Work Text:
August 1959
It was a perfect example of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Most of their assignments had a glitch or two, but this time they’d been so close to pulling off a flawless mission, so very close. And then it all spectacularly went to hell.
The assignment was to neutralize LAVA, a machine that could activate dormant volcanoes all over the world. If THRUSH continued with the project, the potential for devastation would be enormous. They would hold the world hostage if it wasn’t destroyed.
The partners had flown to Florida and met with the local agents. Napoleon and Illya entered the THRUSH facility undetected and found the LAVA room where Illya deployed the explosives that would destroy the machine. They managed to not set off any alarms before exiting the building. The explosion shook the ground as they ran through the woods to the extraction location and the helicopter that would whisk them to safety.
THRUSH operatives pursued them through the trees, gunfire ringing out and bullets whistling past their ears. They returned fire while maintaining a zigzag pattern through the woods. Finally, he and Illya broke into the clearing where the helicopter waited, the blades kicking up leaves and debris from the ground.
The air was steamy and hot as they ran toward the chopper, continuing to return fire as they crossed the clearing. They were so close. The helicopter door was open, the extraction team could be seen just inside, preparing to haul the two men aboard. They were no more than a handful of yards away when he heard Illya scream and saw him fall to the ground.
Napoleon homed in on the source of gunfire that continued from the edge of the woods and fired into the area. He could tell that his bullets had found their mark by the cries from the treeline. The gunfire ceased leaving the whirring of the helicopter blades as the only sound.
Illya lay on his back, eyes open but dazed. He screamed when Napoleon pulled him up to carry him to the chopper. He lifted Illya and the team members pulled him into the helicopter. Napoleon grabbed an offered hand and climbed aboard. Fearing there might be another sniper out in the woods, they made a hasty retreat beyond the trees and into the sky.
Each extraction team had at least two members trained as medics, and these men immediately went to work on the wounded man. They cut open Illya’s turtleneck and assessed the damage. As Illya gasped for breath, they put a mask over his face to provide oxygen. From his vantage point near his partner’s feet, Napoleon saw a great deal of blood and frantic movement as they worked on his friend.
Judging from the medics’ tense conversation, the situation was extremely serious. Illya grew paler by the minute. Napoleon slid a hand under the hem of Illya’s trouser leg, touching the warm skin of his shin and hoping his partner could sense his presence. He willed his friend to remain on this earthly plane and not be coaxed away by angels or whatever entity might tempt the little Russian atheist to the great beyond.
“How is he doing?” he asked the medics, steeling himself for the answer.
“He’s alive, barely. We’ve stabilized him and slowed the bleeding, but the situation is shaky.”
He listened intently to the crew’s discussion over which hospital would have a large enough area to land the chopper and also the capacity to handle Illya’s level of injury. After checking with headquarters, they were told that Sarasota Memorial was the best choice. It had a good surgical department and an empty parking area where the chopper could land.
“Seven minutes until we set down,” the pilot said.
The medics slid Illya onto a stretcher and tucked a blanket around him in preparation for the move when the helicopter landed. From the window Napoleon watched as the hospital and then the parking area came into view, an ambulance parked at the edge of the tarmac. The ground grew closer and closer until the chopper rested on the asphalt and the ambulance pulled up to them.
As they carried Illya off the chopper and loaded him onto the ambulance, Napoleon got his first good look at his partner’s face. It felt as if cold water trickled down his back. He’d seen men at the point of death more times than he cared to remember, both in Korea and working for U.N.C.L.E. His partner had that same pale waxen look.
It was less than a year since the loss of Jack Donovan, a man Napoleon had considered a mentor and a dear friend. Agents were reminded constantly that life could be lost in a blink of an eye. Losing his partner was both impossible to imagine and all too likely.
The ambulance crew allowed him to climb aboard and ride the short distance to the hospital. As Napoleon perched next to Illya, he watched his partner’s eyes flutter open. There was fear in the familiar blue eyes.
“You’re going to be okay,” he told Illya, hoping desperately that his words were not a lie.
Illya wheezed out what might have been a laugh. Napoleon leaned forward to hear him whisper “Ever the optimist,” through the oxygen mask.
