The café was a two-story affair on Hamra Street, its ground floor sunk halfway below street level, with three tables on the sidewalk inside a low, ornate iron fence. It was January, but temperate, just a little snap to the afternoon air and a little extra steam to the thick, sweet Turkish coffee. Napoleon caught the waitress's eye indoors and lifted his tiny cup for his second refill.

"You'll be up all night," Hani said mildly. He sat across from Napoleon, leaning comfortably against one side of his chair, his legs stretched out towards the sidewalk, leaving Napoleon the legroom under the table. He looked a bit unfamiliar out of scrubs, wearing tan slacks, a cream turtleneck, and a navy suede sports jacket: much less formal and sterile.

"I know," Napoleon said. "Bless the stuff. That's the idea."

Hani flicked his eyebrows and smiled.

Napoleon chuckled. "Nothing that much fun. We have a stakeout."

"Ah."

Napoleon thanked the waitress as she refilled his coffee cup from a metal pot and watched her descend the steps back into the café.

"So," said Hani, watching him watch her, "everything came out all right?"

Napoleon looked back. "Yes. Well, for us, it did. Roger quit U.N.C.L.E. last month and moved to Alaska."

"Alaska?"

Napoleon shrugged. "Word is he took up ice-fishing. I couldn't figure out if that was a euphemism, or not."

Hani whistled.

Napoleon sipped his coffee. "Three days ago, Amandine Pascal escaped from U.N.C.L.E. Marseille. Westcott shipped out to join the search."

"Ah," said Hani. "But your partner...?"

"No, Slate went with him, poor guy. He seemed happy enough about the assignment, though."

Hani nodded thoughtfully. "But you and Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Couldn't be better."

Hani looked down for a moment and ran a finger along the edge of his saucer. "Do not answer unless you wish to, but... You, ah, have given up... women?"

"Oh, ah..." Napoleon's eyes darted guiltily through the plate glass window to the waitress as she swung her hips to weave through tightly packed tables. "It, um... Well, I'm... It takes time, I think."

"Yes," said Hani. Napoleon wasn't sure if it was an agreement or just an acknowledgement.

He cleared his throat. "He's meticulously one-to-one about it. He doesn't usually get angry, just... keeps a very precise tally. That part's a little... disturbing."

"Mm," said Hani, nodding. "You're lucky he isn't Lebanese."

Napoleon opened his mouth, then decided he was happier not knowing. He sipped. "I'm getting better," he said. "It's--"

Hani shook his head. "There are many kinds of marriages, Napoleon. My father married a Muslim. At the wedding, there were two brawls between the bride and groom's cousins, and my grandmothers became friends comforting each other over the idiocy of their offspring."

"Your family reunions must be a riot."

"We all had Christmas together last month. You have never seen a family scene so idyllic. Less Shafa waving around the Ottoman rifle restoration I gave her." Napoleon smiled. Hani continued, "Every family, every union has its particulars."

"You're a wise man, Hani."

"I wax philosophical when I have caffeine in my system. Forgive me."

"Not at all. We should do this more often."

"Inshallah, my friend. Much better than over a hospital tray."

"Amen to that," said Napoleon.

"Well, Napoleon, it should be champagne or araq, but in light of your duty tonight, coffee will do." Hani lifted his cup. "To your recent marriage, wa kis ukht yalli ma bihibna."

Napoleon nearly spit his coffee across the table. He contented himself to cough into his hand for a minute while Hani laughed.

"You haven't heard that one? You don't drink in Beirut enough. It's traditional."

Napoleon dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "How could you?" he said in mock reproach.

Hani widened his eyes, all innocence. "They're not our sisters."

They drank quietly for a moment. Napoleon finished his coffee and considered another, but decided the world was looking bright and shiny enough--another cup and it might start to shake.

Suddenly, he noticed Hani looking over his shoulder, his cup frozen inches from his lips. "Is that him?" Hani asked.

Napoleon twisted in his seat to see Illya making his way down the sidewalk on the far side of the busy street. "That's Illya," he said. "I told him to meet me here. I'll introduce you."

Hani set down his cup and sat up straight. "I understand," he said seriously.

Napoleon smiled. "No," he said. "You don't."

His partner reached the corner opposite the café and he stood up to wave.

"Illya!"

Leave an LJ Comment

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Fanfiction
East of Sanity