And another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary: An early days fic in which Illya is ill and Napoleon steps up with the miracle cure–soup.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Illya had to grumble as he attempted to rest in his
bed.  Somehow, he had picked up a persistent
bug on his last mission—one that had knocked him off of his feet after it had
sufficiently invaded enough to provoke an immune response.  It wasn’t a dangerous bug, but he had
contracted a fever, which was enough for Medical to send him home and order him
to stay in bed.

He was more vexed and annoyed than anything else; Napoleon
was due to return from a solo mission of his own, and any plans that Illya had
been hoping to have with him—including working together on the Baron of THRUSH
case—were going to have to be put on hold until his illness had passed.  And that concerned Illya; he was supposed to
have been an asset for Napoleon to help him in this case.  Now, he was in bed, useless.

He groaned, trying to relax and getting more and more
agitated as he continued to lie there, and then frowned as he heard a knock on
the door.

“Who is it?” he called from the bedroom, and then flinched
as his sore throat protested at the effort.

“It’s me,” Napoleon called.
“You feeling up to having a visitor?”

“Come on in,” Illya said, lying back on the bed.

He heard the key turn in the lock as Napoleon let himself
in, and managed a wan smile as Napoleon turned up, holding a paper bag.

“Hey, I came here as soon as I heard,” Napoleon said.  “How are you feeling?”

“I have had better days,” Illya grunted.  “But I am feeling better than I was before;
thank you for asking.”

Napoleon nodded.

“Well, that’s good you’re not green around the gills,” he
said, gently feeling Illya’s forehead with his hand.  He frowned.
“Hmm.  Well, it’s not a horrible
fever, but I’ll see what I can do for that.”

He placed the paper bag on the table and left the room for
a moment to soak a cloth in cool water; he folded and placed the cold cloth on
Illya’s forehead and then pulled a plastic-covered styrofoam bowl from the
paper bag.

“What’s that?” Illya asked.

“Some hot soup,” Napoleon said.  “I had lunch on my way back from the airport,
and when I’d heard you were sick, I picked up a little extra for you.  This will help, trust me.”

Illya, feeling slightly hungry at the sight and sound of
the soup, managed to drink it, and even managed to enjoy it.

“Well, that’s a good sign that your appetite is coming
back,” Napoleon said, in approval.  “I think
you should rest for a while now, though—you need a lot of it.”  He placed a glass of water by Illya’s bedside
table, sat down in a chair beside the bed and picked up a notepad and pen,
making himself comfortable.

Illya blinked in surprise.

“You’re not going to Headquarters?”

“Nah; I told Mr. Waverly that I’d work on the mission
report from here so that I could look after you.  You just take it easy and rest—and be sure to
let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Illya gave a nod, nestling back in the bed.  Napoleon cheerfully began to write out his report
by hand, and Illya had to admit how moved he was by his partner’s thoughtfulness.

Napoleon… thank
you, he silently transmitted.

And he drifted off to sleep, feeling better already.