'You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life.' ~ Winston Churchill
He sat by the side of the bed, holding the pale, limp hand and listening to the medical equipment keeping the figure in the bed alive. The mission had been successful, but they'd paid a price; his partner had been severely tortured and was in a critical state.
They'd returned eight days ago and he'd sat vigil ever since, not wanting to leave his friend's side. All he wanted was to see those blue eyes again; he'd give everything to hear his name muttered from those lips. The medical staff would look in with concern and shake their heads, they knew it was hopeless; their patient would never regain consciousness.
"Come on, partner, it's time you woke up now, you've slept long enough."
The only reply was the beeping of the monitors.
"You don't need to listen to what the Doctor says, I know you and you always pull through; besides, you've always told me you'd have my back and you can't do that from bed."
The whoosh of the respirator filled the silence.
The dark haired man stood over the blond, watched the rise and fall of his chest, saw the paleness of his face and knew he had to face facts; no matter how much he wanted his partner to regain consciousness, this time his friend wasn't going to wake up.
His eyes watering, he took the pale hand, "Well, you've spent your life standing up for what you believe in, and made plenty of enemies along the way, they always seemed to pick on you more than me, my friend,"
Wiping away a tear, he continued.
"I know it's time to say goodbye now and let you rest. I promise you that I'm going to carry on with what we started, continue standing up for what we believe in and no doubt making a lot more enemies along the way. UNCLE will be a force to be reckoned with and we'll make that difference. "
The blond laying in the bed seemed to give a final sigh and the machines around him alerted his friend that he'd gone.
"Farewell Charles, I'll never forget you."
Alexander Waverly put the limp hand down and quietly walked out the room to continue the fight.
Eighteen Years Later.
Waverly was in Medical, on his way to see the doctor, when a voice caught his attention. He stopped by the open door to an intensive care room, unsurprisingly, it contained his two top agents, Kuryakin was lying on the bed surrounded by medical paraphernalia, while Solo was sat in the chair beside the bed.
The vision brought memories flooding back of the day he'd let his own partner go; and the vow he'd made which he still lived by even now. Unable to move, he listened to a similar conversation to one that had taken place nearly eighteen years earlier.
"Why do they always pick on you Illya? Though I really wish you wouldn't torment your enemies so much."
There was no reply, only the sound of the equipment, just like it was in a similar room many years before.
"Come on, my friend, open those eyes for me, I've got a huge pile of paperwork that needs doing and this is one hell of a way of getting out of it."
Still there was no scathing comeback.
"I know you can hear me, you sneaky Russian; I know you're in a bad way, but you don't have to believe everything the doc says."
A nurse arrived, interrupting the one sided conversation. She took Illya's vitals and checked the equipment, satisfied everything was okay before leaving.
Napoleon sighed, "I know you've always stood up for what you believe in and, God knows, you made enemies along the way, but if you don't wake up how are you going to look out for me?"
"Nap… Napoleon, if I promise… to watch your back… will you please be quiet?"
Waverly saw the delight in Solo's face as his partner spoke those few words, and the Old Man smiled as, once again, his top two agents would remain a team.