#now of course whether or not I manage to adequately translate these thoughts into fic is another matter

[solarmorrigan]

I’m so glad Robin got to rip Eddie a new one in Hands Where I Can See Them!! And ohhhh since Wayne was home when Robin was chewing him out, maybe Wayne will come in with some good advice or just parental disappointment in how Eddie handled everything. Especially if Eddie has to explain exactly how Steve discovered that Eddie thought they weren’t dating.

I love it when Wayne is a mediator in fics, but I also understand if you don’t want to add him into the fic, I just think Eddie needs a calm third party who knows he didn’t mean to hurt Steve, but will be disappointed in how he handled everything. Like what if Wayne had woken up and heard Robin’s parting shot and wants to know what she meant by that. How did Eddie dismiss Steve last night?

I’ve reread each part like five times now, thank you so much for sharing your fics 💖💖

Robin deserved to yell a bit! Not only did Eddie hurt her best friend (criminal offense), he also ruined her night, because Steve was upset, which means Robin is upset, yaknow? Like, of course she's going to do whatever she needs to help Steve out and make sure he's taken care of, but that doesn't mean she wouldn't rather nothing had happened to make that necessary in the first place

I actually did consider adding Wayne in at the end of the most recent part (did the man really sleep through that whole argument? we may never know), but I figured Eddie had probably been through enough for the moment without having to also immediately explain to his uncle what had happened. It bothers me when characters get dog-piled in fics for making a mistake - as in, person after person shuts them out or tells them how badly they've screwed up. It feels a little like saying that they really need to suffer before they can be forgiven, which doesn't sit right. Forgiveness should come from understanding how your behavior hurt someone and working to change that behavior; suffering doesn't teach you jack shit. But that's a different conversation! The point is, I'm at least trying to give Eddie breaks between people going "What were you thinking??" at him

I think Wayne will have to at least make an appearance, though. Steve's practically been living with them, and suddenly he's gone; Wayne could hardly fail to notice the change, even if Eddie wasn't suddenly moping around. And I do love mediator Wayne! The thing I want to avoid is using him as a kind of deus ex machina; I feel like sometimes we bring Wayne in to explain to Eddie how he's feeling, so Eddie doesn't have to work to reach those conclusions on his own (this happens with Robin for Steve, too, I think). It's helpful to have a third party as a sounding board, or to help break up self-destructive patterns, but I like it when characters have to do their own emotional heavy lifting

...anyway, that was probably a lot more rambling than you expected when you sent this ask, which was very kind of you to do and made me smile to read, so hopefully my answer didn't put you off??

[rose-of-pollux]

If Wishes Were Cats (Napollya oneshot)

Title: If Wishes Were Cats Rating: PG13-ish Summary: According to an ancient legend, Napoleon has been granted three wishes from the cat goddess, Bastet.  As he deals with his feelings for his partner, Napoleon must decide just how to use those wishes as he hopes for a way for Illya and him to be together. Notes: Slash.  This fic takes place during various points in the first year of Napoleon and Illya’s partnership, and references several other fics of mine, namely the “Regret Saga,” “Serenade of Water,” “Nocturne of Shadow,” “Requiem of Spirit,” and “The Fundamental Things Apply.”

Again, please note that this is slash, and there is no gen version this time because the plot doesn’t really translate to gen this time...

Also fulfills the prompt “Pining” for my MFU Bingo card.

If you prefer reading on AO3, you can read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10746420

Napoleon was on alert as his guide—a local U.N.C.L.E. agent named Karim—led him around the ancient Egyptian ruins near Luxor.  It was a large temple built by the Pharaoh Sethos I near the beginning of the 19th Dynasty.  Napoleon only wished he didn’t have to be here without his partner; Illya, having only just returned to active status after recovering from a long torture session with THRUSH, had just completed his first mission since his return, and Medical had absolutely refused to let him go on a second so soon without adequate rest.  And so, Napoleon had flown solo, hoping to find some leads that would help his quest to bring in the Baron of THRUSH.

“It was right around here,” Karim said.  “Some tourists found several paralyzed cats—it looked as though that they had been given some sort of paralytic.  When I reported it to my section head, he informed me some time later that your Mr. Waverly was sending you here to look in on it.”

“Ah, yes, it’s pertinent to a case that I’m on right now,” Napoleon said.  His quest to stop the Baron of THRUSH and his paralytic gas plot was a secret from most of U.N.C.L.E.—but he was grateful that Waverly was doing what he could to provide him with any new information.  “When was this?”

