I try to keep a lookout but it takes its toll
Still I know I'll stay on the night patrol
There's a rooster crowing in my head
A sentry in my soul
I wonder why I volunteer to stand out in the cold
On this night patrol
~Night Patrol - Michael Murphey ~
...
It was 1:30 in the morning, and Paulo Conti shivered against the freezing cold wind. Pulling off his gloves, he lit a cigarette and blew his smoke out over the city. He hated pulling night patrol duty but, as an U.N.C.L.E. security guard, he had to do his fair share of it. He shivered again and cupped his hands around the cigarette in an attempt to garner a little warmth from it. For all it was cold on the roof of headquarters, Paulo couldn't really complain. Unlike his colleague, Travers, who was stuck patrolling the power generators, he at least had a view.
The sound of the access door opening behind him caused Paulo to drop the cigarette and, as he turned around, he raised his weapon. He lowered it once again upon seeing Napoleon Solo. It wouldn't do to go shooting the CEA. Not that he was immediately recognisable with the hat coat and scarf protecting him from the cold.
"Good evening, Paulo," Solo greeted him warmly, before glancing at his watch. "Or should that be good morning?"
"Is there something I can help you with, Sir?" the guard asked.
"I've come to relieve you until the end of your shift."
"That isn't for another six and a half hours," Conti told him.
Napoleon waved him down and explained that it wasn't a problem.
"I'm sure you can secure something inside, out of the cold,"
"I'll have to get permission from Mr Sullivan."
Although Napoleon ranked second within the command structure, he wasn't the sort of man who would override the orders of another department. Conti couldn't just walk off his duty without his immediate superior's approval, unless it was an emergency. Solo waited patiently while the guard went to contact James Sullivan. He returned a couple of minutes later.
"Mr Sullivan says that if you want to pull guard duty, who is he to stop you," Conti said, with a smile.
Napoleon returned the smile. Sullivan no doubt thought he'd lost his senses.
"I'll be pairing up with another guard elsewhere," Conti continued. "So, if you have to leave your post, just call me and I'll come back and take over."
As a very puzzled Conti left him alone, Napoleon lit cigarette of his own; mirroring the security guard's actions of only a few minutes before. He looked out over the city he called home and released a long, deep sigh. Napoleon was technically off duty but, after the week he'd just gone through he needed something to concentrate on which he, conversely, didn't need to think about. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he allowed his mind to settle into tedium.
He had only been there for half an hour when he was joined by his partner. The Russian, aided by a crutch was moving slowly. Napoleon was almost certain the man wouldn't have been given permission to leave medical yet. He was wearing a warm coat, but was nowhere near as bundled up as the American was. Dashing over to a set of garden chairs, Napoleon grabbed one and brought it over to his partner.
Over time a small garden had developed on the rooftop of HQ and, as more people began to use it, various items of outdoor furniture had also began to arrive. At one point, there had even been a barbecue, but Waverly had soon vetoed that. He rather encouraged his staff to have a sanctuary from the business of the job, and the city, but a line had to be drawn somewhere.
"Where is your cold weather gear," Napoleon demanded, as he helped Illya to sit down.
"I do not need it."
"You don't need to prove your hardy Russian heritage to me," Solo countered. "Beside, you're currently an invalid, and should therefore be kept warm and rested."
"I am fine," the Russian insisted. "It is you who seems more in need of rest than I."
"Yes well. Some of us haven't had the benefit of a relaxing two-day coma," said Solo, with a slight smile. "Seriously though Illya, you need to be inside.
"James Sullivan tells me you have volunteered for night patrol," Kuryakin stated, brushing off Solo's concerns. "What is it you are trying to block out?"
Solo smiled. Of course Sullivan had gone to Illya. Just like Conti had been compelled to follow protocol by informing his superior what was happening, Sullivan had, of course, had to express any concerns he had to a higher ranking staff member. When someone began acting contrary to their character, it was generally a warning sign and, given that it is was he who was acting out of character, it was only natural for Sullivan to have gone to Illya.
"Not trying to block anything," Napoleon answered. "I just needed a bit of time out to sort through my thoughts on the last few days.
"The mission was technically a success," Illya told him, though his tone belied his true feelings on the subject. "But why night patrol?"
A large satrapy had been neutralised by U.N.C.L.E. and, although it was over quickly, it had come at a cost. Three agents had been killed, and five, including Illya, had been seriously injured. Due to the size of the operation, and number of casualties, both Waverly and the CEA had been needed to sort out the aftermath. This had meant that Solo had been unable to sit his usual vigil by his friend's bedside.
It was usually during those quiet hours, while waiting for his partner to return to the world, that Napoleon would reconcile events with his mind, and his soul. Most agents found themselves by a partner's bedside on many occasions, and they all knew it was about more than waiting. Yes, the main concern was for the injured friend, but it also served as a means for the uninjured one to reflect. They would go over events in their heads. They looked for reasons why something had gone wrong. If none could be found, it was filed away as bad luck. If a failure was evident, it became a lesson for the future. Even the shrinks had come to accept the varied benefits of the vigil. This time, however, Napoleon hadn't been afforded that quiet time, and so, he decided to rota himself in for night patrol.
"When I was in the army," Napoleon began, "I used to enjoy doing night patrols. Most of the time, not much happened, so it gave you time to forget the stresses of the world. You only had one thing to concentrate on, which meant you could empty your mind of anything else. It was freeing in a way. While that isn't the purpose of what I'm doing right now, it will give me the chance to think without having the rest of my job trying to barge into by head."
Illya nodded in understanding; knowing exactly how Solo felt.
"I am sorry to have disturbed you," he said.
"You didn't," Napoleon answered.
"In that case, would you mind if I stayed a while? I like it up here."
"If it were up to me, you could stay all night," Solo told him. "But I don't have the authority to grant you that."
Illya frowned in puzzlement before realising someone had come on to the roof. Head nurse Maisie Redfearn didn't need to say anything. Her facial expression alone was enough to spur Illya to ask for Napoleon's help to stand up.
"Thanks for the visit, Tovarisch," Napoleon said, as he waved Illya off. "I'll join you for breakfast."
Once he was alone again, Solo recommenced his patrol.