I Put a Spell On You Chapter 7
May. 28th, 2012 11:27 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mrua7.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfulink to chapter 6: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/61182.html
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Illya quickly brushed his eyes with fingers, hiding the tears that nearly escaped, sending his emotions back to where he kept them them hidden behind his wall. Then as if a switch had been flicked; he flashed Napoleon one of his sour looks.
“So you are insinuating that I am misguided in my actions to protect you?”
Napoleon paused, finding this an opportunity to divert the conversation.“Yes. I can take care of myself well enough.”He downed his drink, pouring another scotch for himself, this time straight up
“Right,” smirked the blond as he ran his fingers through his own hair, making it more a mess than neater.” Shall I count the number of times that I have saved your sorry zhopa?”
Napoleon smiled, pleased that the topic had turned his friend from his woes. “ I suppose you’re right and I appreciate you saving my ass but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you doing it.”
They sat together drinking into the night, commiserating and sharing their thoughts. Whether it was due to the drink, the company or the timing, Napoleon didn’t know, but Illya opened up just a bit.
Somehow he’d gotten his partner to laugh, a good hearty one and that was a positive sign. His stories and tone of voice seemed to keep his moody Russian friend spellbound until it was finally time to head off to bed.
It was three in the morning when Napoleon helped Illya to his feet, lifting him from the sofa; the two of them staggering to the spare bedroom. He slipped off his partner’s shoes, pulled the black turtleneck over his head, knowing that Illya would be asleep quickly. As soon as his partner’s head hit the pillow he appeared to be lightly snore.
Napoleon looked at the raw welts on Illya’s back and clicked his tongue. Illya would avoid medical at all costs if he could help it and it looked like this time he had. He didn’t like going there himself, but when he needed treatment he would go...Illya however, wouldn’t. He had an almost obsessive loathing of anything related to doctors, perhaps it was from things done to him in the Soviet Union, but those were details his partner refused to share with him. There were a lot of things in that category, his past, his family. He’d close up tighter than a clam when asked.
Napoleon tried to steady himself as he walked to the bathroom, retrieving an antibiotic cream from the medicine cabinet. He returned, finding Illya hadn’t moved a muscle, and proceeded to gently apply the cream to the wounds on his back, hoping he wouldn’t startle him and be punched in the face for his efforts.
When finished, he wiped his hands on a towel and then slowly lifted a blanket over the sleeping Russian.
“Spacibo moooy brat_thank you my brother. Thank you for unerstanding...and cepting me the way I am. I know I am not easy to...Illya slurred, then passed out before finishing his thought.
“Any time, chum,” he whispered.
Napoleon wandered into the living room, picking up the nearly empty bottle of Stoli from the coffee table and taking it back to the refrigerator, He was amazed at Illya’s capacity to drink that much of the stuff and not be incoherent.
Maybe he was right, the vodka let him relax. Illya rarely did that...oh he went through the motions, giving the appearance he was, but he was never truly relaxed, but then again no agent ever allowed himself to do that.
There was alway that feeling creeping around, making their senses tingle, keeping them on edge and following them like a shadow that was on the fringe, staying just out of view.
Thoughts of his partner were still running through Napoleon’s head as he finished cleaning up, and he sensed that ever present feeling, warning him like a shiver, reminding him to be vigilant even in his own home.
He paused, double checking the alarm system one more time before finally shuffling off to the comfort of his bed.
link to final chapter 8:http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/62406.html
“So you are insinuating that I am misguided in my actions to protect you?”
Napoleon paused, finding this an opportunity to divert the conversation.“Yes. I can take care of myself well enough.”He downed his drink, pouring another scotch for himself, this time straight up
“Right,” smirked the blond as he ran his fingers through his own hair, making it more a mess than neater.” Shall I count the number of times that I have saved your sorry zhopa?”
Napoleon smiled, pleased that the topic had turned his friend from his woes. “ I suppose you’re right and I appreciate you saving my ass but it doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you doing it.”
They sat together drinking into the night, commiserating and sharing their thoughts. Whether it was due to the drink, the company or the timing, Napoleon didn’t know, but Illya opened up just a bit.
Somehow he’d gotten his partner to laugh, a good hearty one and that was a positive sign. His stories and tone of voice seemed to keep his moody Russian friend spellbound until it was finally time to head off to bed.
It was three in the morning when Napoleon helped Illya to his feet, lifting him from the sofa; the two of them staggering to the spare bedroom. He slipped off his partner’s shoes, pulled the black turtleneck over his head, knowing that Illya would be asleep quickly. As soon as his partner’s head hit the pillow he appeared to be lightly snore.
Napoleon looked at the raw welts on Illya’s back and clicked his tongue. Illya would avoid medical at all costs if he could help it and it looked like this time he had. He didn’t like going there himself, but when he needed treatment he would go...Illya however, wouldn’t. He had an almost obsessive loathing of anything related to doctors, perhaps it was from things done to him in the Soviet Union, but those were details his partner refused to share with him. There were a lot of things in that category, his past, his family. He’d close up tighter than a clam when asked.
Napoleon tried to steady himself as he walked to the bathroom, retrieving an antibiotic cream from the medicine cabinet. He returned, finding Illya hadn’t moved a muscle, and proceeded to gently apply the cream to the wounds on his back, hoping he wouldn’t startle him and be punched in the face for his efforts.
When finished, he wiped his hands on a towel and then slowly lifted a blanket over the sleeping Russian.
“Spacibo moooy brat_thank you my brother. Thank you for unerstanding...and cepting me the way I am. I know I am not easy to...Illya slurred, then passed out before finishing his thought.
“Any time, chum,” he whispered.
Napoleon wandered into the living room, picking up the nearly empty bottle of Stoli from the coffee table and taking it back to the refrigerator, He was amazed at Illya’s capacity to drink that much of the stuff and not be incoherent.
Maybe he was right, the vodka let him relax. Illya rarely did that...oh he went through the motions, giving the appearance he was, but he was never truly relaxed, but then again no agent ever allowed himself to do that.
There was alway that feeling creeping around, making their senses tingle, keeping them on edge and following them like a shadow that was on the fringe, staying just out of view.
Thoughts of his partner were still running through Napoleon’s head as he finished cleaning up, and he sensed that ever present feeling, warning him like a shiver, reminding him to be vigilant even in his own home.
He paused, double checking the alarm system one more time before finally shuffling off to the comfort of his bed.
link to final chapter 8:http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/62406.html
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