Work Text:
Al and Napoleon were not good friends. That much was apparent. They bickered like children. They fought like an old married couple — Larry liked to picture Napoleon as Al’s short nagging wife. They majorly pissed each other off. They made fun of each other for the most trivial things. Sometimes the vulgarities they exchanged made even Attila the Hun raise his eyebrows.
And how they glared — oh, they glared at each other like the other person has personally carried out the deaths of the other’s family! Especially Napoleon. The way he glowered up at Al was truly a testament to the deepest of humanity’s expressive abilities.
It was hard to imagine any other duo that hated each other as much as Al and Napoleon.
The thing was, Larry wouldn’t go as far as to say that they were enemies. Frenemies was not right, either. It was more complex than that. Al and Napoleon — they were akin to those little elementary school boys who would pull the girls’ hair and call them names and push them around and steal their lunches because they had a crush on them. Those boys, being young and inexperienced and afraid, didn’t understand their feelings towards those girls, so they bullied them.
That dynamic applied to Al and Napoleon in every single aspect. It was so, so painfully obvious that Al and Napoleon — two fully grown adults — were hopelessly and irrefutably in love with each other. And though it made Larry laugh, it was kind of a serious matter.
Everyone else in the museum would agree. One hundred percent. It was an unspoken thing, but it was there. Existing. Anybody who wasn’t a fool could see it, clear as day. For some, it was a whole giggly “When will they?” thing and for others it was a mind-numbing “Just kiss him already!” deal.
First of all, the tension. It was thick. At times, when they were locked in one of their glaring matches, it looked as if Al and Napoleon were about to kiss. He swears he saw Al glance down at Napoleon’s lips as they glowered at each other on numerous occasions.
Secondly, the way they talked about each other. Larry recalls Sacajawea telling him that Napoleon had confronted her once, asking where Al was. She could hardly keep a straight face as she spoke of the encounter. Napoleon had politely explained that his hat was missing when he had awoken and suspected that Al and his goons were to blame. Sacajawea, being a stranger to the new exhibits, did not know who Al Capone was, so she had asked Napoleon what he looked like. His response was gold.
“He said, and I quote,” Sacajawea would giggle, partly imitating a French accent, “‘Oh, you cannot miss him. He is a very handsome man. And tall. Very tall. Oh, and muscular. Brown eyes, broad nose, defined jaw…’ At this point, I smiled at him, thinking that, based on this flattering description, the man he was looking for was a lover of some kind. Napoleon seemed to realize that his description was a little strange. His face went pink!”
At this point, Sacajawea would need to catch her breath before continuing. “He briskly continued, ‘His skin is gray for some reason, he wears a suit that’s too big on him, and has a stupid brimmed hat. Have you seen him or not?’ I told him that I’d seen a group of guys fitting that description a few minutes ago. I pointed him in their direction and he muttered a ‘thank you’ and went on his way, head down. He looked so embarrassed!”
Thirdly, the fact that the two were oblivious — or at least acted like they were— to the obvious nature of their relationship killed the museum’s occupants. They could not see it but literally everybody else could, and they were teased mercilessly for it. Larry particularly loved it when Amelia — who was a very close friend of theirs — would casually come up to Al, begin chatting him up, then bring up Napoleon and say, “You think he’s cute, don’t you?” or some kind of phrase of childish girl talk. She’d do it to Napoleon, too: “I heard he likes you. Like, like-likes you!”
They never thought it was funny.
Amelia would walk away clutching her ribs, laughing so hard that they hurt.
Larry could talk about this all night, but he didn’t have time to dwell on such matters. He had been so caught up in trying to steal his keys back from Dexter — that Capuchin monkey was a force to be reckoned with! — that he’d lost track of time. The sun was going to come up in forty minutes and he hadn’t even completed his rounds.
He neared the Young Al Capone exhibit. He hoped that the monster and all of his goons weren’t pushing any unfortunate member of the museum around — he hated it when they did that. As much as he tried to like Al, the man was a bully. Especially around his buddies. Larry understood that the man had to act tough around his friends to maintain his position as their intimidating boss, but it was such a nuisance and produced more trouble than it was probably worth.
Larry turned the corner; the transparent display case, containing all the historical information and details on Mr. Capone, was in sight. But no goons. Or any sign of Al. He walked closer, thinking that they were merely out of sight, but he could not find them anywhere near the exhibit.
He was about to go looking for them when he heard a soft inhale from behind him and whirled around to find —
“Woah.”
