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section7mfuTitle: The Deadly Admirer Affair, Act V: The World isn't on My Side
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~2100
Author: Rose of Pollux
If you prefer reading there, cross-posted to ff.net and AO3.
Napoleon wasn’t sure how he managed to get back to New York; he had barely been aware of arriving back and tearing through Del Floria’s—racing to Medical as soon as he got his badge.
Mark, April, Mandy, and George were waiting outside the Intensive Care room, looking through the closed glass doors. Baba Yaga was also waiting outside, meowing worriedly as she paced the room.
“What’s happened to him?” Napoleon asked, trying to see through the glass as Baba Yaga ran to his side and started wailing as she rubbed up against his legs. Medical staff were crowding around Illya’s bed, preventing him from getting a good look at his partner. “Why are you all standing out here?”
“They won’t let us in,” April said, softly. “Not until Illya’s condition has stabilized. And they don’t know what’s wrong yet.”
Napoleon just stood there for a moment, trying to grasp April’s words as he chewed himself out for not listening to his gut instinct earlier when something had told him not to leave Illya all alone.
“…I have to get in there,” he said, at last, trying to go through the doors. “I need to see him--”
“Steady on; they’ll only throw you out,” Mark said, holding him back. “Do you have any idea what could be the matter?”
“No,” Napoleon said, helplessly. “He was grumpy and still dealing with the wound, but otherwise, he was absolutely fine when I left him. I don’t understand…!”
Baba Yaga meowed loudly again.
“I know, my dear, I know,” Napoleon said, misunderstanding her. “Thank you for alerting George that something was wrong.” He looked back to the others as Baba Yaga meowed again. “Has Medical said anything about what might be wrong with him? Anything at all?”
“Medical aid isn’t something for the realms of conjecture,” George said. “They don’t want to make any assumptions until they’re sure. But, offhand, I’d say that he had a very bad reaction to something.”
“To what?” Napoleon asked, shaking his head. “He had lunch and then went back to sleep.”
“Maybe something was wrong with what he ate?” Mandy asked. “What did he have for lunch?”
“Filet of sole, a side salad, some roasted potato wedges, and fruit juice,” Napoleon recalled.
“Maybe something was wrong with the fish?” April suggested.
“No, it can’t be the fish,” Napoleon said, shaking his head. “Baba Yaga had a piece of it, and she’s fine. If it was something, it was either in the salad, the potatoes, or the juice. Have they analyzed the food?”
“…It’s Illya. There wasn’t any food left to analyze,” Mark said. “But they are going over the dishes and tray to see if there was anyone tampering with it.”
Napoleon gave a hollow nod, and then let out a quiet gasp; the crowd of staff around Illya’s bed had thinned enough for him to get a look at his partner for the first time since leaving him. Illya’s face was slightly sunken in and devoid of all color, and his breathing was slow and visibly labored.
“Oh, God, no…” Napoleon whispered.
Mandy gasped and looked away, able to watch anymore; April hugged her comfortingly, all the while staring at the scene.
“He was doing so well when we left,” she said, softly. “It’s as if this was timed to happen when none of us were there.”
“And I need to get in there to keep it from getting worse…” Napoleon declared, opening the doors before Mark could stop him again.
Instantly, one of the doctors and two nurses blocked his path.
“You can’t come in yet, Mr. Solo; Mr. Kuryakin’s condition isn’t fully stabilized,” the doctor said.
“I need to let him know that I’m here!” Napoleon retorted.
“We have our rules, Mr. Solo; you know this,” the doctor responded. “We go through this every time--”
“Surely, Doctor, you allow for some exceptions?” Mr. Waverly’s voice spoke from behind Napoleon.
Napoleon turned to see his boss having just arrived.
“Sir, I just need--”
“The only exceptions we allow for are immediate family members, Sir, and only for two minutes,” the doctor replied. “In the event that the patient may not pull through, we make the allowances.”
“Then, seeing as though Mr. Kuryakin has no blood relatives, it would seem to me that Mr. Solo does qualify.”
But Napoleon was now concerned by something else.
“‘In the event the patient may not pull through?’” he repeated, feeling as though he had just been punched in the stomach. “Just how bad is he? What even happened? He was fine when I left--!”
“That well may be, but his condition is very serious now, Mr. Solo,” the doctor responded. “And we’re still not sure of the cause of his sudden deterioration; it’s as much an unexpected shock and a mystery to us, as well, seeing as though Mr. Kuryakin is usually remarkably resilient. We’ll be sending down his blood to the lab for testing, but right now, our priority is stabilizing him.”
