Short affair piece
Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.
Summary: In which Napoleon is under the influence of a rage-inducing THRUSH serum, and Illya, wounded by THRUSH, desperately tries to keep up with him
Cross-posted to AO3.
Illya struggled along using the makeshift crutch he had made from a large tree branch as he hobbled through the forest, searching for his partner. Only an hour ago, he and Napoleon had still been captives of THRUSH; the monsters in charge of this particular satrap had opted to question Illya for information-on the rack-while pumping Napoleon full of a new experimental serum in the hopes that they would be able to bend Napoleon to their will-with a temporarily heightened strength and aggression that they hoped they could use against U.N.C.L.E., providing they could find a way to keep dosing him with it.
Nothing had gone according to THRUSH’s plan, however; Illya had, of course, refused to say anything, and instead had nearly shut down completely when a sudden, horrible pain in his leg made him realize that he had likely ruptured one of the tendons in his leg on account of the rack.
Despite himself, he had let out a cry of pain on reflex, and Napoleon, tanked up on this new THRUSH serum in the next room and not behaving the way THRUSH had hoped, heard him-and instantly saw red.
Illya was barely aware of the sounds of yelling and panicked shouts; someone had started yelling for him to be put back in his cell, but just as soon as Illya had been unchained by the THRUSH interrogator, the door to the room had been kicked off of its hinges, striking the interrogator smack in the back, knocking him out.
Alarms were ringing, people were running and screaming, firing weapons and missing, and Illya, summoning all of his strength and drive, forced himself to get off of the table and hop on his good leg into the corridor. The THRUSHies ignored him, more concerned with Napoleon-attempting to sedate him with darts, but missing on account of his erratic running patterns.
Illya saw Napoleon for a split-second as he turned ahead around a bend in the hall, charging like a bull elephant. Illya was in too much pain to even call after him, gasping for breath just to stay upright, so all he could do was hop along after him.
Napoleon had plowed through everyone and crashed through the doors, with some of the THRUSHies running after him in the woods. And all Illya could do was follow along, his face growing pale from his exertions.
Napoleon’s trail was visible through the woods, and Illya followed it, flinching as he heard the sounds of gunshots all around him. He kept going until he could walk no further, collapsing at the edge of a small clearing. He continued to lie there for a while, trying to catch his breath as the pain in his leg grew worse. Sweat poured down his face, and his stomach was threatening to empty its contents.
He froze as loud footsteps were approaching in his direction; someone was moving furiously and carelessly towards the clearing. Illya blinked as he recognized the silhouette of his partner in the moonlight; Napoleon must have doubled back here after eluding his pursuers.
“N… Napo…!” Illya began, but his voice gave out in a squeak of pain.
But, somehow, Napoleon heard him; his partner stormed over to the edge of the clearing and nearly pulled the shrubbery concealing Illya out by the roots. Illya looked up, but the moon was behind Napoleon, and Illya couldn’t see the look on his partner’s face. Yet Illya held on to the firm belief that, even drugged, Napoleon would recognize who he was and would not hurt him. He trusted his partner unconditionally.
And, mercifully, Napoleon did recognize him. In spite of his serum-induced rage, Napoleon knelt down beside Illya, and, to Illya’s amazement, the hands that touched him, despite shaking from the rage, were as gentle as ever.
“Illya…?” he asked.
Illya could only respond with a moan, and then a cringe as, despite being gentle, Napoleon touched the wounded leg. Napoleon withdrew his hands as though they had caught fire, and a snarl of rage escaped him as he realized who had injured his partner.
“I’ll kill them,” he hissed. “I’ll kill them!”
Napoleon got to his feet, and Illya could only manage a quiet protest.
“Please…” he managed to gasp, between breaths. He knew that in Napoleon’s current state, there was every chance that THRUSH would shoot him down cold, or that he might get so far away, there would be no way of finding him once the drug’s influence wore off, as all of their communications equipment and trackers had been confiscated. “Don’t go…”
Napoleon stood there, inhaling and exhaling as his emotions swirled around in his head; the rage-inducing influence of the serum battled his compassionate, caring side. His caring side won out; Napoleon knelt back down and, carefully, gathered Illya in his arms and retreated further into the shrubbery to conceal the both of them.
Neither of them spoke for a while; they both tried to calm their elevated breathing rates. With Illya leaning against Napoleon’s chest, the two of them found themselves trying to synchronize their breaths until, at last, they had both calmed down somewhat.
“Are… you alright?” Napoleon asked. He still had an edge to his voice from the serum, but there was no mistaking the concern also there.
“I will be,” Illya managed to murmur.
Napoleon breathed a sigh; he was still trembling, but he seemed much calmer as he rested his forehead against Illya’s. The two of them continued to synchronize their breathing, and Illya found himself relaxing at long last.
And they stayed like that, hidden from THRUSH for the rest of the night. And when morning broke and Napoleon was back to normal, he continued to watch over his wounded partner-even after they had both made it back to Medical. Napoleon had no lasting effects from the serum, and Illya’s tendon hadn’t ruptured after all, though he would have to stay off of his leg for a while. Medical had deemed them both lucky.
But they both knew that luck had nothing to do with it.
