Chapter Text
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Real source: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650118/chapters/17417857
Don’t break your shins on your neighbour’s pots. (Italian proverb)
Napoleon's scrutinizing look studied the candidates for a long moment.
They looked pretty promising in his eyes. He wasn’t exactly into younger men, or men at all for that matter, but a position of a pool boy was, by definition, meant for a boy; young, pretty boy who would match the scenery and was easy on the eyes.
Napoleon appreciated beauty.
So, since they were all attractive, the trick was to choose one that would not rob Napoleon’s house the moment he steped out the door.
As a spy Napoleon had, of course, his ways to check on the candidates, but all four of them had clean records so far so he needed to take a closer look at each individual.
The one furthest to the left was tapping a rhythm with his foot, his head bobbing to the song heard only in his own head. He was looking around curiously, probably planning the best spot for a dance floor. Napoleon had no doubts that the boy would throw a party in his house as soon as he left on a job.
Solo was gone much too often to risk that.
The second candidate was a cute posh creature with beautiful red lips that looked like they were made for one purpose only.... But he also looked like he may fall under the weight of a skimmer net, so - not very practical.
The third was, well, a surprise. Despite his young age he wasn't a boy. He was a man. Hidden in his baggy shirt he didn't look like much at first but he seemed to be very nicely build under his atrocious clothes. Napoleon wanted to ask him to strip his shirt to confirm his suspicions, but then again, maybe he shouldn't.
The last one looked like a swimmer - tanned, lean and fit - he obviously spent a lot of time swimming and sunbathing... It was questionable to say that least whether he would do any work around the pool at all, or just spend his day working on his beauty.
“Hello, gentlemen. My name is Napoleon Solo and before I choose one of you to tend to my swimming pool I would like to ask you a few questions.”
He hardly managed to finish the last word when the doorbell started to ring. Again. And again, this time accompanied by impatient knocking.
“Excuse me for a moment.” He smiled charmingly at the four young men gathered in his living room and strode to the door to get rid of the intruder. When he looked out through the peep-hole his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He straightened his back, took a deep breath and quickly fixed his hair and tie. Then he opened the door with another smile that normally made all women in his vicinity swoon.
Of course, it wasn’t a woman on the other side of the door. It was a man and he was not impressed with Napoleon’s smile in the slightest. He was scowling angrily, his whole body emanating waves of tension and barely restrained fury, his face twisted in, well, for lack of better word, disgust.
“Is that your car blocking my driveway?” The heavy Russian accent and deep voice of the intruder made Napoleon’s insides tie in knots. He inhaled some air into his lungs to give a witty reply when the smell of a subtle cologne filled his nostrils and made the knot in his stomach tighten.
The man invading Napoleon’s doorstep was his mysterious neighbor, who the American sadly couldn’t help but be annoyingly curious about.
He appeared out of nowhere few months earlier and it was fishy from the start, because it was like he never really moved in. Normally when a person buys a house they bring their stuff in - furniture, personal trinkets etc. This guy brought exactly nothing but four suitcases. Napoleon wouldn’t fit half of his shirts in four suitcases, much less his whole wardrobe. Then again this guy wore slacks and turtlenecks almost every day so it probably could fit into only one of those cases leaving the other three for his ugly golf caps, guns and, who knows, maybe even the chopped bodies of his poor victims.
Napoleon had waited for him to settle in but the biggest thing the man ever brought to his house was a paper bag of groceries. And that was exactly once. Normally he only brought home take-out.
How did Napoleon know all that? Well, he WAS a spy after all!
And he had a lot of free time to kill recuperating from a nasty bullet wound in his shoulder. Staying at home was driving him nuts until he discovered the new addition to his neighborhood.
The Mystery Man was driving a red Porsche 356, which surely had seen better days. But even though it was a convertible he never opened the roof so Napoleon couldn't get a good look at his face until one day when their cars stopped at a red light, side by side. Napoleon stared at the other man perhaps a little too openly because the return glare directed at him still made his blood run cold when he thought about it. And Napoleon knew he was probably thinking about it too often, but it wasn't something that he could change at will either.
