Picfic Tuesday: He's My Brother

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

During their last mission, Illya had been captured and exposed to some kind of pathogen that had made the Russian violently ill.  By the time Napoleon and the Strike Force overran the satrap and got to him, he was sweating profusely and delirious.  Not wishing to have UNCLE HQ exposed to an unknown disease, he had been dressed in a HazMat suit and hustled into the building via the underground garage and rushed to the Quarantine Unit located in the lowest sub – basement of the complex.  Napoleon had been forced to stand outside the unit watching helplessly as his partner was poked and prodded over and over as the medical team continued to run tests.  His fever continued to rise until he suffered a convulsion.  He was then placed in an ice – bath to bring his fever down.  When Napoleon saw him lying there with his hair damp and swept away from his face looking alone and miserable, it broke his heart and he insisted he be allowed inside.

“Mr. Solo!  Mr. Solo!  I’ve already told you once: You cannot go into the Isolation Unit!  If you refuse to abide by our regulations, I will have to insist to Mr. Waverly that he call you back upstairs.  This is totally unacceptable!”

Napoleon Solo sat calmly in the chair opposite the Chief Medical Officer of UNCLE’s Intensive Care/Quarantine Unit as he ranted at him.  He was only listening with one ear.   As the doctor continued to blather on, Napoleon decided he had had enough.  “Doctor Smith, I am going inside that room to be with my partner.  I’ll wear a HazMat suit so as to not break quarantine, but I am going in there.  If you wish to tell Mr. Waverly something, you can tell him that.”  He stood and stalked out of the office as the doctor’s mouth dropped open in shock.

He went to the room that held the HazMat suits and removed his suit jacket before slipping it on and zipping it closed. He placed the headgear on and attached it to the suit.  He paused as he reached for the large bulky gloves.  Deciding against them, he went into an exam room, put on a pair of latex gloves and used surgical tape to tape the suit sleeves tightly around his wrists.  Satisfied, he marched back in the direction of Illya’s room and, without hesitation, grabbed a chair from the hallway, opened the door and went to his partner.  Putting the chair down next to the bed, he sat and immediately reached for the blond’s hand.

“I’m here, Illya.  I’m sorry I took so long to get here, but the doctors wouldn’t let me in.  They don’t know everything.  Right now, they're running some more tests on your blood to see if there’s been improvement since your fever came down a bit.  I hope there is.”

“Tovarisch, when you first came to UNCLE, I read your file and saw that your entire family had been killed in the war and you were alone.  After Mr. Waverly paired us, I came to learn that you also had no friends.  I felt so honored and so proud when you gave me your friendship.  And when you did that, I discovered something about myself: I have a ton of acquaintances and associates, but I don’t have a lot of friends.  You are my friend, Illya; my first one in The Game.  Before your head swells though, I have to tell you that Mark and April have become friends, too.  You, however, are my best friend, my brother and I don’t want you to die.  And what these damned doctors don’t get, Partner Mine, is that you need me to be here holding your hand and giving you my strength just like I would need you to hold mine if I were the one in that bed.”

“And…and if you lose this battle, I’m here, Illya.  I will not let anyone force me to abandon you.  You are not alone and I will not leave you alone.  I love you, Illya and I’m here for the duration.”  He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure and brought his other hand onto the bed to grasp Illya’s hand with both of his.

He sensed a movement on the bed and felt a weight.  He opened his eyes to see that Illya had reached over with his free hand and had placed it on top of his hands and was watching him.  Napoleon disentangled his hands and offered the Russian some ice chips. 

Illya sucked them greedily and when he felt he could speak he croaked, “You do go on, Napoleon.”

Doctor Smith entered the room just as Illya was telling Napoleon he was feeling better.  “I can vouch for that, Mr. Solo.  According to the latest test results, whatever this is in Mr. Kuryakin’s system is working its way out of him.  The results aren’t quite normal yet, but they’re getting there.  I think we can move you out of quarantine to regular Medical, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Illya looked at the doctor and panted, “I am fine, I can go home.”

Dr. Smith sucked his teeth in disgust.  “Just like a Section II.  You’ll go home when Medical says you can, Young Man, and not a moment sooner.  I have to report your improvement to Mr. Waverly,” he grunted before turning on his heel and exiting the room.

Napoleon watched him go and then looked down at Illya.  “When you’re released, you’re coming to stay in my guest room, no arguments.  You had me really scared there for a minute.”

Illya grinned, “I was probably dying until I heard you speaking.  I had to wake up to tell you to stop.”

Napoleon ruffled the blond’s hair in response.  “Listen you, unlike certain people; I have a desk upstairs covered in paperwork that’s been demanding my attention for days.  I’ll come see you later when you’re upstairs in Medical.”

The Russian nodded as he watched his partner start toward the door.  “Napoleon,” he called softly.  When the man turned around, Illya said, “Thanks for being here.” 

Napoleon smiled, “You’re welcome.  See you later.” 

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Beautifully written, especially Napoleon baring his soul to Illya.