Summary: Takes place during “The Off-Broadway Affair.” Napoleon wasn’t as frightened of his possible fate as he expected.
Cross-posted to AO3. Light slash; there is no gen version
It was odd that Napoleon did not have his usual fear as
THRUSH carried him to Central Park. He
knew they were going to dump him in the water; he wasn’t a strong swimmer as it
was, but bound hand and foot, he knew he had no chance.
But he hadn’t been too afraid. What was it, then? Acceptance?
Hope?
It must have been hope.
Because it was a relief when Illya showed up, though he was
concerned still—his partner was outnumbered, and there wasn’t anything Napoleon
could do while he was tied up–
His train of thought derailed as one of the THRUSHies,
falling, knocked him into the water.
The sudden inability to breathe was the worst part; he
hadn’t had any time to draw a breath in before having been knocked in. Mercifully, he broke the surface once, for an
instant, allowing him to steal a breath of air, but he soon slipped under
again.
He tried to stay calm, knowing that the more he panicked,
the quicker the oxygen would be used up.
His heart beat at a steady pace; it was so bizarre, not being afraid…
Illya was soon beside him.
Sensing that Napoleon was running out of air, Illya thought quickly; he
placed his mouth over Napoleon’s and breathed some air to him.
Napoleon relaxed further, and soon, Illya brought him to
the surface; Napoleon had to inwardly marvel that Illya had quite literally
given him the kiss of life. It was all
he could do not to try to kiss him again.
They joked and bantered briefly, despite the danger
Napoleon had been in—their way of reassuring each other that everything would
be fine.
Napoleon would put aside his nervousness for now—they still
had a mission to complete…
…But first, some well-needed time with his partner in a
Turkish bath was needed, as well as chance to properly show his gratitude.
Summary: Their latest mission strikes, quite literally, very close to home for Illya.
Cross-posted to AO3
Napoleon knew there was trouble when, upon arriving at the
breakfast table, he saw the morning paper tossed aside, as if having been done
in anger. Further proof that something
was wrong was the fact that Illya was ignoring the plate of food in front of him,
instead glaring out the window of their apartment. The third sign was their cat, Baba Yaga,
looking up at him in concern, meowing repeatedly, yet not getting a response
from him, which she would usually get instantly.
“Illya?” Napoleon asked, gently. “What’s wrong?”
“It is… a very complex situation, Napoleon. …And I fear you will think less of me once
you know the full truth.”
“Well, I know that’s not possible,” Napoleon insisted.
“Don’t jump to conclusions before you know the full story,”
Illya said, ruefully. He picked up part
of the newspaper and handed it to Napoleon.
“‘International coalition to come together to apprehend a
wanted war criminal on the run since the end of the Second World War,’”
Napoleon read. He frowned at the picture
of the man in the paper—clearly unrepentant for the cruel acts he had
performed. “‘Efforts to apprehend the
man will be spearheaded by U.N.C.L.E., aided by a wartime resistance group of
former prisoners of war known as the Unsung Heroes. Head of U.N.C.L.E. New York, Alexander
Waverly, has promised that his top men will be assigned to the mission.’ Oh, so that’s it. …Well, I don’t see what’s so wrong with
that—we’ve done this sort of thing before, bringing in people wanted for war
crimes. Or are you concerned about what
these Unsung Heroes will think about you being a Russian?”
“No,” Illya said, his voice calm, despite the fact that he
was shaking. “Take a closer look at the
man’s biography.”
Napoleon did so, reading the man’s military history, and
pausing as he noticed one particular milestone written in the description—
“…Battle of Kiev…” Napoleon realized. “…Illya…”
“I recognized his face immediately,” Illya said, passing a
hand over his eyes. “How could I
not…? I saw him as I was fleeing from my
home, staring cold and unfeelingly at the homes where he knew innocent civilian
were in. I still remember how he barked
the orders to blast the houses…” He
trembled. “…My house was among them…”
“Oh, Illya…”
“He was the one!” Illya suddenly snapped. “He was the one who took everything from me…! He
destroyed my home and killed my family…!”
“We are going to bring him to justice, Illya,” Napoleon
promised. “Waverly is going to assign us
to this—the writing’s on the wall already…”
He trailed off at the look on Illya’s face.
“I don’t want mere ‘justice,’ Napoleon,” Illya said. “I want vengeance. And yet, I know that is not what U.N.C.L.E.
stands for, and it is not what you would stand for, for you are a paragon of
mercy. …And so, I am ashamed…”
Napoleon exhaled and drew Illya to a tight embrace.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he said, softly. “I’ve… done things I haven’t been proud of,
too, you know.”
Illya blinked.
“But your family is intact.”
“I didn’t mean them,” Napoleon said. “Do you remember when I infiltrated Brother
Love’s society?”
“Not much of it,” Illya said. “He threw a grenade at the car I was driving;
I was unconscious for most of it.”
“…That’s just it; I didn’t know you were just
unconscious. I thought…”
Illya blinked.
“Do you mean to tell me that Brother Love’s death was…?”
“An act of vengeance?
Deep down, it was,” Napoleon admitted.
“Sure, I said in the mission report that he had to be stopped at all
costs, and sure, the innocent agreed that there was no other option, but… I know I probably could have looked for a way
to spare him, whether or not I would have eventually succeeded, but… I refused
to even search for that way.” He
sighed. “Grief can push you to do things
that you would never consider. And
that’s why I fully understand the conflicting emotions you’re feeling.” He glanced back at the newspaper. “One way or another, we will find this
man. As for his fate… I’m going to leave that up to you.” He gave Illya’s shoulder a squeeze. “And just know that, no matter what, I’ll
always be on your side.”
Illya exhaled, filled with gratitude at having such an
understanding partner.
“Thank you,” he said, softly.
He didn’t know what his heart would end up deciding once
they caught up to their quarry—but the knowledge that Napoleon would be with
him through it all was already a crushing weight being lifted from his
shoulders.
Only Seven Acres of Rose of Pollux's Musings & Daydreams 