p.s. and a beginning

SECOND YEAR – APRIL AND ILLYA

April Dancer was just about to knock on Illya’s door when something crashed inside. Instantly alert, April, dropped her hand to the small holster beneath her modest mini, and drew the special weapon from its diminutive holder. It might not be big enough to stop a full size opponent, but she could certainly disable the lock mechanism. Pfuht.

Hitting the now defenseless door open with one kick of her left foot, she sought cover behind the jam. All noise ceased. She held her breath and dared a quick peek.

Nothing. The small apartment appeared empty.

“Illya?” April whispered into the silence.

“Miss Dancer?” Came his voice from behind the couch. He stood up, gun at the ready. She peeked again around the doorjamb.

“Are you…I mean, is everything alright?” Still whispering, although he had not. “I heard a crash, and I thought….”

“Everything was fine. Now look, you have broken my door. That is the third door in five months. What am I going to tell Mr. Waverly?”

She came into the apartment now. Absently replacing her small weapon in its intimate hiding spot – showing a long length of thigh, and the silk underwear she wore.

Illya sighed softly and rolled his eyes, wondering for the nth time just why Miss April Dancer acted this way with him. He was about to comment on the action when his communicator beeped. Channel L. Napoleon again. Illya sincerely wished April hadn’t chosen this particular time to visit.

“Yes?”

“Well, are you ready?”

“I told you, I am busy. Thank you anyway. Now run along and have a good time!”

“She’s a real looker, Illya. What am I going to say?”

“You got yourself into this, now get yourself out. Or better yet, Napoleon, take them both out. Kuryakin out!” He slapped the antenna down into the slender silver rod-type communicator and resisted the urge to throw it too.

April meantime was looking for the source of the crash. There – one of Illya’s precious books was splayed open on the floor next to the far wall. She put the action and the conversation together.

“Does he do this often?” April watched in fascination as Illya struggled not to loose his temper. Again.

“Da.”

“Fixes you up with a date often, does he?” Her tone was teasing. She knew she was skating on thin ice, but she couldn’t help herself.

“He cannot understand that this makes me angry. Yet I have told him over and over – do not do this again! It is enough to drive one mad!”

Ooops, he’d already lapsed into Russian. Yes, very thin ice indeed. Attack or retreat?

“Why don’t you just try it, Illya dear?” April used her most condescending voice. Attack it was.

“Try it! Try what!? Going out for a meaningless evening, with some girl I do not even know? Do you do this?” The color rising in his face gave April pause.

But she couldn’t resist.

“Personally, I don’t go out with girls that I do know, Illya. Not my style at all.”

Illya looked at her, fury rising. He didn’t trust himself to come back with a retort. Everything that came to mind was most inappropriate. Dancer spoke most languages he did. And understood cursing in all of them. He dropped his eyes and sat down on the couch.

April could feel the misery pouring out of him. She changed gears entirely and went to sit beside him. Half expecting to be rebuffed, she laid a tentative hand on his arm.

“Don’t be angry with Napoleon, Illya. He just doesn’t understand not wanting to go out with a beautiful girl every night. That’s what he does, and has always done.”

“I know this.” Suddenly tired beyond all reason, he wished she’d go away. He wished she’d take her hand away. But April was becoming too good a friend to risk losing with some stupid show of temper. Above all, he wished she knew what her casual touching did to his insides. “But I have told him many times, that I do not share his propensity for casual sex.”

April blinked in surprise. For the Russian to even admit there was such a thing was extraordinary.

He sighed again. “What did you come for, Miss Dancer? How may I help you?”

“For heaven’s sake, Illya! Please call me April. Aren’t we friends?”

To her utter delight, his warm hand covered her own. This was a first. A lovely tingle spread from her hand up her arm. “I should like to think so, yes, April.”

“So should I, Illya darling. So should I. I wouldn’t break down just any old door, you know. And I do apologize.”

“Which brings me back to my original question. What am I going to tell Waverly this time? And what do you want with this sorry excuse for a secret agent who does not even try to live up to the lust filled life he is supposed to have?”

“Well, I’ll pay for the door. And why don’t we go out?”

“You must be joking!” He stared at her in amazement.

