The medical team of U.N.C.L.E. New York were feeling particularly overjoyed. On this day, they were finally releasing a patient who'd been with them for three weeks. It was always a good day when they successfully healed a wounded agent, but it was a better day when that agent was Illya Kuryakin. The doctors and nurses all admired the Russian as a man and an agent, but as a patient he was their worst nightmare. He was surly, argumentative and uncooperative.
When he'd been brought into medical, three weeks previously, Illya had been in a bad way. Napoleon Solo had rescued him form the not so tender ministrations of, yet another, THRUSH interrogator. If Solo hadn't gotten to him when he had, Illya would have had no need of medical ever again. The injuries inflicted were numerous and dangerous. There were many burns, bruises and deep cuts. His left tibia was broken and his left shoulder had been dislocated. Also, the doctors had discovered an unknown drug in his system which seemed to hinder his recovery.
At last, after a difficult time for all concerned, Illya was well enough to go home and recuperate. The medics had come to the decision he was capable of taking care of himself. To the Russian's way of thinking, he had been ready four days after being admitted. He had repeatedly accused the staff of holding him prisoner, but they were used to his protestations and tried to ignore. Illya was intensely grateful for the people who fought to save his life, but hated being cooped up by them.
Not that it had been all bad. He didn't understand why, but Illya was very popular amongst the female members of U.N.C.L.E. Quite a few of them had visited several times, bringing him books, scientific journals and, more importantly, edible goods. In his opinion, Jell-O was not, and could not, be classed as food. As for the dry, grey offerings which were supposedly some sort of meat, Illya was certain they were the result of some mad scientist's experiment. Luckily, the ladies who visited him sneaked in sandwiches, cakes and pastries and he vowed to send each one them flowers as soon as he was able. The illicit food had saved him from starving, as he refused to eat most of what the nurses brought him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Illya waited impatiently for Napoleon to bring him some clothes. The ones he'd been wearing when he was captured had been destroyed, and he had no spares in his locker. His partner, knowing the Russian wouldn't want to go home in a hospital gown, had volunteered to go and fetch some clothes for him from his apartment.
"Here you go, Partner Mine," Solo announced as he entered the room. "One black turtle-neck, one pair of black pants, one black jacket, one pair of black socks, one pair of black shoes and, as a nice variance, one pair of white underwear."
Napoleon turned his back to allow Illya some privacy.
"House-keeping has stocked your cupboards with the things you requested," he told him as he studied a dreadful painting on the wall. "And I have stocked the freezer with vodka. Don't tell the doc that though, as I doubt it will go well with your medications."
Illya mumbled a thanks to his friend. He didn't drink to excess, but he enjoyed partaking of the drink of his motherland.
"Are you ok Tovarisch?" Napoleon asked after several minutes.
Illya seemed to be taking quite some time to dress.
"Are you sure these trousers are mine Napoleon?"
Solo turned to face the Russian and had to stop himself from laughing. Illya was trying, and failing, to fasten his fly. Unfortunately, there was a gap of about an inch and a half between the two ends.
"It would seem Chum, that between the lack of movement and the cakes the ladies having been bringing you, you've finally put some fat on those bones of yours."
Napoleon had never seen Illya look so distraught. The American had to use every bit of his will power not to make a sarcastic comment. It would seem his partner was going to be spending a lot of time in the gym very soon.
"Come on Pal," he coaxed, as he put an arm around the smaller man's shoulders. "You look like you need a drink."
The End.