Napoleon just stared at the doctor, wordlessly.
“I want my two minutes with him,” he insisted.
The doctor hesitated, but looked from him to Waverly, and then sighed, knowing that there was no point in fighting him.
“Two minutes, but not a moment more,” he conceded. “And Mr. Solo will be the only visitor; I’m not having each of them take two minutes.” He indicated Mark, April, Mandy, and George, who were still watching, silently.
“Well, I think that’s fair enough,” Waverly agreed.
“And we will still be here, so it will hardly be a private conversation,” the doctor added.
Napoleon didn’t even respond to that; he headed straight for the sink to wash up and then went to Illya’s side, gently touching his hand.
“Illya,” he said, loud enough to make himself heard. “Illya, I’m back… I can only stay for two minutes; they’ll let me back in once you’ve stabilized. So you’d better stabilize fast, okay? They let me in here to say goodbye in case you don’t make it. But they don’t know you like I do. I know this isn’t going to be goodbye. I know you’ll keep pulling through as long as you’ve got a scrap of fight left in you. So keep fighting, Tovarisch. Please.”
Illya’s expression didn’t change; he continued to lie there, unresponsive. Napoleon exhaled; he knew from having been on the opposite side of this scenario that even if Illya didn’t show any indication of it, he could still hear him.
“I’m going to be right outside the doors until they let me back in here,” he promised. “And then I’ll be right here by your side they moment they do.”
“Your two minutes are up, Mr. Solo,” the doctor said, moving to guide Napoleon away from the bed.
Napoleon let go of Illya’s hand reluctantly as he backed away, not daring to turn away until his view was obscured by the staff once again crowding around Illya’s bed. He turned back to the doctor.
“You will let me know the moment I can go back in?” he asked.
The doctor nodded and returned back to the intensive care room, leaving Napoleon looking through the glass once more.
“Sir,” April said, now addressing Waverly. “I regret to inform you that Mark and I weren’t able to get any potential THRUSH suspects.”
“That’s because THRUSH didn’t do it,” Napoleon said, still not taking his eyes off of Illya. “Victor Marton provided some good arguments.” He sighed. “He sends you his regards, Sir.”
“Yes, I expect he would. Victor would certainly know…” Waverly mused, but trailed off before he said too much, and Napoleon was reminded of what Marton had told him about his and Waverly’s past. “Well, never mind that. Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate—I need the two of you to go out there again. If not THRUSH, then look into any other organizations that might have had it in for Mr. Kuryakin—KAOS, V.I.L.E., the Mob… You know what to look for.”
“Right, Sir.”
“We’ll do our best, Sir.”
"Mr. Dennell, did you find anything amiss with those bagels Mr. Kuryakin had purchased?” Waverly asked.
“I didn’t get a chance to test them, Sir,” George admitted. “Someone else has been using the analyzer down in Section VIII.”
“Well, whatever it is they’re analyzing can wait,” Waverly said. “They’ll be sending down the samples of Mr. Kuryakin’s blood down there, and I want you to stop whatever it is that’s in progress to test the blood samples—and then test the bagels. If anyone gives you any trouble for interrupting anything, tell them to take it up with me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Miss Stevenson, I think those reports have told you everything they possibly can by this point in time.”
“They have, Sir.”
“Very well, then I want you to assist Mr. Dennell in the lab.”
“…Me, Sir? In the lab?” she asked, slightly surprised.
“Sometimes, an extra pair of new eyes can catch things that would normally go unnoticed,” Waverly said.
“If that’s where you’d want me to go, then I’ll go,” she promised.
“Good. And as for you, Mr. Solo, you shall continue to remain here and look after Mr. Kuryakin once they permit you entry into Intensive Care. The others will keep you informed of their findings.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Napoleon then fell silent as the others filed out. He was still looking through the glass, at his motionless partner, unaware that Waverly was still behind him until he cleared his throat.
“Sir?” he asked.
“There’s something on your mind, isn’t there? Besides the obvious, of course.”
Napoleon paused, but then conceded that Waverly would not have gotten to where he was today had he not been perceptive when it came to reading people. He gave a nod.
“Before I left to question Marton, I’d had a feeling that I shouldn’t have left Illya here alone,” he confessed. “It was a persistent, nagging feeling, but I chalked it up to a lack of sleep—especially since Illya encouraged me to go pick up the trail before it got cold. So I left… And now he’s like this.”