“Well, I am sorry, it was just a suggestion, Illya, really!”

“No, no. I mean about the door!”

“I broke it. What I break, I pay for.”

“And my heart, will you pay for that too, if you break it, I mean?” It came out in Russian. This was meant to be a joke. He thoroughly intended to have it come out light-hearted.

He should have known better. The way he felt about this particular girl was something he always tried very hard not to show.

April, not missing a beat, and also not missing the truth behind the words, said with unmistakable sincerity –

“We should both be very careful here, Illya. I’m sure you meant that as a joke, but perhaps we both realize that we cannot afford to become so involved.”

He gave her his most inscrutable look.

Now that I’ve chased you into a corner, she thought, let me tighten the noose.

“However, if you can see fit to behave yourself I think it would be a lovely idea, really. Might get Napoleon off your back. Hmmm? We both enjoy much the same things. Well, what do you say, Illya. Or are you not ready for this modern girl of the seventies?”

He drew up into the classic thinker’s pose, frowned very hard, and took his time answering.

She knew he wanted her to fidget, get flustered – so that’s exactly what she didn’t do. Instead she wandered about picking up books and looking at them. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So, you have proposed that we date. That we flaunt a relationship that doesn’t exist to get Napoleon to stop arranging blind dates for me. You do not lack male partners, Miss Dancer. What is the point for you?”

“I can use the prestige.” Her sultry laugh sent pleasant shivers down his back.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on Illya! Half the girls in this Command would kill to be in the position I find myself in at the moment. Alone with you, in your apartment?” She caught his amazed look. “Don’t tell me you remain unaware of the Illya phenomenon? You are aren’t you! Good heavens, darling! Open those beautiful eyes of yours and watch what happens tomorrow when you walk the halls, OK?”

“Stop it April. That is quite enough.”

“No, it isn’t.” April was getting excited about the entire idea. “And besides the prestige, I actually rather like you! Despite that frown. I think we’d have loads of fun!”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for loads of fun.”

“I’m sorry, but you interrupted me. I mean we could have the kind of quiet fun that appeals to both of us. We could go to museums, art shows, movies, have picnics, go for walks. That sort of fun. You haven’t answered my proposal yet Mr. Kuryakin. What say you?”

Before he could answer, she was off again.

“And just think of the stir at work? Gracious! We’d be the hit of the season!”

“April…”

“And …”

“APRIL!”

“Yes?”

“Alright.”

“Alright? You mean you’ll do it?”

“Define, ‘behave myself’ please.”

Ooops, now it was her turn in the corner.

“You know very well what I mean.”

“My interpretation of ‘behaving myself’ may be quite different from yours.” Now he had her squirming, and was quite pleased with himself. He could, in fact, take it a bit farther. As she stood, nonplussed at this unforeseen turn, he quickly considered the benefits from his private point of view.

If I can learn to control myself with her, to erect a wall against the pull she exerts, I will grow stronger. Imagine the look on Napoleon’s face! Imagine the look on Mark’s! He stood and walked over to where she was, back turned to him.

“For instance, April, am I allowed to do this?” He turned her gently around to face him, tipped her head back and kissed her lightly.

“Mmmm. On occasion. But never this.” She kissed him back. This was no simple kiss. Her mouth parted under his, her hands caressed his jaw line. He kept his prudently by his sides. By the time the kiss ended, both pulses were racing, April’s knees were weakening, and Illya was wondering if he should have started this at all.

“I believe I understand. Very well then, Miss Dancer I accept your proposal and your challenge.” He stepped away from her.

“Just a minute Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin! Aren’t you going to kiss me back?”

He shook his head.

“I am really very disappointed, Illya. To see you, of all people, walk away from a challenge.” She closed the gap.

“Oh, very well.” He dropped his guard entirely and assaulted her mouth with his. By the time he was done, she was limp in his arms. He could have done anything with her he wanted. But he chose to pick her up and carry her to the couch, depositing her there from about two feet up. She bounced twice.

“Are you satisfied now April Dancer? Have I defined my limits?”

A very small “Oh.” escaped her. She shook herself all over. Her first inclination was to be angry. Above all, April hated to lose control. But she couldn’t very well do that. She’d started this game. He’d finished it.

