Another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary:
In which Napoleon thinks he’s lost his prized antique ring.

Not crossposting this because I’m lazy again.

It was something to be said about the dangerous nature of
their work when Napoleon’s reaction to waking up in Medical was a groan of “Not
again…”

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said, as Napoleon
struggled to sit up.  “You successfully
destroyed the THRUSH satrap, and we are interrogating the prisoners now, but
you appear to have sustained a few bruised ribs and a rather nasty bump on the
head—not a concussion, thankfully.”

“Ah…  Well, it was quite a brawl,” Napoleon mused.  “I was trying to stall them as Illya set off
the explosives…”  He trailed off,
realizing there was a missing voice in the conversation.  “Illya!?
Where’s–!?”

“Look to your right, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon did so, sighing in relief as he saw Illya smiling
back at him in the next bed over.
Napoleon’s own smile faded as he got a good look at his partner—Illya
had a few burns, and he was breathing pure oxygen from a tank.

“It looks worse than it is,” Waverly assured him.  “The burns are superficial, and he did have a
bit of throat damage from smoke inhalation, but the doctors are confident that
he’ll recover completely.  He won’t be
able to talk until his throat heals, however.”

“You got caught in your own explosion?” Napoleon asked,
giving Illya a sympathetic look.

Illya shrugged with an It
could happen to anyone look.

“But not to you!
You’re a demolitions expert!  What
really happened in there while I was
knocked out?”  Napoleon looked back at
Waverly.  “I remember the brawl, and I
remember…”. He suddenly groaned, looking at his bare left hand.  “My ring…!
My gold ring with the star sapphire!
If fell off in the fight!”

He sighed now; the slight lapse in concentration at the
loss of his prized possession had cost him the fight—even though, prior to that
moment, he’d been holding his own despite being surrounded.  He had been subsequently knocked out.

“I don’t suppose a sweep has been done of the wreckage of
the satrap?” he asked, glumly.  Deep down,
he knew there was a very good chance that the ring had melted in the heat of
the fire, but he wasn’t going to give up without searching for it.

“It’s ongoing as we speak,” Waverly said, getting up.  “You’ll be informed of what was
recovered.  In the meantime, I suggest
that the two of you recover
posthaste.”

“Yes, Sir,” Napoleon said, as Illya nodded.

Satisfied, Waverly took his leave of them, and Napoleon
laid back on his pillow, sighing as he glanced up at the ceiling.

“Ma gave me that ring before I had to leave for Korea,” he
said.  “It was an antique that someone
gave her to give to me when I was a few days old.  I always considered it my good luck
charm…  That ring was probably the source
of Solo Luck.”

Illya cleared his throat quietly, and Napoleon turned to
him—and then stared as he saw Illya’s hand outstretched, with the ring in his
hand.

“My ring!” Napoleon exclaimed, taking it from him.

Yes, it was the genuine ring—down to the inscription in the
interior of the band: L. M., 6/26/1870.  With a sigh of relief, Napoleon placed it back
on his little finger.

“How did you find it?” Napoleon asked.

Illya shrugged casually, and Napoleon paused as something
sunk in.  The burns and smoke inhalation
that Illya had suffered—he shouldn’t have gotten caught in the ensuing fire of
the explosion by stopping to get Napoleon out of there…  The only way he could have had sustained that
much damage from the fire would have been if he had gone back inside to
retrieve something…

“You…  You… blockhead!” Napoleon exclaimed,
temporarily stealing Illya’s insult of choice.
“You went back for the ring!?”

Illya glanced at him with a soft expression that clearly
read, I know how much it means to
you.  I had to try.

Napoleon’s heart twisted; Illya was in this condition just
because of the ring.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” he said.  “Because I do.  But don’t you ever do anything like that
again!”  His expression softened now.  “You know you mean more to me than some
antique ring.”

Illya just smiled back and gave him a promising nod;
satisfied, Napoleon relaxed and began to entertain his companion as they both
rested and recovered.