And with this, I am caught up/current! As with yesterday, I’m posting them all here in one entry so as to not clutter
up tags/dashes, but they are posted individually on AO3.
Summary 9 (prompt: “Self-Inflicted”): An encounter with renegade feds seeking Soviet launch codes harshly reminds Illya of a time when THRUSH had been after the same.
Summary 10 (prompt: “Held at Gunpoint”): Part 1 of 2. What should have been a simple mission ends up being anything but.
Summary 11 (prompt: “Self-Sacrifice”): Part 2 of 2. Napoleon won’t regret what he did to save Illya–even if Illya does regret it.
Summary 12 (prompt: “Starvation”): Part 1 of 3. Napoleon finds himself in the center of a new THRUSH plot as Illya struggles to find him.
Summary 13 (prompt: “Sleep Deprivation”): Part 2 of 3. Napoleon
continues to be a “guest” of THRUSH, and Illya decides that, for once, it’s time for logic to be cast aside.
Summary 14 (prompt: “Conditioning/Brainwashing”): Part 3 of 3. Illya rescues Napoleon in mid-experiment, and wonders if he will be the same Napoleon he knows and loves when he awakens. Light slash; gen version is on dreamwidth
Summary 15 (prompt: “Drugged”): In which Illya is high as a kite once again and Napoleon is just used to this by now. Light slash; gen version is on dreamwidth
9. An Act of Desperation
It had been a long time since Illya knowing part of the
Soviet launch codes had ever been an issue—in fact, it had been so long, that both he and his partner had considered the matter closed. After all, the codes would have been changed
by now; there was no point in coming after Illya—or so they had thought.
Evidently, certain scheming, underhanded folks in places of
power thought that, with Illya’s piece of old code, they could infer the new
code. And so, without orders or warrant
or anything that would have given them legal right to do so, a handful of
renegade agents sought the Russian out.
He managed to activate his distress signal as he fled and
proceeded to send a frantic message to Napoleon. But as his pursuers closed in, memories of
the interrogations he’d experienced with THRUSH over this same issue—being
chained to a saltire and brutally beaten for the information that he could not
dare to give.
He could not go through that again.
He pulled one of the tranquilizer darts from his Special
and hesitated for a moment, but then he braced himself and stuck the needle
into his neck.
He dropped like a stone in seconds, his pursuers crowding
around him, wondering just how to deal with this.
“We were supposed to interrogate him in the car and dump
him by the side of the road!” one chided.
“We’ll have to take him somewhere until he wakes up,”
another muttered, moving to pick him up.
He never reached Illya, for Napoleon had come in from the
left, his full weight behind the left hook that he slammed into the man’s chin,
knocking him out cold.
In his right hand, he held his Special, aimed at the
others.
“So, which one of you wants to test whether my Special has
sleeping darts or bullets?” he challenged.
The men, momentarily frozen in fear, suddenly turned tail
and bolted. Napoleon silently planted a
sleeping dart in the back of each one as the fled, dropping one by one.
“I wanted to use bullets…
Lucky for you, I didn’t,” he hissed at them.
As Mark and April and others arrived to take the pursuers
into custody, Napoleon set about to tending to his partner, trying to help him
revive faster.
Illya blinked as he finally came out of the tranquilizer.
“Napoleon…?” he murmured.
“Are they…?”
“They are in custody,” Napoleon assured him. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t do more than
that.”
Illya managed a wan smile; he found it oddly fascinating,
how someone who was normally so kind and merciful could be pushed to such
extreme anger. Illya was Napoleon’s
weakness, but it was a weakness that only the very foolish would dare to try to
take advantage of. These men had been
lucky—others, who had dared to inflict harm upon Illya had not been so lucky.
“You did enough,” Illya assured him.
“Not enough,” Napoleon said. “Enough would have given you the confidence
not to tranquilize yourself.”
