The Randomness of Life ~ Chapter 75

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This was scheduled to post before all the problems with my cat started this morning, but somehow this post is rather prophetic with Illya asking Napoleon not to die, just like I'm asking Bowie. We know Napoleon will live, while my Boo won't.  Sorry if I'm being a bit pathetic right now...


Inspired by:

Requiem~Robert Louis Stevenson

.

"Under the wide and starry sky

dig the grave and let me die

Glad di I live and gladly die

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me

Here he lies where he long'd to be;

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill."

.

Napoleon Solo lay in intensive care, his heart rate was steady, as was his breathing, but his wounds were grievous, and the doctors weren't sure he would recover this time.

Illya sat beside him, waiting patiently for a sign...something, anything. He wasn't a man of prayer, and finally reached out to his friend, taking his hand and hoping Solo felt it, and perhaps would draw some strength from him.

"Napoleon, I am here. Listen to me, you have to fight. Live, please live?"

The American's eyes fluttered open, and through narrow slits he saw his Russian friend.

"Hi."

"Hi to you too,"Illya tried to smile, but with little success."You cannot leave me. I have just become accustomed to you, you know? Do not make me break in a new partner...that would very unfair."

"I'll try chum," he tried to laugh but coughed instead. Napoleon's demeanor became very serious."Look if I don't make it, want you to make sure, ummm...make sure this is written on my gravestone.'Home is the sailor, home from the sea and the hunter home from the hill'... want symbol of a nautical compass."

"A compass my friend? You would still get lost trying to find St. Peter," Illya teased.

"Yeah you're right...but indulge me?"

Illya nodded gravely, thinking the Stevenson line befitting an epitaph for the American, who in spite of his fear of water, was still a lover of the sea. He was the greatest hunter Illya had ever known.

"YA obeshchayu, I promise," he whispered in Russian, hiding his fear of losing this man. "But it will not be necessary Napoleon because you are going to try to get well, da?

"YA obeshchayu," Napoleon replied.

"I will hold you to that," Illya gave his hand another squeeze, "Now rest, there is a world to save, and too many beautiful women out there waiting for you, of course."

Kuryakin watched as his partner fell back to sleep, this time smiling contentedly.

"Sam pogibay, a tovarishcha vyruchay_ You might die yourself, but you must save the friend." Illya whispered a Russian proverb that was near to his heart when it came to Napoleon, a man who was like a brother to him. He would gladly give his life for him if he could... Still Napoleon had promised to get well, and he was always a man of his word.

Comments

[carabele.livejournal.com]

This one really made me tear up. Especially on the line of what Napoleon wanted carved on his gravestone.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Yep, this one got a little heavy, didn't it. Thanks for the comment.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

This is a moving and convincing scene, with a great last line.

The Russian proverb is very good, and I do like that at the crunch Napoleon thought of the Pursang rather than the typist pool.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

As soon as I read the poem, I knew it had to be an angsty fic about Napoleon. I like what you said about the Pursang. Thanks for the compliments and for commenting.