THE PARASKEVIDEKATRIAPHOBIC AFFAIR

 

Illya Kuryakin scowled angrily at his ringing bedside telephone.  He debated ignoring it (if the world was coming to an end, Alexander Waverly would contact him through his communicator), however the incessant ring made him snap up the handset to quiet the contraption.

"Illya?" a man's concerned voice said from across the continent.  "Are you all right?"

"Napoleon..." Illya's demeanor softened.  "I am fine.  I did not expect you to call until later."

"I called you at work and they said you went home early.  You aren't sick, are you...?"

"No.  I was just having a bad day and I did not think Mr. Waverly would want me shooting our colleagues, so I came home."

"Very commendable," Napoleon Solo smiled.  "Why are you having a bad day?"

Illya made a tisking noise.  "Because it is Friday the 13th!" he said in exasperation.  "I never should have left the house!"

"I never thought of you as the superstitious type."

"I am not," he said, adamant.  "But Friday the 13th is cursed, and I never should have left the house!"

Napoleon couldn't help laughing.  He was in his Bangkok hotel room on a break from his latest mission, yet he could easily picture in his mind's eye the way Illya's eyebrows lowered when he was angry, his blue eyes turning dark and stormy, his lips pulled into a tight line.

"Well," Solo cleared his throat.  "I have my whole evening ahead of me.  Tell me about this bad day of yours."

"Niet.  You will only laugh at me more."

"If I do it's only because you look so adorable when you're angry."

"You cannot see me from Bangkok," Illya said querulously.

"I can see you in my thoughts as clearly as if I were there with you," Napoleon said softly.  "Now please?  Share your day with me...?"

Illya smiled.  He never could deny his lover anything he asked.

"Very well," he said with an exaggerated sigh.  "It started when I woke up and looked at the calendar and saw today was Friday the 13th.  The smart thing to do would have been to pull the covers over my head and call in sick.  Instead, I dutifully got dressed for work.  When I straightened my shaving mirror, it fell and broke."

"Did you cut yourself?" the worry evident in Solo's voice.

"No, except now I will have seven years of bad luck!"

Lying on his hotel room bed, Napoleon held in his laughter.  He knew if he pissed off Kuryakin he'd be sleeping on their couch until the cantankerous Russian was good and ready to forgive him!

"Okay," Solo said calmly.  "What happened next...?"

"I was having breakfast and I spilled salt, so I had to quickly sprinkle the shaker over my shoulder."

Solo bit his lip.  Although he'd heard of the superstition, he could never see himself trying to ward off evil by spilling more salt.

"As I left the apartment building," Illya continued, "I found a silver dollar on the sidewalk."

"Well, that was lucky, wasn't it?"

"Niet!!  It was 'tails up'.  I should have left it where I found it.  Regrettably, greed got the best of me and I picked it up.  I did not think about it until I missed my bus---and it started to rain!  I wanted to take shelter in the doorway of a nearby flower shop except someone was using a ladder to change an overhead light, and I would have had to step under it."

"Geez, Illya, if it were me I would have risked the ladder rather than get pneumonia!"

"If I had stepped under the ladder, I would have been at greater risk to get pneumonia!"

Again, Napoleon tried not to laugh at the indignant tone in Illya's voice.

"Alright, your bus comes and you're soaking wet," he said, striving to sound understanding and sympathetic. "Then what happened...?"

"When my bus arrived at Del Floria's, the door swung open and a black cat crossed in front of my path!"

"Come on!  You're making this up now!  How can one person encounter so many bad luck omens in one day?"

"Napoleon.  Today is Friday the 13th..."

"Oh, yeah.  Silly me.  Continue..."

"I entered Del Floria's and I could not believe what I saw.  Del Floria had set his open umbrella on the floor to dry!"

"I'm sorry; you lost me on that one..."

"You must never open an umbrella indoors!" he said, aghast at the American's naivety.  "That was the last twig.  I told the U.N.C.L.E. Receptionist I was not feeling well and I was going back home and getting straight into bed."

"Is that where you are now?  In bed?"

"It is the safest place!"

"I'm sorry.  I'd give anything to be there with you.  I'd hold you in my arms and keep the bad luck at bay."

Illya Kuryakin, Naval Officer and Enforcement Agent, melted at Solo's words.  "I would give anything to be with you.  When do you think you will come home?"

"Not for another two days, at least.  In the meantime...what are you wearing in bed?"

This time, Illya started to laugh.  He could easily picture in his mind's eye the way Napoleon's warm brown eyes glowed with the promise of wicked, wicked pleasures, his lips curling in a sinful smile.

Suddenly he was glad it was Friday the 13th.  Otherwise he would have been sitting at his desk, filing reports, when instead he was safe at home, talking to the man he loved.

Maybe Friday the 13th wasn't such a bad day, after all...

 

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