Hi everyone! So I received a wonderful prompt from Renegade Hero t write a story about five times Illya saved or comforted Napoleon, and one time Napoleon returns the favor. It was just such a good idea that I couldn't pass it up. Rest assured, I will be doing the story about the mission set in the Amazon next, as well as working on my fic for The Martian (which, if you haven't seen or read, you really should). Thank you to everyone who reviewed No End in Sight! Your words really inspire me to write more. I'm not sure about the etiquette of replying on here, but rest assured I have read and treasured each one!
Warnings: Depictions of violence, blood. If anyone thinks I should change the rating let me know. I have little to no medical experience (I can apply bandaids) so please use willing suspension of belief for this. Also, I really have no idea what any of the characters' blood type is, but this works for my story so I'm sticking with it.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the MFU franchise.
Illya hated it when things went wrong. It wasn't that he didn't expect them to, but there was a far cry's difference between being prepared for reasonable variations in outcomes and everything going to hell in a handbasket. Like it was doing now.
The mission, a simple information retrieval, was probably impossible now. Some stupid guard had wandered outside of his normal route checking the grounds of the estate. He shouldn't have been anywhere near the section of wall that they were scaling. In truth, a lone guard really hadn't been much of an obstacle for Illya and Napoleon. Illya had snuck up behind him while he was trying to light a cigarette in the brisk night breeze and held him in a chokehold until he passed out. Napoleon had stood aside and smirked the whole time, which was infuriating, but unimportant. If a day came when Illya couldn't handle one incompetent guard, he would even let the American say "I told you so."
They had made their way across the open lawn, using the cover of the shadows to their advantage and avoiding the occasional searchlight swept in haphazard-but easily predictable-patterns across the lush green grass. Illya had let Napoleon do the lock picking because he really didn't want a repeat of Rome, and also so he could watch out for guards and hiss curt warnings at his partner when they drew too near. He didn't get a chance to do much hissing. Napoleon was quick with a lock pick, Illya would give him that. Silently, in his head.
The trouble came when they were in the target's upstairs office. Napoleon was working on cracking the safe. He'd rolled his eyes when Illya reminded him to disable the alarm, but so far so good. Suddenly, the room got a whole lot brighter as all the searchlights outside came on, sweeping in much more purposeful patterns across the grounds. Illya could hear the obnoxious blare of a klaxon, too.
"What did you do?" He glared at Napoleon, who glared right back.
"Nothing! It wasn't the safe this time." Illya idly noted that that was about as much of an apology about the last time he was probably going to get. They both turned towards the window.
"Someone must have found that guard, or expected him to check in," Illya guessed. That was the only proof of their entrance. It had to be it.
"Probably," Napoleon replied distractedly, "but it doesn't matter. We have what we came for." He waved a black computer disc before tucking it into a pouch at his waist.
"We need to leave," Illya said. He already had his gun drawn and aimed at the door. It was a toss up over whether the guards would search the house or grounds first. With any luck, they would assume the intruders hadn't gotten this far.
"Really, Peril? I thought we'd wait and have tea." Napoleon was gathering his tools with a haste that belied his sarcasm. Illya ignored the flippant comment. It wouldn't help their speed to get pulled into an argument right now. It was going to be difficult enough to get out.
"We'll have to go out a window," Illya stated. "They'll be watching the doors." He turned to see Napoleon already halfway out the window, pausing midway to look at him.
"What are you waiting for? We might as well use this one." The American spy ducked under the sash and disappeared. Illya followed, slightly less gracefully. The slanted gables of the mansion were slick with condensation from the cool night air and made treacherous footing. Luckily the house was spread out rather than built up, and only two stories tall, but Illya avoided looking over the edge of the roof all the same. Napoleon led the way with cat like agility, making him wonder exactly how many times he'd been in this situation.
Then, everything went from bad to worse. Illya would never know what possessed whoever was directing the searchlight to sweep it across the roof, but that was all it took for every one of the guards' attention to zero in on them. The gunfire started moments later.
"Go!" Illya shouted as bullets tore into the shingles around him. He shouldn't have bothered-Napoleon was already scrambling more quickly across the peaks. They were running out of roof, though, and Illya didn't know what he had planned.
The end of the roof came suddenly. Illya almost fell, but managed to regain his balance at the last second.
"Now what?" he yelled. He was not panicking. He didn't panic. Napoleon was looking down. Illya glanced in that direction, but only saw a dark line of bushes.
"Now we take a leap of faith, Peril!" He pushed Illya, making him lose his balance and tumble off the roof. Illya only had a split second to curse Napoleon back to hell, where he must have come from, before landing.
The bushes were not soft by any stretch of the imagination, but they were a far cry better than the ground would have been, and it was only a two story fall. He tore himself loose of the prickly branches as fast as he could. Napoleon was doing the same beside him, to the soundtrack of almost constant gunfire, and they started running in silent agreement.
They lost sight of the guards after scrabbling over the wall again, but the mansion was situated on a hill with only one road down. It wouldn't take them long to guess where the two were headed. They'd stashed the jeep in some deep shadows near where they entered.
"Take the wheel, Peril," Napoleon barked as they vaulted into the vehicle. Illya didn't argue-he had planned on it anyway. They burst out onto the dirt road just as two land rovers left the front gate. Illya ducked as a bullet pinged off the metal frame.
