The Cat Burglar Affair - The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (M)

[Bruyere]

Title: The Cat Burglar Affair

Pairings: None

Rating: G

Word count: 3,560

Warnings: None

Notes: This got stuck in my head after seeing the film for a second time last weekend. Seeing a version of MFU in which I was more attracted to Napoleon Solo than Illya Kuryakin definitely did not result in some sort of fundamental identity crisis which I am resolving through writing fic. At all. But if it had, it might look something like this.

Divided into Acts as a nod to the original show.

Summary: They both dive under the bed and Gaby only just manages to stifle a surprised yelp as her leg brushes against something furry and a white fluffy cat gives an indignant yowl and shoots out the other end of the bed.

"Etsheuhh! Hetscheuhh! We might have a problem," he says, delicately understated and eases a handkerchief out of his pocket as he crawls under the bed on his stomach. Gaby groans.

Act One

Gaby wonders if Illya and Napoleon also feel like naughty school children sat in Waverly's office. Solo, she assumes will have had more experience in this sort of thing and he looks as calm as ever. She sneaks a glance at Illya and then blushes when they catch each other's eyes and she looks down at the floor. When she risks looking up at him again Illya is staring out of the window, his face as enigmatically blank as ever.

"Good morning," says Waverly as he enters with far too much enthusiasm for the early hour of the morning. "I do apologise for the delay, please Kuryakin, take a seat." Illya looks as though he wants to argue but Waverly is hovering awkwardly above his own chair and doesn’t sit until Illya does. He looks uncomfortable in the chair, unable to stretch out and Gaby wonders if that was the point. Waverly slides a file across to her and she opens it.

“Right, it’s a simple enough job, in Nice too, so you should all get to enjoy the sunshine again. There’s a painting we would like you to steal from a Mme DuPont. Thoroughly unpleasant character. Once you have the painting you will deliver it to our man on the ground there."

Illya nods at the grainy photo of a Van Gogh, and the clippings indicating it had been stolen during the war. "One of yours, Cowboy?

"No but I did wonder where it had gone. What are you planning on doing with the painting once we've acquired it?"

Waverly smiles blandly. "It's to be used in some rather delicate negotiations with Madame DuPont."

"You want us to steal her painting and then you're planning to blackmail her with it," she says.

“Yes.” The smile never falters on Waverly's face. “It seems despite all she’s done it seems Mme DuPont has a heart and this painting holds a special place in it.”

Napoleon raises an eyebrow and takes the file from Gaby and flicks through it frowning. "It's a simple enough wall safe." He clears his throat and shrugs apologetically at Gaby and Illya. "This doesn't need a team of three."

"Ah, yes. Well there have been some issues with surveillance. It appears that Mme DuPont is somewhat of a recluse. Your best bet of getting in and out without being seen is her weekly and may I add, incredibly brief visit to the market."

"How brief?" asks Napoleon.

"You'll have ten minutes if you're lucky, five if you're not."

Napoleon nods. "Tight but doable."

"Glad we have your approval Mr Solo. You're all on the 4 o'clock flight out." Waverly stands and doesn’t actually say ‘dismissed’ but the effect is the same.

Outside Waverly’s office Napoleon beams, sunshine and theft, Gaby supposes this is his dream job, he certainly looks like the cat who got the cream.

Act Two

Napoleon picks the lock to the apartment easily enough. The grand double doors creak as they open inwards onto a lavish apartment.

Napoleon makes his way left and checks the bedroom and bathroom before doubling back to the safe as Gaby checks the rest of the apartment. The apartment is one long rectangle with the kitchen at the far end to the bedroom. It would have been an elegant apartment with beautiful wooden floors and sweeping high ceilings if it wasn't for all the stuff in it. To Gaby's untrained eye it looks like junk but from the way Napoleon glances at some of the pieces there must be some that are worth something. Most of the windows are shuttered or have the heavy swag curtains half-drawn across them giving the whole apartment a gloomy and stifling air.

Gaby makes her way to the bedroom window, staying carefully hidden from view of the balcony which has no curtains covering it and which provides most of the light for the apartment. She would rather be at the safe with Napoleon; safe-cracking seems to Gaby to be mostly a matter of mechanics but Napoleon maintains there is artistry to it as well and if she's going to learn it should be from the best in the business. Still, she takes up her position as agreed and tugs lightly at the curtain twice, their agreed signal so that Illya knows they’re in place.

“Sixty seconds,” she calls out to Napoleon who has already taken the picture off the wall, set it down against the floor and exposed the wall safe. He has one earbud in and a listening device placed against the lock. He so rarely looks serious about anything that it’s surprising to see the look of concentration on his face. He sniffs sharply then directs a sneeze towards his elbow. “Het-cheuhh!”