“I suppose I deserved that, Illya. I understand a little better now, thank you.”

“April, let me apologize. And let us forget all about this small battle of wills. It should come as little surprise that I find you attractive. Very few men wouldn’t. However, I need your friendship more than I need….”

“I understand, Illya. And it’s really my place to apologize. Still….I don’t regret knowing what a real kiss from you feels like. It sort of confirms my suspicion.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You really are a devastating lover, aren’t you?”

“April, please! Don’t you know when to stop?”

“I used to know how. Now, I’m…”

“Well, please rediscover that particular talent.”

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

“As far as I know.”

“How does eight-ish sound?”

“Like a challenge.”

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

“You know, you look smashing in black. It suits you.”

“Should I be complimented, or take offense?”

“Mmmm. Flattered, I should say. Well?” April did a graceful pirouette. “What do you think?”

“Very bold of a redhead to wear red. There should be more of it.” Her hair was not red, rather a dark auburn with reddish highlights. She looked smashing.

“More dress and less me? Thanks a lot.”

“Excuse me April. I think I should like to start again.” He stepped out of the door, closed it and knocked softly. This time he picked up the roses he’d left in the hall. Unsure what she had planned, or if he was supposed to have picked where to go – unsure about everything, he decided the roses were appropriate after all. Now he was happy that he’d been penny conscious for the last year. The way she was dressed deserved a restaurant several cuts above the ones he usually patronized.

“Good evening, April Dancer. You look particularly lovely tonight.” He bowed and presented the bouquet.

“Illya, how very sweet! Please do come in.” She was hard put to hide her amusement.

He had never been in her apartment before. She had always come upstairs to Mark’s place during the first months of their acquaintance. Mark had mentioned more than once that he thought she did this in order to – what was the word? – mooch? Illya had found this amusing and very much in character for the girl. Now he looked with interest at the delicate shades and soft fabrics that dominated her décor. So thoroughly feminine, inviting. Not frilly, just feminine.

“You approve?” She said with her face still buried in the roses.

“Very much so.”

“Illya…. Would you like to take a look in my closet?”

“I beg your pardon? Oh! The dress. April please forget that. You look wonderful. Ah, do you have any preference for dinner?”

“We were rather vague last night, weren’t we?”

“There is little about last night that could be construed as vague, as far as I’m concerned. Just answer the question.”

“What’s within walking distance that you like, Illya?” She deliberately ignored the reference to the physical aspects of last night.

“I have never been in the finer places in this area. You asked me out, remember? This is your choice. Next time it will be mine.” Since she’d decided to be difficult, he’d forego steering this evening.

“So this is my treat, is it?”

“You asked me out didn’t you?”

“Adolpho’s it is then.”

“In that dress?” Adolpho’s was a cheap Italian dive. He ate there frequently.

“We’ll make a scene, Dahlink. It’ll be fun.”

“And inexpensive.”

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

They ate too much. They drank too much cheap red wine. Illya bought the wine, and left the tip.

Their conversation had deepened, commensurate with the number of bottles he had the waiter bring. By the time they hit the street, both were feeling no pain. The language flowed between English and Russian. Arm in arm, at 11pm, they swayed down the sidewalk towards her apartment.

“Yoou know, its late, comrade Illya. Still I think, you should come in for a cuppa.”

“Please do not call me comrade. Even in Russia, the term is going out of favor. And I think I should say goodnight now April Marie.”

“Nooo. Come in, I say! When it’s your turn, you decide when to call it a night. Right now, I need to talk to you.”

He peered dubiously into her flushed face. “We have been talking for three hours straight, milaya.”

“I like that.”

“You like what?”

“You calling me milaya. I’m off tomorrow. You don’t have to go in either, do you?”

“Not unless something happens, no.”

“Then get in here. Take your shoes off, and get comfortable. I’m going to get out of this dress.”

Her next move would define the flavor of this relationship. If she’d meant what she said, then she would come out in loose, comfortable, solid clothing. If this whole thing were some kind of elaborate ‘April-trap’, it would be, um, apparent.

To his relief, she came out in the former. Big furry slippers on the tiny feet, jeans, and a sweatshirt. He took off his hated tie, and unbuttoned the top three buttons, sighing in relief. Off came the shoes, and he sank into the soft couch, putting his feet up on one of the two ottomans in front of the couch.