On the bench, near the exhibit, were the infamous Al Capone and Napoleon Bonaparte, fast asleep. And snuggling! Well, not “snuggling,” but they sat on the bench together, Napoleon leaning on Al’s shoulder and Al’s cheek propped against Napoleon’s head — so it basically counted as snuggling, right? The fact that Napoleon was practically sitting on Al’s lap was hilarious; not to mention Al’s arm looped around Napoleon, his hand planted firmly in the general’s side.
“I have so many questions,” Larry said to himself, holding in laughter. He quickly pulled out his flip phone and took a picture. “This is going in the scrapbook for sure.”
It was a peaceful, even serene moment. Not a care in the world. Their eyes were sealed shut. This was the only time that Larry had seen their faces so relaxed; they looked younger, somehow. At peace. Even in the daytime when they were reverted to their wax selves, they were hardly tranquil.
How did they get into this position? How did they fall asleep like this? Was it intentional? It had to be intentional, right? What would their explanation be if Larry were to wake them up right now? Would it be truthful or a jumble of half-assed excuses? And, the most important question of all: Did this mean that Al and Napoleon were actually romantically involved with each other? If so, how long had it been going on? Were they keeping it a secret? Why? Or did it just begin?
“Well, I’ve got to wake them up one way or another.”
Larry decided that Al was the safest bet. He knew him better and though he wasn’t the nicest person, he was not prone to panicking as much as Napoleon might. The man had his stoic ‘20s dignity well-intact.
Larry poked his shoulder. “Al,” he whispered as loudly as he dared. “Al, wake up. Hey, Al!”
“Ngh…” Al’s eyes fluttered, a little confused. Still half-asleep. “Hm?”
“Al, it’s almost time for sunrise. I’m making my rounds. You need to go and get your buddies back to your exhibit, alright? Al?”
“Yeah, yeah — I’m up, I’m up…” he mumbled. He blinked tiredly. He went to correct his lopsided hat with his hand, but stopped short when he felt another person’s warmth beside him.
Larry could see the panic set in. Al’s eyes widened. His gray skin tone suddenly turned a darker shade. He looked up at Larry, as if he couldn’t believe that he was there. He looked like a criminal caught red-handed.
“I… it ain’t what it looks like, I swear! This… this ain’t… you don’t know…” he stumbled, laughing nervously. He couldn’t seem to collect himself; his nerves were all over the place. “Look…”
“What does it look like, then?” Larry said.
He didn’t want to be mean, but he couldn’t help himself. How else would he get answers out of a notorious mobster? Politeness?
Al was certainly not expecting such cynicism. “I… I… he’s sleepin’, ‘kay? C’mon, please don’t wake him up. Jus’ let me get up without wakin’ him up.”
“Why?”
“C’mon, Larry!” Al hissed.
“Why?” he repeated.
The glare that Al shot him was priceless. “‘Kay, ‘kay. Jus’… don’t tell anyone, alright? If this gets out, then…”
“Your secret is safe with me, Al.”
“Napoleon,” Al began, unsure of himself, “he kind of, well… he kind of said a few things to me.”
“When?”
“A while ago. In private. He basically said that he was, y’know, attracted to me but — he told me that he also hated my guts. But… y’know, in his own way. He’s sure got a funny way of talkin’.”
Larry stifled a laugh, though he could sense an infatuated lilt to the last part of Al’s sentence. “Sounds about right.”
“Heh, yeah.”
“And? What’d you say?”
“I… well, it’s obvious, right? I said that I felt the same, ‘cause, well, I kinda do. And… we’ve been havin’ a little… thing for awhile.”
“So, when everyone’s looking, you two act like you hate each other, but when you’re alone, it’s all cuddles?”
“Hey, we don’t act. And we don’t hate each other, either. It’s… it’s nice to let off some steam sometimes, y’know? But… yeah, in private, we are all…” Al gestured to Napoleon sleeping soundly against him, “…cuddles.”
“Well, congrats.”
Al only stared at the faraway wall in front of him, avoiding eye contact. Embarrassed.
Larry read the mood. “Do you want me to leave? I don’t think Napoleon would be too happy to know that the cat’s out of the bag — not yet, at least. He doesn’t strike me as a lowkey sort of guy.”
“Yeah, that’d be best. He’s a fighter if I’ve ever seen one.” Al looked down at Napoleon’s sleeping face affectionately.
Larry turned to leave, but before he was firmly out of sight, Al called to him.
“And Larry?”
He turned around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. I… I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said, and went out of sight.
Sorry Al, but Sacajawea and Amelia are going to die when I tell them about this!