“Bless you,” she says but as Napoleon doesn’t comment on it further she goes back to watching the street below. If all goes well, then they’ll be making their exit out into the busy street below in a few minutes with the painting neatly folded underneath Napoleon’s jacket.

Her attention is drawn back to Napoleon when he sneezes again a few moments later. “Etscheuhh!”

“Bless you! Are you all right?” He ignores her again in favour of concentrating on the safe. He smiles and she guesses the final cylinder must have just fallen into place as she says, “Ninety seconds.”

She blinks as light flashes across her face. A long burst and then two short flashes. She glances down at the street and sure enough, there’s their target, already making her way back along the street.

“Napoleon, she’s already on her way back. We’ve got two and a half minutes to get out of here.”

They’d been counting on her being gone for at least another three minutes to get in and out cleanly. Napoleon nods, sniffs again, runs his fingers along the top and sides of the safe and then opens it and swears.

“What?” asks Gaby sharply, distracted from the view below; for an old lady their mark is making good progress down the crowded street.

Napoleon is rifling through the safe. “It’s not here.”

“What?”

“It’s not here.” He’s searching through manila files and there’s a jewel pouch in his hands. “She’s up to her neck in this. No painting though.”

All their intelligence had told them it would be here. There’s no back-up plan for this. Napoleon empties the jewel pouch into his palm. Some small diamonds, a couple of emeralds, an opal and a large ruby sparkle in the sunlight. Gaby’s eyes widen. Napoleon picks the ruby up and holds it to the light.

“Can we use these instead?” she asks.

“No, they’re nice enough stones but they’re here as currency, easier to travel with than bonds. And you heard Waverly, she’s a sentimentalist. It’s got to be the painting.” He tips the jewels back into the pouch and places them back in the safe.

“But if we have whatever’s in the folders?” She knows time is getting away from them.

Napoleon shakes his head. “She’s been in this game long enough that she’ll only give us what we want if we have something to offer her.” He looks around the bedroom thoughtfully. “It’s here, I know it.”

“We don’t have time for hunches.”

He closes the safe and hangs the picture back on the wall over it. The balance is off and it hangs crooked, she’s about to comment on it when Napoleon swears under his breath and pulls the picture off the wall again and flips it over.

“Napoleon, we need to leave. Now.”

He pulls a knife out of his pocket and cuts at the paper covering the back of the picture. “Smart lady,” he mutters and then pulls a canvas out. “Got it,” he says and grins at her before slipping the painting into the protective slip and into his pocket. “Hkk’tchuhh!Huheshuhh! Damnit.”

It’s the first time he’s acknowledged whatever it is that’s been bothering him since they’ve entered the apartment but there’s no time to question him further. Gaby moves back to the window, there’s no sign of Mme DuPont on the street. “She’s in the building.”

She glances across at Illya’s position but there’s no way of knowing if he’s still there. Napoleon hangs the painting back on the wall, giving it a final once over to check it’s straight. They move towards the door but there’s already the sound of footsteps approaching along the corridor, high heels clattering over the polished wooden floor and they both double back towards the bedroom and aim for the bed.

“Plan B? You know this wasn’t how I was planning to get under the covers with you Teller.” He grins at her.

“Shut up.”

They both dive under the bed and Gaby only just manages to stifle a surprised yelp as her leg brushes against something furry and a white fluffy cat gives an indignant yowl and shoots out the other end of the bed.

"Etsheuhh! Hetscheuhh! We might have a problem," he says, delicately understated and eases a handkerchief out of his pocket as he crawls under the bed on his stomach. Gaby groans.

"You should have said you were allergic to cats!" she hisses.

"You should have said she had one!" he shoots back.

She puts aside this new nugget of information about Napoleon and the failure of U.N.C.L.E.'s surveillance to provide this information. It's dusty and hot under the bed and Gaby prays that whatever she's brushed her leg against now is dust or cat hair and not cobwebs. She really doesn't want to give their position away because she's startled out of their hiding place by a spider, she'd never live it down.

From their position she can see Mme DuPont bustling into the apartment. She dumps a bag of groceries on the central table then walks over to the drinks cabinet and pours out a large glass of something then makes her way to the kitchen and throws a few ice cubes into it and drains the glass in one. She's cooing in French that Gaby doesn't understand to the cat, which is winding itself around her legs.

“What’s the second part of Plan B?” she asks although she already knows the answer.

