A Friend In Need - Short Affair
Oct. 3rd, 2016 08:53 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfu Prompts: unkempt, green
Word count: 475
.......................
He was groggy, a condition that had become all too familiar to the blond. He looked in the mirror and was unmoved by what he saw, in spite of what he knew his partner would say.
The face was unshaven, hair askew… generally unkempt and now, looking closer, his complexion appeared slightly green. That observation seemed to precipitate a surge of queasiness that rose up within his body and caused a reaction he had also become accustomed to. Illya twirled around to face the toilet and spewed out the last of what remained in his tortured stomach.
After throwing up what felt like his entire system of internal organs, Illya simply lay down on the cool bathroom tiles and closed his eyes. He could just sleep in here, the pathway to his bed seemed too complicated, too lengthy…
A knock on the door to Kuryakin's apartment received no answer in return. Napoleon Solo knew his friend was still sick, although the pathology of his illness was as yet undetermined. A sojourn in a THRUSH cell combined with an array of drugs and possibly a virus found in the lab of the satrapy had the UNCLE labs searching for answers. He had been assigned the care and oversight of the patient after he obtained permission to go home and recuperate. It was a hard fought freedom from the confines of the hospital floor, but only after he was deemed to be free of anything contagious or potentially dangerous.
Napoleon wasn't sure he agreed, his partner looked awful and didn't seem to be improving. In spite of the protests, he was determined to take him back to Medical. He was even more determined now that there was no answer to his aggressive knocking. He used his key, working his way through the security system and into the apartment. It was predictably askew, uneaten food on the coffee table alongside an empty bottle of vodka. How was it that Russians considered that vile potato juice to be somehow medicinal?
Napoleon worked his way through the apartment, calling out to Illya. No response. Now he was worried, and as he came to the bathroom door what he saw raised the alarm considerably. Illya was sprawled out on the floor, dressed in pajama bottoms and looking like death warmed over.
"Illya! Illya, wake up." Napoleon gently tapped on the pale face then instinctively bent down to listen for a heartbeat.
It didn't require an ambulance but Napoleon did manage to get his friend back into Medical, in a bed and under a doctor's care. Only Illya was surprised that he needed to be there, but in his condition, weak and nauseous, the fight to remain at home was little more than a whimpering plea that Napoleon promised he would never share.
And we know that Napoleon always keeps his promise.
Word count: 475
.......................
He was groggy, a condition that had become all too familiar to the blond. He looked in the mirror and was unmoved by what he saw, in spite of what he knew his partner would say.
The face was unshaven, hair askew… generally unkempt and now, looking closer, his complexion appeared slightly green. That observation seemed to precipitate a surge of queasiness that rose up within his body and caused a reaction he had also become accustomed to. Illya twirled around to face the toilet and spewed out the last of what remained in his tortured stomach.
After throwing up what felt like his entire system of internal organs, Illya simply lay down on the cool bathroom tiles and closed his eyes. He could just sleep in here, the pathway to his bed seemed too complicated, too lengthy…
A knock on the door to Kuryakin's apartment received no answer in return. Napoleon Solo knew his friend was still sick, although the pathology of his illness was as yet undetermined. A sojourn in a THRUSH cell combined with an array of drugs and possibly a virus found in the lab of the satrapy had the UNCLE labs searching for answers. He had been assigned the care and oversight of the patient after he obtained permission to go home and recuperate. It was a hard fought freedom from the confines of the hospital floor, but only after he was deemed to be free of anything contagious or potentially dangerous.
Napoleon wasn't sure he agreed, his partner looked awful and didn't seem to be improving. In spite of the protests, he was determined to take him back to Medical. He was even more determined now that there was no answer to his aggressive knocking. He used his key, working his way through the security system and into the apartment. It was predictably askew, uneaten food on the coffee table alongside an empty bottle of vodka. How was it that Russians considered that vile potato juice to be somehow medicinal?
Napoleon worked his way through the apartment, calling out to Illya. No response. Now he was worried, and as he came to the bathroom door what he saw raised the alarm considerably. Illya was sprawled out on the floor, dressed in pajama bottoms and looking like death warmed over.
"Illya! Illya, wake up." Napoleon gently tapped on the pale face then instinctively bent down to listen for a heartbeat.
It didn't require an ambulance but Napoleon did manage to get his friend back into Medical, in a bed and under a doctor's care. Only Illya was surprised that he needed to be there, but in his condition, weak and nauseous, the fight to remain at home was little more than a whimpering plea that Napoleon promised he would never share.
And we know that Napoleon always keeps his promise.
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Date: 2016-10-03 02:05 pm (UTC)A well told tale, and good use of the prompts.
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