I put A Spell On You Chapter 5
May. 25th, 2012 09:28 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfulink to chapter 4: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/60318.html
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Illya would retreat into that other world of his, one filled with his music and darkened rooms. The loss of an innocent hit him harder than usual as he liked this one, a lot. Lowering his guard, allowing himself a rare personal connection to a woman made her death hit all that harder.
Napoleon’s head tilted to the familiar coded knock on the door as Illya let himself in, resetting the alarm on the keypad.
“Vodka’s in the freezer.”
“I know.” Illya answered with a dullness to his voice. Ignoring the lowball glass set out for him, he grabbed a tumbler from the kitchen cabinet, filling it halfway with his chilled vodka and headed to his partners sofa, flopping down on it. He lifted the glass, nearly emptying it.
“Have a little vodka, won’t you.”
Illya snickered at him, filling the glass again as he paused, staring into it before he drank again.
Napoleon watched the scene unfold, confirming his suspicions about the man’s mood.
“So what did you need me for?” Illya suddenly asked, taking a large gulp of his drink.
“I needed you to be here with me.” He answered, swallowing the rest of his scotch then refilled the glass.
“And for what may I ask?” He downed the rest of his drink as well, pouring another one for himself.
“Better be careful tovarisch, you’re going to get drunk.” Napoleon evaded the question, suspecting the man had already been drinking.
Illya looked rather indignant. “No self respecting Russian gets drunk on vodka, it merely relaxes us. And what of it if I choose to get drunk?”
The contents of the vodka bottle diminished quickly and it wasn’t long before Illya slipped down from the sofa, sitting cross-legged on the floor and having abandoned the tumbler, swigged directly from the bottle.
Napoleon hadn’t seen Illya drink like this in a long time. There were several ways he could go; he could become argumentative, he could close up even more and retreat into himself, or he could have a reasonable conversation and sort things out.
Napoleon knew he’d have to tread lightly as saying the wrong words, asking the wrong questions would set the Russian off and there would end this little intervention.
“Illya, talk to me?” He asked quietly.
“I thought that was what we were doing.” That response came with another swig from the bottle.
“You know what I mean.”
Illya sighed deeply, “Yes I do.” With an unsteady hand, the put the vodka bottle on the coffee table, then hoisted himself up onto the sofa as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His head hung down, saying nothing and at first Napoleon thought his partner had passed out.
“Illya, you still with me?”
“I am always with you,” came a mumbled reply. Illya lifted his head, looking his partner directly in the eyes.
Napoleon smiled at that as the remark told him Illya hadn’t slipped too far yet.
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Illya would retreat into that other world of his, one filled with his music and darkened rooms. The loss of an innocent hit him harder than usual as he liked this one, a lot. Lowering his guard, allowing himself a rare personal connection to a woman made her death hit all that harder.
Napoleon’s head tilted to the familiar coded knock on the door as Illya let himself in, resetting the alarm on the keypad.
“Vodka’s in the freezer.”
“I know.” Illya answered with a dullness to his voice. Ignoring the lowball glass set out for him, he grabbed a tumbler from the kitchen cabinet, filling it halfway with his chilled vodka and headed to his partners sofa, flopping down on it. He lifted the glass, nearly emptying it.
“Have a little vodka, won’t you.”
Illya snickered at him, filling the glass again as he paused, staring into it before he drank again.
Napoleon watched the scene unfold, confirming his suspicions about the man’s mood.
“So what did you need me for?” Illya suddenly asked, taking a large gulp of his drink.
“I needed you to be here with me.” He answered, swallowing the rest of his scotch then refilled the glass.
“And for what may I ask?” He downed the rest of his drink as well, pouring another one for himself.
“Better be careful tovarisch, you’re going to get drunk.” Napoleon evaded the question, suspecting the man had already been drinking.
Illya looked rather indignant. “No self respecting Russian gets drunk on vodka, it merely relaxes us. And what of it if I choose to get drunk?”
The contents of the vodka bottle diminished quickly and it wasn’t long before Illya slipped down from the sofa, sitting cross-legged on the floor and having abandoned the tumbler, swigged directly from the bottle.
Napoleon hadn’t seen Illya drink like this in a long time. There were several ways he could go; he could become argumentative, he could close up even more and retreat into himself, or he could have a reasonable conversation and sort things out.
Napoleon knew he’d have to tread lightly as saying the wrong words, asking the wrong questions would set the Russian off and there would end this little intervention.
“Illya, talk to me?” He asked quietly.
“I thought that was what we were doing.” That response came with another swig from the bottle.
“You know what I mean.”
Illya sighed deeply, “Yes I do.” With an unsteady hand, the put the vodka bottle on the coffee table, then hoisted himself up onto the sofa as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His head hung down, saying nothing and at first Napoleon thought his partner had passed out.
“Illya, you still with me?”
“I am always with you,” came a mumbled reply. Illya lifted his head, looking his partner directly in the eyes.
Napoleon smiled at that as the remark told him Illya hadn’t slipped too far yet.
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