“Well, if his health took a turn for the worse, you can hardly blame your presence or absence for that,” Waverly said.
“I’m still not entirely convinced that’s what happened,” Napoleon admitted. “It still seems unbelievable that Illya could go from bouncing back to… this.”
Baba Yaga meowed loudly again a few times, and Napoleon absently picked her up to hold her close.
“I just can’t shake the feeling that if I’d just stayed, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Something happened—something that I could have prevented.” He paused. “I could have probably prevented him getting shot last night in the first place if I’d just been there with him. I should have told him that we should have gone together—it’s what we always do when we get back to New York after a mission.”
“You mustn’t be too hard on yourself, Mr. Solo—you did, after all, undergo physical torture; you wouldn’t have had your wits about you as well as you usually do.”
“Illya shouldn’t have had to suffer for that—neither his reputation, nor his health,” Napoleon said, flatly.
“I fear the tongues will continue to wag no matter what we say,” Waverly sighed. “Therefore, for the moment, just focus on getting Mr. Kuryakin through this. I believe your presence is something he needs right now.”
Napoleon knew that was Waverly’s experience talking, and he bit his lip for a moment before deciding to go ahead with his query.
“Sir, you and Marton--”
“—Are both similar and different in a lot of ways to you and Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly interrupted. “So if you are inquiring as to whether or not your partnership with Mr. Kuryakin will end the same way as Victor and myself, that’s rather up to the two of you, not us. Victor and I had different priorities—priorities that inevitably led to the two of us parting ways. Of course, whatever priorities you and Mr. Kuryakin have will not matter if he doesn’t survive this. At the moment, it would seem that the fate of your partnership is up to him and the strength of his will to live.” His expression softened. “Do alert me if there is any change, Mr. Solo.”
“Yes, Sir,” Napoleon said, quietly. Waverly wasn’t being blindly optimistic. In fact, Napoleon wasn’t sure whether or not his own determination that Illya would pull through was optimism or just plain begging for it to be so.
He glanced back through the glass, listening to Waverly’s footsteps walking away.
Don’t let this be the end of us, Tovarisch, he silently pleaded. There’s so much for us to do still.
It was out of his hands for the moment; all he could do now was watch and wait—and hope.
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~2100
Author: Rose of Pollux
If you prefer reading there, cross-posted to ff.net and AO3.
Napoleon wasn’t sure how he managed to get back to New York; he had barely been aware of arriving back and tearing through Del Floria’s—racing to Medical as soon as he got his badge.
Mark, April, Mandy, and George were waiting outside the Intensive Care room, looking through the closed glass doors. Baba Yaga was also waiting outside, meowing worriedly as she paced the room.
“What’s happened to him?” Napoleon asked, trying to see through the glass as Baba Yaga ran to his side and started wailing as she rubbed up against his legs. Medical staff were crowding around Illya’s bed, preventing him from getting a good look at his partner. “Why are you all standing out here?”
“They won’t let us in,” April said, softly. “Not until Illya’s condition has stabilized. And they don’t know what’s wrong yet.”
Napoleon just stood there for a moment, trying to grasp April’s words as he chewed himself out for not listening to his gut instinct earlier when something had told him not to leave Illya all alone.
“…I have to get in there,” he said, at last, trying to go through the doors. “I need to see him--”
“Steady on; they’ll only throw you out,” Mark said, holding him back. “Do you have any idea what could be the matter?”
“No,” Napoleon said, helplessly. “He was grumpy and still dealing with the wound, but otherwise, he was absolutely fine when I left him. I don’t understand…!”
Baba Yaga meowed loudly again.
“I know, my dear, I know,” Napoleon said, misunderstanding her. “Thank you for alerting George that something was wrong.” He looked back to the others as Baba Yaga meowed again. “Has Medical said anything about what might be wrong with him? Anything at all?”
“Medical aid isn’t something for the realms of conjecture,” George said. “They don’t want to make any assumptions until they’re sure. But, offhand, I’d say that he had a very bad reaction to something.”
“To what?” Napoleon asked, shaking his head. “He had lunch and then went back to sleep.”
“Maybe something was wrong with what he ate?” Mandy asked. “What did he have for lunch?”
“Filet of sole, a side salad, some roasted potato wedges, and fruit juice,” Napoleon recalled.
“Maybe something was wrong with the fish?” April suggested.