Napoleon took his partner’s hand, alarmed at how cold it felt. “Hang on, Illya. We’re almost at the hospital.”
“Tired,” Illya said as his eyes drifted shut. The medic reached over and checked his pulse, nodding reassurance at Napoleon’s alarmed look.
Things happened quickly once they took Illya out of the ambulance and put him on a gurney. Napoleon had to run to keep up as they moved his partner into the emergency department and through the corridors. As they rushed along, Napoleon heard the medic give Illya’s details to the doctors: “26 year old male, penetrating abdominal trauma, BP 80/50, he’s in hypovolemic shock.” All of it sounded terrifying.
Napoleon hit a roadblock as they whisked Illya into the surgical area. A stern nurse blocked the door, her arms crossed over her starched white uniform.
“Please, my partner is hurt very badly,” he said, allowing his worry to show. Charm had its use when trying to be persuasive, bluster and subterfuge likewise. But there were times when authentic anguish was most effective. The trick was knowing what was needed in the moment.
“And he is going to get the best possible care,” the nurse said. “But you need to let the doctors do their jobs.”
He nodded, running a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s so hard when you don’t know what’s happening.”
“I know,” she said, her voice softening. “I’ll show you where you can wait, mister…”
“Solo. Napoleon Solo. Thank you, Nurse Martin,” he said, noting the name on her badge.
“I don’t think we’ve ever had U.N.C.L.E. agents at Sarasota Memorial,” she said as she led him to a small waiting room. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Thanks, black no sugar would be great.” After she left, he pulled out his communicator and contacted headquarters. He was patched through to Waverly.
“What is Mr. Kuryakin’s condition?” he asked. Napoleon was grateful that his superior had the good grace to lead with that question before demanding a mission report.
“They took him into surgery, sir. The medics say it’s pretty bad. I wish I had a more positive report.”
Waverly told him that the South East US division reported the LAVA machine threat was neutralized and the bodies of at least two of the scientists had been found in the wreckage. The lead scientist was unaccounted for but they were still searching for him.
“Keep me updated on Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly said before terminating the communication.
Nurse Martin returned with a tray containing a mug of coffee, a couple of sandwiches and a few cookies. “You looked like you could use some food,” she said, setting the tray on a table. “I checked with the operating room. Mr. Kuryakin will be in surgery for several hours. There was a lot of internal damage.”
“Thank you,” he replied. She looked to be in her forties, attractive in a no-nonsense kind of way. “You’ve been very kind.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Solo.”
“Napoleon, please.”
“And I’m Lois. Now, have something to eat and try to get some rest, Napoleon,” she said, patting his arm. “I’ll check with the OR and let you know when there is any news.”
After she left, he realized that he was very hungry. He polished off the sandwiches and cookies and downed the coffee. Hunger in check, he stretched out on the sofa. He and Illya had gotten only the briefest periods of rest in the last 48 hours. Adrenaline had pumped through his system for the entirety of the mission. With that dissipated, exhaustion hit him like a freight train.
Nurse Lois seemed to know him better than he knew himself. She was probably right most of the time, he thought with a smile before falling asleep.
Napoleon dreamed of wandering through a maze of empty hospital corridors looking for Illya. He awoke to Lois shaking his shoulder. He startled and grabbed her wrist. It could be dangerous to wake him this way. Luckily, he didn’t put her in a stranglehold.
“Napoleon,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice. “I’m going off shift in a few minutes. I wanted to give you an update before I left.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her wrist and sitting up groggily. He realized that he was covered by a light blanket that she must have brought while he slept. “What time is it?”
“6:45,” she replied. “I checked with the OR and Mr. Kuryakin was just moved to recovery.”
“That’s a good sign, right?”
“He made it through surgery, which is definitely a positive sign. But he is in critical condition.”
“Understood,” he said, but all that sunk into his consciousness was that Illya was still among the living. Gesturing to the blanket he said: “Thank you, by the way.”
“It can get chilly overnight.”
He noticed that the tray from last night had been replaced with a new tray holding a cup of coffee and a large cheese danish. Gesturing to the food he said, “And thank you for this.”
“Eat up,” she replied. “Dr. Alvarez, the surgeon, will be in to talk to you soon.”
