The Sick Agent
by Periwinkle
It was hard being sick in a strange country. Illya didn't really know anyone to help him, so he just crawled into bed after putting a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand and prepared to tough it out. Before closing his eyes he picked up the phone and called Headquarters, informing them that he was ill and wouldn't be in today.
He was hungry, but going to the kitchen for food was too much of an effort.
He lay there groggy, half-awake, until he heard a knock at the door. He knew that knock. It was the coded one he and his new partner had established between the two of them. Maybe if he just laid quietly in bed, Solo would go away, because at the moment, he really wasn't up to crawling to the door.
Except that he heard Solo's voice, yelling through the door. "Illya, are you all right? Do you need help?"
Illya pulled his pillow over his head to drown the sound out. Unfortunately, Napoleon's voice still penetrated and the next words caused Illya to sit up in a hurry. "Illya, if you can hear me, I'm going downstairs to get the Super. I'll have him let me in."
Illya almost fell out of bed in his attempt to scramble to the door. "No, wait, Napoleon! I'm coming."
He half-crawled, half-slid to the door and then, reaching up to grab the handle, levered himself up. It took him a few moments to work the locks - his brain wasn't as sharp as he would like it to be.
Napoleon started to smile at him, then frowned. "You look like Hell. You should be in bed."
The look Illya gave him was speaking. "I was in bed until some pushy American decided to disrupt my morning."
Napoleon spread his hands. One of them, Illya noted, held a bag. "What can I say, partner? I was concerned about you."
"Remind me when I'm better to introduce you to this new device. It's called a 'telephone'. Or to another one, called a 'communicator'." While he was speaking, Napoleon had begun herding him towards his bedroom.
Napoleon lifted the covers on the bed for Illya to slide in. "I would have, but then I couldn't bring this, could I?"
"This? Are you talking about your ego?"
Napoleon lightly punched Illya's cheek, then waved his parcel in front of Illya's face.
Illya took a better look at the bag. Smells were wafting out of it. Bakery smells, and was that, thank God, tea? Illya gave Napoleon a contrite look. "I apologize. Really."
The other man beamed at him. "We may not have been partners long, but I know you hate to miss meals. Plus, I also know how hard it is to be sick alone." Napoleon opened the bag and began arranging the food on the nightstand. "So I brought you breakfast in bed."
This partnership just might work out, Illya thought to himself as he reached for a doughnut.