“Couldn’t have been more than three days ago,” Karim said.  He sighed as cats of all colors and shapes—most of them Egyptian Maus—watched them from all over the ruins.  A few kittens came out in front of them and mewed, looking at them expectantly. “These little ones have no fear of people—most of the tourists play with them and give them food.  Everyone loves them and cares for them, so it was most distressing to learn that THRUSH had been using them as guinea pigs.”

“Are they okay?” Napoleon asked, as one particular kitten, smoky black, batted at his shoe as he walked.

“Yes; I have been looking after them since the paralysis wore off,” Karim assured him.  “Once I am satisfied that they aren’t suffering any ill aftereffects, I will release them here once more.”

“That’s very admirable,” Napoleon said.  “Sounds like something my partner would have done.”

“I felt it was my duty,” Karim said.  “This temple was built for the ancient cat goddess, Bastet.  Local legends say that the cats who dwell here today are her children.”

“People still believe in the ancient gods?” Napoleon asked, interested.

“Well, perhaps not in that sense,” Karim admitted.  “But the legends still persist; they always provide a bit of intrigue, and some will swear there is evidence to support them.  For example, they say that, somewhere in these ruins, there is a large, black cat—it is said that it is Bastet herself, and those who see her can request three wishes from her by phrasing your wish with ‘O, Bastet, I beseech thee…’ and then speak the wish.”

“Really?” Napoleon asked.

“It’s how the legend goes,” Karim shrugged.  “Of course, there is a disclaimer that Bastet decides whether or not the wishes are worthy of being granted.”

Napoleon chuckled.

“That’s clever,” he said.

Karim laughed, as well, but then sobered as they reached a roped-off part of the temple.

“This is where the paralyzed cats were found,” he said.  “We have sealed this place off for investigation and have closed the temple to tourists until we are certain we have combed every inch of it.”

Napoleon nodded, and he and Karim began to search.  There wasn’t much of anything; THRUSH had been good at covering their tracks, but Napoleon finally did find something as the smoky kitten that had been following him now arched her tiny back at something wedged between a small rock and part of the temple wall.

“There’s something back here!” he called to Karim.

It was an empty canister that had once held the paralytic gas.

“There might be a little bit left in there—perhaps enough to analyze and prepare an antidote,” Napoleon said.

“If there is, I will see to it that word gets back to you as soon as possible,” Karim promised.

“Thanks,” Napoleon said. “You can go head on back; I think that’s all we’re going to find, but I’ll do another quick sweep now, rest for a bit, and then head home to New York tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Karim said. “We’ll have our men do one more additional sweep before we reopen the temple to the public.”

“Good idea.”

“You are sure you don’t mind searching alone?  I can stay longer…”

“I’m sure,” Napoleon said. “Those cats are probably hungry.”

“Very likely,” Karim agreed, with a smile.  “Take care, Mr. Solo.  And give my regards to Mr. Kuryakin.  …He has recovered from his ordeal?  I heard he had been a prisoner of THRUSH for some time…”

Napoleon’s heart gave a slight twist, but he nodded.

“Yeah, he’s made a full recovery, but Medical still wants him to take it easy; we just had a mission in Hawaii, and they were adamant about not letting him go again so soon after that.”

“Oh.  Poor man.”

“I’ll try to see if we can both make it next time; I know he’d have loved seeing all these cats,” Napoleon added, gently petting the smoky kitten, who purred in response.

“It’s very inspiring to all of us U.N.C.L.E agents worldwide, seeing the two of you working together so well,” Karim said.  “Some of the other section heads are considering other transfer programs to promote international ties now.  Your partnership is getting along flawlessly—it’s quite admirable.”

Napoleon managed a grin.

“Glad we’re setting an example,” he said.

He said his goodbyes to Karim, who left after that.  Napoleon sighed.  Karim hadn’t been wrong about Napoleon and Illya’s partnership getting along flawlessly—they were truly getting along flawlessly indeed.  So flawlessly, in fact, that Napoleon’s feelings towards his partner were getting very muddled and confused indeed.

At first, Napoleon had thought the butterflies in his stomach had been something that would pass, but as months passed and they became closer, the butterflies never left.

And then Illya had been taken by THRUSH.  As horrific as the experience had been, Illya’s recovery had caused the Russian to open up to Napoleon all the more, causing Napoleon to fall for him all the more; the realization had hit him like a ton of bricks during their last mission together in Hawaii—he was in love with his partner.

