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section7mfuShort Affair 8/29
Prompt: Gaunt
Color: Purple
Title: Home Remedies
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~780
It was never easy, walking into a THRUSH cell where you knew your partner was being held for weeks, not knowing what you were going to find. Usually, Illya often found himself on the inside, but, this time, he was the one making the rescue into the satrap, pausing in his tracks as one of the cells opened to reveal his partner lying on a small cot.
“Napoleon…?” he asked.
There was no answer; his partner was weak and gaunt, having clearly been starved all this time. Angry, purple bruises covered his face and parts of his torso where his shirt had been torn. But as Illya quickly examined him, it was a relief to find out that was the worst of it; he had managed to find Napoleon before THRUSH had the chance to use their more painful methods of questioning.
Even so, it was incredibly unsettling to see Napoleon like this--a man who was usually so robust and flawless in appearance. It just wasn’t right; as far as Illya was concerned, it was against the natural order of things.
Gently, he touched the side of his partner’s face where there were no bruises.
“Napoleon?” he asked again.
Napoleon awakened with a start, but the alarm in his eyes soon turned to recognition--and then relief.
“Took you long enough…” he murmured.
“I know,” Illya said, ruefully. “I am sorry, Napoleon, that I could not get here sooner--”
“You’re here now,” Napoleon said, his body ready to go to a relaxed sleep now, knowing that he was safe. He managed a wan smile as Illya gently ran his fingertips over some of his bruises; the Russian’s fingers were pleasantly cool to the touch. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Tovarisch.”
“I shall be the judge of that. For now, rest.”
Napoleon usually wasn’t one to listen to such advice, but decided to do so this time.
Illya soon got him out of the satrap and to a nearby U.N.C.L.E. safe house. He debated on whether or not to call for an extraction. Medical help would certainly be of benefit to Napoleon, but Illya hadn’t been able to apprehend any of the THRUSHies in the satrap; he had been so preoccupied with finding Napoleon, he had let them go, and since they were likely still in the area, the last thing Illya wanted was an increase in activity to draw them to them.
After checking his partner’s condition and realizing that Napoleon had been right about looking worse than it really was (aside from a sharp decrease in weight), Illya called in and announced that he would look after Napoleon himself in the safe house until he was fit enough to leave.
For the next couple of days, Napoleon wasn’t in the mood to do anything other than sleep—though he did talk, briefly, when Illya woke him for meals and snacks to help regain his lost weight. While Napoleon slept, Illya looked after him, talking to him softly and applying a special herbal paste to his bruises.
It was on the third day, when Illya was applying the herbal paste to a bruise near Napoleon’s nose, that the American reacted—crinkling his nose in disgust.
“What is that!?” he demanded, his eyes flying open.
“You’re only asking now?”
“I only noticed now,” Napoleon said. “Now kindly inform me as to why you’re giving me a facial with skunk cabbage!”
“It’s an old Russian herbal remedy; it will promote faster healing of your bruises,” Illya calmly replied.
“And keep everyone at least fifty feet away from me!”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Illya, this stuff reeks! And you’re sticking it right under my nose!”
“Your nose will become desensitized soon enough. Just relax.”
“…You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Considering that you’ve recovered enough sufficiently to complain about the smell, da, I am.”
Napoleon gave him a long stare.
“You know what you are? You’re…” He trailed off, unable to stay upset as he saw the concern and care visible in Illya’s eyes.
Illya just smiled, recalling a few months ago when he had badly twisted his ankle, and Napoleon had forced him to continue onward, as there had been THRUSHies on their tails and Napoleon hadn’t been willing to let Illya fall behind.
“Whatever it is I am, I can say with confidence that it takes one to know one,” the Russian declared.
Napoleon smiled now, remembering the ankle incident, as well.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Da. Now stop fussing and let me continue with the herbal paste.”
Napoleon didn’t stop complaining, but Illya didn’t seem to mind. After all, who could be upset with a partner on the mend?
