"That's what friends do." ~ for the Song Story Challenge 6/16

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The prompt: "The way old friends do" by Abba

(The lyrics) You and I can share the silence Finding comfort together The way old friends do And after fights and words of violence

We make up with each other The way old friends do Times of joy and times of sorrow We will always see it through

Oh I don't care what comes tomorrow We can face it together The way old friends do You and I can share the silence

Finding comfort together The way old friends do And after fights and words of violence

We make up with each other The way old friends do Times of joy and times of sorrow

We will always see it through Oh I don't care what comes tomorrow We can face it together The way old friends do

Napoleon watched his partner as he began to nod off; he leaned over, poking the Russian in the side with his finger.

“Oh no you don’t. No sleepy time for you tovarisch.”

Kuryakin knew he was right, but wanted so badly to close his eyes and just give in. He was weak, his head was pounding from a major concussion, perhaps even a fractured skull, that was in addition to all the cuts, contusions and abrasions that covered his already too thin body. Any little loss of blood was taking its toll.
The last beating by their captors had been the worst. For what purpose, neither man knew, as they hadn't been asked a single question, not one. Illya and Napoleon were beaten in silence.

“Let me go Napoleon. I think it is time.”

“No, it is not time” the American hissed, doing a bit of an Illya Kuryakin impersonation.

”We stick together and I am most certainly not ready to leave this earth just yet. Now just hang on, remember you’re one stubborn pain in the ass Russian.”

“Da, that I am,” Illya tried to laugh but it turned into a cough.

Solo was nearly as bad off as his partner, except for the concussion; instead his left eye was completely swollen shut and his fingers were tingling, they were more numb than anything. His usually fit figure was thin as well since their captors chose not to feed the UNCLE agents often enough.

At least they had plenty of water and as cells went, this one was at least clean with decent mattresses and blankets. It wasn’t cold and damp either.

As of late a nurse, carefully guarded by a pistol packing goon would check on them, taking their temperatures and blood pressure, perhaps making sure they were still alive.

Why this was being done the agents had no idea;  they were slowly being starved to death, maybe it was some sort of sick experiment?

It was by Solo’s estimate that it was more than a month since they’d been captured. Illya had been starved too many times in the past and sadly Napoleon realized the man knew his body, and how he felt.

Solo on the other hand had never experience being starved to death, and admittedly he was pretty miserable and becoming weaker with every passing day.

U.N.C.L.E. had no idea where they were, as the two agents had gone off the radar for this assignment, so he wasn’t expecting a rescue; yet he was hoping. Napoleon Solo was ever the optimist.

He looked down at his partner’s face. It was gaunt, but the man somehow managed to look peaceful.  Could Illya really be dying?

No he wasn’t dying, not just yet, Napoleon refused to believe it. If things continued going the way they were though, eventually his weakened state and lack of nourishment would kill them both. Still, there was no way he was going to let Illya give up, not yet.

“I know you don’t want to believe this tovarisch but I can just feel that help is on the way. Hang in there, please?” He whispered.

“Fine, I am not leaving you," Illya complained," Now will you please shut up and let me be miserable in silence?”

Good, that was the Kuryakin he knew and loved, stubborn and grouchy. Kuryakin never took being sick or wounded very well; the nursing staff at UNCLE headquarters could attest to that. The crankiness told him Illya was indeed fighting.

As the days passed both men became quiet, sharing the silence, yet finding comfort together, the way they always had as old friends do.

Their relationship was more than that of a partnership. They had over the years gone from being best friends to more like brothers, sticking together through all the violence, and fights with the enemy as well as each other. They faced it all together.

Napoleon listened as Illya’s breathing had become ragged and rasping. He got up from his bed, moving to his friend’s side.

“Illya, I’m here. Stay with me? Don’t leave me alone,” he spoke softly.

The blue eyes opened just a little, looking up at Solo.

“Not yet, I promise,” Illya could barely speak, but his eyes widened as he heard the cell door unlock and creak open. Would it be the nurse or a new session of beatings?

A nurse stepped through the door and went immediately to Napoleon’s side.

“How is he?” A very familiar voice quietly asked. It was April Dancer in disguise.

