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section7mfu(Meant to take place during the raft scene of "The Shark Affair")
An hour had passed since Napoleon and Illya had been set adrift on the raft, waiting to make contact with the boat that would, hopefully, take them aboard before the pirates attacked. Illya was quiet—very quiet, even for him, which was what prompted Napoleon to look over to him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, getting rather bored and hoping to strike up the conversation from before.
Illya responded with a weak moan.
“…Are you really seasick?” Napoleon asked, incredulously. “I thought you were just kidding!” The American stared at him in bemusement as the Russian’s slow burn gives him his answer. “You were serious…!”
“I’m so glad I’m amusing you…” Illya began, but he trailed off as his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, his expression unreadable. “It’s just… You… You were an officer in the Soviet Navy!”
Illya inhaled and exhaled a few times before turning back to his partner.
“Naval Intelligence…” he said, between gasps. “Mostly on shore… Had supply of ginger tea… for the times I was at sea…” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow. “Are you satisfied…?”
“I’m sorry,” Napoleon offered again. “I was just wondering. You have to admit, it’s kind of ironic…”
Illya gave him another dark look, and Napoleon winced, knowing he had just royally botched that apology attempt.
“Illya…”
An annoyed grunt was his only response.
“Illya, I really am sorry.”
“I want to be alone,” the Russian stated.
Napoleon raised both of his arms in an incredulous shrug, silently looking around at the seemingly endless waters surrounding their raft.
“…And where am I supposed to go?”
Illya didn’t respond; he merely shut his eyes as the unpleasant sensation in his stomach grew. Napoleon sighed, debating on whether or not to give Illya as much distance as the tiny raft would allow.
In the end, he thought against it.
“Illya, give me your arm.”
The Russian didn’t move.
“I can help you, Tovarisch.”
Without even looking at him, Illya offered his arm. The American sighed again, but firmly pressed down on the spot just below the front side of Illya’s wrist and maintained his hold there. A few minutes later, Illya looked up, blinking in surprise, and then turned to his partner, baffled.
“What did you do?” he asked, sounding much better.
“Pressure point,” Napoleon explained, staring pointedly at where he was holding Illya’s arm. “It’s located just below the wrist’s pulse point on the same side as the palm. You keep applying pressure to it, and it helps with motion sickness.”
“How did you learn this?”
“Army. Tanks aren’t the smoothest rides, either.”
“I can believe that,” Illya said, taking back his arm so that he could try the pressure point tactic himself. He waited another minute to determine the results and shook his head in amazement. “I wish I’d known about this years ago; far easier than trying to ensure a steady supply of ginger tea…”
“Well, at least you got to stick to shore doing all that intelligence work…” Napoleon began, but he trailed off as the full significance of his partner’s words from earlier sunk in. “Illya…”
“Ah, and the penny drops at last…”
“Illya, do you realize what could happen to you if word gets around that you were in Intelligence? I can think of over a dozen organizations off the top of my head that would do anything to get the information you have in yours!” All of them on NATO’s side, he silently added, bitterly.
“Word won’t get around,” Illya said, plainly. “Not even Mr. Waverly knows that I was in Intelligence. Not even U.N.C.L.E. Northeast knows; my people covered for me very well—as far as everyone knows, I was in engineering and research. …You’re now the only non-Soviet who knows the real story.”
“…Huh.” Napoleon mulled over this for a moment, and then looked back at his partner. “…You probably shouldn’t have told me.”
“The information I have is, admittedly, years old, and I didn’t actually tell you any of it,” Illya pointed out. “Though I would likely get reprimanded on principle if my people do find out I broke my cover, that is probably the worst that would happen. As for other countries… Again, my information would be considered obsolete, even if they did find out. But they won’t find out, I assume.”
He looked to Napoleon, who understood immediately what Illya was trying to say.
“It’s a secret I will take to my grave,” the American vowed. Even if Illya would only be reprimanded, the last thing Napoleon wanted was for any government to have an excuse to interrogate Illya or question him about what he knew about weapons or military secrets--even if his information was obsolete.
“I certainly hope it doesn’t come to that, but I do appreciate the sentiment,” Illya said, with a wan smile. He decided to change the subject, focusing again on the pressure point in his arm. “It’s really rather remarkable, this….”
“Remarkable is right…” Napoleon mused, his mind still on his partner’s nebulous past.
Illya was truly a riddle in a mystery wrapped in an enigma. But, first and foremost, he was a trusted agent and partner, and Napoleon was both honored and grateful to have him by his side.