So, his neighbor was downright scary and no normal person had any right to make that kind of impression on the CIA’s brightest agent. Still, Napoleon - who was stuck in his house for three weeks, entertained only with nightly visits of willing women - decided that maybe befriending his neighbor would be a nice way to kill time.
Needless to say, he was wrong.
The first time he risked saying hello to the giant menace he received a glare full of contempt which strangely made him feel awfully like he deserved it.
He tried again though, and that didn't go very well either. The other man didn't glare this time. He froze and slowly turned his head to look at Napoleon over his muscled shoulder. His cold eyes quickly scanned the area, and then moved to Napoleon's house, pointedly stopping for a moment at each and every motion sensor and camera he had installed on his premises. Then his eyes went back to meet Napoleon's and it sent shivers through the CIA agent, because the coldness of those icy blue eyes made that warm spring morning feel like a frozen tundra.
After that impressive show of his observational skills he simply turned and left, leaving Napoleon in a very confused, irritated and strangely frustrated state.
That sort of rude behavior was in Napoleon's books equal to declaring war, so he started planning a strategy.
There was a tree in his neighbor's backyard, but except for roots and the lower part of the trunk, the rest chose to move to Napoleon's side of the fence. Napoleon loved to sit in the shade of its canopy, but war required sacrifices. According to the law if he wanted the branches hanging over his property gone, he needed to ask his neighbor to remove them. Since the man often left for few days Napoleon didn't have to wait long for a perfect opportunity.
As soon as his Russian neighbor left with suitcase in hand Napoleon immediately placed a note in his mail box. The note contained a request to remove the branches within 3 days. He was lucky, because the man came back after four days. After Napoleon had already done the work. Napoleon was laughing out loud when the man returned home and stood staring stupidly at the pile of wood covering his whole driveway. Napoleon stopped laughing though when the Russian's furious eyes met his dead on, even though the man should not be able to see him through the tinted glass of his window. His heart fluttered and when his doorbell rang he DID NOT jump, but he was startled and for good a five minutes and considered whether he should be a man and open the door or be smart and just run. He secretly hoped the Russian would just give up and leave, but he didn't. When the door opened he slapped a familiar piece of paper against Napoleon's chest.
"What the hell have you done to my driveway?" The man was even taller than Napoleon thought. His absurdly tall figure up close was intimidating. A small scar just under his right eye was sure proof of his undoubtedly violent nature and the nervous tick of his fingers warned Napoleon about possible psychotic behaviors.
"Well hello, neighbor. I gave you three days’ notice to remove the branches from my property."
"Branches? That is whole tree!" His heavy Russian accent and deep, low voice was just as rough, hard and uncompromising as the man himself.
"Well... all that was on my property."
The man held the piece of paper in his clenched fist, squeezing it mercilessly, surely wishing it could be replaced with Napoleon’s family jewels.
"Three days? I was gone!"
"That is not my problem."
The man scowled even harder and it physically pained Napoleon that the bastard still looked so handsome even twisting his face like that. Not fair at all.
"You are blocking my driveway. Take that tree away. Now."
"Actually, according to the law, any branches and/or fruit removed belong to the tree's owner and should be offered back to the owner."
"You did not offer. You dumped it on my driveway and it's blocking the garage."
Napoleon grinned in triumph. "Which you cannot prove."
One side of the scowling lips lifted up slightly as the man pulled out a freakishly small tape recorder out of his pocket.
Napoleon snorted. "That cannot be a real thing." He chuckled nervously, but then his neighbor stopped the tape, rewound and re-played their whole conversation. Napoleon paled but played it cool.
"So what? It will take weeks or even months before the court maybe admits you are right and fines me."
The Russian's fist hit the door, making a huge dent in the solid wood about an inch from Napoleon's head. How was that even possible?
Napoleon cleared his throat which suddenly became very tight. "I'll send you a bill for the door."