“No, it can’t be the fish,” Napoleon said, shaking his head. “Baba Yaga had a piece of it, and she’s fine. If it was something, it was either in the salad, the potatoes, or the juice. Have they analyzed the food?”
“…It’s Illya. There wasn’t any food left to analyze,” Mark said. “But they are going over the dishes and tray to see if there was anyone tampering with it.”
Napoleon gave a hollow nod, and then let out a quiet gasp; the crowd of staff around Illya’s bed had thinned enough for him to get a look at his partner for the first time since leaving him. Illya’s face was slightly sunken in and devoid of all color, and his breathing was slow and visibly labored.
“Oh, God, no…” Napoleon whispered.
Mandy gasped and looked away, able to watch anymore; April hugged her comfortingly, all the while staring at the scene.
“He was doing so well when we left,” she said, softly. “It’s as if this was timed to happen when none of us were there.”
“And I need to get in there to keep it from getting worse…” Napoleon declared, opening the doors before Mark could stop him again.
Instantly, one of the doctors and two nurses blocked his path.
“You can’t come in yet, Mr. Solo; Mr. Kuryakin’s condition isn’t fully stabilized,” the doctor said.
“I need to let him know that I’m here!” Napoleon retorted.
“We have our rules, Mr. Solo; you know this,” the doctor responded. “We go through this every time--”
“Surely, Doctor, you allow for some exceptions?” Mr. Waverly’s voice spoke from behind Napoleon.
Napoleon turned to see his boss having just arrived.
“Sir, I just need--”
“The only exceptions we allow for are immediate family members, Sir, and only for two minutes,” the doctor replied. “In the event that the patient may not pull through, we make the allowances.”
“Then, seeing as though Mr. Kuryakin has no blood relatives, it would seem to me that Mr. Solo does qualify.”
But Napoleon was now concerned by something else.
“‘In the event the patient may not pull through?’” he repeated, feeling as though he had just been punched in the stomach. “Just how bad is he? What even happened? He was fine when I left--!”
“That well may be, but his condition is very serious now, Mr. Solo,” the doctor responded. “And we’re still not sure of the cause of his sudden deterioration; it’s as much an unexpected shock and a mystery to us, as well, seeing as though Mr. Kuryakin is usually remarkably resilient. We’ll be sending down his blood to the lab for testing, but right now, our priority is stabilizing him.”
Napoleon just stared at the doctor, wordlessly.
“I want my two minutes with him,” he insisted.
The doctor hesitated, but looked from him to Waverly, and then sighed, knowing that there was no point in fighting him.
“Two minutes, but not a moment more,” he conceded. “And Mr. Solo will be the only visitor; I’m not having each of them take two minutes.” He indicated Mark, April, Mandy, and George, who were still watching, silently.
“Well, I think that’s fair enough,” Waverly agreed.
“And we will still be here, so it will hardly be a private conversation,” the doctor added.
Napoleon didn’t even respond to that; he headed straight for the sink to wash up and then went to Illya’s side, gently touching his hand.
“Illya,” he said, loud enough to make himself heard. “Illya, I’m back… I can only stay for two minutes; they’ll let me back in once you’ve stabilized. So you’d better stabilize fast, okay? They let me in here to say goodbye in case you don’t make it. But they don’t know you like I do. I know this isn’t going to be goodbye. I know you’ll keep pulling through as long as you’ve got a scrap of fight left in you. So keep fighting, Tovarisch. Please.”
Illya’s expression didn’t change; he continued to lie there, unresponsive. Napoleon exhaled; he knew from having been on the opposite side of this scenario that even if Illya didn’t show any indication of it, he could still hear him.
“I’m going to be right outside the doors until they let me back in here,” he promised. “And then I’ll be right here by your side they moment they do.”
“Your two minutes are up, Mr. Solo,” the doctor said, moving to guide Napoleon away from the bed.
Napoleon let go of Illya’s hand reluctantly as he backed away, not daring to turn away until his view was obscured by the staff once again crowding around Illya’s bed. He turned back to the doctor.
“You will let me know the moment I can go back in?” he asked.
The doctor nodded and returned back to the intensive care room, leaving Napoleon looking through the glass once more.
“Sir,” April said, now addressing Waverly. “I regret to inform you that Mark and I weren’t able to get any potential THRUSH suspects.”
“That’s because THRUSH didn’t do it,” Napoleon said, still not taking his eyes off of Illya. “Victor Marton provided some good arguments.” He sighed. “He sends you his regards, Sir.”
