Work Text:
Napoleon blinks back to wakefulness slowly, like his brain isn’t functioning at full power. He doesn’t know where he is or what he had been doing, and the slip of memory is terrifying in its completeness.
He blinks a few times and a face swims into view. It’s a familiar face, one that soothes Napoleon’s fear, but he can’t place who it is at the moment. He realizes then that he is moving, and that the familiar man is carrying him.
“It’s okay, Cowboy,” the man says, but he looks terrified. That can’t be good. “You’re okay. You had a seizure, but you are okay now.”
He tries to stay focused, but he drifts, and every time he surfaces again the man has to explain that he’s had a seizure, because Napoleon doesn’t remember.
By the time Illya makes it out of the compound and to Gaby’s car, Solo is seemingly beginning to truly wake up.
“Peril?” Solo asks, voice the weakest Illya has ever heard it. It was stronger when he’d been strapped into Rudi’s chair all those months ago.
“I’m here, Cowboy,” Illya says, opening the car’s back door and sliding Solo into the backseat. Illya has no idea if there’s a certain way to position someone who’s just had a seizure, so he climbs into the backseat as well and arranges them so Solo’s head rests on his thigh.
“What happened in there?” Gaby asks as she pulls away from the compound.
“He had seizure,” Illya says. “I do not know why, it seemed to come from nowhere.”
“Holy shit,” Gaby says. When Illya meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, they’re huge and afraid. “Was he exposed to something?”
Illya shakes his head. “We were right next to each other entire time. If he was exposed, I would have been as well.”
“Fuck,” Gaby swears as she pulls onto the road. “Why did the CIA let an epileptic in the field?”
That, Illya has no answer to.
By the time they arrive at their safehouse, Solo has fallen asleep, which seems for the best. Illya can only imagine how exhausting a seizure must be. Instead of waking him, Illya carefully lifts Solo into his arms and carries him inside, just like he had carried Solo out of the THRUSH compound.
Despite Illya’s best efforts, Solo wakes up as Illya sets him down on his bed.
“Peril?” Solo asks softly, brow knotted in confusion. “Where…”
“We are back at safehouse,” Illya says, pulling off Solo’s shoes so he’ll be more comfortable. He’s sure Solo will give him hell later for letting him sleep in his clothes, but Illya cannot handle undressing Solo. “How much do you remember?”
Solo blinks, and Illya watches him try to recall the last couple hours. “Nothing since we got to the compound,” he finally admits. Then he sighs. “I had a seizure, didn’t I.”
“Why did you not tell us you are epileptic?” Illya asks. “No one with your condition should be in the field.”
“I don’t have epilepsy,” Solo says tiredly. “Can we talk about this later?”
Illya sighs. He would really rather get his answers now, but he can tell how worn-out Solo is. “Okay,” he says, beginning to turn away. Then Solo’s hand grabs his arm. “Cowboy?”
Solo swallows heavily, looking away. “Could you stay close?” he asks. “When I have one, more usually follow. I’d appreciate having a friendly face around after the next one.”
The idea of watching his friend convulse again makes Illya’s throat tight. Despite that, he says, “Of course, Cowboy. I will get chair from the living room.”
“Thanks, Peril,” Solo murmurs, eyes drifting closed.
True to his word, he has two more short seizures over the rest of the day. They’re terrifying to watch, but Illya stays to help Solo in their aftermath. Eventually Solo falls into a deep sleep, and after four hours with no more seizures, Illya leaves for his own bedroom. He sleeps poorly, brain replaying Solo seizing over and over again.
The next morning, Illya makes breakfast for the three of them, but while Gaby gets up around eight, Solo doesn’t appear even though he’s usually up earlier than she is. Fearing the worst, Illya ducks his head inside Solo’s room, but he’s just sleeping, snoring a little and drooling on his pillow. He’s probably just tired.
It’s almost noon by the time Solo finally shuffles out of his room, robe thrown on over the clothing that he had slept in, pillow creases still on his face.
“Morning, Peril,” he says as if nothing is wrong.
“Are you okay?” Illya asks.
Solo sighs. “I’m fine. The, uh, they tend to take it out of me pretty bad.”
Illya gets up to make a fresh pot of coffee. “Sit down, I will make you food. How much of yesterday do you remember?”
Solo sits at the kitchen island, elbows on the tabletop, hands propping up his head. “Not much, which is why I figured I had a seizure.”
“Three,” Illya says. He only realizes how tightly his fist is clenched when the spatula he’s holding begins to bend. “You had three seizures yesterday.”
“Christ,” Solo says. “Sorry you had to see that, Peril.”
“You said yesterday you’re not epileptic,” Gaby says from the doorway to the kitchen. Neither of them had heard her approach, and Illya sees Solo startle.
“I’m not,” Solo confirms. “Can this wait until after breakfast?”
“Fine,” she says, sitting next to him. “But you can’t avoid us forever.”
“I can damn well try,” Solo mumbles. Gaby just smacks him on the arm.
After Solo eats, they settle in the safehouse’s little living room, Solo stretched out on the sofa, Illya and Gaby in nearby armchairs. Solo still looks exhausted.
“It’s after breakfast,” Gaby says.
