I make sure that I make plenty of noise when I come into any room that has a Section Two or Three agent in it. Experience and a small crescent shaped scar on my chin taught me that lesson when I'd been on the job only a few weeks. I'd been told to not surprise an agent, but I hadn't realized how deadly serious that warning had been.
I watched the dark-haired figure stir and knew it was safe to approach. Settling a hand on a shoulder, I kept my voice purposefully soft and even.
"You need to get some rest, Napoleon. He's going to be okay." I felt rather than heard the sigh that followed. "Next door is open. Why don't you stretch out on the bed and I'll call you when he wakes up?"
"I'd rather stay here." Keeping watch, keeping a hand resting on his partner's arm as if it was his only anchor to the living world and either man's only reason for surviving.
I checked My Pretty's vitals, heartbeat was strong and steady, BP was little elevated as was his temperature, but nothing to be concerned about…respiration, urine output, everything looked good. The fact that he was still unconscious was a bit of a bother, but he often had a bad reaction to anesthesia.
"It's best that he sleeps right now, Napoleon. He's not going to be happy once he wakes up."
"I know… if he'd just wake up for a minute though…"
I settled a hand on his shoulder again and felt the tension running through it. I'd lost count of how many times one or the other of them held this vigil, but one was never here for long without the other in close attendance. I'd watched so many other partners fail at this one key element in their relationship. Over the years, I'd become quite the connoisseur of bedside vigils and these two did it right. Only Waverly could shake the other free… or me.
"Napoleon, listen to me." I waited until those lovely hazel eyes had focused upon me.
"Yes, my sweet?"
"He's going to be fine and you need some rest." I reached down and took his hand, gave it a little pull. "Come with me."
For a moment, he looked as if he'd refuse, but he slowly got to his feet, wincing, I was guessing at the stiffness in his own body. Being tossed from a stage coach was rough, no matter how in shape you were.
I led him next door and gestured to the bed. "Why don't you strip and stretch out?"
"Why Nurse Nellie, just what are you telling me?" Just for a moment, that old devilish Napoleon surfaced, and then ebbed away just as quickly.
"That there isn't a part of your body I am not intimately familiar with…" I tried to make it sound lurid. Me, make something sound lurid… right, I couldn't make the Kama Sutra sound dirty… That's one of the bad things about being a nurse. I knew the technical names for everything and didn't wax poetic over them. I remember choking the first time I'd checked out a romance novel and saw the phrase, 'his towering manhood weeping with joy.' It made the hero sound like he had a venereal disease. It got worse when the next paragraph rambled on about her love pillows and mound of pleasure… I'm afraid at that point I said some not very nice things that ended up costing me an extra Hail Mary at Confession that weekend.
Napoleon was outright staring at me now and then he smiled, that slow easy smile of his, the one that warms you from your toes right up to the top of your head.
"Why, Nurse Nellie, are you propositioning me?" He started to undo his tie and I kept my little sigh of satisfaction to myself. If that's what it takes to get you to rest a little. I thought.
"Rendering care and aid, Mr. Solo, it's what a nurse does." I didn't bother to tell him that the very first nurses were actually prostitutes, the only women who could touch a man other than his wife… I'm a wealth of knowledge.
"I see." He slipped out of his jacket and hung it carefully on a hanger that dangled, forlorn and forgotten, in the small closet. His pants followed and I had to admit he looked quite beguiling with his shirt tail dangling down and his holster stressing all the right spots of his torso. Then the holster came off and the dress shirt and tee shirt followed.
"Go ahead and stretch out on your stomach." I reached for some alcohol and listened to the rustle of the bed sheets, stiff and fresh, being pushed aside. The fact that he was naked when I turned around wasn't a surprise. Most of the agents don't actually see me as a woman any longer, but only as a nurse. They've long since lost their bashfulness around me, as if Napoleon had any to being with.
I rubbed the alcohol between my hands to warm it and began to massage his shoulders, luxuriating in the feeling of the smooth skin stretched over tight muscles. Most people don't even realize what a formidable man My Brunet is. They see his smooth veneer, his casual way of moving and talking, the carefully tailored suits and never see the virtual weapon before them. Napoleon uses clothes to hide behind, not out of embarrassment or shame, but for pure concealment. His body is his best weapon in an arsenal of weapons.
I worked those muscles, wondering just how many hours it had taken to get them that hard. He lacked definition and that was to his benefit – he looked as helpless as a water-bedraggled kitten and was as strong as an ox – something an enemy agent didn't know until he was stretched out, unconscious, on the floor.
This was too nice a job to rush and I took my time, alternately kneading and stroking those lovely muscles, enjoying the tactile rush of sensation. From Napoleon's little grunts of pleasure, he wasn't suffering much either.
His lower back and that delightful ass of his finally came into range. Some guys, they just don't have any butt at all; the body just flattens out and that's it. Others, there's a hint, like, 'If I had a butt, it would be right here.' Then you have guys like My Pretty and My Brunet, just right, just enough. Okay, I'll admit to being an ass girl and when either of these guys bends over, it's a beautiful thing. And I showed my profound appreciation before moving down Napoleon's legs.