“Hope, huh… Mmchh!” He pinches his nose tight beneath the handkerchief and smothers a sneeze following it with a long and shaky exhale.

“Hope we don’t get caught and wait it out?”

Napoleon nods. He hasn’t loosened his grip on the handkerchief.

“Are you going to be alright?”

He’s silent for so long that she’s not sure if he’s fighting the urge to sneeze again or if he’s still considering the question. “I’ll be fine.” The smile he shoots her is a watery imitation of its usual cocksure self and does little to reassure her. He drags the handkerchief roughly beneath his nose which has started running.

The problem is, as Gaby knows, that waiting it out is an incredibly poor option. Their best bet should be to wait for Mme DuPont to fall asleep, or more likely pass out from drinking and Mme DuPont does seem eager to help them in this respect as she refills and drains her glass quickly in succession again but it’s clear from the way Napoleon’s breathing is becoming heavier and noisier that they probably don’t have that long to wait.

The cat trails Mme DuPont from the kitchen back to the drinks cabinet and then turns and fixes them both with a stare. Napoleon shifts nervously as the cat starts to drift towards them both.

“Gaby,” he says alarmed, then sneezes. “ –gt! Heh-Ggtt!” Despite his best efforts he’s unable to silence them completely and as the cat trots closer towards them his eyes fall shut and allergic tears run down his cheeks and his breathing indicates that he’s winding up for a further round of sneezing. They’re still quiet enough that they don’t seem to have attracted Mme DuPont’s attention but it’s clear from the way Napoleon’s chest is rising and falling that they’re not going to stay that way for long.

The cat advances steadily and Gaby has no idea what she’s going to do to get rid of it as Napoleon shudders again with the effort of another repressed sneeze and another few tears spill down his cheeks.

It’s Mme DuPont who comes to their rescue and calls from the kitchen for the cat.

“Milou,” she calls and clicks her tongue a few times. “Viens! Regardes!” She places a small dish of something on the floor and coos over the cat as it returns to the kitchen having decided that for the moment the food is far more interesting that Gaby and Napoleon.

“Mmshh! Mmchh! Sorry! Mshhh! Uh-hehmptcheuhh!” His eyes are red and watery when he opens them and blinks at her. He blots the handkerchief under his nose and swallows uncomfortably. Despite his attempts at stifling they're obviously not going to escape detection for much longer.

There’s a sudden commotion outside, brakes squealing and then the sound of two vehicles slamming together followed immediately by angry shouting. Mme DuPont stops fussing over the cat and makes her way to the balcony, stopping to fix herself another drink first.

“We should go,” Gaby murmurs. Whatever it is that’s happened out on the street, this distraction is their best hope of getting out of there unseen. Napoleon looks ready to argue but she gives him a nudge and starts to push him towards the edge of their hiding space as Mme DuPont makes her way out onto the balcony. Gaby’s heart is thumping loudly in her ears as she creeps out from under the bed and out of the bedroom towards the front door. She follows Napoleon and waits for him to silently open the front door, praying that it doesn’t creak like it had done when they’d entered.

Mme DuPont seems thoroughly entertained by whatever is happening below; from the few French words that Gaby can understand as they’re sneaking out she understands a fight has broken out. Mme DuPont seems to be rooting for the tall one, she's gesticulating enthusiastically with her glass and half the contents slosh onto the balcony terrace.

She slips out of the door following Napoleon and he just has time to nudge her before he stifles another sneeze as a streak of white runs past them. Napoleon has his head buried in his much abused handkerchief and is almost hyperventilating with the urge to sneeze again.

“No, no, no, no,” says Gaby and lunges after the cat. She’s not going to allow this damn cat to ruin everything for them after they’ve got so close. She scoops it up and cradles it tight to her chest to stop it lashing out at her and only receives one scratch along her arm for her troubles. Napoleon gingerly pushes the door open again and Gaby sets the cat down inside the door and pulls it quietly but firmly closed after her. Napoleon pulls out a lock pick and locks it from their side and then leans heavily against the door, swiping the handkerchief under his now rather red nose again.

“Come on,” she says and she half drags him down the corridor. He follows her down the stairs with a heaviness to his step that isn’t usually there. He stops twice on the way down to cough and blow his nose and when she glances back at him he's digging the heel of his hand into his eyes, trying to get rid of the itch. They exit out of the side doors and Gaby takes it as a sign that their luck is turning that there’s an open top car parked on the street next to them.

She hops in and starts pulling the wiring out from under the dash to start the car. “Shall we?” she asks as the car jumps into life.