She curled up in the other corner, and gazed at him approvingly.

“You look more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Two bottles of wine tend to relax a person.”

“Well, we shared them, Illya.”

“No, we consumed four between the two of us. This isn’t very wise, is it?”

“Everybody needs to relax once in awhile, Luv. Even you. Now, does Napoleon know where you are tonight?”

She regretted the question as soon as it was voiced. They’d talked books, movies, a little bit of shop, but mostly about places they enjoyed being. She’d gotten some intriguing glimpses of his past, but just glimpses. She’d gotten him to come in despite his better judgement. Now the frown, that had been absent the entire evening, appeared, once again, on the handsome face.

“He does not. Does Mark know you are with me?”

“No. But I don’t think Mark would mind, do you?”

“I cannot answer that. If this causes any problems between the two of you, I think we should call the entire thing off. Mark is a friend. One I would hate to lose.”

“Illya, darling. Mark and I are friends too, and nothing more. Good heavens, he goes out with almost as many different women as Napoleon does. No, the whole point here is to be friends. Mark is like a big brother. Napoleon, although he’s asked me out as a matter of course, takes my refusals with good grace.”

“And you, Miss Dancer? Is there hidden romance in your busy life?”

“Here and there. I have my moments. And you, Luv? Do you ever indulge in such things?”

Illya closed his eyes, laying his head back against the cushions. “Occasionally.”

“Do I know any of them?”

“No. And do not pry. It is impolite.”

“Would you care for a nightcap?”

“If it can be coffee, yes.” Slowly, over the last six months, he’d come to prefer the American beverage over the traditional tea of his childhood. When he felt decadent, he added lots of sugar and chocolate syrup and whipped cream.

“It can be, yes. Do you want an Illya-special?”

He thought about all the wine and rich food they’d consumed this evening.

“Just black.”

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

“Mr. Kuryakin!”

“Sensei!”

Head pounding, Illya stepped forward and took a defensive stance.

He had forgotten this afternoon’s class. Last night’s overindulgences were still making themselves felt.

Illya’s opponent, a big man of mixed heritage, had almost a foot height advantage and about 80 pounds.

The problem was, Illya knew how to fall too well. Never yet had he been hurt when thrown against the mat, against the wall, over his attacker’s head once and into the students seated on the mats. Master Ngasai used him far too often, to Illya’s liking, to demonstrate this talent.

Today, with his head full of tiny people with sledgehammers, Illya wasn’t sure he wanted to take the normal pounding.

Master Ngasai watched the minute repositioning of his smaller student’s feet and smiled inwardly. So, finally, the Russian was going to show them something other than how well he hit the floor. Excellent. He had superb balance, and was filling out nicely. Ngasai had always wondered what Alexander Waverly-san was doing, putting one so young into the field. Ah well, getting hold of a younger student had its advantages. Kuryakin had hidden his true abilities for far too long. Now they would see.

Kuryakin’s opponent, smiling humorlessly, had not noticed the shift of balance, and came forward confidently, reaching out to do the usual – throw the Russian over his shoulder.

Instead he found himself flying through the air. Not as far as he would have thrown the small man, but with enough force to knock the breath out of him when he landed. He got up gasping for air and turned to face the Russian once more.

And again hit the mat.

A sharp clap signaled the end of the lesson.

The students rose. The two center stage bowed towards each other and then the Master, and took their place in the ranks.

“Sit!” Barked the teacher. Thirty backsides hit the floor with a muffled slap.

“Mr. Hirosaki. You failed to notice the shift in your opponent’s ready stance. This can be a fatal mistake. Above all, you must never fail to assess each move of the opposition. Never underestimate, always observe. Dismissed.”

Thirty people stood and bowed.

“Mr. Kuryakin!”

Illya halted in his tracks. “Sensei!”

“I wish to see you in my office immediately.”

“You think you have been very clever, Mr. Kuryakin.” It was not a question, and Illya knew better than to speak.

“I have observed you closely from the first day you were assigned to my class. You slow your reactions. You affect a clumsiness that is far from reality. Even your walk gives you away to one trained to see the truth. Do you think me a fool?”

