Chapter Text
Napoleon woke up naked, with a crick in his neck and his equally naked partner still asleep in his arms, their legs tangled together. I could get used to waking up like this, he thought, nuzzling drowsily at the blond hair tickling his nose.
It was still dark out, and a quick glance at Illya’s watch – his own having gone missing during his capture – told him that it was just before dawn, and about time for them to leave. He gave himself a few more moments to enjoy holding Illya in his arms before reluctantly rousing his partner. Illya blinked up at him slowly, looking momentarily surprised to have awoken nose-to-nose with Napoleon, then he smiled, sleepy-eyed and vulnerable, and it was all Napoleon could do to not press him back down into their little nest of leaves and start the previous night’s activities all over again.
They dressed quickly and packed the few items they had brought with them back into Illya’s backpack, then headed back out of the cave. Now that day was breaking, the faint sunlight allowed Napoleon to finally appreciate the beautiful waterfall that he’d only heard the night before as they hiked back down to their car.
Illya was more than usually agreeable that morning, letting Napoleon drive without complaint. Napoleon chuckled at the thought that he seemed to have stumbled upon a method of making his strong-willed partner more pliant, then got hopelessly distracted thinking about the specifics of said method and making a mental list of various other things he’d like to try with Illya, and almost ran a red light.
Illya shot him a suspicious glance. “What are you smiling for?”
Napoleon cleared his throat sheepishly. “Nothing.”
He was forced to concentrate on the road when they picked up a tail – presumably T.H.R.U.S.H. – just after turning onto the highway. Conversation flagged as Napoleon weaved the car expertly in and out of traffic, brow creased in concentration, while Illya craned his neck to look through the rear windshield, snapping out instructions whenever it looked like the tail was gaining on them.
They had a nervous moment when the T.H.R.U.S.H. car drew almost level with them, the man in the passenger seat reaching inside his coat and appearing to be about to draw his gun – Illya reached for his gun, too, then by a stroke of luck, the car on the other side of theirs decided to switch lanes and Napoleon hurriedly took the opportunity to switch lanes as well, swinging the car wildly around a huge truck bearing down on them to a fusillade of blaring horns, and turned the car out the nearest exit.
They kept a sharp eye out after that in case the tail found them again, but managed to make it back to New York without further incident and parked the car a few blocks from Del Floria’s. Taking Illya’s backpack with them and warily keeping a lookout for any T.H.R.U.S.H. presence, the two men hurried toward Headquarters.
Just as they passed a small cul-de-sac, Illya suddenly uttered a startled exclamation and hastily shoved Napoleon to the ground. A bullet sang past where Napoleon had just been standing. A second bullet buried itself in the wall behind them.
“Thanks,” murmured Napoleon. Illya nodded, drawing his gun. They were crouched behind a bench, which barely provided any cover. Napoleon looked around quickly, then nodded toward a nearby dumpster questioningly. At Illya’s answering nod, he sprinted towards it, wincing as he heard the sound of more shots, Illya close behind him. He was almost behind the dumpster when he heard another gunshot and felt a searing pain in his left leg. He collapsed to the ground, Illya hastily dragging him the last few inches behind the dumpster.
Illya frowned at him worriedly. “Is it bad?”
Napoleon was clutching his leg, face pale. He shook his head. “It took a chunk out of my leg, but I don’t think it hit the bone.” Blood was soaking rapidly through the torn leg of his trousers.
Illya scowled. Poking his head out from behind the dumpster, he fired once, and was rewarded with a startled cry and the thump of a body falling to the ground.
“I saw two of them,” he said to Napoleon. “Did you see any more?”
Napoleon shook his head, his lips twisted in a grimace of pain.
Illya nodded and cautiously peeked out from behind the dumpster again. The second man was nowhere to be seen. As he turned back to Napoleon, a slight movement at the periphery of his vision made him instinctively duck and shove Napoleon further behind the dumpster – and not a moment too soon, as a bullet whizzed by inches from his head.
Scowling, Illya tucked his injured partner as far behind the dumpster as he could, then crept around it in the opposite direction that the shots had come from. He managed to come up right behind the remaining T.H.R.U.S.H. henchman, and tacked the thug to the ground hard. The man flailed wildly and, as he weighed significantly more than Illya, managed to flip them over so that he was pinning Illya to the ground instead. Illya snarled and snapped his head forward hard into his assailant’s face, the shock and pain causing the T.H.R.U.S.H. thug to loosen his grip just enough that Illya could roll to the side, grabbing at the man’s gun. They tussled wildly for a moment, then the gun skidded to the side, out of both men’s reach.
Illya leapt for the gun, but the T.H.R.U.S.H. man grabbed at him, dragging him back. Pulling a knife from his belt, the thug slashed wildly at Illya, who nimbly rolled to the side, then leapt to his feet. The thug, getting to his feet as well, advanced on Illya, who backed away. He was getting deeper into the cul-de-sac and would eventually hit the dead end, but there was no way out save going past the T.H.R.U.S.H. man, who was armed while he was not. Illya glanced around desperately just as his back fetched up against a brick wall. The thug smirked triumphantly and advanced on him until his knife was an inch from Illya’s throat – then froze as the cold metal of a muzzle was pressed up against the back of his head.