He hadn’t said anything; he had no way of knowing how Illya felt or how he would react to such a revelation.  But that was why Napoleon was yearning for Illya to be with him in Egypt now—so that he could look at the joy on the Russian’s face upon seeing so many cats. Illya didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, so such displays of emotion were incredibly rare—but Napoleon loved to see his partner’s face light up.  Truly, there was nothing more beautiful than Illya’s smile…

Napoleon exhaled and drew out his communicator; he was feeling lonely for Illya again, and proceeded to call him on Channel D.

“How’s it going, Tovarisch?”

“How else does paperwork go, Napoleon?” Illya responded.  “It is incredibly boring.  Despite the summer heat, I really do wish I was in Egypt with you.”

“Oh, you’d love it here,” Napoleon said.  As if to prove his point, the smoky Mau kitten started batting at his communicator, meowing.

“…Is that a cat?”

“Plural,” Napoleon said. “These old ruins are crawling with them.”  He paused, and his voice darkened.  “The Baron has been using some of them as guinea pigs for his paralytic.  They’re okay, but…”  He trailed off as Illya swore in Russian.  “…My sentiments exactly.”

“We must stop him, Napoleon.”

“Well, hang in here, Illya. I should be home sometime tomorrow, if all goes well.”  He paused. “…You got any plans for tonight?”

“Plans?  Me?” Illya scoffed.  “Were I but braver, I would probably attend the office party that Agent Avalon is throwing.  But I am not. No, Napoleon; it is a nice evening at my flat for me.”

Napoleon had to confess to himself that he was glad that Illya didn’t have a date; even if he didn’t have the nerve to admit his feelings.  He then immediately chided himself for being so selfish; if he couldn’t find the courage to speak, then he had no right to think about Illya’s love life one way or the other… did he?  Was it fair to want Illya to be alone each time Napoleon was on a solo mission?

Napoleon sighed.

“Chin up, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said.  “With any luck, Medical will clear you for missions without breaks soon.”

“I certainly hope so,” Illya said.  “Take care, Napoleon.”

“You too,” Napoleon said, and he closed the channel with a sigh.  He glanced at the smoky kitten.  “…I should tell him, shouldn’t I?”

The kitten mewed and then, suddenly, followed some of the other kittens to a small set of steps nearby, where a large Mau, smoky black like the kitten that had been playing with Napoleon, sat, glancing at Napoleon with a regal expression as the kittens meowed around her.

Napoleon stared back at the large cat in amazement, recalling Karim’s words from earlier—

“They say that, somewhere in these ruins, there is a large, black cat—it is said that it is Bastet herself, and those who see her can request three wishes from her…”

Napoleon let out a quiet “Hmm.”  The legend was probably just that—an old story.  But how tempting it would be to wish for Illya to fall in love with him!

He shook his head. No…  Even if the wishes were real, he had no right to make such a selfish wish. And they probably weren’t even real. But, still… it couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Oh, why not?” Napoleon said, glancing at the cat.  “O, Bastet, I beseech thee, I wish that my partner doesn’t have to spend all his time alone whenever I’m not there.”  Hopefully not a date, but at least a way for him to keep his mind off of being alone…

The large cat continued to stare at Napoleon for a while before meowing loudly.  She picked up the smoky black kitten by the scruff of the neck and then bounded off somewhere.

“…Oh well,” Napoleon said, with a shrug.  “Didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt…”

His sweep of the area turned up nothing else, and Napoleon returned to his hotel room and left for New York the next day after checking in with Karim one last time.

It was evening by the time he had reached; a rainstorm in New York had delayed the landing, and it was still pouring as he left the airport.  Deciding not to have Illya drive out in the rain to pick him up, Napoleon took a taxi back to their apartment building.

Ever since Illya’s time as a prisoner of THRUSH, they had keys to each other’s apartment; Napoleon used the key to let himself in to Illya’s apartment to check up on him.

“Hey, I’m back…” he began, but then trailed off as he saw Illya sitting on his couch, cradling a small bundle wrapped in a baby blanket.  His mouth dropped open.  “What happened while I was gone!?”

Illya let out a quiet “tsk.”

“Napoleon, you’ve gone and woken her!”

Anything Napoleon was about to say was cut off by a small “mew” coming from the bundle.  He facepalmed.

“Napoleon, you didn’t think--?”

“Shush, you,” Napoleon said, his heart beating normally again.

Illya smirked at him.

“I found this little one abandoned in a small basket.  The rain was coming down; I could not let her suffer…”

Napoleon walked over to see the kitten—and froze again.  The kitten was a smoky black Egyptian Mau—looking exactly like the one he had seen in Egypt, before her mother, allegedly Bastet, had carried her off…

…Just after Napoleon had made his wish that Illya didn’t have to be alone when he wasn’t there.

“Her name is Baba Yaga,” Illya said, proudly.

