section7mfu | "Lost and Found" (Short Affair Challenge 12/5)

Short Affair 12/5
Prompt: Unsafe
Color: Gray

Title: Lost and Found
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: 1000

Illya had been missing without contacting anyone for nearly three weeks now; he had been waylaid by THRUSH on what should have been a routine mission. Though Napoleon had led raids on every THRUSH satrap in the area where Illya had been last seen, there had been no sign of the Russian; their only lead had been a cell where Illya had been held in one of the satraps located in a New England forest—but, according to the THRUSHies that Napoleon interrogated, Illya had escaped from them fifteen days ago with only the clothes on his back.

The weather had been unseasonably cold—an early winter brought gray skies and unsafe conditions as snow moved in, hampering search efforts. But, still, Napoleon pressed on as much as his endurance allowed.

Just hang on Illya, he said to himself. Just a little while longer. I’ll find you; I swear it on you.

The search party he had been with dwindled as the weather grew worse; he knew he couldn’t force them to continue looking, and he allowed them to leave as he continued to press onward.

Night was falling as the last agent who had been traveling with Napoleon decided to retreat. The agent looked back at Napoleon.

“Mr. Solo?”

“Yeah?” he called back.

“…Are you sure that Mr. Kuryakin is even alive? I mean, he’s been out here for more than two weeks, and he would’ve been weakened by whatever it was that THRUSH did to him when he was captive. Have you considered that there’s nothing we can do for him?”

“The possibility has entered my mind,” Napoleon confessed. “But I know he’s still out there.”

“…How?” the young agent asked.

Napoleon paused, trying to find a way to explain it.

“Do you have a partner out in the field?”

“Not yet, Sir; I just started in Section II this week,” the agent said.

Napoleon nodded.

“Then trust me on this,” he said. “Once you get a partner and work with them for as long as I’ve worked with Illya… Know them and trust them for years… There are some things you just know—and one of those things is whether or not your partner is alive or dead. If Illya was dead, I would know.”

“…Do you think I’ll get a partner that will be as close to me as Mr. Kuryakin is to you?” the agent asked.

“Depending on who you ask, you’ll get a different answer,” Napoleon said, with a wan smile.

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“What gave it away? My willingness to continue looking for him even with this snow supposed to increase during the night?”

“…If I get this close to a partner, am I supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Napoleon asked.

“What they mean to me? Do you ever tell Mr. Kuryakin?”

Napoleon blinked. He honestly couldn’t recall; they didn’t seem to discuss their connection at all—something that was an established fact, but otherwise not brought up. They both seemed to open up after a few drinks, but for the most part, it was always implied—something that didn’t need to be said.

“…That’s something you and your partner will figure out together,” Napoleon said. “Now go on back; there’s no reason for you to be out here in this weather.”

“Will you be alright, Mr. Solo?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. There’s a cabin in the woods that’s been designated an U.N.C.L.E. safehouse; I’ll rest there if I need it.”

The other agent nodded and left, but not before taking one last look back at Napoleon.

Napoleon continued on, heedless of the increased snowfall; he was planning to stop off at the safehouse to warm it up while he continued searching. But it was about an hour later, as he neared the welcoming shelter of the safehouse, that he became aware of someone else’s presence.

For a moment, he thought it was the young agent, having returned after feeling guilty for leaving him alone. But this presence felt different—much more familiar.

Napoleon glanced downward now, looking around until he found what he had been looking for—a small depression dug out in the snow and a small wall of snow built up around it, like a miniature igloo.

“Illya!?” he called. “Illya!?”

A few fingers stuck out from the tiny snow shelter, moving to create a window; Napoleon held a flashlight up to his face, and a moment later, Illya Kuryakin, alive but shivering and very thin, emerged from the snow. Clearly, he had been heading this way with the intent of finding the cabin as well, but having been out here so long with his bearings unsure, he had opted to hunker down and try to wait out the snow rather than continuing to risk traveling through it in the dark.

Napoleon soon had his coat around him, and he held the Russian close, silently thanking that his partner had an instinctive ability to survive the cold, given his childhood on the streets of Kiev. And soon, Napoleon had whisked his partner away to the cabin safehouse, had him in front of the fireplace wrapped in blankets and presented with whatever food that Napoleon had been carrying.

“You gave me quite a scare out there, Tovarisch,” Napoleon chided. “Going missing for three weeks?”

“I’m terribly sorry…”

“Try not to let it happen again, huh?” Napoleon asked, drawing the Russian in a tight hug again, out of emotion and out of wanting to keep him warm. His voice softened. “I need you, Illya; you mean a lot to me.”

Illya blinked in surprise, but then made an effort to hug his partner back with his shivering arms.

“Likewise, Napoleon. Likewise.”

Napoleon’s smile deepened slightly. And as he continued looking after his partner, he knew that those words had been technically unnecessary—even though they never discussed it, it was still something they both knew.

Of course, it was still nice to hear it, anyway.