section7mfu | "Give and Take" (for Robert)

So, the fic I had planned to submit for today's Short Affair was the one I posted on Friday after hearing about Robert's passing. I do have a non-challenge piece--a lighthearted one--part of a set of ten short blurbs that I wrote over the weekend; I'm posting this one here because it was my favorite of the lot (because I've written for loopy!Illya twice, and now it's Napoleon's turn).

Summary: Napoleon is still loopy from his encounter with a new THRUSH drug, and Illya knows it's going to be a long night.

~500 words

Napoleon twiddled his thumbs as he glanced, wide-eyed, at the ceiling fixture.

“That bulb…” he said, and he reached over to shake Illya’s arm. “That bulb is flickering.”

“Da, we’ll tell the motel staff about it,” Illya said, leaning back, exhausted, in a wicker chair in the motel room. This was the first time in a while that Napoleon had been drugged up and rescued from a THRUSH facility (it was usually Illya’s misfortune to have that happen), and Illya was completely wiped out. Napoleon had boundless energy when sober as it was; when tanked up on some THRUSH concoction, it took everything just to keep up with him–something THRUSH had realized all too well when the drugged CEA had started running amok in their facility.

“Motel staff?” Napoleon scoffed. “Noooooo, don’t bother with ‘em! I can fix that!”

He practically leaped up onto the bed and began to stand on it, taking out a screwdriver (where had he gotten that from!?) and held it overhand like he was about to impale the light fixture with it.

“Nyet!” Illya yelped, leaping up after him and grabbing his arm before he could follow through.

“Heyyyy!”

“You can’t do that!”

“Don’t tell me I can’t do that! I will do that all I want!”

He pulled his arm from Illya’s grasp with such flourish that the screwdriver went flying from his grip–and crashed through the window.

“…Mr. Waverly is going to love this,” Illya said, sarcastically. “The Chief Enforcement Agent gets drugged and we have to foot the bill for a new window in the motel as a result?”

Napoleon put a finger to his lips and brought his face an inch from Illya’s.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he said, in an overly loud whisper that completely defeated the point of a whisper.

He gently patted Illya on the head and turned his attention back to the light fixture. Illya could only stare as Napoleon pulled another screwdriver from his jacket, and the Russian raised his arms in exasperation.

“How…?” He trailed off as Napoleon made another move to impale the light. “Napoleon!”

He grabbed the screwdriver from Napoleon’s hand this time, and, unperturbed, Napoleon reached into his jacket again–

“Bozhe moy, how many do you have!?”

Napoleon gave him a smug look.

“How d’you think I got out of that cell?”

Illya just sighed and, deciding to stop the situation before it went any further, yanked the jacket off of Napoleon and pulled it away.

“What was that for!?” Napoleon asked, looking affronted.

Illya just stared at him.

“You will thank me when you are sober,” he said, at last. The Russian then sighed, the weariness evident on his face.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked. His attention was no longer on the light.

To Illya’s surprise, Napoleon now gently brought him down so that he was reclined on the bed.

“You need rest,” Napoleon observed. His pupils were still dilated and the drug was still in his system, but Illya was the only thing on his mind right now.

Illya scoffed aloud.

“I am supposed to be looking after you,” he said.

“Thaaaaaat’s not how it works at all!” Napoleon chided, gently tapping Illya on the nose. “You were the one who said we have each other! Give and take!”

Illya sighed, but nodded.

“Da, very well. Sit with me, and we will talk.”

And they did, until Napoleon was sober again, after which they enjoyed a long, much-needed rest.