THE CAPTURED BUTTERFLY AFFAIR

 

There was a time, not so long ago, when Napoleon Solo's life belonged to him.  Blessed with good looks and a charming personality, there wasn't any woman he couldn't have.  And he just about had them all!  Most were sophisticated, career women who were only interested in a good time---without strings.  Still, there were those who tried with all their might---and wiles---to pin him down, to domesticate him.

            He gave a laugh as he poured himself another drink while sitting on his balcony, staring out over the city.  He was an international spy and the cold reality was, each day could be his last.  Tomorrow he may be dispatched to the wilds of the African jungle, or to the frozen depths of Siberia.  He would face the enemy and God willing, come out the victor. 

There was the rub.  God wasn't always willing.  There were fields of stone where his colleagues had been laid to rest.  Men and women like him who had pledged their lives to rid the world of evil.  Or, more realistically, to keep the other side from ridding the world of good. 

Pin him down?  Domesticate him?  It would be like pulling the wings off a butterfly.  It may live, but at what cost to its spirit? 

No.  He liked his wings, his freedom, his independence.  His time was his own.

Napoleon looked at his wristwatch.  It was 7:00.  Topping off his glass of wine, he strolled into the comfortable surroundings of his penthouse living room and settled back on his couch to wait.  As he anticipated, the telephone on his end table came to life and he picked up the receiver on the first ring. 

"Am I disturbing you?" an accented voice said on the line.

"Nope," he replied.  "I'm just sitting here having a drink, waiting for your call." 

"How did you know I would call?"  Illya Kuryakin asked, puzzled.

"Because I'm irresistible!" Solo said with mock conceit. 

The two friends laughed and talked for an hour although neither would remember much of the conversation afterwards.  It was enough that they could hear each other's voice at the end of the day. 

"When will your flight come in tomorrow?" Napoleon asked as they wound down their call. 

"Late, I am afraid.  I should arrive at the airport at midnight." 

"Got it.  I'll be there to pick you up." 

"You do not have to..." Illya said, soft and low.  Almost shyly. 

"I will be there to pick you up," Solo repeated firmly.  "And if you aren't too tired from the flight, maybe we can go out to dinner." 

"Your treat...?" 

"Yes, you little cheapskate!  My treat!" he said with pretend bluster.  "Take care of yourself.  I'll see you tomorrow night." 

Hanging up the phone, Napoleon Solo stepped back onto his balcony.  Alone, he burst out laughing, a pleasant sound on the warm evening air.

"Good Lord...I've been domesticated...!"

 

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