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Miss De Meana

“Flowers?  Somebody sent me a bunch of flowers?”
Napoleon picked up the card attached to the bouquet Illya had handed him, but it gave no indication of the sender, just a hastily scrawled ‘Thank You’.  “Who would send me flowers?”
 “A satisfied customer?” his partner suggested with a teasing smile.
 Napoleon studied them at arm’s length, twisting them around in his fist.  A puzzled frown creased his forehead as he asked, suspiciously, “Who gave them to you?”
  “I was asked not to say.  The person concerned was a little embarrassed.”  The Russian grinned at his friend’s chagrin.  “They won’t explode, Napoleon, they’re perfectly safe.  No hidden devices, no poisonous creepy crawlies.”
 Curious, and determined to discover the identity of the anonymous giver, Solo gave it some thought for a moment, recalling the previous evening’s delightful encounter with the redhead from the typing pool.  “Louise!” he guessed with certitude and a snap of his fingers, positive she had a lot to thank him for after last night.  His friend’s shaggy blond mane shook in denial, as he casually leaned back against the wall.
“Who, then?” Napoleon demanded, irritated by his partner’s refusal to divulge the name of the donor.  But Kuryakin simply shook his head again, folding his arms defensively across his chest with self-satisfaction.
“Tell me who,” Napoleon commanded, annunciating each word in his sternest CEA voice.
“Uh-uh.  She swore me to secrecy.”
“So, it was a female.  Well, that rules out half the population.  C’mon, who was it?”
Illya smiled smugly but made no comment.
Irritated, Solo asked, “Do you want to end up writing all the reports for the next month?”
“It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” the Russian pointed out.
Napoleon’s eyes narrowed as he took an intimidating step closer to his friend.  “Tell me, or I promise, what I’ll do to you will make a night in a Thrush cell feel like a trip to Coney Island.”
 Kuryakin’s chin raised in defiance.  The threat of physical violence meant nothing to him.  “Never.  Pull out my fingernails one by one, wire my genitalia to the mains and pump me full of Pentathol Plus.  I’ll never tell.”
A look of cunning came over Solo’s face as he played his last card.  “How about dinner at Sardis?”
 There was an infinitesimal pause, then the Russian calmly admitted, “It was Tracey Carter, the receptionist at our apartment block.”
 Napoleon grinned.  “Fickle.  If Thrush ever finds out how easy it is to break you...” he warned as he pulled a rose free from the bunch and broke off the long stem before poking it through the buttonhole.  He lifted the lapel to smell the flower, giving a satisfied sigh at the sweet aroma.
 “So,” Kuryakin asked, curiosity getting the better of him, “what did you do to deserve the flowers?”
 “Ah, that would be telling, and a gentleman never discusses his liaisons with a member of the fairer sex.”
 “Being a gentleman never stopped you before,” Illya pointed out.
 Napoleon simply countered by crossing his arms and shaking his head in a smug parody of his friend moments before, thoroughly contented now the boot was firmly placed on the other foot.
 “I see,” Illya muttered, with a hint of peevishness as he recognised the game.
 In truth, Solo had only unblocked her sink for her.  She had stopped him on the way up to his apartment and asked him if he could help her out and, never one to say no to a damsel in distress, he willingly obliged.  Afterwards, over coffee, she’d rejected his habitual advances, despite his offer to show her his ‘plumbing techniques’, but he was hardly going to tell his partner that.  After all, he had a reputation to uphold.  Instead, he settled for a suitably smug smile, getting his gratification from seeing the look of impatient disgust on the Russian’s face as he pushed himself away from the wall and stalked out the office door.
 Napoleon sighed as he took another sniff at the blooms.  He could think of better ways to thank him but, he supposed, flowers were a start.  Maybe he could stop by and see her, on his way home, and offer to check out her u-bend....

     The End