“Napoleon, it wasn’t that I didn’t have confidence in you,”
he assured him. “…I lacked the
confidence in myself. After being
interrogated so brutally by THRUSH over this very thing, I could not…” He trailed off, and Napoleon gripped his
arm. “Forgive me, Napoleon, but my
emotions—my fears—got the better of me today.
Had I been in a better state of mind, I would have been more defiant and
not so quick to try to escape potential questioning.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Napoleon said. “You had a terrible experience that still has
some scars on you—visible and invisible.
Old wounds were reopened tonight—but, perhaps, I can help you heal.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Illya replied.
He had never lost his faith in his partner; if anything, it
was stronger than ever before.
10. Should’ve
It was supposed to have been a routine mission—a simple
raid of a THRUSH facility. Since being
permanently partnered together a few months ago after a year chasing down the
Baron of THRUSH, Napoleon and Illya had been clearing mission after mission
with great efficiency and success.
This mission should have been nothing more than a milk
run. Other agents had cleared out the
facility, taking prisoners and chasing after THRUSHies who had tried to
escape. All that had been left to do was
to get ahold of any evidence that remained—one last task to do before the duo
could get some time off.
“I can make any head or tail of this,” Napoleon said,
looking at some pages of scientific formulae.
“Does this mean anything to you?”
Illya’s eyes widened.
“Huh, guess so,” Napoleon observed.
“Neutrinos!” Illya exclaimed.
“…Is that good or bad?
I have no frame of reference here…” Napoleon said, with a smirk. He had street smarts, but when it came to
sciency stuff like this, he would always let his double-doctor partner (holding
a PhD in quantum physics and a medical degree in pathology) take the lead.
“They are trying to isolate dark matter!”
“…I’m guessing that’s bad?”
“Well… we do not know,” Illya said. “Dark matter is a theory—but it is believed
that most of the universe is comprised of it.
We simply do not know what could occur if it was isolated—but we cannot
allow THRUSH to be the first to do so!”
Napoleon made a sweeping motion over his head to indicate
that he didn’t understand any of the technical details, but understood the
importance.
“Just tell me what to do,” he said.
“Comb over every inch of this room to get all the research
information you can,” Illya said.
“Search in places that might not be obvious—under tables, in cubbyholes,
anything that might hide top-secret research.”
“Right,” Napoleon said, and began to comb the room. There appeared to be a panel in the bottom of
the wall beneath a table, as Illya had suggested. He crawled under, trying to reach it.
It was as he was trying to pry the panel open that he heard
footsteps heading for the lab, and a horrified gasp.
“You…!” a voice sputtered.
“What have you done!?”
Napoleon peeked out from under the table, his blood
freezing as he saw a THRUSH scientist—one who had obviously been out during the
raid, drawing a gun on Illya.
“My research! You’ve
ruined my research!” he screamed.
Napoleon calmly seized his Special, aiming it at the THRUSH
scientist… and only a “click” emitted from it.
At the worst possible moment, the Special had jammed.
He had no weapon. But he was not about to lose his partner to a
vengeful THRUSH scientist—he would find a way to save him, just as he always
did.
11. Could’ve
Illya didn’t move or speak; he didn’t want to risk angering
the THRUSH scientist further. He could
only wait, hoping that Napoleon would be able to get a good aim at the
scientist before anything happened.
Concern grew as the attack he’d been expecting from Napoleon
didn’t come. Something had gone wrong,
but what?
The THRUSH scientist, however, was oblivious.
“You will pay for this,” the scientist said. “You may have ruined my research, but I will
not let you enjoy your victory.”
Illya backed away for a moment as the scientist began to
squeeze the trigger.
“No!” Napoleon
yelled.
Illya stood stoically as the scientist fired, but then let
out a cry as Napoleon tackled him out of the way; they both hit the floor, and
Illya quickly took advantage of the scientist’s momentary confusion to
tranquilize him with his Special before turning his attention back to Napoleon.
“Thank you, Napoleon,” he sighed. “You saved me…”
He trailed off, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the
blood blossoming from Napoleon’s shoulder.
Napoleon lay there, stunned, not fully registering what had happened to
him.