“Yes, I expect he would. Victor would certainly know…” Waverly mused, but trailed off before he said too much, and Napoleon was reminded of what Marton had told him about his and Waverly’s past. “Well, never mind that. Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate—I need the two of you to go out there again. If not THRUSH, then look into any other organizations that might have had it in for Mr. Kuryakin—KAOS, V.I.L.E., the Mob… You know what to look for.”
“Right, Sir.”
“We’ll do our best, Sir.”
"Mr. Dennell, did you find anything amiss with those bagels Mr. Kuryakin had purchased?” Waverly asked.
“I didn’t get a chance to test them, Sir,” George admitted. “Someone else has been using the analyzer down in Section VIII.”
“Well, whatever it is they’re analyzing can wait,” Waverly said. “They’ll be sending down the samples of Mr. Kuryakin’s blood down there, and I want you to stop whatever it is that’s in progress to test the blood samples—and then test the bagels. If anyone gives you any trouble for interrupting anything, tell them to take it up with me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Miss Stevenson, I think those reports have told you everything they possibly can by this point in time.”
“They have, Sir.”
“Very well, then I want you to assist Mr. Dennell in the lab.”
“…Me, Sir? In the lab?” she asked, slightly surprised.
“Sometimes, an extra pair of new eyes can catch things that would normally go unnoticed,” Waverly said.
“If that’s where you’d want me to go, then I’ll go,” she promised.
“Good. And as for you, Mr. Solo, you shall continue to remain here and look after Mr. Kuryakin once they permit you entry into Intensive Care. The others will keep you informed of their findings.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Napoleon then fell silent as the others filed out. He was still looking through the glass, at his motionless partner, unaware that Waverly was still behind him until he cleared his throat.
“Sir?” he asked.
“There’s something on your mind, isn’t there? Besides the obvious, of course.”
Napoleon paused, but then conceded that Waverly would not have gotten to where he was today had he not been perceptive when it came to reading people. He gave a nod.
“Before I left to question Marton, I’d had a feeling that I shouldn’t have left Illya here alone,” he confessed. “It was a persistent, nagging feeling, but I chalked it up to a lack of sleep—especially since Illya encouraged me to go pick up the trail before it got cold. So I left… And now he’s like this.”
“Well, if his health took a turn for the worse, you can hardly blame your presence or absence for that,” Waverly said.
“I’m still not entirely convinced that’s what happened,” Napoleon admitted. “It still seems unbelievable that Illya could go from bouncing back to… this.”
Baba Yaga meowed loudly again a few times, and Napoleon absently picked her up to hold her close.
“I just can’t shake the feeling that if I’d just stayed, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Something happened—something that I could have prevented.” He paused. “I could have probably prevented him getting shot last night in the first place if I’d just been there with him. I should have told him that we should have gone together—it’s what we always do when we get back to New York after a mission.”
“You mustn’t be too hard on yourself, Mr. Solo—you did, after all, undergo physical torture; you wouldn’t have had your wits about you as well as you usually do.”
“Illya shouldn’t have had to suffer for that—neither his reputation, nor his health,” Napoleon said, flatly.
“I fear the tongues will continue to wag no matter what we say,” Waverly sighed. “Therefore, for the moment, just focus on getting Mr. Kuryakin through this. I believe your presence is something he needs right now.”
Napoleon knew that was Waverly’s experience talking, and he bit his lip for a moment before deciding to go ahead with his query.
“Sir, you and Marton--”
“—Are both similar and different in a lot of ways to you and Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly interrupted. “So if you are inquiring as to whether or not your partnership with Mr. Kuryakin will end the same way as Victor and myself, that’s rather up to the two of you, not us. Victor and I had different priorities—priorities that inevitably led to the two of us parting ways. Of course, whatever priorities you and Mr. Kuryakin have will not matter if he doesn’t survive this. At the moment, it would seem that the fate of your partnership is up to him and the strength of his will to live.” His expression softened. “Do alert me if there is any change, Mr. Solo.”
“Yes, Sir,” Napoleon said, quietly. Waverly wasn’t being blindly optimistic. In fact, Napoleon wasn’t sure whether or not his own determination that Illya would pull through was optimism or just plain begging for it to be so.
He glanced back through the glass, listening to Waverly’s footsteps walking away.
Don’t let this be the end of us, Tovarisch, he silently pleaded. There’s so much for us to do still.
It was out of his hands for the moment; all he could do now was watch and wait—and hope.
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