The Tax Day Cometh

“Napoleon, what are all these little pieces of paper strewn about your desk?” Illya had come to his partner’s apartment after work to watch a baseball game. Though he refused to purchase such a “symbol of Western decadence,” as he once haughtilly described it, for his apartment, he had no qualms about watching TV at Napoleon’s place. On his way to the living room, he had noticed the mass of paper on the desk as he passed by his partner’s home office.

“Don’t touch it! you’ll mess up my system!” Napoleon came up behind him quickly. “I’ve been working on my taxes every night for the last four nights.” He reached around the blond and pulled the door shut. “Please stay out of there; I can’t afford for anything to get lost.” He continued walking to the living room with Illya following, brows knit in confusion.

“Napoleon, why are you doing your taxes? Why have you not given your paperwork to Accounting? Today is April tenth!”

Being a field agent for UNCLE was, by necessity, a schizophrenic life. Every Section II agent had an alter – ego who only existed on paper; in Napoleon’s case, it was Navarre Solange while Illya Kuryakin’s was Edward (Eddie) Case. All of their financial records; paychecks, bank accounts, utility bills, leases and tax returns, were in those names. To cut down on confusion and to free up an agent’s time for more important matters, the Accounting Department for UNCLE North America was charged with making sure monthly bills were paid and income taxes filed for each agent in addition to acting as liaison between the IRS and the UNCLE operatives. It simply would not do for an UNCLE agent’s “second self” to be audited.

“I know what the date is, Partner Mine; my income statements are already there. What’s on my desk are all the incidental costs that I want deducted as work – related expenses. The lovely Miss Melania is waiting for me to give her the back – up documentation so she can finish.” He walked over to the TV set and turned it on while Illya sat in the recliner and crossed his arms.

“The ‘lovely Miss Melania’ can not wait forever; she is under orders to file your return on time. When do you intend to hand that to her? April fourteenth?”

Napoleon toed off his shoes and stretched out on his couch. “Day after tomorrow, the latest,” he replied. “I just have to go through a few more coat pockets to find receipts and I’m finished. Mel promised me she’ll wait until I bring everything.”

Illya snorted, “And, what did you promise her?”

“Dinner at Terrace on the Green and dancing at the Rainbow Room.”

“It is much less expensive to just hand in everything in a timely manner. My taxes have been filed for weeks.”

Napoleon waggled his head and sniffed, “Well, la de dah! Good for you.”

“Da, it is. Now, please be quiet; the game is starting and I want to pay attention so I can understand.”

“My lips are sealed.”