“Nyet…!” Illya
exclaimed, gently touching the side of Napoleon’s face.
“Wh… What happened…?” Napoleon asked.
“You’ve been shot!” Illya exclaimed. “Napoleon, why did you do that!?”
“My Special jammed…” Napoleon murmured, growing weaker as
the wound continued to bleed—it seemed to have gone right through his shoulder,
causing the blood to flow unimpeded.
“Had to make sure… you were… alright…”
A chill gripped at Illya’s heart as Napoleon trailed off.
“Napoleon! Napoleon,
you must stay awake!”
“I just… need to rest… a moment…”
“Nyet! You cannot!
I cannot lose you now!” A lump
was forming in his throat. “Please… Stay with me, Napoleon.”
Napoleon exhaled quietly, but weakly gripped Illya’s hand
with his own; Illya stopped the bleeding as best as he could until backup
arrived.
After what seemed like an age, Napoleon was recovering in
Medical, still weak but assured that he would live after his ordeal. He rested now, trying to conserve and regain
his strength as Illya watched over him.
“Napoleon,” Illya said, as he kept his vigil. “I can never forget what you did today—when
the logical course of action failed, you were then willing to sacrifice your
life for mine. I know I should be
eternally grateful for this, and yet…
You have no idea how much I worried, thinking that I would lose you because
of this…!”
“Didn’t… want to lose… you…”
“You must conserve your strength,” Illya chided. His expression softened. “But I understand; I would not have wanted to
die and leave you that way, either. And
I know not to tell you to never do this again, for I know you would trade your
life for mine in a heartbeat again… Just as I
would for you.”
Napoleon gave a weak nod.
“Then, perhaps, let us just settle for promising to do our
best to survive and get through things together,” Illya said.
“I can… live with that…”
“…I do not know if you intended that as a pun or not, and
right now, I am just too relieved at your survival to care,” Illya
admitted. He had to bite back a chuckle
as Napoleon managed a smirk.
Indeed, if it meant dealing with Napoleon’s puns for years
upon years, he would welcome them—for it was far, far better than the
alternative.
12. Body
Napoleon’s head was so light. When was the last time he had eaten
anything? A week? Two?
It was part of a grand THRUSH experiment—since Napoleon had proven
immune to hypnosis and other kinds of brainwashing, THRUSH was determined to
find a way to control him—even if it meant weakening him to a shell of his
former self.
His captors had instructed that he receive absolutely no
food—just water, and the underlings gleefully obeyed orders, eager to see the
famously strong-willed Napoleon Solo crumble at last.
But Napoleon wasn’t about to give them the
satisfaction. He refused to beg for
food; he laid on his cot defiantly, in spite of how hungry and weak he was
becoming.
I probably look
like a skinny wreck of a string bean. I
wonder what Illya would say if he saw me now…
Thinking about Illya caused his heart to twist. Napoleon’s capture had been orchestrated from
the inside, which was why all trackers and distress signals had been removed
from him before being carried off to the THRUSH lab. There was no way to contact Illya—and, anyway
was Illya even alive after the mole had gotten through with him?
What happened to
you, Tovarisch? I need you…
He sunk into despair.
Even if Illya was alive, there was no way he’d able to find him in time
to stop the experiment. The idea that
Napoleon would be fully brainwashed by the time Illya arrived—assuming he was
even going to arrive—was one that the American could not stand.
He had no idea, of course, that Illya was alive, and
desperately trying to find him. There
were no clues and nothing to go on—this particular batch of THRUSHies had been
clever and methodical about covering their tracks.
But that wasn’t about to dissuade Illya. He scoured every corner of where Napoleon had
been last seen, and had the top forensics experts in U.N.C.L.E. to do the
same. But not even they could come up
with an answer.
“We’re sorry, Mr. Kuryakin,” one of them said. “But there is no feasible way to determine
where they took Mr. Solo. If it’s true
what the rumors say that Mr. Solo was taken for an experiment in brainwashing,
well… We might as well write him off as
a loss, then, if you ask me.”
