A Lot of Living to Do (for Robert)
Nov. 11th, 2016 05:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuThis was supposed to be originally for next Monday’s Short Affair prompt, but, given the theme of the uncertainty of death and Napoleon being determined that he and Illya have a lot of living to do, it seemed appropriate for today–Robert may be gone, but Napoleon Solo will live on forever.
Side note: Illya performing autopsies for U.N.C.L.E. is canon in the novels, so I brought it up here because Ducky.
RIP my darling Robert. You lived a lot and, in your own words, you had a fortunate life.
Illya had been hard at work and had barely noticed the thundering feet outside the door; he casually glanced up as the door was nearly thrown off his hinges. He caught sight of his partner with a gaunt, worried expression in his eyes. But as Napoleon looked back at him, confusion replaced the worry—and then disgust replaced the confusion as Napoleon’s gaze darted to the table and he saw what was on it.
“…Can I help you with something, Napoleon?” Illya inquired.
Napoleon shook his head, suddenly looking green, and turned on the spot so that his back was to his partner.
“What… what are you doing!?” he gasped at last.
“Mr. Waverly didn’t tell you?” Illya asked, as he stood dressed in blue scrubs and holding a scalpel and forceps in his hands.
Napoleon took a few breaths.
“Didn’t see him,” he said. “I was looking for you ever since I came back from that solo mission this morning. Lisa told me you were down here in the morgue, and I thought…”
“…You ran down here before she had the chance to finish explaining?” Illya asked, sympathetically. “I’m terribly sorry, Napoleon. I didn’t mean for you to worry about me—or walk in on what is now one of my new responsibilities.”
“So, ah… when did this start?” Napoleon asked.
“Oh, rather recently,” Illya said. “I’d told you that, while I was in Cambridge, in addition to my degree in quantum mechanics, I had started to take some classes towards a pathology degree?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Mr. Waverly has been letting me take the remaining classes I needed to finish—you’ve seen me studying over the last year, surely?”
“Well, to be honest, I thought you were reading those books for the fun of it. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to avoid a situation such as the one you’re in now,” Illya admitted. “You enjoy my company, and I enjoy yours, but knowing you and your aversion to carnage, I decided that it would probably not be wise for us to continue our usual discussions when I’m in the middle of an autopsy. And I also knew that you would try to hold a conversation anyway, as you are trying to now.”
“I don’t mind,” Napoleon insisted, lying through his teeth.
“Napoleon…” Illya said, firmly, not buying it.
“No, really! So, uh, you just started this, huh?”
“Da; Mr. Waverly thought my rational, logical mind is just what we needed here,” Illya said. “At the moment, I’m trying to detect any signs of toxins in this THRUSH grunt’s liver; we believe he may have been used as a guinea pig by his superiors.” He sighed and then addressed the grunt on the table. “You should have seen the writing on the wall and left while you could.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I was talking to him.”
“…Oh. So, ah… How will this affect your fieldwork?”
“Oh, I’ll still be out in the field with you,” Illya insisted. “You think I’ll let you go out there on your own? Not likely!” He sobered, and added, quietly, “I wouldn’t want to see you on this table; I know I have a better chance of preventing that if I’m with you.”
Napoleon heard the forlorn edge to his partner’s voice and turned back, looking directly at his face and deliberately avoiding looking down at the table.
“God forbid that happens,” he said. “But if it does, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather… Well, you know.” He indicated the table without looking at it.
Illya looked back at him and gave a quick, solemn nod.
“But I will do my very best to keep you alive first and foremost,” the Russian assured him. He smiled again. “Now go. I know you haven’t the stomach for this, and besides, Baba Yaga has missed you.”
“You mean she missed playing with my shoelaces,” Napoleon said. “Well, I guess I don’t mind serving as a human cat toy while you’re down here. I’ll be with her in our office, working on my mission report; meet me there when you’re done here, okay?”
“Da,” Illya said. He watched as Napoleon turned around and left the morgue before turning his attention back to the THRUSH grunt on the table. “Now, then… what have you got to tell me, hmm?”
Napoleon heard him as the door closed behind him, and he paused in wonder. There was so much about his partner that amazed him; this new responsibility seemed to be as much his niche as fieldwork was.
And a good thing, too—not only was Napoleon guaranteed to still have his trusted partner by his side, but even if the worst befell him, he knew that he would still be in the best of hands. After all, it was almost poetic—in a sad, somber way—that the one closest to his heart would be the one to hold that heart in his hands.
Napoleon pushed the thought aside.
Nah. I wouldn’t wish that on him.