“I would advise,” Napoleon said pleasantly, “that you drop the knife right now.”
“I could kill him before you shoot,” blustered the thug.
“Just try it,” said Napoleon, and his voice was soft, ice-cold. “You’ll be dead before your knife ever reaches his throat.”
Silently, the T.H.R.U.S.H. man lowered his knife. Napoleon swung the gun hard into the side of the man’s head, and he dropped to the ground, stunned. Illya hurried toward Napoleon, who was using his free hand to brace himself against one wall of the narrow alley, handsome features tight with pain.
“Napoleon, your leg – ”
“Hurts a little,” admitted Napoleon, and abruptly collapsed into Illya’s waiting arms.
Illya quickly and efficiently tore off the sleeve of his shirt, wrapping it around Napoleon’s leg and tying it tight to staunch the bleeding, then pulled some rope out of his backpack and trussed the groaning T.H.R.U.S.H. thug up securely. That taken care of, he hurriedly dug around in his backpack again, taking out his communicator and opening a channel, snapping instructions into it for a medical team to come to their location immediately.
***
Napoleon awoke in Medical, muzzily, to the feel of a hand petting his hair, stroking gently through the strands. It felt soothing. He sighed, nuzzling his head into the hand.
“Good morning,” said a familiar voice, sounding faintly amused.
Napoleon jerked upright. “Illya! How are you feeling? Ow.”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” said Illya. The amusement was showing more plainly now. He leaned forward and fluffed the pillows on the narrow bed up.
Napoleon considered this, leaning back against the pillows. “Not bad, actually,” he said thoughtfully.
“I’ll ask you again after the painkillers wear off,” Illya said dryly.
“What about you?” Napoleon asked. He narrowed his eyes at his partner. "Please tell me you had someone from Medical take a look at you to make sure you aren't suffering any permanent effects from that amnesia gas."
"I had someone from the lab take a look at the formula we brought back," said Illya, completely ignoring Napoleon's statement, and didn'tthat tell him all he needed to know. Napoleon hesitated, torn between the protective urge to send Illya to get looked over immediately and curiosity to know what the lab had found out.
"The lab tests confirmed that the effects of the gas are purely temporary," said Illya.
"I still want you to get looked over by a doctor," Napoleon told him sternly. Illya ignored him.
"Short-term exposure has been confirmed to result in no permanent effects," Illya continued blithely, warming to his subject. "The victim will fully recover their memory within anywhere from three days to a week - I'm just not sure if that's a deliberate effect, to incapacitate the enemy just long enough to capture them, or a genuine error in the formula on Stevens' part." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Stevens is not an unintelligent man - this most likely was a deliberate effect of the formula, then. So we won't need to develop an antidote..." He paused, then nodded firmly. "But I should look into whether it can be modified to have permanent effects - if that's possible then it's very likely T.H.R.U.S.H. would do it, and then we can be ready with an antidote," he said enthusiastically.
Napoleon regarded his partner, who was practically vibrating with excitement, fondly. "I'm surprised you were willing to let someone else in the lab look at the formula. I would've thought you'd want to look at it yourself."
"Oh." Illya was looking everywhere but at Napoleon now. "I had some things I needed to take care of," he said evasively.
Napoleon leaned back on his pillows and examined his partner thoughtfully. Illya's jaw was unshaven, his jacket rumpled, lines of exhaustion around his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept all night - which he probably hadn't, Napoleon realized, because he'd most likely been sitting here, right at Napoleon's side all night. Napoleon swallowed around the lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat.
He leaned forward as his partner was still talking and took Illya’s hand, threading their fingers together. Bringing Illya’s hand up, he pressed his lips to the other man’s palm, crisscrossed with scars where the thistle bushes had torn Illya’s hands up after his fall over the cliff.
“Napoleon?” Illya’s eyes were wide, and very blue.
"I love you," Napoleon said impulsively, and Illya's eyes widened even further, a pink flush spreading becomingly over his cheeks.
Napoleon tugged on Illya's hand, fingers still intertwined with his. Caught off-guard, Illya toppled across Napoleon, bracing himself with both arms so that he was leaning awkwardly over Napoleon, face inches from his partner's. Napoleon grinned mischievously up at him.
"Napoleon!" Illya looked scandalized.
Napoleon’s grin softened into a smile. “I meant that, you know,” he said to Illya, and pulled a blushing, unresisting Illya down into a kiss.
Illya parted his lips with a soft moan of pleasure. Napoleon cupped Illya's jaw with one hand, sliding the other through silky-soft blond hair as he began a leisurely exploration of his partner's mouth.
Things were just getting...interesting...when the creak of the door opening made them both jump. Napoleon started and released his partner guiltily. Illya popped upright like a jack-in-the-box and hastily returned to the side of the bed, where he quickly ran a hand through his blond hair, smoothing it down, then demurely stood straightening his jacket.