“I did not ask
you!” Illya quipped.
He shooed the so-called “experts” off, being left alone
with his thoughts.
Napoleon, forgive
me for not stopping this from happening.
But, I vow to you, I will not rest until I find you.
He would find Napoleon—no matter what.
13. Mind
Starvation was only the first phase of THRUSH’s
pre-brainwashing treatment to thoroughly weaken Napoleon. To his dismay, after a week, they proceeded
to remove the cot from his cell, for the captors had instructed that Napoleon
was to no longer be able to sleep in preparation for the experiment.
As with the starvation, the flunkies agreed to do this with
great enthusiasm. They poked and prodded
him with pointed sticks and blunt spears through the bars of the cell to make
sure that, even on the cold, uncomfortable stone floor of the cell.
Illya, he silently transmitted.
I don’t know how you’d be able
to… But if you’re alive and you can hear
me, I hope there’s some way you can find me…
He shuddered as they continued to poke and prod him, not
even letting him rest for a moment.
If you are okay,
then I know you’ll find me eventually, but I don’t know if it’ll be in
time… I just… want you to remember me as
I was—in case you’re too late and they succeed in making me a willing servant
of THRUSH. Just know that it was against
my will, and I tried to resist until the very end…
And Illya Kuryakin, pouring over maps and reports, suddenly
jerked to attention as he heard Napoleon’s voice, as though echoing in his
mind.
“Oh, Napoleon…” he whispered.
He stared back at the papers and maps in his hand. They had proven to be useless in his quest
for finding his partner—logic had failed him.
So, then, perhaps… the mysterious and unexplained was, in fact, the way
to go?
Very well, he thought, concentrating on Napoleon’s voice. I will
let my heart lead me. hold on,
Napoleon. I will find you!
14. Spirit
Three weeks had gone by since his capture, and after being
denied food and sleep for most of that time, the THRUSHies announced that the
brainwashing experiment was ready to begin.
He was too weak to resist as they dragged him to their lab
and strapped him to the table. They
placed electrodes all over his face and head, and they began. It was electroshock treatments, coupled with
auditory and visual stimuli—audio and video of THRUSH founders and leaders
reciting their cruel doctrines as the electric pulses coursed through
Napoleon’s body, as though trying to rewire him…
And then, a loud explosion shook the building, and the
power went out, stopping it all. Napoleon
was out cold, not having slept in two weeks.
As the THRUSHies scrambled to get things working again,
they neglected to notice Illya having breached their security, striking all of
them down with a vengeance before unhooking Napoleon from the machines and
taking him back to U.N.C.L.E. HQ.
It was after arriving at Medical that they gave him the bad
news.
“There is no telling if and how much the THRUSH conditioning
affected him,” the head doctor said. “We
cannot release him, especially since you say you didn’t arrive in time to
prevent the process from starting…”
Illya protested loudly as the Medical staff shackled
Napoleon’s arms to the bed, and then his ankles.
“This is absolutely unnecessary!” he insisted. “Napoleon has resisted all forms of THRUSH
control before—why should this be any different!?”
“Because he was starved and sleep-deprived prior to the
conditioning, and severely weakened as a result,” the doctor explained. “It is very unlikely that he had the strength
to resist this time. You must be prepared
for the worst, Mr. Kuryakin—he might awaken completely with no knowledge of you
or U.N.C.L.E—or worse, he may awaken thinking he is a member of THRUSH.”
“…Any conditioning can be reversed, can’t it?” Illya asked.
“If the psychological and physical trauma from the
pre-conditioning treatment was severe enough… it might change him—permanently.”
The doctor then walked off, leaving a devastated Illya
behind.
“This cannot be happening,” he said to the unconscious
Napoleon. “Not after everything I went through
to find you…!”
But the more he looked at his partner, stick-thin and with
his features sunken, the more his heart broke.
