"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Napoleon carefully scooped the yolk out of the hardboiled egg.
"I can read, that should be all that's required." His partner, Illya Kuryakin, was frowning at the page before him. "I don't know why you agreed to go to this asinine Easter party to begin with. Our only free day, I fully expected to spend it in bed, pursuing suitable carnal activities with you. Not standing in the kitchen with a dozen eggs and a cookbook."
"Aunt Amy caught me by surprise. Besides, it's just brunch we'll be in and out two hours max. Still plenty of time for your evil pursuits." He looked at the egg top and shook his head. "I think you're supposed to cut them in half the other way. I mean how are they going to keep from tipping over?"
"Half is half. We shall prop them up against one another. Okay..." Illya pulled his glasses off, blew on the lenses and tried again. "You have mustard?"
"No, can we use ketchup?"
"Why doesn't that surprise me? A condiment is a condiment, I suppose." Illya held his hand out for the bottle and Napoleon passed the bottle over.
"Your ketchup, sir."
"Thank you... now it says; salad dressing, mayonnaise, or half and half..."
Napoleon went to the refrigerator and opened it. "Okay, I have Italian, blue cheese, although that one's sort of old..." Napoleon, his voice echoing slightly inside the nearly empty appliance, trailed off and made a face as he swirled the contents of the bottle around. "Salad dressing isn't supposed to be solid, is it?"
"You're asking me? I use oil and vinegar."
"And I have French."
"This is like trying to hotwire a tank. Why don't they tell you what kind of salad dressing they want? Mayonnaise?"
"No, but I do have some half and half. I bought it for my coffee this morning."
"Perhaps that would be the safest bet. Three tablespoons." He used a soup spoon since neither of them owned measuring spoons, or cups for that matter.
"You need to double it because we're making twice as many."
"Right, good catch." Illya grinned at him and stirred. "Is it supposed to be this soupy? How does it stay inside the little hole?"
"That doesn't look right, Illya. Paprika. You sprinkle them with paprika for color." Napoleon looked through his spice rack. "I have chili powder, that's red."Illya gave each egg a healthy dusting and grinned.
"That was successful," Napoleon admitted later that night as he brushed the hair off Illya's forehead, leaving a piece behind, trapped by sweat.
"Do something poorly enough and you are rarely asked to do it a second time."
"Unless you need the practice and that was probably the worst bout of love making I've ever suffered through."
"I beg your pardon." Then he saw Napoleon's smile and grinned back. "Well, practice does make perfect."
"Except when it comes to making deviled eggs."