The doctor strode into the room. “Ah, good, you’re awake,” he said cheerfully to Napoleon. “Now perhaps you can convince your stubborn partner to let us run a blood test on him.”
Napoleon grinned over at Illya, who was scowling deeply at the doctor. "Been giving the good doctor trouble again, partner mine?"
"The lab results were conclusive." Folding his arms over his chest, Illya turned his scowl onto his partner. "There are no permanent effects. A blood test is unnecessary."
"Lab results or no, you know we still have to run a blood test whenever you've been exposed to any foreign substances, Agent Kuryakin," the doctor said placidly, seemingly immune to Illya's venomous glare.
"You heard the man," Napoleon told Illya cheerfully. Illya grimaced. As the doctor turned away, bustling over to the other side of the room to collect the instruments he needed, Napoleon discreetly reached out and squeezed Illya's hand. "I'm fine now, you know. I'll be right here when you get back," he murmured quietly. "And it would make me feel better to know for certain that the gas is completely out of your system."
With a small sigh of defeat, Illya turned and walked over to the doctor, who gave Napoleon a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention to Illya to take a small sample of his blood.
***
Napoleon was finally released from Medical a couple of days later, with three weeks of medical leave and strict orders to rest. Illya drove him home, stopping to pick up some groceries on the way.
"I'll come by every day, of course," Illya told Napoleon as he put away the groceries he'd bought. "Try not to get too bored without me."
"You could stay with me for the time being," Napoleon suggested hopefully. "It would be easier for you if you didn't have to shuttle back and forth between your apartment and mine. And I'd like having you here."
Secretly pleased that Napoleon apparently wanted to see much more of him, Illya forebore mentioning that since he and Napoleon lived in the same building, it wasn't like it was a huge effort for him to take the elevator up and down a few floors every day.
"Okay," he said agreeably instead, and leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Napoleon, who was sitting on the couch with his injured leg propped up on the coffee table.
***
Three weeks later, Illya came back from work to Napoleon's apartment to find his partner standing in front of the stove, poking at a pot with a wooden spoon.
“I thought you were supposed to be resting,” he chided, putting his gun on the kitchen counter, then heading over to the stove to peer inquisitively into the pot Napoleon was stirring. It smelt delicious.
“Resting is boring,” proclaimed Napoleon. “And my leg's almost fully healed, anyway. It’s my last day of medical leave, remember?" He turned the stove off and slipped his fingers between Illya's white shirt and the leather straps of his shoulder holster, tugging the blond forward into a lingering kiss.
One thing led to another, and they awoke an hour and a half later in a tangle of limbs on Napoleon's large bed.
"I was thinking," Napoleon began, lazily combing his fingers through the cornsilk of Illya's hair.
"Really?" Illya said. "We should celebrate such a rare occurrence."
"I can't take your insults seriously when you're lying naked in my bed," Napoleon informed him. "Also, not quite twenty minutes ago, you were telling me how brilliant and wonderful I am. Should I repeat exactly what you said when I - "
"No, no, that's quite all right," Illya said hastily. "Anyway. You were thinking?"
"I was thinking," Napoleon said, "that since I'll be back at work tomorrow, I suppose you're planning on moving back to your own apartment soon?"
"Yes," said Illya. To be quite honest, he'd been trying not to think about it as the day drew nearer. As much as he'd tried not to, he'd gotten rather used to coming home to Napoleon every day, and he'd moved so many of his own belongings over to Napoleon's apartment in the past three weeks that just the thought of carrying everything back to his own, now semi-bare, apartment made him feel almost unbearably lonely.
Stop being ridiculous, he scolded himself. You're moving back to your own apartment three floors away, not to a different continent!
"You'll have a lot of stuff to carry back," said Napoleon, as if reading his mind.
"Yes," Illya said. "I'm sure I'll manage," he added dryly.
"I've no doubt you will," said Napoleon, then paused.
Illya eyed him suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Or...you could just stay," Napoleon suggested, curling himself around Illya like a giant cat and nosing at Illya's shoulder.
Illya blinked. "What?" He craned his neck around, trying to see Napoleon's expression, but the older man's face was buried in the crook of Illya's shoulder and all he could see from this angle was the top of Napoleon's head. He nudged Napoleon away gently, brushing back the forelock of dark hair that always refused to stay in place no matter how many different hair products Napoleon used.
Napoleon peered up at him, just the barest hint of uncertainty in his dark eyes. "Well...I've gotten kind of used to having you underfoot all the time," he said nonchalantly. "And, ah, if you leave me alone, who knows if I might accidentally get myself shot again."
Illya stared at him, affecting incredulity, but a warm feeling was spreading through him all the way down to his toes, and the expression on Napoleon's face told him that the incredulous look was failing spectacularly. "I'd accuse you of getting yourself shot on purpose this time, but even you couldn't possibly be masochistic enough to go to all that trouble just to convince me to move in with you."
"You'll never know," Napoleon told him with a grin. "So...is that a yes?"
"I suppose it is," said Illya, smiling, and gasped as Napoleon rolled them both over and pressed his lips to Illya's, sealing the agreement with a kiss.
End.