"Escape from the End of the World'~ part 5 for the Short Affair

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Links to parts 1, 2, 3, 4

Challenge: The Short Affair

Prompt 1: defend

Color prompt: Silver

Title: Escape from the End of the World part 5

Author: mrua7

Word count: approx. 1000

The next day Kuryakin had managed to get himself an early discharge from his medical bed, insisting he was fine and ready to travel.

His outbursts and tantrums had planted fear in the hearts of the nursing staff, so much so that none of them wanted to go into his room. Only a brave few did so when accompanied by an orderly, usually a big one, who was there to defend them if need be.

Better that than to risk having a tray of food or a bed pan flung at them.

Illya wasn’t in perfect condition and definitly not for field work. Rather than let the mad Russian continue to terrorize the staff, they reluctantly released him to Napoleon’s supervision. However, the doctors had no idea Illya was already scheduled for an assignment with his partner.

Doctor Vilar, the head physician, pulled Solo aside.

“His wound is not completely healed by any means and any strenuous activity may cause some bleeding. Take these gauze bandages just in case, as it might ooze some fluids, and here’s his antibiotics. Please make sure he takes them, as I know of you Section twos and your aversions to pills. Once you are in New York, he’s to immediately report to Doctor Schneider for a recheck. Your partner has received transfusions so...well, anyway, I would hate to see him take any steps backward in his recovery. Mr. Kuryakin is very strong, but he’s not invincible.”

“I understand Doc and thank you,” Napoleon tucked the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket and headed to his partner’s room.

Illya was finished dressing, not wearing his usual black clothing but something more appropriate to the Brazillian climate, tan pants, and a dark brown polo shirt that he didn’t bother tucking into his trousers. Over that he slipped into a light sports jacket. However, the boots on his feet were the same ones worn throughout their last assignment. The clothing hung loosely on the Russian as he had lost a fair amount of weight.  Napoleon had too, but it wasn’t as noticeable on him.

“You know you could wear a new pair of shoes buddy boy,” Napoleon commented.

"There is nothing wrong with these and they are nicely broken in at this point.”

“Except for the fact that they look like crap,” Napoleon snickered.

“I suppose I could wash them a bit, perhaps a bit of polish to neaten them. I will do so once we are at the hotel.”

They took a cab to the Hotel Emile located in São Paulo's central Jardins district, an upscale place by any means, and one whose presence was rarely graced by UNCLE agents, thanks to accounting.

But somehow those rules were rescinded, and Napoleon had been staying there, thanks to Waverly’s approval.

As they entered the ornate hotel lobby, with it’s highly polished marble floors and staircase, Illya passed a remark, one that he’d uttered once before but Napoleon had forgotten about it.

“Reminds me of home,” Illya said.

“Wait, I thought your family lived in a dacha outside of Kiev?”

“They did, but I am referring to the school I attended in Moskva. It had once belonged of a member of the aristocracy and had been subdivided to house and school hundreds of orphans...though it was rundown. Still, marble retains that cold temperature throughout the year.

Illya reached out, placing his palm to the wall as they stood by the elevator. “Feel how cool it is to the touch. Ideal I suppose, given the awful temperatures here.”

Napoleon followed suit, feeling the ice cold stone beneath his hand and was somewhat amazed at the things his partner observed.

Granted Napoleon knew of the characteristic of marble to maintain a cool temperature; he just never really thought about it.

The  doors finally opened, and  the elevator operator greeted them with a nod.

“Third floor señhors?”

“Sim, obrigado_yes thank you,” Napoleon replied. He at least knew the niceties in Portuguese, similar to but still different from Spanish.

The agents exited upon reaching their floor, with Solo leading the way. He unlocked the door, pulling his Special as he double checked for intruders. Even though he’d used the old match in the door trick and it was right where he’d put it; that didn’t mean it was safe to lower one’s guard.

Once he deemed it was all clear, Illya locked the door behind them but not before he put out the ‘do not disturb’ sign. He stood, surveying what he’d expected to be a bedroom but instead discovered it was a grand suite.

There was a bar, a sitting area with comfortable chairs and a sofa, and a dining table as well.

“Rather bourgeois. How did you manage this on our usual expense account budget?” Illya asked.

Napoleon called from the bathroom “Waverly had pity on us...we did just go through hell for what, eight weeks in that prison? Not to mention you’re still recuperating. A little comfort time was in order, or so he said.”

“Wait, I thought we had an assignment to tend to?”

“We do, but since you managed your early release from your hospital bed, and the Old Man knowing your proclivity for doing so, told me to keep you here for  before we proceed with picking up the Generalissimo, and escorting him to New York.”

Illya shook his head. “I guess I am becoming a bit predictable.”

“Sometimes, though that information is privy to but a few,” Napoleon winked. Solo followed his partner into the bedroom, and watched the man gingerly lower himself onto one of the two full sized beds.

Not that it mattered but it was the one in which Solo had been sleeping. The bed linens had been changed and the bedding freshened up by housekeeping.

“You’ll find pajamas, underwear, a change of clothes and socks in the dresser. There’s a suit, dress shirt and tie hanging in the closet along with a pair of shoes...the kind you like. There’s even a pair of silver cufflinks for you...the exploding kind, by the way.”

“Just what a girl wants, but where are the flowers and candy?” Illya fluttered his eyes.

"Smart ass."

Watching Kuryakin practically sink into the soft mattress as he flopped backwards; Napoleon laughed out loud.

“Hmm, bourgeois isn’t so bad is it?”

“I will not dignify that with an answer."


Part 6

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

I have a feeling that Illya's early discharge is going to come back and bite him in the bum. I enjoyed this little change in pace. A little respite before the action begins again.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Exactly a little respite before the next round begins. :F

Thanls!