“I don't know why you are doing this but I will find out. And then you regret."
Napoleon regretted it much sooner than he thought he would. Even just knowing that the punishment was coming was driving him nuts. He didn't know what to expect or when it would hit him, but he was pretty sure it would hurt. It was a bit like living with a sentence, but also it was exciting. He asked himself billion times why the hell had he started that idiotic conflict and couldn't think of anything to explain his own absurd behavior except that it was fun to rile that man up.
That is also why he started to redirect all travelling salesmen to the Russian’s house, encouraging them to be stubborn, particular about details and overly friendly, because his neighbor was extremely shy but also very sweet. He stopped doing that only after the third, a particularly annoying one, ended up in the ER with eight broken bones and trauma for life. Maybe Napoleon overdid it convincing the Avon consultant to offer a consultation for his neighbor’s more feminine side, but still the Russian’s wrath unleashed on the poor boy was out of scale. Also Napoleon was convinced that he threw the boy against his mailbox on purpose.
Soon it was time for his annual garden party. The first person receiving an invitation was of course the brooding Russian. Sadly, instead of being pleased with it and coming to the party he chose to ruin it instead. A bonfire made of still fresh branches and leafs on his neighbor's lawn made everyone’s eyes water and the kerosene the Russian had been spilling generously to help moist branches catch the fire surely did nothing to make the smoke more bearable. The electric fan positioned strategically behind the fire and facing Napoleon's backyard finally forced him to move the party inside, despite truly marvelous weather and the 90% of his guests who were wearing bikinis to play in the pool.
Some weird black things still floated in the water after that but the American was somehow reluctant to retaliate for the blow. He decided to hire someone to clean his pool instead.
These events left Napoleon feelings a bit uneasy upon seeing the Russian appear suddenly on his doorstep.
…
“Um… Hello to you too, neighbor." Napoleon remained stolidly polite. "If you mean that black Jaguar then yes, it happens to be mine. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but I’m currently a bit busy, you see.”
“I don’t care. Remove your car. Now. I need to go.”
“There are four men I don’t even know currently waiting in my living room. I can’t leave them alone; even with the Red Peril at my door.”
“Then give me your car keys. Quick.”
“I will not let a suspicious stranger drive my car.”
“Suspicious?” The man spat the words at Napoleon. That disgust on his face matched the tone of his voice perfectly and Napoleon had to wonder why it was being directed at him. Anger he could understand in these circumstances, but disgust?
“We’re neighbors! And I’m not going to steal your absurdly expensive car. If you don’t move it right now I will do it with my bare hands and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.”
So that was where the disgust was coming from. Napoleon had to smile in triumph. Of course the Russian would hate the splendor of capitalistic life. Unfortunately, his companion took his smile the wrong way. His lips formed an angry line on his unnecessarily handsome face and he quickly turned around and walked away, reaching his driveway in about two strides.
“Stop! You hear me?” It took a few seconds too long for Napoleon to understand what it meant.
“Hey! Peril, don’t touch my car!”
But it was too late. The man already had his sleeves pushed up above his elbows, exposing strong forearms, and he was bending down to take hold of the Jaguar’s undercarriage. Napoleon sighed in relief that he wasn’t grabbing the bumper. Then he just stood beside the angry Russian with his hands on his hips, looking at his agitated neighbor with a sort of misplaced compassion... or maybe pity.
“Peril, you can’t lift a car with-“
He stopped his patronizing speech when the front wheels of his car easily separated from the side walk and defying the laws of gravity and logic - moved together with the Russian a few steps sideways, unblocking the driveway. Napoleon was too stunned to react even when his precious vehicle had been unceremoniously dropped back down in the middle of the street with a loud thud and a pitiful wail of its abused suspension.
“Close your mouth, Cowboy or you’ll catch flies.”
Two seconds later the old Porsche was out of the driveway leaving Napoleon choking in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
He coughed, finally closing his mouth and went back to his living room feeling so confused and out of his game like… well, like NEVER before.
TBC.