“No, Sensei.”

“Why then? Speak freely, please.”

“It has served me well to hide from my opponents, Sensei. They expect an easy win.”

“I see. Mr. Kuryakin, it is good to practice such deception in the field. Here, in my dojo, my purpose is to teach. From now on, I want you to perform on the mat to the utmost of your ability.” The Master’s eyes narrowed as he observed the expressionless face, and wondered for the hundredth time just where Kuryakin had studied before coming to the Command.

Master Ngasai had already had a talk with Mr. Solo. He’d suggested that Mr. Kuryakin be allowed to attend sessions whenever possible. Napoleon, somewhat mystified, had agreed to speak to his partner about it.

Allowed. As if he were Illya’s keeper.

Now, head pounding, Illya made his way to the shower room.

The hot water felt marvelous. He would never get enough of it. He would never get over the sensual thrill of a full hot shower. After ten minutes, he reluctantly shut off the water and reached for the towel hanging on the hook outside the stall.

“I thought that was you. Where were you last night?”

“Napoleon? What on earth are you doing here on Saturday afternoon?”

“Looking for you,” Napoleon said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Actually, he’d been rather alarmed. He had tried to raise Illya on the phone, twice. He didn’t dare use the silver pen, because it wasn’t business. It was worry – and curiosity. Always, until last night, his partner had let him know where he was, or where he was going if stepping out of the apartment. Napoleon was damned glad he’d remembered the Saturday afternoon classes, before asking Waverly.

This habit of Kuryakin’s had annoyed him immensely. Always, Illya called at the most inappropriate moment, as if he knew… Last night, though, had shaken him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

“We have been called?” Illya looked accusingly at his own silver pen, lying on the bench. Had he missed the call?

“No. I was….ah, just wondering where you were, is all.”

“I was out. Now I’m here. And now I’m going to go home. Excuse me.” Grabbing clothes and shoes, he ducked back behind the curtain to dress.

“You up to working on that last report this afternoon?” Napoleon raised his voice unnecessarily. “Waverly wants the expenditures put into perspective.”

“Two suits of clothes, a car, a helicopter and two potted plants? What’s so unusual about that?” Illya came out still toweling his hair dry. “Can’t it wait another 24 hours?”

Now Napoleon was worried again. His partner? Paperwork unfinished and he wants to wait? “Are you all right, Illya?”

“I have a headache, is all. And I just took another pounding in Ngasai’s class. Hence my question.”

“It can wait. Ah, I am going out with Donna from Section VI tonight.”

“The little blonde with the soft voice?”

“You got it. I was wondering…”

“No.”

They had been through this so many times since returning from that assignment in East Germany last year. Napoleon was bound and determined to get his partner out socially. They’d hit another lull in activity. An entire five days of office work, and target practice; judo, karate and flirting with the staff (on Napoleon’s part anyway).

“It’s Saturday night Illya. Donna’s friend is about her own size, dark haired, intelligent, or so Donna says. We’re going to dinner and then to a movie, not dancing like the last time.”

“Napoleon…” Illya stopped, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. His friend wasn’t doing this to annoy him. Napoleon without a date on a free Saturday night would be an abomination. Against the laws of nature, really. And he really wanted his partner to start enjoying himself. It was very hard to convince the naturally outgoing Solo that the blind-date business was very uncomfortable. “No. Thank you, but no. I have a paper to finish.”

“You always have something to finish. Well OK. But one of these days I’ll quit asking.”

“No, you won’t.” Illya gave one of his rare smiles.

“Want to get some coffee before you go home then?” An answering smile split Napoleon’s handsome face.

Napoleon followed Illya down the hall toward the elevator. Curiosity ate into his patience. He’d asked a direct question and gotten an evasive answer. Where were you? And why do I care? You’re a grown man. We’re not on assignment. So why did I feel lost when I couldn’t reach you last night? Because you always let me know. Because you never go out. Because….damn.

“Napoleon, are you coming?”

The elevator door stood open, Illya’s hand holding it for him.

“Just thinking, tovarish. I do that every now and then.”

“You seem upset, Napoleon. Is there something wrong?”

