Chapter Text
Napoleon and Illya were sitting in their office; Napoleon was preparing for his teleconference and his partner was transcribing his notes from his latest experiments. Solo’s phone rang and he snatched it up.
“Sara, I said I didn’t want to be interrupted. What? Alright, put him through. Mark? What’s going on?”
At the mention of Mark’s name, Illya stopped what he was doing and stared at Napoleon who was listening intently and had begun rubbing his forehead.
“Alright, alright. You stay put. I’ll send Illya and I’ll come as soon as I finish my meeting. I know. I know. I will.” He hung up and looked lost in thought for a few seconds.
Illya, whose stomach had started to clench as soon as he realized it was Mark Slate was on the line, asked, “What is wrong, Napoleon?”
“I’m sorry, Illya; April’s been shot.”
“What?!”
“Mark called an ambulance that took them to Columbia – Presbyterian Hospital uptown. She’s in surgery right now. Mark said…he said it doesn’t look good. Go. I’ll tell Waverly. Go!”
Illya leapt up and grabbed his jacket. He was so shocked and scared, he forgot how to speak English. “O Bozhe moy! Ya ne mogu porteyat’ yeye!” (Oh, my God! I cannot lose her!” he said as he raced out the pneumatic door.
He practically threw his badge at the receptionist and couldn’t get the door leading to Del Floria’s fast enough. “Napoleon ordered a car and driver for you! It’s right outside,” Salvatore called after him. He didn’t know what had caused the Russian to be so frantic, but he sent a quick prayer up anyway that whatever the problem was, it would be resolved in Illya’s favor.
The ride from HQ on the East Side of Manhattan to the northern tip of the island where the hospital is located took about thirty – five minutes once the Section III driver got on the Westside Highway, but to Illya it felt like years. It took all his concentration not to yell at his driver to go faster.
When they arrived, he dismissed the car and hurried inside. He stopped at the front desk to inquire where people waited while loved ones were in surgery and was directed to the elevator bank and sent to the tenth floor. He walked quickly to the waiting room door and opened it.
Mark was sitting slumped over with his face in his hands. He looked up as soon as he heard the door. He got up immediately and hugged the smaller man. “Illya, Mate,” he whispered. He let go and plopped back into his seat. “She’s still in surgery.”
Illya sat next to him. “How did this happen?” he asked quietly.
“We ‘ad been following a THRUSH courier for a couple of hours hoping he would lead us to what we suspected is a new satrap somewhere in Washington Heights. We observed him entering what looked like a warehouse. We waited outside for about a ‘alf hour and when ‘e didn’t come out, we decided to go in and see what was happening.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “I went in first and when nothing happened, we decided to split up in order to clear the building. We cleared the first floor and were moving up the stairs when two blokes suddenly leaned over the second-floor railing and began to fire. We immediately returned fire and I saw both of them go down. We had each shot one. I turned around to say something to April and, and she was clutching her chest and blood was…oh my god, there was so much! She collapsed and I put pressure on the wound and used my communicator to call for help. I was so grateful that this was the closest hospital because Columbia – Presbyterian is world – class. When I showed my UNCLE ID, the staff rushed her into surgery. My only complaint is that no one is telling me anything!”
Illya said nothing. As an agent, he understood that sometimes, agents get hurt and sometimes, they die. However, as April’s lover, he was blaming Mark for her current situation. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t help it. Part of him wanted to rip Mark’s head off for failing to protect his partner. The part of him that was rational knew that Mark was figuratively flagellating himself for not preventing her injury just like he would be doing if it were Napoleon in surgery. He knew Mark was feeling guilty and miserable. I need to say something, he thought. The only thing he could think of to ask without sounding accusatory was, “How long has she been in surgery?”
Mark checked his watch. “Going on three hours.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She’s got to come through this,” he muttered more to himself than Illya. “She’s just got to.”
As if by mutual agreement, both men fell silent and sat on opposite ends of the room. That’s how Napoleon found them when he arrived at the hospital. “What happened to your meeting?” Illya asked.
“It’s finished. I told you I would be here afterwards.”
“Chyort!” the Russian exclaimed. “April has been in surgery for more than five hours! Why have we heard nothing?”
Just then, the waiting room door opened and a man wearing a lab coat entered. “I’m Doctor Perez. I operated on Miss April Dancer.” He looked at Mark. “Are you the young man who accompanied her in the ambulance?” When Mark nodded, he looked pointedly at Napoleon and Illya.
“It’s alright,” Mark said, “We’re all UNCLE agents. In fact, these men are our supervisors. Please tell us how my partner is.”
“She made it through surgery, though it was touch and go for a while. The next twenty – four hours are critical. If she makes it that far, there is a very good chance she will survive.”
Mark glared at him. “Why do I feel like there is a ‘but’ coming?”
“Fortunately, we were able to extract the bullet, but unfortunately, it was very close to her spine. There is so much bruising and swelling in the area, that we can’t determine if there was damage to her spinal cord. There is a chance that Miss Dancer could be paralyzed.”
“Cor Blimey!”
“Bozhe moy!”
Napoleon saw how stricken both men were and said, “Doctor Perez, we all appreciate and thank you for saving Miss Dancer’s life and giving her a chance to recover. As soon as she is stable enough, we will have her transferred to our medical center for security reasons. Until that happens, someone from UNCLE will be here twenty – four seven to provide security for her.”
Doctor Perez nodded. “I understand. We have had many law enforcement personnel in our facility so the staff is used to seeing patients being guarded. That is not a problem at all. Miss Dancer is in Recovery now. Someone will come to let you know when she is in a room. A private room since she is law enforcement.”
After Doctor Perez left, Napoleon quickly hugged Mark and then, Illya. “I’m so sorry, guys. Mark, when is the last time you ate or drank anything?”
“Honestly, Napoleon, I don’t know. I’m not ‘ungry, though.”
“I’m going to the Commissary and bringing you some food that I expect you to eat. Starving yourself isn’t going to do you or April any good. Come on, Illya.”
“I want to stay…”
“That’s an order, Agent Kuryakin. Let’s go.”
When they got out of the room, Napoleon threw his arm around his partner’s shoulders. “You wouldn’t appreciate someone hovering around you if I were injured. Give Mark the same respect. I know you’re hurting, Partner Mine, but April is his partner. Give him time to process what happened. When she gets into her room, I’ll make sure you have time with her.”
“Thank you, Napoleon.”
By the time they got back to the tenth floor, April had been moved into her room. Mark had pulled up a chair and was holding her hand and talking into her ear. He accepted the sandwich and coffee that Napoleon had bought for him and ate it greedily after having to admit to himself that he was hungrier than he had thought.
“Mark,” Napoleon said, “come outside with me. Illya will watch after April.”
Mark followed his CEA into the hallway and to the solarium at the end of the hall. They were the only two people in there. Napoleon looked at the junior agent and said, “I know you are, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for April’s injuries. She’s an agent, just like you. She’s tough, maybe even tougher than you are.”
“You’ll get no argument from me about that, but I don’t know about Illya. I know he blames me.”