Just because Illya would do it didn’t mean that he had to. And Napoleon would do his best to make sure that he wouldn’t have to—or have to see it happen to Illya himself.
We’ve both got a lot of living to do, he silently declared.
Side note: Illya performing autopsies for U.N.C.L.E. is canon in the novels, so I brought it up here because Ducky.
RIP my darling Robert. You lived a lot and, in your own words, you had a fortunate life.
Illya had been hard at work and had barely noticed the thundering feet outside the door; he casually glanced up as the door was nearly thrown off his hinges. He caught sight of his partner with a gaunt, worried expression in his eyes. But as Napoleon looked back at him, confusion replaced the worry—and then disgust replaced the confusion as Napoleon’s gaze darted to the table and he saw what was on it.
“…Can I help you with something, Napoleon?” Illya inquired.
Napoleon shook his head, suddenly looking green, and turned on the spot so that his back was to his partner.
“What… what are you doing!?” he gasped at last.
“Mr. Waverly didn’t tell you?” Illya asked, as he stood dressed in blue scrubs and holding a scalpel and forceps in his hands.
Napoleon took a few breaths.
“Didn’t see him,” he said. “I was looking for you ever since I came back from that solo mission this morning. Lisa told me you were down here in the morgue, and I thought…”
“…You ran down here before she had the chance to finish explaining?” Illya asked, sympathetically. “I’m terribly sorry, Napoleon. I didn’t mean for you to worry about me—or walk in on what is now one of my new responsibilities.”
“So, ah… when did this start?” Napoleon asked.
“Oh, rather recently,” Illya said. “I’d told you that, while I was in Cambridge, in addition to my degree in quantum mechanics, I had started to take some classes towards a pathology degree?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Mr. Waverly has been letting me take the remaining classes I needed to finish—you’ve seen me studying over the last year, surely?”
“Well, to be honest, I thought you were reading those books for the fun of it. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was trying to avoid a situation such as the one you’re in now,” Illya admitted. “You enjoy my company, and I enjoy yours, but knowing you and your aversion to carnage, I decided that it would probably not be wise for us to continue our usual discussions when I’m in the middle of an autopsy. And I also knew that you would try to hold a conversation anyway, as you are trying to now.”
“I don’t mind,” Napoleon insisted, lying through his teeth.
“Napoleon…” Illya said, firmly, not buying it.
“No, really! So, uh, you just started this, huh?”
“Da; Mr. Waverly thought my rational, logical mind is just what we needed here,” Illya said. “At the moment, I’m trying to detect any signs of toxins in this THRUSH grunt’s liver; we believe he may have been used as a guinea pig by his superiors.” He sighed and then addressed the grunt on the table. “You should have seen the writing on the wall and left while you could.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I was talking to him.”
“…Oh. So, ah… How will this affect your fieldwork?”
“Oh, I’ll still be out in the field with you,” Illya insisted. “You think I’ll let you go out there on your own? Not likely!” He sobered, and added, quietly, “I wouldn’t want to see you on this table; I know I have a better chance of preventing that if I’m with you.”
Napoleon heard the forlorn edge to his partner’s voice and turned back, looking directly at his face and deliberately avoiding looking down at the table.
“God forbid that happens,” he said. “But if it does, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather… Well, you know.” He indicated the table without looking at it.
Illya looked back at him and gave a quick, solemn nod.
“But I will do my very best to keep you alive first and foremost,” the Russian assured him. He smiled again. “Now go. I know you haven’t the stomach for this, and besides, Baba Yaga has missed you.”
“You mean she missed playing with my shoelaces,” Napoleon said. “Well, I guess I don’t mind serving as a human cat toy while you’re down here. I’ll be with her in our office, working on my mission report; meet me there when you’re done here, okay?”
“Da,” Illya said. He watched as Napoleon turned around and left the morgue before turning his attention back to the THRUSH grunt on the table. “Now, then… what have you got to tell me, hmm?”
Napoleon heard him as the door closed behind him, and he paused in wonder. There was so much about his partner that amazed him; this new responsibility seemed to be as much his niche as fieldwork was.
And a good thing, too—not only was Napoleon guaranteed to still have his trusted partner by his side, but even if the worst befell him, he knew that he would still be in the best of hands. After all, it was almost poetic—in a sad, somber way—that the one closest to his heart would be the one to hold that heart in his hands.
Napoleon pushed the thought aside.
Nah. I wouldn’t wish that on him.
Just because Illya would do it didn’t mean that he had to. And Napoleon would do his best to make sure that he wouldn’t have to—or have to see it happen to Illya himself.
We’ve both got a lot of living to do, he silently declared.
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Date: 2016-11-11 10:09 pm (UTC)