“Tomorrow night is the reception for the Balinese head of State. We’re supposed to attend. I was just wondering…”

“I will be there.”

“Alone?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

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

“I’d love to. Why don’t you bring your work over here, and help me decide what to wear?”

“I would think you are perfectly capable of choosing an outfit, April.”

“Yes, I am. OK, you ruthless Russian. What if I told you I’d just like to see you.”

“I would say, fine, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

She hung up smiling. Oh, she had something to wear, alright. But she wanted to show it to him first. If he came to pick her up just before the reception, and saw the dress, he might change his mind about accompanying her. And that, friends, would be a pity.

“You can work there at the dining table. I’ll go change into my dress in a few minutes. Would you care for a drink?”

“Water will suffice tonight April. I really do have to try and finish this term paper.”

After getting the beverage she retired to the bedroom. It took her forever to change. A very un-April like long time. Illya began to wonder just what she was doing in there. His paper on comparative religion sat before him. An interesting subject. A most unusual subject for him. He couldn’t bring himself to delve into it just yet. Anticipation filled the air. It must be something outrageous, he thought. She’s giving me a chance to back out or demand she wear something else.

The door finally opened.

“Bozhe moi!” It was all he could say for the first few seconds. She looked stunning. A full length white silk dress, sleeveless, sling neck. She’d put her hair up into a soft, curled confection of gleaming auburn studded with what looked to be diamonds, but of course were not. Then she moved.

The dress moved with her like a poem. Slit up to an almost illegal height on one side. She turned. The back was almost non-existent, plunging down past her waist.

“Well?” She turned to face him again.

“It is exquisite! That is the sexiest dress I have ever seen, Miss Dancer.”

“You do like it!”

“What is not to like?” He realized he was falling out of character here. But she was so damned alluring. And in that dress! My God! There was no way he could hide his admiration. “Walk for me, turn for me.”

Thoroughly surprised and delighted, she did just that.

“Absolutely stunning! You realize, don’t you, that you will sweep every man off his feet?”

“I’m counting on it. But I’ll be with you, Illya. You will dance with me, won’t you? Come on! Stand up! Come over here, please.”

“Now what? Must I approve of your perfume? If it goes with that dress, I’m sure it’s devastating?”

April Dancer left little to chance. And oh Lord would tomorrow night be fun! She needed to know if he would be comfortable dancing with her.

“You want to know if I have two left feet?” He had briefly toyed with the idea of stepping all over her feet, being extremely clumsy. He’d done that the last time he was forced out onto the dance floor. But no, she deserved better than that.

Still, as they began to dance he was stiff and uncomfortable. Way too much Dancer and not enough dress. A few drinks tomorrow night then.

The door bell rang, ending the session.

“Good evening April, Luv. Wow! Dressed to kill, no weapons required! Who’s the lucky bloke….Illya!” Mark’s astonishment was plain to see.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Slate.” April’s smile was her sunniest.

“Privyet Mark. Kak dyela?” (Hi, how are you?) Uncomfortable for many reasons, Illya slipped into Russian. It was a common occurrence, and Slate didn’t fail to notice the color rising.

“You two going to the soiree tomorrow then? Smashing! And the lovely lady is going to wear that dress, is she? Ooooh boy! I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“You have someone special to bring, Mr. Slate?” April asked.

“Well, yes. But somehow I think you two will steal my thunder. Remember the redheaded Amazon I’ve mentioned Illya?”

“Ah, no, not at the moment.”

“Star of stage and screen, Miss Amanda Pryce-Wilkes. Legs up to here, and ….”

“I remember, Mark. You’ve rhapsodized about her constantly since last week.” April said, forestalling the entire inventory of the lady’s oh so obvious charms.

“Yes, well, sorry old girl. Anyway, she’s agreed to come with me. What with Napoleon coming with that chanteuse with the velvet voice and the huge breasts…”

“Mark, must you always give an entire rundown?”

“Ooops again, Luv. Now, as I was trying to say, April Dancer, partner and friend, you, arriving with our mutual friend here, will take all the wind out of two inflated sails! Capital! Anything to drink for a thirsty Tar?”

“Aren’t you late for something, Mark?” April rather wished he’d disappear.