He was finishing his coffee when a tall man in surgical scrubs entered the waiting room. “Mr. Solo? I’m Dr. Alvarez.”
“Nurse Martin said you operated on my partner,” Napoleon asked, extending a hand to the doctor. “How is he?
“There was a great deal of internal damage to his stomach and large intestine. We were able to repair that, but the risk of infection still remains so we’re giving him antibiotics. He’d lost a lot of blood, so he’s receiving a transfusion.”
“Will he recover?” Napoleon asked.
“He’s not out of the woods by any means,” Alvarez said. “But he has youth and strength on his side. I’m cautiously optimistic, but Mr. Kuryakin is still in a precarious state.”
“I understand,” Napoleon said. “Can I see him?”
“They’re moving him into a room and keeping a close eye on his condition. You can see him when he’s settled. A nurse will come for you.”
As promised, a young nurse led him through to the surgery patient rooms. Illya had been granted a private room, maybe as a security measure or simply the clout U.N.C.L.E provided.
Looking more like a badly hurt teenager than a secret agent, Illya’s eyes were closed. “When will he wake up?” Napoleon asked.
“He’ll sleep most of the day,” she answered. “He’s being sedated and on a lot of pain medication, so he will probably sleep into tomorrow. The rule for this area is you can only stay for ten minutes at a time, but Dr. Alvarez gave orders that you can stay as long as you like.”
Napoleon was relieved and a bit surprised. Normally, U.N.C.L.E. visitors were allowed in the medical facility at New York headquarters as long as they didn’t tire the patient. But the rules were often strict and arbitrary in regular hospitals. Thank God, his U.N.C.L.E. connection allowed additional privileges at this hospital.
His partner was still terribly pale, in spite of the bag of blood products being transfused into his arm. Illya’s face was partially obscured by an oxygen mask. He looked odd to Napoleon, and it took a few seconds for him to realize it was because they’d brushed the blond hair off Illya’s forehead. He fluffed the fringe back down into its normal position.
He pulled a chair close to Illya’s bed and sat down. His partner had lost the frightening “close to death” appearance. Napoleon understood the severity of Illya’s prognosis. He wasn’t a fool, but he was an optimist by nature, just as Illya had said.
It was strange for Illya to be so still. His partner seemed to be always in motion, whether it was typing reports, pacing the office, heading down to the gym for extra workouts. Jumping over stair railings, throwing himself headlong into fist fights, or crawling through ductwork, the man never stopped.
The nurses came and went, taking Illya’s vitals, checking his bandages, and adjusting the covers. They’d chat for a few minutes with Napoleon, impressed perhaps by the idea of international intrigue.
He decided to go back to the motel to shower and change clothes. Leaving an U.N.C.L.E. contact number at the nurse’s station, he took a cab to his motel.
Napoleon had decided not to check out. He harbored no illusions that Waverly would allow him to remain in Sarasota indefinitely, but he hoped his boss would realize Solo’s mind wouldn’t be on any assignment or even on paperwork while Illya remained in critical condition.
They hadn’t fully unpacked their bags when they had checked in. They’d grabbed what they needed and headed to the S/E U.N.C.L.E. office. They had much work to do with the local agents, preparing for the mission.
After a long shower, Napoleon dressed in clean clothes. He wanted to get a few things together for Illya to use as he recovered. Digging through his partner’s belongings felt intrusive, but he thought Illya would be glad to have a few personal items. They had been partners for only a few years, and their friendship had quickly grown close. But Napoleon realized he didn’t know a lot about his extremely private partner.
Gathering Illya’s shaving kit, toiletries, pajamas and underwear, he went back to the hospital. His partner continued to sleep, though it looked like he’d been bathed while Napoleon was away. Illya’s hair was again brushed away from his face. Napoleon took a comb from Illya’s toiletries and set his partner’s hair to rights.
Some time later, one of the agents from S/E U.N.C.L.E. came into the room. Napoleon was glad to see a familiar face, someone who had collaborated in the LAVA mission.
“How is he, Napoleon?” Dan Halverson asked, his voice low as he looked over at the man in the bed.
“He’s holding his own, so far,” Napoleon replied. “It’s good to see you, Dan.” Some ten years older than Napoleon, he was an experienced agent with a steady, calm demeanor.