Napoleon let the kitten play with his finger as he gently gave her skritches.  She was purring away, and Illya was absolutely captivated. Napoleon chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Congratulations on your new daughter,” he said.  “I’m going to go unpack, and then I’ll whip up a dinner for all three of us.”

“That would be wonderful, Napoleon,” Illya said.

Napoleon just smiled and moved to head back to his apartment next door; he paused as he headed out, watching the rare look of genuine happiness on Illya’s face as he doted over the little kitten.

He wasn’t sure how that kitten had gotten from Luxor to New York before him; whether it was a coincidentally similar kitten or it really was the same kitten, he would never know. And, he supposed, it didn’t matter; Illya was happy, and seeing that smile on his face was stirring up those muddled feelings in Napoleon once more.

…Well, assuming it was the wish, I’ve got two left, he silently said.  Maybe I’ll try them out if I still can’t sort things out…

                                       **************************************

Napoleon soon found himself on the opposite side of being separated from his partner due to an order from Medical.  After a run-in with the Baron in Germany and being subjected to the paralytic gas firsthand, Medical had refused to let Napoleon go on another mission until they were certain that he would be suffering no aftereffects.  And so Illya was off to gather intelligence on where the Baron’s grand demonstration of the gas was to be.

There were numerous things on Napoleon’s mind as he remained at home, looking after Baba Yaga while he waited to hear back from Illya.  The first was that Illya had been slightly reserved ever since their last mission; he had been under the impression that he was no longer a useful asset to Napoleon’s endeavor.  It had taken a lot of convincing to get Illya to agree to one more mission together. Napoleon had to worry that if Illya settled back into his routine of working alone on this case, it might not be enough to convince him to stay longer.

Baba Yaga was more concerned with playing, and was happily using Napoleon as a play mat as he lay there on his couch, thinking about what to do.

“So, let’s say that I do have two wishes left…” said, speaking to Baba Yaga.  “I suppose I could wish for Illya to stay…  Think your old Ma Bastet would go for that?”

Baba Yaga mewed at him in response.

“…Well, look at it from my side, huh?” Napoleon defended.  “I’m not really asking for that much--”

He was cut off as his communicator whistled.

“Illya?” he asked.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Solo,” Waverly responded over the channel.  “I do regret being the bearer of bad news--”

“Did something happen to Illya?” Napoleon asked, now sitting at attention.

“Hopefully not,” Waverly said.  “But we’ve lost contact with him; he was on his way back to New York on a freighter, but we lost contact with him when the freighter was attacked by a THRUSH submarine. His last communication was that they were going to try to outrun the submarine.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Approximately three hours ago,” Waverly informed him.  “I’ll keep you informed of any change in Mr. Kuryakin’s status.”

“Thank you, Sir…”

Napoleon put the communicator away, trying to ignore the familiar grip of fear upon his heart. Anything could have happened to Illya in three hours…!  And the thought of Illya dying horrified him—it always had.  But for Illya to die now, when they were so close to achieving their goal of stopping the Baron…  …When Napoleon had now realized that he was in love with him…

…That thought was too much to bear.  And there was nothing he could do, confined to rest, unable to go out and search for his partner…

“Okay, a wish won’t hurt,” he murmured.  Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he concentrated.  “O, Bastet, I beseech thee, I wish that Illya will return to New York safely.”

There was silence.

“…Do you think she can hear me?” he asked Baba Yaga.

The kitten meowed.

“…I hope so, too.”

Neither he nor the kitten moved; it was another hour before the communicator whistled again.

“Solo here,” he said, immediately.

“Napoleon?”

Napoleon slumped over in relief.

“You’re alright,” he said.

“Da—but barely,” Illya said.  “It was starting to look very bad for a while.”

“What happened?”

“THRUSH very nearly sunk us,” Illya said.  “The captain of the freighter got our boat moving as fast as humanly possible enough to pull away from the submarine.  It was almost a fluke, Napoleon—this freighter shouldn’t have been able to reach the speed it had.  But, nevertheless, it did.”

“Where are you now?”

“Very nearly home, Napoleon; I can see the lights of the city from here.  You can prepare dinner if you like; with any luck, I shall be home immediately after my debriefing with Mr. Waverly.”

“Right.”

“I hope my daughter behaved herself…”

“Oh, she did,” Napoleon assured him.  “She is a perfect angel.”

“Of course she is. Tell her I shall be home soon.”

Baba Yaga mewed, and Napoleon grinned.

“She heard,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, then, Tovarisch.”

“Da.”

