I recently posted this story on LJ but decided to take it down as I simply do not like the way I've written it. I re-posted it (and am posting it here) in its original form due to it being well received. I fully intend to cannibalise it and incorporate elements into a much longer story at some time in the future. Thank you to girl in the glenand MLawfor taking the time out to reassure me that it isn't as bad as I think it is.
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Napoleon Solo was whistling as he skipped down the steps into U.N.C.L.E. HQ. The reason for his happy mood was entirely down to Illya's release from medical the previous day. The blond agent had been cleared for light duties, which meant Napoleon could palm all his paperwork off on him. Of course, he was also glad Illya had survived another THRUSH attempt to kill him.
"You need to report to medical," Lizzie on reception informed him as she pinned on his badge.
Napoleon's joy evaporated immediately. The only reason he could imagine for being summoned there was his partner having a relapse.
"Is it Illya?" he asked tentatively.
"I couldn't say," replied Lizzie.
Solo practically sprinted to medical where he found the Russian leaning against the wall outside the suite.
"What is going on?" He demanded.
Illya shrugged. "I do not know. I was told to report here, but was not allowed entrance. I am to knock when you arrive."
Napoleon gestured for him to do just that. The door was opened by Mr Waverly, who stepped out to welcome them.
"Good morning gentlemen," he greeted them amiably. "You are no doubt wondering as to the purpose of your presence here."
The two men simply nodded at their superior.
"The support staff has had a collection, in order to purchase something for the medical centre; which will make our agent's lives more comfortable," continued Mr Waverly. "It was decided that, since the two of you will no doubt get the most use out of it, you should be the ones to receive on behalf of everyone."
With that, he opened the door and ushered both men in. They were confronted with a large object covered in a sheet. Illya and Napoleon looked to each other quizzically before pulling the sheet away. Beneath the covering, they revealed a very comfortable looking armchair; which had been re-upholstered in white plastic vinyl for hygiene purposes. It was going to make sitting vigil for hours on end so much easier for the waiting agent.
Mr Waverly laughed heartily, which was a rare thing, as his two most senior agents vied to be the first one to sit in it. They looked for all the world like a pair of four year olds fighting over toy. The Old Man sent up a silent prayer that none of his agents would need use of the chair soon.