"Get them off our tail," he shouted at Napoleon. The other spy twisted in his seat, pulling his gun as he went and firing several rounds in quick succession. Whatever he was doing worked, Illya decided, as one of the other vehicles abruptly flipped and landed upside down in the ditch. The other drew back a little, giving Illya room to slam on the brakes and force them to rear end the jeep. That close, it was impossible for Napoleon to miss the driver. Illya slammed the gas pedal into the floor and they flew away from the two disabled vehicles.
Once they were back on the main roads and working their way into the city, Illya slowed the jeep. It would be stupid to attract attention now. They needed to ditch their vehicle somewhere and get back to the hotel room. Hopefully Gaby would be back from her part of the mission and they could-
A strangled gasp from the passenger seat abruptly cut off his train of thought. He looked towards the sound to see Napoleon hunched over, with his hand to his shoulder.
"What is it?" Illya demanded.
"Got hit," Napoleon bit out. Illya frowned. How had he not noticed?
"When? How bad?"
"Before I jumped off the roof, and I don't know." Napoleon's face looked pale, but that could have been a trick of the light. His black clothing made it hard to tell how much he was bleeding, but his hands were covered in dark blood.
"We are almost to the hotel," Illya finally said. "Keep pressure on it."
"Thanks for the advice," Napoleon snorted, but his voice only had a shade of the normal sarcasm.
Illya drove as fast as he dared through the streets, but he could only do so much without attracting the attention of the law. He finally got within walking distance of their hotel and parked the jeep. He would have to come back and disguise it more permanently later, but this darkened lot would do for now.
Napoleon had become quieter the closer they got the hotel. Illya could feel dread growing in the pit of his stomach. He crossed the the passenger side and opened the door. The American was leaning against the seat, head back.
"Cowboy," Illya prodded him, "we have to go. Now. No sleeping." Napoleon opened his eyes and made an effort to exit the jeep, but Illya ended up almost dragging him out of it. He could feel the dampness of his partner's shirt. Napoleon was barely standing upright now, and Illya suspected that he would be on the ground if not for the Russian's grip on him.
"Come on, Cowboy," he muttered, "let's go."
They made their way to the back entrance of the hotel more slowly than Illya would have liked. By the time they reached it Illya was almost completely supporting his partner's weight. Somehow they made it to the room he and Gaby shared-thank god it was only on the second floor-without any encounters of the staff or other guests. Illya guessed the extremely early hour helped.
Gaby opened the door before he could do much more than fumble with the room key. She kept her head at the sight of her two bedraggled partners, moving out of the way so Illya could get inside and quickly shutting the door behind them.
"What happened?" She demanded in a low, but harsh, tone as Illya laid his burden on the couch.
"Mission went to hell," Illya said shortly, grabbing the medical bag from under his bed. "Quickly, I need hot water and clean cloths." She jumped to do as he asked, but Illya suspected they'd have to explain it all in detail later.
"I am not doing that alone, Solo," he grumbled, cutting through the American's soaked shirt.
"Do wha'?" Illya jerked in surprise. He had thought Napoleon was unconscious, but apparently not.
"Nothing. Stay awake." The blue eyes, hazy and confused, slipped halfway shut, but didn't close completely. That would have to be enough. Gaby returned with the water and rags.
"What do you need me to do?" She asked. He glanced up at her. She looked determined.
"Put pressure here, and try to keep him awake." He had to see if the bullet was still in the wound. In the background he could hear Gaby talking to Napoleon, trying to get him to reply, but it was a losing battle. Illya's job got a whole lot easier when he discovered the exit wound on Napoleon's back. No bullet, then, but now he had to stop his partner dying of blood loss.
Gaby's efforts were helping slow the flow of blood, but it wasn't until Illya had stitched up both holes that they were able to get it under control. The bullet had hit his shoulder, but Illya was confident that it hadn't hit anything important. Reasonably confident, anyway. They couldn't go to a hospital, so he had to be. After he was done stitching, he had Gaby switch places with him so that he could set up a transfusion line and she could wrap bandages around Napoleon's waist.
Illya had pushed his worry to a back corner of his mind as he worked, but now that he didn't have the delicate stitching to concentrate on, it reared its head again. Napoleon's breathing was shallow, and his pulse was rapid and thready when Illya checked it. Not good signs.
"What are you doing?" Gaby asked, as he attached the other end of the transfusion line to his own arm, "Will that work?"
"Universal donor," Illya grunted as the needle slid home. He just hoped it would be in time.
He kept watch until well after dawn-well after Gaby fell asleep with on the floor beside the couch, head leaning against the cushions. Napoleon's color had gradually improved, and Illya had finally judged him strong enough and removed the line.
It was almost ten o'clock before a flutter of movement caught Illya's attention. Napoleon was shifting restlessly, eyes twitching behind closed lids. Illya waited, and a few moments later his eyes slid open. He blinked slowly a few times before focusing on Illya's face. They were almost level, since Illya was also sitting on the floor.
"Peril?" His voice was rough.
"Yes, I am here," Illya replied quietly, not wanting to wake Gaby. Napoleon stared at him for a second.
"I take it I'm not dead, then" he stated flatly.
"You didn't think I was going to let you report this mess to Waverly alone, did you?" Illya shot him a sly grin. Napoleon coughed out a small laugh but looked like he immediately regretted it as he tensed in pain.
"Don't do that," he gasped. "Hurts to laugh."
"Probably going to hurt to do anything for awhile," Illya observed.
"Yeah, well, at least I'm still around. Thanks for that." Illya shrugged.
"No problem." He was still going to make Napoleon tell Waverly on his own.