Song Story for August - Compared to What?

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

“Well, this is me,” Maria said expectantly, stopping outside a good-sized villa at the top of the hill. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Napoleon.”

“You're welcome,” he smiled, his hand still entwined in hers. “I only wish we had more time to spend together.”

“Well...” She drew the word out, blushing lightly. “You could always come in for a nightcap. If you like.”

“I think I would.”

She laughed slightly and squeezed his hand as she led him inside.

“Nice place you have here,” he remarked. It was. Elegant and stately, as befitted a rising political star, full of shelves weighed down with law and philosophy books as you'd expect from a dedicated activist for democracy and human rights, and with just enough warm colours and personal touches to make it a home.

“Thank you,” she said. “Let me just run upstairs and slip into something...more comfortable.”

He smiled again and moved to the window, glancing out but keeping out of sight. His caution was nothing more than habit – they'd already dealt with THRUSH's presence in the city – and yet his attention was immediately caught by the unmarked van idling on the other side of the street. Huh. He took a step back, all senses on alert.

“So what do you think?” Maria asked, and he half-turned his head to see her posing on the stairs in a pink silk robe, before his attention was caught by a whistling sound from the van, and something coming hurtling towards the house.

“Get down!” he shouted desperately, throwing himself towards her. He barely had time to register the shock in her eyes before the explosion tore through the house. Everything shook. He was thrown down beside the stairs, not enough time to brace for impact, the pain roaring through him. For a moment, barely clinging to consciousness, he lay there, plaster and debris falling around him, feeling the flames licking along the wall.

The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in around him was Maria lying limp across the balustrade above him, her neck twisted unnaturally, her eyes open and empty.

*

He woke in hospital some time later. The pain had faded to a dull ache. The physical pain, away.

“Napoleon.”

He turned his head, not at all surprised to see Illya sitting at his bedside. “I'm awake,” he rasped. Illya passed him a glass of water, holding it steady as he drank. “Thanks.”

“You were brought in a few hours ago,” Illya told him. “You have a couple of fractured ribs and a minor concussion. The doctors say you were very lucky.”

“Maria?” he asked, and he already knew the answer, he already knew, and still he had to ask the question.

Silently, Illya shook his head.

Damn. He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“I am sorry,” Illya said.

Yes. Sorry. So was he. “We caught Cortez. Was there someone else? Someone we missed? Who - “

“ - It was not THRUSH,” Illya interrupted him. “And you were not the target. Miss Esteban's work made her a lot of enemies. It seems some of them caught up to her.”

Oh. Not THRUSH. That didn't make it any better. It almost made it worst. “I'd like to be alone,” he told Illya, his voice hollow. “Could you give me a few minutes?”

“Of course. I should update Mr Waverly.” He stood. “Napoleon, I am sorry.”

“I know.” He flashed his partner a quick smile, hoping it didn't look as brittle as it felt.

He waited until he was sure Illya was gone, staring up at the ceiling, dry-eyed and empty. Then he sat up, swung his legs over then edge of the bed, retrieved some clothes from the locker and, with a grunt of pain, let himself out by the window.

*

Illya caught up with him three whiskies later in the bar down the street. He didn't say anything or even look up as his partner slid into the seat opposite. Luckily it was still early enough that the place was empty.

“I gave you a few minutes,” Illya remarked after a moment of silence.

“Mmm. Thanks,” Napoleon said, staring down into his glass.

“Do I need to remind you of the perils of mixing alcohol and head injuries?”

He breathed out slowly. “I've got you to carry me home if need be, right?”

“Do not think that I would not,” Illya threatened.

Finally, he lifted his head, looking Illya straight in the eyes. “Do you ever wonder what it's all for, tovarisch?” he asked.

Illya sighed. “Don't we all?”

“She was working against voter suppression, running on a platform of anti-corruption. She wanted universal education, clean water for everyone...what part of that did someone decide she deserved to die for, huh? We're out there fighting our own war to stop THRUSH taking over the world, and even when we win, there's still someone willing to kill good people because they want to hold onto their own little empires.” He paused, breathing heavily. “Are we even making a difference?”

“We are making the world safer,” Illya reminded him.

He laughed shortly. “Compared to what?” he demanded. “THRUSH are just one threat. You know as well as I do how close the world has come to nuclear war over the last few years. And how many good people like Maria are murdered every day? What good are we?”

Illya hesitated for a long moment. “We cannot hope to save everyone,” he said at last. “But you and I have saved a good portion of the world more than once. That is worth something, is it not?”

Of course it was. He sighed, weary beyond belief. “I liked her.”

“You like all of them.” He looked up sharply, but there was no judgement on Illya's face. “And I believe she was someone worth liking.”

“She was,” he agreed, past the lump in his throat. “I wish I could have saved her. I saw the van before the attack. I wasn't fast enough.”

“Hmm.” Illya took the glass out of his hand and laid it to the side. “This was not your fault, my friend. But wouldn't you like to find out whose fault it was?”

“Vengeance?” His smile was crooked. “Is that what you have to offer?”

“Justice,” Illya corrected. “Going after the bad guys remains within our job description.”

“True.” At least that was something he could do. Something better than wallowing in this guilt and grief. “Alright, I have a few ideas where we can start - “

“ - you will start in the hospital until the doctors say you may leave,” Illya interrupted firmly. “At that point you can join my investigation.”

“Oh, really?” He let out a soft huff. “I don't remember the part where you're in charge, pal.”

The banter felt awkward. Forced. And judging by the look in Illya's eyes, it sounded it too, but still his partner answered in a perfect imitation of calm irritation. “As I presume you do not wish Mr Waverly questioning our prolonged absence, you need my cooperation.”

He very much doubted that Illya would give him up no matter what he did. But he also knew better than to push. “Alright the hospital it is then. Just try not to get in trouble without me.”

“No promises,” Illya said levelly, standing and offering Napoleon a hand up – which was more appreciated than he wanted to admit. He had to admit, he probably needed some more medical attention.

Maria was gone, and that was one more weight dragging on his soul.

Illya gripped his hand a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “I will never forgive you for making me play the optimist – but we can make a difference in this world, Napoleon. We do.”

He took a deep breath. “I know.”

Comments

[pfrye.livejournal.com]

Oh very nice - “I will never forgive you for making me play the optimist" love that line....

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Glad you enjoyed this one.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Good thinking and good partnership, Illya.

That's a good idea, making Maria killed for her own sake. I'm sure she would have made a compliment and complement to Napoleon.

I do like the touch of the banter sounding forced.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I wanted Napoleon to be almost incidental to the tragedy. And the bit about the banter made sense cos its about trying ti reestablish normalacy, if you see what I mean?

Thanks for commenting!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This was fabulous, and a nice change for Napoleon's character. The optimist having doubts, and Illya taking on Solo's role, begrudgingly. This was a well written return to MFU fan fiction; glad you're back with a vengeance. :D

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I'm making extra effort to just sit down and write. Seems to be working so far. :)

And yes, you got to figure that even Napoleon can't be confident and optimistic all the time, right?

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I have a song story to post along that line, but it's based on the other prompt. Posting Wednesday.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Thanks for your view of the other side of the coin. They can't remain positive all the time. At least they have one another to keep their lives in focus.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Thanks - yes, you have to think that the job would wear them down.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

What a poignant story, and I also love the Illya's line about being forced into optimism. I would very much enjoy reading about the hunt for Maria's killers... just in case you haven't thought about that yet ;)

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

I have thought about it, but I'm not sure about writing it. Yet, anyway. We'll see if inspiration strikes. :) Thanks for commenting.