Work Text:
Napoleon hadn’t said anything regarding what had occurred during his time under suspended animation. He was aware of Waverly’s decision to have an experimental process with an unknown survival rate be used in an attempt to awaken him and the other victims, but he hadn’t addressed the issue.
After all, it had worked, in spite of Waverly’s risky call, and, deciding that there had been no lasting harm done, Napoleon chose to focus on waiting for when Illya finally returned from his solo mission—but the Russian was certainly not in high spirits when he did finally arrive, having been informed of what had transpired in his absence.
Waverly was aware of the fact that Illya had found out, and he was, therefore, not surprised to see Illya barge into the office of the European headquarters, where everyone was still staying in the immediate aftermath of the mission.
“Ah, Mr. Kuryakin—I trust your mission went well?”
“It did,” Illya said, a frostiness in his voice. “However, it is with deep regret that I must lodge an official complaint.”
Waverly sighed, knowing exactly where this was going; the omission of “Sir,” as Illya usually addressed him, left no doubt as to the reason for the Russian’s ire.
“Carry on then, Mr. Kuryakin.”
“My complaint is regarding you,” Illya said, flatly. “I have been informed that, in my absence, you overstepped your authority in regards to approving the use of an experimental treatment with an unknown survival rate on Mr. Solo and two innocents.”
“The situation was most dire, Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly explained, calmly. “Mr. Solo is someone I knew I could trust in resolving the problem that THRUSH was on the verge of unleashing, and the two innocents had vital information.”
“And so, you would risk killing them?” Illya retorted. “In the case of the innocents, their next of kin should have been informed prior to taking such liberties. Given the nature of our work, I understand that Mr. Solo’s parents could not be informed, but the contingency is that an agent’s partner is the one to be informed.” Illya’s eyes narrowed. “I was only informed after the fact.”
Waverly silently puffed on his pipe.
“I suppose it is true, the protocols we had in place were not strictly adhered to,” he admitted, after a moment.
“Then what is the point of having them!?” Illya quipped. He knew he was crossing the line here with his defiant attitude, but to find out how close he had come to losing Napoleon was too much to let it go. “Why even have them if a simple ‘needs must’ nullifies the whole thing!?” If he hadn’t crossed the line by now, then he was most definitely going to with his next statement. “What if it had been your granddaughter—would you have let the protocols slip then!?”
Waverly’s gaze bore into him, but if he had been upset by the question, he gave no other indication.
“The flaw in your logic, Mr. Kuryakin, is that I would be her next of kin—however, you have made your point. I would have been most incensed if someone unrelated had made decisions for what experimental treatment she would receive. Very well, then, assuming I had informed you—what decision would you have made, knowing the dire circumstances we were in?”
“…I will not claim that I have a definite answer,” Illya admitted. “Nevertheless, it is the principle of the matter—I should have been informed.”
“…Yes,” Waverly acknowledged. “You should have been.”
Illya stared back at him in silence, and, through that glance, they both further acknowledged that there would be no apology from either of them—not for Waverly’s overstepping of his boundaries, and not for Illya’s defiant attitude in response to it.
“I believe that there is no more to say on the matter, other than that, in the future, there will be a greater effort made to adhere to our protocols,” Waverly continued.
Illya nodded.
“Understood,” he said. He turned to leave.
“Mr. Kuryakin?”
Illya paused, looking back.
“…Let’s not fool ourselves, Mr. Kuryakin. This was more about how you believe I view Mr. Solo and yourself as expendable. Ideally, partners should know better than to get emotionally invested in each other’s well-being—but that is neither realistic, nor something I wish to encourage, for reasons such as you’ve demonstrated here today. I am not infallible, and it is up to my agents to step up when need be.”
That was as close to an apology as he would get, Illya realized.
“I would hope Mr. Solo is aware of how fortunate he is to have you as a partner,” Waverly continued.
“Had our situations been reversed, I have no doubts that Mr. Solo would be here having this very same conversation with you,” Illya replied.
“I have no doubts about that, as well,” Waverly agreed. “Good day, Mr. Kuryakin.”
Illya nodded again and left; Napoleon was waiting in the outer office, not at all surprised to see that Illya had been in there with Waverly.
“How are you feeling?” Illya asked.
“Just fine,” Napoleon assured him. He smiled and gently pat Illya on the cheek—a familiar gesture for the both of them. “…Thanks, Tovarisch.”
Illya didn’t need to ask what Napoleon was thanking him for; for the first time in a while, Illya managed a smile in return.
“But, of course.”
Indeed, Waverly wasn’t infallible, but, in the end, it didn’t matter.
They had each other.