“I should never have let them take you,” he said,
softly. “And I should have found you
sooner—relied on our bond sooner rather than facts and figures and logic…” He stopped, his voice beginning to
crack. “Napoleon…. I love you. Please, please wake up as your real self… Please don’t change from that person I love
so much…”
He gently kissed Napoleon on the forehead, and then proceeded
to sit and wait, continuing to talk softly to him.
At last, Napoleon stirred; Illya watched with a pounding
heart as Napoleon’s eyes opened.
Napoleon grunted in confusion as he tried to move his arms and legs and
found that he couldn’t do so.
“Napoleon…?” Illya asked.
Napoleon turned to the sound of his voice, staring at him
with an unreadable expression at first—an expression that broke Illya’s heart
to see.
Napoleon blinked a few times.
“Illya…?” he murmured at last. “Why am I… chained to the bed?”
Illya’s relief was so great; he couldn’t even answer at
first—he just swooped down and grabbed his partner in a hug.
“It’s a long story,” he said, practically laughing and
crying at the same time as he then moved to unlock Napoleon’s handcuffs.
“I’m sure I’ve… got time to listen…” Napoleon said, sighing
in relief. “Just… get me something to
eat first, huh?”
“Of course I will,” Illya promised. “Something light, however–it has been a while since you’ve eaten, and you don’t want to tax your stomach.”
The story could wait until Napoleon had finally gotten some
food in him after so long—Illya knew from experience that an IV drip, though
necessary, did nothing to aid the pangs of hunger.
More than that, Illya was just glad knowing that
THRUSH had failed again—and that, after it all, at the end of the day… he and
his partner were still together.
15. Support
A drugged Illya was always a challenge for Napoleon,
particularly when the drug was a THRUSH concoction that no one knew what it
would cause. This time, however, it was
a known medication that was doing a number on the Russian—a painkiller that he
had needed after recovering from a THRUSH attack. Napoleon therefore knew exactly how Illya
would react to it—by becoming overly clingy and emotional.
Napoleon had convinced Medical to let him take Illya home
and look after him there—confident that the familiar surroundings would help in
Illya getting over his high.
“‘Poleon…” Illya was saying, as Napoleon directed him to
the bedroom.
“Yes?”
“Can’t we stop there?” he asked, pointing him to the
direction of the kitchen.
“What for?” Napoleon asked.
“I want to get the copper kettle and make tea for you,
‘Poleon!” he exclaimed. “I know you
enjoy my Russian tea!”
“And I do,” Napoleon assured him. “But this is not the time for you to be
making tea for me or anyone! Perhaps,
after you have recovered–”
“But I feel fine, ‘Poleon!”
He tried to go to the kitchen while Napoleon continued to
try to lead him to the bedroom; this resulted in an ungainly pirouette session
across the floor.
“We are dancing!” Illya giggled. “Ah, ‘Poleon, you dance divinely!”
“You’re not doing too badly yourself, for someone who’s
drugged out of his mind,” Napoleon commented, still trying to lead Illya to the
bedroom.
“Ahh, Dorogoy! You
are too, too kind!”
He threw his arms around Napoleon, hugging him close. In spite of himself, Napoleon smiled and
hugged Illya back. After all the times
this had happened in the past, taking care of a drugged Illya was
second-nature. And it was far easier for
him than if the situation had been reversed; a drugged Napoleon had boundless
energy and usually was very difficult to keep up with, much to Illya’s
exasperation. A drugged Illya was far
easier to look after.
“Just hang in there, Tovarisch,” he said,
encouragingly. “You’ll be back to your
old self soon—before you know it!”
“Ahh… Thank you,
‘Poleon!”
He relaxed in Napoleon’s hold at last, and Napoleon gently
took Illya to the bedroom and placed him in bed.
“Goodnight, Tovarisch,” he said, exhaustedly crawling into
bed with him. “At least you’ll be normal
again soon.”
Until then, he would hold his partner close and continue to
look after him.
It was what they did best.
Only Seven Acres of Rose of Pollux's Musings & Daydreams 