Prompt: Gaunt
Color: Purple
Title: Home Remedies
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: ~780
It was never easy, walking into a THRUSH cell where you knew your partner was being held for weeks, not knowing what you were going to find. Usually, Illya often found himself on the inside, but, this time, he was the one making the rescue into the satrap, pausing in his tracks as one of the cells opened to reveal his partner lying on a small cot.
“Napoleon…?” he asked.
There was no answer; his partner was weak and gaunt, having clearly been starved all this time. Angry, purple bruises covered his face and parts of his torso where his shirt had been torn. But as Illya quickly examined him, it was a relief to find out that was the worst of it; he had managed to find Napoleon before THRUSH had the chance to use their more painful methods of questioning.
Even so, it was incredibly unsettling to see Napoleon like this--a man who was usually so robust and flawless in appearance. It just wasn’t right; as far as Illya was concerned, it was against the natural order of things.
Gently, he touched the side of his partner’s face where there were no bruises.
“Napoleon?” he asked again.
Napoleon awakened with a start, but the alarm in his eyes soon turned to recognition--and then relief.
“Took you long enough…” he murmured.
“I know,” Illya said, ruefully. “I am sorry, Napoleon, that I could not get here sooner--”
“You’re here now,” Napoleon said, his body ready to go to a relaxed sleep now, knowing that he was safe. He managed a wan smile as Illya gently ran his fingertips over some of his bruises; the Russian’s fingers were pleasantly cool to the touch. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Tovarisch.”
“I shall be the judge of that. For now, rest.”
Napoleon usually wasn’t one to listen to such advice, but decided to do so this time.
Illya soon got him out of the satrap and to a nearby U.N.C.L.E. safe house. He debated on whether or not to call for an extraction. Medical help would certainly be of benefit to Napoleon, but Illya hadn’t been able to apprehend any of the THRUSHies in the satrap; he had been so preoccupied with finding Napoleon, he had let them go, and since they were likely still in the area, the last thing Illya wanted was an increase in activity to draw them to them.
After checking his partner’s condition and realizing that Napoleon had been right about looking worse than it really was (aside from a sharp decrease in weight), Illya called in and announced that he would look after Napoleon himself in the safe house until he was fit enough to leave.
For the next couple of days, Napoleon wasn’t in the mood to do anything other than sleep—though he did talk, briefly, when Illya woke him for meals and snacks to help regain his lost weight. While Napoleon slept, Illya looked after him, talking to him softly and applying a special herbal paste to his bruises.
It was on the third day, when Illya was applying the herbal paste to a bruise near Napoleon’s nose, that the American reacted—crinkling his nose in disgust.
“What is that!?” he demanded, his eyes flying open.
“You’re only asking now?”
“I only noticed now,” Napoleon said. “Now kindly inform me as to why you’re giving me a facial with skunk cabbage!”
“It’s an old Russian herbal remedy; it will promote faster healing of your bruises,” Illya calmly replied.
“And keep everyone at least fifty feet away from me!”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Illya, this stuff reeks! And you’re sticking it right under my nose!”
“Your nose will become desensitized soon enough. Just relax.”
“…You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Considering that you’ve recovered enough sufficiently to complain about the smell, da, I am.”
Napoleon gave him a long stare.
“You know what you are? You’re…” He trailed off, unable to stay upset as he saw the concern and care visible in Illya’s eyes.
Illya just smiled, recalling a few months ago when he had badly twisted his ankle, and Napoleon had forced him to continue onward, as there had been THRUSHies on their tails and Napoleon hadn’t been willing to let Illya fall behind.
“Whatever it is I am, I can say with confidence that it takes one to know one,” the Russian declared.
Napoleon smiled now, remembering the ankle incident, as well.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Da. Now stop fussing and let me continue with the herbal paste.”
Napoleon didn’t stop complaining, but Illya didn’t seem to mind. After all, who could be upset with a partner on the mend?
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Date: 2016-08-31 06:27 pm (UTC)Good story.
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Date: 2016-08-31 10:39 pm (UTC)Thanks!