Title: Angels We have Heard on High
Word Count 2187
Summary: Napoleon is usually the picture of holiday cheer, but his mood is definitely dour and for good reason. He's the only one left.
My thanks to my beta, Sparky955 and to glennagirl
Napoleon waved a hand towards an end table where a crumpled up piece a paper sat among the artificial greenery. Illya rose and retrieved the paper.
Dear Mr. Solo,
We regret to inform you that Captain Dalton has passed away. Your name and address was found in his effects…
Illya didn’t read anymore. “You were close to Captain Dalton?”
“Not really. We used to call him Stupid Stewie, not usually to his face.”
“Yet he rose to the rank of captain.”
“Yeah, so who was the stupid one?” Napoleon polished off his drink and started to struggle out of the chair. Illya’s voice arrested his movements as he snatched up the empty glass.
“Let me. You are drinking Scotch?”
“Really?” Illya lifted the bottle and read the label. He shrugged his shoulders, added ice to Napoleon’s glass and a second one for himself. He poured two fingers in each and returned to the sofa. He held his glass up and then sipped. “A gift?”
Title: If I Could Talk to the Animals - Mouth of Babes tale
Word Count: 2039
Summary: They say on Christmas Eve, the animals can talk, but will the people listen?
My thanks to my beta, Sparky955 and to jkkitty
“Uh huh, but I don’t –“ Alex came running into the room, his cowboy hat hanging around his neck. “Grampy, you gotta come. Mommy is crying and Daddy is… well, you gotta come.”
Napoleon was off the bed faster than a gunshot and hurried down the narrow hall to the living room. The Christmas tree, with its collection of construction paper garland and handmade ornaments twinkled in the corner. There was music softly playing and on the couch, Illya was holding his daughter, while Nessa, clutching a handful of papers, wailed. Leon, Napoleon’s son through a brief rendezvous with Serena, a THRUSH agent, had his hands in his hair.
He spun as Napoleon entered. “How could you?”
“How could we what?”
“The cat is out of the bag, Napoleon,” Illya said, rubbing his daughter’s back. At time, she was very much like her mother Angelique, the product of a one-night stand between her and Illya. Now was not one of those times. Strong, resourceful and more than a little cocky, she seemed fragile and broken.