Napoleon stood at the door to the guest bedroom and wondered, not the first time in the past few days, whether or not he'd made the right decision. Neither of them liked Medical and would do whatever it took to get out, but he was frankly a little worried about Illya's condition. Since taking up residence in Napoleon's penthouse, Illya had done little more than sleep, eat, and drag himself to the bathroom, but that wasn't terribly unusual. All of Illya's energy was concentrated upon healing.
One of the points they'd conceded was having a nurse drop in twice a day to check on the Russian's progress. She didn't seemed concerned, but then and again, she didn't know Illya the way Napoleon did.
"What is wrong, Napoleon?" Illya's voice was stronger, but still not normal.
"How did you know I was here? I was being so quiet."
"How do my lungs know to breathe or my heart to beat?" Napoleon had to give him that point. "Besides, it is too early for Nurse Turner's tender ministrations and you do live here."
"I was just wondering that a change of scenery might do you good."
"Perhaps, but I am hardly fit for a stroll around Central Park."
"I was think more about the recliner in the living room for a couple of hours." Napoleon walked across the thick carpeting to stand at Illya's bedside and smiled down at him. "It would give Mrs. Avanti a chance to air out the room and you a change of view."
"I agree."
"And you could do with the fresh air."
"That makes sense."
"And, after all, you…"
"Napoleon, stop." Illya raised his hands in surrender. "I am agreeing with you."
Napoleon stopped then and grinned. "Sorry. You don't usually convince that easy."
"To be honest, I am tired of staring at your ceiling and I will heal just as fast there as I will here."
"Excellent. Just let me get things set up out in the living room and I'll be right back." With a smile, Napoleon left the room.
Illya watched Napoleon leave and sighed quietly, happy for even this small respite. To be truthful, he was a little worried Napoleon was going to tell Illya that he needed to go back to the hospital. He'd been infringing upon Napoleon's hospitality for a week now and his recovery seemed as farther away than ever.
Illya could remember getting hurt and bouncing back within a day or two. Bullet or knife wounds, being tossed from a car, or left bleeding on the floor of a phone booth, nothing seemed to slow him down back then and now this – a minor altercation and he was laid up for a week. It just wasn't fair.
"You're beating yourself up over nothing, you know." Napoleon had returned. "The doctors are floored at how quickly you are recovering. Cut yourself some slack, Kuryakin."
Illya didn't ask how Napoleon knew Illya's thoughts. He would. It was part of the link they had between them.
It took them a few minutes and more than a few hisses curses, but Illya was relocated to the recliner.
"The handle is here to go back. You've got about five positions, so just pick something that is good for you."
"Thank you."
"Well, like I said, the room needed an airing out." Napoleon waved his hand before his face. "And maybe later, you could stand a bit of airing yourself. How about a shower?"
"That's not what I meant'."
"I know what you meant and don't even think about it. It's what we do." Napoleon glanced around and made a small noise. "There you are." He flourished the black device. "This is a remote controller for the TV. You use it to turn it on and off or switch channels." He demonstrated it with a sense of pride, clicking the TV to life. Immediately, the room was filled with the noise of the latest commercial jingle. With a careful aim, Napoleon lowered the sound.
"Yet another exercise to keep you Americans glued to the divans."
Still Illya was intrigued and accepted the controller when Napoleon offered it to him. "And very helpful for someone till recovering." Napoleon held out three pills and a glass of water. "Now take these and don't argue."
Without a comment Illya took them, swallowing. Then with a grimace. "If only because it means one step closer to recovery."
"Whatever story you need to tell yourself works for me. I'm going to be in the shower, but I'll have my communicator with me. Use Channel T, if you need to."
Illya watched Napoleon walk out of the room and then looked back at the television. He pushed a button and the channel changed. With a smirk, he tried again.
Finally he settled upon a PBS station and stared at the colorful faces of the puppets. He, of course, knew of Sesame Street, although he'd never watched the show. He raised the remote controller to change the channel and it fumbled out of his hand. It fell to his lap and then to the floor.
Illya swore quietly. He was fairly sure the device wasn't damaged, but now he was stuck. He learned about "O" and "F" and the number 6 and it wasn't that terrible an experience...
