section7mfu | Realization, Part III

Realization, Part II
Realization, Part I

Napoleon woke up a few hours later. As he expected, he was alone. A quick glance at the clock told him that Doctor Jameson would be appearing soon to check on him. I’m going to demand that he let me recuperate at home. I can’t take anymore.

He raised himself into a seated position and poured some of the water in the container into the glass on the stand. It was a little cooler than room temperature and if felt really good going down his throat. His thirst quenched, he turned his thoughts back on his last conversation with his partner as he slowly eased himself to his feet and gingerly made his way to the bathroom.

If that crazy Russian decides to stop seeing April, it would hurt her briefly, but I’m convinced she would get over it faster and better than he would. She’s an outgoing, beautiful woman who’s constantly getting hit on by men wherever she goes. She would eventually start dating again. But Illya… He shrugged his shoulders, flushed the toilet, washed his hands and slowly made his way back to the bed. He would shut down, I know he would.

His room door opened and the head of Medical, Dr. Jameson, entered. “Hello, Agent Solo. How are we feeling this afternoon?”

“I don’t know how we are feeling, but I just took myself to the bathroom and I think that means I’m well enough to go home.”

“We’ll see about that,” the doctor replied coolly as he picked up Napoleon’s chart from where it was hanging on the end of the bed. “Hmmm, no temp for the last thirty – six hours, appetite seems good, stitches holding nicely…”

“Come on, Doc!” Napoleon exclaimed impatiently, “We both know I’m well enough to go home. Would you release me already so I can go?”

“Fine. As usual, my conditions are that your partner agrees to stay with you to make sure you don’t reinjure yourself, you take your meds…” He held up his hand. “I already know you won’t take your pain pills as prescribed, but you better take your antibiotics. This wound was serious, Solo, and an infection can set in if you don’t. No showers, sponge baths only. You’re home for at least a week; come back next Saturday and if I’m satisfied with your healing progress, I’ll clear you for desk duty. You’re out of the field for at least the next two weeks. Understood?”

The CEA gave the man a “thumbs up” sign. “Completely. And I won’t drink more than that two scotches a day. Scout’s honor.”

Doctor Jameson just shook his head. “I’ll apprise Mr. Waverly of your discharge. I’ll leave you to get dressed then. Pick up your scrips at the Pharmacy on your way out.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Napoleon responded as he watch him leave. Finally! He reached for his communicator and assembled it. “Open Channel K.”

“Yes, Napoleon?”

“Good news, Partner Mine; I’m sprung from this joint as soon as you come get me. Jameson wants you to stay with me, probably at least ‘til next Saturday.”

“Of course. I will call him to confirm. I am going to go out now, pick up some dinner and then I’ll be on my way to HQ. Any preferences?”

“As much as I would love steak and potatoes, I think I better take it easy. Can you pick up some food from Svetlana’s?* I think I would like some of her borscht.”

A soft chuckle emanated from the communicator. “I will make a proper comrade of you yet, moy droog. Yes, I will bring borscht. See you in a bit.” A click let him know the Russian had ended the transmission.

As he put his device down and got up to get his clothing out of the closet he thought, You and I will be having a conversation about you and April tonight, Chum.

Hours later, Napoleon and Illya were relaxing in the CEA’s living room. Illya had appeared in his Medical room almost three hours after he had called him carrying two large shopping bags. After they had gotten Napoleon’s meds, they had had a Section III drive them to Napoleon’s building. Once they had entered the kitchen, Napoleon had looked on in amazement as the Russian pulled containers of borscht, Kasha, pirozhki filled with meat and potatoes out of one bag and chicken soup, rolls, a couple of roast beef sandwiches and sodas out of the other.

“Good grief, Illya! Why so much food?” he had asked at the time.

“Svetlana was so upset to hear you were under the weather that she insisted that I bring all these extras for you. The kasha is for breakfast and the other food is for anytime.”

They had attacked the food and eaten until they were stuffed though Napoleon was full long before Illya was. They each had a drink in their hand; scotch for the brunet and ice cold vodka from the freezer for the blond.

“So,” Napoleon said after they had sat in silence for about fifteen minutes, “Did you think about what I said to you earlier today?”

“That is all I have thought about, Napoleon.”

He waited to hear what else Illya had to say, but when no other words were forthcoming he inquired, “So? Have you reached any decisions?”

The Russian sipped his drink and then swirled the liquid around in the glass. “I…do not wish to end my relationship with April. I should, I really should, for the reason I told you earlier, but I have realized something: Without April, I will be lonely again in a way I have not been since we began seeing each other. Before she and I became…close, I was lonelier than I cared to admit. I do not want to go back there, I cannot go back there.” He downed the remainder of the liquid in his glass and refill it.

“Good for you, Tovarisch. So you’re going to tell her you love her?”

“Nyet. She is a Section II like we are; if I were to declare my feelings for her, she would feel pressured to either reciprocate or admit she does not feel the same way. Either way, she would put herself in the position I find myself: Wondering whether or not to continue seeing me. Her decision…might not be the same as mine.”

Napoleon nodded his understanding as he poured himself a glass of water. “Promised Jameson,” he said by way of explanation as he raised the glass to his lips. “That’s probably for the best, Illya. I hadn’t even thought about what telling her would put her through.”

“And, if truth be told, if actions speak louder than words, she may already know how I feel. You and I, we have been partners now for almost seven years and it is only in the last few years that I began to trust that I could tell you anything and you would keep my confidence and not use what I tell you to hurt me. I do not think April would betray me, but I do not completely know it yet. As I told her once, she has gained the ability to hurt me.**”

“I know you already know this, but I will say it anyway: April, or anyone else for that matter, will never hear a word of what you just said from me.”

“Thank you, Napoleon. Having you as a confidante and sounding board means the world to me.”

“You’re welcome, Tovarisch, and on that note…” He slowly got up from his recliner. “It’s almost eleven and I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

Illya watched him move slowly down the hall. “Do you want me to come tuck you in?” he called teasingly.

“I can manage. Goodnight, Partner.”

“Goodnight, moy brat.”

*Svetlana was born in Kiev and now resides in Brighton Beach. She owns Svetlana’s, which is Illya’s favorite restaurant. She treats Illya like a grandson. I’ve mentioned her restaurant in several stories and she figures prominently in Chapter II of my tale “Changing Minds.”

**ref. my tale “In My Heart.”