his legs forward and back as Illya directed him.
"Better." Illya unhooked his arm and moved a little further away, still keeping a grip on Napoleon's hand.
Napoleon missed the closeness, and not just for the stability. He gulped and kept moving. He desperately tried not to think about falling. It wasn't working. He stumbled again and went down.
With a sigh, Illya coaxed him up to try again.
"This is fun," Gaby said, skating by them, a grin on her face and her hair fluttering out behind her.
Illya turned in a slight circle on the ice to watch her, a slight frown on his face.
"What's wrong?"
Illya didn't answer directly, dropping Napoleon's arm and pushing off to head after her. "Gaby, slow down!"
Napoleon had an instant to see that while Gaby had perfect balance going straight, as she got to the curve of the rink, she was too fast to know how to turn correctly and she was going to crash. Then he was more concerned with himself, hands wind-milling as his feet split in separate directions and he went down again.
When he looked up, Gaby was in the arms of another man, with Illya skating near and thanking him.
The other man laughed, not letting go of Gaby. "I admire such boldness – there is no learning without it. It is hard for a teacher to split attention."
Two other skaters were nearby, their own amusement plain as they agreed.
Napoleon realized Gaby had just skated her way right into the trio they were looking for. If that was intentional, he had to admire her casual ease of it.
Returning, Illya hovered above Napoleon. "Leonardo, you have to get up."
"No, I don't." The ice didn't move when Napoleon was sitting on it.
With a snort, Illya reached down to help him, easily adjusting his balance and stability and making his skates seem like shoes that he could control with a grip.
Napoleon sighed and let himself be maneuvered up. He snuck a glance over to where Gaby was now getting some very personal instruction by the man who had caught her. The other two had split off to continue their warm ups around the ice.
A bit more coaxing and Illya had Napoleon skating again. Though not very well.
Gaby and Karel (as they learned his name) passed them up at intervals, the two laughing together as the more experienced skater led her in ever increasing maneuvers.
"How is she doing that?" Napoleon wondered, even as he wobbled and grabbed Illya's hand more tightly.
Illya grinned, watching the other pair. "Is like ballroom – less experienced can be guided by more, as long as just go with it."
Napoleon looked up at Illya and shook his head. "No, somehow I don't think that's possible."
"It is you who are impossible." Illya glowered at Napoleon and took his hands off.
Within seconds, Napoleon was grabbing at the rail again, glaring back at his friend.
Laughter nearby said their interactions hadn't been overlooked and the other two competition skaters came up to them, gliding easily.
"Once anger enters into it, training goes to pot," the other male skater said with a grin. He held his hand out to Napoleon. "I am Ruda. Would you like to skate with me for a change?"
Napoleon would really rather not. But with the mission to do and them not knowing who the agent was, he agreed, smiling gratefully at the man. "I fear I might be a bit of a challenge."
"I like a challenge," Ruda winked, a flirtatious smile spreading across his face.
Napoleon blinked, then he smiled back. Well, all right then. If that was the way it was going to go.
The lady skater smothered a laugh and directed her attention at Illya. "I am Miroslava. Since your other partner has stolen mine for awhile, would you dance with me?"
Illya continued to frown at Napoleon for a moment longer, then turned his attention to Mirosalava. "It would be my honor," he replied gravely. "My name is Illya."
He took her hand and kissed it, then they turned in perfect unison to skate off.
Napoleon blinked after them. Distractly, he only paid half-attention to Ruda taking ahold of his hand to help him balance. It wasn't until he realized that he'd skated around half the rink without falling that he returned his full attention to what he was doing. And promptly fell again.
Ruda laughed without malice. "You should watch them some more. They are very good."
"Illya is good," Napoleon said in wonder. "Mira... Miroslava is a professional. But Illya..."
The two skaters were twirling around the ice together, doing spins and tucks and jumps while holding hands and skating in unison. There were probably technical terms for it, but Napoleon didn't know what they were. He just knew that Illya was poetry in motion doing this. His full grace, shown in the glides and twirls that had nothing to do with strength. The land bear, transformed to a swan on ice.