After all, they had each other.
Summary: In which Napoleon is under the influence of a rage-inducing THRUSH serum, and Illya, wounded by THRUSH, desperately tries to keep up with him
Cross-posted to AO3.
Illya struggled along using the makeshift crutch he had made from a large tree branch as he hobbled through the forest, searching for his partner. Only an hour ago, he and Napoleon had still been captives of THRUSH; the monsters in charge of this particular satrap had opted to question Illya for information-on the rack-while pumping Napoleon full of a new experimental serum in the hopes that they would be able to bend Napoleon to their will-with a temporarily heightened strength and aggression that they hoped they could use against U.N.C.L.E., providing they could find a way to keep dosing him with it.
Nothing had gone according to THRUSH’s plan, however; Illya had, of course, refused to say anything, and instead had nearly shut down completely when a sudden, horrible pain in his leg made him realize that he had likely ruptured one of the tendons in his leg on account of the rack.
Despite himself, he had let out a cry of pain on reflex, and Napoleon, tanked up on this new THRUSH serum in the next room and not behaving the way THRUSH had hoped, heard him-and instantly saw red.
Illya was barely aware of the sounds of yelling and panicked shouts; someone had started yelling for him to be put back in his cell, but just as soon as Illya had been unchained by the THRUSH interrogator, the door to the room had been kicked off of its hinges, striking the interrogator smack in the back, knocking him out.
Alarms were ringing, people were running and screaming, firing weapons and missing, and Illya, summoning all of his strength and drive, forced himself to get off of the table and hop on his good leg into the corridor. The THRUSHies ignored him, more concerned with Napoleon-attempting to sedate him with darts, but missing on account of his erratic running patterns.
Illya saw Napoleon for a split-second as he turned ahead around a bend in the hall, charging like a bull elephant. Illya was in too much pain to even call after him, gasping for breath just to stay upright, so all he could do was hop along after him.
Napoleon had plowed through everyone and crashed through the doors, with some of the THRUSHies running after him in the woods. And all Illya could do was follow along, his face growing pale from his exertions.
Napoleon’s trail was visible through the woods, and Illya followed it, flinching as he heard the sounds of gunshots all around him. He kept going until he could walk no further, collapsing at the edge of a small clearing. He continued to lie there for a while, trying to catch his breath as the pain in his leg grew worse. Sweat poured down his face, and his stomach was threatening to empty its contents.
He froze as loud footsteps were approaching in his direction; someone was moving furiously and carelessly towards the clearing. Illya blinked as he recognized the silhouette of his partner in the moonlight; Napoleon must have doubled back here after eluding his pursuers.
“N… Napo…!” Illya began, but his voice gave out in a squeak of pain.
But, somehow, Napoleon heard him; his partner stormed over to the edge of the clearing and nearly pulled the shrubbery concealing Illya out by the roots. Illya looked up, but the moon was behind Napoleon, and Illya couldn’t see the look on his partner’s face. Yet Illya held on to the firm belief that, even drugged, Napoleon would recognize who he was and would not hurt him. He trusted his partner unconditionally.
And, mercifully, Napoleon did recognize him. In spite of his serum-induced rage, Napoleon knelt down beside Illya, and, to Illya’s amazement, the hands that touched him, despite shaking from the rage, were as gentle as ever.
“Illya…?” he asked.
Illya could only respond with a moan, and then a cringe as, despite being gentle, Napoleon touched the wounded leg. Napoleon withdrew his hands as though they had caught fire, and a snarl of rage escaped him as he realized who had injured his partner.
“I’ll kill them,” he hissed. “I’ll kill them!”
Napoleon got to his feet, and Illya could only manage a quiet protest.
“Please…” he managed to gasp, between breaths. He knew that in Napoleon’s current state, there was every chance that THRUSH would shoot him down cold, or that he might get so far away, there would be no way of finding him once the drug’s influence wore off, as all of their communications equipment and trackers had been confiscated. “Don’t go…”
Napoleon stood there, inhaling and exhaling as his emotions swirled around in his head; the rage-inducing influence of the serum battled his compassionate, caring side. His caring side won out; Napoleon knelt back down and, carefully, gathered Illya in his arms and retreated further into the shrubbery to conceal the both of them.
Neither of them spoke for a while; they both tried to calm their elevated breathing rates. With Illya leaning against Napoleon’s chest, the two of them found themselves trying to synchronize their breaths until, at last, they had both calmed down somewhat.
“Are… you alright?” Napoleon asked. He still had an edge to his voice from the serum, but there was no mistaking the concern also there.
“I will be,” Illya managed to murmur.
Napoleon breathed a sigh; he was still trembling, but he seemed much calmer as he rested his forehead against Illya’s. The two of them continued to synchronize their breathing, and Illya found himself relaxing at long last.
And they stayed like that, hidden from THRUSH for the rest of the night. And when morning broke and Napoleon was back to normal, he continued to watch over his wounded partner-even after they had both made it back to Medical. Napoleon had no lasting effects from the serum, and Illya’s tendon hadn’t ruptured after all, though he would have to stay off of his leg for a while. Medical had deemed them both lucky.
But they both knew that luck had nothing to do with it.
After all, they had each other.