I reached his feet, knowing to stop – he's insanely ticklish there.
"How are you feeling now?" I was hoping he'd dropped off, but his head turned and he sighed. "Still not relaxed?"
"Not exactly…"
Ah, the towering manhood weeping with joy… Silly Nellie, I thought to myself. I'd forgotten that Napoleon is extremely tactile as well. Now we have a problem. Well, not exactly a problem… not really. It's just well, we're at work… and I don't… I haven't…
And yet I've heard that making love with Napoleon is like sitting down to a seven course meal with wine – when you finished you were neither stuffed nor drunk, but completely and totally satisfied. Napoleon and I have flirted for years, but he's never done any more than that. There's always been another lucky lady on his arm when he left for the evening and then I connected with Illya… for one memorable 'Oh my God, I can't wait for the next time' night. After that, Napoleon didn't even openly flirt with me anymore. Guess he figured I was tarnished goods now, not worth the bother.
"Tell me," I said softly, casting a fast look at the door. It was closed, but not locked. I took a shoulder and rolled him… oh my, yes… Now that was a sight worth framing and putting up on the wall – a very secret and private wall, but wall worthy none the less. I reached out and almost gasped when he caught my hand and brought it to his lips.
"No." He kissed my fingers and manipulated the sheet around him. He could see my confusion and hurt, I knew he could. Hells bells, a blind man in a dark mine shaft could have seen it.
"Why?"
"I may be many things, my sweet, but a poacher I am not." He kissed my hand again and smiled a lazy cat-ate-the-canary smile.
Poacher? I didn't understand his word choice.
"Nellie, would you mind checking on Illya for me? And I could really use some coffee…" The hint couldn't have been more unsubtle. He wanted me gone.
"No, problem, you get a little rest." Feeling like a little more than discarded baggage, I walked from the room. I had never had anyone reject me outright like that… well, there was Glen Hatch, but that was the third grade… I didn't really want to have sex with Napoleon… well, I did, any woman with half a brain in her head did, but not necessarily under these circumstances, not really. I wanted the whole package, the wining and dining, the dancing and the buildup.
I walked quietly into the room next door – I wasn't worried about Illya springing out of bed and attacking me; those days were still in the future.
I picked up the nearest wrist to feel for his pulse and felt him stir.
"Napoleon?" The eyes hadn't quite made it open yet.
"No, it's Nellie. You're in Medical. Napoleon's resting next door." I smiled as I met those blue eyes dead on and then they closed again. He'd verified his partner's whereabouts and could now relax. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've eaten half a sand dune." I took the cue and offered him a spoonful of ice chips. "Napoleon's okay?" He coughed and grimaced.
"He's fine, just a little exhausted from waiting for you to wake up." I stroked his cheek, rough with whiskers and he turned, catching my hand, bringing it to his lips, soft and slightly wet and cool from the ice. That was when I realized what Napoleon had meant. His kiss had been almost routine; Illya's was somehow more intimate, loving. Napoleon had fixed it in his mind that I was Illya's girl- once you go Cossack, you can't go back or something. I wasn't, but somehow Napoleon had decided I was off limits, not because I was tarnished good, but because his partner marked me.
His fever was up. Nothing unexpected though; he usually runs a post op fever. I fed him some more ice chips, watching to see how he was progressing. He wasn't breathing heavily, which meant he probably wasn't going to be sick… this time. That was a relief. It didn't keep his brow from furrowing though.
"How about I get you something for your discomfort and you join your partner in Slumberland?" The fact that Illya didn't argue with me told me how much pain he was in. I held his hand until he fell back asleep and that's when I remembered Napoleon's coffee request.
I had expected him to be zonked out when I got back, but he glanced over at me as I entered.
"Thought you forgot about me."
"Just taking care of that pesky partner of yours."
"He's awake?"
"Was for a few minutes, but he's gone again." I offered him the cup and he sat up in bed to take it.
"He's okay?" He sipped the coffee, made a face and tried a second swallow.
"Relatively speaking, considering the circumstances."
"Did you get this in the canteen or the doctor's lounge? It tastes strange." He drained the cup and handed it back to me.
"Well, sedatives will do that to a drink."
"Sedatives? Nellie, of all the underhanded, sneaky… you should request reassignment. You think like one of us."
Within a couple of minutes, he'd started to relax and his breathing was getting deeper. I leaned over and kissed his forehead.
"What was that for?"
"For being a good partner."
"When only the best…" He trailed off with a little sigh and I knew I'd lost him. I watched him for a long time before going next door and checking on his partner. One I'd had mind-blowing sex with, the other had turned me down and yet I loved them both, not just for the job they did, but for the commitment they felt towards each other, for always being ready to step aside for the other. I wondered if I'd ever meet anyone I'd feel that strongly about.
I brushed the wrinkles out of my skirt and returned to the nurse's station. I guess only time will tell.