“Not at all, my lovely! At the risk of being a complete cad, I’m inviting myself to stay. And raiding your liquor cabinet to boot. How about you, Illya? Drink?” Mark sauntered over to the cabinet, took out three tumblers and held up a bottle of brandy for April’s approval.

Gathering his papers back into the briefcase, and closing his books, Illya resigned himself to a most unusual evening.

At the close of it, Mark offered him a ride home.

April, having had two refills, did not stand on ceremony and kissed them both good night. As the door closed behind her two friends, she compared the two kisses. Mark’s like a brother would kiss a sister, and Illya’s, despite being brief, lingered on her lips. She shook herself all over, and wondered how long they would be able to keep the charade up.

“Illya, if you don’t mind me asking, how are you fixed for tomorrow?”

From anyone else, that would have triggered an icy silence. Mark was a good friend and understood about personal budgets. But something extraordinary had recently come his way, and he was well prepared. Except now that he’d seen April in that dress – things might have to change.

“I could use some extra fortitude. Other than that, I am set.” Illya looked over at the Brit. Mark’s slow, lazy smile appeared, and the tension went out of the Russian.

“Know exactly what you mean, old man. She is something, isn’t she?”

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

They entered fashionably late. At April’s insistence.

Illya, who had gone shopping on Sunday afternoon at Nieman Marcus, chose a black on black tux and white silk shirt with a most untraditional round, high-buttoned collar. When Miss Dancer opened the door of her apartment, it was her turn to gasp in appreciation. She then delayed their departure for a full half hour, as Illya paced and glanced endlessly at his watch.

“We’ll make quite a stir in all quarters, Mr Kuryakin.” She teased him at the entrance to the Hilton.

“If we’re not thrown out or arrested. I have no tie, and you have on half a dress.” His good mood had rapidly evaporated. He hated being late, and especially hated making a scene.

The doors to the grand ballroom opened. It was the usual high society political bash. Unusual only for its high concentration of Enforcement agents. A twelve piece band played unobtrusive before dinner music. Elegantly dressed people milled about. The Balinese head of State was already seated at the head table. Dinner was imminent.

Napoleon Solo, seated at a table about half way between the huge double doors and the center, sat looking over the clusters of men in tuxes and ladies in formal dress. He was beginning to think his partner had ducked out of this one after all. But no, that could not be. They were here as unobtrusive security for the political big-wigs assembled in this room, as well as for Alexander Waverly, here tonight with his wife. An extremely rare occurrence. Mrs. Waverly, he knew, did not enjoy this kind of thing as a rule.

Napoleon’s lady of the evening was in the powder room, putting the finishing touches on an already perfect face. Angelica Wilder. She of the smooth, smoky voice and a body so stunning, she actually stood out even in this crowd. Mark Slate, with Amanda, sat at Solo’s left. The two chairs at his right were empty.

There was a distinct lull in conversation as heads turned in the direction of the entrance. Napoleon stood to peer in that direction. His eyes widened as he took in the vision of April Dancer, just being divested of her evening wrap, accompanied by none other than Illya Kuryakin. But Solo actually had to do a double take to make sure his eyes had reported reliable information.

The Maitre ‘de was in somewhat of a quandary. The young gentleman had no tie. But he was so elegant in appearance that to make a scene would seem inappropriate also. And the young lady! No. Dress codes be damned. These two were a vision to be enjoyed. And perhaps, he thought fuzzily, they are unannounced royalty. Finally, head held high, he led them to the table the young man had indicated. Heads turned as they strolled by. Gasps were audible as the young lady passed.

Alexander Waverly, sitting one table away from the head table, stood up himself. Propelled out of his chair by some sense of approaching fate, he excused himself to Alice and went forward to meet the glorious pair.

“A most pleasant surprise, Mr. Kuryakin, Miss Dancer. And you seem to have….what is the expression? Ah, made a scene. Not quite in order for tonight. However,” Alexander beamed at April Dancer, “I will forgive the faux paux. You, my dear, look lovelier than ever. And Mr. Kuryakin, a most elegant fashion statement, I must say.”

Extremely uncomfortable, Illya could only say good evening. April glowed with pleasure, and sat in the hastily pulled out chair with the grace of a true princess.