“I know how hard it is when one of your team goes down on a mission, especially when it’s your partner. I’m glad Illya is hanging in there.”
Dan brought Napoleon up to date on the cleanup from the mission. The last scientist had still not been found, the implications being that he’d survived and could continue with his work. The intelligence teams would be looking for any evidence that his work had begun again.
Since Illya was stable and not likely to wake for some time, Dan insisted on buying Napoleon dinner at a restaurant a short walk from the hospital.
With a drink in his hand, and a steak in front of him, Napoleon began to unwind. It was a relief to talk to a fellow agent, someone who understood.
“So, you had a mission go south?” he asked Dan.
“Yeah. Four years ago, I led a raid on a warehouse which held a large cache of weapons THRUSH was preparing to ship to an overseas hotspot. Two of my men were shot. One died. He was around the same age as you and Illya.”
“We lost a good friend last year,” Napoleon said. “He was almost old enough to leave field work. Illya and I had to deliver the news to his young daughter. It was terrible.”
“Yeah, telling that kid’s folks that he was dead was the hardest thing I ever had to do. At least it looks like you won’t have to tell Illya’s family.”
“He hasn’t got any family, as far as I know. All lost in the war.”
“They consider that the perfect U.N.C.L.E. agent, don’t they? No dependents. No loose ends. We’re all expendable, but Section One finds it much easier when there is no follow up needed.”
“Does it get easier, Dan?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. But maybe it’s not supposed to be easy."
After dinner Napoleon walked back to the hospital, picking up a paperback novel in the gift shop. He settled beside Illya’s bed. His partner was much less pale, his color having improved considerably after the transfusion. He stretched his legs and cracked open the book, a new Ed Mc Bain.
He’d read a quarter of the book when Lois appeared in the doorway, “Well hello, Napoleon. I was pretty sure I’d find you here.”
“I did leave a couple of times today,” Napoleon said, closing his book. “Illya wasn’t holding up his end of the conversation.”’
Lois pulled over a chair to sit next to Napoleon. “He isn’t very chatty,” she agreed. “They’ve sedated him so he could rest. The plan is to lessen that tomorrow and allow him to wake. His vitals have been stable all day.”
“Does that mean he’s out of the woods?”
“At this point, he’s right at the edge of the trees. But this is going to be a difficult recovery for him. The pain will be considerable.”
Napoleon was not surprised by that. Everything he’d heard about gut wounds from his time in Korea was that they were extremely painful.
“I should probably warn you that Illya gets pretty testy when he’s not feeling well.”
“Too bad,” she said wistfully, looking over at the man in the bed. “He has the face of a Botticelli angel.”
“Illya would laugh if he heard you say that. He doesn’t believe in angels.”
“Do you have somewhere to stay in Sarasota?”
“I have a room at the Holiday Inn,” he said.
“Visiting hours are over, Napoleon. You need a good sleep tonight in a real bed,” she said, rising from her chair.
“Are you tossing me out, Lois?”
“I am, Napoleon,” she replied as he stood. She took his arm and walked him to the door. “Get some rest. I will look after this fellow with the face of an angel.”
He made a mental note to ask her if Illya still seemed angelic when he started complaining. Napoleon didn’t fight her, though. The thought of sleeping in a hotel bed was too attractive.
“Will you call me in the morning and let me know how he is? And of course, call me if there are any problems.”
“Yes, of course. I go off shift at 6:30. I’ll call you when I get home.”
He took a cab to the hotel, and later as he stretched out in the bed and turned off the light, he reflected that Nurse Lois was again correct--he did need a good sleep.
He woke to the phone ringing at 7:00 am. Lois reported that Illya had a quiet night and should be waking in another hour or so.
Napoleon went to the hospital and bought coffee and a donut from the wagon in the lobby. When he got to Illya’s room, he found that his partner was still asleep, but moving restlessly. Illya’s legs shifted under the covers and his hands plucked at the blankets.
Napoleon took hold of one of Illya’s hands. Unlike in the ambulance, his hand was no longer ice cold. Illya’s eyes blinked a few times before remaining open. He looked around the room, frowning, before his eyes rested on Napoleon.
