The Seven Deadly Sins-SLOTH

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

In his Summa Theologica, Saint Thomas Aquinas defined sloth as "sorrow about spiritual good" and as "sluggishness of the mind which neglects to begin good... It is evil in its effect, if it so oppresses man as to draw him away entirely from good deeds.

Napoleon was a bit surprised when he discovered his partner had called out sick the next day. Unfortunately he was busy with his duties as Chief Enforcement Agent and couldn’t fine a free moment to call him.

Normally Illya would be here to help him with his paperwork and agent evaluations, so without Kuryakin, things became a bit bogged down.

Before he knew it, the day was over and just as Napoleon was going to make that phone call to his partner, the Old Man summoned him into his office.

It was a last minute assignment, and Waverly being aware that Kuryakin was under the weather, Solo was partnered with Mark Slate.

The mission was more of a milk run as they were to escort a diplomatic pouch from New York to Quebec. It was an uneventful assignment with a quick turn around, though Napoleon did take the time to show Mark around the city.

Speaking Quebecois, Solo impressed the Brit as Mark had always heard how terrible Napoleon’s French accent had been, of course the source of that information was Illya. Mark never knew when the Russian was joking or not.

“So mate, your partner was always putting down your French accent, when in actual fact your ability to speak Quebecois…”

“Exactly Mark, though Illya laid off the complaints once he understood that I was speaking the Quebec dialect of French.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.”

“Say, Mark I have a question for you. Has Illya seemed to be acting a little strange to you lately?”

“Strange? Cor, when doesn’t he act strange? I have noticed that he’s been keeping to himself more than usual. I suppose it’s just one of his moods.”

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Really, like what?”

“Not sure.”

After returning to New York several days later, Napoleon and Mark went their separate ways. There was no rush to do paperwork as Solo had given a verbal report to Waverly since everything had gone smoothely.

Napoleon left headquarters, heading to his apartment building with the intention of checking on his partner.

As always he knocked, but not hearing a response, he unlocked the door and walked in.

The apartment was dark, and Napoleon flicked on a light switch. What he saw caught him completely off guard.

The place was a complete mess, with clothing scattered about, books toppled on the floor, empty takeout containers on the table and there was the distinct odor of rotten food.

“Illya?” He called his partner’s name several times before hearing a noise coming from the bedroom.

“Are you all right?”

Kuryakin came shuffling out, dressed in a ragged tee shirt and sweatpants. His hair was unkempt, his face unshaven and he looked as though he’d gained quite a few pounds.

“What the hell?” Napoleon blurted out. “What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing. I am fine as always.”

“No you’re not. Look at yourself Illya. I know you can be a bit of a slob at times but this...this is just downright slothful. Good God man... and what is that smell?”

“Oh, the trash. I have not taken it out to the dumpster in a few days. I will get around to it.”

“No, I’ll do it. You’re going to go take a shower, shave, and get dressed. You’re coming to headquarters with me.”

“Napoleon, not now. Just leave me be for pity’s sake.”

“I will not. I’m giving you an order as your superior.”

Kuryakin shrugged his indifference.

“Move it!” Napoleon barked.

Illya cursed at him in Russian as he walked into the bathroom.

“I heard that tovarisch.”

“Otvali!” He used the Russian equivalent of the F-bomb.

“Language Mister Kuryakin; I am your superior.”

“Something you never let me forget,” Illya slammed the door after himself.

While Kuryakin bathed, Napoleon disposed of the trash and the empty take out containers. He picked up the clothing, leaving it all atop the sofa. The books and papers he stacked in a corner.

Illya exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, heading to his bedroom and it was then Solo really got a look at the weight his partner had gained. He never thought he’d see Illya Kuryakin with the equivalent of a beer belly.

After a few minutes he returned, dressed in a clean sweatshirt, sweatpants and sneakers.

“You’re not going to headquarters dressed like that.”

“This is the only thing I have that fits. I cannot close my trousers or button my shirts.”

“Oh. Well then let’s go.” 

Napoleon had ordered a cab and it was waiting curbside for them when they exited the apartment building.

He decided to use the entrance to headquarters through the secure parking garage as that would reduce the number of prying eyes from seeing Illya in his current state.

They headed straight up to Medical where Kuryakin vehemently protested against being admitted.

Illya had to be restrained to allow the doctor to examine him.

Vitals were normal, his blood work came back fine. His sudden weight gain and change in demeanor was a definite head scratcher.

“This may be psychological,” Doctor Greene told Napoleon out in the hallway, away from the patient.

Somehow Illya heard it and he began screaming at the top of his lungs, refusing to see anyone in the Psych department. “I am not crazy,” he bellowed.

The doctor  ordered Kuryakin to be sedated, and that made Illya protest even louder. If he hadn’t been restrained, he would have surely injured someone.

As the nurse gave Illya the injection, he quieted down. His protestations became mumbles until he was finally asleep.

Doctor Greene as well as Napoleon were completely bewildered at Illya’s condition.

“Do me a favor Doc, don’t say anything just yet to the Old Man.”

“Napoleon, do you think that wise? I really should report this.”

“Let’s wait until the Psych department has had a chance to see him, maybe that’ll give us some answers?”

“All right, but it’s on your head Napoleon. Mister Waverly might not take kindly to being left out of the loop.”

“I know…”