Napoleon carried the unconscious body of his partner in a fireman's carry through the forest. It was pouring rain, but it wasn't registering to him. Adrenaline and fear were coursing through his veins as he kept pushing forward in search of shelter. It was a cool evening, but the exertion of running with the dead weight of the Russian on his shoulder had him sweating profusely.
He burst out of the woods into a field. He dropped to his knees instinctively to become less visible to possible pursuers and also to give his screaming muscles a rest. Putting his left hand up to shield his eyes from the rain and wind, he spied several buildings about a half mile ahead. Probably a farm, he thought. He didn't see any lights, but that meant nothing. He had no idea what time it was; he guessed it was around midnight. He and Illya had been relieved of their watches when Harvey Black's henchmen had caught them leaving his compound.
"Don't worry, Illya," he said as he hoisted the blond securely over his right shoulder again as he stood, "as soon as we get out of this weather, I'll take care of you. You'll be fine, you'll see." He began to move forward and found it was a little easier as the land was sloping gently downward. When he had walked about seventy – five yards, he came to a crudely built fence he hadn't noticed earlier. It read, NO TRESPASSING! This property has been foreclosed by Bayou National Bank. It said other things that were of no concern to the agent. He was just grateful that he could get both of them out of the rain. He walked past what was obviously a barn and stepped up onto the porch of the house.
There was a wooden bench and Napoleon placed his partner there while he broke the padlock off the door and checked the house for critters and other squatters holding the gun for which Illya had paid such a high price. Once, he ascertained it was empty; he went back to the porch and brought the Russian inside into what he thought of as the living room. The only furnishings were a potbellied stove, a few chairs and a small footstool. The windows had room darkening shades pulled down and there were some dented pots in the kitchen.
He laid Illya on floor. "Here ya go, buddy, home sweet home! I'm going to see how comfy I can make us." He checked the windows to see if anyone had been following them. He was almost certain everyone who meant them harm had died in the explosions, but he would continue to be cautious.
Entering the kitchen, he began a search of all the cabinets and drawers. There was no food, he hadn't expected any, but he did find a box of matches, a dishcloth, and a travel – size sewing kit. A closet in the hallway yielded what appeared to be an extra – large woolen blanket. Perfect, he thought, At least we can be warm tonight. He turned the spigots, expecting dust to come out of the faucet and was pleasantly shocked when water flowed out. He grabbed the two largest pots and filled them immediately to the brim. He carried them into the living room, set them down and reached for one of the chairs.
He slammed it into the floor to break it apart and stuffed the pieces into the stove. Going back into the kitchen, he opened a couple of drawers and scooped out the lining paper. It was yellowed with age and he figured it would work well as kindling. He pushed pieces of paper in between the wooden chair slats and lit it in several places with a match. He was rewarded with a small, but growing fire. He put one of the pots on top of the stove and turned back to his still unconscious partner.
"Alright, Partner Mine, I hope I didn't cause you to drop your communicator," he said as he began to search the inner pockets of Illya's jacket. The second pocket he checked yielded a communicator. Twisting it apart and reversing the top piece, Napoleon brought it close to his lips and said, "Open Channel D, please."
A few seconds later, Mr. Waverly's voice emanated from the device. "Mr. Solo! So good of you to finally check in; I was beginning to wonder. Your mission status, please."
"Yes, sir, the plot to bomb New Orleans' levees has been foiled. Unfortunately, the perpetrator, Harvey Black, refused to surrender and remained in his compound as it was being destroyed. Illya had set explosives around Black's munitions building and we were heading out of the property when four of his henchmen waylaid us. We were relieved of our weapons and communicators."
"Obviously, a situation you managed to rectify, Mr. Solo, since you are speaking with me. Cut to the chase, please and tell me what happened."
"Yes, sir. Illya's bombs were set on timers when our escape was blocked by Black's minions. Illya pretended to trip and I was able to disarm two men while Illya incapacitated the others. Illya told me to run…" Napoleon swallowed hard. "He told me to run and I did. I thought he was right behind me, but he took a few seconds to grab our guns and a communicator before following me. When the blasts happened, he was caught in the concussion and sustained some injuries. He's still unconscious; I am requesting an extraction team."
"And, you shall have one, Mr. Solo. Do you think you were followed?"
"No, sir. I am ninety – nine percent sure that entire group was killed in the explosions."
He could swear he could hear the wheels turning in The Old Man's head. "Very well, Mr. Solo. We have your coordinates; an extraction team will be there within twenty – four hours since you are no immediate danger. Waverly out."
Napoleon put his communicator to rights and looked at Illya. "Okay, Partner Mine, you now have my complete attention." He spread the blanket on the floor in front of the stove and then stripped his partner's wet clothing off and hung it on a chair. He checked the temperature of the water in the pot on top of the stove; it was warm, not hot. Using the dishcloth he found, he bathed the Russian as best he could removing all the obvious dirt. When he completed that task, he sterilized the needle in the sewing kit with a match and, taking advantage of Illya's state, sewed up all the lacerations he could find.
When he finished, he lifted Illya onto the blanket and stripped off his own sopping wet clothing. Hanging his things on another chair, he moved behind Illya, pulled the smaller man close to him so they could share body heat and pulled the blanket around them both as tightly as he could to block out the chill air. After a moment's hesitation, he fell asleep.
It was Illya's movements that woke him partially. "It's alright, Illya, we're safe," he murmured.
He felt the body in front of him relax. "I am naked," Illya said.
"I undressed you. Our clothes were wet, I'm naked, too."
He heard a grunt of acknowledgement. "I am clean."
"I bathed you. We're in an abandoned farmhouse that has running water still. I heated some water and cleaned your wounds. I stitched some of them, too."
"You did, I feel them. Thank you."
Napoleon yawned, "I'm your partner; I love you, I'd do anything for you, it's what I'm supposed to do. Are you too hot or cold?"
Illya did a quick assessment. "No."
Napoleon stretched out his arms. "Lean your head back towards me." When Illya did, he put both hands on the Russian's forehead. "You don't have a fever. Are you in pain?"
"No, Tovarisch, nothing I cannot handle." Illya lay quietly for a few minutes. "Napoleon, did you just say that you love me and you would do anything for me?"
"I don't know, I'm tired. What if I did?"
"I just want you to know: I would do anything for you, too."
"Good, do this: Shut up and go to sleep."
The next morning, Illya awoke first, crawled out of their makeshift bed and got himself dressed. He smiled to himself to see that his clothing had been hung neatly to dry. He checked that the communicator's homing signal was activated and settled by a window to keep watch. Approximately twenty minutes later, Napoleon woke up, looked around and sat up. Illya watched him for a moment and then said, "I suggest you dress. I have a feeling we will be getting picked up shortly."
Napoleon sat for a few moments longer. His body was one big ache from carrying his partner a distance from the exploding compound. He didn't complain because he knew if he had it to do over again, he would still have carried Illya.
"Thank you, Napoleon."
Did he just read my mind? "Don't be ridiculous. You don't even know what happened. Thanks are not expected or needed."
"I know I am here and that is all I need to know. Now get dressed before the extraction team finds you naked."