"Damnit," Napoleon cursed as he stumbled into the side railing and grabbed before he fell again. If there was some miracle about transmuting strength into grace on ice, it obviously wasn't working on him.
"You keep trying to walk, or run," Ruda observed. "Think of this as... humm... as a stone skipping over the water – sliding along the top without putting a foot down."
"Hydroplaning," Napoleon grinned. The other man wouldn't get the joke, but it was a fun comparison.
They skated another circuit, the motions finally coming easier to Napoleon. Ruda was a good tutor, but it was more that he'd been trying so hard while Illya was there. Less embarrassment meant an ease of doing.
He glanced over to where Gaby was still skating with Karel. They were canoodling just fine – okay, they were pairs skating, just the way Illya was with Mirosalva. Karel did more guiding while helping Gaby and more of the skating side-by-side with arms over the shoulders. Illya and Mirosalva were doing more tricks and maneuvers.
Poor Ruda wasn't getting much practice, simply skating along beside Napoleon and holding him steady.
"Do you mind if we sit down for awhile?" Napoleon asked. "My bruises are starting to get bruises."
With a laugh, Ruda agreed and they glided back to the stands. They sat down without any space between them, and Ruda rested a hand on Napoleon's thigh. Napoleon didn't push it off, but he didn't make any return gestures either.
"He is Russian, no?" Ruda nodded at the pair on the ice, and Napoleon nodded. "He is trained. Not a competition skater, no, but he is trained. The Russians... they do that." Ruda's voice had turned bland and unemotional as he spoke. "They do that with a great many things. I would worry about your friend with my friend if he was not so obviously with you."
"With me and Gaby," Napoleon demurred, wondering if Ruda was the contact.
"A Russian with an American and a... German? It is an interesting trio," Ruda observed. "If he had been with Gaby alone, we would not have touched them. But you... and there is affection there. I don't think you have to fret as much as you have been – he does not like me touching you, not at all." He chuckled at the end, running his hand along Napoleon's thigh and leaning in a bit. "Your friend – he does not care about Karel touching your Gaby... but I am close to being cut."
Napoleon blinked and watched Illya and Mirosalva a little closer. He hadn't stopped watching them. An occasional glance to Gaby and Karel, but his attention was still on how good Illya was. Ruda was right that Illya's moves didn't have the same flourish and polish that Mirosalva did – he was a little more functional and precise in his actions. And yes, his gaze periodically was focused on them back. There was a certain stillness to his features when he looked their way that spoke of that hidden anger before it burst out. A look that disappeared whenever he turned back to Mirosalva.
"Humm..." Napoleon tilted his head, thinking about it.
Ruda laughed again. "Now this is why I skate alone. When there are pairs skating, it is beautiful... but the audience is always split. Some watch the boy, some watch the girl. Some just watch to see the skating no matter the person. But single skating... ah, that is on me and me alone, and the audience sees just me, good or bad." He stretched out, removing his hand from Napoleon's thigh... and resettling his arm around Napoleon's shoulders.
"Pushing your luck, or just getting more attention?" Napoleon asked with considerable amusement.
"I am a singles skater, and I do not like sharing the ice," Ruda said with the thread of humor but also with some seriousness lacing through it. "Sometimes with Mirosalva and Karel, yes... but not with Russians."
"With Americans?" Napoleon deflected it slightly.
"I would like to find out," Ruda tightened his grip a little, his fingers caressing over Napoleon's shoulder, "but I fear I shall not get the chance."
Karel and Gaby had finally noticed the interactions both on and off the ice. Gaby's attention was focused on Illya as she apparently saw the same slow boil not yet risen to the surface, while Karel's was on Ruda with some resignation.
The four skaters still on the ice joined up to skate together for awhile.
Napoleon blinked. "What happened to all the other skaters?" There wasn't anybody else left in the rink.