A sense of sleepiness was creeping in now and Illya knew it would be just a few more minutes before the pain meds lulled him back into sleep.
The streets of New York dissolved into rolling hills of impossibly green grass and artificially colored flowers. Bunnies hopped happily along and then Illya grinned. Two bunnies were very determined to make a few more bunnies. Going at it like rabbits took on a whole new meaning and Illya wondered what little children would think of this.
It was growing lighter and Illya's mouth fell open when he realized that the sun was a laughing baby's face.
"What on earth?" He stood up easily, happy that the meds were permitting movement again. The fact that Napoleon's thick carpeting has turned into grass struck him as odd, but no more so than a monster that lived in a garbage pail.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, a blur of red, closely followed by something yellow. He turned and there were two figures standing behind him. One was dressed head to toe in purple and the other in green. The oddest part of the odd was that they seemed to have televisions in their stomachs and strange shapes protruding from the tops of their head.
"What are you?"
Two other figures joined the first two, one yellow and red, and they exchanged looks.
"Tinky Winky." The purple figure tapped itself and happily swung a bright red purse. "Dipsy." The green figure waved and Illya was shocked to find himself waving back. "Laa-Laa." That prompted the yellow creature to giggle.
"Po!" shouted the red figure.
"I said what, not who."
"Tinky Winky." The purple figure tapped itself and happily swung a bright red purse. "Dipsy." The green figure waved and Illya was shocked to find himself waving back. "Laa-Laa." That prompted the yellow creature to giggle.
"Po!" shouted the red figure.
"Why are you repeating this? Illya looked from one felt creature to the other and they all giggled.
"Again! Again!" Laa-Laa sang.
Illya jumped as a series of periscopes abruptly raised from the ground.
"Time for Tubby Byes Byes. Time for Tubby Byes Byes." The periscopes had an odd and tinny tone to them.
"Tubby what?" Illya looked around and it was starting to get darker. The floating baby's head was dipping closer to the horizon. "What are you?" Illya shouted and then felt something, a strange sucking sensation. He looked down and a blue box shaped thing snuffled him even more.
"No, no, Nu-nu," Po said, giggling. "Silly Nu-nu."
The creature's vacuum-like nose started to travel up Illya's body and Illya batted the hose away. There was a low growl and the childlike innocent appearing creatures of a moment ago were facing him, their expressions no less threatening than any THRUSH who had sent Illya to Medical. Even the rabbits looked hostile.
With a shout, the felt creatures leapt at him and Illya found himself fighting, his fist sinking deep into their impossibly soft bodies.
"Illya." Illya almost cried when he heard Napoleon's voice. He couldn't tell the direction
"Napoleon! Help me."
"I'm here. I'm here." Napoleon was wading through the phony colored flowers, fornicating bunnies and whatever the other things were. The fact that Napoleon had a television set in his torso or that he was wearing a head-to-toe bright blue felt jumpsuit made Illya gasp,
Napoleon smiled. Don't worry, Partner, it'll only hurt for a minute. He held up a long bladed knife and Illya groaned at the stab of pain in his gut. Then Illya looked down at his own stomach and moaned as a laundry soap jingle began to immolate from his innards.
Wearing his much beloved blue robe, Napoleon entered the living room, toweling his hair. He'd heard something from the bathroom and it didn't take a Brainiac to figure it involved Illya. He dropped the towel when he saw Illya thrashing in the chair, crying out as he fought invisible assailants.
"Illya, calm down. I'm here. I'm here."
Illya's eyes opened, but Napoleon knew his partner wasn't seeing him.
"Illya," he tried again and blue eyes unglazed.
"Na- Napoleon?"
"Hey, partner, you okay?"
With less-than-steady hands, Illya reached out to pull open the bathrobe. There was no sense of violation from the action and Illya appeared satisfied with the results.
"I am now." A too-familiar jingle started to play and Illya's eyes widened as a familiar baby-faced sun started to rise from an excessively green horizon. "Shut that off, please."
"My pleasure. That show disturbs me in more ways than one. Imagine having a TV set in your stomach. You'd never be at a lost for something to watch."
"Yes," Illya answered even as his fingers were searching out his own flat, bandaged-covered abdomen, sighing in relief. "But I would prefer not."