“Hey partner,” Napoleon said. “How do you feel?”
“Confused,” Illya said. “I was dying.” His voice sounded raspy and weak.
“You’re definitely alive.”
“I was dying,” Illya repeated, more forcefully. “I felt it.”
“I guess the angels sent you back.”
“I saw none of your mythical angels,” Illya said, looking over at the water pitcher on the wheeled bed table. “I’m thirsty.”
“Was there a river?” Napoleon asked, as he helped his partner take a sip of water through a straw. “Maybe a guy in a small boat with his hand extended?”
“The ferryman must have sent me back because my pockets were empty,” Illya said, with a tiny smile. Napoleon was pleased that his partner’s sense of humor was unimpaired.
“It was touch and go for a while there. Are you in pain?”
“Feels like my belly is on fire, but the flame is turned down low.”
“I’ll call the nurse,” Napoleon said.
“No, I’m all right. Tell me about the mission.”
Napoleon told his partner what had happened after their extraction. Illya was concerned about the missing scientist and worried that he hadn’t set the explosives as effectively as possible. They debated that point until Napoleon noticed that Illya appeared to be gritting his teeth and his hands were fisted on the covers.
Napoleon pressed the call button over Illya’s protests.
“Of all the high-handed…” Illya sputtered. “I decide when to call the nurse.”
“You’re in pain.”
“You are clairvoyant now?” Illya sniped.
“I don’t need to be a mind-reader to recognize the signs.” Illya thought he was inscrutable, and to a large extent, that was true. But Napoleon had seen him in pain before and knew what to look for.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Kuryakin,” the nurse said, as she entered the room. “I’m Cathy, by the way. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, Cathy,” he said. “My friend called you in error.”
“Well, it’s time to check your vitals anyway,” she said, shaking a thermometer down. He opened his mouth obediently, though with an aggrieved attitude. Cathy took his blood pressure and pulse and noted the figures on the chart she retrieved from the end of the bed.
A groan escaped when she checked the dressing on Illya’s abdomen, which elicited a look of concern.
After checking the chart, she told him it was time for his pain meds and left to get them.
“I was right,” Napoleon said.
“Don’t gloat.”
Cathy returned. “Sorry, this has to be an injection. We need to let your tummy rest while things heal.” She moved the covers aside and delivered the injection into his thigh. “Let’s give that some time to work, and then we’ll get you out of bed. Dr. Alvarez is a strong advocate for getting patients walking soon after surgery.”
Illya closed his eyes, though Napoleon knew he wasn’t sleeping. There was entirely too much tension in his face and his hands hadn’t loosened their grip on the bedding. Over the next half hour, the drugs worked their magic and his partner’s body began to relax.
Cathy returned along with another nurse. “We’re going to start by having you sit on the end of the bed,” she said as they helped Illya move. It obviously hurt, but Illya managed not to shout. Cathy continued, “You’ve been flat on your back for over a day, so take as long as you need to acclimate yourself.”
Cathy had brought a lightweight bathrobe with her, and she helped Illya shrug into it. The other nurse guided his feet into a pair of slippers. As they helped him off the bed, Illya cursed under his breath, but stood firm.
“You’re pretty strong,” Cathy said. “You’re hardly leaning on us at all.”
“I can take him,” Napoleon said to the nurses. “I’m sure you must be very busy. Okay with you, IK?”
At Illya’s nod, he took his partner’s elbow and wrapped an arm around his back. As they moved to the door, Illya seemed fairly steady.
“All right, just to the end of the hall and back on this trip,” Cathy said.
Illya had other ideas and pushed to complete three circuits. It was only when Napoleon felt his partner begin to sag and hang more heavily on his arm that they returned to the room. Cathy stood in the doorway, a disapproving look on her face.
“I tried,” Napoleon said. “You’ll find he’s an extremely stubborn man.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” she replied.
Illya fell into an exhausted sleep a few minutes after getting settled in bed. Napoleon was pretty sure he’d be out for a good while, so he ducked into the small waiting room where he’d slept the first night. It was empty. There was a larger waiting area and Napoleon thought that this small room was for families of the most critical patients.