“Baby, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Solo wanted to kiss her in the worst way, but that probably wasn’t a good idea in case they were being watched by the guard.

“We can make kissy face later darling.” She winked and gestured to the guard to come in.

“This one is dead,”she pointed to Illya.

That distraction was all she needed as the guard bent over the blond to inspect the body. April shoved her perfume atomizer in his face and in one spritz of the contents, the guard was out cold.

She helped Napoleon strip off the uniform and get dressed in it, though it was a bit baggy on him. He put the khaki green Castro style cap on his head.
“Come on, we can carry Illya between the two of us. Just keep your head lowered so no one sees the bruises on your face.”

“On the count of three. One- two- hup,” he said as they pulled Illya to his feet.

“You forgot three,” Kuryakin mumbled.” Hup is not three.”

“Tovarisch, keep your smart Russian mouth shut as you’re supposed to be dead, capisce?”

Illya gave a wink and lowered his head, still he kept his body from completely becoming dead weight.

As the exited to the hallway and down to the next checkpoint, April spoke to the guard stationed there.

“This one’s dead. We need to take him off site to be autopsied.”

“No ma’am, that can’t happen.”

“Really? Well the Council is not going to be happy about this if we don’t provide some answers. Kuryakin shouldn’t have died. Now if you want me to find your treatment of him at fault, I can just report that rather than letting a doctor find an underlying cause for his death.”

The guard didn’t have to think twice after that threat.

“Yes, ma’am...sorry ma’am.”

Now get that door open for us!” April barked her orders. “And help us carry the body.”

“Yes ma’am, right away.” The guard took April’s place holding up Illya.

Outside, Mark Slate was waiting in a stolen THRUSH van and he quickly helped the others move Illya  into the back.

As Napoleon climbed into the van the Thrushie suddenly got a good look at his face.
"Hey you're not a guard!" April was there again in an instant with her atomizer, spritzing him right in the face, and the man dropped to the ground. They hid the body in some nearby bushes.
“That’s a pretty handy thing that perfume atomizer,” Napoleon finally planted a kiss on her cheek. "Thanks for the rescue."

"You can thank me properly once you're more yourself. Wow you're really skinny."
Napoleon had no snappy come back, he was too tired and hungry to be clever.

"Enough of that, "Slate called as he climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. He drove off, but not too quickly as it had to look like business as usual.

Three weeks later Napoleon walked into his partner’s hospital room. Illya was being released, though instead of being his usual cranky self, he’d been quiet during his recovery.

He’d suffered a concussion during his imprisonment and thankfully not a cracked skull, but he’d been kept mainly to gain back some of the weight he’d lost. He needed to be monitored for any other issues as he’d been already nearly starved to death too many times in his life.

Illya had always been thin when compared to his partner, and Solo’s recovery time had taken much less, still Napoleon was there day in and day out keeping Kuryakin company.

Though little was said between them. Illya would talk when and if he was ready, that was Napoleon’s way of thinking. He’d known the man and had been friends with him long enough to understand  his ways.

The Russian had just finished dressing himself, but seemed to be distant and moving slowly, something that surprised his partner.

“You feeling okay tovarisch?”

“Yes I am fine, and I do mean that. I have just been thinking a lot since our last imprisonment.”

“I surmised. About what may I ask?”

“Mostly regarding the many things you and I have been through together. We have seen much joy and sorrow,  and pain, have we not?”

“Yes and we’ve seen the good times and bad,” Napoleon agreed. “Yet no matter what comes tomorrow, we both know we can face it together.”

“Yes Napoleon,” Illya flashed a rare smile.”The way old friends do.”

“Amen to that partner. Now come on, we’re going to lunch courtesy of UNCLE. Mr. Waverly wants us both to gain a little more weight and against the wishes of accounting, he’s given us a nice little expense voucher for meals.

His exact words were, ‘Dash it all man,’ Napoleon did his best Waverly imitation. ‘I’ll not have my agents in less than tip top shape, expenses be damned...as it were.”

Solo's little performance sent the Russian into a fit of laughter and that told Napoleon everything was going to be all right.