“So it is,” Solo says with a sigh. “First, will you promise to not go to Waverly with this? I mean it when I say I’m not epileptic, but he’ll think I am and take me out of the field. And if he does that…” Solo pauses, swallows heavily, and starts again. “My deal with the CIA is that if I can’t do fieldwork, I’ll have to serve the rest of my sentence in prison.”
Illya hadn’t considered that, but then again, his loan to UNCLE from the KGB is a loan in name only; he is, for all intents and purposes, permanently an UNCLE agent, and even if he were taken out of the field, he would still stay with UNCLE. He hadn’t considered Solo might not be so free, but he should have.
“If it helps,” Solo continues, “they’re quite rare. Before this, I hadn’t had a grand mal seizure for… two years, I want to say. So it probably won’t happen again for a while.”
“That does help,” Illya admits. He’s just glad to know he likely won’t have to watch that again for several years. “Okay, Cowboy. We won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you,” Solo says sincerely.
“Then why the seizures?” Gaby asks. “What else could cause them?”
Solo presses his lips together until they nearly disappear. “Nerve gas exposure can.”
“The war,” Illya says, suddenly understanding.
But Solo snorts. “Not the war, Peril. If I’d been exposed to German nerve agents, I’d be significantly more fucked-up than I am. No, this was after the war.” He looks over at Illya. “Don’t suppose Dr. Kuryakin would allow me some whiskey.”
“Cowboy, I’m not sure you should be drinking coffee,” Illya says, gesturing at the cooling mug on the coffee table. “No whiskey.”
“A shame,” Solo says. He forces himself into a sitting position. “You’re spies, so I won’t insult you by asking if you can keep a secret, but… this is a big one. The US Army has a secret base where they test chemical weapons on soldiers, and I was one of their test subjects.”
“You’re kidding,” Gaby says faintly. Solo just smiles tightly at her.
Illya can only stare. He’s heard the stories of Germany and Japan during the war. He suspects his own country had the same. But to have such a program after the war…
“Why?” he asks.
“For the next frontier of war, why else?” Solo spits out. “They told us we were testing uniforms. And then they shoved us in gas chambers.”
Illya swears, biting back anger. He barely manages to keep his fists from trembling. All he can imagine is a young Solo, as young as in those photos Oleg had showed him so long ago, being poisoned.
“Precisely,” Solo says, not meeting their gazes. “I… I don’t know what it was they used on us. It was never in high enough doses to seriously debilitate us, and anyone who showed symptoms was treated, but we were probably exposed a dozen times. I thought I got off easy. Then the seizures started. I’ve had them on and off since, and I can only assume it’s thanks to whatever I was exposed to. My own research points toward nerve gas, but I can’t be sure of it. I’ll likely never know for certain.”
“Oh mein gott, Solo,” Gaby murmurs, eyes big and face pale. “I…”
Solo flashes her a tight smile. “It’s also the likely cause of the nerve pain I’ve dealt with since, and why I haven’t left any little Solos behind me despite not always being careful about that sort of thing. But those aren’t as flashy as the seizures.”
“Nerve pain?” Illya asks tightly. Even as he wonders if this is why Solo drinks so much, his anger grows knowing Cowboy is so often in pain. He can’t help it. He has come to terms with the fact that he is so protective of his teammates, Solo especially, but even so he doesn’t think he’s ever been angry at his partners’ bodies before. But he is, as absurd as it is.
“Yeah,” Solo says, looking down. He slumps, suddenly seeming so tired. “Have I answered all your questions?”
“Only one more,” Illya says. Solo only gestures towards him tiredly. “Are you okay?”
Solo’s head lifts so he can stare at Illya. “Aren’t I always?” But Illya’s glare deflates him. “I tend to be pretty out of it for a few days after, though, so we might need to make up something for Waverly. I can trust you to go along with that, right?” he asks guardedly.
“Of course,” Gaby says. She gets up, patting him on the shoulder before making for the back door. Probably going out to smoke.
“Probably brought up thoughts of her uncle,” Solo murmurs once the back door shuts behind her. Ah. Illya hadn’t considered that, so consumed has he been by his own anger. “You gonna be okay, Peril?”
Illya forces his hands to unclench. “Yes.”
“I really did get off lightly, Illya,” Solo says quietly. “I could have been paralyzed. It could have fried my brain. I’ll take a little pain and the occasional seizure any day.”
Illya, too, stands. He has the sudden urge to hug Solo. Instead, he just sits down next to him, close enough to press their arms together. Solo just sighs and leans into the touch.
Some days, he thinks it is impossible Solo cannot see how Illya feels for him, and today is one of those days. He wants to gather Solo in his arms, wants to promise to protect him.
Solo looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Would you…” He stops, swallows, starts again. “I need to lie down. Would you stay with me for a little while?”
Illya’s breath catches in his throat. “Of course, Cowboy,” he says, voice tight. He would do so much worse than that if Solo only asked.
When they stand, Illya can’t help himself. He pulls Solo into his arms, wrapping around him protectively. Solo stands there frozen for a long, terrible moment, and Illya is about to pull away when Solo sags and returns the hug.
“Thanks, Peril,” Solo says quietly. And it’s enough.