“That’s good news, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said when told his agent was conscious and had even managed a walk in the hall. “Now that Mr. Kuryakin is on the mend, I’ll expect you in New York the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Napoleon said. He was not surprised at his superior’s order. But being given one additional day in Florida could be considered a gift.
Waverly didn’t want his agents to become too emotionally bonded. He wanted them to be able to work hand in glove in order to successfully complete missions. But if an agent’s allegiance was to their partner and not to U.N.C.L.E, they might forget that each of them was expendable.
But partnership wasn’t easily regulated. He counted Illya as his closest friend, and he was pretty sure Illya reciprocated that feeling. Soldiers have a tradition to never leave a comrade behind. One day, Napoleon feared, Waverly would compel them to make a hard choice and leave the other behind on the battlefield.
Illya was resigned when Napoleon told him the news. “Don’t worry about me. I’m surprised Waverly didn’t order you back immediately.”
“Jack’s death hit him hard. Maybe he’s getting sentimental.”
Before Illya could respond, Nurse Cathy brought a lunch tray in and set it down on the wheeled table. She raised the head of the bed. His face brightened until he had a chance to inspect the items on the tray.
“What is this?” he said as he lifted the cover from a bowl.
“Dr. Alvarez ordered a liquid diet. Lunch today is chicken broth, jello and a cup of tea.”
“Looks delightful,” Illya said, convincing no one in the room.
“I’m afraid you’ll have similar fare for the next few days. You sustained damage to your digestive system, and we need to slowly get you back to a normal diet.”
“So be it,” Illya said with an air of resignation.
“You must be hungry,” Napoleon said, when Cathy left.
“Not really. The pain seems to be getting in the way of my appetite.” Illya swallowed a spoonful of chicken broth and deemed it needing a little salt. He managed most of the broth and a few spoons of jello before he rested back against the pillow.
After his next dose of pain medication, Illya insisted on walking twice as far as he had in the morning, despite all of Napoleon’s attempts to steer him back to his room. As they made the last circuit, with Illya starting to flag, Napoleon saw a familiar and welcome face.
“I hear you are going for the ward record, Mr. Kuryakin,” Lois Martin said as they returned to Illya’s room. “You were unconscious upon our last meeting. I’m Lois Martin.”
She helped him get back into bed, telling them that she had rotated to the second shift for the next month and would be his nurse in the afternoons. Napoleon felt an enormous weight lift from him. Lois was someone who could keep him up to date on his partner’s condition.
His main concern was that Illya would push himself too hard and vent his frustration at any perceived lack of progress on the hospital staff. He had seen that before in their few years of partnership, but this was the most serious injury his partner had sustained and would likely be much more difficult for him to manage.
Napoleon used his remaining time in Florida to keep Illya’s spirits up and to walk with him as often as Illya wanted. By the end of the second day, Illya seemed strong enough to get out of bed himself and walk with the cane Dr. Alvarez had recommended for stability and support of his abdominal muscles. Luckily, he moved pretty slowly, so the nurses would have no trouble reining him in when he did too much.
Dan Halverson stopped by and Illya seemed to enjoy his visit. Dan told Napoleon he would visit often. When Napoleon boarded the flight back to New York, he felt some reassurance that Illya would not be on his own.
Arriving at headquarters directly from the airport, Napoleon was bombarded with questions about Illya. “Yes, it was touch and go for a while there, but Illya’s doing well,” was a message he gave a dozen times that day.
His partner dealt with prejudice and distrust due to his Russian identity, but for the most part, it was not from his coworkers. Illya was well liked by his fellow agents, especially among female personnel.
After meeting with Waverly, Solo was on his way to San Francisco for an assignment so routine a high school student could have managed it. It seemed to be his boss’s way of stressing that Section Two agents should not expect special treatment.
Over the next few weeks, Napoleon spoke with Illya every day. His partner complained of boredom, bland food and being awakened in the middle of the night for vital sign checks. He claimed to be well enough to return to New York, though Napoleon was skeptical.
Lois had a very different version of events. According to her, Illya was walking more than he should each day. The nurses allowed him to do this because he seemed less fractious when he was able to exercise. But while Illya’s wound was healing well, his digestive system was causing problems.