Napoleon slides into the seat next to her and pitches forward with a sneeze that betrays the full force of the sneezes he’s been holding back. “Etschuuu!” He blows his nose but a desperately sneezy look remains on his face as his eyes drift shut again and his jaw slackens. "Eshuu! Heschuu!"

“Bless you,” she says and passes across her handkerchief. She had been planning to wrap it around her scratched arm but Napoleon’s handkerchief is looking much the worse for wear and it's clear that his need is greater than hers. He accepts it with a tired nod and a slight blush of embarrassment before spreading it between both hands and diving into it.

“Huheshhh! Huheshhuhh!”

“Bless you. Are you alright? Do we need to go to a pharmacy?”

He catches his breath, clears his throat and chuckles. “I’ll be fine. And you really don’t need to keep saying that. I’m probably… Hutchhuhhh! Urgh, probably going to be at this for a little while.”

She nods and returns her attention to driving, trying to give Napoleon as much space as possible in the small car.

Act Three

By the time they’ve made the drop-off to their U.N.C.L.E. contact and circled through town making sure that no-one’s following them, Napoleon has more or less stopped sneezing. The final few that are still sneaking through seem to be more torturous and have him panting and gasping and as often as not disappear as materialise.

When they enter the apartment that the three of them have been sharing as a base for this job Illya is already back and holding a bag of ice against his cheek. The tall one in the fight, Gaby realises.

“Did you forget to check for alarm again Cowboy?” Illya asks and then frowns at their dishevelled appearances, setting the bag of ice down. Gaby looks down and realises both she and Napoleon are covered in dust and cat hair from being under the bed and she has an angry scratch across her forearm courtesy of Milou.

“Huhh, uhh, huhh, huhesshuhh! Eshuhh!”

Illya stares at Napoleon who has slumped against the arm of the couch. Given that he’d been perfectly well when they’d left earlier she supposes the contrast with this red nosed, teary eyed Napoleon must seem startling.

“Is he unwell?” he asks Gaby.

"Mme DuPont has a cat called Milou. Big, white,” she pauses and picks a clump of fur off the hem of her dress, “and fluffy.” Illya looks at her blankly.

"Etcheuh!"

"Napoleon is allergic to cats."

Napoleon glares at them both but it carries less weight than a blow from Milou. His hair, normally perfectly slicked back has worked its way free and a little curl on his forehead bobs every time he sneezes.

“Cats?” repeats Illya clearly doubting that an animal could be responsible for the look of such total misery on their partner’s face.

“A single, damned uhhh, huhhhh, huh…” Napoleon gives an agonised groan as the sneeze dissolves and sniffs hard then spits out the final word with venom, “Cat.” He loosens his tie and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and then starts to take his jacket off. He has one arm out when he sneezes and he doesn’t reach his handkerchief in time, instead smothering it against his shoulder. “Ishhhuuu!”

Illya takes pity on him and helps him out of his jacket and presses a clean handkerchief into his hands. “You should take a shower, it will help.”

Napoleon nods as he blows his nose but doesn’t move from his position, all the energy having drained out of him. Illya mutters something in Russian under his breath and then stalks into the bathroom and the sound of the shower running soon follows.

He returns, hands Gaby a first aid kit. "You need to clean that up," he says and nods at the scratch on her arm, "I will deal with him," he says in a lower voice and nods towards Napoleon.

"I'm fine, Peril," Napoleon says irritably but his voice is rough and congested and he doesn't argue when Illya places a firm hand on his shoulder and guides him gently towards the bathroom.

"Leave your clothes outside and we will have them dry-cleaned," he adds to Napoleon.

Gaby makes her way to the kitchen with a sigh and settling herself at the table, starts to clean the scratch on her arm.

Act Four

She feels much better after she’s showered and changed. Napoleon is stretched out on the couch with a damp cloth over his eyes and he lifts it when she enters the room. His hair is drying in little curls and his face is still flushed, nose rubbed red around the edges but his eyes look clearer. He doesn’t quite look put back together, he still looks a way from Napoleon Solo but it’s definitely an improvement.

She settles on the opposite couch next to Illya and accepts the drink he offers her.

“So, cats?” she says.

Napoleon groans. “It’s not been that bad in a long time.” He offers by way of apology.

She and Illya both make tutting noises and Gaby wonders if it’s something she should put in her report.

Illya lets out a soft chuckle and they both look at him. Illya shrugs and says, “There is phrase, I think is most fitting for you Cowboy – ‘cat burglar’.”

Napoleon groans, grabs a cushion and throws it at a grinning Illya as she dissolves into laughter.