Ruda chuckled. "They closed the arena awhile back. I asked them to let you three stay since Karel was having so much fun. He doesn't get to enjoy a simple skate just for the sheer delight of it anymore. Your friend is a gift."
How Napoleon had ever missed the closing, he would never know. He suspected it was while he and Illya were still... well, while Illya was still trying to train him. The spy in him was ashamed for not having noticed. The rest of him was remembering Illya's hands so close on him...
The skaters came back to them, Illya and Gaby saying farewell to their partners with the European cheek kisses. They stepped off the ice, putting the guards on their sharp undersides. Ruda slowly untangled himself from Napoleon with a last caress across the shoulders and a kiss to his hand. Napoleon tried not to burst out laughing and managed an appropriate thanks for the lessons.
"You can stay awhile longer if you want," Mirosalva added with amusement. "Watch us while we do some real practice. You'll have to leave before we get to the new routines, but we'll be doing the older ones first."
The trio agreed with interest. The competition skaters glided out, while Illya sat down next to Napoleon... rather closer than was his usual want.
Gaby snuggled up on Illya's other side. "That was so much fun," she sighed with happiness.
Illya dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Glad you enjoyed, Chop Shop." He glanced to his other side, "You are hopeless, Cowboy."
"I wasn't doing so bad there at the end," Napoleon protested lightly while Gaby giggled.
What was life without a little adventure? Napoleon stretched his arms out, feeling the bruises that would be showing up the next day... and then he draped one arm over Illya after he finished stretching.
Illya snorted softly as Napoleon's arm came over his shoulders, but he didn't protest and didn't shrug it off. Instead, he leaned a little closer. The heights weren't quite right for a great snuggle, but it was something.
They watched the competition skaters for awhile. Without the need to hold themselves to working with amateurs, they really were incredible. The talent, the skill, the performance... it was remarkable.
Napoleon still preferred the way Illya had skated. Particularly the way he had effortlessly taken out the bad guys while doing it. Performance alone was one thing. Pure grace combined with who Illya was... that was something that would be in his dreams for some time to come.
"Do we have to meet with them again?" he wondered. Despite the sharp interest, Ruda had given him none of the right exchanges, no information, nothing that could have been from an agent. His bet initially had been on Karel with the way he'd glommed onto Gaby, but Ruda's last remark on that had thrown off some of his thinking for it.
Gaby half-shrugged, indicating that she'd gotten nothing either.
"Why?" Illya asked sharply. "Want to spend more time with Ruda?" The anger that had been retreating as they sat there boiled up again suddenly.
Both Gaby and Napoleon turned to look at Illya in sheer incredulous disbelief.
"Illya!" Gaby scolded, putting a hand to the center of his chest and pushing in before she turned around and resettled on him. She still huffed her displeasure for the outburst.
Napoleon couldn't help it and he started laughing. "Ah, Peril. Don't ever change."
With an embarrassed grumble, Illya apologized. Then he shrugged. "We do not have to return."
Ah ha. Napoleon glanced back out to where Mirosalva danced with her partner. He smiled. He did like the intelligent ones.
They all applauded as first the pairs couple finished their set, then Ruda with his single. Farewells were exchanged again, and they left the rink happy and satisfied.
Back at the hotel, Gaby left them with a cheerful goodnight for her room. Illya hesitated in the hallway, glancing down the way to his.
"Want a nightcap?" Napoleon asked softly. Offering. Leaving it open. Not pushing. Just... asking.
Not always, but every once in awhile, Illya had a little trick of hunching over in just such a way that he was looking through his eyelashes at somebody. A tall man bringing himself down. And with those eyelashes of his...
"Perhaps... just one." Illya stepped closer to Napoleon than was really necessary for going through the door.
With a smile, Napoleon opened his door and they went through. Perhaps he wouldn't have to rely just on the memory of Illya skating – though it would always remain a favorite memory, he knew. Along, hopefully, now with other memories as well.