Illya wasn’t tolerating even the bland diet very well. His sensitive stomach rejected a lot of his meals which was making it hard for him to get the calories he needed. Napoleon asked Lois if an irritable Illya was wearing out his welcome with the nursing staff.
“They understand that he’s been through a lot and that his stomach issues are exhausting him. They're all trying to be patient. When he’s not feeling so miserable, he can be rather sweet. And, after all, he has the...”
“Face of a Botticelli angel,” Napoleon finished.
“Exactly,” Lois laughed.
Napoleon was on an assignment in New Orleans when he heard from Waverly’s secretary, Sarah Johnson, that the doctors from Sarasota Memorial had decided that Illya could travel back to New York and finish his treatment there.
“That’s good news,” Napoleon said. “It sounds like Illya has worn out his welcome.”
“I’m sure he’s been a model patient. The thing is Illya’s doctor doesn’t want him to travel on his own. The poor guy is still weakened.”
“Any chance Waverly will let me travel with him?”
“Funny you should ask. Now that your assignment is wrapping up, I persuaded Mr. Waverly that it would be cheaper to have you fly from New Orleans to Sarasota and then back to New York with Illya than to have someone fly from New York and back.”
“Sarah, you’re a miracle worker,” he replied.
“I’ve looked at the available flights and the timing is really tight. You’ll have less than three hours to get from the airport to the hospital and back to meet your flight. And Illya may not be able to move quickly.”
“No problem. Have them wrap him in brown paper and I’ll carry him home like a package.”
Lois was on second shift and would not be there when Illya left in the morning, so Napoleon called her, wanting his partner’s discharge instructions. He was fairly sure Illya would underplay things.
“He’s on a regimen of small, frequent meals--nothing spicy or rich for now. He’s unlikely to fight you on that. He knows how ill he feels when he eats too much at one time. He shouldn't lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk. And he needs to rest as often as possible. Just keep an eye on him.”
“I will do my best, Lois,” Napoleon said. “And I can’t thank you enough. If you’re ever in New York, I’d love to take you out to dinner.”
“Watch out or I’ll hold you to that,” she laughed.
Sarah was correct about the challenging timing. Napoleon had to sprint to the taxi stand after grabbing his bag off the airport luggage carousel. When he got to the hospital, he found Illya pacing his room, dressed in slacks and a polo shirt. The clothes were far looser now than when Illya had worn them at the beginning of their assignment.
“Ah, you’ve come to break me out of this facility,” Illya said, breaking into the first smile Napoleon had seen from his partner since before he was shot.
“That bad?”
“It is difficult having every aspect of your life taken out of your control,” Illya said. “Not the fault of the hospital staff, of course. They’ve been wonderful. But I want to go home.”
“Then, let’s get you out of here,” Napoleon said as he took Illya’s suitcase. His partner mumbled something about his being perfectly capable of carrying it but did not fight him.
Hospital personnel wished Illya well as they made their way through the halls. Napoleon figured the female staff must have overlooked a lot due to Illya’s angelic looks.
By the time they boarded their flight, Illya was flagging. Napoleon could tell that his partner was trying to put up a good front, but it was obvious that he was exhausted. Illya winced as he sank into his seat and fell asleep as soon as he’d fastened his seatbelt.
They landed in New York and made their way to the baggage claim area. Napoleon took both of their bags, and they hustled out to the taxi stand. Napoleon had suggested Illya stay at his apartment, but his partner insisted on going home. It was clearly very important to him.
The two flights of stairs up to his apartment were not easy for Illya. He seemed to do fairly well walking on level ground, but climbing stairs obviously used a different set of muscles. But as Illya unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen, the look of happiness on his partner’s face warmed Napoleon.
“Sarah Johnson stopped by last night with a few groceries,” he told Illya as he opened the fridge. “Looks like she brought milk, juice and eggs.”
“That’s far more than I ever have in the house. And cornflakes, bread, jam and peanut butter,” Illya said, gesturing to items on the counter. “That was very kind of her.”
It was nearly dinner time, so Napoleon walked down to the deli on the corner and brought back a container of chicken soup for Illya and a pastrami sandwich for himself. Illya was exhausted and headed to bed as soon as they had eaten.