Edited September 10, 2015 by Bruyere

[RiversD]

*SCREAMS*

*bubbles happily for some minutes because lack of words*

*deep breath*

I'm so happy you wrote Man from U.N.C.L.E.! (tbh I saw in that prompts post that you were writing allergic Napoleon and I have been quietly hoping for it to materialise ever since, but I didn't think it would be as long, detailed or glorious as this, so.)

*pause for squee*

Okay, okay, I'm fine. I can make with words. Let's just work through this.

- You've done a wonderful, nay, a masterful job of establishing character and relationships in those first few paragraphs in Waverly's office. The relative newness of the team dynamic, varying levels of comfort in the situation, everything like that. That little bit with Illya and enforced sitting was perfection.

-I just really like that you were able to sell me on the characters enough at the start that I felt drawn straight back into the filmverse immediately, and I could just relax with a sense of "ah yes, this fic is in safe hands, bring forth the character-accurate joy."

"One of yours, Cowboy?

"No but I did wonder where it had gone."

It's things like this that make it. I can hear the inflection they'd use and everything.

sunshine and theft, Gaby supposes this is his dream job

See above. xxx

-I love the safe scene combo of Gaby's instinct to bless Solo even mid-safecrack and Solo breaking concentration just long enough to sneeze, then immersing himself in safebreaking again.

-mmmyess for the quick, irritated "Damnit"

-A+ for unforced sneezing-while-hiding scenarios.

- Napoleon's first mid-sentence-stifle under the bed is a moment I would like to take some alone-time with, please.

Napoleon nods. He hasn’t loosened his grip on the handkerchief.

Be still my beating heart.

- I just sat here staring into space for some time because I couldn't find adequate words to describe the way you track Napoleon's inexorable descent from just-about-under-control to the point where he just can't anymore. Especially with the breathing stuff. I am a total sucker for breathing and descriptions of breathing patterns and... good grief.

Like, we go from

Napoleon’s breathing is becoming heavier and noisier

alll the way to

almost hyperventilating with the urge to sneeze again

At which point I depart this mortal plane for a brief time, unable to cope with the nnngmphmn.

-Ah, allergic tears, that thing I always forget that I am super into.

I read this bit

There’s a sudden commotion outside

And was like: "welp, that'll be Illya." He's so dependable where such things are concerned.

Napoleon slides into the seat next to her and pitches forward with a sneeze that betrays the full force of the sneezes he’s been holding back

This is the kind of content I live for.

And you really don’t need to keep saying that. I’m probably… Hutchhuhhh! Urgh, probably going to be at this for a little while.”

I don't care how many fics I find a line like this in, it will always be one of my favourite things. Always.

- I loved the image of them getting back to the flat with Napoleon having lost the will to care about anything, and Illya just being all "what the hell happened to you?"

“A single, damned uhhh, huhhhh, huh…” Napoleon gives an agonised groan as the sneeze dissolves and sniffs hard then spits out the final word with venom, “Cat.” He loosens his tie and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and then starts to take his jacket off. He has one arm out when he sneezes and he doesn’t reach his handkerchief in time, instead smothering it against his shoulder. “Ishhhuuu!”

Everything about this paragraph just makes me want to step into the text and give him a hug. Poor, frustrated baby.

TL:DR - You wrote Man from U.N.C.L.E. and you wrote it well and I'm just so happy that I have spewed words all over this post.

*flings and scarpers*

[Bruyere]

!!!!Oh my god! This is such a lovely comment! Thank you so much! It totally made my day and I'm so glad you liked it and it worked for you.

Everything about this paragraph just makes me want to step into the text and give him a hug. Poor, frustrated baby.

He does need hugging here. Not least because I might not be done torturing him yet?

[RiversD]

Not least because I might not be done torturing him yet?

Better not be.

[Snowydays]

aaaHHH! Sneezy napoleon??? oh god it's wonderful <33 and I completely agree with RiversD up there, took the words right out of my mouth!

[Vongola Undicesimo]

Woah this is great!! I adored this movie and was hoping someone would write a fic. And yes Napoleon needs to suffer more~

[Bruyere]

Not least because I might not be done torturing him yet?

Better not be.

*Steeples fingers* *Plots dastardly things*

aaaHHH! Sneezy napoleon??? oh god it's wonderful <33 and I completely agree with RiversD up there, took the words right out of my mouth!

thank you!

Woah this is great!! I adored this movie and was hoping someone would write a fic. And yes Napoleon needs to suffer more~

Yay, I'm so glad you enjoyed this! I loved the film a stupid amount. It was such ridiculously good fun and had more or less everything I could have hoped for in a reboot film.