An hour had passed since Napoleon and Illya had been set adrift on the raft, waiting to make contact with the boat that would, hopefully, take them aboard before the pirates attacked. Illya was quiet—very quiet, even for him, which was what prompted Napoleon to look over to him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, getting rather bored and hoping to strike up the conversation from before.
Illya responded with a weak moan.
“…Are you really seasick?” Napoleon asked, incredulously. “I thought you were just kidding!” The American stared at him in bemusement as the Russian’s slow burn gives him his answer. “You were serious…!”
“I’m so glad I’m amusing you…” Illya began, but he trailed off as his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, his expression unreadable. “It’s just… You… You were an officer in the Soviet Navy!”
Illya inhaled and exhaled a few times before turning back to his partner.
“Naval Intelligence…” he said, between gasps. “Mostly on shore… Had supply of ginger tea… for the times I was at sea…” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow. “Are you satisfied…?”
“I’m sorry,” Napoleon offered again. “I was just wondering. You have to admit, it’s kind of ironic…”
Illya gave him another dark look, and Napoleon winced, knowing he had just royally botched that apology attempt.
“Illya…”
An annoyed grunt was his only response.
“Illya, I really am sorry.”
“I want to be alone,” the Russian stated.
Napoleon raised both of his arms in an incredulous shrug, silently looking around at the seemingly endless waters surrounding their raft.
“…And where am I supposed to go?”
Illya didn’t respond; he merely shut his eyes as the unpleasant sensation in his stomach grew. Napoleon sighed, debating on whether or not to give Illya as much distance as the tiny raft would allow.
In the end, he thought against it.
“Illya, give me your arm.”
The Russian didn’t move.
“I can help you, Tovarisch.”
Without even looking at him, Illya offered his arm. The American sighed again, but firmly pressed down on the spot just below the front side of Illya’s wrist and maintained his hold there. A few minutes later, Illya looked up, blinking in surprise, and then turned to his partner, baffled.
“What did you do?” he asked, sounding much better.
“Pressure point,” Napoleon explained, staring pointedly at where he was holding Illya’s arm. “It’s located just below the wrist’s pulse point on the same side as the palm. You keep applying pressure to it, and it helps with motion sickness.”
“How did you learn this?”
“Army. Tanks aren’t the smoothest rides, either.”
“I can believe that,” Illya said, taking back his arm so that he could try the pressure point tactic himself. He waited another minute to determine the results and shook his head in amazement. “I wish I’d known about this years ago; far easier than trying to ensure a steady supply of ginger tea…”
“Well, at least you got to stick to shore doing all that intelligence work…” Napoleon began, but he trailed off as the full significance of his partner’s words from earlier sunk in. “Illya…”
“Ah, and the penny drops at last…”
“Illya, do you realize what could happen to you if word gets around that you were in Intelligence? I can think of over a dozen organizations off the top of my head that would do anything to get the information you have in yours!” All of them on NATO’s side, he silently added, bitterly.
“Word won’t get around,” Illya said, plainly. “Not even Mr. Waverly knows that I was in Intelligence. Not even U.N.C.L.E. Northeast knows; my people covered for me very well—as far as everyone knows, I was in engineering and research. …You’re now the only non-Soviet who knows the real story.”
“…Huh.” Napoleon mulled over this for a moment, and then looked back at his partner. “…You probably shouldn’t have told me.”
“The information I have is, admittedly, years old, and I didn’t actually tell you any of it,” Illya pointed out. “Though I would likely get reprimanded on principle if my people do find out I broke my cover, that is probably the worst that would happen. As for other countries… Again, my information would be considered obsolete, even if they did find out. But they won’t find out, I assume.”
He looked to Napoleon, who understood immediately what Illya was trying to say.
“It’s a secret I will take to my grave,” the American vowed. Even if Illya would only be reprimanded, the last thing Napoleon wanted was for any government to have an excuse to interrogate Illya or question him about what he knew about weapons or military secrets--even if his information was obsolete.
“I certainly hope it doesn’t come to that, but I do appreciate the sentiment,” Illya said, with a wan smile. He decided to change the subject, focusing again on the pressure point in his arm. “It’s really rather remarkable, this….”
“Remarkable is right…” Napoleon mused, his mind still on his partner’s nebulous past.
Illya was truly a riddle in a mystery wrapped in an enigma. But, first and foremost, he was a trusted agent and partner, and Napoleon was both honored and grateful to have him by his side.
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