“I’ll be back in the morning to take you to the office. Dr. Engle wants to examine you.”
“I can hardly wait.”
The next morning, Napoleon knocked on Illya’s door. Entering at Illya’s “come in”, he found his partner finishing a slice of toast and a cup of tea as he looked over the stack of mail that had built up in his three-week absence.
“It’s a wonder my telephone wasn’t shut off,” he said, holding up a bill with a red overdue notation on it. “I suppose we should go. I don’t want to keep Dr. Engle waiting.”
Illya slipped into the suit jacket that had been on the back of his chair. Dressed in his usual work attire, his pallor and weight loss seemed even more evident.
They entered through Del Florio’s and were greeted warmly by the man himself. The receptionist took special care to pin Illya’s badge on.
“As a lamb to the slaughter, to be thoroughly poked and prodded,” Illya said as they walked slowly down to medical. It was clear that Illya would be an unwilling participant in the examination.
Dr. Engle met them and escorted Illya into an exam room requesting he remove his shirt. From the doorway he said, “Mr. Solo, would you be able to wait for a short while? I’ll speak with both you and Mr. Kuryakin when I’ve finished the examination.”
As he waited, Napoleon reflected on the relationship section two agents had with medical. It was somewhat illogical, since they were injured often and medical care was necessary, but most agents hated submitting themselves to treatment. Perhaps it felt too much like being captured and tortured. In both cases, your life and body were out of your control.
Half an hour later, Engle called him into the room. Illya was buttoning his shirt, his expression unreadable. “Are you okay with my sitting in on this discussion?” Napoleon asked his partner. Illya nodded without comment.
“Your wound is healing well, Mr. Kuryakin. And the dietary issues you’ve had are not uncommon with such an injury. I expect you will make a complete recovery.”
“When can I return to work?” Illya asked.
“We’re going to have to monitor your progress. I think we could have you back on desk duty within a few weeks. Certifying you for field work will take considerably longer.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Illya sputtered. “I can’t be out of commission for that long.”
Dr. Engle smiled, “You young men think you’re invincible. I understand. I was your age once. But Mr. Kuryakin, I read the surgeon’s report and your injuries were catastrophic. If you hadn’t been transported so quickly, you would not have survived. You are incredibly fortunate to be alive.”
“I know. I felt myself dying,” Illya admitted. “I just hate being idle.”
“Being idle is the best thing you could be doing,” Engle said. “Your body needs rest in order to heal. And you need to continue increasing your caloric intake. According to the hospital, you made some progress in the last week, gaining three pounds but you’re still underweight. You need to gain at least ten more pounds before I would consider approving you for field work.”
“If I follow your instructions, when will you allow me back to desk duty?”
“If you rest at home and continue to eat well, I’ll reevaluate you in a week.”
“I’ll do my best,” Illya said.
And he did do his best, though he only remained idle for three days before he showed up at headquarters.
“I tried to rest,” he told Napoleon as they sat in their office. “I slept for a few hours every afternoon and ate as much as I could. I’m quite fond of your American peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But I felt like a trapped animal.”
“You were stir crazy,” Napoleon replied. “It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Stir crazy?” Illya mused. “I think you make up these Western idioms just to tease me.”
Luckily, Dr. Engle agreed to allow Illya to work in the office with the caveat that he had to take a break every afternoon and rest for two hours in medical. Illya initially protested but his body clearly needed downtime as he recovered. He grudgingly reported to medical after lunch each day and slept solidly for the entire rest period.
So Illya typed up the backlog of mission reports he and Napoleon had neglected and spent time helping in the lab. But there simply weren’t enough tasks to keep him busy and he became frustrated as he always did when bored. This led to minor skirmishes with his coworkers, many of whom asked Napoleon to find something to occupy Illya before someone sent him back to the hospital.
It was Waverly who came up with a plan to give Illya an assignment. Napoleon had given him a status update on his partner’s recovery and jokingly mentioned that he needed to find something for Illya to do before the secretaries scotch taped his mouth, tied his hands together with twine and stashed him with the clerical supplies.
“As it happens,” Waverly said, “I think I have just the assignment for Mr. Kuryakin. It will get him out of the office for a few days and save him from the supply cupboard.”