As Illya took his seat next to Napoleon, the usually facile Solo finally found his voice. In a quiet aside to Illya –

“You could at least have warned me.”

“I did not know until last night.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“What?”

“Never mind, have some champagne. You look discomfited.”

Only Napoleon could have noticed. Illya took the proffered glass, remembered his manners at the last second, and handed it to April. Who promptly offered him the first drink. It was a thoroughly intimate thing to do. It spoke volumes about their supposed relationship. Illya groaned internally, and wished she’d take things a bit slower. But he was being urged to swallow the entire glass of champagne, and managed without spilling.

April caught his gaze with hers. Something passed between them. He relaxed visibly, and she smiled delightfully. More champagne was brought. Glasses were filled and emptied. By the time dinner was over, Illya was completely at ease if light headed.

Angelica Wilder, after a cool appraisal of her competition, made an all-out effort not only to secure Napoleon’s attention, which she got, but Illya’s, which she did not.

Amanda Pryce-Wilkes was a different story altogether. Despite her stunning beauty, she was delightfully human and open. She paid just the right amount of attention to all members at the table. April found herself liking this one. But this was truly April’s night. And she made sure her companion was lavished with looks and caresses, and whispered comments. She even got a few smiles out of him.

When the orchestra was replaced by a dance combo the table emptied quickly.

As the combo launched into a slow number, Illya took April’s hand and led her onto the dance floor. His warm hand found the silk of her waist. He pulled her close. April forgot any and all plans she’d had for the rest of the evening, and concentrated instead on keeping her breathing slow and steady. They moved like a dream.

Two numbers played through. A tap on Illya’s shoulder broke the haze that had settled over his mind.

“I wonder if I might dance with the lovely Miss Dancer?” Alexander Waverly said.

“By all means, Sir.”

“Delighted I’m sure.” April purred. A chance to calm down would be welcome. Lord, I never guessed what prolonged contact with that Russian would mean to a poor, simple, defenseless female like me.

Alexander was known for his smooth style. He did hold her at arms length, though. More perhaps because his wife was in attendance than out of preference.

Illya made his way back to his table and his refreshed drink. Still standing, he surveyed the crowd. There was Napoleon with the gorgeous Miss Wilder. Mark and Amanda were nowhere to be seen.

Peering around, he noticed Alice Waverly sitting at a table alone. Manners dictated that he approach her and ask her to dance. She would refuse, of course. Mrs. Waverly did not dance.

“Good evening, Madam. Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. Would you do me the honor of a dance?” Stiff and formal, he bowed before the impeccably dressed and coifed, pleasant looking, plump lady-wife of his Chief.

To his surprise, the lady gave him her hand and said yes.

Alice Maude Waverly knew much about her husband’s position. Not many specifics, to be sure, but she had a good understanding of the type of problems facing her husband on a daily basis.

She was well aware of the identity of the young male now leading her onto the dance floor. Although she had never seen a picture, nor met him before, she knew this had to be the young Russian Alexander was so excited about. She knew that from the way his eyes followed Illya and April’s progress though the dining hall. Looks like the one he gave the young man were usually reserved for his family. His grandson to be specific.

“You must forgive me Illya Nickovetch, I am sorely out of practice.”

“I would not have thought so, Madam.”

“You are kind. And an excellent lead. Still, I fear for your feet.”

“Groundless, I am sure.” Illya liked her. She looked directly into his eyes with her hazel-gray ones as she spoke to him. There was an honesty and a fearlessness in that gaze. The music ended, and he escorted her back to her seat.

“Please take a seat young man. Alexander has mentioned your name to me in passing. I wonder if you would enjoy coming to dinner some evening? Bring the lovely lady if you would.”

“Madam is most kind. However, our work schedules are often erratic.” Illya was uncomfortable with this. Surely Alexander would not appreciate his agents joining him at his own table.

“I will not take that as a refusal, Mr. Kuryakin. And Alex can indicate when you are available.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Do I detect a dinner invitation, my dear?” Alexander Waverly stood directly behind Illya. “No, please stay seated Mr. Kuryakin. I have brought Miss Dancer over as well. Now, Alice, was I correct?”

“Of course Alex. Such a charming young man, this one.”

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