Napoleon put his communicator away and reflected on what had just happened.  Had it been a fluke, as Illya had said?  Or had his second wish just come true?

He still wasn’t sure.

                                               ************************

Napoleon wasn’t one who blindly believed in things, yet the coincidences of his first two “wishes” seemed impossible to ignore.  And as the weeks went on with Illya seemingly preparing to return to Europe after their final clash with the Baron, Napoleon was considering the use of his final alleged wish.

He did not want Illya to go.  He wanted Illya to stay—to fall in love with him, as he had fallen for Illya.  And as they headed to Niagara (Baba Yaga being cared for by George Dennell in Section IV) and had another disagreement about whether or not Illya was better off going back, Napoleon was seriously considering making that his final wish—that Illya would fall in love with him, unable to tear himself away to return to Berlin.

Two of my three wishes were selfless, Napoleon rationalized.  Assuming this whole thing is true, then let my final wish be something for me—what I want most…

But, again, guilt stopped him.  It wasn’t right, assuming it was real.  It wasn’t right to effectively control someone’s thoughts for something like love. Even if it was granted by a wish that Illya would love him, it would never be pure, true love; it would be always tinged with deceit.

As much as Napoleon pined for him, if Illya loved him back, Napoleon wanted it to be because that was how he truly felt—not what a wish’s magic was making him think he felt.

Fine, then; perhaps I can just wish for him to stay here…

But his mind chided him for that, as well.  If he made that wish, how different was he from someone trying to keep Illya captive?

He couldn’t do that—not to someone he loved.  Trying to summon the courage to beg him to stay because of love wasn’t happening, clearly. If he didn’t say anything, then he had no right to force Illya to stay.

He would have to let him go, if that was what Illya decided in the end.  It was the right thing to do.

Napoleon sighed, deciding that his final wish would, like the others, be selfless.  There really wasn’t anything else he had wanted, anyway…

“O, Bastet, I beseech thee, I wish for Illya to find the happiness and love he so rightfully deserves.”

That was it, then. His three wishes were gone.  And Illya…  Illya would likely be out of his reach soon.

One thing was for certain, though; Napoleon would never, ever forget him—the partner who had stolen his heart.

                                            **********************************

It had seemed at first, however, that Napoleon’s final wish wasn’t going to come true.  In a struggle against the Baron, Napoleon and the Baron had fallen off of the Horseshoe Falls.; the Baron had been killed by the fall, while Napoleon had been rendered to a catatonic state of shock from it. He had been in a bizarre state between awareness and unresponsiveness, but he could still hear a grief-stricken Illya pleading with him to come out of his stupor—even vowing to stay with him in New York if Napoleon did so.

And then, to Napoleon’s utter amazement, Illya had confessed that he had loved him, and then had kissed him.

It was as though it had been magic—a curse breaking by true love’s kiss.  But Napoleon had come out of the stupor and had returned to awareness, much to the relief of Illya.  And Napoleon had been encouraged slightly after hearing Illya’s confession—despite the fact that Illya hadn’t specified what kind of love it was that he felt for Napoleon.

A shared duet some weeks later led them to opening up their feelings for each other—and a post-mission dinner that turned into their first official date.  The weeks turned to months, and as their relationship grew, things changed—for the better.

Illya and Baba Yaga had moved out of his apartment to live in Napoleon’s—they had given the excuse of U.N.C.L.E. budget cuts, vowing that the real reason would have to remain a secret from everyone—at least for the time being.

And it was early one morning, as Napoleon held his still-sleeping partner close to him, waiting for him to awaken, that Napoleon took note of the contented, happy expression on Illya’s face as he slept.

Gently, he brushed some wayward hairs out of Illya’s face.  Though still asleep, Illya smiled in response to his touch, nestling even closer against him, and smiling again as the scent of the bay rum cologne that Napoleon wore reached him.  …And Illya claimed that Napoleon used too much of it?  Ha!  Napoleon knew the truth now—caught him red-handed, enjoying it!

Napoleon merely chuckled to himself and kept his hand on his partner’s back, acting as a silent sentry against nightmares or any real threat that might come their way.  But, at that moment, he wasn’t thinking about threats; Napoleon was thinking about how lucky he truly was.

His final wish to Bastet had come true, after all—Illya had found the happiness and love he deserved—with him, which was something that Napoleon had thought too good to be true.  Despite the temptation, Napoleon had not used any of the wishes on himself directly, yet had ended up getting what he had wanted most—his true love by his side, and even a “daughter,” Baba Yaga, for them to raise together.

Napoleon couldn’t have asked for anything more.  And he would forever cherish what he had now—the blessings and gifts of Bastet.