The Limits of Friendship - Pic Fic 15th - Oct

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Twang!

The rubber band flew across the room and hit the wall just behind Illya's head. Ah, so close and yet so far. Biting his tongue in concentration, Napoleon carefully selected his next piece of ammunition and squinted at his target.

Illya was sitting at his desk, flicking between two piles of papers and diagrams – one in Japanese and one in Russian - and comparing them to a small heap of electrical components in front of him. Honestly, Napoleon wasn't quite sure what he was doing, and at this point it was a matter of pride not to ask. He could have been attempting some new breakthrough of science and engineering, or he could have been trying to repair his record player. After all, it didn't matter.

He lined up the band....

Twang.

Victory! The rubber band sailed gracefully and came to a peaceful rest, nestled on top of Illya's head. He didn't flinch or look up. “Do you want something, Napoleon?”

He lounged back in his chair and smiled. “I was thinking of going out for some lunch to the deli down the street. Are you - “

“ - yes,” Illya interrupted. “A turkey on rye with potato chips and pickles. Thank you.”

Hmm. That hadn't exactly been what he'd had in mind. He stared contemplatively at his partner for a long moment. “You know, I'm not sure this is my table.”

Eyes still on the paper he was reading, Illya pulled out his money clip and dropped it onto the table. “If you want a tip, that is not the attitude you should be adopting.”

Shaking his head, he took the money – enough to buy them each a sandwich, because if Illya was going to be like that he could most certainly buy his long-suffering partner some lunch. “See you in a bit.”

He left via Del Floria's and strolled towards the deli. It was a nice day, and he wasn't thinking about anything in particular, when a man suddenly burst out of an alley and started to spray him from some sort of cannister, drenching him from head to toe.

“What...” It smelled like gasoline. Oh, this was not how he wanted to spend his lunch hour.

Someone screamed somewhere behind him as the man drew out a long pipe and pressed a button until a small flame burst out the end. He had less than a second to think. If that touched him, he was going to die, in a particularly horrible way. The street behind him was packed with people; if he tried to run he wouldn't get far, not to mention that someone else might get hurt. Instead, he charged towards his would-be-murderer, desperately trying to judge the right angle to send the pipe flying out of his hand. As he slammed into the man he heard the clatter as it tumbled away further into the alley. Alright. That was one danger gone, but he was still fighting, dodging and throwing punches.

The man seemed off balance though. Probably he had expected Napoleon to be on fire and screaming by now. At any rate, he was quickly able to get the upper hand, forcing his attacker back against the wall with no place to go.

“Now,” he said mildly as he advanced. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me exactly who you are and who you work for?”

He saw it too late; the man's hand darted into his pocket and brought out a cigarette lighter, holding it against Napoleon's gasoline-soaked jacket.

The flames caught instantly. Cursing, he stumbled backwards, the blistering pain and the heat scorching across his chest as he tried to remove his burning clothing, or beat the flames out, or something.

Time seemed to go in slow motion, but then, somehow, Illya was there, roughly knocking him to the ground and tearing off his jacket, pants and shirt, forcibly rolling him across the alley floor, until all the fire was out.

He lay still for a moment, experimentally checking himself over, and beneath the adrenaline he could feel the heat of the burns on his hands and chest, and the bruising around his shoulders – Illya had hardly been gentle – but he didn't think it was too bad.

“Thanks,” he said to Illya as he sat up gingerly, wrinkling his nose at the filth from the alley floor covering him. “What brings you here anyway?”

“Ketchup,” Illya said succinctly, helping him to stand, and then sit on a handy crate when it became clear to both of them that standing was a tall order.

“Ketchup?” he repeated, blinking.

“For the sandwich,” Illya elaborated.

“Ah.” He took a deep breath. “That's got to be the first time my life's ever been saved by a condiment.” He twisted his head around, half stretching, half searching. “Is he - “

“ - gone,” Illya said flatly. “He ran when I appeared.”

Napoleon pursed his lips. “You let him get away?”

Illya looked at him exasperatedly. “I'm sorry. You were occupying most of my attention. Perhaps next time you would prefer that I leave you to burn to death.”

“Ah, perhaps I'll let you off this time,” he said.

“So kind.” The reply was positively dripping with irony. “You are going to need to go to medical. That may be more assassins lurking around. I will have them send transportation around.”

“Right....” He gazed unhappily down at his bare chest and his now-garbage-covered boxers. This wasn't the way he liked to be seen.

Wordlessly, Illya took off his jacket and passed it over.

Napoleon shrugged it on, forbearing to complain about the material...or the cut....or the colour. But he did look up at his partner hopefully. “You know, that wasn't actually the part of me I wanted covered.”

“Hrmph.” Illya looked at him levelly. “Napoleon, I will save your life any time. But I will not give you my pants.”

Right. So much for friendship.

Comments

[badgermirlacca.livejournal.com]

LOVE IT.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

And what a friendship it is. Just as relief was felt a second deadly flame appears, that was very effective.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

That is exactly what friendship is. Sarcasm, annoyance and a willingness to save the life of the other. However, expecting a man to give you his trousers is an ask too far :-)

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

I'm sure Napoleon looks good in a loin cloth.

What an excellent bit of action. A much more effectiove Thrush thug than most. And great partner interaction all through. The ketchup bit!

[rosywonder.livejournal.com]

Very good, utterly believable words and actions of both men.  One thing though. Just tell Illya to never, never rip burning  clothes off someone. They can prevent shock and I'm afraid to say you could end up ripping off skin with it if you do. Just tell him to call and I'll explain .....

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

But it only goes so far. :) Thanks for commenting.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

I think that should maybe go on a t-shirt.... Thank you!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

I imagine he does. But it may not be a fashion statement he's willing to make.
Glad you liked it - the THRUSH thug (if he was THRUSH) was only effective up to a point, really. Thank you!

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you, glad you liked it. I admit I didn't research the correct course of action - my bad. I will next time.

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Friendship only does go so far, but just think of the women who will want a look at what is available.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, very true. Though I think the garbage will detract from his charms a little. Thanks for commenting.

Fire

[rosywonder.livejournal.com]

I am no expert, but during my brief nursing career we had a rather memorable training day with the fire brigade which involved, amongst other things, a rather gruesome film about what to do if someone caught fire. It would seem the most natural thing in the world to rip off their clothes (especially if it was Illya) but in truth the charred fabric can act to protect the burnt layer of skin and if really bad, needs to be removed by a doctor. Apparently the normal reflex is to run, so its important to get the person on the ground and roll them to put out the flames, in a blanket if possible. I am now sounding absurdly nerdy. Forgive. Anyway, i loved your story and i fully concur that giving one's trousers away is a bridge too far. Even if they would fit. Which is doubtful.

RE: Fire

[rosywonder.livejournal.com]

Oh he did roll him! Clever old Russian!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Loved the sarcasm, yet the willingness to sacrifice trumps the pithiness. But even friendship has its limit when it comes to Illya's pants.

Excellent fic! Thank you for the enjoyable read as well as a good use of the prompt.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, I think pants is a sacrifice too far. :) Thanks, glad you liked it.